"Write to be understood, speak to be heard, read to grow." - Lawrence Clark Powell
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Don't forget to pick up your summer reading!
Period 1: Finish viewing Hamlet
Period 3: Our Town work
Period 5: Collaborative paper
Thought for the day... "There is more to life than increasing its speed."- Mohandas Gandhi
3 comments:
Justin, Dylan, and Philip
said...
Conversations of the Thought Process By Justin Smith, Philip Mayo, Dylan Frazier “So what are we going to write about,” I ask my two partners for this project. Philip Mayo, a short brown haired freshman as he turned on his iPod, and Dylan Frazier, a sophomore wearing a black and green shit with blue denim jeans. We were in creative writing class located in room Twenty-four of Woodsville High school. The last room on the right hand side if you come in through the main building. The room was a white cinderblock tomb, where the screams of writers block children could not be heard five feet outside of the dark wood door with only little square window inside. Our task was “supposedly” a simple one; we were tasked of getting into groups of two or three students and writing a one and a half page minimum story about anything. My partners, Dylan, Philip and myself were located in the bottom left hand corner of the room if your back was to the white board that was at the front of the room. “I don’t know, why not a poem,” Dylan questions as another student screams due to lack of any ideas. “Since I’m not in the mood to scream like she did.” There were three other groups besides us. Either to the left of me or in front of me across the white tiled floor, the group in front of us consisted of Austin a loud-mouthed brownnoser, who was currently wearing a white shirt with blue denim jeans, denim jeans is what almost everyone is currently wearing. They were thinking of what to do for the project when I returned to my blank computer. “How about we write a story,” I suggest with the weirdest of grins of my face, slightly twisted and angled to the left. “Yeah good idea,” Dylan comments as he turns on his iPod and listens Whoops I did it again by Children of Bodom. “What to write about however?” “How about writing about the process of thinking about what to write,” I suggest, everyone else grinning and laughing to my suggestion. “Great idea let’s do that,” Philip replies. Then a dark hole appeared behind us. Everyone turned and looked in our direction as they see the large gaping hole that just appear out of nowhere. “What’s that,” I ask looking inside only to find another person in there. Jumping out scared for my life I holler out. “WHO IN HECK ARE YOU.” “Don’t worry I’m you from the future,” the person exclaims. He did kind of look like me, except for the broken leg and eye patch. “I came to warn you that you shouldn’t write that story.” “Why,” Dylan ask as the portal stops generating a F-1 tornado style wind gust. “Because if you do, you shall break the space time continuum,” my future says. “SPACE TIME WHAT,” I yelled out confused. “SPEAK SOME BLOODY ENGLISH!” “If you continue to do this, you shall tear a hole in time like I just did,” he began trying to make sense out of this confusing subject. Everyone else who was in the room including the teacher, Mrs. Tyler, was on the floor passed out. “Instead of a pirate look like you will you get an army of walking iPod touches blaring speed metal, with Uzi attached to the place there the headphones would go. “Oh god that’s terrible,” Philip exclaimed shocked with this outcome. “So you don’t want us to take write this idea?” “Correct,” my future self exclaims as he gets back into the portal. “Just don’t write, ARGH!” And with, the portal closed and everyone else was still pasted out. The room was mess the only things that was standing were objects bolted down to the ground, and myself, Dylan, and Philip. We closed the laptop as it was all most time to go to six period, the last class of the day. “Well at least we got something good out of this,” Dylan exclaimed as we all walked to the door. “We didn’t have to write the paper.” “You know,” I started as the bell rang. “If we did write that, just saying if. That would be an incredibly cheap way out of writing a story.” Dylan and Philip nodded in agreement as they went of to there next class.
“ Taylor” Kasey shouted, “ I’ve got a boyfriend.” “ Awwwww”, squealed Taylor. “ How did it happen”? “ Well… you know how I’ve liked Ross for a long time. I think I might be getting over him. I like Michael way more and he asked me out last night when we went to Subway with Mandy and Kyle. It was the best night of my life.” Kasey said overjoyed. “Oh really? Well, I guess that’s a good idea because Ross has a girlfriend and he’s not planning on breaking up with her anytime soon.” Taylor replied. “Yeah, and I think Michael and I could last a long time. He’s such a sweet guy, and I really like him.” “How cute! I’m happy for you.” “Yeah, and you should of seen us when we were watching the movie. We were all cuddled up together, and he kissed me and said “We don’t have to worry about not being together anymore, if that’s okay with you?” I smiled and told him of course it’s okay. Taylor, it was so amazing. I’ve never felt this way about a guy before. I feel so connected with him already. He’s so funny; I’m constantly laughing when I’m around him.
