Working That Audio Anthology [sic]

Well, we've met with great success working on the audio anthology the past few days. Here's a few pics of our adventures.

Morning Reading - Kassie Maser

This morning Kassie led our morning excercise, asking us to write along with paintings. She provided us with a lot of writing latitude, requesting that we explore whatever the paintings inspire in us. Here's a link to the site where she found the pictures.

Here's her powerpoint presentation:

Curious Incident, Kelsey

When I saw the star fall, I knew something was wrong. I'm not talking about meteors or anything; I'm talking about actual falling stars. This star happened to be Polaris - you know, the star that points North (well, it used to point north, anyway). If I hadn't been looking, I would have missed the twinkling point of light hurtle downwards. Downwards to what? I had no idea. That was when all of the other stars began to fall, too, like some sick light show. I looked up in horror and watched as stars overhead began to drop closer and closer to Earth. The sky was actually falling (someone call Chicken Little). I wasn't exactly sure why Earth was falling, but everybody on it would die if it remained stationary (and probably if it fell as well). But that is when it happened. Earth began to plummet, spinning in the dark to an unknown destination, screams penetrating the cold night air. After that, all was silent.

Is it okay or was I too blunt? And is it too short? Thanks :).

Audio Anthology

Steps:
1. Record Piece
2. Edit Piece/Rerecord
3. Find Music
4. Export

www.freeplaymusic.com

Morning Reading/Hat of the Day - Derek Schultz

"Turning Dark into Light" - Today Derek read "Cemetary Symphonies Movements I & II" and asked the class to write about something effectively turning dark into light (tragedy to comedy, sadness and despair into something more fun)

Franklin's Group - Blogger

Hey guys...here are some step by step instructions to help you guys get into Blogger.

1. Go to your email. Look for an email from me. Open it up, read the instructions, and click on the link.
2. At the page you are redirected to, choose to create a Google account.
3. When you're finished with that step, you should be redirected back to the Blogger dashboard. Click on "New Post" and publish away.

Just How Much Affection Frank Has For Computers... Meredith

Just a little doodle from Friday night. :D!!

MJ

untitled, Alyssa

I watched as a horse raced across the plains. His charcoal colored mane billowed out from a strongly built neck, looking like the sail of a boat caught in a storm. I could see muscles rippling under a coat the color of burnt toast as the horse heightened his speed from a canter to a gallop. His hooves sounded like the boom of a firecracker as they collided with rocks buried in sand the color of a sunset. I watched as his gait slowed and he trotted over to stand in front of me. I held out a hand for him to sniff and he bowed his head as he delicately inspected it. His breath on my hand was as soft as morning mist, as gentle as a lover’s caress. I stroked the beautiful head that was as soft as silk while he watched me from intelligent eyes the color of melting chocolate. I led him over to a rock half-covered by sand. It felt warm against my bare feet as it was heated by the midday sun’s golden rays. The horse, knowing what I intended, edged a bit closer to the rock and pawed the ground. It too, eagerly awaited the moment when we both could run freely across the sand. Then I was on his back, sitting as though I’d been born there. We charged across the desert, jumping over cactuses with spines sharper than a grandmother's sewing needle, dodging clumps of grass where a snake could be lying as it waited to strike with fangs deadlier than daggers. Our ride was cut short as my horse abruptly stopped at the edge of a cliff. Below us, a herd of wild horses looked up, ears pricked forward as they listened, nostrils flared to catch any scent that indicated danger. We stood there for a few moments, a dark silhouette against the setting sun, watching the horses and the raging river they stood beside, before my mount made his way down the cliff with steps as graceful and as careful as a dancer’s. I dismounted at the base of the cliff, and my horse and I mingled with his herd. The wild horses were beautiful, with coats ranging from a white lighter that freshly fallen snow, to a mahogany the color of the vanishing sun. Their manes ranged from a black darker than that of my horse’s to a honey brown the color of my own hair. Finally, a dark shape nudged me from behind. I turned to see my horse, he was almost invisible, but I knew it was him, I could see the moon reflected in his melting chocolate eyes. He climbed back up a part of the cliff by the river, and I followed him. The steps were slippery from droplets of river water, and my feet slipped and slided as though I was on an ice rink. I made it up eventually though and mounted the shadow that was blacker than night, my horse. We galloped back across the desert under the stars, each like a miniature sun, stuck in a blue darker than the worst nightmare. The journey back from the herd seemed shorter than the one to, and I cried as we hopped the fence that surrounded my house, the tears looked like pieces of the moon. I found myself wishing I could capture the wild horse standing in front of me. He stretched out his neck and his magnificent head brushed my palm. In that instant, that sliver of time smaller than the point of a needle, I knew what it meant to be him. I saw the world through his eyes, and we became one. I lived his life, from when he was a colt gazing in wonder at a snowflake melting on his nose, to very recently, when he and his herd ran along the Oceanside as blue-green waves flecked with foam brushed their hooves. I was him a few hours ago, going against his instincts, when he allowed me to ride him, to meet his herd in its secret place by the river. That moment of time seemed to last forever, though in truth it was no more than a second. But in that second, I realized I could capture all the wild beauty and spirit in this horse, but I could never truly tame it never make it my own. If I kept it, the horse’s wildness would slowly fade; dying away until the horse that had once ran freely across the desert was only the shadow of a memory, as empty as a wordless book. And so I watched as the horse I would never be able to call my own galloped away, his twilight colored coat silver in the moonlight, running freely under the stars and sun for all time.

