Creative Writing Essays

Personal Statement 2) Every person has a creative side, and it can be expressed in many ways: problem-solving, original and innovative thinking, and artistically, to name a few. Describe how you express your creative side. Because of the bedtime stories my dad would read my siblings and me, the love for books and the scenes the authors could create began to feed my imagination. Nonetheless, my creative side actually emerged in Seventh Grade English/Creative Writing class. This one assignment impacted

in most cases, this is a very inefficient way of writing a text and offers several methods that can improve the creative process of writing any text. When writing any piece of text, the internal editor can impede the creative process. Peter Elbow postulates that writers can get tangled in a web of editing and revising when producing a sentence or a paragraph. “Most people experience an awkward and sometimes paralyzing translating process in writing: ’Let's see, how shall I say this.’ Freewriting helps

problem with my ego. Sure, I know that just because I may find the work that I do to be amazing, doesn 't mean that everyone will think that my writing pieces are the best and hold it up for the world to see. But how in the world did I get into Intro to Creative Writing? Am I so untalented that I 'm forced to relearn the bedrock, the basic necessities of writing. I don 't think so. " I don 't think that it 's that big of a deal, " my friend Lua chided into her coffee, " If you 're knowledgeable of

prominent part of my life. Writing stories, however had always been an impossible challenge, until I met Mr. Preston. He was slim man, about five-foot seven, with sparse buzzed white hair and a cleanly trimmed and shaven silvery beard. He became my mentor at Manlius Pebble Hill, supporting me in every endeavor, nagging me about my slowly slipping math grades, but most importantly teaching me how to write. I had gone to writing camps, joined writing clubs, even took a creative writing seminar, but I still

This semester, in Introduction to English Studies, I took part in various types of assignments that are found within the English major at Eastern. These assignments, while not in-depth, were meant to exercise my analytical, rhetorical, and creative writing skills. I have decided upon three assignments that I believe highlight not only my interests and strengths, but those that also the most relevant to what I will be experiencing during my last year at Eastern. The three assignments I have chosen

such as Robert Oppenheimer. As I grew, I realized I wanted to learn how to immerse people in the way that I was when reading. I started writing, and two unique strengths have begun to shine through: my analytical writing and my creative writing. While reading, I take thorough notes, and this helps me to express well thought-out ideas. I also enjoy creative writing, and I believe this enjoyment is what makes it a strength. Creating stories and going outside the box is something in which I consider

The Outsiders Sequel When I turned in my essay, my English teacher looked at my work in surprise. He flipped through my 7 pages of writing, and then set it on his desk. He said I could leave for the day, and that he would grade it as soon as he could. It was almost four o’clock, and Darry would kill me if I didn’t come home by four thirty. He didn’t want anything to happen to me again. He didn’t want me to have a fate like Johnny’s. Don’t think about it, I said to myself. Johnny has been dead awhile

fictional stories that I develop and the characters that go along with them. Because of this, I inspire to become a director, producer, and/or a scriptwriter for my own series rather than an author, but that’s another goal, too. My passion for creative writing stemmed from fourth grade, where I saw my group of friends and I as heroes, saving the world and conquering evil. Although I am no longer in contact with most of them, I still continue to develop the characters I based off of them to shape their

It was a typical snowy day in 4th grade at Kaneland John Stewart. I was in the classroom, listening to my teacher, Mrs.Scardamaglia read the novel, Wonder. I was having my snack. I had my hand raised because I had to go to the bathroom, but the teacher didn 't notice! It was the end of the read aloud and my teacher finally saw my hand. "Yes, Steven?" Mrs. Scardamaglia remarked "May I go to the bathroom?" I requested "Yes, you may go to the bathroom," Mrs.Scardamaglia responded

“We think we 're the center of the universe. We think everything revolves around us.”-(Riley Matthews, Girl Meets World) For the past month now, I have thought about what my story would be. The answer to that question still has not come, but it 's okay because the truth is my story is not just my story. It involves a lot more people than just me and how I will use it in the future. First thing first, however, we have to start at the beginning. When I was born I came a month earlier than expected

