Writing is bleeding with ink... Writing Contest

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Front page updated. Forms must be finished by the deadline! ~

[celestiaa]

i finished up my character on page 4. c:

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Haha you just got into the time frame there so welcome to the competition. I'll post the next stater now and put the poll up so people can vote

[celestiaa]

Step two: Descriptive Writing
Your character is going to move to Ireland to study journalism in university. Write a post about them moving over to Ireland and describing what they see on the car journey or what they’d see on a plane journey, also describe how they feel about the whole thing.


You have one whole week starting from today - so entries will be closed on the 27th June at 10pm London Greenwich time.

i was just wondering what the deadline for this week's step is. (:

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Update to the time on the front page as I forgot to change it, sorry. Entries are now due for stage two on the 4th July.

[VesVes]

I have a question about Step Two: Would we be putting it in story format, or just writing a few descriptive paragraphs?

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Either, it's your choice.

[FoxerOwl]

Skylar ; ;

Female // 20 years old // plane --- town in Ireland --- university // other passengers --- Irish folk

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Skylar yawned as the plane started to roll down the course. She stared out the window blankly, watching the pavement dart past without even seeing it. She was actually excited to go to Ireland and a new university. The reason she was acting so regretful was that she hated planes. No, not hated, more like scared of flying. Every time her eyes moved to a new source of movement, she freaked and ordered herself to calm down and zone out. Sadly, however, this was her only way of transportation. She couldn't drive, of course, since she lived in London. She couldn't take a boat, since she got madly sea sick and it would take longer than a plane ride. So this was her only option. She scowled and turned her head to watch the inside of the plane. It was dead, very slow moving since the machine was in the air. A flight attendant walked up, helping an elderly woman into the seat next to Skylar. The 20-year-old frowned at the woman, with which the old female responded with a feeble smile. Skylar rolled her eyes and turned her head to watch the clouds, staring at nothing.

Skylar cried out as the plane hit something. She realized she had been sleeping, her face pressed against the glass window. "Ew...," she muttered, wiping her face off with her hand. She looked out the window and saw a plane course. The plane had landed in Ireland. She smiled and waited impatiently for the pilot to land in the correct zone and then tell everyone to gather their things. She had her toes on the ground, still in the seat, waiting to pop up at any moment. She glanced to her left and saw the old woman staring at her with an odd expression on her face. Skylar scowled once more, but it was deflated when the pilot's voice echoed out of a speaker. She jumped up, opened the compartment, and practically yanked her bags down. She waited for the elderly woman to move, with the flight attendant's help, and then she took off, down the isle, and into the airport. She smiled, glad to be out of the stuffy airplane, and set off to the university.

It took quite a while for Skylar to even get out of the airport. With a few signs and a little bit of Irish translations, she was out of the airport and in the street. She had a tight hold on her bags, because she didn't trust anyone in a different country. She glanced at everyone and smiled warmly, trying to make friends before she even got to her university. She wandered the streets for a good hour, admiring the scenery, when she came to her senses and asked for directions. She was talking to a 30-year-old man who pointed her in the north direction, and said if she just kept walking, she'd find it. Skylar only knew a little bit of Irish, and had to use a book for the rest. Finally, she nodded, said thank you, and walked down the street. Within 15 minutes, however, she saw the university. She rushed forward, tired of carrying so many bags and hot as can be. She stopped before the sign and looked up at her new home. "Here we go...," she said happily, then stepped onto the concrete and walked into the building.

[indebted]

i r e n e ;;

"Swap seats with my husband, will you? Please? Please? My husband..." The flustered woman trailed off uneasily, looking to Irene hopefully. Irene rolled her eyes. As if. Sympathy didn't work with her and this woman wasn't doing it right anyways. Her hair was slick and smooth with sickly sweat and one bead of sweat rolled down her forehead, cascaded off her nose, and plopped with a small swish onto the carpeted airplane floor. Well, disguise was spot on. She was wearing her jacket inside out and the two children she held in her arms were fighting playfully, bursting out in laughter every once in a while and smacking each other in the face. They squirmed and giggled and in their mother's arms; Irene thought they looked a little old to be carried. One older child waltzed up to the woman, face placid and languid as his half closed eyes raked over the plane and where they were. Irene dearly hoped that this child was different from the rest. God, if he started screaming she was going to jump out of the plane. She had quite a few snarky retorts at hand, but struggled to smile--this is your charming persona, Irene! That was when he started bawling and crying more moodily than the baby in the weary looking husband's arms right behind the woman.

