a writing community for teens
Hi. Hades has been pestering me about coming back on Worst Ending. Hade’s says he/she is ’forcefully suggesting’. Anyways, hopefully I’ll be writing something new soon. I have had really bad writer’s block.
P.S. Ask Hades about Sheildwolf.
Designed by Tim Sainburg from Brambling Design
Categories: Inspirational Fiction, WORST.
Miracle likes to waste time she should be spending on college applications, studying, music, and writing on creating useful little forms! She really does want to help make WE better, so it wasn’t a complete waste… but still. COLLEGE APPLICATIONS, MIRACLE! (Somewhere between finals week, application essays, and scholarships, she began referring to herself in third person, cut her own hair, and joined the circus. So.)
Here’s the link to the form: https://spreadsheets.google.
Categories: WORST.
5:34 am Friday
The cool air embraced me as I skipped down my front steps. It was our favorite time of the day, but today only I could really enjoy it. The sun had yet to wake up fully, and the ground was covered with a sparkling layer of dew. Best of all, it was silent. There were no loud neighbors yelling at their dogs, no little kids screaming, and no cars speeding by. As I stretched my legs and started jogging, I started my breathing chant. In, out, in, out. It was so simple, two little words, and soon my mind was clear. I wasn’t thinking of school, people, life or death. I was free of emotions. I was simply running and living.
“How was it?” Emily asked as I came into our room, damp with sweat and breathing heavily. She was jealous, just as she was every morning I ran. “Boring.” I lied easily. “Elizabeth, was it quiet?” she asked. “Yes” I replied, and as I said it I looked at her crestfallen face. She was fading before my eyes, and I was scared she was simply going to disappear one day. The chemo had barely helped, and we both knew she had little time left. As I showered and slipped into my clothes, I unsuccessfully tried to think of comforting words to say. Instead, I just kissed her pale cheek and went downstairs to eat and leave for school.
The Silence had always been our secret escape in life. I remember when Emily was first going through high school drama, I would wake up to the sound of her slipping out the front door, never stopping to look back. She rarely stretched, she was always too impatient; she would just take off, the wind whipping her thick ponytail around. But, now she sat on her bed, quietly painting her nails and avoiding the mirror on our dresser. Everything reminded her of her fading life, from her balding scalp to her clothes that now fall off her. She was never able to clear her mind of morbid thoughts, thanks to the constant stream of tearful visitors with casseroles, un-helpful doctor appointments, and awkward phone calls. Even when I got her to laugh, she would quickly stop as if happiness might make death come even sooner.
During school I thought of her sitting at home, just waiting for me to come home with exciting gossip, most of which I made up. I went through my routine, class after class, praying the clock would speed up. Finally, I was on the bus driving home. I sat alone, and closed my eyes.
“Emie! Emie! Don’t go!” Elizabeth wailed as she banged her chubby fists on the window. She watched, through eyes full of tears, as the big yellow car took away her sister, her protector. Her little mind tried to understand why her mommy would let them separate her from her sister. Breakfast, playtime, lunch, nap…it all dragged on. But she waited stubbornly by the front window, for the return of her Emie. Finally she came home and scooped up her baby sister in her soft seven year old arms. Emie kissed little Beth on the cheek and promised she would always come back for her. Elizabeth sat by Emie and watched her do her homework and eat her snack, silently enjoying the safe feeling of being with her Emie.
I tried to imagine her leaving me and never coming back, and I felt that familiar tightening of my throat. I quickly turned my ipod to my LOUD! playlist, the one with the music that drowned out my mind. As I hopped off the bus, I saw her waiting for me by the front window. Our roles had switched, and I didn’t like it any better.
2:27 am Saturday
I woke up to the sound of her in the bathroom, throwing up the small amount of food she had eaten at dinner. I crept silently to her and held back her thin, wisps of hair. As I went to flush the toilet I noticed blood in the vomit. She leaned heavily on me as she brushed her teeth and washed her thin hands. We tried to be quiet, but as we were leaving the bathroom the hall light turned on. We turned to see our alarmed parents standing there. Mom quickly over-whelmed Emily with questions. When they found out she had thrown up blood Dad called the doctor and Mom grabbed the hospital bag. Before I had time to grab a jacket, Dad was carrying Emily and Mom was dragging me out the door.
