Miss Lorraine 101
Private Tutoring and Small Classes 
  since 1994

 Saturday Morning at the Hospital
by Katie Sittig-Boyd,
 age 15

            I paced restlessly up and down the stark white hallway, rolling my eyes, crossing my arms, and complaining silently as I did.  Cooper, you idiot!  I berated him mentally, as if he could hear me.  You just had to go off that jump, didn’t you? Now look what happened.  You’re in a hospital bed, ruining my Saturday morning!  Some day this has been!
            I huffed, angrily, and stopped pacing, looking backwards at the closed door that led to Cooper’s room.  I wanted to go in and see him, but at the same time I didn’t.  I didn’t want to see what had happened to him.  He’d hurt his ribs, and I didn’t know how serious it was.   
             After staring at the door a while, kind of waiting for it to open, I resumed my pacing.  My footsteps echoed in the empty hallway, the only sound I could hear.  I almost—horribly—wanted to hear someone screaming or yelling or something, just to break up the silence a bit.  Not that I wanted anyone to be in pain…but this was a hospital.  Shouldn’t there be some noise, at least? 
            I stopped pacing again, sighing irritably.  I hoped that Cooper was all right.  The idiot—did he honestly expect to go off a ski jump that high and get off unscathed? Especially since he’d only spent a few days skiing in his life.  
            The door opened.  “Casey, was it?”  said a woman’s voice.  “You can come in and see your boyfriend now.”  
            I felt my face get hot.  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I said indignantly.  “You think I’d date him?  The idiot went off a black diamond ski jump after his first skiing lesson, practically!”
            The nurse’s mouth quirked in a slight smile.  “Well, would you like to see your friend, then?”
            “Sure,” I said, and stalked toward the door.  She held it open for me, and I entered the room.  
            Cooper was sitting up on the examining table inside.  He looked relatively normal, except for his pale blue hospital gown.  I grinned openly—he looked totally ridiculous.  I was also grinning, maybe just a little, because he was okay.  Not that I would ever admit it or anything.
            He frowned at me.  “What’s so funny?”  
            I was thinking of saying, Nothing.  Or maybe, Well, you don’t exactly have great taste in fashion.  But what came out of my mouth was, “Cooper, you idiot!  I was worried about you!”
            He grinned sheepishly at me.  “Yeah, well…about that.”
            Before I could think about what I was doing, I was over by his side, giving him a hug.  He yelped in surprise—and maybe pain, too, I thought as I remembered his ribs and eased up on the pressure.  I was sure that somewhere, behind me, the nurse was smiling knowingly.  I heard her say, “Not your boyfriend, huh?”  before walking out of the room and leaving Cooper and me alone.

                 November 30, 2008
The Love of Hunting
by Chris Bolton, 
age 10

     The band of ten men walked through the woods.  Every man was armed with a bow and quiver, maybe twelve arrows; some had swords.   Corogon had full armor and a war ax.  One man shot a small tree.  “Get the wagons!” yelled Corogon, their leader.  The men had to haul one wagon because with every lash from the driver, the horses and wagon sunk deeper into the swamp.  
      A dark shape glided below the surface of the murky swamp water.  A ripple betrayed its presence.  In a flurry of scales and sharp claws one man vanished into the depths never to be seen again.  Eight terrified wet men clamored out of the water.  One very brave man went back into the water to unhitch the horses and help them out.  
     The hunting party decided to leave the wagon to rot in that cursed swamp.  Several men hoisted the frame of the tree seat out of the other wagon and up into the newly shot tree, nailing it into place.  Corogon nimbly climbed into the tree seat.  He was handed his bow and arrows.  The rest of the men tied bushes down and hid.  
     Ten minutes passed.  One hour went by.  It was half an hour before dark when they saw it – a large oak buck.  From the tree seat Corogon shot his arrow.  The tree dodged it and charged.  A shrill whistle broke out.  A swarm of crimson feathered arrows flew straight at the tree.  But unfortunately not all shots were perfect….  A stray arrow struck Corogon between the ribs slicing into his flesh, just missing the lung!  He fell to his knees.  The buck completed its charge impaling him with its ten foot branches.  Corogon was thrown twenty feet!  
     The remaining seven men stopped cold.  Corogon didn’t move. 
     “He is dead” whispered Jonathan.  But then the moment was over and the tree had seven furious men hungry for the sap of it.  Now it was revenge that fueled them.  An hour went by.  Two men fell.  Finally… the tree fell!  A cheer erupted from the last four men.
     Later each man performed the ceremony of each man dipping his finger in the sap of the tree and touching his finger to his forehead.  (This held great significance in their culture.)   It was over.             

                                                                                                                                       December, 2008
 The Lake
by Hannah Sitting-Boyd, 
age 11

            The car careened out of control; I expected the worst as I jerked the steering wheel to the right. I think I went off a cliff but I don’t know.  I went off of something I know that for sure, but after that it all went black.
            I woke up and had to blink because it was so bright.  I sat up.
   “Good morning Patrick.”
            I looked over and saw a very pretty lady with shoulder-length blonde hair and almond shaped brown eyes.  She was smiling at me.  All I could do was smile back. 
           “Who the heck are you?” I asked, and then blushed—how could I be rude to her if I was going to ask her out when I got out of this place (whenever that might be)? 
           “My name is Abigail, but you can call me Abby,” she said.
           “Okay,” was all I could say.
           [Who am I? Well—I am Patrick Cleegen. I am 26 years old. I live in California and I have blonde hair and a nice tan. I love to surf and play tennis with my friend Hector.]
           “Where am I?” I asked Abby.
           “You’re in the hospital. Are you all right? Do you feel okay?” Abby asked.
           “I’m fine, why?”
           “You have been very ill, Patrick, so lie down get some rest,” she said pushing me down lightly.
            “What happened?” I asked.  My head hurt a little; my foot did too.  I looked down and saw that there was a cast on my left leg.
           “You lost control of your car and you went off a cliff. You broke your leg and you had a concussion too.”
           “When was this?” I asked.
           “Three weeks ago.  Your fever has broken—that’s good.”
           I looked out the window.  Abby did too.  The sun was setting across the lake. The sun was about to go behind a mountain but I saw it before it did. The lake was orange from the sun, and black from the trees’ shadows.  I could see ducks swimming with the last of the sunlight.  There were not too many trees, but the perfect amount; if I had had a camera then it would have been a great picture.  I felt happy. I felt safe.  I was glad to see a sunset because I hadn’t seen a sunset for three weeks!
           “It’s beautiful,” said Abby.
           “Just like you,” I said.  If she heard me then she didn’t say anything, and I was glad because I soo didn’t mean to say that.                                                                   
I had to stay at the hospital for two more weeks   And then I had therapy for my foot, and that took a while.
           But nothing really worked, until one day I was at home and had nothing to do.  I got my swim suit and went to the lake near the hospital to go swimming.  My foot got better and better and now I can walk so much better than before.
          That sunset I saw at the lake really helped me, but I never saw such a beautiful sunset as I saw from my hospital room that day.  But I can’t say that I haven’t seen such a beautiful girl again, because we get together once and a while.
                                                                                                                                               June  2008
 The Beginning 
by Emmanuel Sutka, 
age 13

        Anemos Trikymia sat motionless as he watched mice scurry back and forth in from of him.  “Where is this guy? He told me to be here at four.”  He began to drum his fingers on the floor to relieve his pent up energy.  “Well, if I have to wait, might as well look around.”
Standing, Anemos began to survey his surroundings.  He was in a cave lit by hanging lamps, and as he looked around he had to admit that it was the dullest cave he had ever seen.  After walking around the cave for a few minutes Anemos sat back down, and once again sat motionless.
Five minutes later, a loud bang jolted him out of his sitting position. Looking around Anemos noticed a figure walking towards him.  “About time.”
“Ah, Anemos, I’m so glad you could make it.”
“You said that you needed to see me about a job, business has been slow lately, so I thought I’d see what you had to say.”  The figure was in front of him now, and Anemos could tell that it was a man.  “About the job, would you like me to tell you about it?”
“Yes, I would.”
“Very well, shall we sit down?”
Anemos sat down on the floor.  The man looked around the cave for a minute, then sat down in front of Anemos.
“Okay, here’s the deal, me and my business partner we’d like you to work for us.”
“What would I have to do?”
“Anything we ask.”
Anemos stared at the man for a moment, then nodded.  “What would you pay me?”
“You get to name the price.”
“Fine! When do I begin?”
            “When you wake up.”
            Before Anemos could react the man stood up and lashed out with his foot.  Anemos’ eyes widened with surprise as the foot made contact with his head. Then he fell over.
            The man smiled with satisfaction, “Sleep tight.”  He leaned down, picked Anemos up, and walked out of the cave.  The moment the man walked out of the cave he was joined by another man.  
  “So Windig, you were successful?”  the new man asked.
“Yes, I was Fotia, and how went your kidnap?”
“Perfect.  The man put up a bit of a fight, but I won in the end.”
“You always do.  Do you know if the others were successful also?”
“Yes, they were and they’re getting ready right now.”
            “Good, by the time we’re done with them they won’t even remember what we did.”  Fotia chuckled.  “Except, of course, when we let them remember.”  
Laughing wildly the two men disappeared in a flash of light.  

