Okay so this is the first part, I'd really appricate any comments. Thanks.
Drip, drip, drip. The beat of the weather. The gray dismal fog rolls over the ashen white trees. Sway, sway, sway. The trees go back and forth. The yel-.
“Ms. Fantasia,” Mr. Jones’s claw-like hand tapped on my desk, interrupting my daydreaming out the window.
“Oh Mr. Jones…Hi.” I stammered, looking into his hawk-like face, his bushy eyebrows made his sharp, blue eyes hardly visible.
“Weren’t you listening to my fascinating lecture on pre-algebra?”
“Well…No.” I heard my class’s smothered giggles.
“Ms. Fantasia,” His sharp tone was getting more exasperated by the second. “This is the third time this week. You’re lucky this is the last day of school or I would send a message to your parents.”
“Yes sir.” I mumbled, fingering my dirty blond ponytail, I could my brown eyes flashing defiantly. In all my twelve years, I never came across a man like that.
Satisfied, Mr. Jones strode back to the front and continued his deathly boring lecture.
After about two minutes the end-of-school bell rung. We all grabbed our backpacks and gleefully rushed out of the room.
“Sis!” My 14 year old sister, Marcie called, flipping her stylish, curly blond hair. A lot of girls swamed around her because she is the most popular girl at Greenwest Jr. High. Her talking to me at school piqued my curiosity.
“What is it?” I asked, as I tried to weave through all the school kids and their parents.
“I just got a phone-call from mom.” Marcie started as soon as I made it to her. “Grandma just died and we’re going to her place for the funeral.”
Lizzywriter's Writing
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Lizzywriter
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Lizzywriter's Writing
Last edited by Lizzywriter on Tue Nov 06, 2012 2:42 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Let no one despise your youth, but be an example in conduct, in love, in spirit, in faith, and in purity.
1 Timmothy 4:12
1 Timmothy 4:12
Wow! You're really talented. The bushy eyebrow part made me laugh. And the way it cut off made me want to read more! That's what's important with a good book, holding the reader's attention, making them hunger for more. And I can understand Fantasia's wandering mind on Algebra. Impossible subject!
-- Sat Nov 03, 2012 5:51 pm --
And I like how you actually made paragraphs.
-- Sat Nov 03, 2012 5:51 pm --
And I like how you actually made paragraphs.
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gabbygirl17
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Pretty good! Do u have a title?
"Your words were found, and I ate them, and your words became to me a joy and the delight of my heart, for I am called by your name, O Lord, God of hosts." - Jeremiah 15:16
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Lizzywriter
- Chocolate Chip
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Not yet.
Let no one despise your youth, but be an example in conduct, in love, in spirit, in faith, and in purity.
1 Timmothy 4:12
1 Timmothy 4:12
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GabrielleFandomGirl
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You are a talented writer Liz!
"What-ever."- Pound Foolish
E.R.K.
"Why are you cutting a table with a chainsaw...?"
E.R.K.
"Why are you cutting a table with a chainsaw...?"
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the Valiant
- Caramel Crunch
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I'm a little bit of a snob when it comes to format- I say if you are going to write a story, write it so that people will be able to read it. Thank you for using indents and paragraphs! I actually read this because it was understandable! I commend you...and your paragraphs.
You have a very nice way with words. I can't quite say I like the story (yet
) but I very much enjoyed reading this piece. If you post more I would definitely continue reading and get to know the story a little better. You were very descriptive--another thing I liked. Keep it up! 
You have a very nice way with words. I can't quite say I like the story (yet
) but I very much enjoyed reading this piece. If you post more I would definitely continue reading and get to know the story a little better. You were very descriptive--another thing I liked. Keep it up! -
Lizzywriter
- Chocolate Chip
- Posts: 35
- Joined: November 2012
Thank you!
-- Sun Nov 04, 2012 7:47 am --
Here's the next part:
“When are we going?” I asked.
“This weekend.” She answered.
We walked home together in the rain, as she gossiped with her friends. When we got to our house she said goodbye and we opened the crisp, white gate.
