Creative Writing Portfolio

[Mr_Adam]

I've decided to take this thread and create a portfolio of sorts out of it - a collection on works from my creative writing class - a class I took to force myself to write these things - to publish here on the forum, and update as the year progresses.

So, whether they're read or not, most of the things I write for class will be posted here for everyone. Enjoy, if you will :^_^:

 

Also, any non story notes will be bolded before the actual writing.

 

Dates:

March 21: I haven't updated this in a while, and I've written some new things and edited some older ones. Added Dreams of a Sailor, Wanderlust and edited versions of Untitled (now: His Mother's Garden) and The Mistress Night.

 

 

[hide=Short Story - His Mother's Garden]

The goal of this was to create a connectable character, in this case John Constantine (although I suppose Dr. Tenenbaum could partially fit the mold as well).

 

Replaced the original with the final edit, March 21. I think it's a lot better, personally.

 

Travis Williams worked at the local pharmacy that was twenty minutes away, and had no real plans beyond that. His friends were moving up in the world, however, as they approached their final day of high school; it was almost time for them to leave their little village and see the city, see America, see the World. His father had left him before Travis could tell you what he looked like, and his mothers health was degrading more and more as time went on. These days, she spent her time in her garden improving upon her already prize worthy plants, and keeping her both occupied and happy. Travis would come home and work with her, and as long as he had her, he was happy.

 

But then she died.

 

The funeral was sad and short. Marthas friends came and left quickly, politely giving their condolences to their friends son. Travis friends came to say goodbye not only to her but to him as well it was time to see the city, see America, see the world.

Travis gave his eulogy. It was short and painful to hear. He looked down as he read it, and his voice never faltered or broke from a quiet, depressed monotone. Following his speech was his neighbors, Dr. Rachel Strauss. She had come to know Travis and Martha very well over several years, yet went mostly unnoticed by the rest of the crowd. She kept her head up during her speech, but was crying deep down not only for her lost friend Martha, but for herself as well.

And then, not too long after, everybody left. And Travis was left all alone.

His relatives stayed with him for a little while. They told him that he ought to see the city, see America, see the world. They told him that even though he didnt do great in school, he could still go to college. Travis ignored these suggestions, and fell into a routine of going to work and coming home mostly silently. When his relatives had to leave, he gave them solemn thanks and wished them goodbye (though he really wished they could stay). They left with the best hopes, but the worst expectations. Travis, now fully alone, did what he could do to remember his mother: he worked in the garden.

Travis had no idea what he was doing in his mothers garden. He never really did much of the work with his mother in the garden, but being there made them both so happy, and he hoped that now he could reclaim some of that lost happiness. And so, day after day, he began to work with the flowers until they withered and were picked. Aimlessly, he would move from one section of flowers to the next, until the whole yard became dry.

The retired Dr. Rachel Strauss watched as, everyday, the boy she had known since his childhood regressed deeper and deeper into his depression, endlessly gardening to try and find or feel something. She knew what he must be feeling Strauss earned the title of doctor in the field of psychology, primarily dealing with depressed victims. It made her happier than anything to take a person without any hope and restore a beacon of light and solidity. Yet Strauss had had too many people quit on her and deny the thought of regaining any hope. Strauss didnt want to admit it, but that had affected her more than she would have liked. The rare success wasnt enough to counteract the crippling stress of a complete failure. Dr. Rachel Strauss was led to believe that maybe her patients were better off without her, sorting out their own problems. And so she retired, moved to the untroubled society of the country, and mostly kept to herself.

She watched as Travis pulled up every flower in his mothers once beautiful garden, and yet stood by and did nothing. She had her thoughts, and hated seeing him in such a depressing state, but figured that soon his flower-picking would work and that he would find a new source of happiness. Even as he began to intrude upon her garden, she allowed it, preferring to spy and keep personal tabs on Travis rather than to confront him herself.

Travis Williams hadnt noticed that his gardening wasnt exactly his anymore. His life followed a general routine now work (his boss had kept him his job up to now out of sympathy, but Travis knew that it wasnt going to last), come home, garden. He would work in the garden until he couldnt see, and then go inside to eat and fall asleep. Repeat. He didnt talk much, and his expression was vacant and disconnected.

One day, during part three of Traviss routine, Dr. Strauss was, as usual, looking out at Travis over the book that she wasnt really reading. It made her sad, seeing him shuffle about without emotion or purpose, like a zombie. She couldnt bear to see him like this day after day, yet she didnt think she could take it if she tried to help him. She didnt want to be there if he decided that he didnt want to be there.

