Hello everyone o/ this is my writing thread, originally created for SWC in July 2023 but now for any writing I want to share here!

This way I'll be able to make separate links for each piece, which I think will be useful. (these will definitely be a bit out of order though-)

A bit more about me: you can call me Lark (she/her) but I switch through different online nicknames constantly lol, so for official stuff I tend to stick with my username. As you can see on my profile, I am a senior in highschool, am Christian, and I love writing!

anyways, thank you for visiting! <3

Camps this has been/is being used for:
-SWC July 2023 (real-fi)
-CKS October 2023 (Contempclan)
-SWC November 2023 (illu-fi)
-SWC March 2024 (epistolary)

Daily for July 12: Write 400 words using 2-5 flowers for 300 points! You can claim an extra 100 points for sharing proof.
…this is a total of 1870 words. I might've gone a little overboard.
To anyone who ends up checking this for points: after “I don't understand” and before “Dear Diary,” it's already over 400. You don't have to read this whole long thing if you don't want to. (:

I'm calling this story Snowdrop.
small heads up: some adults in this have Really Bad Parenting Skills, but this is pretty much just alluded to- while it is important to the plot, nothing graphic happens on screen or is mentioned in any detail at all. The flowers say all that needs to be said.

—

A flutter of yellow wings sparkles in the mottled forest sunlight.
“It’s there!” Rosie shrieked, instantly lighting up with a grin. It makes me smile, too- I’ve seen my best friend sad too often recently. “We have to follow it!”
I run after her as we chase the butterfly into the forest, watching as the beautiful creature wanders down to a patch of wildflowers. We slow as it lands on one, and quietly sneak closer. Another butterfly appears, too, this one big and orange with sprinkles of white.
After a few seconds watching in silence, I sit in the grass, and Rosie sits beside me.
“I wish we could stay out here forever, don’t you?” Rosie asks.
I hesitate. “I guess it is pretty nice, but wouldn’t you miss your parents?”
Rosie looks down, a shadow cast over her face. “No, I wouldn’t. I don’t think so.”
“What is it? Are you okay?” I put one hand on her knee, nervousness bubbling up inside. It’s weird to see her like this, so sad and nervous-looking. I’m supposed to be the nervous one. Rosie is supposed to be the beam of light, brave and bold enough that I won’t be afraid to follow her path.
“Sorrel, you can’t tell anyone I said this,” Rosie finally says. “I… I think something’s wrong with my parents. They’re not doing what they’re supposed to.”
“Is that why you’re always sad now?”
Rosie bites her lip and nods.
“Then we have to tell the teacher!” I exclaim, taking her hand as I jump to my feet. “That’s what she always says- if something's wrong we have to tell a grown up, and if we can’t trust our parents we have to tell her.”
Instead of following, she freezes up- something I didn’t know she could ever do. “I’m scared,” she says quietly.
I squeeze her hand. “It’s going to be okay,” I say, the same way she tells me when I get scared of the world. Glancing over the nearby flowers, I spot a snowdrop- hope- and gingerly pick it for her. I may not remember much in school, but the flower meanings seem important, and I know they are for Rosie, too.
She takes a deep breath when she sees the flower. “Okay. I’ll tell her.”
—
I don’t know what Rosie told our teacher- I waited outside the room while they talked, listening to the other kids shouting excitedly during the rest of recess. She came out teary-eyed, and that scared me. I gave her a hug. When I asked the teacher if everything was okay, she just assured me that it would be eventually.
Now, I haven’t seen my best friend in a whole week, and the only explanation I’ve gotten is that she was sent away to go somewhere safer.
That’s what the teacher told me, anyways. When I walked by her house, her parents had put a bunch of flowers in her window, like everyone does when someone goes away. They were ugly flowers. Tansy, asphodel, hellebore, nightshade- I thought I was reading my notes wrong when I checked the meanings.
I wasn’t, though. Everything about those flowers told me Rosie’s parents must be awful to think of her like that.
But I never knew how bad it was until it was too late. I thought everything was fine, until suddenly it wasn’t, and my best friend was taken away. Even her parents still seem nice- they have tea with my parents sometimes, and they’re always talking and laughing just how they used to.
I don’t understand.
—
Dear diary:
I think something’s wrong with me. I can’t stop thinking about Rosie disappearing. Everyone keeps telling me to stop thinking about it so much. They tell me to stop thinking about EVERYTHING too much. I keep getting stuck in my head and then I don’t do chores and everything like I’m supposed to. I even got to school late one day because I couldn’t stop thinking.
What happened? What if it happens to me? What if it’s already happening?
Is Rosie okay? Why aren’t her parents sad that she’s gone? Why did they pick mean flowers?
Maybe something’s wrong with my parents, too. They didn’t believe me when I said I get stuck. They think I’m lying to be lazy. I think they’re wrong, but they aren’t supposed to be wrong. They also aren’t supposed to get so mad and yell so much it makes me cry all the time.
I told the teacher, and that was scary too, because I thought maybe she was the mean one all along and she’s the one who took Rosie. Maybe I was right, because now I’m being sent away too.
I’m supposed to be packing, but I’m scared. I don’t even know where I’m going, just that my teacher’s taking me there and the train leaves tomorrow morning. This is the first time my parents have seemed happy about something in days, and that’s scary too. I always thought parents were sad when their kids went away. What happened?
After I said everything, my teacher gave me this journal so I could write what I’m thinking about. She said maybe it will help me get unstuck. I’m not so sure.
—
The building towers over me, gigantic and fancy-looking. A whole garden is planted along the sides of the house, but only two of the plants stick out to me.
Snowdrops and rosemary. Hope and revival, and Rosie’s real name.
I hold my teacher’s hand tight as we walk up to the door, dragging my suitcase along in the other- but I stop when I see the butterflies. There’s loads of them here, sparkling in the sun, not just the rare few that me and Rosie used to watch together.
I can feel the thoughts racing up, about to trap me. I try taking a deep breath, right as my teacher knocks on the big front door.
A woman opens it. She looks just like my teacher, but a little taller. “Leah, good to see you!” she says with a smile- even their voices sound similar. “I see you’ve come with another student.”
“I have. This is Sorrel- and Sorrel, this is my sister Alison. She’s the teacher at this school, and she’s going to help you just like the other students here. Just like we talked about on the train ride, remember?”
I nod, then look up at Alison. “Do you know how to get me unstuck?”
“A have a few tricks that could help,” she responds, with the same cheerful yet serious tone she used while talking to my teacher. I like that- she doesn’t change how she acts to kids, the way so many other grown ups do. For once, it’s a thought that makes me feel a little less scared.
“Do you want me to come with you for a few minutes, or would you rather just go in with Allison?” my teacher asks.
A few minutes ago, I would’ve wanted her to stay close by, but I’m starting to feel a little braver. “I can go with Alison,” I decide.
“Very well.” My teacher steps back with a bittersweet expression. “Take care, both of you.”
I follow Alison inside. “So, Sorrel, what’s something you’re really interested in?” she asks. This seems like the sort of question grown ups use to pretend they like kids, but she sounds really genuine.
“Flowers,” I immediately answer. “I like how they mean different things, like a message. I… don’t like the scary messages though.”
“I like flowers a lot too! One of our school projects is taking care of a garden together,” Alison responds. “If you’d like, you can leave your suitcase here and I can show you around. Or I can show you up to your room, if you want some time to get used to it.”
I’m setting down my suitcase before she’s finished talking. I may trust Alison, but the rest of the big, fancy building still makes me nervous. “Can we go to the garden?”
“Of course.”
We take a path through the flowers in the front of the building, then turn a corner around the side of the building to an even bigger garden with rows and rows of different flowers. “Sometimes we use them to make messages,” Alison tells me. “What flower messages have you seen?”
“The ones in books, mostly. In my town everyone puts them out after someone goes away, so people can tell what happened without making each other sad from talking about it. I don’t like the flowers my parents got,” I add, finally voicing the one thing I’ve been trying hardest not to think about.
Alison doesn’t stop me, though. “What were they?”
“Asphodel and nightshade, like when my friend left, but with meadowsweet too. They think I’m useless or something.” I scuff my shoe into the gravel path. “They regret that I was theirs. Just because I keep getting stuck in my thoughts.”
“Well that’s not very nice of them!” Alison exclaims, matching my frustration before going back to calm. “Do you want to talk about the thoughts you were stuck in? It’s okay if you don’t, but maybe it can be a clue to help you get unstuck.”
As she says that, we walk into a row where more rosemary is planted. I take a deep breath. “It’s ‘cause my friend disappeared,” I explain quietly. “I think her parents got mixed up like mine did. She got sent away, and I keep thinking about it, and if that would happen to me. Now it did, and I still keep thinking too much.”
“I see,” Alison said with a thoughtful hum. “That doesn’t sound like nightshade or meadowsweet to me.”
“Then what does it sound like?”
“Zinnias, for sure.” She points out a patch of them, even though I already know which flowers those are. “Marigold, too… and maybe these.” Alison lightly touches a bright magenta flower hanging from a bushy plant beside us.
“Fuschia?” I ask. “What do does mean?”
“One of the meanings is anxiety- which is a word that can mean getting stuck in your thoughts, especially worried thoughts. We can talk more about that later, if you want to.” She pauses for a second, looking towards the back of the building, where the flower gardens switch to vegetables. “Some of the other students are out here to water the plants- would you like to go see that?”
“Sure.”
A different grown up is watching the group of girls disperse- they all look about my age, all carrying around a watering can. When she greets Alison, one of the girls turns around to see what’s going on, and then I realize how familiar she looks.
She takes a few steps towards us, then runs. “Sorrel?”
“Rosie!” The moment I hear my best friend’s voice, I run to meet her, and we pull each other into a hug. Hope and relief floods through me, and as we’re standing there together, I begin to think that things might turn out okay after all.
Even though my vision is blurring with tears, I see the snowdrop tucked into her hair.

