Writing Exercises

Hailey Lajoie

Fear of Mr.Greene

Walking into the class, I see a man. Taking my seet I realize that this man is the ruler of this kingdom, and the blood rushes through me. 'This guy should not be teaching' I look at his green flannel, and his jeans that hung on him as if they were two sizes to big for his twig legs. I look down at my desk shaking my head. What am I doing here? " Today we will be working on…" I hear but it trails out of my mind, as I eyed around me at the others. None of them seemed concerned, instead they seemed eager to begin. I know there is something up with this guy, he looks like any cowboy villian how couldn't there be? He has the shoes that click onto the ground with every step to match the collection. His hair is long, it is at shoulder length, and at the corners of his face a beard begins to trickle forth. I look down, as my eyes divert away and towards the desk.

I zoned out for a few seconds before the man standing behind me jumped me out of the trance. I turn around, getting an even closer view of him. His veins seem to pop out of his arms, clear and distinctive, but there is shiny glimmer on his finger, and as soon it catches my eye  my mind races. How is he married?

"Are you alright?"

I jump slightly, nodding. " Yea, I'm fine. "

He nods, buying my lie for the moment it seems. " Okay, just making sure." He says and my mind changes direction. Maybe he is not so bad, maybe it was just fear? He is married after all… I shake my head, he is married but it means nothing. He is probably like every other man, a worthless piece of trash. I turn to the teacher, " I need to go to guidance." He nodded, "Get a pass. "

Dialogue

The man stumbled down the stairs, "Who's there?" There was no answer other than heavy breathing, " Who's there?" He eyes around the room, holding his cane up in the air. As he stepped forward.

The man jumped back, as a sound exploded into the air. His head turned, glass shattered to pieces laid on the ground. He huffed, holding up his cane, "Alright ya scoundrel, come out."

A young boy came out of from behind the bureau, his hand shaking.

"Who the hell are you? " The man eyed the boy up and down.

" I am Jack, Jack Phillips  What's your name? "

"Huh, My name is Peter. What are you doing in here?"

" I was outside playing, and," The boy bounced up and down," And my ball flew into here, so being the airplane I am I flew to get it and I found a door so I became an explorer."

The man put his hand out in front of the boy. " Second thought, I don't want to know."

"But I'm not done!"

" I don't care kid." The man huffed. "Get out of my house." He huffed.

" Oh, Okay." He ran past the man and out of the house.  

Writing Exercise 2/12 - Invitation to edit

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Writing Exercise 2/15 - Invitation to edit

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Date: Thu, Feb 15, 2018 at 10:01 AM
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• Papers sprawled across the teacher's desk

• An array of weird board games that look like they haven't been touched in years.

• A huge television that almost looks like a baby dinosaur from behind

• A row of computers and old chairs with weird students sitting in each one

• Boring off white walls with a couple colored papers that look like they're there in hopes to cover up the gloominess.

I walked in to my new classroom and the first thing that caught my eye was the array of the computers. I have always loved writing, and since this was an English class, it was safe to assume that all of those computers were there for writing. I also loved the sound of keyboards clicking. Something about the clicks that go so fast around the room sounds so productive. After walking in to the room, I could smell coffee coming from the teacher's desk. It smelled strong and freshly brewed. My house always smells like coffee, especially when you get into the kitchen. Being in this room almost reminded me of home in a way. Then, to make it all even better, the teacher started talking in the most soothing voice. It was deep and sounded almost like a lullaby. I think it's the best when English teachers have a voice like that. It really almost adds to everything they're teaching and everything they're saying. I was ready to learn about everything this English class had to offer and I would do so with a huge smile on my face every day.

• Long hair that makes me wonder if he likes it that way or if he just can't afford a haircut

• Levi jeans that are worn in the knee

• A swamp green button up with a small poke of a red pen cap peeking out of the pocket

• A little bit of facial hair that is definitely there, but only softly

• A soothing lullaby voice

• Papers sprawled across the teacher's desk

• An array of weird board games that look like they haven't been touched in years.

• A huge television that almost looks like a baby dinosaur from behind

• A row of computers and old chairs with weird students sitting in each one

• Boring off white walls with a couple colored papers that look like they're there in hopes to cover up the gloominess.