But she knew that she couldnt leave him like that. She knew she couldnt sit by and pretend to read until he ran out of flowers to destroy. She couldnt. She took a breath, put down her book, and opened her door.

Travis didnt give any notice, despite how close to her door his work had become. He remained focused, an almost glazed look in his eyes, barely blinking in his work. Dr. Rachel Strauss watched him for a moment, then got on her knees to his level and hugged him. Im so sorry, she said.

And, for the first time in months, Travis Williams cried, and he cried well past the point where it hurt, the point where his tears blinded him. Strauss held on, silent.

And Travis Williams realized that he wasnt alone anymore, and Dr. Rachel Strauss realized that she wasnt going to leave him or anybody else to fight alone any longer. Travis knew now that maybe it was time for him to move on as well, to see the city, see America, see the world. He wasnt happy, not like he had been before, but he wasnt alone anymore.

[/hide]

 

[hide=Short Story - Perfect Void]

The goal of this story was to create suspense. Admittedly, I think I may have hit the ground running with this story, but I still enjoy it. Scaring people with writing is definitely hard! Also, limitations on the forum limit some of the House of Leaves type of style that I tried to implement.

 

 

I woke; sweating from a nightmare I couldnt remember. That was unimportant. Something else was wrong. I couldnt tell, but something was terribly wrong.

I turned on the bedside lamp, and the light was blinding.

Slowly,

the light became

smaller and smaller

until it was gone.

 

I opened my eyes.

Nothing.

 

I was blind completely and hopelessly blind. The light from the moon, from the bathroom, from my daughters room, all gone. I reached in front of me tentatively.

 

Nothing.

 

Not even the feeling of the air against my skin. I reached over to touch my wife, to assure myself that she was asleep, that I was asleep, and that this was just another nightmare that would be forgotten when I woke up.

 

Nothing.

 

Not even the other half of the bed. I was alone in the void.

Blind and alone.

Karen! Eva! I yelled. Or did I? I heard nothing. Only felt the rough in my throat.

The bed disappeared. I fell through four feet of nothing onto my tailbone. They say you cant feel pain in a dream, yet the pain exploded throughout my body and made me teary-eyed. It was unbearable thousands of times worse than it would be in the normal, in the light.

The floor was the only feeling besides the pain. It was cold. It was moving with a rhythmic, inviting feel. It was - I could swear it - alive. Thin tendrils crept around my hands and feet, trying to take me to the void, to take me to sleep forever

I pulled free and stood. The pain in my lower back continued, unyielding, unremorseful. I could hear again not my own gasps or wheezes, only footsteps. Low like heartbeats, and getting quicker, louder, HEAVIER.

I ran. Blindly, into the unknown,

(the void)

I ran.

 

 

 

Faster,

Faster,

Faster,

Faster,

Faster,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

STOP.

 

Pain erupted across my face murderous, death-defying pain. I screamed in agony, only to receive the satisfaction of more of this nightmarish amplified pain in my throat. Blood flew freely into my open mouth and made me gag.

I fell, choking and spitting and yelling and writhing in the perfect darkness, the perfect silence the void. Too weak to resist, too weak to stand, I felt the cold, inviting tendrils of the floor begin to creep up and grab

my legs,

my knees,

my thighs,

my back,

my arms,

my neck,

my head,

my mouth,

until I couldnt breathe, couldnt move, couldnt feel, couldnt open my dead eyes.

 

All I could do was think.

 

 

And then it all disappeared.

 

 

 

Afterword:

 

Im not really sure what happens to Kevin, Karen, and Eva Fitzpatrick. One part of my mind says that Kevin is having a terrible nightmare, and will soon wake up and continue to be troubled in a larger story. Another idea is that this is the creative torture of some ethereal demon or being, and Kevin is probably screwed. Either way, I cant think of a way for Kevin to end up. All I know is that after everything disappears, he falls. He still cant see, despite the fact that his eyes work fine, and he cant feel the air that he knows hes falling through, but he falls all the same. To me right now, its a cliffhanger as well (although he is falling), probably more so than to the reader. Maybe someday in the future Ill find this, think its awful, and then fill in the gaps.

[/hide]

 

[hide=Short Story - Buddy the Bandit]

This was based off an unknown, elderly bank robber on the FBI internet wanted list. I wrote it for class, so it's rushed and not well cared for to be honest. But I typed it out, dammit, so it's being added!

 

I watched painfully as Buddy slowly came towards the counter. It was awkward, to say the least. The forty foot distance all in all was looking to be a half minute ordeal, but I felt rude to stare at him, so I looked away. Then I felt rude again and went back to staring and waiting awkwardly. I smiled and waved, then instantly regretted it because Buddy, despite being twenty feet away, he still had a good fifteen seconds of time to kill before reaching the counter, and he refused to talk to me before he arrived. I died a little inside, watching and waiting, and my eye slightly twitched, involuntarily.

