A Window Dividing: a poem

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A Window Dividing

December twenty-first

reads the calendar

But she knows she still hasn’t seen winter

Frost spreads, framing the window

The glass

acts as a sheet of ice, sending chills through her cheeks

Outdoors

snowflakes float to the ground with grace

The fire’s glow reflects off the back of her wool knit sweater

While she watches the winter wonderland

alluringly

create itself

Daring her to explore the very world it had been before

only concealed in white

 Winter has arrived

she stated.

What reminds you of the holiday season?

Happy holidays,

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25 Unique Names for the Protagonist of Your Story

What’s up with Reading & Writing Posts…

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First of all, I’d like to announce that this is my fiftieth blog post (woohoo!). In addition to this, I’d like to mention that I just got fifty followers as well! Many thanks to each and every one of you! ❤️

By the way, I’d like to notify you that I will be doing a collab blog post this weekend with Meghan @Bookslayer Reads! Way excited :).

Plus I’m considering on upgrading to wordpress premium this winter, which would be great because I will then be able use plugins for my blog (like rafflecopter, etc). So now that all the news is out, let’s get started with this post.

I made this T-Chart for this post, to share some great names that I think you could use for characters in a story you are currently writing! (I must admit it did take me awhile to make due to some technical difficulties 🙂 ha ha)

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Thanks, and I hope you liked the names!

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A Night’s Revolution Poem

I don’t write poems too often, but I especially like this one. Although I wrote this poem quite a few years ago, I didn’t have this blog then, so I  decided I might as well post it now.

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A Night’s Revolution

At dusk Sunlight peeks over the horizon

Reflections shimmer in luminosity sitting on the teal tide of the sea

Moaning of the sailboats out in the harbor

Rocking with the petite waves

Mildly tugging itself from the mooring

Lull stillness enclosing you on the waterfront

Full of obscurity and desolation

A crowding sky full of vivid stars

A glistening moon rising in the sun’s position

Until dawn arrives

By Sarah

Thank you for reading!

‘KYHM’ Writing Method

Hi, so I haven’t done a writing post in a loooong time! I was just staring at the home page of my website and was like: if it’s called reading AND writing posts than I better get moving on the writing part of my website, because I’m seriously lagging with these posts. I decided to talk about something I did in writing camp at a college over the summer. It was a week long, and a great way to practice my writing.

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What it is: The KYHM (Keep Your Hands Moving) method was when you had to write for around 5 minutes with NO STOPPING.

My commentary on it: I personally actually didn’t really like this a whole lot. Partly because I much rather prefer typing over using a pen and paper, because I got some major hand cramps, ha ha… I wrote a terrible story, because when pressured to write, the ideas go into hiding :(. I suppose it could be a good way to get you going, to just see what pops into your head if you have nothing to write about though.

Uses:

  • Writer’s Block
  • The opposite: if you have a really great idea and need to get down all you can on paper
  • I really don’t know; if you’re bored? Just keep writing. (Oh my gosh it’s like from finding dory except the writing version😂) Just keep writing, just keep writing, just keep writing. 🐠🎵

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This is basically just a writing challenge thing, and I found that a lot of funny things come from it because you don’t know what to write but you have to write, so it is an interesting experiment to try.

 

Lost by Sarah

A chilling scream erupted, echoing down the halls.  I jolted into a sitting position, with beads of sweat trickling down the bridge of my nose.  I suddenly realized the scream belonged to me, and instantly relaxed into a slumping position, but at the same time I still felt nothing except eerily unnerved.

I yawned so widely that for a split second I thought my jaw was going to break.  I then recalled I couldn’t even remember what the nightmare that awoke me was about, as I headed towards the bathroom.  

That’s because I never actually had a nightmare when I fell asleep.  My nightmare is reality.  

I glanced at the clock hanging on the wall, “Three twenty-eight.”  I mumbled with yet another yawn.  My voice sounded tired and rachet from staying up until morning waiting for my parents to return to our hotel room.

On the other hand, I also spent last night watching the New Year’s Eve ball drop on live television, even though it was only ten blocks away.

I’m was just absolutely exhausted from watching Wicked on broadway on top of shopping until morning arrived, about a day ago.  Given this, I didn’t have to give a second thought to missing out on New Year’s Eve in Times Square the next day.

I was washing the sweat clean from my face in the bathroom sink when I abruptly froze.  Two pairs of dress shoes clicked on the hotel hall’s wood floor.  My eyes lit up as I scrambled to the door and nearly opened it with a welcoming smile.  

But I didn’t, because the footsteps past our hotel room, and I eventually heard the click of the key opening a door merely a few feet away.  I shrugged it off, assuring myself that Mother and Father will arrive here soon enough, and they were simply off without me at a restaurant or party.

It is New Year’s Eve after all, so surely many people don’t leave the city until an hour or two after midnight.  It has been three and a half hours since midnight though.  Should I truly be as worried as I am?  