"Mo-mmy! You said we wouldn't be in economy! You promised!" he screamed, beating his stony little fists on a nearby tray. The poor gentleman (agh, she didn't specialize in sympathy, but this was a special case) drew back his tie, although that was of no use whatsoever as the annoying nine or ten year old snatched the tie and tightened it, causing the gentleman to cough and splutter for air and turn a delicate shade of green before, with his grand finale, the boy smashed his striped tie into the glass of tomato juice he had just been given and shattered the fragile plastic, splattering tomato juice into his face and staining his white suit. The gentleman turned red and gasped for air, clearly furious at what had just happened. As Irene had expected, a well dressed flight attendant rushed down the aisle with everyone's two eyes focused clearly on her and wondering what exactly she would do and how glad they were they were not close by the boy.

"Madame," she demanded firmly in a thick French accent, "will have to ask you to leave now. Inappropriate behavior from your--your son, and must sit down. Some turbulence." The woman shot her a cold glare and put her grubby, grimy, dirty hands on her equally gritty dress and jacket, which looked as if they were some cheap rip offs of some fashion idea that were bought from a thrift shop and made in China. Her belt was a thick, fake gold one with a fake silver buckle on it embedded with hundreds of huge rhinestones, exactly the kind of tacky clothing she'd expect from this woman. As if she would move for this idiot woman. She'd bought this seat far and square and besides she wasn't firmly in the belief that if she did this she would still be safe from that boy. Most likely as she got out of the seat she would be bombarded with water balloons or God-knows-what else in that carry on satchel he had hanging over one slumping shoulder, the very mark of bad posture. Irene shuddered. Even now she sat up as straight as she could in her seat, determined to keep her posture even through an airplane ride.

"Who are you to order me around? Do you know who I am? Do you?" she screeched at the flight attendant, who took a few steps back in shock. "That's right, I'm a hardworking American citizen! I am the very staple of American life, and if there is nothing you can do to make my life a little easier, then you are fired! Tell your boss you should be fired. Admit it!" Irene sighed and plugged in her headphones, drowning out their shouting match which ended in the flight attendant hissing that she was submitting a request for her to be parachuted off the plane (though Irene figured that she wouldn't really submit it) and the woman storming back to her own seat, secretly moving her whole family up into some of the free seats in the next class. Irene really couldn't be bothered with remembering which class it was. Eyes trained on Neal Caffrey on her tiny screen, she munched on the saltine crackers that were provided thoughtfully. She would have gotten at least a class higher, but she had to save money. Her mother and father were back in China and she figured if they sent money from China they'd probably get scammed and have almost all the money siphoned out of their bank accounts. She wouldn't do that to them. Would she? Nah. She wasn't a public benefactor, but she wasn't the dictator of doom or whatever. So the classic I'm-only-twenty-or-so-years-old-send-me-money ploy wouldn't work. Sighing, she cranked up the volume on the headphones, ignoring her father's voice in her memories telling her that was bad for her ears.

She hated planes. She hated the sickly looking toilets and the tiny stalls and the fact that the little leg space she had was about as large as an individual saltine cracker. She hated the expenses and the overly happy flight attendants and the young children screaming and wailing like there was no tomorrow. She hated turbulence, the noise sounding like the rickety, scrap metal plane would fall out of the sky and tumble down to Earth. Also, she was in Economy. That was probably bad. But at least she was going to a new country! With bright skies and green grassy meadows and rainbows and leprechauns and four leaf clovers and whatever else went in the seemingly happy go lucky country of Ireland. Pots of gold and fairies. At this moment she was incredibly thankful for her own country's rain bringing dragons and magical, fat luck gods. Fairies. Pffft. She didn't believe in fairies. She didn't really believe in anything. And the heights! Had she mentioned the heights while on a plane! Looking out at the steadily smaller town she almost felt sick, though that would have made this the worst plane ride ever.

