About Me!!!

Why hello there! I’m Claire, and this is the blog I created for my Creative Writing class. It is full of awesomeness and rainbows and sunshine. Well, not really the rainbows and sunshine. But the awesomeness—yes.

I don’t really consider myself a writer or poet. I am well aware that my works are not the best, but overall the experience of writing all these different types of works has been fun. In my heart, though, I will always be a math and science person—yay calculus!

Anywhoo, I have lived in the San Francisco Bay Area my entire life, and I love the culture and fun stuff available there. I am currently a senior in high school, and next year I will be continuing my education in the Bay Area—at Cal! Ahh, I’m so excited!

Well, for some more info about me, I love the Harry Potter series. So much. So much that I reread all of them in one week every summer. I also enjoy other books too, but these are the ones that I know I will always enjoy.

As for music, I am obsessed with Ok Go (in the best possible way). Here’s a link to their newest music video which is super-awesomeàhttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MejbOFk7H6c .  I also like the Rolling Stones, the Beatles, and numerous others whose names evade me at the moment.

Well, this is starting to sound like an online dating profile, so I guess I’ll catch you on the flip side. Hope you like my blog!

p.s.—I enjoy long walks on the beach.

The Superhero's Confession

This short scene was created for an in class writing assignment, in which we had to write a short conversation between any two people we wanted. My partner, Wesley, and I chose Batman and Superman (the obvious choices). In this short scene, these two superheroes sitting at a table in a bustling café. We also read this aloud to our class, and succeeded in getting a few laughs.

*BATMAN’S voice should be read in a deep, gruff, Christian Bale voice.

BATMAN: How's it going, man?
SUPERMAN: Oh, you know. Just flew around the world so fast I reversed time itself. Aaand...just did it again. Have you had the fries here?
BATMAN: Yeah, they're pretty good. (beat) You just did it again, didn't you.
SUPERMAN: Sorry, left my iPhone at the International Space Station. I got it now.
BATMAN: Dude, do you realize that everyone else has to wait, frozen in time, every time you do that? Not cool, bro.
SUPERMAN: Whatever, man.
BATMAN: You need to take responsibility for your actions, bro. You're a public figure. What sort of message do you think you're sending to your fans?
SUPERMAN: Woah, man. At least I have fans.
BATMAN: Dude. I'm the caped crusader. I'm the dark knight. I don't need fans--I'm a legend, man. Plus I'm totally rich and everybody loves me.
SUPERMAN: Yeah, but only because you're parents were millionaires and you found a tax loophole for masked vigilantism. You're the 1%, man. I was raised on a farm.
BATMAN: You think my childhood was fun? I grew up in an empty mansion. I was raised by my butler.
SUPERMAN: And what, you felt lonely? My whole planet blew up. It sucked.
BATMAN: Shit. I'm...I'm sorry, bro. Sometimes I forget. Just cause you're so...strong and powerful and stuff, you know? It's just that...I mean, I really look up to you, man.
SUPERMAN: C'mere, man. Let's hug it out, bro.
They totally hug it out.

SCENE

Disappointment

The following story is a vignette I wrote for class. A vignette is a type of memoir that delves into a particular moment in your life. For mine, I chose Christmas morning when I was around eight or so. Hope you like it.

                I raced into the living room, eagerly scanning the piles of presents underneath our Christmas tree. Despite our best intentions, the tree was decorated somewhat haphazardly thanks to my sister, brother, and I. As my eyes glanced over the tree, I spotted my special ornaments—my wooden Santa riding a giraffe and my bunny angel. But even those ornaments barely registered compared to the piles and piles of presents. Presents, presents, presents.

                After everyone arranged themselves on the couch, in the armchairs, or just standing, my sister and I began passing out the presents. Minute by minute the little piles next to everyone’s feet were slowly growing. So was mine. In it was a huge, colorfully wrapped box. I couldn’t wait to open it.

