Autobiography Of a Writer

Once again, I have created a scene that relates to a picture. Below this beautiful picture is a "mind picture" (In other words a writing piece that relates to an image or landscape you haven't made up). Does my writing piece remind you of this image? I lay my hands over my stomach and stare through the branches. The deep world of stars glimmered over me like a great ballroom chandelier. Every glint a fragile crystal that hung from a string of gravity, held together by galaxies of other crystals. I felt small against the big open sky, but most of all, I felt lonely. I wanted to scold myself, remind myself that all I needed was Lupa, that there was no one worthy of my trust, but strange feelings still tore at my gut like a growing hunger. I close my eyes, the sound of the breeze rushing playfully through the trees, the electric buzz of cicadas a comfort against the pierce of darkness. The world seems to fade and my mind wills me toward sleep, my breath slowing into hea

Does this piece I've written give you the imagery of this picture? I stood on the rusted rooftop, the metal cold against my bare feet. Lupa’s fur brushes lightly against my knee, her nose twitching curiously in the evening air. I look out before me, feeling the breeze blow over my back as if willing me to look forward at the brilliantly colored sky. The oranges and reds make the sky look as if fire was burning in slow motion, engulfing me with confidence. I run my hands gently through Lupa’s fur, bright auburn patches of fur bursted out against her gray timber wolf fur, like the sunset. The city, jagged shadows of unique architecture jutting from the soft green around me. The few skyscrapers like hands reaching to grab the fiery sky. The faint sound of a siren brings my eyes to the streets, the cars soft purrs of dashing whites and reds against the blackening night... *dont fret there will be more.*

For a little more that an hour I wrote in a beautiful aspen and pine filled forest. The tangy smell of the pine wafting through my nose gave me a sense of my home out doors. The lake I had hiked to had only a few families there. One girl had two dogs were extremely trained and amusing to watch. I really hope to go back there. While adventuring in these amazing woods I came up with an interesting medieval story. It includes sassy mermaids, an interesting type of treasure, pirates with intense names, a boy with a mysterious background, and a father who cares more about his job than his daughter. I will update the plots and character when I get the chance.

For 42 minutes I wrote in a nice park with a big open space that faded into a deep forest. There was one family there but they left after a few minutes.  I could hear the river running below me and the hundreds of different kinds of plants were green and blowing in a slight breeze around me. One of my favorite sounds was the faint train horn, that I decided would be a wonderful sound to put in a story. The story I worked on was of course The Ones in Silver, Though I am having some trouble moving the plot along. Here is a small bit of the story that I wrote while in this location.  As we sat at the picnic table I dared a question that had been brewing in my mind.  "Anybody ever tried to escape?" I ask. The chatter in my small group falls silent in a sudden hush and all eyes fall upon me. Emory sets her cold spaghetti down on the picnic table as if preparing to give me an important life lesson.  "Yes." Jax answers before she could.  From the look o