I padded into the living room, and spotted Santa Clause. He was lying on the floor, blood oozing out of a large gash on his thick neck, staining his snowy-white beard the same color as his suit. His eyes were wide with a look of horror, and his face deathly pale. I grabbed his wrist, and checked for a pulse; Nothing.
Santa Clause was dead, in my living room.
His sack of presents lay next to his lifeless body, and clutched in his left hand, was his list. The list that he'd so carefully made, and painstakingly checked.
Twice.
I pryed it from his cold, beefy fingers, and took a look. As soon as I saw how many names were left, I knew: I would find his murderer, and bring him to justice, that killer of joy, that distroyer of Christmas!
But first, I had a job to do.
I was going to finish poor Santa's noble, hard work...
Friday, December 18, 2009
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Christy-Final Assignment-Santa Claus
I padded into the living room and spotted Santa Claus…
He was bending down by the Christmas tree, which was hung with gold garland and family ornaments. The moment I walked in, he stood up very suddenly without turning to face me. I could only see his back, and on that furry red suit was an embroidered patch that said “if you read this, you’re definitely getting coal.” I saw Santa’s bag lying on the carpet, I blinked, thinking I was tired, but I wasn’t mistaken; there really was a shotgun poking out between the presents.
Santa was very still, and then he said
“Ho…ho…ho…”
My mouth was as dry as beef jerky, and that was before Santa turned to face me. With his big, black-booted foot, he turned on the spot and looked right at me. It didn’t make me feel any better when I saw that his boots had spikes on them and silver spurs on the back.
By the light radiating from the tree, I saw his eyes, piercing my own, they were not brilliant blue, but dark as a cave. Santa said nothing. He strode forward and grasped my arm with surprising force and dragged me from the room. He took me to the chimney, “thank goodness I put out the fire” I thought. He kept a tight grip on my arm as we scrambled up through the soot. My breath started to condense in the air, and as I looked over the rim of bricks, I did not see reindeer. I heard a roaring sound, the starting of engines, and a dozen people, dressed in leather jackets with red velvet trim. I crawled out of the hole, covered in soot and shivering like crazy. The gang of Santa bikers whooped and hollered as they saw me. The biggest and most expensive bike was Santa’s, of course. He thrust at me a jewel encrusted helmet that said “Prancer” on it, and stuck me in the sidecar.
The sound of engines was tremendous, as the flock, led by Santa roared off my roof-top.
He was bending down by the Christmas tree, which was hung with gold garland and family ornaments. The moment I walked in, he stood up very suddenly without turning to face me. I could only see his back, and on that furry red suit was an embroidered patch that said “if you read this, you’re definitely getting coal.” I saw Santa’s bag lying on the carpet, I blinked, thinking I was tired, but I wasn’t mistaken; there really was a shotgun poking out between the presents.
Santa was very still, and then he said
“Ho…ho…ho…”
My mouth was as dry as beef jerky, and that was before Santa turned to face me. With his big, black-booted foot, he turned on the spot and looked right at me. It didn’t make me feel any better when I saw that his boots had spikes on them and silver spurs on the back.
By the light radiating from the tree, I saw his eyes, piercing my own, they were not brilliant blue, but dark as a cave. Santa said nothing. He strode forward and grasped my arm with surprising force and dragged me from the room. He took me to the chimney, “thank goodness I put out the fire” I thought. He kept a tight grip on my arm as we scrambled up through the soot. My breath started to condense in the air, and as I looked over the rim of bricks, I did not see reindeer. I heard a roaring sound, the starting of engines, and a dozen people, dressed in leather jackets with red velvet trim. I crawled out of the hole, covered in soot and shivering like crazy. The gang of Santa bikers whooped and hollered as they saw me. The biggest and most expensive bike was Santa’s, of course. He thrust at me a jewel encrusted helmet that said “Prancer” on it, and stuck me in the sidecar.
The sound of engines was tremendous, as the flock, led by Santa roared off my roof-top.
Teen Writing Group - Last Assignment of the Fall
Write ONE of the following (maximum of one page)
1. I padded into the livingroom and spotted Santa Claus...
2. Use these words in a very short story: Santa, spy, crunchy, Gunther, Cheerios, lights
Enjoy!
The final session is this Friday, December 18th from 10:30 to noon. We will meet in the John Murray Room (the room with the big table and comfy chairs).
Unlike other classes, we will NOT have food on the last day (it is too difficult to write and munch). However, please feel free to bring along hot chocolate or your favorite beverage (in travel cups, please).
1. I padded into the livingroom and spotted Santa Claus...
2. Use these words in a very short story: Santa, spy, crunchy, Gunther, Cheerios, lights
Enjoy!
The final session is this Friday, December 18th from 10:30 to noon. We will meet in the John Murray Room (the room with the big table and comfy chairs).
Unlike other classes, we will NOT have food on the last day (it is too difficult to write and munch). However, please feel free to bring along hot chocolate or your favorite beverage (in travel cups, please).