                I hurriedly distributed the rest of the presents I had in my arms. Then I ran over to my pile, eagerly eyeing the enormous box in front of me. And because I was only eight or so, and therefore still had yet to acquire the concept of saving the best for last, I started tearing at the wrapping paper, enjoying the crinkling sound it made, wondering what was hiding behind that colorful exterior.

                I soon found out.

                Barbies. And not just any Barbies. This package had the traditional, blond Barbie, but also teen Barbie, and little kid Barbie. I think one of them was named Kelly. And they had scooters. Yes, I got scootering Barbies for Christmas.

I probably should mention that I was a huge tomboy at this point. I mean huge. I refused to wear a particular shirt after I noticed it had a little pink on it. I was that bad.

Therefore, I was beyond disappointed in this present. How could something so big and colorful contain something so bad? But I still went up to my grandma and gave her a hug along with a quiet “thank you”.

Xavier's Dance

This story is based on a certain genre of music, and a name. Our assignment was to create a story inspired from the music, but it had to include a specific name. In this case, the genre was R&B (but it sounded more like Funk to me) and the name was Xavier. Yes, the name doesn’t fit the music, but that’s kind of the point. I hope you like it.

                Xavier was bringing the 70’s back. As he looked in the mirror, he admired how nicely his fro was growing out. Granted, it was a Jew-fro, but a fro nonetheless. And his outfit—wow. Just wow, was all he could think. He was wearing nearly every color imaginable, and one would not be wrong to call him a walking, talking rainbow. With one last comb through and a glance at his reflection, Xavier was out the door and walking down the street. Bobbing his head slightly, he thought he was the coolest cat in town, and would definitely be the coolest one at his school’s 70’s themed dance.

                Ten minutes passed, and on Xavier walked. He was not going to miss this dance for anything, even though the school was two miles away. As he passed people on the street, he got a couple of double-takes, for his attire was out of its time.

                With all this mindless walking, Xavier’s mind soon drifted to the memory of his first dance. Or almost dance, he corrected. He was ten years old, and he was so excited he could barely handle it. He wanted to be at that dance. Now. But his mom was being as overbearing and demanding as she knew how. As he grew older, Xavier realized that she was just overreacting to his growing up—it was his first dance, after all. However, he did not understand that at the time. All he could think about was being at that dance, with his friends, but most of all, he just wanted to dance. He loved to dance.

                “Just come sit down and eat dinner!” his mom yelled up the stairs.

                “Fine!” Xavier replied, with as much angst and resentment as he could muster in his ten year old self.

                He stomped down the stairs and glumly took his seat at the table. His mom then placed a plate of food in front of him. The smell of lightly roasted chicken and hot, buttery green beans wafted up to his nose, and Xavier decided that he would eat his dinner, but eat it quickly, so he could get to the dance as soon as possible.

In three minutes, his plate was clean. However, his mother made him sit there until she finished her meal. Xavier was bursting with anger—why couldn’t she just let him go to the dance?! He could even walk there—it was only half a mile away, and he was ten years old, not a baby.

“Come on, Mom!” Xavier nearly shouted, about to jump out of his chair.

“Just give me a moment,” his mother replied.

A few minutes passed, yet his mother still had not finished. Xavier was out of patience.

“Fine!” he yelled. “I’ll just go myself!”

“No you will not! Now go to your room and stay there. There will be no dance for you tonight.”

After stomping loudly up the stairs and slamming his door as hard as he could, Xavier lay on his bed, exhausted and dejected. Although he didn’t want to, he soon fell asleep, dreaming that all his friends had fun at the dance; they even forgot he was supposed to be coming! Xavier glumly woke up the next morning, and decided that he would never speak to his mother again. But that didn’t last long.

Suddenly coming out of his reverie, Xavier realized he was just one block away from school. He vowed that this night would be much better than the one permanently engrained in his memory. He would have fun.

And with that, Xavier walked through the school’s doors, ready to have the best night of his life.