November 2008
by Sarah Shorey, 
age 14

Imperious.  That was the word to describe him.  Or maybe, arrogant.  No, both, at the same time.  I had seen him before, on the street.  He held his head high, never looking anyone in the eye, as if he was too good to look at them.  He was tall, mustachioed, and his name was Mr. Stale.  At present, he was standing outside of a small house, from which a steady stream of people were coming and going every few minutes.  
I was about a block away, walking towards him, and it appeared that Mr. Stale was doling out… scabbards!  Yes, he had a multitude of them stacked on a small cart behind him, and every time someone went into the house, he would hand them a scabbard.  I frowned in puzzlement, and quickened my pace. As I drew near, I noticed two things: The first was that there was a small sign, mounted on two poles, between Mr. Stale and me.  It read: Merciful Sister’s House for the Poor and Homeless.  The second thing I noticed was that, on the other side of the sign, Mr. Stale’s scabbards had something sticking out of them! 
I took a few quickened steps, almost running. It looked as if inside the scabbards was bread! Long, flat bread.  Now I was really baffled.  Why would someone put bread inside a scabbard? And for goodness sake, how?  Then another question came to my attention.  Why were there so many people going to and from poor house?
I had stopped walking, but now started to walk over to Mr. Stale. I could see that every time someone came over to him, he would gnash his teeth in anger, then almost throw a scabbard at the person who had asked.  I had had dealings with Mr. Stale before, and I knew that, while he was imperious and arrogant normally, he was worse when he was mad.
“Excuse me,” I asked tentatively as I approached.  I thought he might recognize me, but as he turned, he showed no glimmer of recognition. Mr. Stale just looked at me with disdain and said nothing.  “If you don’t mind me asking,”  (I assumed he didn’t mind - he appeared to be completely ignoring me.)  “Um, why are you handing out scabbards with bread in them?”
He rounded on me, his fury obvious.  “You stupid boy, is this not what people do after such a travesty?”  His outburst had startled me.  I knew I was sealing my fate, but I asked one more question.
“Um, sir,” I said, mustering my courage “what travesty?”  The man almost feinted right then and there.   I thought I might have to fetch the doctor for fear he could not breathe his face was such a shade of purple. 
“The holocaust,” he spat.  I could tell Mr. Stale was trying to control his voice in this public place.  “All of Tenth Street, burned to the ground.  Twelve families without homes. What do you THINK I’m doing here?”  He was loosing whatever control he had left; the last words had been shouted.
All of Tenth Street burned?  I had been out of town until very recently, and had not heard of this. That was a great tragedy.  I was shocked into silence, looking down at the ground for a moment.   Then a well of questions sprang up inside my head.  But when I looked up, seeing Mr. Stales face, I decided to get the answers from someone else.  I moved along, thinking about the fire, and the sadness of it.  “Also,” I thought to myself “heaven help the next person to ask for one of his scabbards!”
At home, I read an article about the fire in the newspaper. Only then did I realize that Mr. Stale had never really answered my first question. It was nagging at me, but I would probably never get an answer - why the scabbards?                                                      
 December  2008
 The Big Adventure Begins!
by Nathaniel Shorey, age 16

Lump looked at his future with disdain.  In the long run, his future was staying on a steamboat that was used for commercial tourism around the British isles.  In the short run, he was about to be burned for fuel.  Not too bad if you considered the alternative…  Well okay, if he had an alternative he might want to consider it.  Lump looked around the small storage container he was in, which is no small feat for a piece of coal.  He saw the same things he’d always seen: the furnace, the other coal, the pegged rack used for hanging the crew’s wet coats.  

A salty draft permeated the sludge-filled room as one of the crew came to shovel some more of his brethren into the furnace.  Picking up a shovel the man, whose name happened to be Kyle, plodded over.  He plunged the shovel into the heart of the pile and lifted.  Lump winced as the shovel grazed his left side.  “That was too close,” he whispered.

It had been two weeks since his near death experience.  He had now managed to slip down into the very front of his container, where it was almost impossible to get him with a shovel. They had docked to refuel and the container was lifted on to the deck so it might be refilled.

Kyle had had a very bad day, week, month – for most of his life.  Recently, he had proposed to his girlfriend.  He had bought a nice diamond ring.  He had set everything up perfectly.  He had planned a nice dinner, (which went fine), and then a walk down the beach as the sunset.  Then he’d propose.  But when the moment came, he had tripped over a piece of driftwood and accidentally flung the ring out to sea.

Kyle walked on to the deck of the ship.  This was the end of his job too.  The city was shutting down the boat.  He looked at the coal bin he had used so many times.  Noticing a dark lump, he walked over to it.  “Just a piece of coal,” he said as he picked it up.  Fingering the rock he murmured, “I didn't like the job anyway,” and flung the coal out to sea.

Lump screamed as the wind whistled past his head. September 2008
by Nathaniel Shorey, 
age 16 

 I watched as Biodrone, aka:  one of my sworn enemies, lifted the wannabe super villain “Eevl-er” by the front of his shirt.  (I know, the guy can’t even pronounce his own name right.)  But he was a threat, and I was commissioned to stop him.  But - no!  Biodrone has to step in and stop him himself. 
“Please no!”  
I snapped out of my self pondering and watched as Biodrone smashed his fist into the side of “Eevl-er’s” head.  
“Hey” I yelled.  “What did you do that for?  I just needed to capture him, not knock him senseless!”
“Shut up Aireo!   HQ thought that maybe you might… not be the right man for the job, let’s say.”
“I’m the perfect man for this job.  It was go in - get the wanna be villain - and get out.  No prob.”
“Yeah… Everyone knows that you’ve been off your game ever since the New Orleans incident.”
“That wasn’t entirely my fault.  The guy had one of those berserker guns!  I got hit.  It wasn’t my fault Drone!”  
“Let me quote myself – Shut up Aireo!  I’m taking this guy back to HQ.  There’s a ten grand reward on this one.  Oh, and you can always come to me for advise on how to get on the Hero Council, or the cover of Hero’s Illustrated.  I always like to help the little rookies like you. See ya’!”

I watched as Drone soared towards HQ with my captive.  I heard a soft padding.  Looking around I saw my sidekick the Electric Kitty or “EK” as us heroes like to call him.  He’s actually a cat and he doesn’t have any powers at all… he can just talk. 
“Don’t listen to him Aireo.  The hurricane wasn’t your fault and you are still a great hero… just not in your prime.” 
“Yeah I know…”  
“You want to go back to HQ?” 
“No, I think I’ll head off into the sunset and ditch this Hero League.  You with me?” 
“Right behind you, Captain.  I hear that the Villain League has a new opening.  We could join and maybe get one of those berserker guns!” 
“Yes… I see where you’re going with this.  Then we can pay our friend Biodrone a visit!”                 
                       October 2008
 The Daydreamer
by Hannah Sittig-Boyd, 
age 11

 “Mom, I’m bored,” complained my little brother Kyle.
         “Oh zip it, Kyle,” I said.  I couldn’t help being mean; I was bored too, very bored.
         “I know and I am sorry but we will be there soon,” Mom said for the 40th time.
          Who am I? I am Emma Mullagen I’m 10 years old, my mom my dad, my brother and I, are going to Texas to see our cousins, we live in North Dakota.  We have a buffalo farm.  The hands there, (all twenty-four of them) said that we should take a vacation, see some family.  So, here we are on the road to Texas.
         Dad turned on the radio, there was some boxing thing on and Kyle asked Dad to turn it up.   All they were saying was: “Hit him on the left – No, the right…” Boring!!
         “Hit to the left.  Hit to the right…”  It faded and then got louder, as I started to punch the fat guy “Boom!  Boom!  Boom!”  I hit over and over again.
         “EMMA, EMMA!” the crowd cheered, as I ducked out of the way and then punched the dude.  He was down!    They brought another guy on and I started to punch him.  The crowd started to sing the We Will Rock You song.   I was about to get him down when—
“Ow!  Mom, Emma hit me!”
         “What?” I said.   I looked over at Kyle; he was looking at me as if I were an alien.
         “What?”  he said, mocking me.  “You were all like punching the air and then you punched me!!” 
         “Emma…. Were you daydreaming again?” my mom asked.
         “Honey you can daydream, but please don’t punch people!” Dad said shaking his head.
         “Sorry.  Sorry Kyle.”
         “That’s fine,” said Kyle with a sigh.       
         I sighed and looked out the window.  I saw some cows and horses but nothing else.   “Are we there yet?” I complained.
“Oh zip it, Emma!” Kyle said with a sing-song voice.
        “Almost,” said Mom 
        “Yes!” I said.
         We were in a town now and there was a music store.  In the window there was a drum set and Kyle asked if he could have it.  Dad said no.  
There was a song on the radio.   The music was loud, but I was the one singing, so I didn’t care.  The crowd was on their feet, cheering me on.  I was singing very well I think.   The crowd loved me and they started to sing with me.  I was about to stop and give autographs but then—
“Emma!!  Would you stop?  Or, let me guess you where daydreaming.  Am I right?”  Kyle practically yelled.
         “What was I doing this time?”  I asked.
         “You were singing, very badly too!”  
         “Sorry,” I said.
         “Honey,  why don’t you do something with Kyle?  But the daydreaming has to stop.     
         “Okay, Mom.” 
         But on the way back home I pretty much did the same thing.  I guess I can’t stop!                                                                                              July, 2008

by Chris Bolton, age 10 

Off goes the ship;
Sailors get a grip.
Up comes the tide;
The ship gets a ride.