Before they left, Mother reminded me that they were going to go to the square to watch the ball drop, and possibly take a stroll around to go shopping or grab a bite to eat.  She invited me along for the third time that night, nearly insisting that I come along, but I declined her offer as I was prepared to retire to a deep slumber for the night.  

I promised myself that if they didn’t return by dawn then the distinct thing to do would be calling the police.  Until then I would do all I could to help find them, which technically speaking, there isn’t a whole lot of options.

I called each of my parents cell phones over thirty times, but I merely heard the voice mail kick in with each call.

Despite the promise I previously made,  I attempted calling the police department,  but they didn’t pick up of course.  I didn’t even expect them to anyways.  Afterall, tonight, they probably have around a hundred times as many emergencies and problems in comparison to any other average night.

I paced around the room until I was dizzy.  

I cried until my cheeks were shiny, and my shirt was soaked.  Then at last I managed to drift off to sleep; with fear nearly visible to a blind man in my eyes.

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The glare of the sun shining through the balcony door was enough to wake me.  I expected to hear Father whistling as the paper crinkled in his hands, or breathe in the savory smell of Mother’s freshly baked blueberry muffins.  

Instead I awoke to only the cars passing by to fill in the lonely silence.

This moment was completely predictable, but at the same time I couldn’t have helped but hopelessly envision that this wouldn’t have happened.  

I sorrowfully stared at the picture of Mother, Father, and I, sitting on the nightstand table.  On it was a yellow sticky note (the color was much too cheery for my taste at the moment), and it addressed my name, and then their phone numbers on it.  The note hasn’t been even slightly beneficial so far, given that they aren’t picking up their phones.

With each second that passed by, I had to remind myself that miracles do happen, because, even though my heart didn’t want me to admit it, I was almost positive they weren’t returning in this hour of the day, or the next.  It was my best attempt towards reassuring myself.

Not more than a few minutes later, I picked up the phone to dial the police department’s phone number.  “Hello?” A man with a deep and demanding voice asked.  

When I answered my voice sounded shaky, “Hi.”  

“So what would you like to report Miss… what would your last name be ma’am?”

“Prince… I mean-” I had accidently said my mother’s maiden name, and I tried to tell him my real one, but he cut me off before I could finish my sentence.  “Back to the first question please Miss Prince.” He spoke quite quickly, and the tone in his voice clearly instructed me not to interrupt.

“My parents went missing in Times Square last night.  And my last name is-”  His demanding voice broke into my sentence once again, “Now what were their names Miss-?”  

“May and Tyrell Flores.”  I listened to only the static coming from the phone for about ten seconds.  “Officer, are you there?  Hello Sir?” There was no answer so I assumed the line was down.  

The police sirens in began to grow louder in the distance, as they approached the hotel I was staying in.

I peered over the balcony to find an electricity line down, lying in the middle of the street.

To be sure the last two events weren’t simply coincidental, I walked over to the light switch and flicked it up and down a few times with no response.  

The hotel must not have a generator I’m assuming, and since it lacks the decency of most other hotels, they probably don’t have it anywhere near in the budget to buy one.  

Plus I don’t have a cell phone, so I decided to take a trip down to the front desk for a solution.  Although something tells me that I shouldn’t leave the safety of our hotel room, I do anyways, because what’s life without taking risks?
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I run downstairs, headed towards the check-in desk.  

The chairs behind the desk were empty, and remained that way even after I rung the assistance bell.  I patiently waited for a staff member to arrive, trying my best not to appear discouraged by the fact that not a single person was present in the entire entry hall.  

“Well, evidently this place doesn’t do great, business or service wise.”  I murmured so quietly that even I couldn’t understand what I had said.  

Judging from what I just said, I’m sure you can imagine that I was startled to see a frail old lady enter the room from the door behind the desk.  

Her name tag read Marcy, in faded print.  Marcy took a seat in the chair and powered up a dell that appeared to be as old as she was.  Opposed to speaking to me she simply pushed her glasses down her nose and began to type, as light from the computer screen reflected off her face, making her face appear a paper white hue.  

I rung the bell multiple times, but in response she only seemed to inch closer to the screen with each ring.  My annoyance built up the impulse to wave my hands between the computer screen and her face.  When I did so, she was hardly fazed, but it seemed to be enough of a distraction for her to slip on her hearing aids, and ask me, “How may I help you my dear?”

“Well, I’m looking for a phone to use.”

The answer was just as expected “None available dear.”

That can’t be, this is the twenty-first century.  Such an answer seems hardly appropriate.  “Not even a cell phone?”

She gave me a chuckle that irritated me, then responded, “Oh dear, well I do have a flip phone, but do you truly expect that I use it?  The present still remains so foreign to me, I suppose my head is still stuck in the sixties!  Oh and by the way, I just adore your accent, it’s absolutely darling!  Are you German?”  She asked in a sugary voice.

