MINI-ASSIGNMENTS
We were given the chance to complete mini-assignments to help expand our thinking for both the developmental essay and Capstone project. For my project, I was particularly interested in improving my story-telling and learning to successfully communicate details and scene. Although the topics of my mini-assignment writing do not relate to my project, working through this writing helped push me to incorporate stronger descriptive language to better portray vivid details. I also really enjoyed the challenge of being particularly creative with my word choice to show, not tell.
The Power of Short Words: Write a 200-word description of a place you’re familiar with using words of only one syllable. (For this, I chose to describe the Dominican Republic beach where I spent my spring break.)
The blue is not like a blue I’ve seen. It is blue, yes, but teal as well—both light and dark as it fades from the shore to the sea. The stripes of white are waves as they crash and play in the midst of it all. They fail to make it to shore, and the sea is shy as it creeps up the sand. The sand is bright, and I squint my eyes as I sit up in my chair and look out. My hand shades the sun that sends down rays to scorch the earth. The wind fights the heat and wins, and a light, fresh breeze is left to cool the beach. Tall palm trees and bright flags sway. Rows of chairs line the beach: some to my right soak up the sun and some to my left hide in the shade. I rise from my chair and walk to the shore where the sea comes to greet the sand. I step in the clear blue that swirls at my feet and hear the sounds of boats and laughs and gulls far off. I look back to my friends who come to join me. We splash in the sea and feel the warmth from the sun and taste the salt that creeps in our mouths as we dive through the waves. This place is one of a kind.
The blue is not like a blue I’ve seen. It is blue, yes, but teal as well—both light and dark as it fades from the shore to the sea. The stripes of white are waves as they crash and play in the midst of it all. They fail to make it to shore, and the sea is shy as it creeps up the sand. The sand is bright, and I squint my eyes as I sit up in my chair and look out. My hand shades the sun that sends down rays to scorch the earth. The wind fights the heat and wins, and a light, fresh breeze is left to cool the beach. Tall palm trees and bright flags sway. Rows of chairs line the beach: some to my right soak up the sun and some to my left hide in the shade. I rise from my chair and walk to the shore where the sea comes to greet the sand. I step in the clear blue that swirls at my feet and hear the sounds of boats and laughs and gulls far off. I look back to my friends who come to join me. We splash in the sea and feel the warmth from the sun and taste the salt that creeps in our mouths as we dive through the waves. This place is one of a kind.
The Barn Exercise: Describe a barn from the perspective of someone who lost a son in the war. Don’t mention the son, war, death, or yourself. Just describe the barn, how it might look to this person. Then repeat the exercise from the point of view of someone in love.
There is a barn I pass by on my walks each day. It sits back from the road, empty and alone. The fence that surrounds it winds haphazardly around the property, broken splinters of wood scattered throughout. It is tired. The whole thing is tired. Cracked shingles, frail from the sun’s harsh rays, peel off the roof. The barn—once a vibrant red—is faded, the paint washed away by the rain and snow of the seasons. No one has brought life to it again. Its graying sides reveal a loneliness that cannot be cured; the wood has rotted away, leaving gaping wounds filled with the darkness of its insides. It has been abandoned and forgotten. Sometimes I wish I could breathe new life into it, splashing bright red on those walls, but I, too, am tired.
There is a barn I pass by on my walks each day. It is a charming little barn surrounded by a winding picket fence. Pieces of the fence are missing, much like a child’s partially toothless grin. Beyond the fence are trees that bend and sway into each other, supporting the weight of overgrown branches left to grow together as they wish. Streaks of red paint that used to cover the barn decorate its now-faded sides. It is no longer the bright red beauty it used to be in its glory days, but the paint has given way to the natural gray of weathered wood. Sunlight streams into the barn through holes where the wood has rotted; dust glitters and dances in these openings. It comforts me as I study it from afar. I get lost as I stare, and I think of how the barn was once so adored by the people who owned it.
There is a barn I pass by on my walks each day. It sits back from the road, empty and alone. The fence that surrounds it winds haphazardly around the property, broken splinters of wood scattered throughout. It is tired. The whole thing is tired. Cracked shingles, frail from the sun’s harsh rays, peel off the roof. The barn—once a vibrant red—is faded, the paint washed away by the rain and snow of the seasons. No one has brought life to it again. Its graying sides reveal a loneliness that cannot be cured; the wood has rotted away, leaving gaping wounds filled with the darkness of its insides. It has been abandoned and forgotten. Sometimes I wish I could breathe new life into it, splashing bright red on those walls, but I, too, am tired.
There is a barn I pass by on my walks each day. It is a charming little barn surrounded by a winding picket fence. Pieces of the fence are missing, much like a child’s partially toothless grin. Beyond the fence are trees that bend and sway into each other, supporting the weight of overgrown branches left to grow together as they wish. Streaks of red paint that used to cover the barn decorate its now-faded sides. It is no longer the bright red beauty it used to be in its glory days, but the paint has given way to the natural gray of weathered wood. Sunlight streams into the barn through holes where the wood has rotted; dust glitters and dances in these openings. It comforts me as I study it from afar. I get lost as I stare, and I think of how the barn was once so adored by the people who owned it.