Bright eyes weren't present around her. All the eyes she could see were dull, their movements flat and simple as could be. There was a slight clamor, but it was more of a background buzzing than a cafeteria screeching. She supposed that was why this section was called Economy. Everyone here dreamed of riches by night and straightened their patchy, ratty, cheap ties by day, picked up their solid wooden briefcases (they were surely painfully reminded they were just boring brown, not the shiny silver type higher employees and CEOs flaunted) and resigned to a cubicle, poring over text and filling in paperwork and doing work their bosses would surely later take credit for. People that lived in sturdy townhouses with peeling paint, people who smiled on a yearly basis for the Driver's License photo and for their wives and husbands and gave their children a ruffle on the head before retiring to the office room. Maybe she exaggerated but she was an artist, and that was what she did. Her sharp eyes pointed out things and exaggerated them ever so slightly and then created a plausible, realistic world that her readers could sink into. She smiled. Yes, she was a true journalist.

Story threads, she called them. She called anyone a story thread. She looked at them, their spiteful eyes or mistrusting eyes, their noses, the exact shape (maybe they had surgery, controversial subject that was always very popular) and the exact size. She noticed slightly chubby arms and a waddling sort of motion when walking. She noticed the worn coffee mat, as if that person had bee using it for years. Must have been a miser or someone very poor. She glanced at a blonde woman a few seats up, smiling as brightly as the sun, her laugh radiant and blossoming. She was lean and tall and laughing with a brunette friend, who chuckled softly and went back to her thick book, reading it from behind her bottle-cap glasses. A happy woman, that brunette girl, but Irene had noticed the slight weak note in her voice when she laughed and the hidden tightness in her smile and the eagerness she had going back to her book. Something had happened recently. Something that stressed her, something that was worrying her. This trip...she closed her eyes, brain gears whirring silently as she created a story for this woman. She enjoyed journalism, but writing fiction was better, much, much better.

The woman had been happy--a pay raise, perhaps, or maybe good news, like the stocks she'd invested in were rising. But then she'd checked her email and seen the bad news. Her dear old mother was dying. The book she was reading was titled 'How To Battle Cancer', and Irene figured her mother had cancer.

The plane was landing. She put her tray down in a monotonous streak and waited patiently for the world to come back into focus. In a few moments she'd be in Ireland. A slight smile gracing her lips, she tipped her head to the side, glancing at the flight attendant who had come down the aisle, helping others get their luggage. She unbuckled her seatbelt gladly, got lazily out of her seat, and waited for the flight attendant to hand her the red suitcase she'd sported. Once it was handed to her, she set off down the aisle, looking the very image of professionalism, and into the airport. Yes, she was in Ireland. Naturally she didn't know Irish, as her mother had never known Irish, but she figured everyone probably knew English, even if it were patchy English. After rubbing her hands together awkwardly and frowning for about ten minutes, the random Irish woman pointed to the exit. Making her way to the flashing exit, she struggled into a cab and waited for him to just take off already she wanted to unpack. He took her to the building, and as she glanced up, she shrugged. She'd probably learn a lot here, but it definitely wasn't Harvard. At least she'd finished Harvard first.

[VesVes]

“Flight Thirty-Two to Ireland will be boarding in ten minutes.”

Chiquinha Parker paid no attention to this monotonous announcement issuing from the loudspeaker on the ceiling. Yes, this was her flight, the flight that would be taking her overseas from her old life, the life she’d always known, to something completely different. However, she and her parents already sat at the gate, so there was no need to move. Besides, the plane would board first class first, then start at the back of the plane. Chiquinha’s seat was not first class, and it was not towards the back either. With this seating, she would wait for an additional twenty minutes.

The blonde looked at her parents, whom were both smiling at her. They were excited, much more excited than she was. They had volunteered to go with her to Ireland, to help her out on her college journey. Her brother, Chase, was in Wyoming State University, so he wouldn’t be coming. She was both happy and sad to know that she wouldn’t be seeing him for a long time. However, she could predict that he would drop out of college very soon, since his girlfriend dropped out of high school. In spite of herself, Quin smiled.