I walked in to my new classroom and the first thing that caught my eye was the array of the computers. I have always loved writing, and since this was an English class, it was safe to assume that all of those computers were there for writing. I also loved the sound of keyboards clicking. Something about the clicks that go so fast around the room sounds so productive. After walking in to the room, I could smell coffee coming from the teacher's desk. It smelled strong and freshly brewed. My house always smells like coffee, especially when you get into the kitchen. Being in this room almost reminded me of home in a way. Then, to make it all even better, the teacher started talking in the most soothing voice. It was deep and sounded almost like a lullaby. I think it's the best when English teachers have a voice like that. It really almost adds to everything they're teaching and everything they're saying. I was ready to learn about everything this English class had to offer and I would do so with a huge smile on my face every day.

• Long hair that makes me wonder if he likes it that way or if he just can't afford a haircut

• Levi jeans that are worn in the knee

• A swamp green button up with a small poke of a red pen cap peeking out of the pocket

• A little bit of facial hair that is definitely there, but only softly

• A soothing lullaby voice

Josh M Excersise

She walks into the class, full of gray, uenthusiastic students while she displayed the complete opposite, stopping to admire every little thing in the room. First she comes across the shelves upon shelves of typewriters, enough to supply a 1950's publishing company. She knows she'll get annoyed glances from her fellow students if she decides to use the loud, clicky writing tools, but it's not like she has much in common with them to begin with. Besides, she didn't exactly join the class for the students, the only thing they supplied her was that beutiful clickity clack of their creative processes at work. She finds a seat without a computer, wanting to at least have an excuse for using the ancient technology other than that she just wanted to. Sitting in the chair she cringes, knowing the chairs were probably older than her, maybe they even housed a now dead person or two. She pulls out her pocket notebook and begins to write down the idea of this phantom sitter, always finding such ideas more comforting when they can be ripped off and thrown away. She finishes the description, whom turned out to be an aspiring soldier who simply took the class because he had to, but turned out loving it, using as a way to cope during the war. She had been planning on throwing away the idea of the phantom sitter as a form of self-therapy, but now she feels honored to sit where this war veteran once did, the warmth of the seat now feeling like encouragement from a past soul. She looked around from the phantom seat, her thoughts of a dead soldier becoming more and more realistic in her mind as she inspected the numerous examples of aging, the water damage, the yellowed walls, and of course the phantoms chair.

She decides this phantom sitter needs a face to connect with, wouldn't be such a demanding order of character design, simply a young aspiring military officer. First a strong, yet soft face, given he knows of war but not in grim detail. A stron-

The door of the classroom slams shut, in front of it now standing the teacher.

She inspects her mentor for the next six months, noting how militant he looks himself, much like the soldier he wrote of. Then again, her teacher only lgave that impression clothing wise, his hair giving the opposite impression, being wild and unkempt. He walked over to his podium and stood high over her and the rest of the students, giving full view of a coffee stain on the center of his shirt.

"Before you say it, yeah I got coffee on my shirt" He said "It's bound to happen when you're a writer, lot of coffee"

She shaking her head in eager agreement, having had this exact experience time and time again. He takes notice to the little outburst with a chuckle, she buries herself back in her seat in mild embarrassment. He didn't take notice to that, instead went straight into his teaching routine, a lot more fluid and improvised than she was used to.

"My name's Mr. Greene, but you may, though I doubt, know me as R.W.W. Greene" He said, sending schockwaves through the girl. He continued to speak, but the words no longer got to her, she mindlessly fishes through her bag in utter fear. She pulls a weathered book from her bag, worn from mulitple reads, but despite that the front still housed a legible "R.W.W. Greene". She froze up, was she supposed to happy to have her favorite writer as her teacher? Whatever she was supposed to feel, she knew she plain felt anything but. It sure didn't help when he called out her name.

"Abigail Curtis?" He said, forcing Abigails heart skip a beat. She attempted to hide the book as fast as possible.

"You alright? I'm not gonna crucify you for reading or anything, but maybe do this not during a lesson? And from the looks of it you've gone through it enough to recite it" He said, not entirely being wrong.

"Oh, of course, sorry" She said, quickly stuffing the book back inside.

"Oh it's fine, what is it you're reading anyway?" He said. She froze once again, almost having put the book away. Sh looks back up to meet his eyes, while thier was no intensity in them or the question, she couldn't help but feel intimidated.

Maddie Sewade

Jimmy ran out of his house. Of course, his parents didn't chase after him, but instead locked to door behind him. Jimmy ran all the way through town and into the next. The next town over was more of a farming town, which Jimmy enjoyed looked at. He would watch the cows and horses run around in the fields. He would also sometimes run into the fields of corn and steal some for dinner.

