STRUCTURE ORGANIZATION is as important in creative nonfiction as it is in fiction. You need to have a plan before you actually sit down to write. You don’t want to ramble. This is as annoying in a writer as it is in a public speaker. You need to make sense of all the materials you have gathered. Some writers actually do outlines‚ which serve as blueprints for their essays or narratives. At the very least‚ they help the writer to focus‚ to be coherent. We generally think of structure in architectural
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ENG 2126 Creative Writing #8 June 9‚ 2010 It never fails that an incident that occurred in our family years ago‚ involving my grandmother and one of her children’ s father‚ told and has been many of years. It is sad to say that my family is quite violent or should I say knows how to defend them strongly in any situation. With all the turmoil and fighting that the head of the family has been through it has been taught for the members of the family to be able to defend themselves in any given
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Creative Writing Story Writing On a quiet lazy Sunday afternoon‚ he got off the bus‚ walked down a quite lane to a small cottage with peeling paint and faded curtains. Suddenly a voice behind him asked “Are you looking for somebody…”‚he turned around only to find out a blue eyed girl with long curly hair till her waist; wearing a floral top and short pleated skirt that ended a few inches above her knee. He just kept staring at her for a few seconds
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Creative Writing R.I.P Rory His room decorated with graphs‚ tags and throws. The floor hidden beneath paint covered clothes scattered everywhere‚ aerosol cans and paper covered in his new tag that he has been practicing. He puts on his pitch black hoodie. The hood hides every detail of his face keeping his identity masked. Throwing his blood red bandana and his spray paint cans stone cold from the paint concealed inside into his bag he is ready to burst out and create a masterpiece. As he emerges
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Creative Writing My breath steamed the air‚ my eyes wide open looking into the distance as drips of sweat rolled down my forehead. My ears twitched at every sudden noise; I just hoped nothing would jump out of the darkness. I kept thinking about where I was and how I got to this place. Every footstep echoed for miles as I stepped upon the Iron Gate‚ the noise rattling my brain. I came to a halt‚ my sweaty hand roaming over the freezing cold steal on my chest as I tightened my only protection
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The Calling I opened my dry aching eyes and immediately felt the pounding in my head. With regret on my breath I stumble into my petite bathroom. I go about my normal morning routine‚ but in a more sluggish way‚ and put aside the fact that it is three in the afternoon. All I wished to do was crawl back in bed‚ but I was being forced to attend this youth group at the church down the street. Hating every bit of my life at the moment‚ I throw on the dress that I secretly shoved in my bag last Thursday
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Descriptive Writing Task The aim of this lesson is to write a piece of original writing about a deserted house. You and your friend have just finished school and on the way home and you need shelter from the sudden change in weather. You see a deserted house and decide to enter it. Describe in detail the appearance of the house and the path that leads up to the front door. How do you feel as you approach? What type of door do you enter? Imagine that you have gone through the doorway
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People think I’m crazy because I see lights. I’ve seen them all my life. Strange‚ multicoloured patches of light swirling through the air. The patches are different sizes‚ some as small as a coin‚ others as big as a cereal box. All sorts of shapes - octagons‚ triangles‚ decagons. Some have thirty or forty sides. I don’t know the name for a forty-sided shape. Quadradecagon? No circles. All of the patches have at least two straight edges. There are a few with curves or semi-circular bulges‚ but
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Re-creations ESSAY PLAN A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM * descriptive piece on how I envisage my MSND‚ takes place in an arboretum‚ been there before several times‚ tranquil‚ beautiful‚ magical‚ mysterious‚ near a small village behind local pub‚ old church opposite‚ pub was once a nunnery in 16th C‚ joined to church by underground passage‚ nun attended trees‚ honesty box * my dream‚ walk towards shallow pond‚ barefoot‚ warm day‚ ot sweaty or overheating‚ long golden hair‚ nude but not exposed
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I felt expelled and exiled‚ sitting in a room filled only with a bed. White walls which painted no imagination‚ no hope just emptiness; yet they still assured me I was meant to be here. Every day was the same as the last‚ every memory I captured had slowly escaped. I was considered dangerous‚ vile and out of control; these words constantly surrounded me‚ swirling around in the echoes of the halls. 15 years I have been here‚ and still not once has my voice box being strained. Everyday new comers
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