6:12 am
“Elizabeth, darling” my mother’s grief-striken voice slowed impeded my mind, and I jerked awake. I had fallen asleep in the depressing waiting-room. “Elizabeth, the Doctor said it wont be long. You should go see her, before…” her voice cracked and she walked away with shaking shoulders. I followed her to the room, summoning all self-control. When I walked in, I saw my father, silently crying and holding her hand. She was still as a statue. My body was suddenly numb and my heart raced in my chest. Somehow, I made it to her bed, and grabbed her other hand. She slowly turned her head to me and softly murmered “I love you, don’t be sad.” I buried my head in her hand and tried to slow my flow of tears. She gently lifted my face and I saw a flicker of a smile cross her face. “It’s quiet” she whispered, and then her eyes closed, her hand fell from mine and her heart stopped beating. Before my mind fully comprehended what had happened, I realized she had gotten what she had wanted for so long. No pain, no noise and no fear.
Categories: WORST.
must show proficient talent in the following:
brewing coffee
finding pens at 2am
reading unreadable handwriting
brewing coffee
reading & performing long-winded praises
finding my @#!! muse
brewing coffee
cooking, cleaning, watching babies
barricading doors
avoiding the rent people (and police, etc…)
brewing coffee
inventing creative excuses to be printed and given out to various relatives, friends, dentists, and bosses.
impersonation for my absolutely inescapable appointments
Applicants may call 111-222-3333 to schedule an interview with The Writer. Thank you.
P.S: You MUST be able to brew coffee.
Categories: WORST.
So… what if we started a magazine?
This fabulous little community would still stand on its own, but what if we had a magazine tagged on the side?
A magazine filled with our stories, poetry, and other teens’ work. Articles on writing. Writerly sites that we enjoy. Books to read. Photography and artwork to spice it up. The idea is sketchy, but if we put our heads together we could make a sassy, fun magazine reflecting our exciting persona. Something different then what’s already out there. A community on paper.
Yes? No? Maybe so?
Categories: WORST.
For & By Teens:
Cicada: http://www.cicadamag.com
TeenInk: teenink.com
The Claremont Review: http://www.theclaremontreview.ca/
Polyphony: http://www.polyphonyhs.com/
More interesting links:
Guide to Publication: http://www.newpages.com/npguides/young_authors_guide.htm
Online Opportunities: http://www.noodletools.com/debbie/literacies/basic/yngwrite.html
Magazine Search: http://duotrope.com
More ideas:
Check out writers. They almost always have awesome pages about writing – how to stick through it through thick and thin and why it’s worth it. Also – EMAIL writers. They usually WANT to hear from excited reader/writers, and are thrilled to discuss their obvious obsession. Just make sure you’ve actually read their book(s). It’s rude to suck their bones for advice without giving a little encouragement back. Look up good writers in your area and go to book signings and talks, have a quick question ready just in case. Go to conferences if you can.
Be a stalker. Think of it as an apprenticeship.
Ally Carter: Check out her upbeat Writing & Publishing talk in the FAQ section, http://allycarter.com
Karen Kinsey: Check out her encouraging success story directed at younger writers at http://www.cicadamag.com/theslam/slammaster/jul10.
Categories: WORST.
I miss you, I miss you, I miss you
More then I can say,
More then I can show,
More then you will ever know.
And so, I cry
Waiting for you to realize
Just how much you mean to me.
All the things we never said or did
haunts the way I live.
If only you
were here with me
then maybe it wouldn’t be so hard
But you’re not
And I’m not
So goodbye and all that rot.
Categories: Lyrical Prose, Poetry, WORST.
You may have noticed the “Works by Us” section on the sidebar. To add your own novel/poetry book/short story collection/etc… to the list, just make a new page and paste your text into it. Once it’s saved, it should pop up with the rest.
This way, we can all collect our stories into one place, so that if someone falls behind they don’t have to hunt through every solitary post to find chapters.
Ta!
Without Wax,
Miracle
Categories: WORST.
by Sandy -in case you can’t tell from the title 
There’s bad, there’s really bad, there’s super stinky, there’s terrible, there’s HORRIBLE, there’s just plain despicable… and then there’s this.
So I was thinking that I’d do this post with the best poems I wrote this year. Well, last year. I was gonna just pick the best ones of 2009… but then I thought, “Dude, that is sooooo boring.” Besides, I’ve already posted the better things I wrote. So instead of reading real poetry, y’all are going to be entertained… VERY, VERY, ENTERTAINED. These are THE worst poems I wrote, from January to December.