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Writing Assignment: Ready or not, Here I come!
I knew they would eventually find me, that I was just delaying the inevitable, but I hid anyway. And I’ll admit it wasn’t the best hiding spot to begin with, but I was desperate. Under no other circumstances would I consider hiding in a coffin. Although I suppose that’s what I get for suggesting we play hide and seek in a funeral home. I’ve no idea what on earth I could’ve POSSIBLY been thinking, and can only imagine how stupid I must’ve sounded when I uttered the words “Oh, hey, I have an idea! Lets play hide and seek in the funeral home!!!” Great idea, Charlene, great idea. NOT!!! I suppose I should just finish counting, and get my turn as ‘it’ over with.
“98, 99, 100!!! READY OR NOT, HERE I COME!!!”
**NOTE**
The words in italics are being thought.
“98, 99, 100!!! READY OR NOT, HERE I COME!!!”
**NOTE**
The words in italics are being thought.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Christy--November 6, 2009--College Admission Essay
The reason why I should go to Copy U
Dear Copywriting University,
Thank you for considering my application for your school. I come from a long line of writers and copiers. For generations, my family has been proud to uphold the oldest copywriting business in Northern North Dakota. My great-great-grandfather, Copernicus Wigglesmore, founded the first copywriting institute, and my second-cousin on my mother’s side is President of the National Copywriting Center for Copywriting and for Writingcopy (NCCCW).
In 1864, grandpa Wigglesmore was the first native Algonquin tribal chieftan to be accepted into the “Instituto internazional di copiowritio.” There is even a plaque that hangs in our ancestral home which is engraved with Grandpa’s slogan “Do some copying, and then do some writing.”
Grandpa is a fascinating man, his character is renowned, but his whereabouts for the majority of his life were mysterious. At the age of 17 he emerged from the Brazilian jungle, fully grown, with command of fourteen languages, and carrying a typewriter which he constructed out of palm fronds and mango seeds.
So, please let me into to Copy U, because if I don’t at least try to get in, grandpa Wigglesmore will roll over in his grave.
Dear Copywriting University,
Thank you for considering my application for your school. I come from a long line of writers and copiers. For generations, my family has been proud to uphold the oldest copywriting business in Northern North Dakota. My great-great-grandfather, Copernicus Wigglesmore, founded the first copywriting institute, and my second-cousin on my mother’s side is President of the National Copywriting Center for Copywriting and for Writingcopy (NCCCW).
In 1864, grandpa Wigglesmore was the first native Algonquin tribal chieftan to be accepted into the “Instituto internazional di copiowritio.” There is even a plaque that hangs in our ancestral home which is engraved with Grandpa’s slogan “Do some copying, and then do some writing.”
Grandpa is a fascinating man, his character is renowned, but his whereabouts for the majority of his life were mysterious. At the age of 17 he emerged from the Brazilian jungle, fully grown, with command of fourteen languages, and carrying a typewriter which he constructed out of palm fronds and mango seeds.
So, please let me into to Copy U, because if I don’t at least try to get in, grandpa Wigglesmore will roll over in his grave.
Friday, October 30, 2009
POLICE FILE
Police File
Charles littlefoot
G: M
Age: 20
Cause of Death: Got tangled in French blinds while robbing an EMS store of twenty pairs of gloves.
Biography: Charles Littlefoot was an accomplished swing dancer and part of the Broadway production of My Little Pony. Mr. Little had the lead role. He was also the proud owner of the International Glove Museum in Idaho. Mr. Little was married to Gladys little. They had two children, Jimmy and Yurty. Apparently Mr. Little had to sell his collection of gloves from his museum to pay his mortgage. He then went to a nearby EMS store to replenish his collection. Mr. little was entangled in the French blinds during his escape and died of dehydration.
Charles littlefoot
G: M
Age: 20
Cause of Death: Got tangled in French blinds while robbing an EMS store of twenty pairs of gloves.
Biography: Charles Littlefoot was an accomplished swing dancer and part of the Broadway production of My Little Pony. Mr. Little had the lead role. He was also the proud owner of the International Glove Museum in Idaho. Mr. Little was married to Gladys little. They had two children, Jimmy and Yurty. Apparently Mr. Little had to sell his collection of gloves from his museum to pay his mortgage. He then went to a nearby EMS store to replenish his collection. Mr. little was entangled in the French blinds during his escape and died of dehydration.
A Night at Ravensmoor Manor
It was a dark, quiet night, as I drove toward the imposing façade of the old Ravensmoor family home.
