An exercise using observation The sun shines brightly but the air is cold here on the terrace where all the tables are full. The wait staff bustles quietly and the low hum of traffic in the background drowns out the voices from the other patrons....
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As we enter the car, we prepare for a journey into a historical time. As we travel our car changes into a buggy powered by two horses. The streets are no longer paved and a path of packed dirt lies before us. Many of the...
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An exercise conveying nostalgia. “Hello, Hello,” I say, impatiently, into the phone. I hear cries and sobs. I pull the phone away from my head to check the caller ID. It’s my mom, my heart pounds and my breath quickens when I realize those heart-wrenching...
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(This is an exercise in describing a location without actually telling the location) Still as a statute I stand gazing across the bay. The ferry moves so slowly I can barely feel any motion at all. This moment is historical, at least to me. I...
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Indians at the Post Office project. Last Home of the Choctaw Nation, contributor for the Smithsonian and USPS Indians at the Post Office project
War is more than death. It is mud, bugs, the weight of the packs, and the burden of innocence. Death itself was welcome. Often men looked around for the grim reaper, hoping to see him beckoning for his gesture meant the end of personal suffering....
It is hard to remember my life before Pentecost. There are specific things I remember well, like when I broke my nose playing jump rope, the D my third grade teacher gave me for cursive writing, and the merciless teasing we submitted my fourth grade...
An exercise using observation The sun shines brightly but the air is cold here on the terrace where all the tables are full. The wait staff bustles quietly and the low hum of traffic in the background drowns out the voices from the other patrons....
As we enter the car, we prepare for a journey into a historical time. As we travel our car changes into a buggy powered by two horses. The streets are no longer paved and a path of packed dirt lies before us. Many of the...
An exercise conveying nostalgia. “Hello, Hello,” I say, impatiently, into the phone. I hear cries and sobs. I pull the phone away from my head to check the caller ID. It’s my mom, my heart pounds and my breath quickens when I realize those heart-wrenching...
(This is an exercise in describing a location without actually telling the location) Still as a statute I stand gazing across the bay. The ferry moves so slowly I can barely feel any motion at all. This moment is historical, at least to me. I...
Her naiveté is enticing. She sees each day with new promise, never remembering yesterday’s problems. Her face holds no guile. Many of the customers come into the store because of her rather than any real need to purchase cellular products. She gives a genuine smile...
A parody written for creative writing. Enjoy! Nicole Richie is right; there is an entire world out there I know nothing about. At most, I can see the very bottom layer, but there is so much more there I can’t grasp; at least not comfortably or...
This is a short story (up to 1500 words) for a creative writing class. This is also the story I re-vamped for the previously posted screenplay Everybody Leaves. I hope you enjoyed! The tension is palpable in the car. You feel it deep within...
FADE IN: INT. CHURCH – DAY From congregation POV, the REV BURNS preaches a rousing message of hell fire and redemption. He is very active, kicking his leg out and punching his arm in the air for emphasize while shouting his message. REV BURNS...
Ever since watching Banana Foster being made on television, I’ve wanted to try my hand at lighting food on fire. Toby, my husband, wasn’t that thrilled since my track record with fire isn’t the greatest. Despite misgivings and visions of setting the house on fire,...
A true short story I wrote in creative writing back in 1989. Cut It Off The room was quiet as a classroom can be on a Wednesday afternoon. The rustle of papers shuffling, feet tapping, and deep sighing were the only noises heard...
I found a collection of things I wrote during a college creative writing class in 1988 for various assignments. Here are some of the excerpts from the poetry exercises. OH GOD Cold, unfeeling words spoken Gut-rending agony Hot gushing tears Unending emptiness Through a haze...
First of all, I am not a cook. My husband frequently jokes that I think he’s God. When people question him about it he responds with “She feeds me three burnt offerings per day!” Truthfully, he’s not far off the mark, add that to the...
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