He glanced out of the window, watching the sky turning from a deep
blue shade to a clear, blue, breezy morning. ‘A good day.’ He made a
mental note to himself. The sun baked through the curtains, sharpening
his enormous shadow. He thought of that fussy factory owner and
sighed. ‘ What am I going to say? Hello, Mr. Martin. I’m afraid I
can’t meet you in the hotel this afternoon. Guess what! I have had a
terrible twist of fate and have turned into a big, juicy vermin! And
then he would reply: How nice! Mr. Samsa, have you got tentacles
growing from your baldhead as well? That is so insane!’ Gregor
couldn’t help chuckling to himself at this thought, interrupted by the
creaking noise from the landing outside his room. ‘It’s nearly time
for breakfast.’ Had he known what would happen, he might have done
something else. Instead, he followed his dull routine, as if all the
days in the world were still to come. He remembered promising his
family to move to a larger house and giving them a better life. But
now! He explored his body like an infant. His legs were so limber that
he could stretch them and put them over his head, as if he was still a
child. He punched at his horribly hard belly and his stomach twitched
painfully.
His brain is full of confusion. All sorts of sound were rushing into
his ears: The greetings on the street, the doorbell rung by the boy
who delivered the newspaper and milk, and what troubled him most was
the clinking sound of the plates and forks, which meant breakfast
would be ready in no time. He wanted so much to sleep through these
sounds like a lullaby, to escape from reality. He wondered how on
earth the surr...
... middle of paper ...
... in the quiet, old attic. ‘See? Greg! What if you killed him? Oh son!
Why are you in such a state!’ Nobody spoke until a kid’s voice coming
from nowhere broke the silence.
‘Wow! Such a good show!’ Said the voice. ‘I would have stopped you
when you nearly killed him, I bet you.’ The three of them were
perplexed, bewildered and dumbstruck. ‘Oh well…I should have explained
more. I am working on my coursework for my drama GCAE (General Certificate
for Angel’s Education). So you see. That’s why I need a…
umm…demonstration. I deliberately turned your son into a vermin and
studied your reactions. I should apologize…and look!
Gregor Samsa found himself crawling on the dusty floor with an
expression that resembled a survived encounter. The horrible white
spotted brown belly and his many legs were never to be seen again.
When writing a five paragraph essay, there are five steps one must fallow in order to attain perfection, these steps include understanding the question, brainstorming, writing a rough copy, revising, and creating a final draft. The first and most important step is understanding the topic. The topic of the essay is what the essay will be about and if this is misunderstood, the whole essay will be off course. The second step, brainstorming, will help organize thoughts and ideas so they flow amiably. There are many different ways to brainstorm, some of the most helpful are making a web of ideas, making a list of ideas, or creating a Venn diagram to compare and contrast the conviction. All these ideas will be related to the topic at hand. For example, if the essays topic is about how the earth is affected by global warming, then the brainstorming ideas might include the ozone lair being reduced or how global climate has raised. The third step when writing a five paragraph essay is creating the rough draft. The first draft must have all the features the final will, but does not have to be...
Anyone who is doing any type of writing piece has a process. They may not know it but it is there and it exists. It is one’s approach to their piece and how they go about accomplishing it. It has to do with how you write it, how many drafts you do, as well as your revision process if you even have one. My writing process however has room for improvement. A summation of my writing process consist of heavy planning, one draft, and little revisions. Anne Lamott, Shirley Rose, and Kathleen Yancey all drew attention to major points through their writing pieces that support and dispute my writing process. Through their pieces they have found a way to inspire, inform, and entertain me all at the same time while passing along great information that
There are various ways writers can evaluate their techniques applied in writing. The genre of writing about writing can be approached in various ways – from a process paper to sharing personal experience. The elements that go into this specific genre include answers to the five most important questions who, what, where, and why they write. Anne Lamott, Junot Diaz, Kent Haruf, and Susan Sontag discuss these ideas in their individual investigations. These authors create different experiences for the reader, but these same themes emerge: fears of failing, personal feelings toward writing, and most importantly personal insight on the importance of writing and what works and does not work in their writing procedures.
Writing is a process I’ve grown to despise. Ever since grade school, I’ve had problems trying to express my ideas on paper. My writing process involves thinking about what’s being asked and trying to reflect my thoughts the best way I can on paper, but my thoughts don’t always come out as clear as I want them to be sometimes leaving a question not fully answered. My writing process isn’t a consistent set in stone process, but since being in ENC 1101 I always follow some of the same parameters such as revising my drafts, grammar usage and considering context and audience.
It’s going to be lots of fun with cakes, lovely, colorful cupcakes, presents big and small, and balloons in all shapes and sizes.
Cato and his friends agreed to wait it out. Within hours, we were all asleep.
A thick plume of black smoke and ash hung in the air in a heavy haze, almost completely obscuring the lurid red glow of the waning sun. Below, a cloud of grey plaster dust twisted and writhed amid the sea of debris as intermittent eddies of wind gusted by.
Although there were many other things to worry about as I transported my flock, my mind still drifted to the merchant's daughter. The dark night sky gave my memory time to fade into familiar sounds and colors that made my recollection of that day clear and vivid.
You walk along the mushroom lit vegetation, moving up and over the daggers protruding from the thousands of branches. You have no idea where you are, as you had lost where you were going once the eerie shadows began to move and seemingly rearrange the forest of bramble.
Light has come again and it is cold since mother left. My brother looked out for her. He must have been as blind and broken as the rest of us in here, but he waddled rolled on the ground. He kept calling out to her. The rest of us knew or at least hoped she would come back. But not him, he would stretch out his weak featherless wings across the colder parts of the nest as if she were watching and waiting for us. Days he would run to her first and when the huge brush of air knocked us back and the weight of the nest shifted he would try to go after her. He kept his days full of bumping into us and calling out for her hungry and cold. We were all hungry but not as cold as him. Soon he got
she always used to wish for a way to escape her life. She saw memories
My Papa says I have a special gift, she told me it isn’t normal to see the things I see. Purple sounds like low deep G note (papa taught me the piano keys). The sound of birds chirping looks like blurry yellow blob, repetitively, following the beat of each chirp; they taste also taste like sunflower seeds. I like eating Bird Chirps.
One of the most unique creatures are fish. As I am sitting here in my room, my fish are swimming about with not a care in the world. I wonder what it would feel like to be a fish.
Taking a creative writing class was a good way for me to express my thoughts and feelings onto paper, as well as read my other classmates stories. Reading stories created by other people lead me into their mind brain to experience what type of writer they were, it was an overall exquisite class. I believe that every person has a way of expressing who they are through writing stories of their own, fiction is the best way to express your creative imagination. This class that I took for two years helped me become a better writer and helped me understand the types of writers we have.