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- SnowdropSugar
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Snowy's Writing Thread <3
the ghosts & my mind
Knock, knock.
The ghosts come tapping at your head.
Silently.
Ever so silently.
You could ignore them, but they are much too loud for that. Silence is the thing that buries into your soul and rattles you. It’s the thing that finds its way into your bones and jumbles everything up until you don’t know what’s right anymore. The worst kind of volume.
You could shut them out, but they have the keys to the doors of your mind. More so than you, anyway. You don’t own anything but the darkness inside.
Knock, knock.
They’re here again. Tap-tap-tapping at the wooden walls of your mind.
You fade. They appear.
Fading.
Appearing.
They’ll come back for you soon enough.
-hiding- found again
Knock, knock.
If you can trust anything in this world, it’s them. When everything and everyone else leaves you behind, they’re still there.
They’re good at finding their way back. They can hunt for the path you’ve left, and they know you by your trails of shadows. They’ve learned how to see you even when you run from them, to get away, to hide.
Why would you hide from us?
-I’m sorry. I should have known better.-
Remember that next time.
-I will.-
the friends i didn’t know i had
Knock, knock.
They’ve found you.
That’s no shock, you would think. It shouldn’t be. You know them far too well for it to be a surprise.
They scare you, but that’s why you love them. They’re the ones that know you. At your best. At your worst. -At the points when you’re fading and nothing and so, so lost.-
To the little ghosts that hide away, you’re somebody. And somebody is better than nobody. Anybody Anything is better than nobody.
Rarely do the ghosts venture up to you in person. Rarely do they have the courage to do anything other than stay in your head. Today, though, they do.
She comes up to you with a smile, or a wisp of one, at least. The ghosts don’t quite feel enough to give a full one.
The ghost girl slips her frozen hand into your own. She lacks the warmth of hope and revels in the chill of frosted invisibility. She is made up of whispers, too quiet and far too silent to reach the ears of anyone but you. She is made of bone and vicious kindness.
The ghost girl squeezes your hand, and for a moment, there is no threat. For a moment, there is nothing but you and her.
And she sings. Her voice is husky and mournful, but the tune is soothing. You sleep, finally, her right by your side the whole time. She brushes the hair from your face and guards you from the nightmares as they come, and then all of the darkness parts for you
to make friends with the ghost.
the other ghosts (the ones that never leave)
Knock, knock.
You whisper a hello to them, a greeting to their longing voices. The ghosts, your ghosts, pull you into their embrace, and although they are people of the winter, things of the kingdom of the long-gone, there’s a certain comfort that comes with it.
When you wake, the ghost girl that you knew is gone, but the others have replaced her.
The others = the rest of them. The others = the many, many ghosts you can’t escape.
They knock at the doors to your head, less asking permission than announcing their presence. They don’t need to, though. You would understand better than anyone the way that they’re—
-always vengeful-
-always angry-
-always taking-
—always there.
Yes. You know better than anyone.
a palace for the liars
You make
yourself a palace
littered with the bones of
a person that you were before.
A pyramid of all the things you left,
the things you promised you would never, ever
look back on but did.
You liar.
You little liar.
That’s the ghosts talking. They don’t mean that.
ever-so-cruel relief
Knock, knock.
You shake your head to clear them away, to drive them out, but they’re persistent. They sink their claws into you and hold you tight and don’t let you go because the whole time they’re whispering that
you’re nothing without them.
And you know they’re telling the truth.
You let them slink back to their places in your brain, hide themselves in the folds of your consciousness, let them live where they mean something. Let them be the artists and create and spin stories from what is theirs, what is rightfully theirs. Let them lay claim to you, because deep down, you know.
You belong to them. Not the other way around.
the iron grip of their silence
Knock, knock.
You love them, even after everything. Without the ghosts, you are a body lacking any kind of soul, deprived of life and all that matters. Without them, you fall away with the wind and haze until you are nothing but a blur of what was.
You don’t even have to turn the knob for them to come spilling in. They know their way around this place. So instead, all you do is to offer them a drink and greet them like the old friends they are. You beckon them into the humble home you call your mind with a smile on your face, and they hang their coats at the side and find their way to the table, more so out of habit than anything.
In a manner of speaking, the ghosts control you. They know their way around this maze far better than you. They’re the ones that hold the reins, the keys, the power to bring you back and push you further.
It’s not a bad thing, though. You need them. You do.
They soothe you with your words, and their murmurs chase away your darkest fears. They perch themselves high above you and watch. You listen to their humming, the humming so silent it blocks out everything but the drone of the voices in your heads. They are your protectors. The ones who watch out for you, no matter what.
But that’s why you have us.
We keep the order.
Without us, there is only
chaos.
-I know. I know.-
Shhh.
All you have to do is to let us
block out the noise.
You close your eyes for just a moment, and the ghosts find their way to your side, holding you up with their crushing, featherlike grip.
They’re right, as they always are, the ghosts are. They know you better than you know yourself.
You let their silence wash over everything that hurts and everything that matters, and then you become
—nothing.
freed by the nothingness
Knock, knock.
In the dreamland,
you can’t hear
any of their
-hateful- loving words.
In the dreamland,
you shut out
everything that hurts
and pretend the
In the dreamland,
ghosts become nothing,
and you remain.
Free.
(Knock, knock.)
(Knock, knock.)
(Knock, knock.)
(Knock, knock.)
(Knock, knock.)
And for once, everything is quiet.
buried in snow & the ashes of winter
Knock, knock.
Your ghosts are brave. They’re strong. They’re good.
Your ghosts dance in the light snowfall and laugh and sing and love and care and act as if they’re
real.
Like you.
(Or so you think.)
They pull you into the snow and promise you that you will be safe and one of them, and the idea just sounds so supremely heavenly that you let them drag you from the warmth of your house, of your home, into the cold, into the deep, deep snow drifts until you can’t feel anything but the powder all over you.
You laugh and they laugh with you, and it takes you so much longer than it should to realize that, no, they’re not laughing with you, but rather at you, their jeering barely disguised by their fake happiness and fake smiles.
And you tell them, “No, no, stop,” but the powdery stuff that constituted perfection just minutes ago has become your enemy, and the ghosts play and laugh and do everything but care and love, but you know you love them anyway don’t you don’t you don’t you
Don’t you?
And the ghosts bury you in the snow and push you down into the banks, hoping that they might weigh you down. The cold dulls everything, and their claws and your own can’t reach you anymore. The one thing blissful about it. Being out of their reach. And your own.
You barely hear their words as a blizzard comes and spreads a sheet of white over you, but you catch on to their desperate, desperate words, begging and wanting and pleading, and your heart breaks for them all over again because—
Don’t leave us here alone
—no matter what they do, you just
can’t
stop
loving
them.
house guests in the mind of the forgetting
Knock, knock.
Things come back slowly. The ghosts, innocent, and you, naïve. The ghosts, spiteful, and you, betrayed.
Knock, knock.
They’re not here to apologize. The ghosts don’t do that. And besides, what do they have to apologize for? They took it too far. They didn’t know any better. You forgive them for that, as you always do.
You let them in with a smile, and soon enough, it’s forgotten. Soon enough, you don’t have to think about the things they’ve done. They’re your ghosts. Your caretakers.
Guests in the house of your very own mind.
little secrets in shadowed thoughts
Knock, knock.
They’re so kind, so kind. You welcome them whenever they come. They wrap their bony, thin arms around your body and still the trembles that come from the storm inside until all that is left is a strange kind of calm.
The ghosts come with their gifts of peace, for a short while, at least, before they remind you of what their real purpose is. They have their own stories, though they never seem to want to tell you them. They’re too scared to, maybe. Too scared that you’re not entirely to be trusted. Too scared that you might judge them for it.
They shouldn’t be scared.
They’ve kept all your secrets, haven’t they?
haven’t they?
haven’t they?
But with the ghosts, it’s not about mutuals, it’s not about balance. It’s about them. The ghosts. Never you.
But that’s fine with you,
isn’t it?
on the other side of the mirror
Knock, knock.
You look into the mirror on the other side,
see yourself staring back at the person made of
the things they love, the things they hate.
Two sides of the same person, both essentially identical.
Two versions of a shell, polar opposites.
But both know the world well enough to understand
that neither are quite fit for this prim-and-perfect Earth.
The person in the glass stares at you with pleading eyes,
almost as if they know you think of destroying
that pure and simple hollow thing
in hopes of taking too the ones that are a given
in the body of one who is stuck in winter and left behind.
The ones that haunt and soothe you to sleep.
The ones that whisper promises then drag you down into the snow.
-Knock, knock.-
(And this time,
you knock back.)
stone-cold silence
Knock, knock.
It shatters oh- so-musically, cool, hard glass against a tile floor, and the melodies and harmonies interlacing are what finally let you understand.
The ghosts that promised you everything
have given you nothing.
The ghosts that have asked you for everything
will give you nothing,
and in return,
you will give them nothing back.
Nothing but silence.
Nothing but stone-cold silence.
(Want to smile for them
one last time,
in hopes they might once again
convince you
of their goodness,
their reliable goodness?)
They cry out in human voices to you, but you’re too far gone to listen,
and the ghosts
shatter
just as quickly
as the glass.
Knock, knock.
The ghosts come tapping at your head.
Silently.
Ever so silently.
You could ignore them, but they are much too loud for that. Silence is the thing that buries into your soul and rattles you. It’s the thing that finds its way into your bones and jumbles everything up until you don’t know what’s right anymore. The worst kind of volume.
You could shut them out, but they have the keys to the doors of your mind. More so than you, anyway. You don’t own anything but the darkness inside.
Knock, knock.
They’re here again. Tap-tap-tapping at the wooden walls of your mind.
You fade. They appear.
Fading.
Appearing.
They’ll come back for you soon enough.
-hiding- found again
Knock, knock.
If you can trust anything in this world, it’s them. When everything and everyone else leaves you behind, they’re still there.
They’re good at finding their way back. They can hunt for the path you’ve left, and they know you by your trails of shadows. They’ve learned how to see you even when you run from them, to get away, to hide.
Why would you hide from us?
-I’m sorry. I should have known better.-
Remember that next time.
-I will.-
the friends i didn’t know i had
Knock, knock.
They’ve found you.
That’s no shock, you would think. It shouldn’t be. You know them far too well for it to be a surprise.
They scare you, but that’s why you love them. They’re the ones that know you. At your best. At your worst. -At the points when you’re fading and nothing and so, so lost.-
To the little ghosts that hide away, you’re somebody. And somebody is better than nobody. Anybody Anything is better than nobody.
Rarely do the ghosts venture up to you in person. Rarely do they have the courage to do anything other than stay in your head. Today, though, they do.
She comes up to you with a smile, or a wisp of one, at least. The ghosts don’t quite feel enough to give a full one.
The ghost girl slips her frozen hand into your own. She lacks the warmth of hope and revels in the chill of frosted invisibility. She is made up of whispers, too quiet and far too silent to reach the ears of anyone but you. She is made of bone and vicious kindness.
The ghost girl squeezes your hand, and for a moment, there is no threat. For a moment, there is nothing but you and her.
And she sings. Her voice is husky and mournful, but the tune is soothing. You sleep, finally, her right by your side the whole time. She brushes the hair from your face and guards you from the nightmares as they come, and then all of the darkness parts for you
to make friends with the ghost.
the other ghosts (the ones that never leave)
Knock, knock.
You whisper a hello to them, a greeting to their longing voices. The ghosts, your ghosts, pull you into their embrace, and although they are people of the winter, things of the kingdom of the long-gone, there’s a certain comfort that comes with it.
When you wake, the ghost girl that you knew is gone, but the others have replaced her.
The others = the rest of them. The others = the many, many ghosts you can’t escape.
They knock at the doors to your head, less asking permission than announcing their presence. They don’t need to, though. You would understand better than anyone the way that they’re—
-always vengeful-
-always angry-
-always taking-
—always there.
Yes. You know better than anyone.
a palace for the liars
You make
yourself a palace
littered with the bones of
a person that you were before.
A pyramid of all the things you left,
the things you promised you would never, ever
look back on but did.
You liar.
You little liar.
That’s the ghosts talking. They don’t mean that.
ever-so-cruel relief
Knock, knock.
You shake your head to clear them away, to drive them out, but they’re persistent. They sink their claws into you and hold you tight and don’t let you go because the whole time they’re whispering that
you’re nothing without them.
And you know they’re telling the truth.
You let them slink back to their places in your brain, hide themselves in the folds of your consciousness, let them live where they mean something. Let them be the artists and create and spin stories from what is theirs, what is rightfully theirs. Let them lay claim to you, because deep down, you know.
You belong to them. Not the other way around.
the iron grip of their silence
Knock, knock.
You love them, even after everything. Without the ghosts, you are a body lacking any kind of soul, deprived of life and all that matters. Without them, you fall away with the wind and haze until you are nothing but a blur of what was.
You don’t even have to turn the knob for them to come spilling in. They know their way around this place. So instead, all you do is to offer them a drink and greet them like the old friends they are. You beckon them into the humble home you call your mind with a smile on your face, and they hang their coats at the side and find their way to the table, more so out of habit than anything.
In a manner of speaking, the ghosts control you. They know their way around this maze far better than you. They’re the ones that hold the reins, the keys, the power to bring you back and push you further.
It’s not a bad thing, though. You need them. You do.
They soothe you with your words, and their murmurs chase away your darkest fears. They perch themselves high above you and watch. You listen to their humming, the humming so silent it blocks out everything but the drone of the voices in your heads. They are your protectors. The ones who watch out for you, no matter what.
But that’s why you have us.
We keep the order.