Daily for July 2: prompt was to pick a set of 5 random words that another camper posted in the main cabin, and mine were circumference, intensity, flabbergast, yonder, and cursed.
505 words.

—

“That’s incredible!” my sister exclaims, leaning closer to her laptop’s screen. “Look at the size of that storm- the circumference covers the entire state! How awesome is that?”
Lightning strikes somewhere in the distance, flashing through our kitchen and bringing an ominous roll of thunder. I, for one, don’t think constantly being in catastrophic storms is cool, but I don’t have much to do other than sit here and wait for our parents to get home.
One earbud in so she can listen to the weather report, she laughs, and I stop staring out the window for a second to see that the video’s switched to someone standing outside, talking into a microphone and getting completely soaked by rain. “He’s so flabbergasted,” my sister explains, still grinning. “This guy must be new. He definitely hasn’t seen a storm like this.”
“Are you seriously not bothered by this?” I ask, looking out the window again to our driveway. I wish I could see our parents’ work building from here, so I could look at their cars in the parking lot and the hopefully undamaged building instead of drowning in worst-case scenarios.
“Pfft, bothered by this storm? This doesn’t have nearly the intensity of the tornado at the last house.”
We weren’t all alone during the tornado, though. I bite my lip anxiously, thinking of the torn-off roofs, the houses barely standing, people’s belongings strewn all over the streets.
My sister bursts out laughing again. “Apparently he saw lightning strike over yonder,” she tells me, half-laughing as she speaks. “He’s definitely not from here.”
The weather report changes to a graphic representing the storm from above, with bright yellow, orange, and red swirling over the map. Our town is in the middle of the red. I tear my eyes away from the screen and remind myself to keep breathing.
How are we supposed to make it out of this one? my thoughts cry anxiously. Two houses destroyed in crazy weather, who’s to say there won’t be a third? Then we’d have to move again and change schools again and I wouldn’t see half my friends ever again.
My hand goes to my pocket as I think of them, instinctively wanting to text and ask if they’re doing okay, before I remember the cell service is out, because of the storm.
I glance back at my sister, who has an amused expression on her face. Life-changing (and life-ending) storms aren’t anything scary to her, since she’s studied everything she can about them and wants to become a meteorologist. Whenever I walk about how dangerous these things are and how ridiculously often it messes with our lives specifically, she waves it off and calls me a conspiracy theorist.
From my perspective, though? I’ve never heard of someone’s house being destroyed by a storm so many times, and I definitely haven’t heard of a family somehow managing to live right in the path of every record-breaking storm in the past five years.
She says it’s cool. I say we’re cursed.

Daily for July 3: Truth or Dare: “I dare you to set a ten minute timer and spend those two minutes writing about the pros and cons of fruit or any random item.”
Total was 449 words.

—

Pros:
-Sometimes it tastes good.
-People can use them to make recipes that taste good.
-It can be bright and colorful.
-People make cool paintings of fruit, which you can then copy in art class. This is much better than copying questionable statues that also can be seen in art class.
-They can ALSO be used in art class for painting, but this time, you’re slicing the fruit up and using it as a stamp instead of using paint to make the paper look like the fruit.
-You can grow a fruit tree or a fruit bush or a fruit vine in your garden (or in your house if you’re into that sort of thing).
-Smoothies.
-Sometimes it’s in ice cream, which people sometimes like. I would put this in cons because lots of people also dont like it, but no one is forcing them to eat this weird invention, so it makes more sense to put it in pros for the people that do like it.
-It can help keep people and animals alive through the power of EATING IT!
Cons:
-Sometimes it tastes bad.
-It doesn’t last forever. If you eat a fruit that tastes good, there has to be a last bite, and then it’s gone forever.
-It might even just get rotten from mold or something. That’s not cool. Why can’t the mold eat stuff that tastes bad, instead? Actually, some fruit tastes bad, and I’m fine with mold eating that. Maybe this point isn’t very useful.
-Other creatures enjoy fruit too. This is normally a good thing, but it turns into a con when said creatures start invading your house and eating all your fruit before you can get to it.
-Growing fruit trees or bushes or vines can be hard. Creatures also like to eat those, before the fruit even gets a chance to exist.
-There are probably poisonous fruits, like those suspicious berries in the bush behind your house that your parents told you to never ever eat even though they look delicious.
-Depending on who you ask, fruit may be the cause of every bad and evil thing in the whole world in all of human history.
-The things that are and aren’t called fruits is confusing.
-What is a fruit, anyways? I could go research this and tell you, but the ten minute timer isn’t up yet, and I have to keep writing the pros and cons of fruit until then. I think using said time for research would kinda be cheating. Going on long tangents like this definitely isn’t, nope, this is definitely a valid and useful con to consider if you’re contemplating the choice of trying fruit or not.

Daily for July 4: Write a fanfic of one of your favorite moments in a piece of media, but with two bizarro fiction twists that other campers posted in the main cabin. The prompts I chose were plants being able to talk and the main character being able to feel others emotions while touching them.
I probably should've leaned into the twists a little more with this one, but I love this scene so much already- I couldn't bring myself to alter the plot much. This is my version of the scene in Wings of Fire Book 10 (Darkness of Dragons) where Qibli finds Moon in the old Nightwing library- and it's my favorite scene in my favorite book, which I've reread over and over. Now I'm not someone who gets crushes on fictional characters, but Qibli comes pretty darn close.
Enough rambling though, let's get to the actual writing.

Total is 556 words.
—

Qibli circled over the giant, ancient building. Even from the sky, he could hear complaining from the overgrown vines- he didn't blame them, with how grim the place looked. Maybe once the whole Darkstalker business was resolved, they could get the Rainwings to bring in more plants to liven things up- although they might not want to help the dragons that abandoned them for an overpowered, brainwashing king.
Landing on the slightly-damaged paved path, dozens of little plant voices overlapped each other. Qibli sighed, shooting them a glare. He'd always heard about how annoying plants could get, but he was used to the quiet of the desert, and it was hard to think with so many brainless voices chattering nonsense at each other.
How was he supposed to find Moon when he could barely decide where to start? Did the plants affect her mind reading? Was she okay, with how much Darkstalker had probably enchanted her?
Qibli stepped into the palace, trying to find a place quiet enough to think, and he quickly found it. He also found walls full of scrolls- a gigantic library.
And to his immense luck, he'd also found Moon.
She was right there, all kind eyes and sparkling scales, humming softly as she moved from one shelf to the next.
Her expression was calm, relaxed, but he knew she was good at hiding the worry. In every moment he'd hugged her, or brushed their wings together, or lightly tapped her claw to get her attention, he'd felt it. The sweetest dragon in the world, but she was constantly worried about her future visions, and that, in turn, made Qibli worry about her.
Maybe he should tell her about that someday- the more life experience Qibli had, the more he thought telling others emotions when touching them wasn't quite normal.
Qibli started tapping his claws on the stone floor to the rhythm of Moons song. A few small plants that were growing in the cracks in the ground stopped their complaining, soothed by the music- thank goodness. Stupid taking plants didn't need to mess up this moment.
Moon leaned against him, and he wrapped his wings around her. Qibli felt the emotions beneath her scales- some calm, a lot of worry, but most of all, a flood of happiness, warm and bright like his desert sun. It was practically enough to melt him.
Qibli could've stayed in that moment forever, treasuring that feeling- that he was worth something, that he was cared about, that he was enough to make Moon so happy.
Maybe it was okay if Winter was the better dragon, just as long as Qibli would still be able to make her happy.
The moment didn't last forever, of course. A shrill cry came from outside- probably some wilting fern. “Sounds like someone's getting grouchy,” Qibli commented.
“Should we investigate?” Moon asked with a smile, brushing her wing against his as he stepped towards the door.
“We'd better, or that thing might terrorize the whole Nightwing tribe.”
The little gold earring sat untouched in Qiblis pouch, weighing in the back of his mind. He still had to have that talk with Moon and make sure she had protection… but she seemed herself for now, and he didn't want to turn down a moment where they could both be so lighthearted.