 

Good evening, Noelle, he said to me (it was three thirty in the afternoon, for the record). Buddys old voice complimented his oldness perfectly. He quite possibly could be the model for the senior stereotype.

 

Hello Buddy, I chirped. Are you here to pick up your prescriptions?

Yes maam, he replied, nodding his shaky head. Heres the form.

 

He handed me a form signed by his doctor. He didnt really need it, the drugs were prescribed over years, probably to kindly say till death, and the only reason he had to keep coming back on a weekly basis was because he had so many drugs to pick up. According to the government, picking up more than three pounds of pills a week is reason to be arrested with intention to distribute. Hell, Buddy could be saving all these pills and making a killing off of punk teenagers looking for a weak buzz.

I checked his form lazily and handed it back to him. Here you go Buddy, I said. Ill go grab your meds now, if you can just wait here for a sec.

Ok Miss Noelle, he answered with a smile. Take your time.

 

I did, though not on purpose. The pills were right in front, ready for this exact moment as of yesterday. While picking them up, I got a very important text. I placed the pills down and responded, then stared at my phone blankly for a few minutes before I got the response. I re-responded, snapped the phone shut and returned to Buddy with his pills.

 

Here you go Buddy, seven days worth of pills too strong to sell in bulk. Do you want a bag?

Yes please, and Id also like to take this Snickers bar with me.

Good for you Buddy! I take it the dentures you got are working well?

Yes they are, thanks for asking! I havent had chompers like these since the First Great War.

Oh really? My interest performance was spot on. I even stopped bagging to hear him ramble on about Nazi this, two hundred confirmed kills that.

Yes, he finished, what I wouldnt give to be back in the action of things back in the good ol days.

Of course, I replied. My phone buzzed quietly in my pocket and I itched for Buddy to leave.

Oh! he said, looking up towards the digital clock. Look at the time! Id best head home before the misses starts to worry. He laughed with a large grin at this.

Well then, good to see you Buddy, heres your bag. Enjoy the rest of your day. I shooed him out and flipped my phone open. Buddy walked out, quicker than he had walked in, it seemed, humming red white and blue tunes to himself.

 

I immediately flipped my phone back open to read the new text I had received, and became completely taken by that for the next hour. I looked back up to make sure my boss wasnt coming, and saw the register in front of me. It hit me then that I had forgotten to put Buddys money in it. I checked the counter to pick up the money I was sure Buddy would have left. There wasnt any money there, only the discarded wrapper of a Snickers chocolate bar.

[/hide]

 

[hide=Sonnet (Italian) - The Mistress Night]

We've been on poetry for a good while in class now, but I haven't really written them very well (we've been focusing a while on formal, poetry). I like this one, and I may as well post it.

 

Replaced the original with a final copy, March 21

 

I hear the silent calling from the night;

She beckons me to join her flightless wings.

Her crystal voice enchants and wills and sings,

And tells me that her darkened halls are right.

I turn my head to sky and see the light,

Arrayed in boundless spheres eternal rings.

They shine through darkness like radiant kings

Were I to die, Id wish no other sight.

And so, her wings, enveloped over all,

Begin to draw me closer to her hold.

I walk towrds open doors and empty halls,

Towrds life and death, towrds blistring heat and cold.

And when I take my final step, I fall

Into the Mistress Nights eternal folds.

[/hide]

 

[hide=Poem - Dreams of a Sailor]

I wrote this quickly in class for an exercise where we had certain words to use. This is the final edit I used for my final portfolio

 

The Sailor has been silent and tense of late.

He has dreams of fire and fatal lightning

That strike and crack the earth where his body lies.

He cringes as demons spill from that ancient gate

And overrun the fields where the mice had played.

 

But The Sailor knows his quest and knows it well.

The songs he learned as a child carry him

Over oceans and peaks to the end of the earth,

Where hell wind up at the frozen gates of Hell,

With the face of Death the final foe to fell.

 

Though the demons and the fire make him shiver,

Hell do anything to bring back his lost love.

And the warnings of his dreams are not enough;

Theres nothing they can do to make him differ -

For Her, hed see his blood replace a river.

[/hide]

 

[hide=Acrostic - Wanderlust]

I like it. From a while ago. The word is my name.

 

Alone in a field of flowers and stars, but I

Dont mind. I was first to

Arrive, and, once again, Ill be the last to leave.

Maybe next time, however, Ill stay longer.

 

Gallows are empty, the world has moved on.

Life has taken over;

Enveloped what was once important.