Without us, there is only
chaos.
-I know. I know.-
Shhh.
All you have to do is to let us
block out the noise.
You close your eyes for just a moment, and the ghosts find their way to your side, holding you up with their crushing, featherlike grip.
They’re right, as they always are, the ghosts are. They know you better than you know yourself.
You let their silence wash over everything that hurts and everything that matters, and then you become
—nothing.
freed by the nothingness
Knock, knock.
In the dreamland,
you can’t hear
any of their
-hateful- loving words.
In the dreamland,
you shut out
everything that hurts
and pretend the
In the dreamland,
ghosts become nothing,
and you remain.
Free.
(Knock, knock.)
(Knock, knock.)
(Knock, knock.)
(Knock, knock.)
(Knock, knock.)
And for once, everything is quiet.
buried in snow & the ashes of winter
Knock, knock.
Your ghosts are brave. They’re strong. They’re good.
Your ghosts dance in the light snowfall and laugh and sing and love and care and act as if they’re
real.
Like you.
(Or so you think.)
They pull you into the snow and promise you that you will be safe and one of them, and the idea just sounds so supremely heavenly that you let them drag you from the warmth of your house, of your home, into the cold, into the deep, deep snow drifts until you can’t feel anything but the powder all over you.
You laugh and they laugh with you, and it takes you so much longer than it should to realize that, no, they’re not laughing with you, but rather at you, their jeering barely disguised by their fake happiness and fake smiles.
And you tell them, “No, no, stop,” but the powdery stuff that constituted perfection just minutes ago has become your enemy, and the ghosts play and laugh and do everything but care and love, but you know you love them anyway don’t you don’t you don’t you
Don’t you?
And the ghosts bury you in the snow and push you down into the banks, hoping that they might weigh you down. The cold dulls everything, and their claws and your own can’t reach you anymore. The one thing blissful about it. Being out of their reach. And your own.
You barely hear their words as a blizzard comes and spreads a sheet of white over you, but you catch on to their desperate, desperate words, begging and wanting and pleading, and your heart breaks for them all over again because—
Don’t leave us here alone
—no matter what they do, you just
can’t
stop
loving
them.
house guests in the mind of the forgetting
Knock, knock.
Things come back slowly. The ghosts, innocent, and you, naïve. The ghosts, spiteful, and you, betrayed.
Knock, knock.
They’re not here to apologize. The ghosts don’t do that. And besides, what do they have to apologize for? They took it too far. They didn’t know any better. You forgive them for that, as you always do.
You let them in with a smile, and soon enough, it’s forgotten. Soon enough, you don’t have to think about the things they’ve done. They’re your ghosts. Your caretakers.
Guests in the house of your very own mind.
little secrets in shadowed thoughts
Knock, knock.
They’re so kind, so kind. You welcome them whenever they come. They wrap their bony, thin arms around your body and still the trembles that come from the storm inside until all that is left is a strange kind of calm.
The ghosts come with their gifts of peace, for a short while, at least, before they remind you of what their real purpose is. They have their own stories, though they never seem to want to tell you them. They’re too scared to, maybe. Too scared that you’re not entirely to be trusted. Too scared that you might judge them for it.
They shouldn’t be scared.
They’ve kept all your secrets, haven’t they?
haven’t they?
haven’t they?
But with the ghosts, it’s not about mutuals, it’s not about balance. It’s about them. The ghosts. Never you.
But that’s fine with you,
isn’t it?
on the other side of the mirror
Knock, knock.
You look into the mirror on the other side,
see yourself staring back at the person made of
the things they love, the things they hate.
Two sides of the same person, both essentially identical.
Two versions of a shell, polar opposites.
But both know the world well enough to understand
that neither are quite fit for this prim-and-perfect Earth.
The person in the glass stares at you with pleading eyes,
almost as if they know you think of destroying
that pure and simple hollow thing
in hopes of taking too the ones that are a given
in the body of one who is stuck in winter and left behind.
The ones that haunt and soothe you to sleep.
The ones that whisper promises then drag you down into the snow.
-Knock, knock.-
(And this time,
you knock back.)
stone-cold silence
Knock, knock.
It shatters oh- so-musically, cool, hard glass against a tile floor, and the melodies and harmonies interlacing are what finally let you understand.
The ghosts that promised you everything
have given you nothing.
The ghosts that have asked you for everything
will give you nothing,
and in return,
you will give them nothing back.
Nothing but silence.
Nothing but stone-cold silence.
(Want to smile for them
one last time,
in hopes they might once again
convince you
of their goodness,
their reliable goodness?)
They cry out in human voices to you, but you’re too far gone to listen,
and the ghosts
shatter
just as quickly
as the glass.
Last edited by SnowdropSugar (March 24, 2024 22:47:13)
Snowy
✎she • her
✎Kindness, writing and reading!
✎The Hunger Games <3
✎TBoSaS superiority
- SnowdropSugar
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Snowy's Writing Thread <3
March 24th, 2024 Daily
If I had a hobbit hole, probably one of the most notable things about it, and also probably the thing I’d want it most to have would be a library. This library would be hand-curated by me, with all kinds of books that I love and a bunch of others that sound really interesting to read. It wouldn’t be entirely dark, because obviously even though it’s underground, I would still need light to read and see the books, so I might have a window, or something that basically acts as a window to give me light. Natural light would be a lot prettier than artificial light, though I would definitely have a nice bright light inside in case I ever felt like reading in the nighttime when it’s already dark out. Ideally, there would be a lot of books and reasonably tall shelves, and most of them would be completely filled, and they’d also be organized by genre and then author’s last name within the genres. I’d have a ladder in there as well, because if I were a hobbit, I probably wouldn’t be tall enough to reach the books on the top shelf, and to be honest, I can’t say that even as a human, I’d be able to reach the things on the top shelf. I’d also have some beanbags in the library so that I could sit there and read comfortably, and maybe a fireplace (on the opposite wall from the books, of course, and a very safe one) that I could sit by in the wintertime.
I’d also want a secret passage into a downstairs writing room, where I can work undisturbed, if I so wish. This place would hopefully have a table where I can write (and snack, perhaps), and a couple of beanbags, once again so that I can have a nice, comfortable place to write, and I’d probably have a very large bulletin board of all the stuff for my novels and short stories. I might have the secret passageway lead up into the library because I want to be able to easily access the library and my books from the writing space, so maybe I’d have a stepladder-type thing going up into the library. I’d also probably want to have a refrigerator in my writing room and a cupboard where I could keep all my snacks, so that way in the case of me getting hungry while writing, I don’t have to go all the way upstairs. This secret writing room would probably also have another entrance from a different room, but I haven’t really thought about how anything other than the library and secret writing room would look.
~
Word count: 447 words
Snowy
✎she • her
✎Kindness, writing and reading!
✎The Hunger Games <3
✎TBoSaS superiority
- SnowdropSugar
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Snowy's Writing Thread <3
Critique for @PoppyWriter
Let me just start with the fact that this is already an incredible beginning, and I'm so excited to see what this brings.
This is probably really nitpicky, but you've used “thorn” and its variations three times in the past few lines, so it can get a little repetitive. Is there perhaps another adjective you can use to describe the shrubs? I think if you change just one of them, it would make it a lot better.
Also, I'm a little confused by what you mean by “stay up”. It's possible I'm just tired and am not thinking properly, but it feels like there's more of a story behind this. I assume you're saying that someone wanted to remove the thorny shrubs, but the narrator doesn't want them to, so maybe you could give us a bit of insight as to who this is to help build some character?
I really love this description. I can definitely imagine what this scene looks like based on the adjective “threadbare”. Great word choice there, Poppy!
Poppy. This is incredible. I love the way that you slowly reveal things to us through the dialogue, but you leave it just enough of a mystery that it makes the reader wonder and try to put the clues together. This does so much for the mood of your story, and it definitely is great for giving me a little more insight as to these characters. Also, that simile? Incredible. I would never have thought of it, and comparing the pain in her voice to a literal thing that's told? Absolutely genius.
Oh. My. Goodness. I love the repetition and the emphasis that comes from putting each of these sentences on their own line. It's beautiful, and it's so, so impactful. This was absolutely amazing to read. Truely. Your buildup through the aforementioned literary tools to the last line just makes it so much more powerful. The further I get into this, the more stunning it gets.
This is a really small suggestion, but I feel like this sentence isn't quite as exciting as it could be. Later on, I know you go on to describe what it is that startles the narrator from their thoughts, but perhaps you could begin with that instead? For instance, “The windowsill growing warmer beneath my fingertips startled me from my thoughts.” I probably sound like my social studies teacher right now, but doing so would eliminate passive voice, which ultimately just makes it a lot stronger.
I love the rhyme here, and the “my soul is aflame” is so, so good.
I think this transition might require either putting it in italics (because it seems to be something of a flashback of the main character) or at least some separation from the other parts, like a blank line on either side.
Also, the second paragraph is so well-written. I love the internal conflict with the main character, the sort of denial that came with the heat. Really fascinating to read.
Poppy, how?! You keep creating such wonderful, beautiful, mysterious, insert every other suitable adjective to describe how amazing your writing is parts, and this one's really a gem. Again, love your use of line breaks to make the sentences more impactful. This whole part feels almost dreamlike, like it's not quite real but still reminiscent of reality, and it totally suits the mood and vibes that your piece overall gives me. The song excerpt is perfect here as well, and I love the way that you split up your writing with those little italicized interruptions.
Another really minor thing here, but perhaps you could change it to “Papa, papa,” instead of saying “papa” just once, and this is mainly because it would sort of contrast your narrator's usual cry to their mother in the other italicized pieces, if that makes sense.
Another passive voice thing here, so maybe instead of saying this, you could just shorten it into “The air fills with smoke. The wolves advance.” Short sentences that move into one another quickly definitely tend to build tension, so doing this could help to contribute to that, while also making it sound more…I don't know. Not really professional, but maybe mature? Plus, it also gives you two extra words to work with, should you want to use them.
Whoa. This is such an incredible sentence, and it's so beautiful I love this.
So anyway, overall, I don't have that much critique to give you, mainly because this was just so incredibly well done. Your tension, plot, and word choice was superb, I'm absolutely honored to have had the chance to give you my thoughts on this. I don't know what your other options for the writing competition are, but if you do end up choosing this one, I have no doubt you'll do well in it, though I'm also completely sure that whatever else you might be thinking of entering is equally good or better. Best of luck to you, although I'm sure you don't need it! <3
Mama, mama
The wolves are out tonight
Let me just start with the fact that this is already an incredible beginning, and I'm so excited to see what this brings.
I frantically push my way through the thorny shrubs that had been growing by my house since the day I was born. They never brought forth fruit or flowers, but I insisted they stay up. Even as I’d pull the thorns out every night when I came home, I swore to myself I’d never tear them out.
This is probably really nitpicky, but you've used “thorn” and its variations three times in the past few lines, so it can get a little repetitive. Is there perhaps another adjective you can use to describe the shrubs? I think if you change just one of them, it would make it a lot better.
Also, I'm a little confused by what you mean by “stay up”. It's possible I'm just tired and am not thinking properly, but it feels like there's more of a story behind this. I assume you're saying that someone wanted to remove the thorny shrubs, but the narrator doesn't want them to, so maybe you could give us a bit of insight as to who this is to help build some character?
My mother walks into the room, drying her hands on a threadbare rag.
I really love this description. I can definitely imagine what this scene looks like based on the adjective “threadbare”. Great word choice there, Poppy!
“Again? Truly?”
The pain in her voice is colder than a river on a rainy morning.
“I heard them.”
“They won’t come for you,” she whispers sternly, intently. “They’re dogs. We control them.”
Poppy. This is incredible. I love the way that you slowly reveal things to us through the dialogue, but you leave it just enough of a mystery that it makes the reader wonder and try to put the clues together. This does so much for the mood of your story, and it definitely is great for giving me a little more insight as to these characters. Also, that simile? Incredible. I would never have thought of it, and comparing the pain in her voice to a literal thing that's told? Absolutely genius.
Some of the people on the other side of the thorns and woods call me diseased.
They call me mad.
They call me skittish, like a rat in a trap.
A child that never learned bravery.
I say I’m braver than all of them, because I have defied the wolves thus far.
Oh. My. Goodness. I love the repetition and the emphasis that comes from putting each of these sentences on their own line. It's beautiful, and it's so, so impactful. This was absolutely amazing to read. Truely. Your buildup through the aforementioned literary tools to the last line just makes it so much more powerful. The further I get into this, the more stunning it gets.
I am startled from my thoughts.
This is a really small suggestion, but I feel like this sentence isn't quite as exciting as it could be. Later on, I know you go on to describe what it is that startles the narrator from their thoughts, but perhaps you could begin with that instead? For instance, “The windowsill growing warmer beneath my fingertips startled me from my thoughts.” I probably sound like my social studies teacher right now, but doing so would eliminate passive voice, which ultimately just makes it a lot stronger.
Mama, mama, my soul is aflame
Mama, mama, will I be to blame?
I love the rhyme here, and the “my soul is aflame” is so, so good.
It started when I was eight. I’d seen the wolves for the first time. They’d stopped being a sound heard in the night- they became something to be seen, something to fear.
I’d grown warm. I thought it was just my imagination, my reaction to my fear, until my bedsheets lit up and I was almost scorched in my sleep. I blamed it on the fireplace, saying I’d moved the bed too close to the hearth.
I think this transition might require either putting it in italics (because it seems to be something of a flashback of the main character) or at least some separation from the other parts, like a blank line on either side.
Also, the second paragraph is so well-written. I love the internal conflict with the main character, the sort of denial that came with the heat. Really fascinating to read.
