The Magnificent Emporium of Lenoir Whittlethorn

Creative Writing Impromptu 2

My professor gave us this prompt: You discover the world really does revolve around you. She gave us 17 minutes. This is what I wrote:

TO: The Director of the CIA

There was a time when I could skulk unawares, without a single person giving me much thought. It wasn’t that my existence was meaningless, it was just that I was too quiet for an outspoken generation. I was raised to mind my own business and not to delve into others’. So with that in mind, please understand that when I want all records, posts, comments, blogs, and tweets deleted permanently, it’s because I’m extremely uncomfortable. I know we’re in an age where anyone can be Googled, but it’s rather unnerving that overnight, the internet has over millions of posts about me. And honestly, the last straw was when people were debating how much my hair would weight if shaved off of my scalp! I just want an information black out on anything pertaining to me. Thank you for your time, Sir.

Sincerely, 

[Lenoir-Whittlethorn]

TO: Ms. Whittlethorn

We regret to inform you that we cannot honor your request, due to the fact that you have not been under any suitable threat. Since you brought it up though, we have to ask:

How much do you think your hair weighs?

Creative Writing Exercise 3-Dialogue

This time we were told to write a story with predominately dialogue telling the story. We had to have two characters, each hiding a secret, and we had to only hint or give clues to the readers as to what the secrets were. Can you guys guess? Professor gave us a word limit on this as well: 750 words or less.

“Opal Alms Pleases the Blind”

The heat waves were visible outside the window and the shimmering spectral worms danced by the invisible pulleys of rising molecules. Dr. Shuupin watched the Behrstein Boys prancing about shirtless, the set of six divided in half so that there would be less cheating in their loosely regulated game of soccer. The youngest boy, covered in freckles, paused and glanced up at the sky, shading his lapis irises with a sunburned hand. Dr. Shuupin looked up, not needing to shield her eyes due to their earthy tone of mud.

“Keep that up Sis, and you’ll be wearing glasses like me.” Dr. Shuupin’s twin brother, Henri, had been observing his sister from a couple feet away. He smiled as his sister’s mirrored murky eyes reflected his own.

“Were you able to fix the A/C, Henri?” Dr. Shuupin’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth and she coughed lightly.

“Sure, it wasn’t that hard.”

“Thank you so much, this heat has been suffocating me.”

“I would imagine, this rickety house feels more like a coffin than a home.”

“Ha. Ha.” Dr. Shuupin crossed her slender arms over her flat chest and began to feel the creeping fingers of frigid air seeping from the vents. “The house fan is unusually high, Henri.”

“Had to with that putrid stank and all.”

“Stank?”

“Yeah, you can’t smell it?”

“Maybe it’s you.”

“Henri rolled his eyes as if they were teenagers again and smelled his own armpits in order to put a warm smile on his sister’s face. “Okay well, BO aside, there’s a prevalent odor.”

Dr. Shuupin smirked at her brother’s antics, but as he mentioned the prevalent odor, her barely visible black eyebrows furrowed. “As you said, it’s an old house. I only bought it because it was close to the hospital, not because it was Warm Hearth magazine material.”

“The fan is making it worse.”

“I’ll lower it later. Thank you again for fixing it.”

“You should have someone look at the insulation or something,” Henri grinned. “Maybe you have bodies stuffed in between the walls!”

The air was an odd chemistry of relieving cold air and oppressing humid air from outside. It was dank, similar to the residual atmosphere after a severe thunderstorm. Dr. Shuupin rocked her weight from her left foot onto her right foot as she stared through the floor to where the basement was rooted. “I read somewhere that a tribe in Somalia had a saying,” she spoke quietly, as if she was speaking to a group of bright eyed students who sat upon the wooden floor and were gazing expectantly up at her. “‘Never trust the clear eyed lions, they always lie’.”

Henri felt the air grow dense as if his sister’s rocking movements shifted the weight of the atmosphere. The wooden floorboards screeched complaints each time his sister moved, causing his gums itch. “What does that mean?” He asked shakily as he rubbed his chin.

Dr. Shuupin stood still and watched her brother’s tense shoulders relax. “Don’t trust anyone with light colored eyes.” She put all her weight on her right foot like a drink sloshing to one side at a party. “They’ll only deceive you in the end.” She observed her brother cringe at the obnoxious squeal of the aging wood beneath her foot. “Their eyes are windows to their weakened genetic structure.” Dr. Shuupin raised her head up to avoid her small reflection in her twin’s glasses. “How else do you think recessive genes survived thousands of generations?”