Tears streamed down Kasey’s cheeks. She could feel her heart pounding against her chest, and she realized then how much it hurt. He was gone, she was alone, she loved him, but she had to let go. “So, you guy’s broke up? Why?” Said Taylor, aggravated and alarmed. “You don’t understand, everything was going wrong…we never got to be together alone, he was involved way too much with his friends, and we just got so sick of each other.” “You can’t work things out?” “No. Maybe in the future we’ll have another chance…it’s just a break anyway, yeah know.” She whispered. Taylor could tell that her best friend was broken, hurt. “Well, I hope you guy’s figure it out. You were happy with him.” Kasey said nothing. She looked down at her binder, and could see the tear still dripping from her red sore eyes. Taylor sat there with her friend, confused, and worried for her friend. There was nothing else she could do.
I can’t escape it. It’s all I see when I close my eyes. I only see little pieces of this event, and I can’t seem to remember anything else but this. I have to go through hours of intense hypno-therapy, and none of it seems to be working. I am in the waiting room of this crowded hospital. Four deathly white walls surround me. The people around me seem to have more problems than I do. I try to relax and read a magazine, but they’re old news, from years ago, and I want to take a nap, but the chairs here are awful and uncomfortable, it’s like trying to cut yourself with a finger nail. “We’re ready for you Braelyn.” Dr. Knehr said. I got up from my hard, discomforting chair, and followed the tall, brown haired, slim, doctor into the room where I would under go, yet another two-hour session. I reached the room and took a seat on a brown leather couch. “Just relax, clear your mind.” His voice was soothing and safe. I started to fade into a deep sleep, and his voice got weaker and weaker. “Okay Braelyn, I want you to take me back to the night of the incident, and describe to me everything that you see.”
I was walking home after school, and I didn’t go my usual way, I took a short cut, on a four-wheel path. It was beautiful, and the forest smelled like pine needles, and the fresh scent of daisies. It was perfect. I was listening to my iPod and I didn’t hear the sound of death approaching me. I felt a tug on my shoulder and I was lifted into the air and thrown into the back of a car. I felt blind not seeing anything around me; I was blind folded without warning. I started to scream. “Shut up.” I heard a harsh, sharp voice yell, from what it seemed to be, right beside me.
3 comments:
Conversations of the Thought Process
By
Justin Smith, Philip Mayo, Dylan Frazier
“So what are we going to write about,” I ask my two partners for this project. Philip Mayo, a short brown haired freshman as he turned on his iPod, and Dylan Frazier, a sophomore wearing a black and green shit with blue denim jeans.
We were in creative writing class located in room Twenty-four of Woodsville High school. The last room on the right hand side if you come in through the main building. The room was a white cinderblock tomb, where the screams of writers block children could not be heard five feet outside of the dark wood door with only little square window inside. Our task was “supposedly” a simple one; we were tasked of getting into groups of two or three students and writing a one and a half page minimum story about anything. My partners, Dylan, Philip and myself were located in the bottom left hand corner of the room if your back was to the white board that was at the front of the room.
“I don’t know, why not a poem,” Dylan questions as another student screams due to lack of any ideas. “Since I’m not in the mood to scream like she did.”
There were three other groups besides us. Either to the left of me or in front of me across the white tiled floor, the group in front of us consisted of Austin a loud-mouthed brownnoser, who was currently wearing a white shirt with blue denim jeans, denim jeans is what almost everyone is currently wearing. They were thinking of what to do for the project when I returned to my blank computer.
“How about we write a story,” I suggest with the weirdest of grins of my face, slightly twisted and angled to the left.
“Yeah good idea,” Dylan comments as he turns on his iPod and listens Whoops I did it again by Children of Bodom. “What to write about however?”
“How about writing about the process of thinking about what to write,” I suggest, everyone else grinning and laughing to my suggestion.
“Great idea let’s do that,” Philip replies.
Then a dark hole appeared behind us. Everyone turned and looked in our direction as they see the large gaping hole that just appear out of nowhere.
“What’s that,” I ask looking inside only to find another person in there. Jumping out scared for my life I holler out. “WHO IN HECK ARE YOU.”
“Don’t worry I’m you from the future,” the person exclaims. He did kind of look like me, except for the broken leg and eye patch. “I came to warn you that you shouldn’t write that story.”
“Why,” Dylan ask as the portal stops generating a F-1 tornado style wind gust.
“Because if you do, you shall break the space time continuum,” my future says.