A song my father sang to me, buried in memory, surfaces.
Birds love the trees, the trees love water.
Children love music, music loves the lyre
Wolves love moon, the moon loves silver.
Men love their sun, the sun loves its fire.
If I burn, the wolves will find me.
They follow the moon. Pray to it.
I am of the sun.
Poppy, how?! You keep creating such wonderful, beautiful, mysterious, insert every other suitable adjective to describe how amazing your writing is parts, and this one's really a gem. Again, love your use of line breaks to make the sentences more impactful. This whole part feels almost dreamlike, like it's not quite real but still reminiscent of reality, and it totally suits the mood and vibes that your piece overall gives me. The song excerpt is perfect here as well, and I love the way that you split up your writing with those little italicized interruptions.
Papa, do the wolves cry tears like mine?
Cold, slick, and sweet, like Mama’s finest wine?
Another really minor thing here, but perhaps you could change it to “Papa, papa,” instead of saying “papa” just once, and this is mainly because it would sort of contrast your narrator's usual cry to their mother in the other italicized pieces, if that makes sense.
The air is filling with smoke. The wolves are advancing.
Another passive voice thing here, so maybe instead of saying this, you could just shorten it into “The air fills with smoke. The wolves advance.” Short sentences that move into one another quickly definitely tend to build tension, so doing this could help to contribute to that, while also making it sound more…I don't know. Not really professional, but maybe mature? Plus, it also gives you two extra words to work with, should you want to use them.
They weep for gold and fire, for daylight and hurt.
Whoa. This is such an incredible sentence, and it's so beautiful I love this.
So anyway, overall, I don't have that much critique to give you, mainly because this was just so incredibly well done. Your tension, plot, and word choice was superb, I'm absolutely honored to have had the chance to give you my thoughts on this. I don't know what your other options for the writing competition are, but if you do end up choosing this one, I have no doubt you'll do well in it, though I'm also completely sure that whatever else you might be thinking of entering is equally good or better. Best of luck to you, although I'm sure you don't need it! <3
Last edited by SnowdropSugar (March 25, 2024 01:00:26)
Snowy
✎she • her
✎Kindness, writing and reading!
✎The Hunger Games <3
✎TBoSaS superiority
- SnowdropSugar
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Snowy's Writing Thread <3
Critique for @unercornshine
Firstly, I'm going to say how much I love your use of white space. As you may or may not have gathered, I love it when people use white space creatively. Really makes me happy. And the fact that you utilized it in yours made it much more exciting to read. As well as this, I love how much personality comes through in your piece, and through this, there's a lot of character in it. I also love your description and word choice that helps the reader to picture the scene playing out in their head.
Alright, onto the critique now!
So while reading this, I felt like parts of it were a little bit…clichéd. Of course, I know that they could very well be unsolvable, given the plot of your story, but I think that perhaps even slight changes could make this more original and refreshing to read. It doesn't have to be an entirely new storyline or anything like that, and you definitely shouldn't be getting into the mindset of “every cliché is bad, and I therefore must remove them all for those reasons”, because the truth is that they aren't. What I do think, though, could be valuable to your story would be to put a new spin on them, reword, make them just a little bit more different to stand out.
A couple of these places that could do with a few edits to make them more original:
For this, perhaps using some figurative language here could help to differentiate it from the common “and then everything around me faded to black as I found myself in the dream world”-type thing. I like the idea of the thoughts dissipating — can you build on that?
For this, it could just be a matter of going on with the description. I know you talk about how the place looks in the piece, all white and such, but maybe you could show the narrator, say, turning over a white ceramic bowl on a shelf, wondering about the story behind it. Or maybe they're walking around in the bright white area as sweat drips from their face, trying to find any kind of exit. For this, it's not that it needs to be replaced, just that I think showing it would be far more valuable to your piece.
A trope that can be quite common is one of the male characters coming to save the clueless, helpless protagonist, particularly if they're female, as I'm sure you'd probably know from any fairy tales and such you might have read. I feel like this line sort of shows that, and if that's what you want, sure, go ahead! My one suggestion would be that instead of simply glorifying the boy, he and the narrator could, say, share a glance wondering how you both have gotten here, or make eye contact with the narrator and then nod, the narrator filling with adrenaline as they know what's going to happen.
Anyway, that's most of my feedback, and let me know if you need me to elaborate on anything, or if there's any other questions you might have! Best of luck to you!
Firstly, I'm going to say how much I love your use of white space. As you may or may not have gathered, I love it when people use white space creatively. Really makes me happy. And the fact that you utilized it in yours made it much more exciting to read. As well as this, I love how much personality comes through in your piece, and through this, there's a lot of character in it. I also love your description and word choice that helps the reader to picture the scene playing out in their head.
Alright, onto the critique now!
So while reading this, I felt like parts of it were a little bit…clichéd. Of course, I know that they could very well be unsolvable, given the plot of your story, but I think that perhaps even slight changes could make this more original and refreshing to read. It doesn't have to be an entirely new storyline or anything like that, and you definitely shouldn't be getting into the mindset of “every cliché is bad, and I therefore must remove them all for those reasons”, because the truth is that they aren't. What I do think, though, could be valuable to your story would be to put a new spin on them, reword, make them just a little bit more different to stand out.
A couple of these places that could do with a few edits to make them more original:
I seemed to have collapsed to the floor as the darkness became darker, my thoughts seemed to disintegrate. That was when all consciousness I had was gone…
For this, perhaps using some figurative language here could help to differentiate it from the common “and then everything around me faded to black as I found myself in the dream world”-type thing. I like the idea of the thoughts dissipating — can you build on that?
Where am I? Why am I here? What happened to me?
For this, it could just be a matter of going on with the description. I know you talk about how the place looks in the piece, all white and such, but maybe you could show the narrator, say, turning over a white ceramic bowl on a shelf, wondering about the story behind it. Or maybe they're walking around in the bright white area as sweat drips from their face, trying to find any kind of exit. For this, it's not that it needs to be replaced, just that I think showing it would be far more valuable to your piece.
Out of the blue, the man got body slammed onto the floor, standing in his place was a boy around my age, a golden aura emitting from him. My saviour.
A trope that can be quite common is one of the male characters coming to save the clueless, helpless protagonist, particularly if they're female, as I'm sure you'd probably know from any fairy tales and such you might have read. I feel like this line sort of shows that, and if that's what you want, sure, go ahead! My one suggestion would be that instead of simply glorifying the boy, he and the narrator could, say, share a glance wondering how you both have gotten here, or make eye contact with the narrator and then nod, the narrator filling with adrenaline as they know what's going to happen.
Anyway, that's most of my feedback, and let me know if you need me to elaborate on anything, or if there's any other questions you might have! Best of luck to you!
Last edited by SnowdropSugar (March 25, 2024 13:00:45)
Snowy
✎she • her
✎Kindness, writing and reading!
✎The Hunger Games <3
✎TBoSaS superiority
- SnowdropSugar
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Snowy's Writing Thread <3
“To Be the Victor” | A TBoSaS Fanfiction
Snow lands on top.
Those four words echoed in his head. Snow kept those words close to him every step of the way. If the phrase was enough to get him and his cousin, Tigris, and their grandmother all through the war safely and together, it would surely be enough of a lifeline to get him through anything else. Not that anyone needed to know that he even thought about needing a lifeline. After all, he was a Snow. Perhaps once disgraced in a very distant past, though Snow had certainly done all that he could to cover that image, but now only known for their glory. Coriolanus Snow, Dr. Volumnia Gaul’s most famed protégé. A far step from where he had been a little less than a year ago, hoping for a way out of District Twelve.
Snow shook his head to clear the thoughts. Thinking of Twelve made him think of…that girl. The one he called his. He should have known better than to give his heart away so freely.
With the Eleventh Annual Hunger Games approaching so rapidly, there was work to be done. No time to spend dwelling in the past, thinking of all the things that could have been. Snow had a job to do, and he would do it well.
Now, without the threat of Casca Highbottom looming over him, Snow felt far more free to do as he pleased throughout the day, so long as he dreamed up enough of his genius ideas for the Games and reported to Dr. Gaul at the specified times. He felt no particular attachment to the woman, but regardless, he had done what needed to be done and chosen the lesser of two evils.
The slip he held in his hands showed the information for the meeting. Top-secret, supposedly, and though he would never admit to it, he felt a certain sort of pride from being one of the rare few with access to such a source of information. The rest of the Gamemakers listened to him when he spoke, and when he wasn’t listening, they whispered about him. Whispered about how he was sure to be Gaul’s successor, how he was the brightest of them. How he was sure to put them all out of their jobs.
On the exterior, Snow didn’t like the way they talked ill about him when he wasn’t looking, but secretly, the attention pleased him. All the better if they understood his power, the power of a Snow.
The guards at the entrance to Dr. Gaul’s newest, shiniest lab — the one that Strabo Plinth had paid for in hopes to placate her and spare the great Plinth family the shame — took his ID without a question and buzzed him in. Unlike with the rest of them, they trusted him, largely because Gaul trusted him. Trust, as she had once said, is important. More important than love, even. Far more important than love.
Never mind that, Snow thought to himself, largely because he knew the consequences of such thinking, the kind of anguish he had brought upon himself from it. His morals would remain hidden, as they should. Love, he discovered during his time serving in the districts, was a weak point, a place where they can twist the weapon and kill you. By denying yourself such a weakness, you may deny yourself further harm.
Being the date of July First, with only three precious summer days until the reaping began, work in the lab grew busier with every passing hour, discussing strategies of the Capitol against the tributes, talking through weapons in the arena and fine details. By the end of each day, he was sure he had exhausted himself of all talk of the Games, but he knew better than to complain. Complaining would only drop him down more than a few rungs on Dr. Volumnia Gaul’s ever-so-complex social ladder.
“Ah, Mr. Snow,” she began, in that slow drawl he hated. It made him feel powerless against her, the very thing a Snow should never feel. Powerless. “Punctual, as always.” Dr. Gaul glanced toward the ornate iron doors locked once, twice, three times, in careful effort to prevent outsiders from accessing information. But leaks could come from the inside, as Snow had learned in that time that felt so long ago.
None of the others, predictably, had made an appearance. Snow deeply suspected they were just outside, laughing to themselves about him, about how high-and-mighty young Coriolanus Snow seemed to think himself. Well, he wouldn’t stand for that. At least he was being mature about it. That was more than any of them could say of themselves.
As the minutes ticked by in an awkward silence, they began to trickle in, one at a time, never more than that. Another ploy to cover up their perceptions of him, most likely. That would make the most sense. Even still, as the meeting had not yet begun, Snow struggled to busy himself with even the most frivolous of tasks in Gaul’s lair. He fiddled with the switches, less so in an attempt to test what they would do and more so in hopes that no one would notice the way his hands shook when he thought of the next Hunger Games. No, not the Hunger Games. The tributes.
“Well, now that we’re all here, it seems appropriate to begin,” Dr. Gaul said with a bitter laugh, a strange, strangled noise that sounded like a dying creature. It unsettled him. She unsettled him. “Mr. Snow? That includes you. Unless, of course, you think yourself above these kinds of meetings.”
Not-quite-giggling devoid of happiness followed the comment. More like sniggering at him being reprimanded. More like pleasure.
Stupid. His moment of distraction had cost him his reputation, at least within this room.
Snow dried his damp palms on the dark fabric of his pants and willed them to still before taking a seat in his assigned space, directly on Dr. Gaul’s right side.
“Yes. With the reaping just a few short days away, it’s crucial we clarify the mentorship. Last year,” she began, giving a pointed look at Snow, “we tasked our very own Academy students with the task, though with how that turned out…” She cleared her throat. “We have been requested, to say the least, to keep in mind our students. So that leaves us to put together an alternative solution for mentorship.”
“Requested” was likely too gentle a word for the cries of outrage from many parents, wondering if this year, they would have to face the risk of their own children being endangered once again for this sporting event. Snow remembered the bombing last year, the one that had blown open half the arena. He remembered Arachne Crane, killed by that District 10 girl before even the beginning of the Games. What was her name again? Brittany, perhaps. Brandy. Brooklyn. Something starting with a B, he thought.
Yes, all this only showed how deeply the hate for the Capitol ran in the districts. The fact that they would take revenge on the Capitol’s youth, justifying it by their own loss in a war that they began. Control, as Gaul had taught him, was necessary to prevent chaos.
Snow clenched his fists at his sides, under the table, where no one could see. He needed to stop getting distracted. This wouldn’t be suitable, not if he were to keep his place in Dr. Gaul’s top tier.
“Mr. Snow? Any thoughts?” she asked.
Of course she would ask him. The others stared down at their nails disinterestedly, though he could tell from the way their eyes darted up every few seconds. Knowing that they were watching, Snow picked his words carefully.
“As you’ve mentioned in previous meetings, people in the districts, as well as in the Capitol, need to have a personal stake in this. If, perhaps, we could extend that same thinking to the performance of the tributes in the Games, the District people would feel more…” He grappled for the right word for a few moments before finally settling on, “responsible. It wouldn’t be just some nobody that they were cheering on.”
Dr. Gaul nodded encouragingly. “So what would you suggest?”
“I propose a mentoring system similar to last year’s, though instead, we take the victors from previous winning districts and require them to mentor the tributes from their district. A way to ensure that any blame about poor mentorship falls on the mentor themselves, rather than the Capitol as a whole, and also to ensure that the fighters are taught by others who know what it’s like in the arena. It encourages the tributes to fight, which, ultimately, will make for a far more interesting Games.”
