fandomhigh | Creative Writing, Period 6 1/10

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Creative Writing, Period 6 1/10

When the students come in they’ll see Yuki typing on a laptop. He seems to be paying very little attention to them as they come in. But as soon as most of them are there he stands and clears his throat. “Okay. My name is Yuki. Just call me Yuki. None of that Mister Yuki crap.”

“First thing you should know is that being a writer is a bad career choice. You slave away until you get famous by the smallest sliver of luck, then you work hard, go insane meeting deadlines, get ulcers and most of the good ones eventually end up committing suicide. And still most people only know your characters names and don’t care who you are anyway.”

He looks at the class with a bit of distain. “Well... that said, I want you all to write something that’s a page long. I don’t care what it is, I want to see where you all are... ability wise... Turn them in before the end of the class. Oh and if I can’t read it, then it’s a zero. So if you can’t print clearly by this age then you better start bringing a laptop.”

“I’ll give you feedback on them as soon as you give it to me. Or I’ll tell you in my office tomorrow, if you don’t feel like getting embarrassed in front of your classmates or something. I’ll be in there every Thursday by the way. In case you need to revise some writing for the later classes, since near the end of the year you’re going to be writing a short story.”

((OOC: Handwave any where you’d like, I don’t expect you to actually have to write anything in here, if you actually feel an urge to then you’re free to and I WILL actually have Yuki make comments, for those that don’t have that kind of time, feel free to either give me a short sentence with the topic and your characters writing ability and that’s all))

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Collapsey like woah.

For chatter, whining, or writing.

Handwave as much as you'd like to. Also beware, he bites... with sarcasm.

Feel free. But the previous warning still stands.

Since we need it! Yay!

Nadia Santos

Well, this was a bit like throwing them into the deep end of the pool. . . .

Nadia quickly got to writing.

Elena was bored. Mario was busy on an assignment for his employers and his partner, battling an army of the undead in outer Mongolia. Elena would have gone with him, but she'd had her own business to attend to. The deposed Czar of a Leichtenstein needed a covert entry back into his country, and Elena had needed the extra cash. Calliope was tired to working for free, and now had a lover of her own to spend what little money did get sent their way on.

But Leichtenstein was a tiny country, without many enemies, and getting Czar Hans back his thrown from his evil brother, Franz, had been simple for a woman with her talents. A few hired mercenaries, headed up by her good friend Pippin, had come in over night in a giant van disguised as a pink elephant, and by the time the sun rose, Franz was practically begging to give his brother back his throne. Pippin and Elena had spent a few days just enjoying the peaceful, graceful countryside of Leichtenstein, until Pippin had to move on to another job in South Africa, and Elena was left with nothing else to do.

Which is how she found herself on the doorstep of one Tad Acquino, the Filipino bassist she'd met on a mission in Quebec.

"Elena," Tad cried, as he threw open his door! "What a surprise! Come on in!"

Elena smiled up ~~and up and up~~ at her very tall friend and stepped in the door. "Hello, Tad. How are things with Jean?"

Tad's face seemed to crumple like a fast-food wrapper tossed out the window of a BMW on the New Jersey turnpike. "Not good," he said. "He's angry with me."

"But why," asked Elena? "I thought you two were so good together?"

"We were. But so were Freddy and me."

Elena shook her head sadly, taking Tad's hand. "And Freddy is--?"

"In Korea. Visiting a friend."

"You must be so lonely."

Tad nodded slowly, stepping closer to Elena.

"But what of Mario," he asked, lifting a hand to her cheek? "Did he not join you?"

"On a mission," she said. "Outer Mongolia. With his partner."

Tad shook his head. "That fool. He still thinks--?"

"Yes."

"Oh, Elena."

"Oh, Tad." . . .

What followed after that was certainly more than a page long, improbable physically, and rather morally ambiguous.

Not to mention completely inappropriate for a high school classroom setting.

[ooc: English is not Nadia's first language, so the writing is certain to be rife with ridiculous errors and poorly chosen words. As well as being ZOMGDIRTY.]

Yuki reads the first bit of Nadia's paper with a look of sheer distress. It seems as if each grammatical error hurts him physically. Oh God why did he EVER thing he could handle reading high school writing...