No longer visible under the flowers, under the stars,

No longer important

 

Wanderlust overtakes me, its time to pass the

Hills onto what is next.

I walk away from the oasis,

The endless

Night sky and the

Endless sea of flowers.

Yet deep down I feel happy.

[/hide]

[aeternitatis]

I liked it. I like the "see America, see the world" repetitions. At a few parts I don't like the words you've chosen (E.G. "there was nothing that could block her from that fatal blow"), I would have used shielded or something else, but I guess that's just personal preference. :P

 

You could have went more in-depth with his relationship with his mother, since the story pretty much revolves around that and you don't really see much interactions between the two characters. Something I'm learning from the Poetry section of my (online) Writer's Craft course is to use words that invoke emotions in the reader. You could have done that to the "see America, see the world" part; perhaps by involving the mother in that line? I don't know haha, I liked it, but there's room for improvement. (Then again there always is haha)

 

Good job, let me know what the teacher thought. :thumbup:

[aeternitatis]

Damn, The Void was great. I almost felt chills.

You didn't let me know what your teacher thought of the short story... :unsure:

[Mr_Adam]

Damn, The Void was great. I almost felt chills.

You didn't let me know what your teacher thought of the short story... :unsure:

 

Thanks! I just got the first grade back today - I got a 100 :^_^: The Void (lol I don't like my titles) will be handed in tomorrow, and I'll post my grade when I receive that back.

 

I have to write a full length short story next, concerning being lost on an island. That will probably take a long time (it's not due until the 27th), and I just got the prompt today. Unfortunately, all I can think of is Lost. >_>

[Earth_Poet]

"It was short, it was pitiful, it was quiet." Grammatically speaking, this is a comma splice, though I get the rhythm you continually try to convey. There are a couple of ways to fix this:

 

It was short. It was pitiful. It was quiet.

It was short, pitiful, and quiet.

 

Keep in mind to create a consistent point of view. It jumps back and forth between John and Martha a little too erratically. Maybe divide it into sections to distinguish the two viewpoints.

 

Think about adding some more imagery to the story. For example, the time spent in the garden would give an excellent opportunity for some olfactory descriptions. What color were the flowers? Can you use any metaphors to describe the garden? Speaking of imagery, what do your characters look like?

 

Speaking of the garden, it is such an excellent symbol throughout the story. Maybe the ending should include the garden returning to life?

 

You do an excellent job of using short and long sentences for rhythm and impact. I also did enjoy the repetition as Realize pointed out. Not only did the repetition create emphasis for the isolation, but it connected John and Martha very well. It's difficult to create an empathetic character in such a short story, but I think you managed pretty well. You deserved your "A". I would suggest revising it to clean it up in some places and submitting it for publication, but if you do just make sure to change the character names.

[Mr_Adam]

[hide]

"It was short, it was pitiful, it was quiet." Grammatically speaking, this is a comma splice, though I get the rhythm you continually try to convey. There are a couple of ways to fix this:

 

It was short. It was pitiful. It was quiet.

It was short, pitiful, and quiet.

 

Keep in mind to create a consistent point of view. It jumps back and forth between John and Martha a little too erratically. Maybe divide it into sections to distinguish the two viewpoints.

 

Think about adding some more imagery to the story. For example, the time spent in the garden would give an excellent opportunity for some olfactory descriptions. What color were the flowers? Can you use any metaphors to describe the garden? Speaking of imagery, what do your characters look like?

 

Speaking of the garden, it is such an excellent symbol throughout the story. Maybe the ending should include the garden returning to life?

 

You do an excellent job of using short and long sentences for rhythm and impact. I also did enjoy the repetition as Realize pointed out. Not only did the repetition create emphasis for the isolation, but it connected John and Martha very well. It's difficult to create an empathetic character in such a short story, but I think you managed pretty well. You deserved your "A". I would suggest revising it to clean it up in some places and submitting it for publication, but if you do just make sure to change the character names. [/hide]

 

Thanks a lot ^_^ I have to review previous works towards then end of the class (late winter), and I'll be sure to take this into consideration when I look back to this. I've noticed I do tend to comma splice a bit often. And yes, the names were essentially ripped from a) Sandman by Neil Gaiman (Constantine) and b) Bioshock (Tenenbaum) - I had to force myself not to use Bridget. They worked though, lol.

 

 

 

Also, I've finished my Island Short Story! Even if it's not my best overall, I'm very pleased with it. I don't think it will be posted, sorry to say. It's simply too long (12 full pages, mostly single spaced, and 5,996 words). I'll be sure to put up some other things, however.

[Mr_Adam]

I posted a Sonnet!