“Swedish, Marcy.”  I make sure to always speak extra loudly with most elderly ladies, because sometimes even the hearing aids won’t quite do the job.

“Ah, I see, when did you move here?”

“I didn’t.  My Mother and Father did.  Speaking of which, I really need a phone.”  I whined, clearly tired of chit-chatting when my parents were missing.

“All in good time my dear.  The solution is simple; you may go use the telephone booth two blocks away.”

I took a step outside of the building, into the frosty air.  Five foot snow banks lined the sides of the streets, for the storms have came on heavy this winter.  I spotted the telephone booth, about six blocks away, in it’s cherry red hue, and ran towards it, as small snowflakes collided with my face.

A coat of icy glaze covered the booth, but despite that, the interior was fairly warm.  The streets alongside here were almost deserted.  I reached in my pocket for any spare change, but with no luck.  Four pennies wouldn’t be enough to cover the cost of the enduring conversation I wanted to have with the police.  

Before I knew it, I had fallen asleep in the telephone booth in New York City. Apparently one hour of sleep doesn’t do you much good.

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5 Tricks to Starting a Story

The hardest part of writing a story is starting it, because to make it interesting, the goal is to grab the reader’s attention in the first few pages.  Not only do you have to do that, but you also have to start to build up the story.  For example, if I were to have my character living in a dystopian society, I would have to know what I want in that society from the start.  Last but not least, you must know the conflict of your story, that will last long enough, and even lead to more conflicts.  So to make the process of beginning a good story easier here are some fairly simple tricks for your writing…

  1. Use an (preferably exciting) experience that you’ve been through, so you know what it is like.  Obviously use different characters and possibly places when you’re writing it though.  Then just drag the story out of your experience, and change the events that come after it into a possibility of what could have happened to you.                                                                                                                                                                                                   
  2.  Start of with an event that is believable enough (not too crazy out there), but be sure to add enough excitement to it to get readers interested.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  
  3. Find a name that well fits your character(s), and make sure you’re giving them the right amount of, well, character.  You want the reader to get to know the main character well enough to know what’s unique or special about them.                                                                                                                                                                                                            
  4. How much opinion do you want to write with?  For example, in Rebel Belle, the main character tells the story more from her side, and says things like: “ugh, this is so embarrassing.  I head butted him.  I know, like a soccer hooligan or something… See?  I told you it got weirder.”  Unlike a book like, say  Divergent, where the facts are pretty much straight forward and laid out in front of you.  So really, this also has to do with the style of your writing, and that is determined by your character’s personality.                           Screenshot (20)
  5.   Type up a quick outline of your story, to begin with.  Use the picture above as an example.  Just jot down the basic facts, so that you know where you’re story is going to be heading, or you at least have a basic idea.  This helps you develop things such as the basic idea, conflict, and characters of the story before you actually begin to write it.  With a good outline, you automatically will have a well structured story.                                                                                                                                                                                            Thanks for reading, I hope you found this helpful 🙂

Meet Our New Author

Hey guys,

So here’s what I know about my new author:

I’m so excited to announce that I now have my friend Kimberly publishing posts on my website now!  Her posts will be focused on the stories she wrote herself, infact she already has a piece posted now, called Wild, so be sure to take a look at it.

I really hope you guys enjoy her stories as much as I do!  If you have any questions for her just put them in the Q&A and I’ll be sure to get them to Kimberly as soon as possible.

Thank you,

Sarah

Avoiding Word Overuse

Please scroll down to view more, because this color chart happens to be unfortunately large…

These were posted to help writers write.... but TGtbT.com thinks they'd help consignment/ resale staffers describe incoming goods better. After all, it's not a pink couch or dress: it's salmon or strawberry, right?: 100 ways to say bad - blog post includes links to dictionary definitions for all of these words!: 200 Ways to Say Went ...or in other words, use the correct past tense verb :-): A List of More Descriptive Words for "Said"...I still like the word said, because it's accurate.:

So, just a reminder, you can find more of these on Pinterest (maybe Google Images).  Of course there’s always thesaurus.com, which is the obvious solution, but I think that that these charts offer the larger variety of word choices you’re looking for.  These are great resources to look back on when writing.

Speaking of which, to make sure that you’re not overusing certain words, you can always just press Ctrl+F.  Just type in a word in the search bar in the right hand corner that pops up.  The words on the page that match the word you typed into the search bar will be highlighted.

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Thank you for reading, and I hope you find this helpful to your writing!

 

The First Sentence

Sometimes you’re trying to think of the perfect first sentence that will spark all these ideas in your head on what to write about.  Well I happened to find this awesome website, that will hopefully forever cure your writer’s block :).

When I was taking the writing section of my SSAT, there was a starter sentence, and you had to write two pages based off that sentence.  I noticed that (for me) it was really easy to write a whole lot when the first sentence is already there.  Have fun writing with this website!

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Click on the link below:

http://writingexercises.co.uk/firstlinegenerator.php