This is untitled, suggestions for one would be nice, or just a comment about the piece.

Excuse Me, Kind Sir? It's Offbeat Hat Day. Thank You.

Great showing for offbeat hat day. Get ready for two different shoe Tuesday. I'm half kidding. What are we going to do next week?

Some Notes on the Audio Anthology

Here's the Schedule for Next Week:

Monday: Matt's Group
Tuesday: Frank's Group
Thursday: Franklin's Group

Now, I will have the recording devices. The only thing you need to bring is a finished piece for recording, and any music or sound effects you'd like to put in the recording. This sound must be carried in one of the following vessels or formats: CD, mp3 or wav on a jump drive or disc.

Poet Liz Mariani

This morning, local poet Liz Mariani is visiting is to talk about her craft. Make sure to check out her website at www.lizmariani.com. I'm also linking her website in the sidebar for easy reference.



Here are a few links from the presentations:

• Think Twice Radio - Live Stream of Allen Street Hardware's Spoken Word Sundays
• Liz's MySpace
  
• She can be emailed at liz@lizmariani.com
  

Also, here are some poets and spoken word artists she recommended:
Alex Mead, Mahmoud Darwish, June Jordan, Alex De Veaux, Simon Ortiz

Morning Reading - Jackie Flis

This morning(ish), Jacki did the opening (sort of) excercise. She shared an excerpt of The Second Summer of the Sisterhood and a quote; "sometimes you fall before you fly, sometimes you love when you should cry."

• What do you think the quote and the excerpt have in common?
• What do you think it means to be a good friend?
• What is one of your favorite memories with your best friends?

Hi

Testing...one, two, three, testing...I'll try for some more eloquent posts in the next few weeks. For now, this is Alex Holt, signing on...and off

Publishing Opportunities

Your writing mentors went over this today in your peer writing groups, but here it is for posterity's sake. If you lose it, feel free to come here, click, and enlarge.

Derek's Hat of the Day

Today, D. Schultz was feeling a bit more Aussie. Can I get a "Crikey!"? We expect everyone to bring their A-game tomorrow.

Emo Boy

Looking at his reflection in the scummy bathroom mirror, he frantically searches his person for any remaining flaws. Jet-black hair cuts perfectly over his bright green eyes-it had only taken him an hour to look like he had just gotten out of bed. His eyeliner, used not to make his eyes stand out but to make him fit in with all of his tortured-souled acquaintances, is the same color as his tight black jeans-ripped in seven different places and newly purchased for $150. Smoothing his eyebrows, also dyed black too match, he decides everything, at long last, is perfect. He then goes downstairs, sits on his couch, and turns up his iPod.

By Caitie

Writer's Block

Why is a blank page so much more formidable an opponent than one full of words? My mind stretches for an idea, any idea, just something to make that stark white paper stop looking at me, asking such insolent questions like how can I call myself a writer when I have nothing to write about. Alas, (for it is only circumstances such as these that call for ‘alas,’) my mind is blank. Stories of people and other worlds float tantalizingly above my, quite empty, head, just out of reach. I guess, just for today, the paper remains victorious.

By Caitie

good times!

hey look, i'm blogging!

Lesson #4

Tie the string around your glasses before you get into the canoe

Lesson #14

Your vehicle is not a time machine;
If you leave late, you will arrive late.

Lesson # 18

Find something you love to do,
and do it for a lifetime.

Cooking

It is not so important to know how to cook,
As it is to know how to love those for whom you are doing it.