Since their town was small, she and her parents had to drive all the way to the Cheyenne Airport. The name of the city brought a pang in Chiquinha’s heart. Cheyenne was the name of Delilah (a.k.a. Dragon)’s sister, and Chase’s boyfriend. All of Dragon’s siblings had their quirks, and Cheyenne was perhaps the most charismatic of the lot, even if she did scare her sometimes.

Speaking of friends, Quin’s phone vibrated. She took it out of her pocket and opened it. It was a text message from Dragon, and it read, “hey Chiquinha. U on the plane yet?”
“No, 10 min till boarding,” Quin texted back in reply.
“I’ll miss u,” was Dragon’s reply.
“Me 2,” Quin typed. “Tho I do hope to get an accent.”
“Lol,” Dragon responded.
“Bye.”
“TTYL?”
“Definitely.”

“Flight Thirty-Two to Ireland will now be boarding First Class,” announced the loudspeaker. Sighing, Chiquinha turned off her phone and stored it in her pocket while she waited for her turn to board. At this point she could feel nothing. She had decided that it was no use feeling sad over the whole thing. People had to move on at some point in their life, right? Besides, she’d be seeing her friends again. For the first time since she woke up that morning, she allowed a small smile to creep onto her face.
“Flight Thirty-Two to Ireland will now be boarding rows Six to Twenty-Six.”

“That’s us!” her mother said happily as the family got up. Chiquinha grabbed her carry-on bag, and as they shuffled through the isle way to their seats, she quickly stored it in the overhead compartment and grabbed the window seat. She always, always wanted the window seat on the plane. Since she was a child, she loved to see the airport fly by her during takeoff, as well as the clouds just outside the window when the plane was ten thousand feet in the air.

Currently, she mindlessly gazed out the window as the mandatory safety talk was being held. Quin didn’t exactly feel like she needed it, since she’d been on many planes before. This would be no different than those other times…unless she counted the fact that this was a one-way trip instead of a round trip. She sighed and shook her head. She would not let this bother her. The safety talk had just finished and they were about to reach her favorite part of all—the takeoff. Feeling like a small child again, she eagerly looked out the window as the plane turned into several runways. Many times, she thought that the plane was ready to take off, but it stopped and turned onto another runway, forcing a frustrated sigh out of the nineteen-year old. However, her patience paid off. The plane suddenly started to accelerate to an incredibly fast speed. This was exactly why she loved the takeoff. The adrenaline rush, and seeing everything just fly past her window was purely awe-inspiring. Soon, the adrenaline rush was replaced by a magical, euphoric feeling of lifting gently into the air, and rapidly ascending over Wyoming. This would be the last time she saw her home state for at least four years.

As always when flying on planes, Quin was able to eventually spot Shelley’s house. Her brunette friend lived closer to Cheyenne than her other friends did. What was Shelley doing at this time? Listening to music while looking out her bedroom window as her friend’s plane flew by? She would be no doubt be getting ready for New York. Chiquinha had always been jealous of Shelley’s thick New York accent. She’d always wanted an accent of some sort, preferably British, Scottish, or Australian.

The rest of the plane ride felt like nothing. It was rather dull. Not feeling particularly hungry, she refused food from the flight attendant and instead put her headphones on and paid attention to the in-flight movie. She recognized this movie. It was no Steven Spielberg flick, but at least it wasn’t the worst movie she had ever seen. As the plane started to fly over the Atlantic Ocean, she felt herself drifting off to sleep.

The loudspeaker was enough to wake her out of her stupor. Five minutes until landing. In Chiquinha’s opinion, landing wasn’t nearly as exciting as takeoff. The landings were always rather bumpy, and as they dropped, she often felt a sinking feeling in her stomach area. As the plane landed, reality became crashing back to her. She was in a new country, and she might even have to learn a new language. She would have to study journalism if she was to become a movie critic. The only bright side she found to it all was the fact that she was training for her career, and the possibility of gaining an accent.

When the plane stopped, nearly everyone jumped out of his or her seats. Quin waited until the crowd died down before retrieving her carry on bag from the overhead compartment. Followed by her parents, she briskly walked out of the plane and towards the baggage claim. As she waited for her giant suitcase, she looked out of the airport window and smiled slightly to herself, for no reason whatsoever.