Kaitand Xander and Hanna time ti write....what about the sounds and smells and feelings of summer? Do you like the heat, the feel of the sun on your skin? I know that I still love the smell of suntan lotion and I like to use coconut smelling shampoo because back in my day or "the" day we used coconut oil for tanning lotion and we would spread it all over our bodies and they would glisten with oil and grains of sand would stick to the oil we'd lathered all over ourselves...I love, love, loved the feel of the sun, the warmth of the sand, the breezes that kicked up just enough to evaporate the sweat on our skins. I loved the sound of the ocean and the rolling, back and forth motion of the waves.and,of course, I'll Ed walking along the shore on the hard wet sand next to the water's edge;picking up the broken shel sand rinsing the sand from them to discover what colors and beauty might be hidden. I loved tossing a frisbie, watching it spin on the air and glide to a friend or flop mercilessly on a sun tanner's head or neck or bottom and I loved the laughing and giggling as someone was sent to rescue the offensive frisbee from the irate sunbather...I loved beach volleyball. I loved diving into the sand to save a ball or leaping high to smash it across the net....I really loved the sound of transistor radios pounding out the sounds of Neal "forever in bluejeans" or Paul and john wanting to "let it be" Sotellmeyou writer club members "what do you love about summer?"

Check it out!

If you haven't ever been to this website, go now. Right now.
It is a website for amature writers, giving them tips and ideas on how to improve their skills and be better at what they do. The website helps you in getting you ready and prepared to effectively write, edit, and eventually lead up to every writers dream... to publish.
Go now to http://www.writersdigest.com/

On this website I found some really cool tips for creative writing: (My favorite kind:))

"1. Watch out for subtle wordiness. We’ve all been taught to eliminate redundancies in our writing, but it takes constant vigilance to catch the most elusive culprits—those that go beyond redundancy into pleonasm.
Pleonasm is the use of words unnecessary for clear expression. Here are some other common offenders to watch for:

• advanced warning
• basic fundamentals
• circulated around
• close proximity
•close scrutiny
• constant nagging
• downward descent
• exact replica
• exact same
• new discovery
• top priority

Isn’t that a great list for more concise writing?

"2. Don’t use a long (read: complicated) word where a short (read: simple) word will do. Here’s an interesting analysis of why less really is more when it comes to your writing:

In 10 novels I studied, I found bestselling novelists consistently use shorter words than non-bestsellers. It’s one of the reasons their writing reads at a faster pace. The samples from the bestsellers I studied averaged 4.21 characters a word. Other samples I analyzed for comparison averaged about a full character more. In the worst corporate writing samples I studied, it’s common for samples to average more than 6 characters per word. In academic journals, writing is so dense as to be unreadable at more than 7 letters per word.

"3. Redefine how you think of writer’s block. I’ve never heard anyone define it in quite this way before:

“Writer’s block is real but intangible. It is a momentary lack of anything to say that gives rise to the fear that you have nothing more to say—ever. … Coming to the end of speech can be a moment of blessed silence, and ought to be welcomed when it comes rather than featured. It isn’t the lack of something to say or write at the moment that is the problem, but the fear generated by the story that this present quiet will extend through the rest of your life.”

Sort of makes it sound easy to eliminate that anxiety, doesn’t it?

"4. Write more by setting a smaller daily goal. If you’re one of those writers who struggles with finding time to write, here are some convincing reasons why this approach might work for you:

• It’s easier to find smaller bites of time than long, uninterrupted periods.
• Repetition strengthens habits.
• Repetition also builds momentum.
• If it’s only for 15 minutes, you can justifiably postpone other tasks. You can reverse procrastination—instead of procrastinating the start of your writing, you procrastinate following the distractions that used to keep you from writing.
• You can envision letting go of all the other things competing for your attention and allow yourself to really focus, because it’s for only 15 minutes. This kind of focus, where we get lost in the writing, is one of the biggest joys of writing.

"5. Don’t abandon your other passions to focus on writing. I love the way Austin Kleon puts this in Steal Like an Artist: 10 Things Nobody Told You About Being Creative (Workman):

“Don’t throw any of yourself away. If you have two or three real passions, don’t feel like you have to pick and choose between them. Don’t discard. Keep all your passions in your life. This is something I learned from playwright Steven Tomlinson. Tomlinson suggests that if you love different things, you just keep spending time with them. ‘Let them talk to each other. Something will begin to happen.’ The thing is, you can."

So there you go... a few writing tips from a great website... just to get you started off on the right foot:)

Next Writing Prompt

You’ve just moved into a new house, and your family is still unpacking. In the process of moving furniture and decorating your own bedroom, you find an odd crack in the wall. As you explore further, you find out it’s a secret passageway—and you have no idea where it leads. You decide to grab a flashlight and go exploring.


Remember... anyone is welcome to post something they've written! Also, don't forget to check back often to see new stories posted and get inspiration for your own writing. I'll post my story on this prompt later this week... hope you guys will too!

