|Failing FreeWrite Assignments
Author: Luci-chan's Lunchbox Of Doom PM
This is the writing sample I'm sending in for the writers' workshop this year. I really need a scholarship so it needs to be kick-ass and reviews are very much needed!Rated: Fiction K - English - Angst - Words: 795 - Reviews: 8 - Published: 05-14-06 - id: 2173655
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Failing Free Write Assignments
MK Price- 051306 0133
AN: Okay, I really, really need some reviews on this. It's the piece I'm sending in as a writing sample with my application to a writer's workshop this summer and a scholarship is on the line. So please, please, I'm begging you guys to review and tell me if I need to write something different or not because the deadline for applications is May 31 and I need something kick-ass to send in.
If it sucks, tell me because I honestly want to know because this is important to me.
Luvs and X-Rated Thoughts—Luci-chan
As soon as they tell you to write what you think your mind goes blank. Your pencil is poised above your paper and your brain is filled with an idle buzzing. Suddenly everything is a distraction.
The clock ticks louder and you can hear the girl behind you chewing her gum. You can smell it, too. It's watermelon and it reminds you of the preschool song "Down By The Bay," but what good does that do you? Now you have a song stuck in your head and your pencil taps out the tune on your blank paper.
The paper seems to mock you, as well. It's blank like your mind and it's a sick kind of irony, that every time they assign you a subject you can only think of the thousands of other things that you would rather write about, but given the chance you cannot recall a single one.
The clock ticks louder and you begin to chew your lip nervously, drawing metallic bitter-sweet liquid from the soft flesh and you wonder vaguely what possessed you to try to eat your face.
Your paper is still blank. Under a sudden inspiration you begin writing frantically, keeping time with the clock ticking forever louder on the wall, faltering only when the girl behind you pops her gum, releasing watermelon scent into the air and filling your head with preschool song.
Your teacher's soft footsteps trace a path through the rows of desks and she stops briefly to glance over each student's work, never commenting although many students wish she would, if only to give some sign that they are doing it right, despite the fact no rules were given to the piece.
Stereotypes take over and at a lull in inspiration you glance at the girl sitting beside you, wondering fleetingly if she is writing about her spring break in Cancun or her all-star jock boyfriend because that is all people like her think about, right? You acknowledge grudgingly that if she looked at you she might assume that you were writing about drugs and self-mutilation and death metal.
A smile tugs at your lips at this thought because you realize that as much as you would like to hate them for judging you, you're just as bad. Possibly worse for it because while all they have done to offend you is try to conform to all expectations at once, you have rebelled against all and made yourself an open target.
You randomly thank a god you might not believe in for the fact that this is a free write because you notice that your page is full of nonsense babble and it surely would not get you a passing grade under normal circumstances.
The clock ticks louder as if to count down the seconds until you fail, or possibly the time you've spent in this class, time that you are sure will never really pay off. High school is just a teenage day care, right? What have you learned in the last two years? Obviously not how to do something as simple as a free write. But that's okay because you have another chance to get it right when you repeat the class next year, or maybe when you forfeit your break to the sticky heat of the summer school classrooms.
The teacher has now stopped by your desk and stares, as if puzzled by your spiky, near illegible scrawl. She's probably judging you like the rest, you think bitterly, although deep down you know this isn't the truth, as she spent no more time observing you than any others before moving on to the girl with the watermelon gum.
The clock gives one last deafening tick and the dismissal bell rings. You sigh and hand your paper in with the others, positive that you will somehow fail despite your attempts because this was your paper and it was just a waste of a poor innocent tree because when have you ever been able to do anything right before?