Descriptive Writing Badlands

As we waited for our food, I took to peering out the diner’s large storefront window that we seated ourselves next to and I people watched as the citizens of Mt. Harrison went on about their daily lives.

brilliant colors of yellow and orange, and then vanished under the purple and blue cloudy sky. It

Nestled snuggly into the Blue Ridge Mountains was Ridgecrest, North Carolina. Getting there was no joke seeing as the ears popped every five minutes, but the scenery was beautiful.

I was surrounded by the sound of graphite moving anxiously over paper. The clamor filled my ears and collided with the dull ticking of the clock that hung over the SAT proctor’s disorderly, graying hair. There were only eighteen minutes left and I still had not written a single word. The prompt reverberated in my head like a ringing bell, but I could not form cohesive thoughts. My heart raced and my fingernails dug into the curve of my palm in panic, leaving small, pallid impressions in their wake. Pleading with myself, I considered the page that lay askew on the on the chipped desk in front of me. I wrote a desperate and painfully arbitrary sentence that I quickly erased. Nothing sounded right. I had studied and prepared for this moment with

Driving in the open country air, where my radio is cranked up as loud as my ears can take it. Bumps from small white rocks hitting against all four black tires, making me rock back and forth, up and down. Feeling that high speed while dust is flying all over. Also drinking a cold ice melted saccharine tea, will give you tooth decay. Transitioning from rock to cement road changes my state of mind from free range to a seriousness since there’s more cars on paved roads.

The great unknown, in the savage west Life is oldest in the Westward states, older than the Redwoods Royal ridged mountains with crispy fresh springs New kindled fires growing day by day But new youngins are growing like a fury breeze Wild horses, straying across the blue enriched waters The well-balanced Mountain goats hanging on by a thread And other untouched creatures running and striving for survival The dusty, and scorching heat sneaking across the baking desert

limpid, gold-washed sky. Just as the lower edge of the red disc rested on the high fields

As I got off the plane, the scorching sun was already baking me. I had just landed in warm and sunny Arizona after spending the winter months freezing in Indiana. Unfortunately, I was only able to spend a week in Phoenix while my parents were doing business. My parents, Wendy and Aaron Joslin, were in Phoenix for a seminar on selling and producing cabinets. Despite the dull information on the new technology of cabinets, it was a week that taught me how to appreciate nature while also peaking my interest in the history of America, for that reason, I will always think pleasantly back to the time spent in Arizona.

Winter in California is a curious creature, one moment it's shiny and easy going, wrapping around you the warmth of a loving companion, then without notice it sends out it's chilled rain biting you to the bone. I've been in this God awful state for five years and I wait for that bite, that flash of cold we get once in a blue moon. I may be the only resident in Southern California who hates this weather, I am originally from the east coast, I was used to all four seasons. why am I here if I hate it so much? Well, I'm undercover...err...more like under witness protection, since the age of 13 I have lived a double life, one insidious accident led to a world of new possibilities for me. My first boyfriend and my one true love is from a family of

Passing the Fernwood sign, as I approach her gravesite early morning before work on 7/10/15 at 6:30 AM. I drive up an uneven gravel driveway dodging the grooves, looking at the back mirror noticing the dust my back tires are kicking up. The feeling of crunch vibrating off my tires, as the feeling you get when you are getting a massage on the nail salon massage chair. Just the calm vibration running from your toes to the fingers on the steering wheel. The grooves freshly filled with water from the rain the night before. Driving past the rusted looking water pumps used to feed the plants. Looking through window, noticing all different flowers laying on individual gravestone. Some vary from fake flowers but most are real freshly bloomed flowers,

The opening of this scene shows an isolated setting, were the audience are shown a large open, sandy, desert like field, suggesting whoever is out there is very ‘lonely’

It was a normal day after school. The location was in the park right across from NP3. The time was 3:30 PM, Jacob and Dillon were catching Pokémon in Pokémon GO® (Jacob honestly don’t know what Gio was doing, probably watching Dragon Ball Z videos like usual). All of the sudden, they noticed something weird in the sky.

It looked like a normal rock; granted, a rather red rock. What would one expect on Mars? I sighed heavily, concluding that no matter the length of time I stared, it would not sprout alien tentacles and burrow downwards to escape my scrutinizing glare. Scooping up some rusty-red sand with my gloved hand, I tossed it dismissively at the rock, producing a glittering cascade in the sunlight.

Beverly’s father slowly closed the door, making as little noise possible. As she drifted off into sleep, she stared up at the disproportionate solar system model that hung clumsily from the roof. The planets suddenly began to dance and fly hurriedly around the sun, making buzzing noises as they flew. Beverly rubbed her eyes in disbelief and sat up from her bed, yet the continued. She rubbed her eyes once more, she didn’t believe what she was seeing, as she opened them the walls of her room began to crumble away and she was blinded by the blackness of a seemingly infinite void that she was now part of.

Literature indulges us in a different world by using descriptive writing that paints a vivid picture in our mind. Every author has a different way to accomplish that, but the main purpose is to draw the reader into the desired place and time of the literature. I will compare two poems and one story that capture the imagination by a descriptive writing. First we will take a closer look how these authors accomplished their transition of us into their world and then we will compare if those works have something in common.