However, luckly for Nadia, Yuki writes romance novels for a living. Of course... they were much more tasteful than this. He looks up at her and takes a deep breath before he speaks. "Your paper is 4 pages, that's leaving me questioning if you're capable of counting." He looks at Nadia hoping she really can count. Because if she can't she looking at a BLEAK future.

"I'll ignore that for now. First of all. You're bringing a laptop because you need spell check more than roommate needs to stop cosplaying. Secondly, those first two paragraphs were god awful. Either you spread out all the petty details or you get rid of them. In a short story I know it's hard to put in all you want but either talk about the sex or talk about the history. Choose one. And finally, I know from experience that part of the sex scene is completely impossible."

Nadia looked to see which part he was talking about. "Oh. I'd wondered about that." She seemed to be okay with the rest of the criticism, too, and was, in fact, repeating "history or sex, history or sex" over and over in her brain. "And I can count, I just kinda . . . got into it? And I have a laptop. I usually write everything on there, but I didn't bring it, today. I'll make sure I have it from now on."

"Good." He usually likes to be succinct even if that means it's a bit hard to tell what he's referring to.

Nova

Turtle Wexler

At one point during Yuki's little lecture, Turtle's hand darts up into the air and obnoxiously hoovers there until she's called on.

"Mr. Yuki," she said, brushing right past his earlier indication of titling, "wouldn't commiting suicide as a writer actually help your carreer, like with artists? Artists are never famous until after they're dead."

Jude Lizowski

Now I'm going to be spending my Celtic Civ lectures writing something to rival the Tadsmut. Thaaanks.

Will it involve the pornstache of justice?

. . . it wasn't going to. But now it is.

Angela Chase

Angela frowned slightly during the lecture. "Not going to commit suicide," she muttered.

Angela turned in a page-long short story about a girl who learns her touch can freeze things. It's not bad -- a little precious, but it's clear the writer has some talent.

I'm frightened....

Nova was eager to work on what was probably the first thing he had ever written. He didn't really know what to write about, but he made something up as he went along.

Shh, just sit back and enjoy the crack/smut

Turtle had to bit on her lip the whole time she was writing to keep from cracking up.

Mitzy, Flitzy, and Grace were sitting on the porch, enjoying their afternoon tea and strumpets. "Oh, I do hope Mister Pompepats comes for a visit today," Mitzy said, sipping her tea and batting her eyelashes while she readjusted her stupid hat.

"Oh, indeed," Flitzy agreed. "Mayhap we shall all go for a stroll on the knoll and have some rolls?"

"I am a stupidhead," Grace said. Mitzy and Flitzy agreed.

"We shall go into town," Mitzy said, "and get our hair done and other such girl nonsense, because that is what we, as nonsense girls of this classical British manor, shall do. Mayhap we shall also--"

But Mitzy's words dropped away as a low rumbling sound came from the distance. "I dare say," Flitzy clutched at her bosom with surprise. "Whatever could that be? You don't supp--"

But Flitzy didn't get to finish her sentence before, over the moors, came rumbling a great big giant tank! It was big and giant and green, with an American flag and a banner that said 'Queen Turtle Forever.' Mitzy, Flitzy, and Grace all screamed and tried to escape the charging tank, but their stupid floofy dresses got tangled up in the table. "Oh, noes!" cried out Mitzy. "Whatever shall we do?"

"Whatever is a tank doing in nineteenth century England?" Flitzy dispared, just as Tannim and Conner and the guy who's name I can't write because I'll get in trouble stuck their heads out of the tank and started lobbing gernades at them. Mitzy, Flitzy, and Grace screamed in terror, but it was no good. Explosions were everywhere, blowing up their stupid faces. Boom! Boom! Boom! Turtle was there, too, but for moral support.

Explosions and sharpnel flew through the air; it was a veritable Fourth of July party! Now that Mitzy, and Flitzy, and Grace were blown up, Tannim and Conner and the guy who's name I can't write because I'll get in trouble and Turtle got rid of the gay tea and strumpets and had hot dogs and pizza and Squishies, which were free with the purchase of a Westing Paper Product, but only for today. And they talked about how much prettier and cooler Turtle was than Mitzy and Flitzy and Grace.

The End.

Jake Gavin

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Creative Writing, Period 6 1/10

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