In fact, these are not even fit to be called poetry. They’re just scribbles on scraps of paper that I dug up. They resemble something I found on the bottom of my shoe… after walking through a junkyard… after a truck just dumped toxic waste there for some reason… and a dog did some business. Ok, you get it… they stink. But I’m not just being the average Sandy and trashing my writing. They really, REALLY stink -you’ll see. I’m not exaggerating.
So, here are my eight worst poems of 2009. And ok, I wrote even worse than this, but these are the absolute worst that I’ll ever POST.
Have fun reading this garbage! 
_________
Let’s kick off this countdown with two poems about Laura. Now, these stink, but believe it or not, they are a LOT better than those that follow.
8. Written outside a homeschooling conference we went to in May. The ten-year-old girl I was with wanted to sit outside, so while she was playing with potato bugs I decided to write about Laura, who we would see the following day.
She’s always got a book
Instead of a cellphone.
She writes like a maniac
If others are present or if she’s alone.
She thinks she’s so fat
And won’t SHUT UP about it.
Her self-consciousness is annoying;
We could do without it.
7. Myth and I do this thing where we take turns picking a theme each Sunday and write a poem about it, and if you don’t write yours (by the next Sunday) you lose a turn. Here’s one I wrote sometime in August when she picked a theme I didn’t like. But I ended up writing a poem about pianos, all the same.
Laura’s being a FREAK,
Did I mention very mean?
She gets to pick the poem of the week,
And she picked the dumbest theme!
She said, “Let’s do pianos”
Though she knows that I don’t play,
I want to stomp on her toes,
Laugh, then run away!
And before we get into the really, REALLY terrible poetry that fits the above description junkyard description, here is a little trilogy I’ve put together from random poems I wrote about Ashden when we were chatting on Gmail. And by the way, the nickname I gave her is Rabid Porcupine, or RP. Enjoy!
6. This was titled “A Poem For My Dear Friend” when I first sent it to her.
10-11-09
she’s a prickly little thing
infected by rabies
she makes me want to sing
la la la la la la.
her name, we call her ashley
but I prefer rabid porcupine.
yep, thanks good ol’ RP,
the sun will always shine.
i said, “i’ll write a poem about you!”
and so, you see, i am.
i’ve got nothing better to do,
and i’m acting like a ham.
5. (This one was my status on Gmail for a while, and everyone took it to mean she’s boy-crazy. Ok, um, I won’t say anything else or RP will get mad. 
)
10-18-09
once there was a rabid porcupine from nantucket
who said, “i’ll put dorks in my bucket!”
so she tried to collect each and every boy
but found their presence hard to enjoy.
4. No need for an introduction. Just another crazy “poem.”
12-6-09
Let’s talk about Ashley
Cuz she hates it, yes she does!
When I write poems ’bout RP,
Her face turns red because
These “poems” never make sense,
And aren’t too flattering.
She don’t like when I call her
A prickly little thing!
Well I always call her “dude,”
And so she calls me “Hon.”
Though she’s got no gratitude,
I write these cuz it’s fun!
3. This is a crazy thing I wrote to the tune of “We Go Together” from Grease. The last part was supposed to be like, “when the cows come home” or something. I know, it doesn’t make sense .
We’re crammed together
Like 25 horses stuffed in a train caboose.
Look out! Now we are running loose!
We’ll always be together…
We run together
Like millions of cows stampedin’ the streets of Rome.
Watch out! Now we are comin’ home!
We’ll always be together…
2. This one is from October, and, well, yeah. You can tell why it’s my second worst.
Darwin wrote a book
(You’ve heard of it, of course).
It’s called The Origin of the Species.
Other than that book, he did something far worse:
He put porridge in all the Reese’s!
He desecrated the fine
Chocolate and PB;
What a horrendous thing to do!
He’s such worthless slime,
And most certainly
Will get no respect from me and you.
1. Very random. Myth picked sunsets as one of our themes, and I was desperate not to lose a turn picking the next week. So I wrote this crazy thing…
AND NOW, SANDY’S WORST POEM OF YEAR 2009…
When I see the sun set,
It looks like Bobba Fett,
For the ocean is wet,
And I’m not tired yet.
When a shine turns to a glow,
“Bye-bye” the day will go,
And I’ll be sad although
I do want it to snow.
And I think it is cool
That we will do no school
For in the air will float
This poem that I wrote.