Daily for July 5th: Take the first object you see to your left and write about it being in a smoothie. What would it look like and taste like, and what powers would it give you? The object to my left was a small pencil holder I crafted using pine needles, thread, and this soft rope-ish stuff used normally for macrame.

Total is 246 words.

—

This smoothie would not look super appetizing. Bits of thread and dried pine needles would be scattered throughout an otherwise normal-looking strawberry banana smoothie (since those are the only kind I’ve ever made or tried eating.) A faint hint of forest may come through in the scent, and the tannins slowly leaking out from the pine needles eventually would begin to stain it brown. As for taste? The pine needles would probably scratch on their way down, though the threads would (luckily) be pretty unobtrusive. Again, a hint of forest comes through in the taste- somewhat tealike, as if the smells of pine and dirt and streams were all rolled into one and turned into flavor. Not the most pleasant experience, because the taste of nature makes the rest seem like it’s gone slightly bad, but the powers are worth it. After a few minutes, you’re able to see how various bits of nature could fit together into something new- leaves and sticks and pebbles all becoming supplies for carefully-crafted artwork. You’re always able to find just the right thing when you need it, whether it be a certain shape of rock or a bundle of pine needles without any spots of rot. Putting the pieces together suddenly is a breeze, your hands working almost by instinct as you fit them together. What you end up creating depends on the day, and on you- but whatever it is, you have exactly the right supplies and motivation.

Bidaily for July 6th/7th: songwriting! I originally posted this in its own Scratch project here: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/872575806/
This song is titled Bloom, and is essentially about someone who metaphorically lived in darkness, thinking the world was an awful place, before suddenly realizing that assumption is wrong and that they were surrounded by friends all along.

Total is 314 words.

—

you got lost in your own shadow and went looking for the light
time to rewrite your assumptions, time to find out what is right.
you hear the song of birds outside, see the grass outside your door
but you still can’t shake that feeling that there’s more you’re looking for.

Never thought you’d find a friend so soon, while sweating in this sun
but if you look a little closer, now you’ll find more than one.
Loyalty and love were always real, and now you know
It’s time to leave that pain behind, leave so you can grow.

Feel the sun in the air now
feel the wind on your skin
Find the ones that stayed beside you
let your heart bloom from within.

The wildflowers always come back, big or small, that you can trust.
release your fears like thieving fledgelings, say there’s no room in the nest.
Other birds come by to forage, help that frantic mess degrade
Until new homes for friendly creatures are the one thing that remain.

Just slow down again, and you’ll remember then
of all the light that’s in the world when you look close-

Feel the sun in the air now
feel the wind on your skin
Find the friends that stayed beside you
let your heart bloom from within.

if you open your eyes, they’re right here in front of you.
forget your old lies, they’ve never been help to you.
no need to hide, we’re all waiting to welcome you.
step into the light, and see there is a place for you!

Feel the sun in the air now
feel the wind on your skin
Find the friends that stayed beside you
let your light shine from within.
For so long you walked in darkness
feared rejection for your mistakes
Now you’ve moved out to the meadows
and you’re blooming in the light.

Daily for July 9th: The prompt was to write 1200 words about your character's sleep habits, and to remove 100 words for each hour you slept the night before. I think I slept like 7.5 hours so my goal was to hit 450 words, but then I wanted to finish out the whole group so I just went for it lol.
Note: All of the characters I’m about to describe are rebels actively on the run. Take that as you will.

Total is 560 words.

—

-Caroline is a teenage girl who grew up in the city, basically isolated from anyone but her parents. In other words, time has never been an urgent thing to her, and as her parents didn’t care enough to set a strict sleep schedule, you can bet she’s getting a solid 8 or 9 hours every night. Now that she’s not in the comforts of her sad little house, however, it takes a while for her to actually fall asleep, and she’s usually pretty sore since she’s not used to conditions harsher than a marshmallow. In the morning, she cannot be convinced to get up by anyone other than herself.
-Lark is around the same age as Caroline, but unlike her, he grew up with the rebels. He’s used to all the danger and urgency of everything, and on top of that, he’s sensitive to little things like sudden noises or changes in light. He might stay asleep for a few hours in the middle of the night, but since he’s woken up so easily he tends to just take naps more often if he needs to. There is an advantage to waking up so easily, though. He hates the feeling of being woken up by someone else telling him to, but since the birds around them start making noises before sunrise, he’s always able to wake up before anyone else can startle him much.
-If Caroline and Lark are in their older teens, than Aster is solidly a younger adult. She’s like an older sister to Lark, but the youngest sister out of this particular group of rebels. During the less intense times, she stays out late to hang out with friends, and it takes a bit of convincing to get her out of bed in the morning at a reasonable time. When out doing missions and the like, she takes it seriously enough to go to bed when the others do (even if she does complain about it a bit.)
-Holly is the one who acts most like a parent out of the group (probably because she and Citrine sort of fill that role for both Aster and Lark). She’s similar to Lark in that she gets woken up easily, but for Holly it’s more because she’s super anxious about the group getting attacked while they’re all asleep. For this same reason, she refuses to take naps during the day in case something bad happens, so she’s perpetually running on whatever little sleep she manages overnight.
-Citrine is the oldest and most experienced of the group, and more or less is the leader. She’s also the best at keeping the peace within a rather chaotic group, meaning she’s the one who convinces Holly that everything’s going to be fine if she falls asleep in the first place, and she’s the one who makes sure Aster actually gets in bed on time (she doesn’t have to do this for Caroline and Lark, who like sleeping anyways). Once she’s in her bed though? Citrine is dead to the world. She is sleeping soundly until exactly 6:30 in the morning, and there is nothing you can do to stop her. No one knows how this will play out if there’s an emergency or something, but Citrine always assures them that if something’s really wrong she’ll be able to tell and wake up.

Daily for July 16: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/875107853/

Not a daily, just posting here because why not: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/873481303/


this is a short story based on a book concept I'm working on.
This is a story about dance, friendship, and social anxiety (so basically my life irl lol)

length: 1267 words. writing is below!