The Poem I Don't Know What to Call :)

Stuck inside an endless black, not sure where I am. Others see my quiet side, when I rarely say a thing.
Awkward, shy, silent, still, yet a hurricane describes my soul.
Inside of me wages a war, a struggle which seems centuries old. A struggle that has more at stake than any simple kingdom. Which side will win-the outside-or the innner that shines with a heavenly light?
If I dared I would speak out, but always the outside wins. I remain silent for most of the time, afraid of nothing more than someone the same as me. I wish I could talk and smile and laugh, but always the outside wins.
So for now that side that I wish them to see is trapped and imprisoned in an endless black.
Maybe someday the war will stop, and the inner side that shines with a heavenly light will shine so bright and be so warm that afraid I will not be.
I'll talk and smile and laugh, joke and twirl and be myself, not care what anyone thinks.
Because finally the outside, the masquerade, lost the war and fell. Beaten, cowed, exhausted, the outside disappeared.

Does this poem make any sense, is it overly dramatic? Should I add more to it?

"Catastropiece" by Derek Schultz

"What a beautiful work!" The scrawny French art critic was praising a painting by Picasso. I was bored out of my mind. All I could do was stare at the painting and drool. all the formless lines seemed to draw me into the work. I stared harder, ignoring the sensation of movement. I could feel the painting literally sucking me into it. At last, the evil abstract engulfed me.

Several things happened at once: I realized I was inside the painting. My spine straightened and bent at a right angle. My eyes smeared into green circles. My arms and legs combined into a large yellow square.

Every shape shattered into fragments as my reconstructed eyes stacked themselves vertically on top of each other. My hair stretched into thin black lines. "Aw, man! If I walk home like this my mom's going to kick my head in!" It took a moment for me to realize the truth. "Oh, yeah. I don't even have a head anymore." In fact, I had no recognizable form whatsoever! I was trapped in the hellish swirling of lines and circles. Without a leg to stand on, an arm to pull me out, or a mouth to scream for help I could not escape. So when you visit the art gallery next time I'll be hanging out in "Guernica."

Untitled, Qina

This is a show not tell exercise that we did in our writing groups to write about a character that will raise a response. Now, enough said, any comments or suggestions? Also, I need help coming up with a title.

He slammed his fist on the car dashboard, the white-hot pain spreading to his knuckles. The feeling reminded him of a much simplier time when he and his friends would bang each other up to see who would bleed first. Fun times and fond memories, but he wasn't that kid anymore, and the pain didn't numb the heavy feeling in his heart or stop the thoughts from racing through his head.
"Damn it, Claire." He spoke through gritted teeth. "Please, no...not now." He begged it not to true, as if that would stop the million desperate thoughts of what was and what couldn't be, starting with what had been his dream for the past four years---his now ruined football career. Even a scholarship couldn't fix everything as he had thought once upon a time. Well, certainly not this.
How could one piece of news change his life forever? Well, he knew "how," or at least the rough mechanics of it anyways. It was result of drunken parties and car backseats, and a little something about the birds and the bees that had become lost between childhood friends like Barney and Elmo and football, which was more than just a game; it was his life. Still, he clearly remembered the sighs and grunts of his old man as his was still playing with his favorite action figures, not understanding a word his father said. He was only nine at the time and the subject of "girls" were over his head.
He focused back to reality--the very real downpour of rain pounding on the hood of his car as it drowned everything around him, the very real situation he was trapped in, and mostly the very real voice of his girlfriend that he wanted to blame but couldn't; it was his fault too.
The tiny and distant voice on the small cellular phone whined and plead. His girlfriend Claire was begging him to calm down. That everything was going to okay, trying to pacify her own fears of the new uncertainty.
It wasn't a question of morality. Not anymore, although some would consider getting pregnant in high school as a big scandal. But a simple truth. He was going to be a father. He was not even a proper adult and he was going to be a father. Yesterday he was just a kid messing around with his best buds and now he has to worry about raising a kid? It was surreal, but as they say, having a baby changes everything.

Morning Reading 7/26

Hope you guys liked my stuff this morning. If you thought it was boring and non-inspiring (that be a word?) then that's okay. If you liked it, that's more than okay. Thanks to all the people who wrote & shared. I was very worried and ended up having a lot of fun sharing that little bit of history & my story. If anyone is interested in the entire thing, (it's not much longer) comment here & I'll get it to you. Thaaaanks. :D

-Leo

Morning Reading - Meredith Jones

This morning Meredith read from her piece of historical fiction about Leo Frank.

Here were the prompts.

What to you think is the worst circumstance of injustice? Create a story or poem around or answer with a brief explanation.


Write from the point of view of someone who has been cheated. How does your protagonist handle it? Does he/she panic?