All of my friends had stayed the night there one time or another, but not me, I had heard the stories, that place was HAUNTED. I had my sleeping bag and a flashlight and was ready to stay the night no matter what spooks I might encounter. As I drove up the overgrown drive, I remembered the atmosphere of the house. It looked different than the repetitive suburban houses in the neighborhood where I lived, the house stuck out like a black dot on a colored background. I stopped the car in front of the door, grabbed my stuff, and walked up the steps. The house had been abandoned for years, so there was a lock on the door to keep vandals out, however my friend’s father owns the property and loans us keys for our overnight stays. Walking inside I locked the door behind me, an ominous event even though I have the key. I swept the beam of my flashlight around the room trying to get a good look of the place. The entrance hall was just as spooky as I remembered it, when I visited during daylight, the staircase on the left wall and large fireplace toward the center. The room would have been beautiful when it was still in good shape, but recently part of the stairway had collapsed and no one had been upstairs for years. I laid my sleeping bag on the floor and decided to go exploring on the first floor. To the right was the library, it shelves had been emptied of its contents long ago, when the family that lived here, the Ravensmoors, mysteriously moved away without telling anyone leaving the house to decay. The piano that still sat in the corner, far too heavy to bother moving, sat quietly. As I turned to look elsewhere I heard a key being played on the instrument and turned sharply to face it, but it had just been a piece of plaster falling from the ceiling that landed on the keys…Or was it. I decided to stop exploring and get some rest, just to get this whole thing over with. I got into my sleeping bag and turned off my flashlight. The darkness swallowed up the entire room in seconds, and it was disturbingly quiet, not a sound from outside or in. Then I heard what sounded like a combination between an uncoiling spring and a pig squealing coming from upstairs. I lay there motionless, unable to see anything, unable to do anything, just waiting for something horrible to happen. I was startled out of my trance by a clock somewhere chiming the hour, I counted the chimes. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13? I felt a chill run down my spine, but the clock continued to chime. I sighed with relief, the thing must be broken I thought to myself. That’s when I heard the rumbling noise coming from the basement, except is wasn’t just a noise, you could feel it. The sound of glasses clinking nearby assured me that the rumbling was real. Then I heard a creak, and a cracking, as the floor beneath me gave way and I plummeted down endlessly into a dark void. I heard voices of unseen spirits mocking me as I fell. I sat up yelling for help. The darkness was gone and I was sitting on the floor in the entrance hall. I stood up feeling relief that I was free from that awful nightmare. It was still early in the morning, but I decided that I had stayed here long enough. I went to the door to unlock it, when I realized that the key was gone! I searched around where I had slept, when I had a chilling thought. The basement door creaked open, and I descended into the musty underworld and there, in the middle of the floor, was the key.
All of my friends had stayed the night there one time or another, but not me, I had heard the stories, that place was HAUNTED. I had my sleeping bag and a flashlight and was ready to stay the night no matter what spooks I might encounter. As I drove up the overgrown drive, I remembered the atmosphere of the house. It looked different than the repetitive suburban houses in the neighborhood where I lived, the house stuck out like a black dot on a colored background. I stopped the car in front of the door, grabbed my stuff, and walked up the steps. The house had been abandoned for years, so there was a lock on the door to keep vandals out, however my friend’s father owns the property and loans us keys for our overnight stays. Walking inside I locked the door behind me, an ominous event even though I have the key. I swept the beam of my flashlight around the room trying to get a good look of the place. The entrance hall was just as spooky as I remembered it, when I visited during daylight, the staircase on the left wall and large fireplace toward the center. The room would have been beautiful when it was still in good shape, but recently part of the stairway had collapsed and no one had been upstairs for years. I laid my sleeping bag on the floor and decided to go exploring on the first floor. To the right was the library, it shelves had been emptied of its contents long ago, when the family that lived here, the Ravensmoors, mysteriously moved away without telling anyone leaving the house to decay. The piano that still sat in the corner, far too heavy to bother moving, sat quietly. As I turned to look elsewhere I heard a key being played on the instrument and turned sharply to face it, but it had just been a piece of plaster falling from the ceiling that landed on the keys…Or was it. I decided to stop exploring and get some rest, just to get this whole thing over with. I got into my sleeping bag and turned off my flashlight. The darkness swallowed up the entire room in seconds, and it was disturbingly quiet, not a sound from outside or in. Then I heard what sounded like a combination between an uncoiling spring and a pig squealing coming from upstairs. I lay there motionless, unable to see anything, unable to do anything, just waiting for something horrible to happen. I was startled out of my trance by a clock somewhere chiming the hour, I counted the chimes. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13? I felt a chill run down my spine, but the clock continued to chime. I sighed with relief, the thing must be broken I thought to myself. That’s when I heard the rumbling noise coming from the basement, except is wasn’t just a noise, you could feel it. The sound of glasses clinking nearby assured me that the rumbling was real. Then I heard a creak, and a cracking, as the floor beneath me gave way and I plummeted down endlessly into a dark void. I heard voices of unseen spirits mocking me as I fell. I sat up yelling for help. The darkness was gone and I was sitting on the floor in the entrance hall. I stood up feeling relief that I was free from that awful nightmare. It was still early in the morning, but I decided that I had stayed here long enough. I went to the door to unlock it, when I realized that the key was gone! I searched around where I had slept, when I had a chilling thought. The basement door creaked open, and I descended into the musty underworld and there, in the middle of the floor, was the key.
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