I take a deep breath of the cool fall air as I step onto the sidewalk, letting the door to my parents’ small music school close behind me. Out of habit, I hook my fingers around my backpack straps, then look up at my bedroom window- above and to the left of the front door- to double check that I didn’t forget anything. Ballet shoes, leotard, tights- I remember putting each in my backpack before closing the curtains, so I don't have a reason to stall here any longer.
My heart speeds up with anxiety as I start walking, despite the comfortingly familiar environment around me. I’ve gone to dance classes on my own for years now, since we live so close, and ballet is the calmest, least stressful class I’m in.
The scary thing today is that I’m about to find out if I’m ready for pointe shoes or not. Either my past year of hard work has paid off and I’m ready for the next challenge, or I’m going to have my soul crushed and just be told, again, that I’m not strong enough.
My nails start to dig into my palms with how hard I’m gripping my backpack straps, so I stop for a second to breathe, looking ahead at the wind blowing through bright red and yellow leaves in the distance. I try to focus on anything but my racing thoughts- the earthy smell of the morning’s rainstorm, the water still dripping from leaky gutters, the occasional fluttering sound of birds overhead.
Turning the corner on the sidewalk, the little hanging sign comes into view: Rosedale School of Dance. A windchime dangles beside it, clinking brightly. I take another deep breath, swallowing the lump in my throat. If I don’t go in soon, I’m going to be late, and that would only add to the pile of things stressing me out… but I still hesitate for a seconds before I can bring myself to open the door.
I move straight past the circle of chattering 8 year olds and their moms, pausing for just a second to see what the girls my age are talking about while they wait for class. I quickly catch the word “school” and move on, ducking into the bathroom, where I give a long sigh of relief as I get out my ballet clothes to change into.
The internet calls it social anxiety. My mom says I’m just shy and introverted, and that if I wasn’t homeschooled none of this would be scary. Whatever the label is, getting a minute alone in the bathroom to change is a relief. While I’m there, pulling on my tights and leotard, I can still hear the conversations happening in the lobby- so I can get a feel for what’s going on without actually being in there. Once I’m ready for class, I take a deep breath and open the door again.
There’s a bunch of shelves along one wall to put bags and such on. I push my backpack into the corner of one before sitting on the ground beside it, hugging my knees to my chest to take up as little room as possible. Part of me wishes I could join the conversation with the other kids in my class, but I know they don’t really want the awkward, quiet kid hanging around.
Counting up each person in the group, all but one person are here for ballet today. No one wants to miss such a crucial day. As I’m counting, I hear the door open again, and across the room I see the last girl in my class sit against a wall- Emily. I smile and give her a little wave, which she returns. We’ve barely spoken at all, but I feel like we have a sort of silent alliance, since we both tend to stick to ourselves instead of the rest of the group.
The door to one of the studios opens. “Level 4 ballet, you can come on in,” calls Ms Jane, before stepping back into the room. I quickly stand up to follow her, bringing my water bottle in with me and setting it against a wall. The others keep talking as they come in, but Emily stands by me, and at some silent cue- I still don’t know what it is- we start moving the ballet bars together from the back of the room out onto the floor.
So far, everything’s happening exactly how it happens every week, which is a relief. The other girls see us moving our bar and do their part in moving the others, and we all take our usual spots once they’re in place. It’s almost like everything’s actually normal, and we aren’t all about to get some terrifyingly life changing news.
Not really life changing, I remind myself, trying to stay relatively calm. If I didn’t make it into pointe, I’d just have to ask again next semester.
Suddenly, the music starts playing, and Ms Jane switches it from song to song until it lands on the right one. It easily pulls me out of the anxious thoughts and makes me grin, which quickly becomes quiet giggles from everyone in the room. You’d think we're all old enough to be serious about this, but nope- piano music shuffling from slow, somber songs to fast and chaotic ones and landing on a calm warmup track is just as hilarious as it was when we were little.
Still, as Ms Jane starts telling us the first combination, it’s a bit hard to focus. I do my best to shut out my thoughts and just take in what’s happening around me, like I did outside, but it’s a lot harder when the room I’m in and the people I’m with are constant reminders of what’s to come.
Realizing I’m shaking, I lean on the bar and take a deep breath.
“Kaitlyn, you okay?” someone asks quietly. I immediately feel a spike of nervousness just from hearing my name, because that means I have to actually respond- but it’s just Lily. She's always in a spot near me and Emily, and might be the nicest human being in the world.
“I will be,” I respond quietly, more or less avoiding the question.
“Nervous for hearing about pointe?”
I just nod, looking down at the floor.
Lily hums understandingly. “I was really nervous too. You two have been working so hard though, I know you’ll make it!”
Hearing those words makes me feel a little braver. Lily started pointe class last semester- we’re the same age, but she started ballet a year before I did. She’s always so positive and upbeat, I would’ve never guessed she got nervous for anything.
I smile, and when I look up again, Emily is too. That’s another good thing- if we both make it, like Lily thinks we will, then we’d all stay in the same classes together. Somehow, even though I feel like I don’t know them that well, I don’t want this little group to be separated.
Maybe if we all stay together, I’ll get less nervous about talking and everything, and I’ll finally be able to say that I have friends.
Ms Jane starts the music again, and I push that thought away. It’s pretty unlikely anyways- no point in hoping for something when I don’t know if it’s even possible yet. The first combination begins, and I let my mind slip into that state of matching movements to music, anxiety slipping away momentarily.
Whatever happens, as long as I have dance, I think I’ll be okay.

Bidaily for July 18/19:claim someone else's picture, and write a 400 word analysis, story, or poem about whatever the image depicts.

total is 415 words.


based on this project: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/875918426/

The museum guide walked up to the next large framed photograph: a fairly close up image with two dark gray slippers with star patterns next to a simple analog watch, with a bottle of glitter nail polish and an intricate crystal hair pin in front of them. The whole thing is set up on a plain, flat backdrop of some kind. “This next piece may appear to be just ordinary objects, but they are full of meaning,” the guide says, before launching into a speech about the meanings of each object, the combinations between them, and the piece as a whole.
I did my best to take notes on everything, but she was talking so fast and in so much detail that I probably didn’t catch everything. Here area few of the notes I did manage, as well as some of my own thoughts.
First of all, we have the connections between objects. All but the watch could point towards simply relaxing- wearing soft slippers, painting nails, and fancy hair things all have spa day vibes. The clock standing out so much could affect that meaning in multiple ways. Maybe it’s simply saying “time to relax!” or representing the literal time that something happened at. It could stand as a representation that time is moving quickly, and to enjoy it while we can- or a reminder that even if we are having fun, time still moves forwards.
Another observation is that every object- except, again, the watch- has a sparkling, starry sort of element to it. Given that the starry slippers are the largest element in this photo, the stars may have an important meaning, as well as the star-like glitter in the nail polish. In the time we live in, many highly populated cities give off so much light that the stars are diminished or not visible. Seeing the stars represented so highly in everyday objects could show that people still yearn to see the skies in their full glory, and the watch could well mean that we have a limited time for this.
For a more specific detail, the hairpin stands out as by far the most colorful object in the arrangement. The rest are all in black, white, and silver, but the hairpin is gold with a light purple crystal on the end. Crystals are heavily associated with magic, so the owner of these objects may be someone interested in magic. They could also just be a kid who likes sparkly things.

Also, a link to my project with my photo: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/875927965/

July 20: Not a daily, just proof for a word war! thinking I might turn this concept into the weekly or something though.

Total was 565 words after 10 minutes.
—
I never thought that answering “yes” to someone asking to be friends would go so, so wrong.
It started with a few mix-ups in class. It was my first week at a new school, and I was in a writing class with nine other kids who I’d never met before in my life. I studied a ton before I came, so I’d know what was happening in class- so when it was time to answer questions, I always raised my hand.
Another girl also always raised her hand, and when the teacher called my name, she started talking. I immediately froze up, looking down at my pencils in confusion. Why would someone just interrupt me like that? Isn’t that rude?
It happened a few more times before class was over, and I couldn’t feel more awkward about it.
The next week, it happened again- just once, though, before the teacher started pointing to which one of us she meant. Because we’re both apparently named Lily, and that’s why there was so much confusion. It was a relief to know there was an actual reason for the interruption, but I still started answering questions less, feeling nervous every time that there would be another awkward mix-up.
At lunch a little while after that, I overheard her talking about one of my favorite books with another kid I share some classes with- Emma. She and I were more or less friends, I guess, so I moved over to join the conversation.
As soon as the other Lily knew we both liked those books, she was stuck to me like glue. It felt pretty weird, since I still didn’t know her, but I couldn’t just ask her to stop. It felt mean, so I let her keep sticking by me and ordering me around.
If she had some kind of rivalry with other kids, she’d dramatically run away from them during lunch- and she’d drag me with her into whatever classrooms were left unlocked, or even hide in the bathroom. If I protested even slightly, she’s act all offended- if I was really her friend, I’d stay with her and be on her side!
I didn’t have much experience having friends, if you couldn’t tell.
All of this led up to the day of the science fair, months later. I walked into school anxiously clutching the straps of my backpack, head down as I made my way into the cafeteria. We were supposed to set up our projects in there before classes started, and I was praying that, somehow, I wouldn’t run into the other Lily. Just a few moment’s peace would be a blessing.
I barely made it to the tables before I felt her behind me- standing too close, talking too loud, being too pushy, as usual.
“That’s a pretty cool project, I guess,” she said, though her tone of voice disagreed. “You can get second or third or something. The rest of these are all stupid. Mine should win first, don’t you think?”
I kept my mouth shut as I finished setting up my board, placing a few extra pictures that didn’t fit in front of it. The moment I turned around, she grabbed my hand and pulled me to another table. “Mine’s right over here,” she announced, gesturing grandly at her board. It was extremely neat, every piece of paper or photograph aligned perfectly.
—

Daily for July 20: Write 300 words about a constellation. (speedran this one in 5 minutes babyy shoulda used this for a word war)

total is 493 words.