Our house is a two story plus a basement. Over the summer mom, Elaine Fantasia, a chief for a local diner re-painted the house light blue with navy blue trim. Our yard is full of yard ornaments my dad (who died when I was eight) got from all his travels as a pilot. My mom tried to tell him not to put some many in the yard, but now she keeps them out in his memory. Marcie opened the wooden door, then the screen door.
Mom was sitting in a chair, her blond hair almost hiding her scowl.
“Mom, were home!” I called.
“Hi girls!” Mom’s face lit up.
She gave us both a big hug. She smelled like leman cleaner and fresh baked cookies, a strange combination.
“What happened to grandma?” I asked.
“Her heart failed.” My mom sighed, her scowl coming back momentarily.
“Sorry mom,” Marcie said, then grabbed her phone out of her purse and walked to the kitchen, checking Facebook and Twitter. She sat down at the wooden, kitchen table and grabbed a chocolate chip cookie.
“So how was school today?” Mom asked, trying to put on.
“Good.” I said, remembering my experience at math.
“I have to go do my homework.” I said, after I had finished my cookie.
I walked up the carpeted stairs and opened the wooden door to my room, the second door on the right. I walked in my room, my bare feet sinking in the soft, red and heather striped carpet. I put my backpack on my red and heather bed, and pulled out my matching homework binder. My eyes rested on a picture on the red and heather wall, mom as a little girl, holding her mom, my grandma’s hand.
I sighed, and sat down at my cherry stained desk. I opened my binder to my unfinished poem. I couldn’t remember what I was going to write next.
The next morning, I got up at 6:00, and got dressed in a slim fitting, three quarter shirt, and dark blue jeans. I ran downstairs and found my mom already eating. Mom was running her hands nervously through her blond hair.
“Morning mom,” I said, walking in, sitting down and eating the chocolate chip scones my mom made.
“Morning,” Marcie said, her blond hair was straightened this morning.
“Hi girls,” Mom said, like she was just noticing us. She had circles under her blue eyes.
Marcie and dad sat down and we all silently started to eat.
An hour later, we put our bags in the car and drove to grandma’s old house. Marcie spent the half an hour trip listening to music. I spent the time reading and hearing mom worriedly mumble to herself.
“We’re here.” Mom announced, getting out slowly, looking like she was about to cry. The house stared down at us; its drooping roof looked like it was trying to reach down to look at us more carefully. It had a porch that circled three sides of the house, like it was a belt to hold it all together. I could hear the sea behind us.
“This place is a dump,” Marcie announced, her eyes sweeping everywhere, trying to take it all in. “Do we have to stay here?”
At that, mom burst into tears.
“Marcie!” I whispered elbowing her.
Just then, mom’s aunt, Marge, came out to great us.
“Hello Lanie,” She wailed, taking mom into her arms. “Shh, don’t cry now, it’s all right. Hi girls, why I love your hair Marcie. Look at how you’ve grown Hazel.” She opened the heavy door and mom was crying all the while “Come this way, you’re rooms are up these stairs.”
Aunt Marge walked up the stairs and showed me and Marcie to a room on the right. Marcie and I turned around and around, taking in our guest room. It was an old fashion room, with red rose print matching bedspreads and curtains. The beds themselves were made of brass. And two vanity tables stood across from the beds. I walked to the closet and started to unpack.
“Do you think mom is acting weird?” Marcie asked.
“Her mom is dead; she’s supposed to be sad.”
Marcie cocked her head to one side as she unpacked.
“Right?” I asked.
“Sure,” Marcie answered.
“Girls,” Aunt Marge peaked her head in after we were done unpacking. “Do you all want to look around in the attic?”
“Sure!” I said, perking up immediately.
“Go without me.” Marcie yawned.
“Come on.” Aunt Marge walked out into the hall and pulled something on the ceiling, and the attic stairs flew down.