The Dead King by Xander Grow

The Dead King
 by Xander Grow



It was just a normal day, nice weather, playing at the beach, except for the giant crab-squid trying to kill me. I was running for my life going 90 miles per hour across the sand. I was TERRIFIED when it came out of the water and almost killed everyone. I hid behind a building as it ran past me. It was headed towards the city museum. It pulled off the roof and picked up a small corpse. “What does it want, a dead guy?” I thought as the people inside the museum started to scream very loudly. Then the corpse did something: it got up jumped off the monsters claw and landed somehow straight in front of me. I ran for it, I needed something to get away with. I found a motorbike and tried to drive it. One fact is that a kid with no practice can’t ride a motorcycle while being chased by a 300-year-old corpse and a giant piece of seafood, but I made it out safely. (Well I did crash a couple of times but...) My name is Caden, I’m twelve years old and in sixth grade. I live in Florida, which would explain the beach to whoever is reading this. As I drove away I hid in the cemetery, not a good idea as I later found out. As the monster got closer its eyes started to glow tan witch was pretty weird, like skin growing at a rapid rate. The zombie must have seen me hiding behind the gravestone because it pointed straight at me. The monster shot tan lasers at the graves and green, rotting hands puled me under. That’s when I got here, the chasm. It is a big trench filled with red and purple streaked with blue that at first I thought was blood. The dead were on the other side of the huge pit, rotting away and staring at me. I was safe at last. I walked to the side for a while and noticed a camp. I ran towards it, maybe there were people there. I couldn’t see any people anywhere just a tiny, white, rhino with a nametag saying: Hi my name is Rine.
2                               I’m a rock master 
 It ran up to me like it knew who I was. He started biting at my pant leg trying to lead me somewhere. I followed him to a tent no larger than the other tents. Inside I found a girl kneeling in front of a statue of a crab-squid like the one I saw before. Who are you? I asked. She turned to see me. Your back! She yelled. “I am?” I said, surprised. “Wait no your not him, do you know someone named spencer hill?” “Sounds like my uncle” I said “stop, I’m serious,” she said louder than before. “No really, that is his name.” “Well that would explain why Rine recognized you and why you look so similar.” “What’s your name?” I asked “its Xena” she said. “Mine is Caden”. I said “Caden” lamely. “How did you know my uncle?” I asked. She looked like she was going to die of laughter. “He was one of the camp leaders here. He left on a quest about five years ago to find a way out of the chasm… he never returned.” “Four years ago he returned from the army, He must have found the way out and never been able to come back.” I said. “He was one of the only people we ever found that was a descendant of the ancients.” “The ancients?” I asked. “Yes, they were humans that had elemental powers. They each represented one thing: either life, earth, air, wood, water, rope, or death.” “Rope?” people had control of ropes? “Yes” she said solemnly “oh…that serious… wow… um, sorry?” “I was just kidding about that, there were no rope-people,” she laughed “oh…” I felt like an idiot. “Wait, if my uncle was one of these ancients then what about me, wouldn’t I be one to?” now that I thought about it I remembered some times it seemed I had bent the will of the earth, one time when I was rock climbing on one of the steep canyons near my home about five years ago I slipped and fell. as I was falling there was a big earthquake and a patch of grass came out of the ground and I landed on it. After that I was scared of rock climbing. Then I thought about when the zombies came I didn’t feel their hands the ground just seemed to pull me inside. “Earth” I said, “I have the power of earth.” Demon reunion 3 When Rine brought him in I was shocked, I wanted to go hug him, I seriously thought he was spencer, and then I started to think, “He’s gotten younger?” man I was dumb. We left the tent and I showed him around. I brought him into the big tent to talk to the masters. We walked inside and I was shocked. The golden Skulimp statue had been consumed by darkness and was now alive and crawling up the tent. Skulimp’s are not good, especially when they are made of black slime and are raving mad. I instantly pulled out the seratir and shot it at him. It missed by a long shot but scarred the altar behind it. To my surprise it never attacked, it just jumped around like a monkey that had too much soda. After a while we just ran past him. Something must be really wrong for it not to fight. I immediately shoved him into the center of the tall wooden column. He was carried away into the whatever-dimension, leaving me to battle the creature one on one. It was fairly easy…until it called on another, and another, and another. Soon about twenty Skulimp’s surrounded me. My Secratir was out of ammo and my sword was in my tent. The one thing that saved me was a big huge vine, encircling the tent and stealing the demons one by one. After, Rine came in looking exhausted. His horn transformed into a short spiky plant, explaining how I had been saved. When we entered the tent this creepy little monster thing with feathers and purple tentacles started jumping up and down, so of course I thought it was one of Xena’s friends and that it was excited to see her, big mistake. Until she pulled out some kind of crossbow and tried to shoot it I still believed it was a creepy companion of hers. And then she shoved me into a giant wooden pillar for like, no reason. I thought AAAAA! And then I was in a whole different world and I was like AAAA!!!!! And my last thought was “man, she’s a mean girl.”
  3 Rabbit of power
 The space I got shoved into only got weirder. A giant yak, a blue bed, and a magic guru bunny were all floating around with me. I started floating towards the bunny as slow as possible thinking NO, NOT THE RABBIT! When I bumped into it nasty red eyelids fluttered open, revealing something I did not want to see. He had a swirly black and white eye like someone who had been hypnotized, and his other was a snake’s eye with two different pupils. The last thing I remembered was a big dragon that seemed like it had been drawn and still had marks where it looked like it had been erased and redrawn before I woke up. Wow, that was disorienting. A giant vine just came out of my horn I don’t know how I did it and I don’t want to know. Just so you know this is Rine. Just so you know these thoughts are not from a rhino, but a man trapped in a rhino’s form. It all started when I was working in the military as Sargent hill. One day I was wandering around the camp. A big tough guy, “Ima idiot” as we called him, was picking on some other young man just trying to walk past him. “You trying to get killed kid! No one gets past me!” he screamed. “well,… um well I just wanted-“ he ran away before he could finish.