“But we don’t have enough victors for every district to have a mentor this year. That doesn’t do anything for us now,” one of the red-faced others said, the left side of his mouth quirked upward ever so slightly, pleased to have found fault in Snow’s reasoning.
Knowing the best defense to their truthful corrections was to acknowledge them, Snow quickly agreed to their reasoning. “Of course. Perhaps,” he said, addressing Dr. Gaul as his main audience, “we should consider taking volunteers for mentoring the tributes of districts with no living victors.” He didn’t know whether she was still alive or not, so the words stung, though he concealed the hurt from it and continued normally, as if the flashback hadn’t so much as existed in the first place. “People who are interested and know the risks. We could mail out a form tonight, put it on the broadcasts as urgent viewing. It’s the most efficient way of finding mentors.”
“It’s still not a guarantee,” the Gamemaker argued, looking at Dr. Gaul for confirmation.
“Nonsense,” Dr. Gaul said, beaming. “It’s not a bad idea. We implement it tonight, for last-minute mentorships.”
Knowing that this was yet another cause he had won, Snow smiled, though not a genuine one. Nothing like the cheerful boy he had been just twelve months ago.
Today, it was this small battle that he had won. But this Hunger Games, it wouldn’t be anything like the last one. It would be different. Because this time, he was the one with the cards. He was the one holding the gun, ready to shoot.
And when you hold the cards, and control the fire, what more is there to do?
Snow knew the answer to that question. He had known it all his life. To win.
To be the victor.
~
Word count: 1,759 words
~
Author's note: Wow, was this a ride to write. As you may or may not know, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes is probably my all-time favorite book, and I just finished rereading it for the sixth time a few hours before posting this. Doing this brought back so many memories, mainly because when I first started out writing for my own enjoyment, it was Hunger Games fanfiction. As I've matured as a writer, I've worked on finding my own genres, exploring my own ideas, but a lot of who I am as a writer comes from those formative experiences with writing fanfiction a little less than two years ago now. I mostly speedran this in a night, so I'm not expecting this to look very good when I read over it again in the morning, but it was so nice to go back to my origins as a writer and do my best to put a spin on Suzanne Collins's incredible work. Thank you so much for reading this.
Snow lands on top.
Those four words echoed in his head. Snow kept those words close to him every step of the way. If the phrase was enough to get him and his cousin, Tigris, and their grandmother all through the war safely and together, it would surely be enough of a lifeline to get him through anything else. Not that anyone needed to know that he even thought about needing a lifeline. After all, he was a Snow. Perhaps once disgraced in a very distant past, though Snow had certainly done all that he could to cover that image, but now only known for their glory. Coriolanus Snow, Dr. Volumnia Gaul’s most famed protégé. A far step from where he had been a little less than a year ago, hoping for a way out of District Twelve.
Snow shook his head to clear the thoughts. Thinking of Twelve made him think of…that girl. The one he called his. He should have known better than to give his heart away so freely.
With the Eleventh Annual Hunger Games approaching so rapidly, there was work to be done. No time to spend dwelling in the past, thinking of all the things that could have been. Snow had a job to do, and he would do it well.
Now, without the threat of Casca Highbottom looming over him, Snow felt far more free to do as he pleased throughout the day, so long as he dreamed up enough of his genius ideas for the Games and reported to Dr. Gaul at the specified times. He felt no particular attachment to the woman, but regardless, he had done what needed to be done and chosen the lesser of two evils.
The slip he held in his hands showed the information for the meeting. Top-secret, supposedly, and though he would never admit to it, he felt a certain sort of pride from being one of the rare few with access to such a source of information. The rest of the Gamemakers listened to him when he spoke, and when he wasn’t listening, they whispered about him. Whispered about how he was sure to be Gaul’s successor, how he was the brightest of them. How he was sure to put them all out of their jobs.
On the exterior, Snow didn’t like the way they talked ill about him when he wasn’t looking, but secretly, the attention pleased him. All the better if they understood his power, the power of a Snow.
The guards at the entrance to Dr. Gaul’s newest, shiniest lab — the one that Strabo Plinth had paid for in hopes to placate her and spare the great Plinth family the shame — took his ID without a question and buzzed him in. Unlike with the rest of them, they trusted him, largely because Gaul trusted him. Trust, as she had once said, is important. More important than love, even. Far more important than love.
Never mind that, Snow thought to himself, largely because he knew the consequences of such thinking, the kind of anguish he had brought upon himself from it. His morals would remain hidden, as they should. Love, he discovered during his time serving in the districts, was a weak point, a place where they can twist the weapon and kill you. By denying yourself such a weakness, you may deny yourself further harm.
Being the date of July First, with only three precious summer days until the reaping began, work in the lab grew busier with every passing hour, discussing strategies of the Capitol against the tributes, talking through weapons in the arena and fine details. By the end of each day, he was sure he had exhausted himself of all talk of the Games, but he knew better than to complain. Complaining would only drop him down more than a few rungs on Dr. Volumnia Gaul’s ever-so-complex social ladder.
“Ah, Mr. Snow,” she began, in that slow drawl he hated. It made him feel powerless against her, the very thing a Snow should never feel. Powerless. “Punctual, as always.” Dr. Gaul glanced toward the ornate iron doors locked once, twice, three times, in careful effort to prevent outsiders from accessing information. But leaks could come from the inside, as Snow had learned in that time that felt so long ago.
None of the others, predictably, had made an appearance. Snow deeply suspected they were just outside, laughing to themselves about him, about how high-and-mighty young Coriolanus Snow seemed to think himself. Well, he wouldn’t stand for that. At least he was being mature about it. That was more than any of them could say of themselves.
As the minutes ticked by in an awkward silence, they began to trickle in, one at a time, never more than that. Another ploy to cover up their perceptions of him, most likely. That would make the most sense. Even still, as the meeting had not yet begun, Snow struggled to busy himself with even the most frivolous of tasks in Gaul’s lair. He fiddled with the switches, less so in an attempt to test what they would do and more so in hopes that no one would notice the way his hands shook when he thought of the next Hunger Games. No, not the Hunger Games. The tributes.
“Well, now that we’re all here, it seems appropriate to begin,” Dr. Gaul said with a bitter laugh, a strange, strangled noise that sounded like a dying creature. It unsettled him. She unsettled him. “Mr. Snow? That includes you. Unless, of course, you think yourself above these kinds of meetings.”
Not-quite-giggling devoid of happiness followed the comment. More like sniggering at him being reprimanded. More like pleasure.
Stupid. His moment of distraction had cost him his reputation, at least within this room.
Snow dried his damp palms on the dark fabric of his pants and willed them to still before taking a seat in his assigned space, directly on Dr. Gaul’s right side.
“Yes. With the reaping just a few short days away, it’s crucial we clarify the mentorship. Last year,” she began, giving a pointed look at Snow, “we tasked our very own Academy students with the task, though with how that turned out…” She cleared her throat. “We have been requested, to say the least, to keep in mind our students. So that leaves us to put together an alternative solution for mentorship.”
“Requested” was likely too gentle a word for the cries of outrage from many parents, wondering if this year, they would have to face the risk of their own children being endangered once again for this sporting event. Snow remembered the bombing last year, the one that had blown open half the arena. He remembered Arachne Crane, killed by that District 10 girl before even the beginning of the Games. What was her name again? Brittany, perhaps. Brandy. Brooklyn. Something starting with a B, he thought.
Yes, all this only showed how deeply the hate for the Capitol ran in the districts. The fact that they would take revenge on the Capitol’s youth, justifying it by their own loss in a war that they began. Control, as Gaul had taught him, was necessary to prevent chaos.
Snow clenched his fists at his sides, under the table, where no one could see. He needed to stop getting distracted. This wouldn’t be suitable, not if he were to keep his place in Dr. Gaul’s top tier.
“Mr. Snow? Any thoughts?” she asked.
Of course she would ask him. The others stared down at their nails disinterestedly, though he could tell from the way their eyes darted up every few seconds. Knowing that they were watching, Snow picked his words carefully.
“As you’ve mentioned in previous meetings, people in the districts, as well as in the Capitol, need to have a personal stake in this. If, perhaps, we could extend that same thinking to the performance of the tributes in the Games, the District people would feel more…” He grappled for the right word for a few moments before finally settling on, “responsible. It wouldn’t be just some nobody that they were cheering on.”
Dr. Gaul nodded encouragingly. “So what would you suggest?”
“I propose a mentoring system similar to last year’s, though instead, we take the victors from previous winning districts and require them to mentor the tributes from their district. A way to ensure that any blame about poor mentorship falls on the mentor themselves, rather than the Capitol as a whole, and also to ensure that the fighters are taught by others who know what it’s like in the arena. It encourages the tributes to fight, which, ultimately, will make for a far more interesting Games.”
“But we don’t have enough victors for every district to have a mentor this year. That doesn’t do anything for us now,” one of the red-faced others said, the left side of his mouth quirked upward ever so slightly, pleased to have found fault in Snow’s reasoning.
Knowing the best defense to their truthful corrections was to acknowledge them, Snow quickly agreed to their reasoning. “Of course. Perhaps,” he said, addressing Dr. Gaul as his main audience, “we should consider taking volunteers for mentoring the tributes of districts with no living victors.” He didn’t know whether she was still alive or not, so the words stung, though he concealed the hurt from it and continued normally, as if the flashback hadn’t so much as existed in the first place. “People who are interested and know the risks. We could mail out a form tonight, put it on the broadcasts as urgent viewing. It’s the most efficient way of finding mentors.”
“It’s still not a guarantee,” the Gamemaker argued, looking at Dr. Gaul for confirmation.
“Nonsense,” Dr. Gaul said, beaming. “It’s not a bad idea. We implement it tonight, for last-minute mentorships.”
Knowing that this was yet another cause he had won, Snow smiled, though not a genuine one. Nothing like the cheerful boy he had been just twelve months ago.
Today, it was this small battle that he had won. But this Hunger Games, it wouldn’t be anything like the last one. It would be different. Because this time, he was the one with the cards. He was the one holding the gun, ready to shoot.
And when you hold the cards, and control the fire, what more is there to do?
Snow knew the answer to that question. He had known it all his life. To win.
To be the victor.
~
Word count: 1,759 words
~
Author's note: Wow, was this a ride to write. As you may or may not know, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes is probably my all-time favorite book, and I just finished rereading it for the sixth time a few hours before posting this. Doing this brought back so many memories, mainly because when I first started out writing for my own enjoyment, it was Hunger Games fanfiction. As I've matured as a writer, I've worked on finding my own genres, exploring my own ideas, but a lot of who I am as a writer comes from those formative experiences with writing fanfiction a little less than two years ago now. I mostly speedran this in a night, so I'm not expecting this to look very good when I read over it again in the morning, but it was so nice to go back to my origins as a writer and do my best to put a spin on Suzanne Collins's incredible work. Thank you so much for reading this.
Snowy
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March 27th, 2024 Daily
Song: darkest hour by BLÜ EYES
You are my family.
I'm not going anywhere.
When he turns the stone.
What do you want?
.
Eyes!
A watch is something that makes me happy.
.
The price of the world is people.
Press it to make a powder.
Even if the world ends
I don't want anything close to that.
Ah, hard times.
Ah, hard times.
. different]
Every day.
There are many types.
Oh, let me see your face.
I am sure.
.
The price of the world is people.
Press it to make a powder.
Even if the world ends
I don't want anything close to that.
Ah, hard times.
When collecting or *.
The boy begins to sink like a stone.
I know I will.
I don't want to look down.
Because you don't have to worry.
I will give you everything.
I know who you are.
Have a good idea
I am with you in your dark times.
When collecting or *.
“Hey!” I shout to the stranger on the street. He turns back quite quickly, looking suspiciously from me to the direction in which he was going. “You,” I say forcefully, marching right up to him — definitely invading his personal space — and tapping him right in the middle of the chest, “are my family. And I’m not going anywhere. Just so you know.”
The man sighs, shakes his head and mutters something unintelligible under his breath. I hear the word “crazy”, but nothing about the context.
As one last demonstration of power, I bring the carton of apple juice up to my lips and take a sip from the red plastic straw. “Don’t run,” I warn him, and then I turn away sharply on the edge of my heel.
***
The price of the world, as I have learned, is people. People are the only sacrifices that you can make in order to get what you want. Hence, I fling the boy into the river without remorse, knowing that the action is the only way to ensure that my sickness would be cured. The sickness from knowing that that family member I had just met earlier today didn’t care for me much, that he didn’t want me to stay. At least he didn’t leave me first, though, right?
The boy sinks much faster than I anticipated.
I’m reminded of that statue I have in the back room. What was that of, again? Or rather, who was that?
Ah, yes. That other family member. I didn’t like them. He didn’t like me. The feeling was, indeed, rather mutual. It only made sense for me to turn him into a stone.
I take a bit of the statue off — it takes surprisingly little force to break his marble fingers — and grind it in a mortar. Then all I’m left with is a nice, smooth powder. People powder! I pressed him into people powder!
~
Word count: 319 words
Snowy
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Critiquitaire for @rocksalmon800
This is some incredible imagery! You describe the place in such vivid detail, and it makes it feel like I'm almost there myself. It's very cool how you contrasted the last sentence of this paragraph with the “almost perfect” feel of the train car as well, which makes the reader a lot more curious and wanting to know more.
Love all the parts like this that show a contrast from what was expected of ladies at the time; it really helps to show personality here.
Considering that you do talk about the marriage right after this line, I feel like this part is a bit unnecessary, and it could be better to cut it and use the words for something else. I know you mentioned thinking of putting in some of the song lyrics to it — if you're still thinking of doing that, this could give you some room for that.