After I Died

For this short story, we had to write from the point of view of something that normally doesn’t get a voice, whether it’s inanimate (like a tree) or not (like a dog). I chose to write from the perspective of dinosaur bones buried deep in the earth, commenting on the rise and fall of civilizations and humanity. I actually kind of like my story, if only for the fact that it’s about dinosaurs. I like dinosaurs.

            I am old. So old. I have seen civilizations come and go, wars fought, and cities born. I have seen it all from where I lay, in my home of earth. It surrounds me, always. Since the moment I died and began my new life—if you can call it that—I have lain in this very spot, never moving.

            Before this new existence, I was the fiercest of all creatures, I was the best, I was the alpha. I was a Tyrannosaurus Rex. I guess I still am, without skin and muscle, just bones.

            I used to have friends. Many friends. Now I am just me, alone. Forever. All my friends died. New creatures came to take their place. First they were furry, and gradually, they lost their hair, and built over my resting place. I have seen men evolve. I have seen a new species born. I have seen it all.

            Before I came to rest here, I was alive. So alive. I was running through the forests with my family. My brother, my mother, my father. How I miss them. I do not know where they lay now. I hope it is somewhere nice. I hope they are happy. We used to run, run so fast. I would race my brother. He was faster, but he never showed off. Sometimes he let me win. I liked that.

            One time, we chased a pterodactyl. It was just for fun. We weren’t hungry. We already ate. He kept hiding in the treetops. But we were tall. So tall. We could see the leaves move when he beat his wings.

            “I found him!” I shouted.

            “Be quiet!” my brother hissed. “It will know we’re here now.”

            Sure enough, the pterodactyl swooped out of the tree. It scraped the top of my brother’s head. Then it flew away, back to its own family.

            “Owww!” my brother shrieked. He was loud enough to make all the small creatures scurry back into their burrows and shelter from this incredible, hulking monster.

            “Hold still! I need to look at it,” I told him. He calmed down. I examined it. It wasn’t very deep. He was being a baby. But I wasn’t going to say that. I was going to fix it.

            I washed the cut off and cared for it. Soon, we were ready to go home, back to my mother and father. All my brother said was a quiet thank you. But I knew he meant more. I think he knew it too. He knew that I would always be there for him.

            But now I am not, and it is killing me all over again.

            That day seems eons away from this moment. I want to go back to it. I want to see my family. I want to be alive again. But I can’t. I am dead. Dead and buried. I am stuck here, made to relive my memories over and over yet again.

 I am no longer the mighty Tyrannosaurus Rex. I am just a pile of bones, deep underground. I will see your civilization come and go, and more after it. And through it all, I will remain here. Forever.

The Rolling Stones

This poem is called a Clerihew, which consists of two rhymed couplets that have a well-known subject, with whimsical humor rather than satiric. Obviously, I chose the Rolling Stones for my poem and referenced one of their more famous songs, which is one of my favorites, “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction”. I hope you enjoy it:

Oh, the Rolling Stones,

How you rock my bones.

I do yearn for perfection,

Though I know you can’t get no satisfaction.  

Ode to Matches

This is yet another poem I wrote for my Creative Writing class. We had to write this one in the style of Pablo Neruda, who wrote in a very distinct way. He used short lines, dividing the lines and stanzas however he felt. He tended to give human characteristics to objects, like calling an artichoke a warrior. For mine, I also compared matches to warriors.

A simple box,

Red top,

Small,

Holding

A secret

Inside.

Open it up,

Reach into its heart,

Pull out a

Flimsy little stick.

Red topped

Little warriors

Meet your

Fingertips,

Ready to help

In your

War

Against the

Darkness.

Warriors,

Every single one of them.

Wearing their

Red helmets,

Prepared to

Fight off your enemies,

Whether they be

The dark,

Thecold,

The winter.

Strike its head,

And it

Raises

Its weapons,

Angry,

Firey

Balls

Of light,

Eager to help

Its bigger,

Older

Bretheren—

The torch,

The fireplace—

In their

War

Against the

Dark.