Off goes the ship;
Pirates get a grip.
Up comes the tide;
Pirates get a ride.

Now the ships collide,
Too late to choose a side!
Swords clash,
Cannonballs splash,

Pirates swing,
Bullets sting.
Up in the riggings tall
A man spots the feared waterfall !!

They go over the end of the earth
Everyman wishing he was safe in his berth.


Sarah Shorey, age 14

I think of all the people I’ve met
And all the people I’ve condemned,
Of all the good friends I forget,
Trying to act like them.

I think of all the things I’ve done,
All the places I have been,
Of all the things that came undone,
Trying to live like them.

I think of how I’ve changed myself,
Hoping to be one of the “gems”.
In the end I wasn’t good enough,
At trying to seem like them.

I think of all the happiness,
Of the things I can amend,
Of all the people I can bless,
Trying not to be like them.


by Mikaela Bolton, age 9

Wrinkled face,
Floppy ears,
She keeps pace
With my years.

Golden yellow,
Always seems to smile,
She is never too mellow,
Happy all the while.

She’s my best friend,
Loves me too --
‘Til the end-
My dog will do!

 The Shivering Worm
Emmanuel Sutka, age 13 

My tongue is warm
my feet are cold,
now this worm must
shiver and moan.
I shiver and quake
and moan and groan
but it did no good, so I went home.

When I got to my home
I went to my bed
but the covers were too short,
 and the pillow - flat bread.

I tossed and I turned
but it did me no good.
I finally slept with my nose under a hood.

  Write Now! 
Assignment: an imitation of tone.  Author selected: Robert Jordon, The Wheel of Time
Niell of Marr 
by Katie Sittig-Boyd, age 16
     Years of fighting and battles had wrinkled Niell’s face, yet his eyes, smoldering green with flecks of gray, had far from dimmed.  If anything, they were brighter than ever before.  He walked with a limp, courtesy of one of his foes in Raldor, a grizzled man whom Niell had not quite managed to kill. 
             Taller than most, Niell stood head and shoulders above most other men, and more than that over women.  His clothes were made of rough wool, sometimes lighter cotton, and always loose enough to allow for sufficient movement.  Rarely, if ever, did he allow himself to be caught unaware; his eyes were always alert, catching minute details that most others missed.  Despite his limp he had maintained his reflexes, so well honed after years in battle, and even in minor skirmishes and border raids, it was the exception that he sustained minor injuries, much less vital. 
             Bandit raids and invasions from Balicusia were commonplace in northern Zarth, now.  Before the dictator Ryndael had overthrown King Doern the invasions and attacks had not been nearly as common, though bandits had raided them for as long as the eldest man could remember.  
             Most men from the village Marr were trained for battle from the cradle, taught to hold swords as soon as they could walk unaided; the women were instructed in the ways of healing.  Girls dreamed of herbs and bandages; boys dreamed of blades, raiders, and blood.  Still, none of them had ever thought differently.  Duty was the way of life, here, and to shoulder it, to come of age, was the responsibility of all.  
              Even so, sometimes Niell wondered.  The sharpness in his eyes caught more than people suspected—or more than they said, anyway; legends ran rampant about him—and more than once he had caught himself thinking.  Was there more than this?  Were there more aspects to life than fighting, killing, dying?  Uncomfortable thoughts, those, and not to be tolerated.  
              Still, his mind insisted.  Coldly logical, Niell pushed the thoughts away.  Burying himself in exertion and mindless tasks, the questions could almost be ignored.  Such thoughts, however, had an irritating way of bubbling to the surface, and there came a day, late in the summer’s heat, when the sun was high, when Niell could no longer push away his questions. 
March 2010
Attleboro Jumpstart                    2010
Student Authors
The Old Box
  by Hannah Sittig-Boyd, 
age 13

I always wondered what little children did all day when they were not schooling. Did they read and talk to each other?  Or did they go for long walks in the fields and meadows?  But after seeing them visit Mr. Pedelten the town’s ‘Old Grandfather’ I thought differently, very differently. 
The only thing that they have on their mind is happiness and peace.  They were always asking questions and skipping and hopping around.  Even little Tabitha, the shy one, would nervously walk out and tug on Mr. Pedelten’s shirt.  He would bend down and she would whisper something, then Mr. Pedelten would throw his head back and laugh and you wouldn’t be able to see his eyes for his smile was always too big. 
There was also Miss Sassy Sally, always talking back to her parents and always playing tricks on the most innocent, but whenever she was around Mr.Pedelten, she was the sweetest little angel there could ever be. There were many other children sweet and kind, rude and unfair, but if I got into every single one it would take up so much paper that I think you would grow bored and put this down the first chance you got!

Anyway it was a bright clear day, almost as bright as Mr. Pedelten.  All the little children gathered around him and begged for him to make up a new game.  Yesterday they had learned Hide and Seek, the day before that day they had been able to make a kite and watch it fly with the big old fluffy clouds that would seem to watch over them all.  So as you could imagine they couldn’t wait to see what else he would let them try.
It was then that Mr. Pedelten pulled out something small that caught the light and shone brightly like a star.  Well the children were very confused for it was only a small worn out key.
Mr. Pedelten laughed right then and told them that it was not just any key, it was a key that would unlock the most beautiful box the whole world had ever seen.  He said that it was very close to where they were sitting and that they could have a contest to try and find it.
Well the children all scattered away like ants to a jelly filled pastry.  They were all looking under bushes and around trees when Sassy Sally walked over to Tabitha and said that in order to find this special box she needed to be standing on her hands, that way she could see it.  Oh poor Tabitha, she believed the little devil of a child.  The next thing that happened was that she toppled over a rock fell down a small hill and skinned her knee.
But oh! What Tabitha saw made her forget her hurting knee, for what was in front of her was a small box maybe the size of a kitten all covered in jewels and sparkling gems. She quickly picked it up and ran towered Mr. Pedelten and the children. 
Everyone crowded around Mr.Pedelten and Tabitha wondering what was in the box.  Mr. Pedelten smiled and told them all to get into a line and each one could look in as long as no one told anyone else what they saw.
Tabitha was the first to go up.  Mr. Pedelten put the small key into the key hole and opened the beautiful box. Tabitha looked in and saw only her refection!  She looked harder and saw herself, so shy and quiet, she didn’t like how she looked and smiled bravely, but then oh! What she saw next gave her a small fright, without her moving anything her refection smiled a small smile, nodded its head and then vanished.
Tabitha looked up, a question in her eyes, but Mr. Pedelten only smiled and called the next child up.
Finally after cutting many children Sassy Sally was up at the top of the line, and she looked in.  No one knew what she saw; even Sally didn’t know what she saw.  Nobody remembered what they had seen, but after that very day Tabitha wasn’t ever shy again, she would run and play and laugh very loudly. 
And oh my! Sassy Sally no more! She was known after that to be Sweet Sally, she never talked back rudely to anyone and she was always helping her new friends, never tricking them.
Mr. Pedelten was always known for being the ‘Old Grandfather’ and you would see him sometimes with a new group of children holding that key, and then a line of children looking into that old beautiful box.
March 11, 2010
 Assignment: an imitation of tone.  Author selected: Nathaniel Hawthorne.
The Vampire Wizard
by Cole Paul, age  9

