A Writing Life - Monday, March 9 (By Paddy Wakeham)

The "A Writing Life" project week group started the week strong on its first day. Mr. Whitmore and Ms. Grosart led nonfiction workshops that taught us how to open our minds and write what was "emotionally true" to each individual when writing a story. In the afternoon, we created fiction stories by implementing two different characters from different backgrounds and how their characteristics led to them meeting in some sort of way. Also the group learned the importance of publishing and the different processes that can be taken to become a published author. Below are some small excerpts from the groups writing during this morning's lessons. 

"Blake led us over gates, through unknown doors, behind buildings, and into a restricted room." -Will Rubin

"I am a xylem, not a phloem, as I drink two gallons of water a day. Or however much is liquid enough to help me operate in weird American units." -George Shukaylo

Lots of ideas on the table in
 the Writing Life think tank.

"As the fans were holding their breath for this final minute of the game, our stomachs were turning, sweat dripping down our faces, our legs were giving in, but we weren't giving up. Because we knew this was it, this was all or nothing. This was the Super Bowl." -Isaiah White

"Oscar asks me to climb over the fence to the festival area. I'm not so sure about the idea but we have a deal that if the other one has balls to do something the other has to do it too." -Akseli Isotalo

"It was midnight and it was only just me and her in the common room. We were talking about the future and introducing our first deep conversation where I would realize that we had a unique friendship and chemistry." -Jimena Luja

"What I thought was an act of kindness quickly turned into an act of violence." -Padriac Wakeham

"The cigarette burned down to the filter. The ash flitted away and turned grey on the tan steps of our stoop, it's lifespan, birth, death, childhood, adulthood lasting all of two seconds before being flippantly tossed and forgotten, smeared into the dirt my roommate would eventually track into our hallway." -Mr. Whitmore

"I sit at the far end of the beach. My feet and backside are damp. I presume she is receding from view, but I do not turn to see her go. The ring feels small in my hand - it had felt twice this size when the salesman placed it in my palm with a satisfied smile three days ago - and now I absent-mindedly spin it between my fingers." -Mr. McCollom