Ooh, love the beginnings of some conflict based on what other people are saying. Seeing how the little hints you gave earlier are all coming together here.
Again, love the way you lead up to this at first and then finally show it throughout the story. It makes it so fascinating to read to see Rebekah's character be revealed slowly throughout the story, and I really enjoyed you showing the contrast between the expectations of her, what others think she is and the kind of person she is, and it all-around just makes for a very well-rounded character.
As for my overall feedback, I don't have much for this. The description was on point, and I loved the way you punctuated the story by what other people were saying about Rebekah, etc. and how this, like I've said wayyy too many times earlier, shaped her as a character. To be honest, I can't say I know the song very well (although I did read through the lyrics once before reading your piece), but anyway, it was nice that I think even without the context of the song or knowing who Rebekah Harkness was, this story was still easy to follow.
Probably my biggest suggestion for you is about Rebekah's relationship with Bill. I know that it's only a maximum of 2000 words, and it's very challenging to get across your point in that amount and develop characters completely (which you did a great job of with Rebekah), so I understand why it was this way, but I felt like their relationship was very rushed. I wish I could have gotten more of a chance to get to know him and their relationship, so if you have any extra words, I think they should definitely be put toward that. If you could even plant the idea of them a paragraph earlier, too, that could give the reader more of a chance to get to know him as well
This is more of a minor thing, but I don't know if it was intentional, but as much as I felt like I knew and understood Rebekah as a character, I didn't feel like I was ever in her head, or like she was completely real to me. I feel like if you could give her thoughts a bit more of a voice in this story, it would make her seem a bit more there, you know? Especially because Rebekah Harkness was a real person. I don't know if this makes sense, so just let me know if you need me to rephrase this and explain it better.
As for whether this would be a fanfiction entry or a main competition entry…I think it's more of a question of what you had in mind while doing this. To be honest, it could really qualify for either, so if you have anything else you really want to enter, you could always just enter that and put this one in the other category. If not, I'd say if you're trying to retell the story of Rebekah Harkness, put it in the main entries category. But if you're basing this more on the song, then go with fanfiction, I'd say.
Anyway, best of luck to you on this entry, though I doubt you'll be needing it! <3
rebekah sighed, watching the blur of quaint towns and lazy fields pass by her window. she propped her heels up on the seat and relished the solitude of her empty train car, closing her eyes lazily and letting the warm sunlight reach through the glass and caress her lovely face. a smile curled at the corners of her red-tinted lips, the curve of her mouth quirking in an enchanting, mischievous grin as she watched the landscape slowly fade from dewy forests to untouched white-sand beaches studded with wispy, wind-tossed grass. her excitement grew the closer she drew to her train stop, bright blue nails tapping the window impatiently. she couldn’t wait for the trouble she would cause in rhode island.
This is some incredible imagery! You describe the place in such vivid detail, and it makes it feel like I'm almost there myself. It's very cool how you contrasted the last sentence of this paragraph with the “almost perfect” feel of the train car as well, which makes the reader a lot more curious and wanting to know more.
she hiked up her narrow, patterned skirt in a very un-ladylike manner as she clambered onto a bicycle, heading for town.
Love all the parts like this that show a contrast from what was expected of ladies at the time; it really helps to show personality here.
they got married soon after.
Considering that you do talk about the marriage right after this line, I feel like this part is a bit unnecessary, and it could be better to cut it and use the words for something else. I know you mentioned thinking of putting in some of the song lyrics to it — if you're still thinking of doing that, this could give you some room for that.
“who is this rebekah, anyways? how did she capture the heart of william hale harkness, the richest bachelor our town has ever seen?”
“i heard she used to live in saint louis and loved the ballet.”
“i’ve heard it said that she spiked the punch at her sister’s debutante ball with mineral oil.”
“one of her old school friends told me that rebekah told everyone that she ‘set out to do everything bad’.”
“ooh, i’ve heard she married her first husband just because she ‘didn’t have anything better to do’. I hope she doesn’t break poor bill’s heart.”
Ooh, love the beginnings of some conflict based on what other people are saying. Seeing how the little hints you gave earlier are all coming together here.
“ah, yes. especially the woman. i wonder what she’ll do, now that she’s had such fun destroying our town… ”
Again, love the way you lead up to this at first and then finally show it throughout the story. It makes it so fascinating to read to see Rebekah's character be revealed slowly throughout the story, and I really enjoyed you showing the contrast between the expectations of her, what others think she is and the kind of person she is, and it all-around just makes for a very well-rounded character.
As for my overall feedback, I don't have much for this. The description was on point, and I loved the way you punctuated the story by what other people were saying about Rebekah, etc. and how this, like I've said wayyy too many times earlier, shaped her as a character. To be honest, I can't say I know the song very well (although I did read through the lyrics once before reading your piece), but anyway, it was nice that I think even without the context of the song or knowing who Rebekah Harkness was, this story was still easy to follow.
Probably my biggest suggestion for you is about Rebekah's relationship with Bill. I know that it's only a maximum of 2000 words, and it's very challenging to get across your point in that amount and develop characters completely (which you did a great job of with Rebekah), so I understand why it was this way, but I felt like their relationship was very rushed. I wish I could have gotten more of a chance to get to know him and their relationship, so if you have any extra words, I think they should definitely be put toward that. If you could even plant the idea of them a paragraph earlier, too, that could give the reader more of a chance to get to know him as well
This is more of a minor thing, but I don't know if it was intentional, but as much as I felt like I knew and understood Rebekah as a character, I didn't feel like I was ever in her head, or like she was completely real to me. I feel like if you could give her thoughts a bit more of a voice in this story, it would make her seem a bit more there, you know? Especially because Rebekah Harkness was a real person. I don't know if this makes sense, so just let me know if you need me to rephrase this and explain it better.
As for whether this would be a fanfiction entry or a main competition entry…I think it's more of a question of what you had in mind while doing this. To be honest, it could really qualify for either, so if you have anything else you really want to enter, you could always just enter that and put this one in the other category. If not, I'd say if you're trying to retell the story of Rebekah Harkness, put it in the main entries category. But if you're basing this more on the song, then go with fanfiction, I'd say.
Anyway, best of luck to you on this entry, though I doubt you'll be needing it! <3
Last edited by SnowdropSugar (March 28, 2024 02:36:48)
Snowy
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Snowy's Writing Thread <3
“to every ghost that lives eternal (and all the ones that are in me)” | Author's Note
The inspiration for this piece first came to me while I was reading Laurie Halse Anderson’s Wintergirls, a book that showed me the constant struggle against the voices in people’s heads that so many face. Many of these lines ended up merging together to form a concept quite similar to Lia’s (the protagonist) internal struggles.
While I use the term “ghosts” to refer to these voices many times, I want to note that I don’t believe in ghosts — at least, not the ones of the typical kind. Ghosts, to me, aren’t the beings that have died and come back for us. As Anderson put it in a line from the very same book that inspired me to write this piece, "In one aspect, yes, I believe in ghosts, but we create them. We haunt ourselves, and sometimes we do such a good job, we lose track of reality.” In “to every ghost that lives eternal (and all the ones that are in me)”, these ghosts find themselves into the story not as living incarnations of past souls, but instead as these whispers that haunt ourselves. We create our own ghosts, whether we like them or not, whether we mean to or not.
Though I don’t relate to my protagonist in this piece in the depth of the conflict with their ghosts, I can’t say that I’m without my own, and to me, that’s the part that makes this piece feel so much closer to me and so much more personal — even though it’s not intended to be autobiographical.
As someone with atelophobia, otherwise known as the fear of imperfection, every day I hear my own “ghosts” talking to me more than I’d like, especially so at night. Sometimes they’ll keep me up for far longer than I want them to, or sometimes they’ll tell me things that I don’t want to hear. Sometimes they’re true. Sometimes they aren’t. Sometimes I love them. Sometimes I don’t. Lately, I’ve been trying my best to conquer my own ghosts, the voices in my own head, to try and become a better person, whatever that might mean. I’ve written about my atelophobia a lot in the past, and there are also many things I’ve written that are products of it, though I might not have mentioned that outright. To be completely honest, I know I’ll probably never manage to let go of them completely, but maybe that’s okay. Like the protagonist says, they’re a part of me, in many ways. But what’s more important is to let go of the ghosts that hurt us, and the ghosts that are keeping us from being all the amazing things that we could be, the ghosts that are telling us that we can’t be those things.
I wrote this piece partially for myself, partially for others. I wanted to show people that yes, no matter how hard it might seem, it is possible to overcome our ghosts, or the ones that might be holding us back. I wrote this piece to show the “ones without ghosts” what it could be like to live with them in your head 24/7. If it doesn’t make sense at first glance, I apologize for that confusion, but one of the main reasons why I did so was in hopes that I could enlighten people that not everything in our mind makes complete sense. Not everything is perfect and clean.
“to every ghost that lives eternal (and all the ones that are in me)” is an ode to those ghosts that will be with us forever, and the ones that are a part of us, but the ones we can slowly, with time, learn to let go of, for the best of ourselves and others. It’s my message to the world that our ghosts don’t have to define us.
~
More information on some of the symbols and words used in ways that might not be typical, if you might still need me to clear some things up:
Silence: Silence, at least for me, tends to get inside me far more than quiet, and it often carries so much meaning. In this piece, silence becomes synonymous with all the things that aren’t said, all the little hidden things (if you’ll excuse me for referencing my own piece) and that choking feeling that it seems to give us when it does rattle us.
Somebody vs. nobody: The concept of having some effect, regardless of what it is, being preferable to invisibility.
The keys to your mind: Control. The things that own you and pull you back at some points, the things that spring you into action at others.
Snow/winter/ice: Emptiness, harshness, those things that we fall into when we don’t know where else to go and what else to do.
Ghosts: Our memories. Our feelings. The voices in our head. One of the many things that makes us us.
The inspiration for this piece first came to me while I was reading Laurie Halse Anderson’s Wintergirls, a book that showed me the constant struggle against the voices in people’s heads that so many face. Many of these lines ended up merging together to form a concept quite similar to Lia’s (the protagonist) internal struggles.
While I use the term “ghosts” to refer to these voices many times, I want to note that I don’t believe in ghosts — at least, not the ones of the typical kind. Ghosts, to me, aren’t the beings that have died and come back for us. As Anderson put it in a line from the very same book that inspired me to write this piece, "In one aspect, yes, I believe in ghosts, but we create them. We haunt ourselves, and sometimes we do such a good job, we lose track of reality.” In “to every ghost that lives eternal (and all the ones that are in me)”, these ghosts find themselves into the story not as living incarnations of past souls, but instead as these whispers that haunt ourselves. We create our own ghosts, whether we like them or not, whether we mean to or not.
Though I don’t relate to my protagonist in this piece in the depth of the conflict with their ghosts, I can’t say that I’m without my own, and to me, that’s the part that makes this piece feel so much closer to me and so much more personal — even though it’s not intended to be autobiographical.
As someone with atelophobia, otherwise known as the fear of imperfection, every day I hear my own “ghosts” talking to me more than I’d like, especially so at night. Sometimes they’ll keep me up for far longer than I want them to, or sometimes they’ll tell me things that I don’t want to hear. Sometimes they’re true. Sometimes they aren’t. Sometimes I love them. Sometimes I don’t. Lately, I’ve been trying my best to conquer my own ghosts, the voices in my own head, to try and become a better person, whatever that might mean. I’ve written about my atelophobia a lot in the past, and there are also many things I’ve written that are products of it, though I might not have mentioned that outright. To be completely honest, I know I’ll probably never manage to let go of them completely, but maybe that’s okay. Like the protagonist says, they’re a part of me, in many ways. But what’s more important is to let go of the ghosts that hurt us, and the ghosts that are keeping us from being all the amazing things that we could be, the ghosts that are telling us that we can’t be those things.
I wrote this piece partially for myself, partially for others. I wanted to show people that yes, no matter how hard it might seem, it is possible to overcome our ghosts, or the ones that might be holding us back. I wrote this piece to show the “ones without ghosts” what it could be like to live with them in your head 24/7. If it doesn’t make sense at first glance, I apologize for that confusion, but one of the main reasons why I did so was in hopes that I could enlighten people that not everything in our mind makes complete sense. Not everything is perfect and clean.
“to every ghost that lives eternal (and all the ones that are in me)” is an ode to those ghosts that will be with us forever, and the ones that are a part of us, but the ones we can slowly, with time, learn to let go of, for the best of ourselves and others. It’s my message to the world that our ghosts don’t have to define us.
~
More information on some of the symbols and words used in ways that might not be typical, if you might still need me to clear some things up:
Silence: Silence, at least for me, tends to get inside me far more than quiet, and it often carries so much meaning. In this piece, silence becomes synonymous with all the things that aren’t said, all the little hidden things (if you’ll excuse me for referencing my own piece) and that choking feeling that it seems to give us when it does rattle us.
Somebody vs. nobody: The concept of having some effect, regardless of what it is, being preferable to invisibility.
The keys to your mind: Control. The things that own you and pull you back at some points, the things that spring you into action at others.
Snow/winter/ice: Emptiness, harshness, those things that we fall into when we don’t know where else to go and what else to do.
Ghosts: Our memories. Our feelings. The voices in our head. One of the many things that makes us us.
Snowy
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Snowy's Writing Thread <3
March 29th Daily
When I was younger, I was taught that words have power. That just a single one of them could be enough to change everything. When I was younger, they told me to be careful of what I said, told me to think before I spoke. Because words can have the wrong effect. They’re unreliable.
As I’ve figured out from my own time, from writing and such, it’s more true than you’d think. They mean something, words do. But I know better than anyone that the words fail you, and they will and have time and time again. Some things are better not put into words. Some things are better to be left unsaid and unwritten.