Isn’t that just profound… well, if you don’t count this selection, it was a pretty good year for poetry . I hope you enjoyed yourselves. Try not to like, quote any of these “poems” (yes, I’m sure you’d love to )
Hearts, over and out, with all the love that I posses, ciao, etc.
~Sandy
Categories: WORST.
1. Dance
till there’s nothing left in you
2. Feel
the passion of the music
3. Grasp
the timing of the rhythm
4.Be
light on your feet
5. Watch
the movement of your body
6. Never
be embaressed
7. Know
That you are beauty
That you rule the world
And that in this state of mind
no one can defeat you
These are the rules of dance.
okay… i know this stinks… and i[ma gonna have to rewrite it…. (i just wroteit real quick in 5 minutes… JUST FOR THE SAKE OF FINALLLY POSTING SOMETHIGN!!ldfjla;sdjf;lsa
with all the love that I possess,
I remain truly yours
Areya Sunshine
Okay you guys! I’m finally posting something! Now please PLEASE PLEASE understand that I wrote this when I was in 5th grade, and I’m definitly NOT a writer. But well, here goes nothing!
~~~~~
The Baker Who Loved Bread
Cast:
CHIEF BAKER – loves to make bread for the king, and sometimes mistreats others
MERCY – a kind, old woman who can see inside of people, into their heart
THE KING – a wise, nice, handsome young man
A WOMAN – poor
A BOY – dirty
CHET CHATTERBOX – Baker 1
MYERS – Baker 2
CROWD – Approximately 7 people; some rangers in blue clothes
RANGER
MAN
Props:
Bread Dough, something to REPRESENT a microphone, map, stones, a bread paddle, a whistle, a bed, a goblet and some bread on a tray.
Setting: a baking complex in the middle of the forest
SCENE ONE
There should be trees and bushes to represent a forest and a hut in the middle of it. Chief Baker is kneading dough and talking to Chet Chatterbox.
CHET CHATTERBOX: So…here in the heart of the Deepest Forest, the best bread in the world is being made. The bread is lighter, and more nutritious than any other bread! The Chief Baker willingly gives bread to the King and the Rangers, but then he draws the line. He will not send bread to some people, like Old Mercy, who willingly shares with anyone she comes across. (CHIEF BAKER interrupts)
CHIEF BAKER: Stop playing Newsboy! We have lots of bread to make, and furthermore, I am NOT selfish with my bread! The people Mercy drags in here do not deserve the King’s bread! Now, get over there and help Myers…! Hum Hum…Hey! Who is that?! I better go look myself…(mumbling) Why do I have to do everything around here?
SCENE TWO
The setting is a forest with bushes and trees. Chief Baker is approaching a poor WOMAN.
CHIEF BAKER: (grumbling) Humph. Good bread is a matter of proper timing and now whoever this is, is destroying my bread by throwing off the timing. What do you want lady?!
WOMAN: Please sir, some bread? I have lost my way in the forest and have not eaten for 2 days!
CHIEF BAKER: A likely story. Your kind are always looking for hand-outs! You lazy thing…! Oh fine. Here’s a map to Mercy’s cottage. She’s always feeding your kind. Now scram!! (pause while WOMAN leaves scene) That bush just moved! I bet it’s a thief of some sort. I’ll trick him! (CHIEF BAKER walks down the path and suddenly veers and grabs a dirty BOY who had been hiding.) Aha! A thief trying to steal some bread!
BOY: No sir. I was just smelling the bread.
CHIEF BAKER: And that’s all you’ll do! I don’t want people find fleas in their bread. Now scram, or I’ll bake you!! (CHIEF BAKER kicks boy a few times and
throws stones at him as the boy runs away.)
(Someone far away blows a whistle.)
CHIEF BAKER: The warning whistle! There must be trouble. Hey. Who is that? (CHET CHATTERBOX and MYERS struggling with MAN) Whoever it is, must be up to no good. (CHIEF BAKER is hitting MAN with the bread paddle and grunting with each blow, while MAN cries out upon each hit) Now. What is going on around here?!
MYERS: We caught him trying to steal your bread!
CHIEF BAKER: Well, I’ll teach you!! (CHIEF BAKER hits MAN with bread paddle 3 more times, until MAN stumbles away.) Okay men; back to work! (Everyone walks away, very slowly. Suddenly a crowd steps out into the clearing of the woods, carrying a wounded man. Everyone looks downcast.)
RANGER: Chief Baker, the KING is hurt. Your house is nearby; let’s take the wounded King there.
