Hits and Misses

Hits:

Crepe Myrtle Tree

My car raced down the last stretch of the track. I feel my sister, Emily, speeding towards my side, trying to pass me up. I fixate my gaze upon the checkered flag marking my triumph. My hands strangle the steering wheel as I approach the end. I hear the crowd’s cheering in my ears. I hold my breath, waiting for the glorious word, “winner!”

            “Sidelines!” my mom shouts from the curb.

The race track fades from my eyes as I am transported back to my quiet neighborhood. I watch my once fiery-red racecar disappear from my imagination and my Barbie bike, which I had gotten for Christmas two years ago, replace it. Slowly, I pedal my bike to the curb in front of my sand-colored house. I sit there, wishing I could have crossed the finish line as the red pick-up truck strolls down the boulevard. 

My neighbors and I reside to the cool shade of our favorite crepe myrtle tree, just starting to explode with neon pink buds. My eyes wander across the street and gaze at our three brick houses. In front of the middle house, our mothers sit in their LSU lawn chairs and chat amongst themselves. I snap back to reality, and I scurry up the tree and look down at my sister and two best friends, who just so happened to be my neighbors. Slade and Madeline are both in second grade, one year older than me.

“Well,” ponders Slade, “What should we play now?” 

We all quiet down as we think as hard as we can. This was by far the most difficult part of our day. 

“We could finish playing race car,” suggests Madeline. 

By now, I have lost interest in finishing my race, so I sneer and turn her idea down. 

            After what seems like hours of debating the issue, we finally decide to play hide-and-seek. In our version, the playing field stretches across the landscapes of our three houses, and the base was our crepe myrtle tree. Now, for the moment of truth, we all plunge our hands into the fishbowl to decide who will be it. Everything is eerily silent as Emily counts our hands off. Slade is safe. That leaves Madeline and me, so I pray and hope that my hand won’t be the last one in the bowl. The silence is broken with my victorious cheer when my hand is freed from the fishbowl prison. 

            Emily, Slade, and I break into sprints. My mind runs through the many places I could hide. Could I hide in my creaky, wooden jungle gym? What about behind Slade’s play house? I hear Madeline reach thirty seconds when I stumble upon the ideal tree for a hiding place just behind Slade’s house. I climb the tree, careful not to make a noise and blow my cover. 

“Forty, forty-one, forty-two…” calls Madeline from a distance.

 I am soon swallowed whole by the bright green foliage, and I disappear from anyone’s point of view. The wide, tangled branches create a perfect chair, so I take a seat and wait for the sound of footsteps making their way towards me.

            While I admire an exotic insect eating its lunch, I hear Madeline’s pink and orange Nikes crush the leaves and twigs beneath her feet. I grip the tree with both hands, and I hold my breath, careful not move an inch. She searches through the bushes and behind the cement fountain. She even glances in my direction a few times, but she never discovers my brilliant hiding place. I slowly let out my breath, and a feeling of relief sweeps over me. Moments later, I hear the soft giggles of Emily and Madeline, and I know it’s safe for me to come down.

            I run to greet them with a big smile at the tree, and we all skip to Slade’s yellow playhouse. We are having so much fun with each other we don’t even realize the sun has started to set. Suddenly, the white barn door creaks open, and we are greeted by our moms’ guilty faces. Our spirits fall in a split second because we know the time has come to say good-bye for tonight. We all walk our own ways back to our houses with shoulders slumped and long faces. But I’m not too worried, because I know we will do it all over again tomorrow.

            Even eight years later, I still wonder what my life would be like without those girls, war-like hide-and-seek, and bike races down the boulevard. Sometimes I catch myself longing to hop on a purple bike after a long day of school and just ride with my friends. Those same friends shaped me as a person. Without them, I wouldn’t live in my imagination. I wouldn’t make movies in my head or create personalities for strangers crossing me in the street. Who I am is because of them and climbing the bright pink crepe myrtles every day after school.

This is one of my "hits" because I feel like I conveyed the right emotions and feelings from my memories. Not only do I thing the writing itself is good, I also enjoyed writing it and exploring the creative side of my writing.

The Sounds of Spring

The green grass grows underneath me

As I sit on my freshly mowed lawn.

The warm air sweeps across my face

And my mind wanders into the rustling green leaves

The azalea bush behind me, 

beginning to burst with loud hot pink petals.

The birds sing sweet songs as

They flutter and fly from tree to tree.

I lay back and look at the sky

As the sounds of spring sing to me.

I also think this poem is one of my stronger pieces. I used a great deal of poetry terms to convey the feeling of a peaceful Spring day. For example, when I write "As the sounds of spring sing to me," I used sibilance to demonstrate the fluidity of the breeze and peaceful day.

The Treehouse

        When Anne was nine years old, she built a treehouse with her dad. When they had finished with the final touch ups, Anne and her dad stood back and looked at the pink and green masterpiece that sat in the tree. The year that followed, she spend every day after school in her tree house. Only, to Anne, it wasn’t a treehouse. It was a castle or a pirate ship, basically, it was anything Anne wanted it to be. One year later, on the first day of fifth grade, Anne did something a little different. Instead of retreating to her tree house after a long day of school, she went to her room to finish her homework. 

        “Tomorrow,” said Anne, “Tomorrow I will go to my tree house.”

        Three years later, Anne came in from a day at the mall with her friends. As they walked back to her room, Anne caught a glimpse of the once pink and green tree house that slouched in the tree. She could barely remember the games she used to play as a child, and she couldn’t remember the last time she had ever stepped foot in the thing. Though, as she looked at the treehouse for a while longer, she began to miss the life her nine-year-old self led. A part of her  realized the only thing she wanted was to go play in her old tree house.  Finally, Anne snapped back to reality and joined her friends again.

Finally, I feel like this piece was a hit for me because it tells a strong story about growing up and wishing to be a kid again. I also feel like this story was appropriate for me to write because I too built a tree house with my dad as a child, so I feel like I put some of my own emotions into this piece. 

Misses:

"Analyse A Song": This was one of my misses because I thought it was difficult to pick a song, and then look for poetry devices.  I think if we could have looked for literary devices I would have done better, but looking at the sound patterns was especially challenging for me.

"Research Update": This was challenging because its hard to write two paragraphs about a writing update. It feels like I just had to drag on and on about the same things.

"The Very Old Man With Enormous Wings": I found this blog prompt challenging because I thought it was hard to expand on a short story that we had already picked apart in class. The story was also hard to understand so it was hard to create questions to answer.