Journal #10: Sudden Fiction ( The Silenced Night) 1st Draft

She awoke in the middle of the night to find her sister packing her clothes. The window was opened in the room and the smell of iron filled her nostrils, the room was cold, and only the moon lit the room. She observed quietly as her sister shoved clothes into a duffle bag. Her sister May seemed to be very scare, her hands shook frantically as she place things into her bag. May was done with her clothing then she grabbed her phone and iPod. May then put on her coat and zipped it up to the top. May was 17 and she had it all in-front of her and she knew she had screwed up. Maine, the youngest, sat up after waiting patiently.
"May what are you doing?" Asked Maine rubbing her eyes and sitting up on her bed. At that moment the curtain blew into the room masking both their faces.

"Maine, go back to sleep," May said her voice cracking. She knew her sister was only 10 but, she had to deal with it. Was she a bad sister for trying to leave Maine behind? Maine noticed there was blood all over her sister's hand and a little bit on her face.

"Why are you bleeding?" Maine asked.

"I had a little bit of an accident" she answered quickly.

"Are you okay? should I ask mom to you a band-aid?"

"No, just lay back down"

"Where are you going?"

May knew that she should have lied but leaving her sister behind would have been wrong. She walked towards Maine's bed and kneel down.

" You have to promise that if I take you with me you will listen and do as I say, understood?" at first Maine was a little hesitant about this request.

"Why are we leaving?" Maine asked.

"You can't ask me that you have to pack your things and I'll explain later, okay?"

Maine nodded her head because she knew how things were in her house and that her sister wouldn't do anything to hurt her. She sat up and started to pack her stuff.

"stay here i'll go get food from the kitchen." 

Mary went through the door, she could see lights flickering from under the door. After she was done packing May returned with a book bag filled with food.

"We have to leave now" She said

Maine grabbed her stuff, put on her shoes and her hoodie.

"Is mom okay?" Maine asked taking hold of her sister's hand.

"No but she's in a better place, and Bill wont be hurting you or me again."

The two girls jumped out of their bedroom window and walked into the woods; not once did they look back.

 

Reflection #4

   My one fear while my work is being work-shopped I fear that the opinions my peers will have wont be on my writing but on me as a person. I like to push the envelop by writing about things people don't usually write about. I want my story to have a twist to it and writing about a guy falling in love with a girl and him having to prove himself is not good enough risk being taken. I fear that once my peers see my writing and how risky it is they will think less of me and think of as a overachiever, or that my work sucks because is not like their's. With all this set aside even though I know people wont like it because it is different, some will love it because it is no the same. People will hate you for not sticking to the norm or find it that my writing is just trying to hard to be different but that kind kind of criticism is not constructive so it shouldn't affect me. I'm excited to see what ideas other people will have about my character, and I also am exited to see people finding the symbolism I have chosen for my piece. I also want to hear what to add to my reading and what to completely forget about. I do believe that if I paint a good enough picture for the reader I will get the response I want.
   I think that most of my writing is has a lot of creativeness but I don't execute it as well as I wish. I tend to not be able to set the timeline of my story well enough so I have a serious problem with organizing my thoughts and just place ideas anywhere in the story. During the workshop I'm sure someone will tell me that I need to switch something around or that I should shorten something to make it flow better. I feel like I can relate with Hilma Wolitzer when she says that one must question if they want an "honest opinion from a loved one", because they don't really want to hurt you. That's why I wouldn't want to get criticism from a close friend but rather a peer who doesn't know me as a person or writer. "Didn't your mother proudly display your early artistic efforts on her refrigerator?" page 264. I feel like if I share my writing with anyone close to me they will lie to make me feel better. I don't like workshops with other who know me because I feel like they will hold back to not hurt me or not take it seriously.
  When I'm doing the criticism in my group I will try to remain serious and honest even if it's harsh because being nice wont help them. Writing notes as they read it might be scary and intimidating but it is helpful to explain how you feel about their reading  the moment it comes to mind. I feel like if I don't like a story I wont tell them I don't like it but I will tell them what they should work on because saying a story is no good is a lie because everyone has potential. A story can mean a lot for someone so tearing it down might not be the best thing to do because it can hurt someone's feelings. You must put yourself in their shoes and think what you would want them to say to you.

Journal #10

   Nothing could disturb Autumn Chance as she sat on a park bench reading a book and sipping on a latte. She sat there not crossing her legs even though she was wearing pants. Her hair was done neatly, she had long hair with bangs  and her face appeared to be completely symmetrical. She was reading War and Peace while sitting with perfect posture. She sat on the bench listening to classical music at an appropriate volume even though no one was around to be disturbed. When she was done she stood up and walked away making sure she disposed of her Starbucks cup properly and making sure it got in the trash can.

   She walked in chewing gum loudly and she pushed her way to the seat next to mine. She was wearing clothes that barely covered her and wore very loud colors. She squeezed her way in even though she knew she couldn't fit. She then forced her bag to the side making me very uncomfortable I wondered if she was raised in a barn and game her a look of confusion. She replied with a loud yes while staring at me angrily. She then took out her phone and started singing along to a vulgar song out loud. She sipped on her mysterious drink while she moved her hips to the song even though she was causing everyone discomfort.

Journal #9

  You’re hired.
  The sun was shining bright outside and the breeze was refreshing. The Bridgeway High School soccer team had a practice and at the moment they were stretching. Justin was number fiver on the team and he played forward. A man sat on the bleachers and waved at Justin, this man was Justin’s father, Bruce. His father pulled out a paper bag and drank out of it. Bruce was a thick and hairy man with a very bushy beard. He wore a thick jacket that was buttoned up but a blue collar shirt could be seen. While Bruce was admiring his son’s accomplishment, a young man approached Bruce and sat next to him. The young man was wearing a grey blazer with a light blue v-neck with denim jeans.
“Hello there sir” said the young man, he then sat next to Bruce who tilted his hat at the young man. “My name is Brad Amaral” the young man said as he reached out to shake Bruce’s hand. Bruce shook the young man’s hand.
“Hello Brad how can I help you?” Bruce asked.
“No sir but I know your son.” Brad looked out at the field and waved at Justin. Justin stopped and covered his eyes with his hand for a second then continued on.
“Are you two buds or just know each other?”
“We are friends, good friends.” He responded, “He can sure run.”
“Yeah ever since he was a little boy he loved to run around and make his Mom chase after him up and down the house.” Bruce took another drink of his beer and looked at his left ring finger, and then at Brad. “Tell me a bit about you.”
“ Well I play baseball, football, and soccer. I have a 4.0 GPA and I’ve been accepted into Princeton University.” The young man made direct eye contact as he spoke to the man.
“Well boy I meant like where are you from but okay,” he said.

“Well my family is from Italy and I have two sisters sir”

 “That’s good, at least Justin will have a friend to room with my boy.” He said tilting his hat towards the sky.
“Well your son is a very smart boy” he said “He has a lot going for him, and so do I sir.”
“Why do you keep talking to me like I’m your boss?”
“ Because you are sir” Brad looked down at his hand and then back at his boss.
“Boy don’t you pull my darn leg I ain’t your boss.”
“Well technically speaking you are.” Brad Amaral looked inside his blazer pocket and pulled out a folded up piece of paper. “Sir, here I hold my explanation, and your son’s dreams.” Bruce looked at the boy with a puzzled gaze and set down his bottle. Bruce opened the folded up piece of paper and began to read it. Mr. Amaral began to walk down the bleachers and left the field. He continued to read until he had memorized it. Bruce walked down and headed towards his son. Justin asked him who he was talking to and Bruce responded by saying.
“He’s hired”.