Create a character who has experienced injustice. How does he/she react to his situation?

Create a character who has been thrown into an unlikely and sudden event.

Have you ever just felt like "life ain't fair?" Tell about it.

Or just forget my prompts and write what was inspiring.



(Zoiks...just went through and edited. Fast typing = many errors.)

PostSecret

Julie clued us into a very cool site this morning. Postsecret is an "ongoing community art project where people mail in their secrets anonymously on one side of a homemade postcard." There's some pretty inspiring, shocking, head shaking, thought provoking, and downright weird stuff there. Check it out if you're aimlessly surfing.

Warning: This is an artistic site and may contain some content that some may find objectionable.

Morning Announcements

Liz Mariani - Tomorrow local poet Liz Mariani will be joining us to talk about her craft.

Open Mic - iHey hey hey, tomorrow is the first open mic. Sign up on the side board. This is the time to share a piece or excerpt of a piece with a larger audience. Feel free to share a finished piece or a draft of something you're working on.

Reception - Next Friday, we are not meeting in the morning. That evening, we have invited your parents and friends to join us for a food, drinks, and an open microphone session. We need your RSVP sheet back ASAP.

Offbeat Hat Day - Hey, for tomorrow, your are required to wear a hat that is a bit 'o whacky. Try to be eccentric, for the love of St. Aloysius.

OMG

Who are you.?

You are nice to me

Around your friends, you act like I'm no one.!

I thought you were my true friend.?

But I guess I was wrong.!

Forget that friend.!

Have you ever had a friend like that.?

♥~Victoria Anne~♥

TALKINg my favorite.!

TALK
Speak,converse,chat
I must say I love your cat



Tell me your thoughts.!
♥~Victoria Anne~♥

Welcome to my cell, Kelsey

Welcome, dear visitor, to this place that I so unenthusiastically call my home. If you would please follow me a most laborious three to four paces to the farthest corner of my cell, you will see that, under a piece of loose stone, I have concealed an implement of great importance from the eyes of the guards. I have a small, rusted nail that I had found inside my straw mattress (it had been poking me in the back for ages before I found it). I use this implement to create detailed, intricate etchings that span over the walls of my cell. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness of my confinement and allow me to pursue such an uncomfortable task. I enjoy etching brief notes and tips in various dark corners of my cell for whoever is unlucky enough to inhabit my humble abode in the future. I leave notes such as call the mustached guard Monsieur Pimples – he’ll like that, or I strongly suggest shaking the weevils out of any biscuits you are supplied with before consuming them. I also enjoy making small dolls in the image of my captors from the straws in my mattress and subjecting them to torture (my grudges run deep). If I am ever sickened enough to not finish my weevily bread, I construct bizarre sculptures from a mixture of bread and water and leave them for the people who replace my food. My captors have had the delight of being greeted by rather mushy images of Napoleon, sailing ships, skulls, noses, and aquatic animals. I am not sure whether my aim is to thoroughly confuse my captors or it is just to save myself from dying of boredom. But, either way, I am glad you are able to experience life in this prison with me, and you are most welcome to join me in my rather curious endeavors.

Comment please!!!

It was the first time I've seen one of such radiant beauty before. How the white spots upon her glistened in the mid-afternoon light showing through the already crescent moon. It's withered bones looked haggard as she ran past us. The brown shown covering her flesh was not just a brown, it was a creamy sensation waiting to be forgotten. Her hoofs stumbled as she passed, leaving only the memory of such indescribable feelings behind her. The car screeched to a halt as all we could do was gaze at this lovely creature. Then as if by magic she slowly disappeared into the darkness.

A Couple of Pictures From Today

Derek's Hat of the Day

After a few days of German hattery (one sporting a feather), today Schultzenzie represented the African Vibe. Luckily, he did not bring in an elephant gun.

Haikus, Jen A.

The scent of fresh cut
Grass fills my nose and lifts my
Spirits for a time.

The whisper of the
Wind passes through the blue skies
And surrounds our lives.

The language of trees
Is for all to hear but so
Few can understand.

In one moment so
Much can happen to one soul
While no one else knows.

Feedback? Opinions? By the way, if you want to see some of my writing from before the camp, check out my DeviantArt. http://www.immortalecstasydream.deviantart.com/ Thanks!

Who are we.?!?!

Who are we.?

Who are we to judge other people.?

Who are we to that isn't right.?

Who are we to say to people you are a dork.?

Why do we say those hurtful things.?

Is it the way we were raised.?

Who are we.?

I would like to you to comment me say what you think.

Speak your mind.!

By

♥~Vikki~♥

Contrast, Jen A.