“It can’t be,” Rivka says, sneering; sweating, she’ll leave pit stains in my jacket. She reaches for me. “Shlomi,” she says, “a word?” I try to shake Rivka off, but her fingers dig into my skin. She drags me into the kitchen, then the pantry; she is strong, my wife. “I know that woman,” she says, as if admitting a terrible sin. “So?” I say, prying her hand off my arm, finger by finger. Rivka begins picking at the split ends of her curls. Without looking up, she says, “I think I brought that woman

from Hell itself, complete with imaginary wounds that bled – no, oozed – profusely. I mean, what better way to try and answer the Common Application’s prompt, which was a boring and broad “Describe a character in fiction, a historical figure, or a creative work (as in art, music, science, etc.) that has had an influence on you, and explain that

Metamorphosis creative writing Rose awoke from her peaceful slumber. Never before had she had such a peaceful, enlightening dreams in all of her life. As she began to gain consciousness, Rose was shocked at the state which she had found herself in. Her room, or what once was her room, familiar to her as four broken down walls with a dirty mattress found on the floor, had now been found to be completely destroyed and turned into nothing but rubble. Instead of where her mattress once lay, her legs

Oz Porter stared down the thickly wooded slope, his gaze fixed on the endless panorama of green. Trees, swaying in the slight breeze. The place had a definite odor, the sweet freshness of pine. He breathed it all in, savoring the familiar tang, the underlying musty aroma of undergrowth and leaf mold. Slowly disintegrating into mulch that would carpet the forest floor and nurture the new growth. He called this place home. It wasn’t home. Home was the small town of Copperville, but they’d been forced

The Heir Jasmine Kuang, Vansky Wan, Ash Xiong 11E (Kendrick, the previous king of Patra, was an awful ruler who disregarded most state affairs while indulged himself in women. He used to pay frequent visits to a brothel, and fell for a whore called Rebecca who is enchanting and seductive. Shortly after, Rebecca was pregnant. However, since she wanted her son to live a luxury life, she secretly exchanged her son with the prince, Queen Katelyn's newborn child. Rebecca named

“Duck!” the boatman yells at me. I bend over, and I feel a wind blow over my back. I look up, and I see a transparent figure zoom past me. “The spirits will try to take control of whatever body they can possess on the way to the River Styx. Once they go forward though, there’s no turning back,” the boatman tells me. “Thank you,” I say to him. “No problem, Miss,” he replies. “Though, I don’t imagine lord Pluto would be too happy though if I returned his bride possessed with another’s spirit.”

Luke let a huff, mostly out of frustration, which escaped his lips. He and Wayfarer had been traveling for what seemed and felt like almost hours and now they 'd found themselves in a very, dark and rather scary looking place. He 'd watched as the countryside scenery around them suddenly changed. Morphing into much deeper, darker, shaded wood ones. Where the tree 's nearly almost had no leaves covering their, thin scraggly branches. Each of them he discovered looked like twisted and grotesque fingers

“The mammoth vanished overnight in May. The Viking Ship has run aground. The graffiti-covered T. rex has been lying on its side for years, its puny arms aloft. Swan-shaped gondolas lie scattered in the undergrowth, the occasional head poking above the weeds. The Old England village’s mock-Tudor buildings are charred from a fire in the summer, and the Wild West Village is merely a pile of rubble. Walking around Berlin’s Spreepark, which has been abandoned since 2001, is like a stroll through a post-apocalyptic

You wake up with sirens surrounding your weak body. You try to open your eyes to see what happened, but a burning sensation digs into them with immense force. Your body is sweating, weak, and confused. You try to stay awake, but an ocean wave of uncontrollable pain washes over your body, through your bones, draining any last hope of staying conscious. This time you wake to a sharp, pulsing pain in the left side of your head. You try to move, but every single one of your muscles seems paralyzed

Have you ever wondered if there were eyes watching you? Well, I, Bailey Sea, suffer from hallucinations (seeing things that aren’t there). I see eyes in the shadows that could really be there, but when I point them out, other people think I’m crazy. They tease me because what I see isn’t real. I sometimes can’t handle the teasing because it’s constant! I feel as if I 'm the only one in the universe who sees the eyes that haunt me, as if I’m the only one who feels this way, as if I’m the only one