Creative Writing: Thomas Jefferson High School

Think about your experiences of writing at college. Which types of assignments have you found helpful in strengthening your writing skills? Where do you want to improve your writing? What’s the most useful advice you’re received that’s helped you improve your writing. Be as specific as possible.

Upper school English teacher Ms. L.C. says her favorite smell is that of a melting popsicle in the summer. “I love the sweet fructose of the popsicle juice,” said L.C. “Especially the way it combines with the smell of the wooden stick.”

Jefferson City, TN- The Jefferson County Patriots, comeback from eleven-points down in the third set to sweep the South Doyle Cherokees 25-21, 28-26, 25-23, on Thursday night at the Patriot Academy.

But I only give ya ten minutes. Anymore and I calls the cops. Take the first turnstile, on your right” He pointed to the turnstiles that lead up into the platforms.

As what seemed to be an almost non-existent summer comes to an end, I have had time to reflect on what I hope to accomplish during my last year roaming the halls of James E. Taylor High School. I picture the impossible calculus problems that I will be required to solve or the piles of books I will struggle to finish as my literature exams near, but one thing that I am truly enthusiastic about is service. Improving my grades had been my most important goal as I began my high school career, however as this draws to an end, I have come to realize that the one thing that will truly leave a mark and will hopefully inspire others is the service that I have given to my community. Through Key Club, I have not only made friendships and bonds that I

It was my first day of college and I rushed through the campus of Colorado Mesa University to get to my first class. Even though I was in a hurry, I couldn’t help but notice how lush and green the grass was and how clean everything looked. I began to slow my pace as I found my attention captivated by the campus around me. The buildings looked new, the benches looked clean, the grass wasn’t brown and dry. Everything seemed so organized and well maintained, unlike my high school. After several minutes I made it to my first class and realized that slowing down to look around the campus made me even more late than I already was. I stood outside the door for a few minutes because I was so embarrassed to go in, fearing

The raspy wind rises in swirls, encircling the entirety of my lean body. The parched, coarse sand scrapes across my angular face, burying and scraping itself into the warmth of fresh, open wounds. The sun scorches my skin raw, condemning the violence, the blood, and the screams that seem to echo all throughout the lifeless mountain side. Welcome to Afghanistan. Bitter laughter fills my head.

“Mr. Josten, Mr. Josten!” yelled one of the eighth graders from my current math class in Crescent Middle School. I figured it would be another out of context question, as that was the norm for Andrew. Andrew had always seemed to be the one who tried his hardest, but could not focus on his schoolwork, or anything for that matter. I acknowledged his raised hand to hear, “what would happen if someone figured out how to pass things through time?” I figured since there was a small amount of time left in the class period, I could answer his question thoroughly since I majored in both math and science. “Well Andrew, if I had to guess I would say that someone would receive that object unexpectedly in a different time period. However, if someone creates

A tall robust boy with dark hair and yellow eyes entered Ellingburg middle school school at exactly 7:55 on september the 18th, it was the second day of school. His big build is easy to locate in the rush of teens. There is a tap on his elbow he looks sideways, at a medium sized boy, something changes in his eyes. Jack is short compared to Sebastian. Jack is a skinny boy with long legs, his dark hair hanging loosely over his dark brown eyes. A loud bell rang and Jack grabbed Sebastian's arm. Sebastian froze for a second and then ran. Sebastian knows Jack just thinks of him as a friend, but it is different for him, he does not know if Jack knows.

In my sixth grade year, 2015, I was sitting on the couch reading a book. Suddenly, a scream rang out. As quick as a cheetah, my mom ran into our living room and showed me her computer’s email. Excitedly, I took the computer. On it, was a few sentences congratulating me on making ILMEA orchestra. It was a music festival with a choir, a band, and obviously, a orchestra. I was so excited, I had to call my teacher, Mrs. Lafranzo. So, no more than four months later, I was in my car heading to Oswego East High School for morning practice.

I drove slowly down the winding small gravel driveway surrounded by tall trees and forest that led to St. Agnes Cane Hill Psychiatric Hospital. I had been sent a letter by the director Mr. Jonathan Hammond, in the letter the kindly informed me that my great aunt Carolynne had passed away and since I was her only living relative it was up to me to come collect her belongings or they would be thrown away.

I look up towards the sky and see dark clouds rolling across the sky towards the west where the sounds of gunfire could be heard off in the distance. I look around the cramped bunkhouse and see the other prisoners. The bunkhouse is cold and smells of rotting flesh and human waste. The beds are made of cheap wood and thin cloth with some hay for a mattress. The guards walk in and start telling people to wake up. I slowly get out of my wooden bed out onto the muddy floor. My feet feel cold as they touch onto the earth below. My hands start to hurt from the cuts covering them when I try and get up. I see a man refusing to get out of his bunk near the entrance of the bunkhouse. The guards saw him refusing to follow their orders and dragged

How am I still doing this? That is what I ask myself when I walk through the horrid english door. Through my middle school “career”, if you could call it that, I found myself loving narrative writing and having the choice to invent a story, lose myself in what i’m am creating. That is what I consider my strength, narratives, but everything else other than that, the analysis or persuasive, papers I did not excel in. sure I never got bad grades on them, but I do need to grow in those areas. So in this paper I will show you how I have benefitted through out my middle school writing career.

Neville High school is truly my alma mater because over the past 4 years, it's become my second home. The teachers greet students with a warm smile that infects the students, making them smile back. When you walk down the halls, you can feel the tiger pride in the air, whether that pride is for a sports team, our dancers, or for academics. Neville is a miniature melting pot, with students and faculty of different backgrounds with different cultures, making for an exciting learning experience of not just academics, but life as well. From our football team, to our top performing students, to our performing arts department, Neville exudes excellence.

The cold, brisk air hit their fragile bodies harsh like a cluster of bricks. Manda jumped and giggled at the tiny, yellow bird brushing past her head. Misty snarled and whipped herself around to smack the bird with all the power she managed in the freezing weather. Manda gasped and hurried over to the bird. “Why’d you do that?” she asked with fake tears in her voice. Misty snarled and threw the injured bird hard on the ground. The bus made a deafening screech sound as it pulled down the driveway. Together the girls made a run without hesitation as the bird took its last breath before disappearing from this world.