Marist Descriptive Writing

It has been six very long days, I cannot wait any longer for the chapter to be uploaded, I am both excited and exhausted. The days usually pass me by finding new short stories to read, which for the most part lasts a day or more. Then I am back to finding new stories and I always find some good ones, because of the several genres that are on the website. The website is called Wattpad. It is where my favorite writer can make his talent shine. The website is where the youngsters and college students get their best drafts up on the website for the readers to enjoy and as the time passes the writers grow into their best version of themselves in the writing department. The writers are mostly college students and High Schoolers that have a love for writing. The books have many genres but my interest will always be in the romance books. The romance genre is popular since it's mostly teenagers that are acquainted with Wattpad. Even though the romance books can get a little repetitive I love how the plots are always twisted to the author's liking. The books are rarely complete mostly, because of the authors' lifestyle, whether they have too much to do in school or their interest goes to another story they have been writing. The incompleteness irks me since that means I would not know what is going to happen. I try to stay away from the unfinished tales, nevertheless, I end up with one in my reading list anyway. The story I am currently interested in is incomplete, that is only

How did this happen? There is only a distant memory of the echoing sounds heard at the beginning of that faithful night. A symphony of snaps and the soft crackling effectively expressing a non-threatening occurrence. The smoke was intoxicating, consequently, lulling us to sleep. Gently, I would wake unable to move; unsuspecting to me my body was being consumed with fumes. I could hear a still slight whisper saying “wake up” but, my body would not comply.

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

A shadow casted itself over the tattered menu in Addison’s hand as she shifts her gaze to the figure standing over her. An overwhelming sensation embodies her as she meets the spellbinding green eyes that stare back. The bottle green eyes that dance with gold flecks were once her grounding point yet now look so alien. Her gaze drifts along his features, taking in each of them as though he was a painting she was seeing for the first time. A painting that had been so carefully crafted yet seemed so effortless with his slightly crooked nose and flawlessly tousled hair. A small smirk playfully tugs at the corner of his lips as he slides into the battered booth seat across from her.

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,

One of the most attractive parts of Marist is the small class sizes. A small class will make it possible for me to quickly understand the material as well as gain a stronger relationship with my professors. Another aspect that is enticing at Marist is the ability to graduate with a degree that knowing how to develop software across many operating systems, as opposed to being confined to one like most other schools do. Another reason that I am highly interested in Marist is its ability to provide students with paid internships,

The Descriptive Writing task in Unit 3 is worth 7.5% of the subject award and is marked out of 20. The mark given for each of the examples provided is supported by comments related to the criteria given in the specification for (i) Content & Organisation; (ii) Sentence Structure, Punctuation & Spelling. A notional grade is indicated in each case, based on the way that the same mark scale for Writing has been used in the past, and consistent with the uniform mark scale which will be used in the future to report results. However, it is important to note that in practice grade boundaries are determined when units are awarded, and that prior to this individual students’ marks are subject to

At Transylvania University, one area that is frequented by students is the common space on the fourth floor of the Dalton Voight residence hall. This area is accessible only to the upperclassmen students who live in this hall. The common area is directly in front of the elevator with hallways of students’ rooms branching off on either side. A window on the other side overlooks “back circle,” as it is called by the students, a greenspace area in the middle of this residential area. In the warmer months, this area is more populated. However, during the winter months, all the furniture has been removed and students are only seen passing through “back circle.” In the common area, there is a mix of styles of furniture that create many options

On campus, when I walked from Nussbaum & Wu to campus, I imagined doing so as a student. I carried my tote bag and wore

Geralda is in the kitchen. Her hair, in its usual short curls, is cropped to her head and is the color of a blazing fire sprouting from ashes. As the chaos begins to steady in the kitchen, her onyx eyes dart around the kitchen trying to find something to shove back into place. The constant thumping and sliding of trays comforts her more than the steady beeping of the oven. She moves in slow motion, never once putting one thing in front of the other. Her small, delicate hands reach for the rag sitting atop the shelf holding to go cups. She dips the rag into the sanitization bucket, lets it soak, then promptly takes it out. She twists the towel and begins her work of wiping down the counters.

The sweetly, disgusting smell of vape juice filled the air and the sight of my new classes burned my eyes, but that wasn't the only problem. My new school was like a college campus, it had three schools about a hundred yards away from each other and the students had to walk between the buildings just to get to some of their classes, but that's only half of it. Being the newest, Plymouth High School was nice, but the problem with this school was that it was designed like a prison, not to mention it also felt like one. The oldest, Salem, definitely showed its age; the school colors were blue and white, but for some reason, the lockers were a nasty yellow with rust spots all over them, so in other words they looked like moldy cheese. Last but

Beyond just a peaceful environment, it’s nice to have your own space. Living on campus can really cramp your personal style. When you elect to live off campus, your space is your own. Sure, you pay your rent, but the reward is living independently of a series of rigid rules designed to ensure unity.

Droplets of sweat poured down my face while the beating sun blocks my view of the 8 lane track. The brush of skin touched me and my arm hair stood up. The bleachers were swarms of silence. My spikes towed the white line. I closed my eyes and the gun went off.

During my visit I noticed there seemed to be an unsaid social rule that when using the computers you should quickly finish your work, though there were no rules posted within plain sight referring to duration of your visit. People in this setting also, seemed to get frustrated when they noticed others using the computers for things other than what immediately appeared to be school work. Though some people were leaving, or entering with groups of friends, the occupancy of the room seemed fairly consistent. When I was there I did not notice a line to wait, but people were filling the room almost exactly as others were leaving the room causing the room to be nearly full of students at all times, but the room never actually reached full occupancy while I was there.