Snow Haiku

peaceful, quiet snow
melting like angels' magic
enchanting my soul

I got on a plane Was the wrong gate Must be insane for getting there late Flying aint easy security and lines crazy, hectic dizzy planes not on time. Instead of Italy landed in spain airport unfriendly went home on a train. Just want everyone to know...that we are taking bad stuff.

Writing by Kaitlin Gray

Here is another random story I wrote... enjoy:)

                She didn’t sing. Though, I knew she had every single word memorized by heart. She just sat silently, watching. Waiting. Glancing out the car window, she looked at Yard Sale signs and gas stations.

                Her lips are pursed in a stuck up manor. In her head, no thoughts appear but one: Whatever.

                They pull up the driveway, into the garage. There she turns from her mother without saying a word. Ignoring the patient waiting, the strain to hear an answer. Each one of them sits there, staring. Each one waits, but they only wait for something which is never to be heard. Never to be found.

                Her mother’s voice chimes in her head like a bell. She is speaking of a powerful word. A word the girl will never quite understand. Consequences.

                She opens the door abruptly as soon as the car comes to a stop. Whatever.

                One person understands her. One person out of a trillion. A needle in a haystack. Yet this person is inaccessible. Gone.

                Storming in the house, she throws off her shoes. Purposely, she slams the door. Hard and loud. Purposely she makes a mess of the shoes in the shoe basket. Purposely she does everything in her power to make her mom upset. She will get away with it; she is already in the deep.

                Stomping up the stairs she runs to her bedroom. Locks the door; hears the small click. This is the last place she has freedom. The last place she may find peace without… them. Nonetheless they are inescapable. This is why she comes here, locks the door.

                Her bed is unmade. Oh, what her mother would say if she saw it. She laughs, giving herself pleasure with the thought. Her laptop is open on her desk, a task remaining before her to be done. It is an option, an option where she can have the pleasure to escape. Where she can make anything happen, and everything goes her way. Though she simply stares, letting the task float above her head. What is it? What is the problem? Is she anxious? No, it is not anxiety that she feels. Rather it is regret, anger, frustration. So she cannot write? The girl does not understand the problem; just that it is there.

The girl sighs. Whatever. She turns one particular word around in her head. Plays with it, tries to find ways to make it backfire. There is no way. What can she do? Consequences.

                A knock hits her door. A woman, standing behind a barrier she cannot pass. She is trapped, but so is the girl. The girl ignores it, simply sitting at her desk staring at the open laptop. Not touching, looking. Admiring it’s beauty. It was a gift.

                She hears the woman walk away. She speaks words through the door before turning, but the girl tosses them away without listening. She does not care, what is the woman to her?

                She has a name: Mother. That is what she is to her.

                She disregards the thoughts of her, not to be rude but to prevent. There is a difference.

                The girl finishes her task, but not in the way it was meant to be done. She is meant to write, and she is as that is what she loves to do. But she does not write in the way she was meant to. She does not write a story; she writes a day. A day she only wishes she could take back, could relive. Yet, if given the chance, she only wonders if given a second chance she would do anything different. She only sits there, wondering.

                She reminds herself there is a way. There is one way to take back what she has done. One way, and that is through forgiveness.  But in the end, it never changes what has been done. People forgive, family forgives. That is what they are meant to do. But in the end, the consequences persist. The past is locked in stone, or rather locked in time. Although it can be forgiven, it can never be removed. Time itself may never be changed. She fears this. It is the truth.

                But she does not move. She sits still at her desk, wishing she could just scream off the feelings she feels, like her sister is doing now, just next door. But sadly, it isn’t that easy. Even if she forgives those who have wronged her, will those who she has wronged forgive her? It leaves her to wonder, and so she does not move. Does not turn and go down the stairs, giving her mother another chance. This is something she will later regret. She continues typing, for no apparent reason but to let off steam. There is other ways. Her sister merely screams. Her brother cries. Her father leaves. But she is different, she writes.

                Why? People ask. Why write?

                The girl wants to answer, but cannot. She can’t explain the power she feels when she reads something she has written. Something she realizes has potential. The answer is she has a gift. Everyone does. Hers is to write, and so that is what she does. She sits at her laptop and writes, though she should be doing something else. There is much more to do, but she writes. And this she will only regret, as the word appears again.

                Consequences.