FaSho

Okay so in class, we have to right a daily journal everyday. My teacher tells a semi-famous quote, and we have to write a scenario based on that quote, then we share our writing. All my classmates say I'm a really good writer but i disagree, and i wanted to see what you guys think. If I get some posi feedback I'll post them daily, but first i'd like to post some older yet still recent ones.

November 12th, 2008
"Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby."
-Langston Hughes

"No." she said to herself as she attempted to finish her painting. "It can't rain now, I was so close." Her brush flies like a jet plane at unheard of speeds. Yes,her brush was a plane and she was the pilot. It was her first flight, but she'd clocked in endless hours of practice, mastering the turns and manuevers needed for a succesfel flight, but she'd never been prepared for a crash like this. The rain pounds down on her like a hammer nailing her into the boards of depression. Why couldn't she finish just one painting? Her masterpiece had become nothing by then, what took her hours was destroyed as quickly as she became confident she would finish. she violently curses the rain, hating the wet demons falling upon her. but then she imagined her children at home, probably playing in the puddles and having the time of their lives. So she began to thank the rain, because at least it was making someone happy.

I know it is terrible, so don't be afraid to tell me.

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khfreek

That was awesome. You actually strike me as a writer who would be better at poetry than prose.

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pianokeys

This isn't bad at all, it's quite good. I enjoyed.

Wifey Boozer

Y'know. I like this, FaSho. Given the quote I would've taken a different approach, but I like yours quite a bit. Agree with khfreek in that I think you'd be kick ass at poetry.

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... Stalin had a FANTASTIC moustache.

Formerly known as the Prime Minister of Spain.

[backintheubbr]

FaSho

Aww shucks, thanks guys.

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FaSho

More shat for you people who seem to like it.

December 3rd, 2008
"The woods are lovely, dark, and deep...and I have miles to go before i sleep."
-Robert Frost

Darkness begins to swallow me as the sun falls from it's etheral perch atop the trees. I wave goodbye to it, and it ignores me. Whatever, I'll see it again tommorow. I pull my flashlight out of a worn bag slung around my shoulders. The sun was guiding me to camp, but now I was on my own. I knew i had a limited anmount of time to return before the dark's frigid arms embraced me, and dragged me into the shadows. I trek on using memorized patterns of the starts to get home, but the stars seem to dissapear, and so does my confidence. The ever approaching night assimilates me into it's hysteria. I am lost I tell myself. no, can't be i try to reassure my shaking body. I lay down and give myself up to the darkness. Hopefully the sun would remember me in the morning, because she was all that could save me now.

Obviously I can't write in first-person for crap.

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FaSho

December 12, 2008
"Thought is only a flash between long nights, but this flash is everything."
-Henri Poncare

He was smart. Not just smart in the way that he always raised his hand in class, reaching for the stars to impress his uncaring instructors with his knowledge, but in a different sense, he knew how to do things, how to make beautiful art, and he knew the world. He was a vicious lion in the art room, attacking sculptures like someone would attack someone who has done them wrong. Always challenging himself. And even though he was so intelligent in skilled, his mind went blank when the clay was placed in front of him on that burning day; stunned. The hot sun beat down upon him like naysayers telling him what he can and can't accomplish. He wasn't like that. Tell him what to do and he wouldn't, but let him on his own and something amazing would form. So as he sat on the back porch of the art studio, he knew what he wanted to sculpt. The one person who'd helped him through everything. Unloving family, cruel school children, his own insanity, one person had always been there. Himself. The only one that ever really loved him. his greatest masterpiece would be that of his vain hero, the one that would never save anyone.

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khfreek

How the hell do you write these things O_o

And yeah, that first person one wasn't that good of a read.

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FaSho

i take this as a compliment?

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khfreek

Yes you do, I only know one kid in my own grade that even comes close, and it's not me

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