I hesitantly walked up the stairs; caution filled me after every creak. When my head emerged into the room I stifled a gasp. It was filled with stacks of books, furniture and trunks. The attic roof was so low that when I got to the top of the stairs I had to bend over. The attic went from one side of the room to the other. A trunk in the far side of the room caught my eye. It was very small and carved. I went over, got down on my knees and fingered it.
“Ah yes,” Aunt Marge sighed coming over. “Father carved it for Hazel when she was twelve. I was only six at the time, whined for one, but father died before he could make another one.”
I momentarily forgot who Hazel was, and then I remembered it was grandma. I opened the top and inside I found a gorgeous hand-made quilt. It looked like the sea.
“Ah yes,” Aunt Marge said when I mentioned it to her. “Hazel loved the sea, and what was in it.”
“Is it okay if I take it home?” I asked.
“Of course,” Aunt Marge smiled. “You are a lot like her, Hazel.”
“Thanks Aunt Marge,” I said, smiling back, putting the lid down, and looking for other things in the attic. I didn’t find anything else that piqued my interest. I looked out the window, and saw the sea; its waves resembled the quilt.
-- Sun Nov 04, 2012 7:47 am --
Here's the next part:
“When are we going?” I asked.
“This weekend.” She answered.
We walked home together in the rain, as she gossiped with her friends. When we got to our house she said goodbye and we opened the crisp, white gate.
Our house is a two story plus a basement. Over the summer mom, Elaine Fantasia, a chief for a local diner re-painted the house light blue with navy blue trim. Our yard is full of yard ornaments my dad (who died when I was eight) got from all his travels as a pilot. My mom tried to tell him not to put some many in the yard, but now she keeps them out in his memory. Marcie opened the wooden door, then the screen door.
Mom was sitting in a chair, her blond hair almost hiding her scowl.
“Mom, were home!” I called.
“Hi girls!” Mom’s face lit up.
She gave us both a big hug. She smelled like leman cleaner and fresh baked cookies, a strange combination.
“What happened to grandma?” I asked.
“Her heart failed.” My mom sighed, her scowl coming back momentarily.
“Sorry mom,” Marcie said, then grabbed her phone out of her purse and walked to the kitchen, checking Facebook and Twitter. She sat down at the wooden, kitchen table and grabbed a chocolate chip cookie.
“So how was school today?” Mom asked, trying to put on.
“Good.” I said, remembering my experience at math.
“I have to go do my homework.” I said, after I had finished my cookie.
I walked up the carpeted stairs and opened the wooden door to my room, the second door on the right. I walked in my room, my bare feet sinking in the soft, red and heather striped carpet. I put my backpack on my red and heather bed, and pulled out my matching homework binder. My eyes rested on a picture on the red and heather wall, mom as a little girl, holding her mom, my grandma’s hand.
I sighed, and sat down at my cherry stained desk. I opened my binder to my unfinished poem. I couldn’t remember what I was going to write next.
The next morning, I got up at 6:00, and got dressed in a slim fitting, three quarter shirt, and dark blue jeans. I ran downstairs and found my mom already eating. Mom was running her hands nervously through her blond hair.
“Morning mom,” I said, walking in, sitting down and eating the chocolate chip scones my mom made.
“Morning,” Marcie said, her blond hair was straightened this morning.
“Hi girls,” Mom said, like she was just noticing us. She had circles under her blue eyes.
Marcie and dad sat down and we all silently started to eat.
An hour later, we put our bags in the car and drove to grandma’s old house. Marcie spent the half an hour trip listening to music. I spent the time reading and hearing mom worriedly mumble to herself.
“We’re here.” Mom announced, getting out slowly, looking like she was about to cry. The house stared down at us; its drooping roof looked like it was trying to reach down to look at us more carefully. It had a porch that circled three sides of the house, like it was a belt to hold it all together. I could hear the sea behind us.
“This place is a dump,” Marcie announced, her eyes sweeping everywhere, trying to take it all in. “Do we have to stay here?”
At that, mom burst into tears.
“Marcie!” I whispered elbowing her.
Just then, mom’s aunt, Marge, came out to great us.