Hi, my name is Raymond.  My friends and I were watching this really cool movie.
“It would be kind of cool if this was real,” I said.
Then the roof opened and somehow I got launched into the air.  I blacked out.  I woke up in a bed with people surrounding me.  “He’s the one!” I heard someone whisper.
“Outta my way!” someone yelled.
Right then and there I saw who had said that.  He wore all black, had very pointed fangs and his nails might as well have been claws.  On his hip rested a sheath with a hilt connected to a sword.
“I am the vampire wizard, but call me Kadarf,” he introduced himself.  
I also saw that he had a forked tongue.  “Well, let’s just get to the part where you kill me,” I taunted.
“Men, arm him.” Kadarf commanded.
Just then, two little men appeared and slowly crept toward me and shot a blast of light at me.  My saliva tasted like chocolate chip cookies and I felt quicker and stronger and I had a sword.  “So…ready for the dragon king?” Kadarf asked.
“I guess so!” I replied.
Alright, you must retrieve the ball of doom, “Kadarf contently commanded.
Looks like Kadarf was doing the transportation.  He created a ball of light and threw it at me.  Next thing I knew I was in the dragon king’s castle.  Now I saw the dragon king.  His legs were made of bronze, he had little balls of electricity for eyes, a human face and the rest of him was scales.  I charged at him with my sword and destroyed him, and everything was easy after that.  I retrieved the ball of doom and went back home.
April 2010
Assignment: Rich description and dialog tags.
 Creative Writing First Steps
 My Bedroom
Marianna Massoud, age 10

My fluffy bed comforter is warm and soft under my arms.  I open the curtains as the morning sunlight creeps through my bedroom window.  I lazily walk to the corner of my room to my wooden rocking chair, where all of my teddy bears are cuddling in a blanket waiting for me.  A whiff of my mother’s coffee comes into my room while I hear the birds singing their song.

                                                                                                                                  March 2010
Assignment: Description:  carrying mood and emotion
                          The Crazy Chase                      
Gideon Wallace, age 9

           He turned the bend running at full speed, blinded by tears from the wind-whipped dust of the well worn path.  From behind him and to either side he could hear the sounds of his pursuers, the continuous snarling, the sporadic excited howls as they located his scent on the wind.  They were gaining on him.  It wouldn`t be long now.  

But he didn`t give up.  He kept on running until he couldn`t run anymore.  He collapsed his heart racing.  He lifted a stick and tried to defend himself.  As soon as he picked up the stick the wolves' ears perked up, their tongues dropped out of their mouths and they started to wag their tails furiously.  He thought a second, and then threw the stick.  The wolves chased after the stick and came back a few seconds later, all tugging on the stick.  The wolves helped him up and he and his new best friends all walked home.
April 2010
Assignment: finish the story starter
Katie Sittig Boyd

       Briars tore at Sam’s jeans. Blood pounded in his ears. His feet thudded against the ground.  Breath came in harsh, ragged pants. With one more backward glance, he slowed to a stumbling halt, placing his hands on his knees and bending over, gulping air.
       They’re still there. 
He looked behind him, but there was no one there that he could see.  He shook his head.  
       You just can’t see them. 
       Sam frowned, standing straight and pacing, still watching to see if anyone was coming his way.  The forest was still and silent, save for the occasional birdcall.  No one was there. He turned and began to walk.
       If you’re too complacent, you’ll get yourself killed. Do you want to die?
       He stopped and frowned, listening carefully. These were no longer his thoughts. He cast a worried look sideways, but the voice had not come from nearby. It had come—
       That’s right, Sam.
       “Who are you?” he asked aloud, but there was no reply. Eyes wide, he glanced around twice more, but there was still no one behind him. Clenching his teeth, he shook his head. “Answer me!”
       “Who are you, damn it?” he shouted, grasping his head with both hands and squeezing his eyes shut.
       If you stand here, you are going to die. Move, unless death is your choice. 
       “Why?” asked Sam aloud, looking around the forest. No one was there—
       Don’t say I didn’t warn you. 
       Chills crawled down Sam’s spine, and he whirled around, but everywhere nearby was still and silent. Suddenly something knocked Sam forward; he sprawled to the ground. “What the hell—”
       Left. Go left.
       “What the—?” He rolled left, scrambling to his feet and running forward several yards. 
       Keep running.  Windsouls do not give up until you are out of their sight.
       He glanced back. Nothing was there, but he could see leaves stirring, branches falling to the ground. “What’s a Windsoul?”
       Ask later. You have to run.
       Run, you fool!       
       Sam ran.          April 2010
Assignment: an internal voice
  The Easter Puppy
Mikayla Corbeil, age 9

The day before Easter we drove to a pet store.  
“I wish I had a puppy,” I said dreamily.  
“Yes, but you know we are just looking right?” questioned my mom.  
“Yes, I know,” I said as we walked in.
“How may I help you?” asked the lady at the desk.
“We just came to look,” my mom said hastily.  As we looked, we saw the cutest little puppy ever.  She was buff, had brown eyes, and a wet black nose.
“Oh, Mom, she is so cute!” I said happily.
“Oh, well, I guess we can think about it over lunch,” my mom said.
So my mom asked the lady if she could keep her aside.  When we went back, we bought her.  Unfortunately, my mom let my sister walk the puppy first.
“Mom,” I said angrily, “let me walk her!” 
“No, let your sister walk her this time and then you’ll get a turn," said my mom.
We went home and we named the dog Maggie.  It was the best Easter ever. 

February, 2010
Assignment: dialog tags
Lily’s Morning
by Mikayla Corbeil
 age 9

As the bright yellow sun came up, Lily yawned sleepily and felt her cold window.  She opened it with one hard push.  She looked both ways and stuck her head outside.  The cold air rushed through her.  Lily caught a wet snowflake on her tongue.  It melted in her mouth.  She shut her window and did a back handspring.  It’s great to be me, she thought as she went downstairs.

When Lily was at the bottom of the stairs, she looked at the calendar and realized it was December 15, 2010 - her birthday.  She was ten years old now which was her favorite number.  She decided to make a special pancake breakfast for her mom, dad, and little sister, and she had ten purple candles to blow out.
                                                                 April, 2010
Assignment: Description:  carrying mood and emotion.
Poetry  2011 

by Mikayla Corbeil, 
age 9

Spring is the color of green,
like a sprout pushing its way out of the ground,
a patch of grass which is perfect for rolling in,
and a tree which has the leaves that shade us on a family picnic. 
March,  2010

The Dagger of Sorrow
by Isaac Nugent-Faverman,
age 13

 I noticed what he had - the dagger of sorrow.
 He lunged at me, I tried to dodge,
 but no-one can dodge the dagger of sorrow.
Then darkness filled my heart, 
the world turned black.
 I fell backwards.
 The dagger of sorrow will take another life.

 I heard a laugh, I knew I was doomed.
 The dagger of sorrow is death itself.

 Think of happy thoughts, to stay alive.
 Some how I got strength,
 I moved my arm to my heart,
 and pulled the dagger of sorrow out.

                                                                  May 2010
 The Poison Ivy Escape
Kiara Wallace, age 8

  I was walking alone in the woods one night for my evening stroll.  All I could think was stay away from poison ivy, when I heard someone coming.  He had a bluetooth and a black suit, and I was scared he was a kidnapper, so I jumped into the bushes and hid.  
When I got up I found out I was sitting in poison ivy.  I left for home, but I was scratching all the way.  I escaped, but I also got poison ivy all over me. I learned not to walk alone in the woods, and every time I scratch, I remember how to recognize poison ivy.
           May 2010
by Daniel Perry
 age 10

I looked down on the enemy as a hawk looks at prey. I know, it’s unusual for me to be by myself as a ferret, but I prefer to be alone especially from my family. I lightly leaped out of the tree I was perched in and onto the roof of the secret city, which looked more like a single building.
 I’m only here in this wretched place because of my family, they burrowed under the wall of the city by accident, trying to get away from a rainstorm.  There they were caught by them – the evil samurats.  My family tried to release their potent odor like skunks do but it didn’t help them escape. So here I am, rescuing the rodents I hate most.
I flew down from the roof, right into the party of samurats as I drew my katanas strapped to my back. I was killing them like... well, rats. Soon the whole patrol was dead. I immediately threw a grenade at the building making a perfect entrance. Good, the wall I took down was the wall of a prison cell.  In the next one I saw Fat-Freddy, my cousin, scarfing down a whole baby mouse, bones and all.  Everyone else was preparing to do the weasel war dance. They didn’t know it was me.
I called out “Everyone it’s me,” as I took off my helm.
I heard Granny Ferret call out, “It’s Flint!  He’s come to rescue us.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a samurat slinking in the shadows.   I whispered as I slipped a bladed star into my paw, “I have an idea, wait here.”
Can you guess what my idea is? I’m going to steal the devil’s armor put it on and pretend to escort them to the slave caravan. 
I saw the ferret dressed in black flick his wrist. Then... nothing.