I hold my little brother’s hand steady as he ladles our experimental soup into two bowls, then grin as we high five. “Can we eat it outside?” he asks, handing me one of the bowls. He’s so adorably excited about the whole thing- how can I say no to that?
I follow him outside into our backyard, which is already shrouded in darkness. The sun set ages ago- the only reason we can be out here so late is because our parents left me in charge for the night while they went on a date. Normally, they’d insist on us staying inside.
Orion just loves the stars too much for me to refuse, though. How could he not, when he’s named after a constellation? I follow him right past the picnic table and a few feet into the tall prairie grass, where he finally sits down.
“Are you sure about sitting here?” I ask, standing beside him. “There might be snakes.”
He gives me a look like I’m joking around. “The snakes are all asleep!” he exclaims, patting the ground beside him. I reluctantly sit down, thankful that I put on jeans instead of shorts this morning.
Orion holds the bowl of soup up to his face and dramatically sniffs it before taking a spoonful. “Tell me the stories from the stars,” he says, mouth half full- I don’t have any clue how he manages to stay so clean when he eats like this.
“Which stars?” I ask.
“Those ones.” He points at the sky, and I realize immediately that there’s no way I’ll be able to tell which ones he’s pointing to. Instead of trying to figure it out, I just start making something up.
“Well, there’s the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper,” I begin. “In ancient times, people thought they looked like bears, but to me they look like giant spoons. Like what you ladled our soup with.”
Orion grins at the mention of the soup, and stares up at the stars. Whether that was the constellation he was thinking of or not, he’s clearly fine with it.
“The person who made the first spoon really liked soup,” I continue, trying to think of an easy story. “That’s why they made spoons- they were tired of drinking out of bowls when that was so messy, and needed an easier way to feed the little kids. The soup that guy made was so amazing that the spoons turned into stars, and flew up into the sky so all the people could see the spoons.”
Orion squints at his spoon. “I bet our soup’s better,” he decides. “Will ours make stars?”
I shrug, trying not to laugh too much at what’s clearly a serious question for him. “There’s already spoons in the stars, I don’t think there’s room for any more.”
This answer is apparently good enough for him, and he finally quiets down, allowing us both to finish eating our soup.

July 21: Not a daily, but edited the ballet story after a few critiques!

Total is now 1294 words.

I step onto the sidewalk and take a deep breath, hearing the door to my parents’ small music school click shut behind me. The thought hits me that I'm probably forgetting something- just like it always does. Everything I need is already packed in my backpack, but I still glance back at my bedroom window one more time. These first few steps are always the hardest- the polar opposite of the ballet class I'm going to, where a gentle warmup comes before the challenge.
Eventually, I tear my gaze away from the building. My heart speeds up with anxiety as I start walking, despite the comfortingly familiar environment around me. I’ve gone to dance classes on my own for years now, since we live so close, and ballet is the calmest, least stressful class I’m in.
The scary thing today is that I’m about to find out if I’m ready for pointe shoes or not. Either my past year of hard work has paid off and I’m ready for the next challenge, or I’m going to have my soul crushed and just be told, again, that I’m not strong enough.
My nails start to dig into my palms with how hard I’m gripping my backpack straps, so I stop for a second to breathe, looking ahead at the wind blowing through bright red and yellow leaves in the distance. I try to focus on anything but my racing thoughts- the earthy smell of the morning’s rainstorm, the water still dripping from rusty gutters, the occasional fluttering of birds overhead.
Turning the corner on the sidewalk, the little hanging sign comes into view: Rosedale School of Dance. A windchime dangles beside it, clinking brightly. I take another deep breath, swallowing the lump in my throat. If I don’t go in soon, I’m going to be late, and that would only add to the pile of things stressing me out… but I still hesitate for a few seconds before I can bring myself to open the door.
I move straight past the circle of chattering 8 year olds and their moms, pausing for just a second to see what the girls my age are talking about while they wait for class. I quickly catch the word “school” and move on, ducking into the bathroom, where I give a long sigh of relief as I get out my leotard and tights to change into.
The internet calls it social anxiety. My mom says I’m just shy and introverted, and that if I wasn’t homeschooled none of this would be scary. Whatever the label is, getting a minute alone in the bathroom to change is a relief. While I’m there, pulling on my tights and leotard, I can still hear the conversations happening in the lobby- so I can get a feel for what’s going on without actually being in there. Once I’m ready for class, I take a deep breath and open the door again.
There are a row of empty bookshelves along one wall, holding kids bags and left-behind dance shoes. I push my backpack into the corner of one before sitting on the ground beside it, hugging my knees to my chest to take up as little room as possible. Part of me wishes I could join the conversation with the other girls in my class, but I know they don’t really want the awkward, quiet kid hanging around.
Counting up each person in the group, all but one of us are here for ballet today. No one wants to miss such a crucial day. As I’m counting, I hear the door open again, and across the room I see the last girl in my class sit against a wall- Emily. I smile and give her a little wave, which she returns. We’ve barely spoken at all, but I feel like we have a sort of silent alliance, since we both tend to stick to ourselves instead of the rest of the group.
The door to one of the studios opens. “Level 4 ballet, you can come on in,” calls Ms Jane, before stepping back into the room. I quickly stand up to follow her, bringing my water bottle in with me and setting it against a wall. The others keep talking as they come in, but Emily stands by me, and at some silent cue between us we start moving the ballet bars together from the back of the room out onto the floor.
The familiar routine here is always comforting, like following a memorized script or choreography. The other girls carry out two more bars, and we all take our usual spots, a few quiet conversations still going while Ms Jane sets up the music. It’s almost like everything’s actually normal, and we aren’t all about to get some terrifyingly life changing news.
Not really life changing, I remind myself, trying to stay relatively calm. If I didn’t make it into pointe, I’ll just have to try again next semester, after everyone else knows each other really well, when they won’t want another person to mess up the whole dynamic-
Suddenly, the music starts playing, and Ms Jane switches it from song to song until it lands on the right one. It easily pulls me out of the anxious thoughts, and makes me grin along with the quiet giggles from everyone in the room. You’d think we're all old enough to be serious about this, but nope- piano music shuffling from slow, somber songs to fast and chaotic ones before landing on a calm warmup track is just as hilarious as it was when we were little.
Still, as Ms Jane starts telling us the first combination, it’s a bit hard to focus. I do my best to shut out my thoughts and just take in what’s happening around me, like I did outside… but it’s a lot harder when the room I’m in and the people I’m with are constant reminders of what’s to come.
Shaking, I lean on the bar and take a deep breath.
“Kaitlyn, you okay?” someone asks quietly. I immediately feel a spike of nervousness from hearing my name, because that means I have to think of a good response- but it’s just Lily. She's always in a spot near me and Emily, and might be the nicest human being in the world.
“I will be,” I respond quietly, more or less avoiding the question.
“Nervous for hearing about pointe?”
I just nod, looking down at the floor.
Lily hums understandingly. “I was really nervous too. You two have been working so hard though, I know you’ll make it!”
Hearing those words makes me feel a little braver. Lily started pointe class last semester- we’re the same age, but she started ballet a year before I did. She’s always so positive and upbeat, I would’ve never guessed she got nervous for anything.
I smile, and when I look up again, Emily is too. That’s another good thing- if we both make it, like Lily thinks we will, then we’d all stay in the same classes together. Somehow, even though I feel like I don’t know them that well, I don’t want this little group to be separated.
Maybe if we all stay together, I’ll get less nervous about talking and everything, and I’ll finally be able to say that I have friends.
Ms Jane starts the music again, and I push that thought away. It’s pretty unlikely anyways- no point in hoping for something when I don’t know if it’s even possible yet. The first combination begins, and I let my mind slip into that state of matching movements to music, anxiety slipping away momentarily.
Whatever happens, as long as I have dance, I think I’ll be okay.

July 24: final edit of my writing competition entry!

—–

I take a deep breath as I step onto the sidewalk and hear the door to my parents’ small music school click shut behind me. The thought hits me that I'm probably forgetting something- just like it always does. Everything I need is already packed in my backpack, but I still glance back at my bedroom window one more time. These first few steps are always the hardest- the polar opposite of the ballet class I'm going to, where a gentle warmup comes before the challenge.

Eventually, I tear my gaze away from the building. My heart speeds up with anxiety as I start walking, despite the comfortingly familiar environment around me. I’ve gone to dance classes on my own for years now, since we live so close, and ballet is the least stressful class I’m in.

The scary thing today is that I’m about to find out if I’m ready for pointe shoes or not. Either my past year of hard work has paid off and I’m ready for the next challenge, or I’m going to have my soul crushed and just be told, again, that I’m not strong enough.

My nails start to dig into my palms with how hard I’m gripping my backpack straps, so I stop for a second to breathe, looking ahead at the wind blowing through bright red and yellow leaves in the distance. I try to focus on anything but my racing thoughts- the earthy smell of the morning’s rainstorm, the water still dripping from rusty gutters, the occasional fluttering of birds overhead.

Turning the corner on the sidewalk, the little hanging sign comes into view: Rosedale School of Dance. A windchime dangles beside it, clinking brightly. I take another deep breath, swallowing the lump in my throat. If I don’t go in soon, I’m going to be late, and that would only add to the pile of things stressing me out… but I still hesitate for a few seconds before I can bring myself to open the door.