Jimmy was admiring the baby cows to his left when he hit the ground. He got up immediately, "Watch it! I was running!"

"Why?" the man on the horse said. It took Jimmy a solid minute and twenty-three seconds to realize what the man said. Jimmy just couldn't get over the man's funny hat.

"My dad told me to do my homework and I didn't wanna do it but he said he would take away my gameboy and so I went to go get a pop from the fridge and I saw that there was no pop so I just took one of my dad's drinks and it was real good so I took another and did my homework and then my momma asked me how I did it so fast and then I took the cigarette out of her mouth and smoked it like she does and she yelled at me so I ran out of the house and now I am here."

Jimmy said this all without taking one single breath. The man on the horse was amazed at the little jittery boy he had just hit with his horse. The man was going to say something, but Jimmy chimed right back in.

"Why are you dressed like that?"

"Because," Jimmy didn't really hear what he said, but he didn't want any space in between the man's words and his.

"What's your name?"

"Vincente."

"Why?"

"Why what?"
"Why is your name Vincente?"

"Because that's the name my mother gave me."

"Well, I don't like it. I'm going to call you Steve,"

"That's not my name,"

"Steve, don't cut me off." Steve looked at Jimmy waiting for him to continue. It wasn't like he was going to say much anyway.

"Aren't you going to ask me what my name is?"

"What's your name?"

"Jimothy. Most people just call me Jimmy. I don't know why my name is Jimothy, but there was this kid in the fourth grade with a name Timothy. We called ourselves 'Jimothy and Timothy' and we wanted to have a television show, but my dad told me to grow up."

"Well, that's a nice name."

"Why do you talk funny?" Steve stared at Jimmy as the old memories passed through is head.

"When my wife and I were robbed, I tried stopping them and they knocked all my teeth out. When I realized what had happened, it was too late for my wife." Jimmy hesitated.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"She's dead." Jimmy's eyes widened.

"That's real unfortunate. I'm sorry, Steve." Silence filled the open fields.

"Shouldn't you be heading home?"

"No."

"What do you mean no?"

"My dad will probably shoot me in the side of the head...figuratively."

"That's not something you should joke about."

"Why can't I come where you're going?"

"Because that's not a place where little boys like you should be."

"Why? Will there be guns? Or bombs!"

"No." Steve pat the side of his horse and whispered in its ear. Jimmy had never seen someone talk to a horse and command it that way. But, the horse did what Steve must have wanted it to, because it began to move along the road.

"Where are you going?" Jimmy called out. Steve didn't answer, but instead left Jimmy alone in the middle of farming fields. It was getting dark, and as much as Jimmy tossed around the idea and the possible dangers,

Jimmy ran after Steve.

The walls were so off-white it was as if they let a bunch of second graders come in and put their dirty hands on them. The computers seemed too old to use, but that didn't bother me too much because my hands were too small for the keyboards anyway.

The lighting was dim and the lack of sunlight made me feel like it was raining outside. To add to that, it was extremely cold in the room. It was excessively cold outside to begin with, but now inside too? Forget rain, it was fucking Antarctica.

One of the things that I admired about the room was the lack of noise. I am one of those people who cannot stand it being too quiet, but this kind of silence was more tolerable. It was quiet enough to concentrate, but not too quiet where I felt alone.

As I glanced around another time I knew that this was the perfect place to write my great

American novel.

I hadn't heard much about him before. I had seen him once when my friend left her water bottle in his class, but that was about it. The only thing I had heard was from her and she said he was a little...out there.

As we piled into the room, he just stood in the front behind his computer. Music was faintly coming out from the medium sized laptop's speakers. From a distance, I only noticed that his clothes were dark and his hair was longer.

When the last bell rung, he stopped the music and began to stroll around the room. No one really spoke, so all you could hear was the heavy steps he took.

His voice was deeper than I expected, and the closer he got, the more I wanted to sink

into my seat.

As he got closer to me, I noticed that he had a cup of coffee in his hand, and that his shoes had heels on them. He probably needed the heels because the coffee caused him to stop growing. Or that's just how he was. I decided I would listen to my first idea about his height, so I could tell myself that he wasn't as scary as I assumed.

Colby Martel's Excellent Exercises

"Mom, wake up! Today is the day!" Jimmy jumped onto his single mother's bed, agitating her.

"Five more minutes," she moaned, rolling to her side.

"We're gonna be late!" he said.