Contrast is an inevitablility in life. Good and bad, light and dark, rich and poor. The difference of worlds is immeasurable. But the difference should not be feared. It should be embraced as a new experience, rather than condemned and shunned with a prejudice towards change. Contrast is the light that keeps our world, any world, interesting. As Philip Pullman said in the His Dark Materials series, "Was there really only one world that spent its time imagining others?" I'd like to expand on that. Do we imagine contrast, is it all in our heads? Or are we all the same inside?

Feedback, please?

HELP!!!

I ran out of ideas for writing! Please help!

"It's Time To Choose" Feedback

It's time to choose... Who do I want to be? Who am I? For years I have been trying to choose a side. My two worlds will not mash together no matter how badly I want them to. It is time to choose. Who do I want to be? Who am I? There is no turning back.

Please give me some Feedback

Fairytales

Once upon a time there was a young girl who always dreamed of having a fairytale life, with the "once upon a time", the "prince charming" and the "happily ever after". Her name was Julie, she was everything you would expect in a princess; the beauty, the flashy white smile, and the luscious long blonde hair. She had a bright horse, her name was Jade. She was a black beauty. They would ride out into the sunset together every evening. Julie loved the way the shimmering moonlit night would glimmer off of her horses back. Julie was a servant for her family, mostly because she was the youngest. She was forced to clean up after the repulsive animals her mother kept in the barn, make the food for the family, and tend to her family's every waking need. But her dream was to become a princess. Julie was friends with mosly all of the villagers in her small and lonely town. But her best friend was Nichea. Nichea was transported to her town 4 years ago, and the 2 girls have been inseparable ever since. Nichea encouraged her to never give up, that she could be a princess. Nichea was also a servant along with Julie. Nichea would get beaten because she wouldn't listen to her family. She would run away in the forest and paint lovely pictures of the atmosphere around her. One very cold night, Julie wondered over to Nichea. Julie asked her if they could run away together. Nichea agreed shakily. When it was midnight we tiptoed out of Nichea's yard with Jade right behind them. All of a sudden we heard a loud roaring boom! coming from close behind them. They turn around looking straight into the eyes of Nichea's father. He was holding a big, hunting gun. They look down and there she was, laying helplessly not making a sound. Julie knelt beside her,crying, combing the once beautiful mane, that now lay there limp. Nichea screaming "Come on". Julie looked up seeing Nichea's father with a gun to Julies head. She heard a loud bang, but it wasn't from Nicheas father. It was from one of the villagers. Soon more villagers came and took Julie and Nichea away. All of the villagers loved and respected Julie and Nichea. So as they hung there, ropes around there necks, most of the villagers were crying as they sang in hushed voices. "They lived happily ever after"

The End

no title at the moment

Here is the first chapter of a book i'm working on....Does anyone have ideas for a title???




The moon was just beginning to show up from behind the clouds. There was a sudden gust of wind, the clouds shifted, and the whole moon suddenly showed up, a circle of white light in the dark sky.
A thousand miles away from the moon, a boy called Alistair woke with a start to the sharp crack of a dragon hatching from its egg.
At first he didn't realize where the noise had come from. He sat straight in his bed, looking out the window, trying to find the source of the sound. Then his eyes landed on the moon outside, and he understood. Alistair ran outside, looking for his dragon egg by moonlight, wanting to see it hatch.
He finally found it hidden behind a large snowdrift: a large egg, much like a chicken egg, but gold instead of white. He watched, thrilled, as he saw hid dragon's arm popping out of a hole. He saw it draw its arm back in the egg and heard it punch again: CRACK! The hole got even bigger. CRACK! It became so big that the tiny dragon was finally able to come out.
Alistair watached in adoration as his baby dragon hopped out of the shattered egg. The prophecy had come true...On the eve of a New Year, when there is a full moon lighting up a snow-covered ground, a dragon egg shall belong to one with green blood...Then, and only then, may dragons hatch into the world...
Alistair had heard that prophecy years before, when he had wanted nothing better than his own dragon. He had carefully searched throughout the mountain range near his home for an egg, for everyone knew that dragons only laid their eggs in valleys between mountains. He had serached for years, combing just about every nook and cranny there was until he had almost given up hope. But he'd finally found one.
And finally, on a New Year's Eve with snow on the ground and a full moon showing, it had hatched.