I move straight past the circle of chattering 8 year olds and their moms, pausing for just a second to see what the girls my age are talking about while they wait for class. I quickly catch the word “school” and move on, ducking into the bathroom, where I give a long sigh of relief as I get out my leotard and tights to change into.

The internet calls it social anxiety. My mom says I’m just shy and introverted, and that if I wasn’t homeschooled none of this would be scary. Whatever the label is, getting a minute alone in the bathroom to change is a relief. While I’m there, pulling on my tights and leotard, I can still hear the conversations happening in the lobby- so I can get a feel for what’s going on without actually being in there. Once I’m ready for class, I take a deep breath and open the door again.

There are a row of empty bookshelves along one wall, holding kids bags and left-behind dance shoes. I push my backpack into the corner of one before sitting on the ground beside it, hugging my knees to my chest to take up as little room as possible. Part of me wishes I could join the conversation with the other girls in my class, but I know they don’t really want the awkward, quiet kid hanging around.

Counting up each person in the group, all but one of us are here for ballet today. No one wants to miss such a crucial day. As I’m counting, I hear the door open again, and across the room I see the last girl in my class sit against a wall- Emily. I smile and give her a little wave, which she returns. We’ve barely spoken at all, but I feel like we have a sort of silent alliance, since we both tend to stick to ourselves instead of the rest of the group.

The door to one of the studios opens. “Level 4 ballet, you can come on in,” calls Ms Jane, before stepping back into the room. I quickly stand up to follow her, bringing my water bottle in with me and setting it against a wall. The others keep talking as they come in, but Emily stands by me, and at some silent cue between us we start moving the ballet bars together from the back of the room out onto the floor.

The familiar routine here is always comforting, like following a memorized script or choreography. The other girls carry out two more bars, and we all take our usual spots, a few quiet conversations still going while Ms Jane sets up the music. It’s almost like everything’s actually normal, and we aren’t all about to get some terrifyingly life changing news.

Not really life changing, I remind myself, trying to stay relatively calm. If I didn’t make it into pointe, I’ll just have to try again next semester, after everyone else knows each other really well, when they won’t want another person to mess up the whole dynamic-

Suddenly, the music starts playing, and Ms Jane switches it from song to song until it lands on the right one. It easily pulls me out of the anxious thoughts, and makes me grin along with the quiet giggles from everyone in the room. You’d think we're all old enough to be serious about this, but nope- piano music shuffling from slow, somber songs to fast and chaotic ones before landing on a calm warmup track is just as hilarious as it was when we were little.

Still, as Ms Jane starts telling us the first combination, it’s a bit hard to focus. I do my best to shut out my thoughts and just take in what’s happening around me, like I did outside… but it’s a lot harder when the room I’m in and the people I’m with are constant reminders of what’s to come.

Shaking, I lean on the bar and take a deep breath.

“Kaitlyn, you okay?” someone asks quietly. I immediately feel a spike of nervousness from hearing my name, because that means I have to think of a good response- but it’s just Lily. She's always in a spot near me and Emily, and might be the nicest human being in the world.

“I will be,” I respond quietly, more or less avoiding the question.

“Nervous to hear who made it into pointe?”

I just nod, looking down at the floor.

Lily hums understandingly. “I was really nervous too. You two have been working so hard though, I know you’ll make it!”

Hearing those words makes me feel a little braver. Lily started pointe class last semester- we’re the same age, but she started ballet a year before I did. She’s always so positive and upbeat, I would’ve never guessed she got nervous for anything.

I smile, and when I look up again, Emily is too. That’s another good thing- if we both make it, like Lily thinks we will, then we’d all stay in the same classes together. Somehow, even though I feel like I don’t know them that well, I don’t want this little group to be separated.

Maybe if we all stay together, I’ll get less nervous about talking and everything, and I’ll finally be able to say that I have friends.

Ms Jane starts the music again, and I push that thought away. It’s pretty unlikely anyways- no point in hoping for something when I don’t know if it’s even possible yet. The first combination begins, and I let my mind slip into that state of matching movements to music, anxiety slipping away momentarily.

Whatever happens, as long as I have dance, I think I’ll be okay.

—–

Title: Balance
(because social anxiety feels like balancing on the edge of messing up constantly while around people, and because balance is obviously pretty important in ballet <3)

1298 words total.

(editing to add this stuff just in case: not entered in junior, not fanfic)

DAILY FOR JULY 28 OR SOMETHING IM SPEEDRUNNING THIS AAAAA

Antagonist: The main character's inner thoughts.
Worldbuilding: Discuss the details of a fictional species.
Lesson: Be calm in a situation of distress
“I never meant for any of this to happen.”
turning point - something is badly broken and if we don't work together to fix it, we die


Dove stumbled through the forest, breath fast and panicked as she tried to stop thinking. Her dainty hooves skidded as she froze at the edge of a large river, butterfly wings held tight against her back to stop them from catching on anything. The young doe slowly caught her breath and relaxed slightly.

At least until that destructive voice in her head started talking again.

“You can’t stay here for long,” it warned. “They’re going to find you, and after running away from home like that, who knows what they’ll do?”

Dove shook her head. Her friends and family would never hurt her or anything like that- but then why was the voice so powerful? Why did it fill her with fear, when there was nothing to be afraid of?

Something rustled in the leaves, and Dove jumped, beating her wings once to quickly land behind a nearby bush. The rustling continued, and a small human child emerged, dragging a large wooden shell with it towards the water. The child was young, and around the same height as Dove without counting her wings- probably harmless, right?

“Get out of here,” the voice said, more strongly this time. “You can’t stay. Fly far, far away, where your family will never find you.”

Dove bristled at the commands, but her heart was racing too fast to ignore. Instead of fleeing, though, she stepped out towards the human- maybe the small being could help. Humans were extremely smart, after all.

The child gasped when Dove stepped out, and stayed still as she approached. That was a good sign- most of the time, they ran at the small deer and scared them all away. This child was one of the good ones, and only moved to lift its hand up. Dove gently nuzzled it, a spark of magic traveling from one to the other.

Dove looked the child in the eyes, a bright green surrounded by fluffy sand locks.

The child- named Rowan, Dove sensed- blinked a few times. “Can’t you fly away?”





Rowan nodded, dragging the wooden shell the rest of the way into the water. “Hop in my boat,” the child instructed. “I was running away myself.”

So the duo sailed off into the river. Rowan pushed off from a tree that clinged to the edge of the river, and they were off- the river was stronger and faster than either had guessed, and the wind blew fast through butterfly wings and curled hair. The overcast sky soon started to release raindrops, but neither minded much.

The voice spoke up again. “This is a bad idea. A terrible idea. You should just jump off the boat.”

Dove shook her head. She couldn’t leave Rowan here, and if she jumped off the boat… well, she wouldn’t be able to escape the river. But when the boat started shaking in a rough patch of the river, she started to believe it.

The boat jolted as it slammed into a rock that jutted out of the water. Rowan screamed, and Dove grabbed the child’s hair in her teeth, barely steadying the both of them. The boat continued racing through the water, now with a large portion of it leaking water and about to fall off.

Arms wrapped tight around Dove as the child started to cry, and Dove nearly felt like doing the same herself. There was no way they could get out of this. She should’ve just left on her own, should’ve just flown away, should’ve jumped off the boat-

No. She couldn’t do that- Rowan was right here, and needed her to be strong. Rowan might be physically stronger, but Dove was the one with magic, and maybe the only one mature enough to pull herself together and get them through this.

she told Rowan, scanning the river for anything they could use despite the fear coursing through her.

Rowan was shaking, but still pulled away and held the pieces. Dove bent her legs and stretched her neck out to grab a large plasticy piece of litter, pulling it back into the boat.

she instructed, preparing her magic to join the pieces back together.

“Stop it!” the voice shouted. “You can’t do this! You aren’t going to make it, just end both of your misery now before the river does it for you!”

Rowan turned her head sharply, looking at Dove with wide eyes. The child had heard the voice. Dove shook her head, taking a deep breath to steady herself again. she explained, then leaned down to touch her tiny nubs of antlers against the plastic. A bead of light traveled down it, melting it against the wood of the boat and stopping the water from leaking through while holding the boat back together.

Finally, it was finished, and while the boat was still careening down the river, they were at a more stable area now- and they were far safer than before.

“I never meant for any of this to happen,” Rowan whispered shakily, staring back down the river. “I- I don’t know if I was ready to run away.”

Dove leaned against her lightly. she responded simply.

It felt bold to say that when the voice had been screaming the opposite only moments earlier, but the bold insistence that everything would work out seemed to be enough to scare it off. The voice didn’t speak up again, and the two drifted off down the river.