                                                                                                                March 2010
Assignment: including facts in fiction
 Gina the Giant Giraffe
by Rachel Perry,
age 8

Just as the sun rose, I woke up.  It was Christmas day.  I walked down the steps to see my presents, and there they were.  All my presents were at the corner of the living room.  I looked at my presents, happy I wasn’t bad the past year.  I looked at every one of my gifts, and soon I found a giraffe Webkinz.  It had brown spots all over and a long neck.  I found a name for her in no time.  It was Gina.

Two months later….
“I lost a tooth!” I yelled.
“Don’t forget to put it under your pillow tonight,” my mother answered.
“I will.”
“It’s dinner time!”Daniel yelled.  We all gathered to the table and ate.  After dinner, it was time to go to bed.
“Don’t forget your tooth,” my mother reminded.  In no time I was changed and ready for bed.
“Honk ppbbb!” Victoria snored. 
“Be quiet!”I yelled as I woke her up.  But luckily she went back to sleep.  I did too.  I petted Gina as I fell asleep.

The next day…

“Ahhh!” I yelled upon awakening as a giraffe leaned over my bed nibbling my hair.  “A giraffe is nibbling on my hair!”  Everybody came rushing in.  Victoria’s mouth dropped open when she saw the giraffe.  
“Where did that thing come from?”Anthony asked.
“The only thing I can say is we will put her in the tallest room in the house,” said my dad.
“Has anyone seen Gina?” I asked looking in my bed for her. “Mom, I lost another tooth.”
“Oh, that’s how it happened,” said my mother. “When the tooth fairy came last night she accidentally waved her magic wand and the fairy dust landed on Gina.  Because of the fairy dust, Gina is real.” 
It was such a busy day with a real giraffe in my house!  Before I knew it, it was time to go to bed.
“Tonight, we will bring “Gina” into your room and the fairy should change her back to normal.  She probably will take your other tooth too,” my mother said.  
We brought Gina into my room, and I was asleep.  The next morning, I woke up and found my tiny stuffed toy, Gina, next to me.  I looked under my pillow and found a note and a dollar.  The note said “Sorry for the trouble.  Love, the tooth fairy.”
“I kind of miss her,” I thought.
      Just then, I heard Daniel whisper, “I lost a tooth!”
 Oh no!  Not an elephant!” I moaned.
                                                                                                                May 2010

A Surprise Meeting
by Nadia Belov
age 8

I turned the bend running at full speed, blinded by tears from the wind-whipped dust of the well-worn path.  From behind me and to either side, I could hear the sounds of my pursuers, the continuous snarling, the sporadic excited howls as they located my scent on the wind.  They were gaining on me.  It would not be long now.
          Then I had an idea.  I pulled in my green-with-blue starred wings.  I made myself shrink, until I was one and a half inches tall.  Then I changed color to match a tree.  I took away my scent.  When I was done I ran up a tree.  I turned green to match the tree’s leaves.  A group of brown, black and white saddles horses came up to the tree I was in.  The biggest black and brown horse stepped up to the tree I was in.  “Zipzag, are you there?” the big horse asked.
  “Yes, I am.” I said.  I put back my feathers and slid to the ground.
 “You scared me!” I said, when I got to the ground. 
 “Sorry,” The big horse said.
 "Now let me tell you the goodness we brought,” the big horse said.   

April 2010
Assignment: finish the story starter
 A Lion’s Life
by Anthony Perry
age 11

“Meat, Sweet, Meat,” I thought as I ate a mouthful of wildebeest, one of my favorite foods.   I had finally captured a meal after going hungry for a couple of days.  After a few bites, I saw a lioness quietly walking towards me.  I rarely share my prey when I make a kill.
“Get away!” I roared.  And doing what I said, she turned and walked back to the pride.  “Now to finish my long awaited meal,” I thought as I lay down in the tall grass.  

After finishing my meal, I started walking towards the pride.  A few seconds after I took several steps towards the pride, a vulture and hyena started eating the rest of my wildebeest.  After I took another six steps, I heard a swoop and a hyena laugh.  So I turned around to look at the dead wildebeest.  There were seven hyenas and eight vultures eating it all at the same time!  
“I have a fun idea!” I thought excitedly.  So I turned around fully and started running towards the after-kill eaters.  When they realized that a lion was running at them there where was a gawk, a howl and a cloud of dust.  When the dust cleared, I saw a dead hyena in front of my paws.  I was full, so I thought I’d drag it back to my cubs. So once again I headed towards the pride.

I tugged the dead hyena to the pride-gathering place and roared to my cubs.  It had been couple of hours since I’d seen them.
“Daddy, Daddy,  Zumon said that tomorrow we are going to move to the Big River and you will get to lead the pride there,” said my son, Yout.
Getting to lead the pride was a big responsibility.  And it’s the place for the lead-lion.  That position is to fend off intruders.  That means Zumon wants me to be the lead-lion after he passes away to the animal-after-world.
“I’ll go talk to Zumon,” I said.  “And I got a present for you while I was hunting.”
“Wow, a hyena.  I always wanted to eat one but they’re too fast for me,” said my daughter, Onki.  “Plus when I jump on them they always make that laughing noise and embarrass me.”
“Say ‘bye’ to your mom for me,” I said to Hy (another one of my sons) as I turned to go talk to Zumon.

When I got to Zumon’s cave, he was sitting at the mouth of the cave, his eyes closed.
“Hello, Jumba.  I was expecting you,” said Zumon calmly, his eyes still closed.  “You want to talk about tomorrow and leading the pride.”
“Yes, I do,” I replied.  “Do you think I’m ready for that position?”
“Do you think that I’m too nice to let you stay here even though you are four years old?  And young lions usually leave the pride at the age 2-3!  No, my time here is almost done, that is why I want you to stay.”
“It’s just, I don’t know anything about keeping off intruders,” I replied.
“You know how to kill a hyena on a full stomach!” chuckled Zumon.
“You saw that?”
“I see everything.  I saw you dragging that hyena to your cubs.  I saw that wildebeest you killed earlier today.  I’m in charge of the pride.  I look after everyone like they were my own body.  I can tell you a human named Miss Lorraine is reading this story right now.  And she’s across the Big Lake in a house in Dartmouth!  But back to the subject, I’ll teach you how to do it.  You just roar and chase them off.”
“That’s it?”
“Wow, that’s really easy.”
“It’s just as easy as letting lionesses do the majority of the hunting.  And as easy as waiting for seals to surface, so we can kill and eat them like the zebra,” said Zumon.  And looking up to the sky, he added, “You will do great things for the pride, Jumba.”

 March 2010
Assignment: including facts in fiction
Tracking the Wolves
by Jacob Correia,
age 8

“Last one in is a rotten egg,” I said doing a cannonball in Grandma’s pool.  I am nine years old and it is July 4th my birthday party.  After lunch we are going to explore the other side of the lake behind Grandma’s house.  After five more cannonballs Mom opened the door and told us it was lunchtime.  We got out of the pool, got our towels, dried up and went inside to change.  
After lunch we went outside to get the four person canoe.  On our way we came to a stop when we heard our cousin Danny calling us from the porch.  We turned around and saw him holding a pair of binoculars and pointing at two black things across the river.  
“I think they’re wolves,” said Danny as he climbed down the stairs.  We went to get the canoe.  When we got to the canoe the tide was coming in.
“That’s good,” said Danny.  We carefully put the canoe in the water.  Then one by one we got into the canoe.  We got the paddles.
“Ready,” said Danny as he got his paddle.
“Yup,” we answered as we started to paddle.
Suddenly, we heard something howl from across the river.  We followed the sound until we could make out two or three wolves playing tag.  Danny said that their parents were watching.  So we had to sneak around them when we landed.  Then, one started swimming toward us.
“Don’t be scared. We won’t hurt you,” it seemed to be saying.
“Phew,” I said turning my back on the animal and whispering something in Danny’s ear.
“Okay,” said Danny as we started paddling closer.  When we reached the wolf, it saw us and called for its’ brothers.
“A wolf’s fur has two layers that is why they can swim very well,” said big cousin Danny as he stretched over to pet the wolf.
“Oops!” He capsized the boat and the next thing I knew we were soaking wet, head to toe, and had a wolf was licking us all over.
      April 2010
Write ~ Away!
an anthology
from the Oak Knoll
Jumpstart Class, 2010
click here
Write Now!   
an anthology 
from the Berkley
Jumpstart Class, 2009
click here
Retrieving The Messenger
by Kolbe Correia
age 10