There are times when you should keep them far away from others, when the words should only ever live in the back of your mind, never voiced, never anything more than a whisper, a wisp, a faded, crushed part of you. Words have power. They can be beautiful. But they can be ugly. It’s just a matter of how you use them.
If you really think about it, that’s true most of the time. There are so many points in time where it’s been better to just be quiet and let the words pass until they no longer have any meaning. Better not to let the ones with the possibility of carrying the wrong meaning escape from you without your notice because they most certainly will not pass quite so unnoticed outside.
So often, it’s far more important to keep the peace and let them, the words be forgotten. You don’t know what you’re risking with them, at least, not in the moment.
I should have realized this earlier, should have guarded my words far more carefully than I did. I should have thought before I spoke, been careful of what I said. I should have kept them closer to me and never let them go, but I did, I did, I did, and now, I’m not the only one paying for them. So many ‘should’ve”s. Better to be quiet. They’re not worth the risk.
Now, I swallow down all my words and hope that the ones I write will be enough.
~
Word count: 368 words
Snowy
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Snowy's Writing Thread <3
Thank-You Notes!
Alia: I can’t believe that in my first session as a co, I managed to get into such an awesome leadership team. Alia, you were such a great leader of the Script Theatron, and I’m so, so lucky to have had you to help me. Thank you so much for being so fun and patient with me as I was still figuring things out, and I loved being able to get to know you a little better this session. I had such a great time being a co alongside you, and you were really the best leader I could ask for. <333
Pepper: Aaa, Pepper! It’s so cool that we both got to be cos together, and I’m so glad I got that opportunity. I had an absolute blast with my lovely other co, and thanks so much for cheering me on, helping me out, and thank you for dealing with all the crazy rescheduling for our collab story. I’m so glad that I got the chance to know you better this session, and thanks for being such a kind and funny friend. <333
Bella: Bella! I didn’t really know you before this session, but I’m eternally grateful that you were in my cabin this March, because you made SWC so much more fun. I’m so, so glad that I could get to know such a wonderfully hilarious and kind person this session. From the frying pans to the mangoes to pretty much everything, I loved interacting with you, and I’m so grateful that this March ‘24 session gave me a chance and a reason to talk to you. I really hope we’ll be in the same cabin again next session!
Coco: Coco! Another person that I know from outside SWC, but anyway, it was so great to have you in my cabin this session. From the insane amount you wrote for Cabin Wars (seriously, I don’t think we could have done it without you) to always cheering me on, I loved being able to chat with you. Thanks for being such a kind, funny, and hardworking friend, and here’s to hoping that we’ll be in the same cabin next session!
Luna: Luna! We were in the same cabin for JWC, so it was really nice to be together again/reunited this session of SWC. You were such a supportive, amazing friend to everyone, and thanks for always cheering me on, as well as everyone else. Hoping that we’ll get lucky and be in the same cabin for the third time in a row for the July session! <3
April: Hi, April! I didn’t really know you before this session, but I’m so glad that I did get the chance to meet you during this session. Thanks for all your contributions to Cabin Wars and being so supportive to everyone. Thank you for being such a funny and amazing person and for making Script so great! <3
Toko: Hey, Toko! My goodness, you wrote so, so much this month, so I’m just going to preface by saying that you’ve definitely been a huge asset to our cabin this month, and I’m super appreciative (and in awe!) of your dedication to writing and SWC. Beyond just that, it was amazing to be able to get to know you better this month, because you’re such an awesome, funny person. I’m so glad you were in Script Theatron this session, and who knows, maybe we’ll be in the same cabin again next session?
Vicky: Vicky, hi! Thanks so much for bringing such a positive attitude to our camp, and I really enjoyed seeing you around. Thanks for your critique on my piece and helping me to improve it, and thanks for cheering us all on. It was so nice getting to know you this session!
Sun: I know we didn’t really interact much, but I absolutely loved your essay on how cereal is a soup and also how passionate you were about it, so thanks for teaching me something and changing my mind (possibly…still slightly on the fence about that, but I agree with your reasoning at the very least). And thank you so, so much for spending all the time that you do to make SWC what it is, along with all the other hosts. I’m eternally grateful for your tireless effort to help make Scratch Writing Camp so incredibly fun. I’m so glad that I got to have you in my cabin this session. <3
Everyone else in the Script Theatron who I did not put here: So as you probably have gathered from this, this was my first March session of SWC and also my first time being a co. You all made it so, so worth the effort, and I enjoyed every minute of camp. I can’t believe I got so lucky to get such an amazing group. Truly. I know that things got a *little* chaotic with us and stuff sometimes, but thanks for your patience and helping me out. Thanks for a wonderful session, and hoping that I’ll be seeing you all again in July! #ScriptFTW! <3
Poppy: Aaa, Poppy, my lovely cabin sibling! You’re such an amazing, amazing writer (and that piece of yours I read totally proves this point, since it was absolutely stunning and beautiful), and thank you so much for helping to critique my piece for me! As well as that, you’re such a fun and kind friend, and I love seeing you around. We weren’t in the same cabin this time (although I’m glad we could be in the same sibling group, at the very least!), but I’m hoping that in July, we might be!
May: MAY! Thanks so much for listening to my very, very long rants about TBoSaS (I know that was in January, but I still had to say it, asdfghjkl) and for ranting back, and also for letting me talk about Ruta Sepetys to you, etc., etc. You’re such an awesome friend, and I love being around you. Beyond that, you’re also an incredible writer, and I’ve got no doubt that you’re going to publish something that everyone’s going to be talking about in the future. We weren’t in the same cabin this time, but who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky in July!
Rockie: I know I don’t know you very well, but you definitely deserve a place in my thank-you notes. Thank you so much for your critique of my piece; it was incredibly helpful, and I think it ultimately made it a lot stronger. As I could tell from your piece, you’re a great writer as well, and I’m so glad that we ended up pairing up for the critiquitaire. Anyway, I also enjoyed looking at your guesses for what my name was — very entertaining, I have to say — although my name is not Charlotte, haha- Hoping that we’ll get to know each other a little better in the future and that we might be in the same cabin next session!
Balrog: So a certain Zeus has told me that he and you had a most excellent conversation about how he was unequivocally more powerful than you, and he recounted it to me in impeccable detail and enthusiasm. He told me that he thanks you for your graciousness in calling him far superior to you, though he quite interestingly left out the part where you sat on him. I think the great Zeus was slightly embarrassed about that. (Thanks for the chaos, hehe- I definitely had a great time with all the playful banter.)
Alana: Alana! I know we weren’t in the same cabin this time (and I’m very, very sorry I had to decline your offer as co), but thanks so much for being so awesome throughout this session! You were always cheering me on and helping out around camp, and I really appreciated that. Thanks so much for checking in. It truly made my day when you did. Here’s to hoping that maybe next time we might have a reunion after our Script Misfits session together?
Amethyst: Hi, Amethyst! Like Alana, although I know we weren’t in the same cabin this time, I loved seeing you around camp. It was so nice to be able to see my former weekly buddy (that conlang one was truly impossible, I have to say) in the main cabin, and I loved our little speedrunning the last few thousand words to reach our word goals thing at the end of the session. Hoping that we’ll be in the same cabin next time!
Mouse: Greetings to my wonderful sibling in Dystopian! Thank you so, so much for being such a hilarious person who never fails to make me laugh, and although you disagree with the great Zeus’s verdict to condemn Prometheus (*gasp* HOW DARE YOU?), I *ahem* Zeus had fun arguing with this naughty, naughty little mortal. Anyway, thank you again for being so kind and funny, and I loved seeing you around this session. I hope we’ll be in the same cabin next session! <3
Finley: Aaa, hi, Finley! I know we haven’t been in the same cabin before ever (which is so, so sad-), unless you include SRC, but I feel like you definitely deserve a place in these thank-you notes. You’re such an awesome, fun person, and I love being around you. You’re so kind and supportive, and I really appreciate that, and you’re also an incredible writer. Thanks so much for being such an incredible friend! <3
Recca: Darling Auntie Recca, what would I do without you? Thank you so much for all those silly little rants and conversations we’ve had, and thanks for reading the entire Naturals series because I told-yelled-made you and talking about it with me. Thanks for creating our most amazing BLÜ EYES colony in Antarctica with Ivory and me. You’re my number one cheerleader, and I love that about you. Thank you so much for staying up with me on those kinds of nights, listening to me when I need someone to talk to, just being the all-around awesome friend that you are. There’s so much more that I feel like I should be saying to express how much I appreciate you, but I really just can’t find a way to put it into words, so I’ll leave it at that. I shall end off this very long string of thank-you notes by saying that I am most definitely hoping with everything in me that we shall be reunited in the same cabin next session! (And you’d better be joining…)
Script Thank-Yous:
Alia: I can’t believe that in my first session as a co, I managed to get into such an awesome leadership team. Alia, you were such a great leader of the Script Theatron, and I’m so, so lucky to have had you to help me. Thank you so much for being so fun and patient with me as I was still figuring things out, and I loved being able to get to know you a little better this session. I had such a great time being a co alongside you, and you were really the best leader I could ask for. <333
Pepper: Aaa, Pepper! It’s so cool that we both got to be cos together, and I’m so glad I got that opportunity. I had an absolute blast with my lovely other co, and thanks so much for cheering me on, helping me out, and thank you for dealing with all the crazy rescheduling for our collab story. I’m so glad that I got the chance to know you better this session, and thanks for being such a kind and funny friend. <333
Bella: Bella! I didn’t really know you before this session, but I’m eternally grateful that you were in my cabin this March, because you made SWC so much more fun. I’m so, so glad that I could get to know such a wonderfully hilarious and kind person this session. From the frying pans to the mangoes to pretty much everything, I loved interacting with you, and I’m so grateful that this March ‘24 session gave me a chance and a reason to talk to you. I really hope we’ll be in the same cabin again next session!
Coco: Coco! Another person that I know from outside SWC, but anyway, it was so great to have you in my cabin this session. From the insane amount you wrote for Cabin Wars (seriously, I don’t think we could have done it without you) to always cheering me on, I loved being able to chat with you. Thanks for being such a kind, funny, and hardworking friend, and here’s to hoping that we’ll be in the same cabin next session!
Luna: Luna! We were in the same cabin for JWC, so it was really nice to be together again/reunited this session of SWC. You were such a supportive, amazing friend to everyone, and thanks for always cheering me on, as well as everyone else. Hoping that we’ll get lucky and be in the same cabin for the third time in a row for the July session! <3
April: Hi, April! I didn’t really know you before this session, but I’m so glad that I did get the chance to meet you during this session. Thanks for all your contributions to Cabin Wars and being so supportive to everyone. Thank you for being such a funny and amazing person and for making Script so great! <3
Toko: Hey, Toko! My goodness, you wrote so, so much this month, so I’m just going to preface by saying that you’ve definitely been a huge asset to our cabin this month, and I’m super appreciative (and in awe!) of your dedication to writing and SWC. Beyond just that, it was amazing to be able to get to know you better this month, because you’re such an awesome, funny person. I’m so glad you were in Script Theatron this session, and who knows, maybe we’ll be in the same cabin again next session?
Vicky: Vicky, hi! Thanks so much for bringing such a positive attitude to our camp, and I really enjoyed seeing you around. Thanks for your critique on my piece and helping me to improve it, and thanks for cheering us all on. It was so nice getting to know you this session!
Sun: I know we didn’t really interact much, but I absolutely loved your essay on how cereal is a soup and also how passionate you were about it, so thanks for teaching me something and changing my mind (possibly…still slightly on the fence about that, but I agree with your reasoning at the very least). And thank you so, so much for spending all the time that you do to make SWC what it is, along with all the other hosts. I’m eternally grateful for your tireless effort to help make Scratch Writing Camp so incredibly fun. I’m so glad that I got to have you in my cabin this session. <3
Everyone else in the Script Theatron who I did not put here: So as you probably have gathered from this, this was my first March session of SWC and also my first time being a co. You all made it so, so worth the effort, and I enjoyed every minute of camp. I can’t believe I got so lucky to get such an amazing group. Truly. I know that things got a *little* chaotic with us and stuff sometimes, but thanks for your patience and helping me out. Thanks for a wonderful session, and hoping that I’ll be seeing you all again in July! #ScriptFTW! <3
Other Thank-Yous:
Poppy: Aaa, Poppy, my lovely cabin sibling! You’re such an amazing, amazing writer (and that piece of yours I read totally proves this point, since it was absolutely stunning and beautiful), and thank you so much for helping to critique my piece for me! As well as that, you’re such a fun and kind friend, and I love seeing you around. We weren’t in the same cabin this time (although I’m glad we could be in the same sibling group, at the very least!), but I’m hoping that in July, we might be!
May: MAY! Thanks so much for listening to my very, very long rants about TBoSaS (I know that was in January, but I still had to say it, asdfghjkl) and for ranting back, and also for letting me talk about Ruta Sepetys to you, etc., etc. You’re such an awesome friend, and I love being around you. Beyond that, you’re also an incredible writer, and I’ve got no doubt that you’re going to publish something that everyone’s going to be talking about in the future. We weren’t in the same cabin this time, but who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky in July!
Rockie: I know I don’t know you very well, but you definitely deserve a place in my thank-you notes. Thank you so much for your critique of my piece; it was incredibly helpful, and I think it ultimately made it a lot stronger. As I could tell from your piece, you’re a great writer as well, and I’m so glad that we ended up pairing up for the critiquitaire. Anyway, I also enjoyed looking at your guesses for what my name was — very entertaining, I have to say — although my name is not Charlotte, haha- Hoping that we’ll get to know each other a little better in the future and that we might be in the same cabin next session!