“Hello Lanie,” She wailed, taking mom into her arms. “Shh, don’t cry now, it’s all right. Hi girls, why I love your hair Marcie. Look at how you’ve grown Hazel.” She opened the heavy door and mom was crying all the while “Come this way, you’re rooms are up these stairs.”
Aunt Marge walked up the stairs and showed me and Marcie to a room on the right. Marcie and I turned around and around, taking in our guest room. It was an old fashion room, with red rose print matching bedspreads and curtains. The beds themselves were made of brass. And two vanity tables stood across from the beds. I walked to the closet and started to unpack.
“Do you think mom is acting weird?” Marcie asked.
“Her mom is dead; she’s supposed to be sad.”
Marcie cocked her head to one side as she unpacked.
“Right?” I asked.
“Sure,” Marcie answered.
“Girls,” Aunt Marge peaked her head in after we were done unpacking. “Do you all want to look around in the attic?”
“Sure!” I said, perking up immediately.
“Go without me.” Marcie yawned.
“Come on.” Aunt Marge walked out into the hall and pulled something on the ceiling, and the attic stairs flew down.
I hesitantly walked up the stairs; caution filled me after every creak. When my head emerged into the room I stifled a gasp. It was filled with stacks of books, furniture and trunks. The attic roof was so low that when I got to the top of the stairs I had to bend over. The attic went from one side of the room to the other. A trunk in the far side of the room caught my eye. It was very small and carved. I went over, got down on my knees and fingered it.
“Ah yes,” Aunt Marge sighed coming over. “Father carved it for Hazel when she was twelve. I was only six at the time, whined for one, but father died before he could make another one.”
I momentarily forgot who Hazel was, and then I remembered it was grandma. I opened the top and inside I found a gorgeous hand-made quilt. It looked like the sea.
“Ah yes,” Aunt Marge said when I mentioned it to her. “Hazel loved the sea, and what was in it.”
“Is it okay if I take it home?” I asked.
“Of course,” Aunt Marge smiled. “You are a lot like her, Hazel.”
“Thanks Aunt Marge,” I said, smiling back, putting the lid down, and looking for other things in the attic. I didn’t find anything else that piqued my interest. I looked out the window, and saw the sea; its waves resembled the quilt.
Last edited by Lizzywriter on Mon Nov 05, 2012 2:55 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Let no one despise your youth, but be an example in conduct, in love, in spirit, in faith, and in purity.
1 Timmothy 4:12
1 Timmothy 4:12
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ArnoldtheRubberDucky
- Butter Pecan
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Hmm... This is... great! : The characters are realistic, and I'm eager to see what happens to them. I can relate to them, and, if you ever finished this, I'm sure readers could get attached to them quickly! I don't have much criticizing to do here. With a little more work, you could even conceivably get it published! I'm not sure if I could write much better than this... You are really quite a talented writer, I must say! :
: The characters are realistic, and I'm eager to see what happens to them. I can relate to them, and, if you ever finished this, I'm sure readers could get attached to them quickly! I don't have much criticizing to do here. With a little more work, you could even conceivably get it published! I'm not sure if I could write much better than this... You are really quite a talented writer, I must say! :Sir Arnold, Knight of the Order of Augustine, Debate Vampire
Mr. Yorp wrote:You don't need a degree to shovel manure.
This is really good! I think if you keep at it, you could have a career in writing!
꿈. 희망. 전진.
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Lizzywriter
- Chocolate Chip
- Posts: 35
- Joined: November 2012
Thanks! That's what I plan to do.
Let no one despise your youth, but be an example in conduct, in love, in spirit, in faith, and in purity.
1 Timmothy 4:12
1 Timmothy 4:12
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GabrielleFandomGirl
- Fudge Marble
- Posts: 948
- Joined: August 2012
- Location: Somewhere
I can not wait for part three! This is good!
"What-ever."- Pound Foolish
E.R.K.
"Why are you cutting a table with a chainsaw...?"
E.R.K.
"Why are you cutting a table with a chainsaw...?"