He turned the bend running at full speed blinded by tears from the wind whipped dust of the well-worn path.  From behind him and to either side he could hear the sounds of his pursuers, the continuous snarling, and the sporadic excited howls as they located his scent on the wind.  They were gaining on him.  It wouldn’t be long now.
“Enough!  I’ve seen enough!”  I said.  The amazing magical crystal ball of wonder picture fades away.  I walked to the window staring out it.  I commanded, “Lieutenant, get the chariots ready.  We need to go save the messenger!” 
“Yes, sir!”  I heard the Lieutenant say.  Then, foot steps and a creaking door.
Minutes later, I was riding my trusty quarter horse, wearing my no-weight iron armor with my magical lightening sword sitting in it’s sheath on my right side, and my bow and arrow slung over my shoulder.  The arrows had just been dipped in oil and ready to be set on fire to be come flaming arrows.  If you could see my face thru the helmet, all you would see was determination, DETERMINATION, DETERMINATION!   Our messenger was out there and now that the werewolf wizard had him that messenger might get forced to give him the next clue to getting the tenth power crystal!
Half an hour later, we found Skull Kingdom.  The moat was filled with lava. The drawbridge was a gigantic Mammoth-man skull that had torches inside the eye sockets!  Soldiers piled out of the chariots.  I pulled out my bow and arrow and tied a rope to the end of the arrow and fired.  I grabbed on to the other end of the rope right before it hit the lava.  “Phew, Soldiers grab hold!  We’re  gonna pull the drawbridge down!”  One by one soldiers grabbed on.
Soon the drawbridge was down.  Everyone ran in.  Werewolf Warriors jumped down on us from platforms on the side of the walls.  We were out numbered and I could see the Werewolf Wizard standing on a high tower watching the battle.  
Suddenly, I had a plan.  
Magical lightening swords can come in handy especially when fighting a werewolf wizard.  I snuck into the tower and started fighting him.  This guy is powerful!  He can shoot lightening out of his fingers and surround me with hurricane winds.  Plus, he has a staff which he can use as a sword.
After one hour, I was tired, but I kept on fighting.
Suddenly, the wizard pushed me onto the ground, then jumped on me knocking the sword out of my hands.
“It’s all over, General!” he hissed.  
I glared at him and said, “First, you have to tell me where my messenger is!”
“He’s down in the dungeons underground,”  The wizard answered.
“That’s all I need to know,”  I said while pulling an arrow out of its holder.  It scratched across the rock ground lightening it.  I pulled out my bow and before the werewolf wizard knew, he had an arrow in his chest.  He wailed and screamed as his fur caught on fire.
We found the key on the dead jail guard’s belt.  I unlocked the messenger’s jail door.  He didn’t re-think running out of the jail.
“Thank you General!! Thank you!  I know where the tenth power crystal is!”  he shouted.  I smiled at him, not only did we destroy the Werewolf Wizard, we also know where the tenth power crystal is!!
March 2010 
Assignment: finish the story starter:
Assignment: Include facts in fiction:
Dinosaurs, Rocketships and Fire Alarms 
Jess Marcure

English class was my least favorite class; we talked about things I had no care for. So that’s why, while my teacher talked, I secretly had my headphones in. Today we were watching a movie on conjunctions. It was obvious it was made for first graders not eighth.
“Kris!” My best friend hissed from across the aisle.
“What?” I whispered.
“We need a diversion and soon!” she smiled, the resolution clear in her eyes.
“I’m glad you’re using big words now Lyssa, but what?”
“Fire alarm?” she suggested.
I’m positive I looked reproachful, “'Member last time? Suspended one week.”
She raised her eyebrows perplexed and whistled softly, “Sorry forgot.”
“We could breach security at the front desk,” I said happily. The secretary was probably already asleep it would be easy.
Our teacher started down the aisle. We hastily ended our ‘discourse’ as our teacher would say.
“Anything you two would like to share?” We both shook our heads.
“You are both subordinate to me! Remember that!” (Out English teacher was once a general in the army.)
We nodded our heads and mumbled, “Yes sir.”
“Good, now this problem is resolved.” He turned and walked away.
I shot a look to Lyssa and mouthed, “Fire alarm.”
             August 2010
Assignment: Vocabulary Used in a Story
The Content Little Child
by Mikayla Corbeil
 age 10

As Kally walked down the old rusty broken bridge, she looked in the clear water and sighed at her reflection.  She stooped down and touched the icy cold
water with her fingertips.  When she stood up, she heard a lovely melody of birds which filled her heart with joy and made her face look kind-hearted.  She happened to smell a delicious smell which came from the direction of her house.  It was her mother’s tasty apple pie Kally thought happily.  Just thinking about it made her feel famished.  
She started walking toward her house and as she turned the corner she gulped.  Her legs felt like stone when she came to the house with the nice lawn, beautiful autumn-colored trees and a mean dog that always barked at her.  Kally was frightened as the dog bounded towards her.  When he was about 10 feet away, she put her hands on her hips, wrinkled up her nose and stuck out her tongue.  Immediately, he stopped and pranced to the middle of the yard pointing his nose up in the air like he didn’t even care.  
That takes care of that, she thought bravely.  The next house over was hers. She was feeling tired so she plopped down on a moldy rock so she could rest for a moment.  Using all her energy, she walked up the short driveway and on to the white porch.  She skipped into her house and the warm air swooped around her.  After she had dinner and apple pie for dessert, Kally went up to her room and plopped exhaustedly on to her big soft fluffy bed.  She felt sleepy from all the walking and was out like a light within minutes.
September 2010
Assignment:  Vocabulary inspired story
 The Two Pumpkins
by Maris Van Vlack,
 age 8

It was the first day of autumn and a full moon was expected tonight.  Two pumpkins were sitting on the porch.  Their names were Billy and George.  Billy was big and orange.  George was small and white.
Billy said, “George, I heard Person say that she was going to have a party.  She said some pumpkin pie would be nice.”
“Eeeek!” George exclaimed. “I don’t want to be made into pumpkin pie!!!”
Then, Person came out of the house.  She was carrying a knife.   She picked up Billy and walked slowly into the house.
George was completely freaked out.  What had happened to Billy?  She was going to make him into pumpkin pie!
George had a thought.  Maybe she was going to make him into pumpkin pie, too! He was totally freaked out. 
Then, Person came out again. This time, the knife had orange all over it. She brought him into the kitchen.  She put him on a table. She held up the knife.  George saw a blur of metal, and everything went black.
When she was done, she picked him up and walked past a mirror. He had a big smile! He liked it!  She brought him to the porch. Billy was there!  He had a big smile, too!
“I like this smile, George!” Billy exclaimed. 
“I like mine, too,” George agreed.

 ~~  Fuzz   ~~

“George, your smile isn’t very big today!” Billy said.
“Your smile isn’t huge either, Billy!!” George retorted.
“You aren’t saying polite things!” Billy said.
“Neither are you!” George shouted.
“Hey, Billy, you have a piece of fuzz behind your ear,” George said.
“I don’t have ears,” Billy said crossly.
“Well, it’s where behind your ear would be if you had them,” George said.
“What’s an ear?” Billy asked.
“It’s the thing humans have that stick out from the sides of their heads,” an annoyed George told him. 
“Ooooh,” Billy said excitedly. “The thing they hold when it’s raining?”
“No, no, no, no!” said George. “That’s an umbrella!”
“Oooh, now I get it,” Billy said. “It’s the thing they put on their heads when they go to important places!”
“STOP!!!!” shouted George. “It’s the thing that sticks out from the side of their heads and sometimes women put gold things on!!!”
“Oh,”George said. “It’s the thing women sometimes put gold things on.  Now I get it.”
“No you don’t!” screamed George.   “Here, come a little closer...  There.  I got it,” George said rubbing away the fuzz.  “Now we can stop talking about it.  Wait! Now it is on your foot,” George added.
“Is a foot the thing that stick out of human’s heads that women sometimes put gold things on?”  Billy asked.
            “Oh, shut up,” George sighed.
February 2011
 The Gluey Morning
by Elijah Van Vlack
age 10

It all started with a school project. I had to write a paper with pictures of all my favorite things on it.  Then the glue jumped (well, maybe, just maybe, I hit the glue bottle a tiny bit) out of the bottle and landed on me and the project.
I cleaned up the glue on the project first. Then I tried to get it out of my shirt. It was very (sorry, I mean VERY) hard to get out. In the end, I changed shirts. 
Now back to the project. It was then I realized that all the glue had spilled out. I asked Mom where more glue was.
“That was the last of the glue that you just spilled!” she yelled back.
Then I went to find tape.  I found my little sister. And there (of all places!) were two new bottles of glue.  I yelled, “Where did you get these?!”
She answered, “In the basement.”
I grabbed the bottles and ran upstairs and hid them under a loose floorboard for later.  Then I want downstairs for lunch.
~~  The Sticky Afternoon  ~~
I quickly glued a picture on to a big white poster board.   Then I glued a picture of my favorite rock onto the poster board.  Then the glue leaped in a single bound on to the table and me!  (Thankfully I had put the poster board on an easel.)  
"Ack!"  I yelled, "the second time today!"  I yelled so loud my big brother heard across the house could hear me through his head phones.   With skill I cleaned up the huge, gluey mess.  I wouldn't press my luck.  I decided to use reliable scotch tape.  
      I easily put two more pictures on to the poster board.  Then the tape went wild!  It wrapped itself around me.  The tape pinned my arms to my sides and wrapped around my head.  I was still able to see through the clearish strips.  My little sister came into my room.
      "Peter," she yelled in her five year old voice, "you have a lot of tape on your head.   Mom!  Peter has tape on his head!"
"Oh, don't worry about it dear... Wait!  Did you say tape?"  
  Mom rushed into the room.  I was turning blue.  Mom yanked on the end of the tape.  I was sent spinning.  Fresh air rushed into my lungs.
 "Thanks," I gasped.  
I walked over to my project.  It was covered in the one long strip that Mom had yanked off my body.  I walked to my bed and collapsed.
February 2011

The Witch
by Owen Galvin
age 16

All through the haunted night 
I lay, stark awake 
as the ghosts did play.