Alistair's fascination of dragons had begun six years ago, on his 8th birthday. Every child who had wizard and witch parents learned what type of magic they had then. Each child was taken to the Tester of Magic, who would take a sharp silver dagger and make a small, thin cut along the child's spine. The color of their blood would indicate what type of magic they would have power over. Blue blood meant water power, white was air, orange was fire, brown was earth, purple was spirit, and if you had red blood, it meant you were a person with no magic.There was also one more type of magic: power of all dragons.
Green blood. The color of Alistair's blood. The color of dragons' blood.
But the thing was, nobody in that country, the country of Mantao, nobody had had that power in over a century. And the dragons who surrounded the country would not be tamed by anyone except a true green-blooded person, so they were running wild, and many people in the country were being attacked by them.
It was Alistair's fate to have his own dragon and tame the others. It would be up to him and him alone.


Hundreds of miles away from where Alistair's dragon was hatching was a counry called Arandia. It bordered Mantao. The two countries were at peace with each other.
Or so everyone thought.
But the fact of the matter was that while Mantao hadn't had a dragon tamer in more than 100 years, Arandia had plenty. And while the Mantaotians were getting attacked by dragons constantly, the people of Arandia never had that problem.
Suspicious. Very suspicious.
A few people in Mantao had noticed this, but they didn't really realize what it could mean. Oh, sure, there were some whispered rumors about the mean king of Arandia, about how he was such a power-hungry misery. But what did they care? He wasn't their king; it wasn't their country.
But what they didn't realize was how shortly that would last.


King Morando, king of Arandia, was speaking to one of his spies.
"You're sure of your information, Randoc>" he asked the spy.
"Perfectly sure, Highness...All throughout Mantao was tgalk of the new Dragon Tamer. They say he already has an egg."
Morando cursed. "This cannot be! Don't you realize what this means? They have found another Tester!"
Randoc was completely bewildered by this statement. "What, my Lord?"
"Fool! Didn't you know that every single Tester of Magic throughout Mantao was planted there by me? Don't you realize that whenever they found a green-blooded dragon tamer---and there have been way too many--that they were, shall we say, immediately silenced by the tester before they cold tame any dragons? They were all part of the plan!"
"But, sir-" started the confused spy.
"Do not interrupt!" roared the king. "They have found a Tester that was not planted by me. They found a Tamer, who is living to this day. If he already has an egg, he'll be able to tame the others in no time!"
"My Lord, he's only one boy!"
"One boy could mean the difference between takeover. He could be the difference between the fall and the rise of Mantao. Now what did you say the boy's name was?"
"Alistair."
"Good. Send out spies and troops to find this boy. Make sure they don't look unusual. Don't arouse any suspicions. And then...." Morando made a gesture as though he were chopping off his head. "Kill him."

Meanwhile, Alistair's dragon was growing bigger and bigger with each passing day. He decided to name him Goldenstar because he came from a golden egg and because each of his scales sparkled like stars. Goldenstar wasn't really one set color; his scales were kind of an irridescent white that glimmered with many different colors whenever the sun shone on them. His eyes were the same shade of gold as the egg he hatched from.
By the time he was a week old, Goldenstar was a few feet long. And after a few more weeks, he was already breathing fire: long, thing jets of silvery flame.
Alistair's parents were very proud of him.
"I can't believe we have the first dragon tamer in more than a century!" his father told him one day. "I'm so proud of you, son."
"Yes, Alistair, your dragon is getting big. How soon do you think you'll be able to ride him?" his mother wondered.
Alistair's smile faltered. "I don't know," he admitted. "I don't know how big a dragon gets, or how to tame it, even. I know I'm supposed to be able to, but I wish I had a teacher, like Ariana or Rorus or Aaron."
Ariana, Rorus, and Aaron were Alistair's brothers and sisters. They all looked alike: jet black hair with blue eyes, contrasting Alistair's sandy hair and green eyes. But even though they looked alike, they all controlled different magic: Ariana controlled air, Rorus controlled fire, and Aaron controlled earth. They all went to a different school, one best suited to their abilities, just like every other wizard or witch kid in the world.
Except Alistair. He had no teacher. It had been so long since there was anyone who could control the dragons that no one knew anything about that type of magic anymore. Of course, people who didn't have green blood had tried to control them, but their efforts were fruitless. They simply didn't have the power to command them.
"Alistair?" Rorus said innocently to him one day. "Why don't you travel to Arandia? They have lots of Tamers there. Surely one could teach you."
"Yes, sure, Rorus," he said sarcastically. "I'm just going to travel out of the country with a dragon." He laughed. The idea was so wild and ludicrous, even.
Rorus scowled. He was tired of Alistair being the center of attention. Alistair this, Alistair that. He just wanted him to go away. Who cares if he was a tamer? he thought angrily.

