Creative Writing For Teenagers

Despite my passion, I recently resigned my position teaching high school creative writing courses to pursue my MFA. I don’t think that the two can be mutually exclusive. One cannot properly exist without the other, and any writer out there who hasn’t tried teaching writing is seriously missing out on something amazing.This moment of showing one’s work is the second tenet.

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As you may gather from my posts on this site, I am a huge fan of ego in artistry.

You have to think that your take on things would matter.

My mother suffered a stroke, and although television advises every child to simply call 9–1–1, I called my grandmother.

I panicked when she didn’t pick up and ran the block to my uncle’s.

There is something to be said for writing while adolescent. The older brother holds it together just long enough to make sure his younger siblings are fed and emotionally cared for, only to break down alone at the top of the stairs. She was a character completely foreign to them, though her heart bled so earnestly from the tip of the pen.

Anyone plagued by that many hormones and minor neuroses is in need of a major creative outlet. One female student wrote a tale of a girl on a train clinging so desperately to the mangled remains of her relationship with her mother, that she reaches out to a woman she might never have noticed otherwise. What did this student know about public strength and private vulnerability? With these students, my job was less about developing their craft, and more about developing their character. They didn’t know what their chief thematic concerns were.

I walked into my classroom with a big smile on my face, happy to educate the masses with my great wisdom.

This folly of my own positivity led to the third and final tenet. It asks the subject to lower themselves in relation to peers.

I worried about how my siblings and I would survive without our singular protector. The toughest mom on the block despite the fact that she did it alone, and at an age most women were still dating, finishing college, and deciding on careers. It began with a clock reading the time and ended with my mother’s recovery, but it was populated with my fear.

From the first to last terrible sentence, it was a story about incomprehension.

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