July 30: this was supposed to be one of the prompts from Weekly #4, but I didn't complete the weekly on time (attempted to speedrun it with only an hour left lol). This is my favorite thing that came out of it though- a short sequel to the ballet story I wrote earlier this month!

Current Day- Prompt 3
(basement/printing press, dining hall/table 2, and other rooms/sorting room)

total is 702 words.

—–

Before I even made it backstage, I knew everything would go wrong.

I was waiting in the dressing rooms, my ballet costume on, my pointe shoes snug around my feet and ankles. The rest of the group were somehow calm- just talking about life, even laughing once in a while. How can they be so relaxed when we’re about to go onstage for our biggest performance yet?

As usual, part of me wishes I could be with them- but I can’t. Not when I’m constantly freaking out over stuff that they’re calm about, not when dance is our only shared interest. I’ll always have to be an outsider. I’ve probably already ruined the class for them, and I’m going to ruin the performance too.

I guess I was being even more silent and secluded than usual, because Lily came up to me a few minutes before we were supposed to go backstage. “You doing alright?” she asked. I shrugged, avoiding her eyes. Because really, I didn’t feel great, but if I thought about it much more than that I would have a mental breakdown, and then I’d have to go onstage crying and mess up even more than I already knew I would.

Lily quickly realized what I meant, and grew more concerned. “What’s wrong? Is it just nerves?”

“I guess,” I responded, voice not much more than a whisper. “I don’t know if it counts as nerves when I know everything’s going to go wrong, though.”

“What? Don’t say that, you’re going to do great!” Lily responded. Her constant positivity usually was a blessing, something comforting on a bad day and cheerful on a good day- but right then, it hit me that there was no way she could understand this level of fear.

Lily, at least, had confidence.

Our teacher called for us to line up so we could go onstage. My stomach started doing flip-slops of nervousness, and I barely managed to stand up, I was shaking so much. “This is gonna be awful,” I said quietly, thinking no one would hear.

Of course, Lily heard. “It’s just like practice, right?” she said, probably trying to be comforting, but it just started to get on my nerves. “Don’t think about the judges or anything. You know this dance, you’ve done it perfectly a hundred times.”

I shake my head, trying to stop the tears from forming in my eyes. “I’m gonna mess it up. I’m going to ruin the whole thing for you guys. I should’ve never joined.”

“That’s not true! You’re doing amazing!” Lily protested. I didn’t respond, just followed her to the rest of the group, heart pounding. At every other performance, I’ve only been excited- but for this one, it feels more like I’m walking towards certain doom.

Emily moved over beside me once we reached the group, and I moved slightly closer to her.

Our teacher started talking with the others, in that calm, casual way she somehow always does- calmly telling us that it’s going to be great, that we already knew the dance, and all those other things that are supposed to be calming but only push my fear further.

“How’s it going?” Emily asked me, quietly enough that the others wouldn’t hear. Just those words make me start getting emotional again- they’re almost a code between us, a normal-sounding question that’s usually more offering help than simply asking.

Like earlier, I shrug, trying to hold everything together. “I’m just scared I’ll mess up,” I say. Emily hums understandingly, then gives me a hug. It’s definitely comforting, but something about it just feels so unexpected- like I’m actually a wanted part of the group, not an outsider at all.

“I get it,” she said. “We’ve survived it before though, right? If we made it through those performances, we can make it through this.”

I nod, shakily taking a deep breath. The music for the last routine ends, and the announcer calls our group to the stage. Me and Emily exchange a nervous smile before moving through the curtains, taking our places.

Between the gentle, encouraging words and the warm, bright stage lights, my fear melts away with the first notes of our music.

—–

July 31: Weekly #4! I managed to get an extension (thank you alba!! <3) so here it is!

The Code:
| Path 1: ANCIENT, Prompt 1 | Path 2: PAST, Prompt 1 | Path 3: DAY, Prompt 3 | Path 4: FUTURE, Prompt 2 |


The Song: 267 words total

Twinkle twinkle little star, light-filled glory from afar.
Spreading light to wandering eyes, inspiration in the skies,
In ancient times, we saw your glory, turned to you to write our stories
‘till we grew much too strong, too bright, and let your light fade from the night.
But deep down, twinkling little star, your light still reflects upon out hearts.

But the clouds are heavy, and the storm is near.
The clouds are heavy, and we cannot see the light from here.
The clouds are heavy, but we will wait for the sky to clear.

The world is always crying wolf, with false struggles in the spotlight
while people starve or waste away, and become prey for the limelight.
It won’t be long before this crying wolf gets in real trouble,
and all its people find the strength to speak and burst its little bubble.

thinking out loud, I don't know where we’re going.
thinking out loud, while the world keeps turning.
something has to change, soon, if we’re to survive this,
but I’m just thinking out loud, and you’ll hear no surprises.
Thinking about how our world fell from grace,
thinking about all the problems we face-
our voices have been too quiet for too long,
it’s time to start thinking out loud and be strong.

The world is always crying wolf, while blotting out the starlight
we could be helping our neighbors, but instead are blinded by the limelight.
It won’t be long before this crying wolf gets in real trouble,
a raging hurricane of truth, breaking down the old dam of fear and lies.

Ancient Times- Prompt 1 (400 words required, 437 written)

Deep in the rainforest, where few have managed to travel, exists an elusive creature recorded only by a handful of sightings- and those are questionable at best. This creature is small, approximately the size of a house cat, but with a body shape resembling a small deer. On its back are a pair of wings- truly unusual for a mammal. Reports vary on what these wings are, ranging from butterfly wings to clear dragonfly ones to something resembling a mythical dragon. They have never been seen flying, but it is hypothesized they can only fly short distances due to their body structure being more suited to land travel. Like most deer, these can be found feeding on vegetation, preferring vines that grow close to the ground. They are very shy, however, so very little data can be found on them.
One account described the habitat in great detail. The winged deer was spotted beside a small creek branching off of a large river, in an area where the trees and foliage blocked out most of the light. The area was dim and damp, without much to inhibit the creature’s travel along the ground. This particular deer had spots on its back like a fawn. The person observing the creature was a young child, around 10 or 11 at the time according to the parents. Allegedly, the child approached the deer and petted it before the animal trotted off into the forest. This indicates that the species has very little exposure to humans, although the child insisted that it was talking and that they had a connection of some sort.
Local people have a few stories about the creatures, though they are not as well known as others. These stories tell of the creatures being like guardian angels, appearing only in times of need and impossible to find otherwise. Scientists believe that these legends are nothing more than stories, and that the creatures are just rare enough that people haven’t seen them much.
In recent times, a few of these creatures seem to have become braver though, approaching the occasional visitor in the jungle. These people are always children, likely because their smaller stature makes them less of a potential threat. With so many more people talking about them, we can’t ignore their existence any longer. An expedition intending to encounter the creatures recently was unsuccessful- and it may be noted that this expedition didn’t contain any children. Given that the children encountering them have never been harmed, and the generally benevolent nature accounted to the creatures, perhaps the next expedition should bring more children along to help.

Distant Past- Prompt 1 (500 words required, 559 written)

Lark stumbled away from the explosion, vision blurred. Smoke filled the air. Getting dizzy, he backed away, leaning against a nearby building. Faintly, through the smoke, he could see his cousins, the people he’d grown to call family- Citrine, bravely facing the guards head on. Holly, fiercely attacking with her plant magic, tripping and stumbling the guards to help the others. Aster, an absolute tornado of rage, an unstoppable force blasting her way through the swarm of patrols.
That rage was all his fault. Lark’s heart sank as he thought of it- they were so close to rescuing the family, so close to rescuing Wren- but at just the wrong time, he’d messed up, and now Wren was captured and the rest of them were either going to be captured or killed. Probably both, given the history of these particular patrols.
He sat on the ground, reaching for some plants, for the dirt, for anything- but they were far enough into the city now that it was only solid concrete, where any organic life other than humans was already banned and completely gone. For a moment, his vision swam, and he coughed as the smoke drifted closer to him again.
Something about it didn’t seem like normal smoke, it was burning and choking him more than it should- another smoke bomb went off in the middle of the chaos, and as everyone started coughing, Lark realized what was happening.
Toxic gas, of some sort- the patrol guards were all wearing masks to filter it out. Maybe it was going to kill them, or just knock them out long enough for the whole group to be locked away. There was no way the rest of the rebellion could save them now.
Sadness started to sink in as he thought about the others. Wren and her family had barely been escaping the patrols for weeks, and they’d finally gotten a glimpse of hope when he and his cousins came in to rescue them… but then they were only captured again. Because of him. Some friend he was.
As the smoke started to clear again, his hear lurched with worry- Holly was down, sitting against a wall like he was, with a pair of guards blocking her from getting up again. He could hear coughing, some of it probably his own. His chest burned with his racing heartbeat.
He heard a shout, saw Ro jabbing one of the guards in the chest with a stolen staff. The guard stumbled back, but she’d hit him hard enough to be thrown off balance herself- just in time for another guard to knock her to the ground. With the gas sinking in, she didn’t struggle nearly as much as she should.
That was almost the most painful thing to see. Ro had a personal fight against the city, and she’d been fighting back against them as hard as she could, despite being born and raised there. She had the perfect backstory for a hero, for someone who would finally overturn the corrupt government and set the city back on track.
But it was too late.
Lark ruined it for all of them.
The smoke became too much, his vision blurring out as a few guards approached him.
He’d wanted so bad to help the rebellion, but all he’d done was drag it down with him.