And on that dreary Halloween,
Occasionally came a howl 
or scream.

Jolted was I, again and again,
By the witch’s cackle, 
the one from the fen.

My dearest mother, she once was,
Until that gloomy night because:

With a wave of her wand and 
a sweep of her broom,
Off she sent me, 
straight to my room.

March 2011
 The War of the Apples
by Owen Galvin, age 15

I placed one foot in front of the other cautiously, careful not to make a sound.  Muffled voices emanated from the closed door in front of me.  I eased my way up and placed an ear to the wood.  
“They will be expecting a strike from the north, so if we move east, where the least guards are, we should be able to take the walls before they ever realize the danger!” one man stated logically.
“I agree, we must move east,” replied a deeper, more guttural voice that I recognized as that of Sir Baldwin, the general in charge of the tart forces of Empress Granny Smith.  

 July 2010

by  Michael Beattie
age 14

Night sky, moon shines bright,
Now comes Orion's lost night.
Summer stars shine bright
The dark clouds leave rain:
Snow melts, flowers come, sun shines
Birds call. Spring is here.

March 2011
 Hell Awaits…
                by Owen Galvin, age 16

The flames roared beneath them, licking at their heels.  The two men leaped from pillar to pillar of black volcanic stone.  The magma rose quickly, consuming everything in its path.
“Hurry!”  The first man called back. He was an average sized, muscular warrior wearing the tattered remnants of a crusader’s tabard, with steel chainmail underneath.  
“No, I was just going to sit here and catch my breath! Of course I’m hurrying!”  Replied the second man sarcastically. He was shorter and thinner than the first man, and was moving far more lithely. He was dressed in leather armor, which had at one time had been brown, but had darkened with soot. The columns they leaped across were only a couple feet in any direction, and stretched from the fiery rift, hundreds of feet in the air to where the companions were now.  They were headed toward a fissure in the black iron walls of hell, from which low, steady growling emanated, pierced by the occasional scream from the tormented souls inside.
The lava was a mere 50 feet below them and rising fast when they reached the rift.  They had no hope of return.  They forged headfirst into hell...

The two men, James, the lieutenant of the queen’s guard and Richard, the captain of the guard, stood on a long pier extending into the river Acheron. Its black waters and icy chill were rumored to have killed hundreds of mortals who had tried to pass.  They walked down the pier. 
Charon strode to intercept them. “Mortals!” he cried indignantly, “thou must know I cannot let thee by.”  Charon was a tall shade, his body covered completely by a black cloak. His entire head was a skull, and he had small black flames writhing behind his eye sockets.
“My lord Charon,” the crusader began, “it is of utmost importance that we pass, else an innocent soul may be doomed to eternal torture at the hands of Lucifer!”
“I canno…” Charon began, but was interrupted by a low growling voice.
“Let them pass.” The companions shuddered to think of who or what that voice might belong to.  “These belong to me,” finished the voice menacingly.  The words sent a shiver up their spines.
“Yes my lord!” Charon replied.  He turned to the companions and spoke, “Right this way doomed ones.” He laughed pityingly, which vaguely resembled the squeals of a drowning pig.
They shuffled aboard the ferry, a small wooden affair covered with algae and mold.  Charon pushed off and poled his way slowly across the river.  They passed icebergs with horrid scenes locked inside, visible through the clear ice.  In one there was a man with his stomach ripped open by the gaff hook at his feet, his innards spilling out between his grasping fingers.  In another there was a man driving his sword into another’s eye, with an explosion of gore coming out of the wound and oozing down his face.
An hour later, they arrived at the other side. “Welcome to the Inferno,” Charon sneered, “Enjoy your stay!” Charon poled back into the mist, leaving only his cackle behind.
At the end of the slimy, rotting docks loomed an enormous black cliff, its top not visible through the smoke and sulfur.  These impregnable walls were grudgingly broken by a narrow crack of a passage, leading to the first circle of Hell: the realm of Limbo.  The companions exchanged a glance, shrugged, and strode into the passage.
It was dead silent in the unnatural hallway, and no wind could enter. The air was thick and musty.  The smog obscured their view, to the point they could see but ten feet in front of them.  In areas of the passage, they had to turn their shoulders to narrow themselves enough to squeeze through.  The granite walls were damp and slimy from the moss that coated them.  They walked for over an hour without finding the end of the tunnel.  The scenery had not changed.  It was as if the underworld were too foul and repulsive for even time itself to exist there.
As they walked, the leather clad man spoke, “Richard, are you sure she has passed this way? What if her kidnapping was just a rival kingdom’s work?” he asked quietly. “Listen, did you not see the pentacle on the back of her majesty’s throne? Only Lucifer can bestow that sign; furthermore, see this ring?” He presented a plain gold band with intertwining vines along it, ”For centuries this has connected the queen and the captain of her bodyguard, that is to say, me.  It allows me to know what path she has taken, in case we ever became separated, such as now.  There can be no doubt,” Richard replied confidently.  “No more conversation now, we near the end of the tunnel.”  As they stepped out of the passage, they found themselves on an enormous cliff overlooking Limbo... 

February 2010
Assignment: imitation of tone, Dante Alighieri’s Divine Comedy
                   by Isaac Nugent-Faverman                age 13

Ice like a frozen 
Warrior, standing guard,
Cold and lifeless cube

April, 2011
by Lydia Kydland,
age 13

Red, brown, orange, gold
The leaves fall from the old trees
The poet is still
Frosted window panes
In the house of the insane.
Guilermo awakes.

April, 2011

by Rachael Cordeiro
 age 13

Pictures on the wall
Of Thanksgiving dinner hang.
Wish I could go back

                          April, 2011
by Elijah VanVlack
age 12
Blue Autumn leaves fall,
Like rocks on smooth wet slopes
Snow drifts in the air.
 Dancers spin, and leap
On fields dotted with flowers
Too girlish for me.
April, 2011
by Maris VanVlack
age 9

 Gay George and Billy
Sitting on the sunny porch
Afraid of winter
April, 2011
by Alizabeth Jewell
age 10

My brother Sam
Likes to eat P.B & Jam
He always destroys
All of my toys.

April, 2011
by Carter Thompson
age 11

 Miss Lorraine went insane
So she jumped right out of a plane
She ate a wookie
Who she thought was a cookie.
April 2011

by Jake Correia
age 10

Small birds chirp sweetly.
Summer wind blows on my face.
I step in dog poop.

April, 2011

by Kolbe Correia
age 12

Birds chirp, call and sing.
I hear an airplane fly by.
“I’m open!” Max yells.

                            May 2011

by Joey Gonsalves
age 10

Masked clones roam the streets
Unknown pale-faced they are beasts
Clowns in a nightmare.

May 2011
by Maggie Benton
age 12

 A long flowing mane.
Golden horn upon his head
He cannot be tamed.

May 2011
by Daniel Perry
age 10

 I have an annoying sister Victoria,
I asked a dwarf to send her to Moria
Tied to a boulder she did roll
Into the mouth of a giant cave-troll.