Balrog: So a certain Zeus has told me that he and you had a most excellent conversation about how he was unequivocally more powerful than you, and he recounted it to me in impeccable detail and enthusiasm. He told me that he thanks you for your graciousness in calling him far superior to you, though he quite interestingly left out the part where you sat on him. I think the great Zeus was slightly embarrassed about that. (Thanks for the chaos, hehe- I definitely had a great time with all the playful banter.)
Alana: Alana! I know we weren’t in the same cabin this time (and I’m very, very sorry I had to decline your offer as co), but thanks so much for being so awesome throughout this session! You were always cheering me on and helping out around camp, and I really appreciated that. Thanks so much for checking in. It truly made my day when you did. Here’s to hoping that maybe next time we might have a reunion after our Script Misfits session together?
Amethyst: Hi, Amethyst! Like Alana, although I know we weren’t in the same cabin this time, I loved seeing you around camp. It was so nice to be able to see my former weekly buddy (that conlang one was truly impossible, I have to say) in the main cabin, and I loved our little speedrunning the last few thousand words to reach our word goals thing at the end of the session. Hoping that we’ll be in the same cabin next time!
Mouse: Greetings to my wonderful sibling in Dystopian! Thank you so, so much for being such a hilarious person who never fails to make me laugh, and although you disagree with the great Zeus’s verdict to condemn Prometheus (*gasp* HOW DARE YOU?), I *ahem* Zeus had fun arguing with this naughty, naughty little mortal. Anyway, thank you again for being so kind and funny, and I loved seeing you around this session. I hope we’ll be in the same cabin next session! <3
Finley: Aaa, hi, Finley! I know we haven’t been in the same cabin before ever (which is so, so sad-), unless you include SRC, but I feel like you definitely deserve a place in these thank-you notes. You’re such an awesome, fun person, and I love being around you. You’re so kind and supportive, and I really appreciate that, and you’re also an incredible writer. Thanks so much for being such an incredible friend! <3
Recca: Darling Auntie Recca, what would I do without you? Thank you so much for all those silly little rants and conversations we’ve had, and thanks for reading the entire Naturals series because I told-yelled-made you and talking about it with me. Thanks for creating our most amazing BLÜ EYES colony in Antarctica with Ivory and me. You’re my number one cheerleader, and I love that about you. Thank you so much for staying up with me on those kinds of nights, listening to me when I need someone to talk to, just being the all-around awesome friend that you are. There’s so much more that I feel like I should be saying to express how much I appreciate you, but I really just can’t find a way to put it into words, so I’ll leave it at that. I shall end off this very long string of thank-you notes by saying that I am most definitely hoping with everything in me that we shall be reunited in the same cabin next session! (And you’d better be joining…)
Last edited by SnowdropSugar (March 31, 2024 13:16:34)
Snowy
✎she • her
✎Kindness, writing and reading!
✎The Hunger Games <3
✎TBoSaS superiority
- SnowdropSugar
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Snowy's Writing Thread <3
Weekly (Week of March 25th, 2024)
Part One: Outlining
• Character walks along the path leading to the home they once had
• The pathways are covered in ashes, and everything has burned down and is aflame, just bare bones
• The character struggles to hold themself together as they see all that has happened, but eventually weeps for their home and for the destruction that occurred there
• The character runs, trying to find a place away from all the destruction and in search for hope, and finds themself at the top of a hill equally covered in ash (but it looks like snow)
• The character stares out into the sun, rising up from the west instead of from the east. They don’t realize what it is.
• The character covers their ears and eyes in hopes to block out the destruction
• The characters see the papers, fluttering in the “snow” as the wind blows
• The headline of the newspaper says in all caps “SUCCESS”, with a picture of the destruction
• The character realizes that this destruction is being celebrated and is horrified at it and angry
• Character tries to pretend they never saw the newspaper and tries, without any real success, to forget what they saw after dropping the newspaper quickly and trying to cover up what they saw
Part Two and Three: Exposition and Story Stew
Exposition is up until the first page break (296 words)
Rest of the story: 1,079 words
Total: 1,375 words
Plot elements I tried to use: Cliffhanger, symbol (ashes), plot twist (it’s sort of a subtle one, but anyway-), flashback, foreshadowing
The girl takes one step after the other, trembling all the while. It’s dusty. Grayish-white powder littered all over the floor. Every footsteps shakes up the dust, and she coughs as it finds its way up to her mouth and into her lungs.
She despises the dust.
Shallow inhales punctuate the slightest hesitation between every heartbeat, barely drawing air through her lips, pressed together in tight lines. With every breath, she exhales a little bit more hope, draining herself of it until there is almost nothing left. She holds a dark blue notebook clasped against her chest. Her two arms hold it close, so close, as if she thinks that by keeping it safe, everything else will remain that way as well.
The blue ribbon in her chestnut brown hair flutters as the breeze picks up the edges. It’s almost like it’s dancing. But this is not the kind of time for it to dance.
You’re a ghost now. If they can’t find you, you’ll survive.
Coming here should go against everything she’s forced herself to hold true. But she’s breaking every rule, every commandment in her creed for this. Desire. The desperate need for answers.
The heat is subtle. Subtle enough that if she didn’t know to look for it, it would have escaped her notice. But this time, she’s looking for it. And the confirmation is only worse.
The girl exhales again, staring at her feet, clearing away the dust from the gravelly cement. She stops at the metal, torn and in pieces at her feet. Dark. Having been burned.
She almost can’t bring herself to do it. To look up and see what’s happened. But against everything that is in her telling her not to, she does.
And what she sees isn’t pretty.
***
It’s long after dark. The sun has set ages ago, and now the stars light the sky instead.
The girl can’t sleep.
She hears them, the drone of them in the sky, getting into her bones and rattling her until her soul has slipped out between gritted teeth. She tries to hold the pieces in, but it doesn’t work. Fear leaks through every time.
She ties the lovely satin into a bow, taking one last reminder of her past before she leaves. And the journal. That, of course, will have to come with her. It’s all that she has left.
The droning comes again, finding its way into her heartbeat and every fiber of her being, where it pulses against her chest. The only thing keeping it caged are the bones, which are in many ways, broken to the core.
She runs, as fast as she possibly can. Faster than she’s ever run before. She runs until her every muscle aches and every fiber of her tells her to sleep, but in spite of this, her mind is wide awake. It’s a frantic bird fleeing from a cat with its claws out.
As she goes, pressing onward, the girl can only hope that she can find her way away from it before it comes.
She’s not hoping for the place she loved and knew to remain the way she has tried to preserve it in her memory. Not anymore. She’s only hoping she’ll be able to recognize the ashes.
***
The ashes are a part of her now, after so long, after so much time. She knows them better than anything.
The pale, lacy dress she wore when she first began running has turned to the same gray as the world around her. That was fifty-two days ago, by her count. But she’s still running.
She allows herself a visit of one minute. One minute to pass by, to see what is left of her childhood home and everything that she used to care about. Then she’ll go. She’ll be satisfied. She’ll run again and hope that wherever she is, they won’t be able to find her.
You’re a ghost now. If they can’t find you, you’ll survive.
What it is is unrecognizable. It’s nothing like what it used to be. Crumbled stone, wood in flame. The only thing remaining perfectly intact — though a fair bit less pristine — is the fireplace, made of marble and carved with intricate designs. How fitting. How ironic that the only thing remaining of the place she used to love is the very thing that destroyed it.
She’s scared she’ll lose it, or perhaps herself, right here, standing in front of all that she used to know. So she does what she does best, the only thing that she knows how to do now. She runs, far away from it, in search of refuge from the destruction. In search of whatever last scrap of hope she can manage to pull together.
***
At the top of the hill, she feels almost…safe. But there’s no such thing as safe for her, not anymore. Safe disappeared when the droning came that day, fifty-two days ago. Safe disappeared the day that she did.
But here, she’s the closest she can be to it. She doesn’t have to fear anymore, because all that’s left is the dullness of a bleeding, broken heart.
There’s nothing left to do but to watch as the days pass by in lonely solitude. The girl doesn’t hope anymore. She won’t. Not after the ashes. Not after this.
***
The girl weeps for hours on end, grieving the loss of all that she knew. But eventually, her shoulders still and the tears dry up, and then all that is left is the emptiness. The hollowness of knowing that whatever used to be is gone. She tried to hold onto the possibility of maybe, just maybe, one day being able to return. Any bit of that possibility has gone up in smoke and flames now.
The sun’s bright rays wake her up far too early. It rises from the west. It’s risen from the west for some time now. She’s gotten so used to it that she no longer finds it strange.
She covers her ears and eyes until the blast is gone and the light has dimmed, and then she stands quickly.
The sun tells her that it’s time to leave once again. That it’s time to find a home elsewhere. Not home, she tells herself. Nowhere will ever be home again.
As she runs a careful finger over the once-pretty gilded edges of the notebook, she remembers the chorus that she’s kept close to her for ages.
You’re a ghost now. If they can’t find you, you’ll survive.
***
She pretends the ash is snow. Snow is far more pleasant. Yes, snow is much better. Snow will be the thing that gets her through this. Snow will be the thing that protects her. The ash can’t hurt her if she’s no longer scared of it.
The paper, the front page of the newspaper, almost blends in against the ash. Not ash. Snow. Her hand darts out from her pocket to pick it up. It’s a piece of her world, the world that she used to live in. She almost doesn’t catch the words of the headline, so transfixed by the thought of it being her last link to the rest, all the people who, like her, made it out.
The words she sees aren’t the ones she expects to see. She expects to see tragedy. She expects to see death. She expects to see ashes and snow and all the things that she herself has seen.
But instead, the picture of her hometown, rubble dusted in black and gray, and the west sun and giant clouds are captioned with something entirely different.
It’s captioned, SUCCESS.
***
The girl wishes she could pretend that they didn’t exist. She drops the pages like they’re hot iron, like they’re the infrastructure of her house torched by the flames. She stamps the snow-ash over them, wishing that in doing so, she could stamp them right out of her mind. It’s pointless, of course. She can’t pretend.
The girl has seen the destruction. She’s seen the tragedy, the death, all the things it should have spoken about. But it’s none of that, not even close. It’s nothing like what this is supposed to be.
It’s a celebration.
And she hates them for it.
Last edited by SnowdropSugar (April 2, 2024 12:41:52)
Snowy
✎she • her
✎Kindness, writing and reading!
✎The Hunger Games <3
✎TBoSaS superiority
- SnowdropSugar
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Snowy's Writing Thread <3
Critique for Recca
Just going to start off by saying that your outline is so very Recca, and to be honest, I love that.
Also, why does the intro sort of remind me of Sherlock? “Not a psychopath. A serial killer.”
Anyway, critique now! So I really loved this piece, and I found it to be excellent entertainment. The characters are just so real and funny, and it’s almost like they could actually exist in real life. They had so much (and forgive me for using this to describe characters, but my brain just isn’t really working at the moment) character, and I love that about your writing.
As for some suggestions, for a lot of parts in the middle, you didn’t have dialogue tags, so I wasn’t really sure who was speaking at which time, which made it pretty confusing at times and a little harder to follow. It could really be as simple as just saying “(someone) said,” nothing too fancy, because you don’t need to detract from the actual dialogue. Just adding that would help to keep the reader a little more focused on the story.
Obviously in your piece, there’s also a lot of dialogue (which, of course, I do love), so my second suggestion would just be to break it up a bit more. Whether it be with dialogue tags, punctuating words by actions (say, describing gestures, or someone standing up as they speak), or just a bit of description (in a sort of mystery, this could definitely be good), or anything else, just adding something in between them could make it read more like a story and less like a script, unless that was what you were going for.
That’s about all I can think of, to be honest, since this was such a fun read, and my goodness, from the way you made it sound, it was like you thought it wasn’t good at all. Well, anyway, I most certainly enjoyed it, at least.
Just going to start off by saying that your outline is so very Recca, and to be honest, I love that.
Also, why does the intro sort of remind me of Sherlock? “Not a psychopath. A serial killer.”
Anyway, critique now! So I really loved this piece, and I found it to be excellent entertainment. The characters are just so real and funny, and it’s almost like they could actually exist in real life. They had so much (and forgive me for using this to describe characters, but my brain just isn’t really working at the moment) character, and I love that about your writing.
As for some suggestions, for a lot of parts in the middle, you didn’t have dialogue tags, so I wasn’t really sure who was speaking at which time, which made it pretty confusing at times and a little harder to follow. It could really be as simple as just saying “(someone) said,” nothing too fancy, because you don’t need to detract from the actual dialogue. Just adding that would help to keep the reader a little more focused on the story.
Obviously in your piece, there’s also a lot of dialogue (which, of course, I do love), so my second suggestion would just be to break it up a bit more. Whether it be with dialogue tags, punctuating words by actions (say, describing gestures, or someone standing up as they speak), or just a bit of description (in a sort of mystery, this could definitely be good), or anything else, just adding something in between them could make it read more like a story and less like a script, unless that was what you were going for.
That’s about all I can think of, to be honest, since this was such a fun read, and my goodness, from the way you made it sound, it was like you thought it wasn’t good at all. Well, anyway, I most certainly enjoyed it, at least.
Snowy
✎she • her
✎Kindness, writing and reading!
✎The Hunger Games <3
✎TBoSaS superiority
- SnowdropSugar
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Snowy's Writing Thread <3
Snowy's July '24 Co-Leader Application!