“Sis, don’t start this kind of talk again—”

“—or what, Mom and Dad are going to scowl from their high chairs in Heaven?” Dr. Shuupin stomped once, making her brother clench his fists. “We’re adults now, Hen!”

“I couldn’t handle it back then, and I’m telling you right now, Justine,” Henri wiped his mouth, finishing his swipe by digging his middle finger into the left corner of his lips. “Please tell me that you kept it at just talking this time,” he added softly.

Dr. Shuupin wiped her brow and murmured, “Your eyes don’t lie, Henri, you feel that same itch that I do.”

“I,” Henri scraped his front teeth hard over his bottom lip, his teeth shifted slightly from the pressure,”I couldn’t handle it back then.” He stared down through the floorboards, to the basement beneath. He put a hand over his mouth and squeezed hard.

The air was frigid, and the musty scent of formaldehyde crept through the floorboards, only to be frozen deep inside both twins’ lungs.

“How many pairs, Justine?”

Dr. Shuupin squeezed herself tightly and made eye contact with her twin brother, allowing her devious grin to show her whitened teeth.

Rise to the Next Level

This is a website that English majors run where they review/write essays about video games. I’ve even participated in this. Even if you’re not interested, at least spread the word and help out English majors! You can reblog this or Like them on Facebook or follow them on twitter!

http://nlgo.net/

Creative Exercise 2-Description

In this exercise, we have to use descriptions to convey a feeling without blatantly stating it. See if you can guess what I’m trying to convey~! We were given a 250 word limit as well.

Hand Puppets’ Chitter

The room was not a perfect square, regardless of what the hostess said to Veronica Piers, it had to be a rectangle. Bottom line, it was a rectangle and the hostess was lying through her bleached, abnormall tight teeth. Veronica wrung her hands until her olive-toned skin began to blotch red and white. The prevalent blue veins made Veronica think of Patriotism. Did the hostess like red? Veronica sighed as the very rectangular couch crinkled under her shifting bottom. The hostess had all her furniture covered in plastic to prevent permanent stains or the contagion that was loose pet fur. The hostess had no pets.

“I’m sorry, Veronica. I just got caught up in the washroom,” the hostess announced and even her tiny voice echoed throughout the barren, not-square home.

“It’s fine, I don’t have anywhere else to go today,” Veronica replied, mimicking the hostess’ voice. After all, it was polite to do so. Her dark eyes glanced at the hostess’ pale hands, which were shockingly crimson from serious agitation.

The hostess noticed Veronica gawking and quickly put her hands behind her back. With a stretched smile, the hostess piped, “So, is this your first time attending a ladies’ book club?”

“Yes, I figured I needed some more social interaction and culture,” Veronica answered, slipping into her normal tone of voice, distracted by the invisible demon the hostess hid behind her back.

The hostess’ crinkled face scrunched up as the alto tone of Veronica’s voice reached her forty-fifty something ears. “Indeed,” she murmured while gripping her tender hands tightly.

Creative Writing Impromptu 1

My Creative Writing professor gave us this prompt: I turned on the shower and blood poured out of the faucet. We were given 15-25 minutes.This is what I wrote:

I turned on the shower and blood poured out of the faucet. Horrified, I attempted to exit the shower, but the blood already smeared on the tub’s floor caused me to slip. I flopped over the tub’s shallow wall, wailing and floundering about. I clawed at the floor, screaming to God for help as I struggled to pull my lower half from the shower. It finally registered that I needed to simply use my legs to push me out. Finally free from the disturbing sauna, I grabbed the nearest towel and began rubbing the blood off. Still crying over the horrible surprise, I realized my skin wasn’t returning to it’s usual pale hue. The blood was still there. Becoming frantic, I began to drag the towel over my body like a cheese grater.

“Stop!” I screamed, hoping that the command would make everything pop out of existence and the world would be normal again.

The crimson spray did slow down, but it wasn’t due to my command. After wiping my face to get rid of the tears at least, I cautiously moved closer to inspect the shower head. My stomach lurched when I saw that the blood stopped spraying because it had clotted, making tiny, gunky bumps that held back the pent-up blood.

Steeling myself, I reached for the knob that would shut off the heinous flow and hopefully wake me up. The second I turned the knob, however, a piercing scream flooded my eardrums. It was a mixture of an upset baby, a dying cat, and possibly my own voice contributing to the deafening sound.