“SPACE TIME WHAT,” I yelled out confused. “SPEAK SOME BLOODY ENGLISH!”
“If you continue to do this, you shall tear a hole in time like I just did,” he began trying to make sense out of this confusing subject. Everyone else who was in the room including the teacher, Mrs. Tyler, was on the floor passed out. “Instead of a pirate look like you will you get an army of walking iPod touches blaring speed metal, with Uzi attached to the place there the headphones would go.
“Oh god that’s terrible,” Philip exclaimed shocked with this outcome. “So you don’t want us to take write this idea?”
“Correct,” my future self exclaims as he gets back into the portal. “Just don’t write, ARGH!”
And with, the portal closed and everyone else was still pasted out. The room was mess the only things that was standing were objects bolted down to the ground, and myself, Dylan, and Philip. We closed the laptop as it was all most time to go to six period, the last class of the day.
“Well at least we got something good out of this,” Dylan exclaimed as we all walked to the door. “We didn’t have to write the paper.”
“You know,” I started as the bell rang. “If we did write that, just saying if. That would be an incredibly cheap way out of writing a story.”
Dylan and Philip nodded in agreement as they went of to there next class.
Austin Albro
Katie Hilliard
Teasha Beatrice
The Beginning
“ Taylor” Kasey shouted, “ I’ve got a boyfriend.”
“ Awwwww”, squealed Taylor. “ How did it happen”?
“ Well… you know how I’ve liked Ross for a long time. I think I might be getting over him. I like Michael way more and he asked me out last night when we went to Subway with Mandy and Kyle. It was the best night of my life.” Kasey said overjoyed.
“Oh really? Well, I guess that’s a good idea because Ross has a girlfriend and he’s not planning on breaking up with her anytime soon.” Taylor replied.
“Yeah, and I think Michael and I could last a long time. He’s such a sweet guy, and I really like him.”
“How cute! I’m happy for you.”
“Yeah, and you should of seen us when we were watching the movie. We were all cuddled up together, and he kissed me and said “We don’t have to worry about not being together anymore, if that’s okay with you?” I smiled and told him of course it’s okay. Taylor, it was so amazing. I’ve never felt this way about a guy before. I feel so connected with him already. He’s so funny; I’m constantly laughing when I’m around him.
Tears streamed down Kasey’s cheeks. She could feel her heart pounding against her chest, and she realized then how much it hurt. He was gone, she was alone, she loved him, but she had to let go.
“So, you guy’s broke up? Why?” Said Taylor, aggravated and alarmed.
“You don’t understand, everything was going wrong…we never got to be together alone, he was involved way too much with his friends, and we just got so sick of each other.”
“You can’t work things out?”
“No. Maybe in the future we’ll have another chance…it’s just a break anyway, yeah know.” She whispered. Taylor could tell that her best friend was broken, hurt.
“Well, I hope you guy’s figure it out. You were happy with him.”
Kasey said nothing. She looked down at her binder, and could see the tear still dripping from her red sore eyes. Taylor sat there with her friend, confused, and worried for her friend. There was nothing else she could do.
The Memory
Sarah, Kim, Jake
6/10/09
I can’t escape it. It’s all I see when I close my eyes. I only see little pieces of this event, and I can’t seem to remember anything else but this. I have to go through hours of intense hypno-therapy, and none of it seems to be working. I am in the waiting room of this crowded hospital. Four deathly white walls surround me. The people around me seem to have more problems than I do. I try to relax and read a magazine, but they’re old news, from years ago, and I want to take a nap, but the chairs here are awful and uncomfortable, it’s like trying to cut yourself with a finger nail.
“We’re ready for you Braelyn.” Dr. Knehr said.
I got up from my hard, discomforting chair, and followed the tall, brown haired, slim, doctor into the room where I would under go, yet another two-hour session.
I reached the room and took a seat on a brown leather couch.
“Just relax, clear your mind.” His voice was soothing and safe.
I started to fade into a deep sleep, and his voice got weaker and weaker.
“Okay Braelyn, I want you to take me back to the night of the incident, and describe to me everything that you see.”
I was walking home after school, and I didn’t go my usual way, I took a short cut, on a four-wheel path. It was beautiful, and the forest smelled like pine needles, and the fresh scent of daisies. It was perfect.
I was listening to my iPod and I didn’t hear the sound of death approaching me. I felt a tug on my shoulder and I was lifted into the air and thrown into the back of a car. I felt blind not seeing anything around me; I was blind folded without warning. I started to scream.
“Shut up.” I heard a harsh, sharp voice yell, from what it seemed to be, right beside me.
Post a Comment