CHIEF BAKER: Of course! He can stay as long as he wants, and I will feed him fresh bread and the best food…(RANGER interrupts.)
RANGER: Then stop yapping and let’s get going!
CHIEF BAKER: (mumbling) If I find out who did this to my KING, I will gladly beat him with my bread paddle. I did fairly well the last time, if I do say so myself, which I do.
SCENE THREE
The setting is in the CHIEF BAKER’s bedroom. MERCY is there with the KING who looks deathly ill. CHIEF BAKER walks into the room, with a worried look.
MERCY: (Slowly walks over to his bedside and gently bends over him and prays. As she rises back up, she says…) The wound has been over come. He will be okay if you treat him right. (MERCY walks out of the room)
CHIEF BAKER: (Walking over to the KING’s bedside) I brought you some bread sire.
KING: (The King bites into the bread) Mmmm…. ( swallow) You’ve done it again Baker. Like I always say, the Chief Baker will see that you’re fed like a King.
CHIEF BAKER: Well, It’s the King’s bread sire. (The CHIEF BAKER then starts bustling around the room cleaning it up.)
KING: (Acting thoughtful) Yes….the King’s bread is for the King’s people, isn’t it?
CHIEF BAKER: If I find out who did this to you sire, I would fix him good. Why, I’d punch him and kick him and…
KING: (Interrupting CHIEF BAKER) Chief Baker! My wounds are not like other men’s. When even one person is hungry, it famishes me. When even a little child is beaten, I suffer too. (Pause; KING waits for the words to sink in) Baker, it is you who has wounded me.
CHIEF BAKER: Not I lord, not I! What can I do? I mean, I only threw stones at that boy because I wanted your bread to be perfect and…that lady and man, well…, there would not be enough food for you if I fed every ragamuffin that comes along.
KING: You must feed the hungry, so that I may also be full. (KING strides out of the door very calmly & casually.)
SCENE FOUR
There should be trees and bushes to represent a forest and a hut in the middle of it. Chief Baker is inside the hut, kneading dough and talking to Chet Chatterbox.
CHET CHATTERBOX: I’m back with the Chief Baker. He is not the same Chief Baker that he used to be; he now has a changed heart. Despite his earlier comments, he is now giving food to anyone who needs it; good or evil at heart, he feeds them alike. In fact, the Chief Baker is now sending cookies to Mercy’s cottage for the children there but…the best news of all is that the bread paddles are no longer used to hit people; they are strictly for bread dough! I do wish the Chief Baker would make one more reformation and stop yelling at us bakers so often.
CHIEF BAKER: Chet…stop playing reporter again. We still have bread to make!
CHET CHATTERBOX: See what I mean…! Anyway…the Chief Baker is now feeding the hungry, lest the one he loves the most, the King, should starve. This is Chet Chatterbox, signing off.
CURTAIN
I bite my lip
I tap my feet to the beat of my music
I turn down the volume so I can hear the woman
She says someone’s flight is boarding
But it’s not mine
I have two hours to go
I pop a piece of gum in my mouth
I chew, chew, chew
I turn back up the volume
Even though it kind of hurts my ears
But I’m okay
It’s not as bad as I think
Anticipating the event
Is always worse than the event itself
I’m waiting for the worst
But people keep saying it won’t happen
Should I believe them?
Should I throw away all my preparations?
It’s better to be safe than sorry
So I’ll sit and anticipate.
–
This one’s not so good, cause I started it and then Mom was like, “What are you doing up at 5 to 11?!?!” so I had to finish up really quickly. Maybe I’ll write something better tomorrow. Night!
By the way, does the category “worst” mean it’s our worst writing? Cause that’s what I’m putting it down for. Did I miss something???
Oh yeah by the way I wrote this because tomorrow evening I’m getting on a plane to go to Argentina and I won’t be back till January 3, so BYE BYE!! Happy New Year, Marry Christmas, et cetera.
HEARTS!
Jules.
Categories: Nonfiction, Poetry, WORST.
Here’s a idea child (inspired by the site Book-in-a-Week). The first week of every month, we’ll have a SERIOUS writing week. Each of us can set her (or his, arty) own goals and strive really hard to meet them.
Example, if decide to set my WWW Goal to 30 pages, I’d have to write 30 pages in seven days.
We’re coming up to november, so we can launch The Worst Writing Week Nov. 1 – 7 (NaNoWriMo’s can opt out of this one).
So, whaddyathink?
Categories: WORST.
Talk