Storytellers Are Born

After our first day exploring genres, brainstorming, developing characters, and finally starting to write, our stories have begun to take shape. We have some writers ready to craft thrillers from their own imaginations and others attempting capture the challenges they've faced in their own lives through fictional narratives. Whether to entertain or educate, our writers have committed and already crafted some impressive work! 

Excerpts: 

"...I took a look at his badge, the name on his badge was Officer Alexander, I knew then that was the man my wife was sleeping with. The anger inside of me was unbearable, I closed my mouth and started to grind my teeth, I seemed to do this when I get mad, I find the sound soothing, it seems to calm me down..." 

"...I came home that night later than usual, Logan was already mad at me from previous nights of arguing. He knew I was seeing someone else, though I never said it. I could tell it was making him angry that he didn't have control over it, but I loved the freedom and the rush that lying to him gave me..."

"...Everything is completely gone. Just like him..."

"...Very soon, we'll be moving forward... together..."

"…He began separating the pieces in the large tinted plastic container and assembling them into piles and stacking them. He liked the clicking sound the small colored bricks made when he stacked them together. He heard the phone slam down on the counter and soon after he heard the third step creek and knew his mother was coming up the stairs. She knocked and opened the door seeing Jay sitting in the corner clicking and unclicking the two Lego bricks over and over. She sat down and let him know that he had a doctors appointment on Tuesday..."

“…He got to the counter, placed the two iced teas on the conveyor belt, and as he raised his head to make eye contact with Beatriz, he cracked a forced smile in an attempt to alleviate the hesitation, but resulted in only making things more awkward between the two. As Beatriz turned on the conveyor belt in order to slide the beverages closer to her grasp so she could scan them, and as Miguel was about to open his mouth to ask her what he had been dying to ask her for his entire lifetime, they hear a loud voice from outside shouting “Hurry up you dumbass, I’m getting thirsty out here!”

 “…He turned the TV off and finished off his can.  He had left clues for Frank.  He tumbled the object around in his hand.  Frank was smart; he was the goal.  He would get to him, but he needed Frank to be doing his best detective work tonight…”

“…Maybe not, Barron thought, but also maybe Mr. Lester, almost forty years his senior, didn’t quite understand the world of teenagers and technology. Maybe his straightforward approach was an asset into the seventies, but not now, not in this world. Maybe Mr. Lester, for all his teaching experience, didn’t understand the agony of a student who felt utterly alone at school and at home, but only briefly found solace in a 12 by 9 screen. But Barron knew he couldn’t and wouldn’t say those things…”