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MaryBeth_13
- Cookies & Creme
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whoa i've inspired everyone!
"Charm is deceptive,and beauty it fleeting,but a women who fears the Lord shall be praised." Proverbs 30:31-
the Valiant
- Caramel Crunch
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...I don't think you were the inspiration here, MaryMaryBeth_13 wrote:whoa i've inspired everyone!
. Maybe you encouraged people to post their stories up on the SS but lots of people already write .-
MaryBeth_13
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yeah that's what i meant,
"Charm is deceptive,and beauty it fleeting,but a women who fears the Lord shall be praised." Proverbs 30:31
Oh my goodness Lizzy! You totally captured my attention.. I love your style of writing and can't wait to read more
Isaiah 40:8, 1 Corinthians 10:31
There's a lot of potential in that story line. Try not to be overly descriptive, though. Of course you want people to see what exactly you're imagining, but sometimes, in certain cases, it's best to work the description in more subtly. And sometimes there are things that may not need describing that you might like to describe.
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Aftershocker
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I am intrigued. I enjoyed your reading what you've posted and look forward to reading more.
^^ Props to Belle ^^
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Lizzywriter
- Chocolate Chip
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This is a prose-poem I wrote:
Fall
By Liz
Drip, drip, drip,
The beat of the weather,
The dismal fog,
Rolls over,
The ashen trees,
Sway, sway, sway,
The trees go back and forth,
The yellow tinged leaves move to the beat.
Dead vines climb up pines,
Leaves flutter down,
This,
Is the beginning,
Of fall.
-- Mon Nov 19, 2012 7:07 pm --
Here's a plot for a book that I want to write:
There is a secret kind of people, who pretend to live normal lives while they are actually Whershas, who are people who have gifts. But these are not normal gifts; these are gifts that are passed down from generation to generation. What gifts you have determines your career. Only one Whersha at a time can occupy that career because the Whersha will be the best at that profession. If you are a Whersha, you find what your career is when you are twelve. Then you go to a boarding school to learn with tutors, retired from the career that they teach. But near the Whershas are the Urshas, once a part of the Whershas, the Urshas broke away to use their talents for bad. Now, they plan to take over the world and make it into a dismal, grim, and horrible place to be. That’s where April, May, and June come into the picture. The twelve year old triplets have had a hard time, with their dad being killed by Urshas, ten years ago. They go to boarding school, and not too soon after they arrive, word is there is a traitor in the school, and that it is on the brink of war.
Fall
By Liz
Drip, drip, drip,
The beat of the weather,
The dismal fog,
Rolls over,
The ashen trees,
Sway, sway, sway,
The trees go back and forth,
The yellow tinged leaves move to the beat.
Dead vines climb up pines,
Leaves flutter down,
This,
Is the beginning,
Of fall.
-- Mon Nov 19, 2012 7:07 pm --
Here's a plot for a book that I want to write:
There is a secret kind of people, who pretend to live normal lives while they are actually Whershas, who are people who have gifts. But these are not normal gifts; these are gifts that are passed down from generation to generation. What gifts you have determines your career. Only one Whersha at a time can occupy that career because the Whersha will be the best at that profession. If you are a Whersha, you find what your career is when you are twelve. Then you go to a boarding school to learn with tutors, retired from the career that they teach. But near the Whershas are the Urshas, once a part of the Whershas, the Urshas broke away to use their talents for bad. Now, they plan to take over the world and make it into a dismal, grim, and horrible place to be. That’s where April, May, and June come into the picture. The twelve year old triplets have had a hard time, with their dad being killed by Urshas, ten years ago. They go to boarding school, and not too soon after they arrive, word is there is a traitor in the school, and that it is on the brink of war.
Let no one despise your youth, but be an example in conduct, in love, in spirit, in faith, and in purity.
1 Timmothy 4:12
1 Timmothy 4:12
That's a really super plot, Liz!
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Odysseygirl101
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I really enjoyed this! This is great!
Oz the Great and Powerful is Great and Powerful!!!!