   May 2011
by Rachael Perry
age 9
There once was a boy named Tom
Who one day turned into his Mom,
He made no messes
And wore pretty dresses.
Our teacher, Miss Lorraine
Gives us so much homework it drives us insane
Just thinking of homework gives us a fright
She makes us work all day and night

May 2011
Creative Writing First Steps     2011
Gummy Bear
by Kolbe Coreira
age 11

I followed him behind buildings, between cracks in buildings, until finally, he went into a restaurant door, and sat down.  I sat down in a booth, where I could easily see him.
“Agent Correia, reporting in!”  I said in-to my micro-talkie.  “I’ve tracked one of Dr. Decorox’s henchmen into a restaurant where he is eating lunch, over!”  
A waiter came up to me, sixteen or seventeen years old.
“Hello, how can I help you?”  he asked.  
“Oh, just get me a coffee,”  I said.
“One coffee, coming up!” he said.   “Oh yeah, and while you wait, do you want to hear the Gummy bear song?”
“No,” I said. “Just get my coffee!”
“Oh, c’mon! You only have to hear it once!”
“Okay,” I said “Just once!”  I stuck the plugs in my ear and listened….
“Oh I’m a Gummy Bear, just a lucky little gummy bear………”
I pulled the plugs out of my ears and looked around.  That was the dumbest song ever --  Wait!  Where’s the henchmen I was following? And where’s the waiter?  As I quickly got up to go, the waiter walked back in the room.
“I’ll take that to go,” I said.
“Okay, that’ll be a dollar thirty.  Oh yeah, how did you like the Gummy Bear song?”
“Fine,” I said, trying to be polite.  “I gotta go.”  I dashed out the door with my mug of coffee.  Trackings a –callin!!

 March 2011

by Max Thompson
age 12

Trying to wake up
Keep slipping into a dream
When will they find me?
May 2011

by Maggie Beattie
age 12

Pretty daffodils
Buzzing bees, bad memories,
Birds happily chirp.

 Mqy 2011
by Carter: Thompson
age 11

Squirells look for food
Chipmunks look for better food
Leaves fall off trees
 May 2011
by Cole Paul
age 10

The breeze flies around
Multicolored leaves fall down.
I get my sweater.

May 2011
Damsel in Distress
by Alizabeth Jewell,
age 9

Once upon a time, there was a princess locked in a tower.  One day, a prince rode up to the tower on his noble steed.  He saw the tower.  He went to the tower.  And he yelled, “Whatever your name is, whatever your name is, let down your hair.”
The princess came into view.  She yelled, “Yeah, what do you want?”
The prince said, “I am going to rescue you.”
She yelled back, “Okay.  You want to grab on to my hair?”
She threw down her long hair.  The prince grabbed on to her hair and started climbing up.  All of a sudden the hair fell off.  The prince fell to the ground.  He wondered what happened.
The princess yelled, “Sorry, I just got those extensions last week.”
The prince thought of what to do next.  He yelled up to the princess, “Hey!  Do you have a big scarf?”
She yelled back, “Yeah.  It’s in my big chest of stuff.”
She threw down one end of the scarf.  The prince started climbing up the scarf.  He reached the princess and grabbed her hand.
The prince yelled, “Ow!”
The prince fell back to the ground.
She yelled, “You broke my nail!  Manicures cost money, you know!”
The prince said, “You know, I am just going to go now and find a princess who is not locked in a tower.  So, see ya.”
The princess watched him leave.  She said to herself, “Why can’t those princes learn to just use the back door?”
The princess went out the back door to use the outhouse.

February 2011
 Congratulations Marisa!!!!
As part of the Classic Literature class, students competed in the Ayn Rand Essay Contests.
 Marisa Natale was selected as both a finalist in the "We the Living" Contest, and a semi-finalist in the "Anthem" contest! This places her in the top two hundred contestants of 15,000 international students!
Click here to add text.
Mr. Carter
    by Emma R.Dias. 
age 12

I walked into my Writing classroom.  It was a small, blue, shabby looking room, stuffy, but comfortable.  In the center of the room was a long, wooden table.  On the table was a piece of paper.  Sehrish picked it up, cleared her throat, and read aloud:
"Dear Class, My flight was delayed. I'll be back next  week.  Carter is in charge of class while I'm gone.  Good luck, Miss Lorraine."
I watched as Sehrish, horrorstruck, let the note fall to the floor.  It fell swiftly and lightly, yet the room had a heavy-aired, nervous feeling to it.   Carter laughed evilly and I heard Ana, Carter's younger sister, mumble something that sounded whole lot like: "Ugh, boys!"  Sehrish, Ana, Becca and I went to take our seats. 
"No, no, no!" Carter cackled. "Today we have class outside!"
 "But it's raining!" cried Becca. 
 "Well, I don't want to get wet," Carter said thoughtfully, "so - SIT!!"
 Reluctantly, we took our places as Carter began to give a speech on how blowing up the world in a story isn't just writing 'BOOM' with fifteen exclamation points at the end of a story.
I slowly slipped into a deep sleep.   I was woken by a deafening scream coming from the closet.   Ana, Timothy and I rushed to the closet.  Ana wrenched the door open.   There, on the floor, was Miss Lorraine.  She was tied up.  Her hair was blue, she had a skull tattoo on her face, and there was now a mouth gag hanging around her neck.
 "How?" Timothy exclaimed.  
"Carter!" Miss Lorraine yelled, frighteningly. 
 "Well, duh," Ana and I said together. "JINX!" we added excitedly.
  Then, I was falling. The room dissolved slowly into blackness, loneliness, nothingness.  Next thing I knew Carter was yelling angrily at me.  "Emma! Emma, detention! Detention I tell you!" 
 I sat bolt-right up. 
 "As I was saying," Carter said in a voice that was calm and very much unlike his own, "when you destroy the world in a story, it must come from the fear,  worry, and fright for your soul."
  "So, for example, if I were to write a story about you?" said Ana tauntingly.
  "Exactly!" said Carter brightly. 
 I sighed. There was still forty-five more minutes left of class.
  Every once in a while, I'd look at Ana, who continued to turn the golden locket she was wearing over and over with her finger.  
Finally, she opened the locket. A small bottle of maroon liquid expanded slowly from the locket.  Ana downed the substance and coughed loudly, then stood.
   Carter, who was in mid-sentence, stopped abruptly and fell silent.
   Ana, as if it was as easy as walking, lifted Carter off of his feet and chucked him out of the open window as if he was something old, worn-out, and broken something for she had no use what-so-ever. 
"You showed him!" I blurted out.  Ana smiled kindly and simply taught the remaining part of the lesson.                                                                                                            October 10, 2011

The Ghost
by Adoralee Silva
age 14

     One day in the house I use to live in, I was having a sleep over. It was a beautiful summer day and I was excited, I love sleep overs. I got the room ready, first I got the mat I used for gymnastics to put on the floor. There were sheets, pillows and blankets to fix. This room was mostly empty because I use it to practice dance. Everything was ready, i just needed to wait for Margaret.

     Later that night we were both asleep when I felt something touch my hair. It felt like a hand on my head pushing my head up. Then it felt like my hair was being stroked, this woke me up. I felt like a man was there, but I didn't see anything. I wasn't scared but I also didn't know what to do. So I poked Margaret trying to wake her up. She didn't wake up.  She said," Stop poking me!" "Now what?" I said to myself?

     I got up went to the kitchen and saw the ghost. The ghost had a drink in his hand and said," This will turn me into a prince!"  
     I watch as he drank it but I didn't see a prince - I saw a chipmunk eating a donut."

     I let the chipmunk out. I finish eating his donut then went back to the mat, pulled up the covers and went back to sleep.

            May 2012
Visiting my Dad
by Maria Barend, age 12

Darkness, plain darkness, that's all I can see until, "Flick".  It's a good thing I always bring my flashlight  when I go to visit my dad.  I look both ways I don't like cemeteries.  They are always so dark and so....lonely.  No one ever comes to cemeteries any more, well except old people, but I'm getting off the subject.
I walked and walked.  I looked from gravestone to gravestone.  Then finally I saw the one with the markings of "David G. Johnson".  I looked at it almost in disbelief.
It's been two years since my dad died in a train crash, but I still haven't really gotten over it.  I didn't even get to say goodbye.  It all happened so quickly.  I felt a tear trying to break through, but quickly pushed it back.  I have to be strong, really strong for my mom.  She is going through a hard time now. She put us in private school and got a job.  I knelt down next to my dad's grave and said,  ''Hi Dad.'' 
May 2012
 The Cave
 by Savera Khan
(age 10)

Mike stood in front of the dark cave mouth, his knees shaking. Hesitantly, he took a step. Then another. Then another. Once inside, he took out a match and struck. It went out. He struck again. Drip, drip, drip. Mike looked up to find that the water from the stalactites was causing the matches to go out. 

“Grrrrrr…” something growled from the darkness. Mike gulped. 

“W-who are you?” he asked, shining his match into the blackness.

“GRRRRR!!!” the thing roared.


Mike screamed with terror as a…as a…grey cat jumped out from behind a stalagmite and into Mike’s lap! 

"Oh, its just you Ash!” Mike said, faint with relief. Mike left the cave after that, Ash in tow and they all lived happily ever after.

  The End                      
Suspense Building Exercise
May 2019