Spirits are everywhere. Not only are there spirits inside living people, they are all around us, the spirits of the dead. Only people with spirit magic can see or control them, which, in a way, makes them more powerful than any other type of magic. Unfortunately, this was the type of magic Morando had. He could see all spirits, dead or alive, and bind them to his will with a simple command.
You cannot kill a spirit. They live on indefinitely. The only way to capture one inside a small container or flask with an incantation. They, when it was released again, it had to give whoever freed it a wish. Everyone knew that. And although only purple blooded people with spirit magic could capture one, anyone could free it.
And so, King Morando, after sending his troops and spies off, strode briskly to his chamber, firmly shutting the door behind him. He produced a small golden box encrusted with amethysts and sapphires from his wardrobe. He turned, and said to the apparently empty room, "Enclosus!" and pointed to the open box. There was a strange gust of what seemed to be wind, even though the windows were closed, and suddenly the box snapped shut.
Morando pulled a wand out from inside his robe. It was unusually short and very thick, rather like a thin club. He jabbed it at the box and it opened. There was another gust of wind, and in the room was suddenly another--person? No, it was almost transparent, a see-through silver woman. Was it a ghost? No, it wasn't that either. It was a spirit.

I need an idea

I want to write a good peice but i am having trouble getting an idea. Please give me some ideas.

Feedback on this inspirational quote

"A man can be destroyed but not yet defeated"



Rachelle K.

T-minus five minutes and counting

The Buffalo Sabres are falling apart at the seams. The score is 3-1 for the away team, and it's a home game. There are five minutes left on the clock. The fans are yelling; some encouragement, others booing, and the truly unfaithful ones are grabbing up their belongings. "If they don't score soon I'm out of here,"they say to themselves. Lindy Ruff is behind his players on the bench, yelling for them to move their feet. Four minutes left on the clock. Fans begin to leave. Their team isn't doing bad, but they aren't playing like the Sabres. "The other team's too good," they think. Lindy Ruff calls a time out. "We're losing the fans as well as the game," he tells his team.

"We need a goal to bring them, and us, back." He discusses some possible plays and sends out Roy, Vanek, and Polminville with Talinder and Cambell. Three minutes left on the clock as it's started up again. A penalty is called: a hook against Derek Roy. The fans stand up angrily, defending their team with boos and insults against the refs. More fans get up to go, but still the real fans stay.

Then the impossible happens; Vanek and Cambell find a weak spot in the other team's defense. They shoot forward, no one standing between them and the net. The crowd roars, screaming encouragement as some pause pause half way to the door. Vanek scores, and the announcer's voice is almost drowned out in the cheers from the crowd. "He shoots, he scoooooores! Top shelf where mama hides the cookies!" The fans sit on the edges of their seats as the clock ticks down. Two minutes, then one. People are hoping and praying for a tying goal. Thirty seconds left. A break away- three on two for the Sabres. The defense races to catch up as the forward crosses into the offensive zone. Twenty seconds.

The fans yell, the same words on everyones lips. "Let's go Buffalo!"

Ten seconds. It's five on five now. The team does some quick passing. Four seconds. Vanek gets the puck behind the net and races around a defensman. Two seconds. He shoots. One second. The goal tender catches it in his glove as the buzzer sounds, ending the game. The fans deflate immediately, but as their team leaves the ice they stand and cheer. The players look up, saluting their fellow Buffalonians. There's another game tomorrow night.

feedback please? this is the first time i've written in this tense.

Cute.!

The Story of Ronee and Mittens.!

Once there was a black cat. She was about 8 years old. Her name was Mittens.She was a very nice cat.Mittens had silky black fur. The greenest eyes you have ever seen
A couple days ago, she was strolling streets. Mittens found a dragon named Ronee. He was very nice. The next day Ronee offered Mittens to fly with him. Mittens never flew before, so she said yes.
The next day they were flying, it was July Fourth 1996. It was Mittens bithday. Ronne met her at the ocean. The ocean was sparkling in the balzing sun. They flew over the ocean,they saw many beautiful things. they saw high grass swaying in the wind. they saw a crystal clear pond. Mittens and Ronee enjoyed these sites. It was almost sunset. Mittens had to get home.
They went flying atleast three times a week. Mittens and Ronee always had fun together. Mittens loved Ronee's red eyes. they reminded her her of red roses and tulips. He also had these bulging eyes. Mittens thought they were cute!
Three years later Mittens fell sick. She couldn't talk or move. Ronee was terrified. He didn't want her to die. One day, weeks later, she felt better. She went to go see Ronee,and then she never came back!
Mittens and Ronee went to explore the world. They had fun before, and they wanted for fun. They did have more fun they ever had in their life time! They lived together and they were happy toegther!