Jimmy's mom made her way to the bathroom and Jimmy ran down stairs to chug his third Redbull of the morning. They got into the car and were on the road within ten minutes.

"Are we there yet?" Jimmy said for the fifth time in the last 30 seconds.

"Not yet," she said. Jimmy shook in his seat. "How about now?"

"No, Jimbo." Unexpectedly, a cowboy ran across the road and into the hood of Jimmy's car. His mom never replied again, because she was dead. The collision knocked out the teeth of the cowboy, but other than that, he was fine. Jimmy was traumatized in the back seat, but in stable condition.

"Mama," he whimpered. Jimmy got out and stared down at the cowboy. "You killed my mama!" The cowboy tried to make out words. "I'm sorry," eventually came out.

I enter the class on the first day of the semester with no expectations. My teacher has yet to arrive, and so I claim a seat next to my two friends from my basketball team. The chairs are padded with wheels so I could spin and spin in place all block, or just lay back and chill. When I first saw that this was a computer lab, I wasn't at all disappointed to ditch my pen and paper. The single phrase, "writing stays," displayed around in various areas around the classroom intrigued me. All the different colors used on the whiteboard kept me engaged. Despite the poor lighting, the class energized me. The teacher finally walked in two minutes after the second bell. I could already tell by his attitude and posture that I would like him. The clock in front of my desk would always let me know how much longer I got to stay in this amazing class. Sitting next to Stav, who smelled like a wet skunk on a regular basis, may actually be tolerable this semester.

Entering Mr. Greene's classroom was like being casted for horror movie. I could hear subconscious warnings telling me to turn the other way. The 5'9'' man with long, greasy brown hair intimidated me with his stern expression and stiff posture. He looked over me in front of the class with significant jurisdiction. This was not my class. This was his class. The moment he opened his chapped lips to speak, chills were sent down my spine. His dry sense of humor and unconventional vulgar language made me uncomfortable. He would occasionally stare straight into my soul, allegedly to help him learn my name. Whenever I tried to write, he was watching; even when he wasn't. The sound his footsteps made as he leisurely wandered the classroom made me shake.

Dialog/Description - McDevitt

Josh McDevitt: Dialogue/Description Exercises

Dialogue:

It was finally here, the day I've been waiting for. Every year on the fourth of July, my side of the family has a fun, harmless skit contest. I would be playing the role of a cowboy, something I had done before, and I'd be acting with my grandson, Chuck. Chuck has been through a lot, to say the least, so to see him and his mother tonight meant the world to me. I was prepared, and he seemed excited to get going. He had drank a couple cans of Red Bull, so his energy levels were high. Almost too high.

"Good morning, sir! How are you?" he blurted out. I almost couldn't tell what he was saying because of how quickly he spoke.

"Do you know the way to the saloon?" I spat out. It was tough speaking without my fake teeth in, but the laughs made it worth it.

"No, I don't know that!" he said. "Give me that hat!"

"Oh, no, not today, buster," I said, but he didn't listen. He jumped into the air, clutched my hat, and ripped it right off of my head. At this point, the skit we planned had completely gone off the rails.

"Hey! Give that back or else I'll…"

"Or else you'll what? You gonna do something, old man?" he exclaimed.

Spit flew from my mouth as I told him to return my hat back to me. He wasn't listening, and instead ran circles around me like a wild animal.

Description 1:

"Yes, this is perfect," Lego Batman said to himself. He made his way through the old classroom and examined the faded white walls.

"It's not quite my color, but it's getting there. Alfred, come here."

"Yes, Master Wayne," said Lego Alfred.

"Do these computers work?"

"They're not as efficient as the Bat Computer, but they will still get the job done."

"Excellent!" exclaimed Lego Batman as he made his way to the windows. The shades were already drawn down, and after peeking through them, it was apparent that he preferred them shut.

He looked up at the ceiling and spotted the eerie lights that illuminated the room. The room was rather dim, just the way he liked it.

"This is the perfect place, Alfred," said Lego Batman. "They'll never suspect to find me here. Instead, they'll find Bruce. It's like a secret-secret lair, just what I needed."

Description 2:

It was dark outside, very dark. Of course, the darkness had never scared Lego Batman. He was comfortable in the dark, until he saw a man across the end of the alleyway, that is. The man was wearing a green shirt and had long hair. He strolled down the alley towards a seemingly paralyzed Lego Batman, taking his time along the way. With every step he took, the sound of his boots echoed throughout the alley, and his bright blue eyes became more apparent as he edged closer.