About Me
Hi there! I’m Snowy, and I use she/her pronouns! I’m an INFJ-T, atelophobe, soccer player, baker, book and board game nerd, but most of all, writer. While I live in Singapore (UTC+8), for the months of June and July, I’ll be mostly in the EST time zone. I’m majorly obsessed with The Hunger Games — The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes is my favorite book — and the singer, BLÜ EYES, if you couldn’t already tell by the theme of this application. Beyond that, I also love to read realistic fiction and mystery, but I’m more of a lover of a strange hybrid genre that I can only describe as “tragic magical surrealism” for writing.
Though I’ve been a bookworm for years, I only started writing for my own enjoyment around 1.75 years ago, and since then, I’ve realized how much I love stories — not just reading them, but creating them as well! I’ve continued to write to find my genre, and over the course of this time, I’ve met and befriended several other writers, bonding over our shared passion. SWC has been one of these sources, kindling many new friendships, and I hope to contribute to that this coming July session!
Experience
This July is going to be my fourth session of SWC, also meaning that it’s been one year since I first joined the community! So far, I’ve attended six sessions of Scratch camps in total — three of which are SWC, one of which I co-led (Script Theatron March ‘24). This year, I’m excited to add my second July to that list!
Beyond my experience with SWC, I have some other leadership experience, both on and off Scratch! I’m a manager of Girls Who Don’t Fit In, a Scratch studio with thousands of members, which requires me to work with other managers to find solutions to any problems that might arise and ensure that all the rules are being followed. I’ve also been a part of our school’s student council in working to make new students feel more welcome. Additionally, I’ve also been group leader of a wellness project, drama project, and more, which required me to organize my teammates and create a plan for our course of action. As for my writing experience, I’m a first-year NaNoWriMo finisher and participant in my school’s writing club. I’ve also got many in-progress short stories and novels that I’ll work on almost daily.
Cabin Preferences
Although I’ve spent a lot more time this year getting acquainted with the genre of nonfiction, fiction is particularly close to my heart, so for this reason, I’d prefer to co-lead a fiction cabin. My top preferences would probably be Realistic Fiction, Poetry, Magical Realism, and Surrealism! I’ve got a few tentative ideas for these cabins, which I’ll talk more about below.
For Real-Fi, I mentioned last time the idea of doing a scrapbooking-type theme, where we could progress through the storyline to get stickers, etc., and could capture memories together to eventually create a cabinwide memory book with pages for each camper, showcasing writing, passions, and more to look back on how we’ve improved over the course of camp.
For Poetry, I’d love to do a Poetry Treehouse or Poetry Forest, with a nature-themed mystery (if you’ve ever played the game Eastshade, something sort of like that), where campers are trying to find their way home or are just trying to explore the forest.
And as for Magical Realism and Surrealism (as this could be adapted to suit either), I’m thinking of a sort of dreamworld/dreamland idea, with a sort of mystical vibe that’s somewhat mysterious. If I get chosen for a co for one of these cabins, I’d love to work with my leader to develop this idea further.
While I love TCTWNW for being my first SWC cabin, I would prefer to co-lead a competitive cabin, as I like the drive it gives campers to improve and collaborate together.
Writing Excerpt
“to every ghost that lives eternal (and all the ones that are in me)” | A Short Story
Time Dedication
I’ll probably be able to dedicate about an hour to an hour and a half to SWC every day. As I’ll be on summer break during the month of July, I’ll be online a bit more. However, since I’ll be traveling to see family in the U.S., this isn’t guaranteed (due to things like weekend trips and visiting cousins, etc.), as our plans are still quite up in the air at the moment. In spite of this, I will do my best to complete all the tasks necessary as a co-leader, and I’ll try to set aside at least half an hour on each of these days.
I’d also like to note that because I’ll be going back to my old home and participating in a competition, I’ll be largely inactive for the first two to three weeks of June as well, though I’ll do what I can to make up for any lost planning time before and after the fact as well.
Time Management
One of my strengths in time management is that I’m very good at meeting deadlines. I’ll work hard to complete any tasks I’ve been assigned or that I’ve assigned myself by a certain deadline. I work quite well under pressure and can get things done in a short period of time when I know that I need to. On the other hand, one of my struggles with time management is that I tend to take on a lot of work at certain points and work incredibly hard to reach those deadlines, while ending up getting burnt out later on and struggle to complete work because of it. When this happens, I typically have to step back from the task to see what needs to be done first and prioritize, and sometimes I might need the help of others to understand how I can complete work steadily without getting overwhelmed. Another strength of mine is that I can work for long periods of time and be incredibly productive when I know what my goal is. However, I do tend to struggle with remaining on task and focused when I’m not fully sure what I’m supposed to be doing, meaning that often times, if I’m being unproductive, it’s either because I’m not sure what I should do or because I’ve burnt myself out and need a short break and to step back from the task.
Over these past few months, I’ve gotten a lot better at time management as well, and I’ve been trying to keep a proper balance in my life. One example of this was in February and March, where I was juggling being a co-leader as well as schoolwork and a major competition. I had to make sure to find a balance between spending time on my homework and working to help make our cabin run smoothly (and a huge thanks to Alia and Pepper for being so understanding, too!) and also making a history project the best that I could. While I still sometimes struggle with keeping the balance and making sure that I don’t get burnt out from all my work, I’ve improved on knowing my limits and understanding when I’m not being productive anymore
Collaboration
I’d say that I work well with quite a variety of different people, particularly online, since I generally love meeting new people and making friends through bonding through interests and connections! So I’d say one of my main strengths for collaboration would be that I can work with a lot of different kinds of people, just as long as they’re also willing to put in the effort to work together. Being a pretty friendly person would also help me to connect with other cos and leaders, as well as my campers, and I’d be able to form friendships with the people there in no time. A second strength would be that I can also pull my own weight and keep myself and others organized when necessary as well. On the other hand, I do struggle with other aspects of collaboration, two of those in particular being taking feedback and being open-minded to others’ solutions and ideas. Firstly of the two, I tend to take feedback overly harshly even when it wasn’t intended that way. Despite knowing that people are only trying to help me with their constructive criticism, I sometimes take offense from it when it wasn’t intended. I also sometimes can judge people’s ideas too quickly and not give them a chance by shooting them down before fully weighing the possible merits of it. However, lately I’ve been trying to improve on both of these accounts by understanding that people are trying to help me improve and bring out my best work and self with their feedback, and similarly, I know that I judge others’ work too harshly, but I’m trying to understand that others would want me to give their work the same chance that they give mine, and instead of immediately shooting down ideas, I’m trying to provide input to improve so we can collaborate for a solution together.
Qualities of a Leader
There are so many qualities that make a good leader, but as I said in my application for the March session, there’s one in particular that I think is especially important for all (co)leaders and campers to embody, and that’s respect. To me, respect is the foundation for trust, collaboration, and friendships, and if a leader doesn’t respect their campers (or vice versa!), it’s incredibly difficult to build bonds and have a well-run cabin. For this reason, respect is one of the most important parts of being a leader. If I’m chosen as a co-leader, I’ll make sure to embody the value of respect by being respectful of others in times of disagreements through making sure I’m listening to the other perspective even when I may have a different opinion (similar to making sure I’m not judging others’ ideas too quickly) and being respectful of their time by completing my assigned work by the assigned dates. As a co or a camper, I’d also ensure that I’m being respectful of those in other cabins to foster healthy relationships through keeping in mind that SWC, while competitive, is a camp for enjoyment, and a good leader would understand the boundary between having fun and taking it too far. In summary, I’d make sure I think through the perspectives of others to understand their needs and feelings so we can build a bond of mutual trust and respect over the course of camp.
Cabin Atmosphere
A semi-competitive cabin focused on allowing campers to make friends and build relationships with others, and pursue their goals, and experiment to celebrate their improvement over the month.
(191 characters)
Checkboxes
I am applying only for co-leader.
I’m willing to share a promotional project for SWC.
I can complete all co responsibilities!
In the case of inactive leadership of another person on my team, I would make sure to notify the SWC hosts and campers in my cabin so that others are aware. If necessary, I would also step up to take on some of their responsibilities to balance the workload, and I’d make sure to update them on anything they might have missed once they come back. In the case of my own activity, I’ll make sure to let the others on my leadership team know as well as the SWC hosts and the campers in my cabin, and I’d work my (co)leader to outline a plan for the distribution of work while I’m away and how I would catch up afterward.
Credits:
Thanks so much to Poppy for critiquing this!
Last edited by SnowdropSugar (May 5, 2024 22:11:44)
Snowy
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✎Kindness, writing and reading!
✎The Hunger Games <3
✎TBoSaS superiority
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Scratcher
100+ posts
Snowy's Writing Thread <3
Leader Application Critique for Poppy!
About Me
Poppy, this is incredible! I love how much personality you show in just these short paragraphs and how who you are comes through really clearly. You talk about writing, which is great, and SWC, and you answer the question completely, too, so I've got no critique here! I love this already <3
Experience
This one's a pretty minor suggestion, but perhaps you could elaborate a bit more on how being a manager of SWoW has helped you experience-wise? For example, has it helped you to keep up with responsibilities? Has it helped you to collaborate? Whatever it might be, I think it's worthy of putting in.
And this one's really nitpicky, but in your about me, when a new paragraph starts, you have a space, but in this section, you start the paragraph on the next line, so I'd recommend keeping that consistent! If that's just a formatting issue from transferring it to forums, too, feel free to ignore this, haha!
Cabin Preferences
I love what you've got so far! The ideas for Poetry and the others both sound really cool!
You do mention Fantasy and Adventure at first, though, so I'd recommend acknowledging any ideas you might have for them or saying that you're not sure yet on those if that's the case, just so all of them are mentioned.
Time Commitment
This one's great! You've really clearly laid out your plans, and it's very easy to tell at a glance your commitments over the summer.
(Just once again — you use a space between paragraphs in a lot of the others and don't in this one, so I'd recommend changing to just one style in this case for consistency)
Time Management
Love this! You've done a great job of outlining a strength and a weakness in time management, but you've also acknowledged how you're trying to improve on them, which is incredible! Excellent job here <3
Collaboration
Aaa, Poppy, you've done it again! This is great! Once again, I love the way you cover your strengths and weaknesses while providing solutions and goals you're trying to work toward. It's very mature, ahahahaha <3
Traits
This is just genuinely, like. So good. It's so well written.
One minor suggestion could be to just mention what being dedicated to your cabin would look like — say, maybe you're checking in with campers daily, or you're making sure to follow through with deadlines you've set yourself so that camp can run smoothly or something like that. Hopefully this wouldn't disrupt the flow of this part, though, because it's sososo good <3
Cabin Atmosphere
One small suggestion: Perhaps you could reword this so instead of saying “I want to create,” you could just say “A cabin that…”, so that way you can make room for more characters in case you end up using this for your cabin atmosphere and plotline should you get chosen as leader. Other than that, I love the cabin atmosphere you've created!
Checkboxes
This all looks great to me!
Overall, you've crafted an amazing leader app, and I'm so excited to see how the final version of this will turn out! Best of luck to you, though I highly doubt you'll need it! <3
About Me
Poppy, this is incredible! I love how much personality you show in just these short paragraphs and how who you are comes through really clearly. You talk about writing, which is great, and SWC, and you answer the question completely, too, so I've got no critique here! I love this already <3
Experience
This one's a pretty minor suggestion, but perhaps you could elaborate a bit more on how being a manager of SWoW has helped you experience-wise? For example, has it helped you to keep up with responsibilities? Has it helped you to collaborate? Whatever it might be, I think it's worthy of putting in.
And this one's really nitpicky, but in your about me, when a new paragraph starts, you have a space, but in this section, you start the paragraph on the next line, so I'd recommend keeping that consistent! If that's just a formatting issue from transferring it to forums, too, feel free to ignore this, haha!
Cabin Preferences
I love what you've got so far! The ideas for Poetry and the others both sound really cool!
You do mention Fantasy and Adventure at first, though, so I'd recommend acknowledging any ideas you might have for them or saying that you're not sure yet on those if that's the case, just so all of them are mentioned.
Time Commitment
This one's great! You've really clearly laid out your plans, and it's very easy to tell at a glance your commitments over the summer.
(Just once again — you use a space between paragraphs in a lot of the others and don't in this one, so I'd recommend changing to just one style in this case for consistency)
Time Management
Love this! You've done a great job of outlining a strength and a weakness in time management, but you've also acknowledged how you're trying to improve on them, which is incredible! Excellent job here <3
Collaboration
Aaa, Poppy, you've done it again! This is great! Once again, I love the way you cover your strengths and weaknesses while providing solutions and goals you're trying to work toward. It's very mature, ahahahaha <3
Traits
This is just genuinely, like. So good. It's so well written.
One minor suggestion could be to just mention what being dedicated to your cabin would look like — say, maybe you're checking in with campers daily, or you're making sure to follow through with deadlines you've set yourself so that camp can run smoothly or something like that. Hopefully this wouldn't disrupt the flow of this part, though, because it's sososo good <3
Cabin Atmosphere
One small suggestion: Perhaps you could reword this so instead of saying “I want to create,” you could just say “A cabin that…”, so that way you can make room for more characters in case you end up using this for your cabin atmosphere and plotline should you get chosen as leader. Other than that, I love the cabin atmosphere you've created!
Checkboxes
This all looks great to me!
Overall, you've crafted an amazing leader app, and I'm so excited to see how the final version of this will turn out! Best of luck to you, though I highly doubt you'll need it! <3
Last edited by SnowdropSugar (May 6, 2024 13:05:33)
Snowy
✎she • her
✎Kindness, writing and reading!
✎The Hunger Games <3
✎TBoSaS superiority
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