Current Day- Prompt 3
(Combined basement/printing press, dining hall/table 2, and other rooms/sorting room)
(500 words required, 702 written)

Before I even made it backstage, I knew everything would go wrong.
I was waiting in the dressing rooms, my ballet costume on, my pointe shoes snug around my feet and ankles. The rest of the group were somehow calm- just talking about life, even laughing once in a while. How can they be so relaxed when we’re about to go onstage for our biggest performance yet?
As usual, part of me wishes I could be with them- but I can’t. Not when I’m constantly freaking out over stuff that they’re calm about, not when dance is our only shared interest. I’ll always have to be an outsider. I’ve probably already ruined the class for them, and I’m going to ruin the performance too.
I guess I was being even more silent and secluded than usual, because Lily came up to me a few minutes before we were supposed to go backstage. “You doing alright?” she asked. I shrugged, avoiding her eyes. Because really, I didn’t feel great, but if I thought about it much more than that I would have a mental breakdown, and then I’d have to go onstage crying and mess up even more than I already knew I would.
Lily quickly realized what I meant, and grew more concerned. “What’s wrong? Is it just nerves?”
“I guess,” I responded, voice not much more than a whisper. “I don’t know if it counts as nerves when I know everything’s going to go wrong, though.”
“What? Don’t say that, you’re going to do great!” Lily responded. Her constant positivity usually was a blessing, something comforting on a bad day and cheerful on a good day- but right then, it hit me that there was no way she could understand this level of fear.
Lily, at least, had confidence.
Our teacher called for us to line up so we could go onstage. My stomach started doing flip-slops of nervousness, and I barely managed to stand up, I was shaking so much. “This is gonna be awful,” I said quietly, thinking no one would hear.
Of course, Lily heard. “It’s just like practice, right?” she said, probably trying to be comforting, but it just started to get on my nerves. “Don’t think about the judges or anything. You know this dance, you’ve done it perfectly a hundred times.”
I shake my head, trying to stop the tears from forming in my eyes. “I’m gonna mess it up. I’m going to ruin the whole thing for you guys. I should’ve never joined.”
“That’s not true! You’re doing amazing!” Lily protested. I didn’t respond, just followed her to the rest of the group, heart pounding. At every other performance, I’ve only been excited- but for this one, it feels more like I’m walking towards certain doom.
Emily moved over beside me once we reached the group, and I moved slightly closer to her.
Our teacher started talking with the others, in that calm, casual way she somehow always does- calmly telling us that it’s going to be great, that we already knew the dance, and all those other things that are supposed to be calming but only push my fear further.
“How’s it going?” Emily asked me, quietly enough that the others wouldn’t hear. Just those words make me start getting emotional again- they’re almost a code between us, a normal-sounding question that’s usually more offering help than simply asking.
Like earlier, I shrug, trying to hold everything together. “I’m just scared I’ll mess up,” I say. Emily hums understandingly, then gives me a hug. It’s definitely comforting, but something about it just feels so unexpected- like I’m actually a wanted part of the group, not an outsider at all.
“I get it,” she said. “We’ve survived it before though, right? If we made it through those performances, we can make it through this.”
I nod, shakily taking a deep breath. The music for the last routine ends, and the announcer calls our group to the stage. Me and Emily exchange a nervous smile before moving through the curtains, taking our places.
Between the gentle, encouraging words and the warm, bright stage lights, my fear melts away with the first notes of our music.

Distant Future- Prompt 2 (400 words required, 401 words written)

The object to my right is an aquarium! it includes a heater and a small sponge filter, along with all the typical aquarium stuff and live plants. In a steam-powered world, the water could be heated and filtered through steam power- a steam powered pump would pull water out of the tank and heat it to the right temperature, meanwhile putting it through a series of filters to clean it. In fact, for fish species that need very soft water, it could just be boiled and distilled before being sent back into the aquarium. Whatever machine does this would be pretty big and bulky, but also look awesome so why not? To avoid that, it could simply be hidden in the aquarium’s stand, with small pipes going to and from the aquarium to transport the water.
Adding in the magic component could make this even more efficient. Some sort of magical contraption could add minerals and nutrients back into the distilled water to keep it at the perfect conditions for any species of fish kept in there. Saltwater aquarists could rejoice at the invention of something that can keep the salinity of their tanks at the perfect level, making it much easier for their sensitive fish and corals to thrive. With the power of magic added to these steam contraptions, hundreds of endangered species of fish could be bred and restored to their native habitats, because with magic to do the hard work of balancing the water quality, there would be almost zero risk of the fish dying in the process.
Another important aspect in aquariums is the lighting, especially if live plants or corals are involved. The light has to be on for just the right amount of time- too long will cause an outbreak of algae over the tank, which could result in the plants melting away. Too little light can cause the same problem, however- finding the balance is difficult. The magical aspect of these contraptions could determine exactly how long and how bright the light should be- even the light itself could be some sort of magical lamp.
Overall, steam and magic powered aquariums could take an existing concept and make it much more efficient- and much more cool looking. The steam contraptions could be designed for looks as well, to be displayed around the aquarium while also having the function of keeping its ecosystem running flawlessly.

The End (250 words required, 305 written)

”It’s about time for you to wake up, isn’t it?”

The stars seem to fade out as my time machine starts moving again, without me telling it to. I scramble for the controls, trying to stop it from going wherever it’s going- but it’s no use. We’re already careening away from wherever we were. Maybe that immortal sky monster threw us into the dark void of space, or maybe the machine’s picking up on the feeling of wrong-ness from traveling to the end of time, and simply trying to get out of here.

Helpless, I lean back in my seat, heart racing. This is the end, isn’t it? Literally and figuratively. I should’ve known not to follow my curiosity so far, should’ve gone back home the moment I saw the direction the world was going in.

My vision fades to black, but I don’t want it to end yet- it’s too soon, I have too many things to do back home. This can’t be the end…

Then I’m laying in bed, shaking, a pen still clasped in my hand. As I slowly realize everything that’s happened- that I somehow dreamed my way into the story I was writing- I relax slightly, lifting my notebook slightly to figure out where I’d fallen asleep. Right after the main character steps into the time machine, the words become illegible squiggles, and quickly stop.

It looks almost silly now, but that doesn’t change the panic still clinging to my mind.

It was the end. I thought I was going to die there. Literally nothing could’ve stopped me from drifting away into space, never to be seen again… but it was all a dream. I’m barely catching my breath, still shaking, all over something that never existed to begin with.

That dream’s going to haunt me for a long time.



Since a screenshot of the certificate was also requested, I am now attempting to add that here:

July 31:
thank you notes! I have basically zero practice in writing these, but I couldn't leave this session without acknowledging the amazingness that is every one of you <3

For everyone:
each and every one of you has been awesome to hang out with! whether it was critiquing each others writing or just reading y’alls comments in the main studio, the whole experience has been nothing but positive. Doing SWC again has been amazing and seriously gotten me into writing more, to the point that I’m considering writing as a career later on- so thank you all for being part of this amazing experience <3
All of you are amazingly creative and fun to be around, and I hope to see you all again next session!

an extra thank you for the real fi leaders:
thank you for doing an amazing job leading real fi this session!!! there was clearly a ton of thought put into the studio and storyline and everything else aaah- so, again, great job and thank you <3

And to Crim specifically- I probably wouldn’t have joined if I hadn’t seen that someone familiar would be leading, so extra thank you for that! even if we didn’t interact a ton, I’m glad that our paths crossed again here <3

Now that I'm going to use this for other camps, I removed these links from the description part of this thread. These are specifically from SWC in July 2023, and if you're looking at this in the future, I almost certainly have different posts for different sessions moving forward.

Link to my Critiquaires for other campers:
https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/694457/?page=16#post-7373006
Link to my post in the megathread: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/694457/?page=4#post-7352452