By
Victoria Hender

Jen A., Tree of Life

The Tree of Life was one and all. From it, all other life had spawned. Its sap could heal even the gravest injuries. Its leaves would be better protection than tempered steel. Ever since the dawn of creation the Tree of Life had been inspiration for writers and artists, invoking rich and wild dreams.
But times were changing. An eternity of life was coming to a close. The leaves withered and fell, poisoning whatever they touched. The sap went cold and brittle and eventually stopped flowing. The worlds brought into being by the branches were cut off as a deep cold enveloped the Tree of Life. After a bright and beautiful summer, winter had wrapped it's icy tendrils around all creation.
And yet, every life in the Tree fought to keep it alive whether they knew it or not. As new generations came and went, the Tree grew stronger, and after the harsh winter, it was able to shake off the soul-deep chill of death.
A time of new life was brought forth. Prosperity abounded and lush growth took over. Spring destroyed the last scars of winter. The healing sap flowed in generous supply and the leaves protected all life. Spirits soared as the Tree of Life glowed with beauty.
But the Tree knew what its people did not. The cruel shroud of winter would come again. The Tree also knew that it would survive. Its people would grow stronger with each passing era, knowing that they had withstood the treacherous First Year.

So, what do you think? Questions, complaints, concerns? This is an idea for a fantasy book I've been thinking about, and this would sort of be the prologue, I guess.

Morning Reading - Franklin Aquilina

Franklin did the morning reading this morning, sharing an essay by Marcus Mabry, titled "Living in Two Worlds."

After the reading, it was time to write. Franklin provided the following prompts:

Who or what has built a proud feeling within you?
Write about two contrasting worlds (examples, Wizard of Oz, Chronicles of Narnia, Elie Wiesel, Matrix, The Martian Chronicles).
Or, write whatever comes to mind.

Google Docs

So, Google has this cool web application that acts like Microsoft Word. You can create or upload a document, typity typity, save, and work on it wherever there is web access (home, school, the mall, the People's Republic of Andorra, etc.). It's free, and one of the many cool web applications that the Googs provide. Check it out.

2006 Teen Writing Workshop Anthology

If anyone's interested, I've uploaded a .pdf copy of last year's anthology. The quality is a bit less than desirable, as I had to shrink the file to upload it. Anyway, click here to have a look at the full sized version, or zoom around below for a general impression.

Picture of the Day

I noticed this sign on the top floor of the parking garage. Anyone have a night light?

A Few Notes from Today

Check Your Email! Each of you have been invited to join this blog. This will give you the ability to post stories, poems, pictures, etc. The purpose and format is posted in the sidebar. Feel free to read and comment on the work of others as these pieces are posted.

Remember, find the positives, and be constructive in your criticism. No flaming.

If you do not find an invitation in your mailbox, this means that some combination of funky handwriting and complex email addy construction has caused an error(This means you KurtVonnegutLuva99_ohboy!@msn.com). See me tomorrow so that I may remedy the situation.

Morning Readings! Slots are up for grabs. You are to try to find a reading that will elicit writing from your peers. This reading can be thought provoking, humorous, sad, whatever. Just make sure it's meaty and that you have some writing directions or a prompt in mind. Meredith has been brave enough to grab the chalk first, and has signed up for Thursday.

What, You No Like Arnold?

Today has been declared "Picture of Frank Flis Day"! So it is spoken, so shall it be. Here's FF opining on the trite nature of tension breaking mid carnage action movie humor (wow, say that eight times fast).

Morning Reading - Frank Flis

This morning Frank shared an excerpt from John Irving's memoir Trying to Save Piggy Sneed.
After listening to the memoir, the task was to take an event from your life, and change it.

Hey...test out this game if you get the chance...

Yesterday I spoke to you about a Flash game and a corresponding survey. Here's that game. Go play it if you wish, but it is PG-13-ish. So, if you're faint of heart, or concerned about your ability to handle a hostage situation, you may want to reconsider.

Play The Desperate Dad - Episode 1

Pictures From Day One

What a promising great day. Now that we're all settled in, let's get to work.



A Few Final Notes:

• The camp works best when everyone is on time. Try to arrive promptly at 9:30.
• From now on we will be located in room 303
• Lunch/snack time/nap time will take place from 11:15-11:45 (unless otherwise noted)
• We are looking for photographs and art to place in the anthology. So, if you take pictures, share them with us. Post them on the website (instructions to follow)

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