Thursday, March 14, 2013

“Best” Worst Essay!


Below is the “best” worst essay I could possibly come up with, yet still remain partially understandable, for a recent composition assignment at VPSA. =D  Twas a fun project. 


And for Wayne’s “best” worst essay, visit: http://thebeatlesandblackcoffee.blogspot.com =)


Teddy Bears 

     “Words cannot express the type of excitement that Johnny was gripped deeply, and passionately by when he was bestowed by his parents with a nice teddy bear. His other friends were green with envy when Johhny brought his teddy to school proud in nature. His grades were heightened considerably by Johhny’s active use of his imagination qualities with the plush creature which resembled a live bear in a truncated, life-less dimension. As Johnny aged in years and time laid hold of his once brown hair, the teddy bear was soon neglected by Johhny in the chaos of aging in years in the natural progression of gaining more responsibility, adult-wise. But, the teddy bear was held in the highest regard, and deepest nature of admiration by Johhny even in his ripe old age. “

      Johnny was benefited in a thousand ways by using his imaginative cognition, which was being activated by the type of bear, a plush bear, that he was playing with. Playing with plush, stuffed-creatures of a non-lifelike manner are a benefit to children, imagination-wise.

      When children are young in nature, they are being moved by an invisible force, which is of the finer things in life. What is this nice force which acts upon these children? The imaginative tendencies of the brain, which include the facilities of the neocortex and thalamus, of course! As children are allowed, by the nice consideration of their parents, to exercise their profound abilities with stuffed creatures, they are more likely to exercise those vital organisms of the brain, health-wise. 

     Not to mention, children are more greatly affected by the use of plush animals in their growth from young creatures of innocence to the responsibilities of adulthood, grade-wise. Children’s grades are so fabulously affected by the manner of playing with plush toys, that it is only vitally necessary to bring a type of play-time into the schools for the sake of grade improvement by the children. Bringing the imaginative qualities of teddy bears back into the lives of modern, puerile children is a nice enhancement, education-wise. 

      The benefits, creativity-wise, of imagination time with fluffy creatures of a different dimension are nicely extensive. As luck would have it, those children who were given more play-time by the type of parents who wish to further their child’s creativity have been more successful in business later in their life in manner. It is important for a creative foundation to be laid by the parents for children, so that later in their life they might be benefitted by the supreme goodness of the creative essence which is release through imaginative play, stuffed-animal-wise. Needless to say, those children are more likely to be accepted by employers because of their seeming zeal for the reality of imagining. 

     Johnny is an age-old example of what benefits can come from having an active type of imagination. In conclusion, the type of imagination which results from interaction with plush creatures that resemble live bears in a truncated, life-less dimension is beneficial, creativity-wise, grade-wise, and health-wise to a child.

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Weekly Creative Writing #14


"But more wonderful than the lore of old men and the lore of books is the secret lore of ocean."
~H. P. Lovecraft

       From the gentle swooshing of the waves upon the shore, to the thundering anger of it’s deepest caverns during a mid-day storm, the ocean is never predictable, except for its ancient tide.  And that’s why Calliope loved it so much.  It was both her twin sister and her mother.   
       As her sister, it lived a life very similar to her own.  Some days, it thrashed around, its passions uncontrolled and wild - the core of it burned with fury or radiant ecstasy.   Some days, it remained sentimentally calm and painstakingly nostalgic as it reflected on its superior, the sun, with dazzling luster.  The sea understood her quite well. Her life was not the kind that remained in utter turmoil constantly, or the kind that never seemed to miss a beat.  Her life was capricious, erratic and whimsical.  And, Sister Ocean, reflected its mistress and master, the sun and moon, and reflected its sister, Calliope.  
       And, it was her mother.  In a mother’s warm embrace, the world suddenly becomes small and one’s mother a more magnificently larger pillar of security.  That’s what the sea did for her.  It embraced her, and everything around her - every worry, every care, every dream - seemed insignificant to the immense comfort it bestowed.
       But, beyond all that, the ocean was a prayer.  Its created nature held something heavenly within it.  The Divine seemed to have touched that part of creation.  God’s Spirit, before light or human life existed, hovered over these waters.  The ocean was a prayer which beckoned for God’s presence in her life.  These waters, at God’s command, destroyed the face of the earth in forty days.  The ocean was a living raging prayer of repentance.  And, on the these waters, the Son of God had placed His feet and calmed the raging waters.  The ocean was a prayer of healing and peace.  And so, she knelt down, and spoke with her sister and her mother, and felt her prayers soak into her pale pink dress, and the salty incense fill her hair.

For my wonderful friend's counterpart of this weekly themed concurrent writing project, visit:

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

Weekly Creative Writing #13






“Home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, 
or spirit ever answered to, in the strongest conjuration.” 
- Charles Dickens  

That’s where it began - right there in that home. She remembered it as the place she had all her “firsts” of life.   When she was young, home was the image of mother’s lace, the smell of father’s coffee, and the sound of her picking out crude childish notes on the slightly flat piano keys.  It was the epitome of a summer’s day, when worries were myths and tender fields rolled endlessly before her innocent eyes.  It was the bench just five blocks down that Zachary gave her fluffy dandelions and a peck on her cheek for her 7th birthday.  Home was that irrationally chaotic time when college began to beckon her away - when her weary eyes opened and the alarm clock fell subject to snooze for the seventh time.   It was the exhausted hands which searched the newspaper for a summer job, and mother coming in with a mug of milk and sugar cookies to sit by her for a while.  It was father’s tears as she hugged him one last time, before they drove off on the eight hour trip which would take them back “home.”  Since that hug, she had learned to drift in and out of those memories.  Those glimpses of eternity that seemed to penetrate time for a magical moment, and then disappear back into an undefined dimension.  The very word “home” conjured a force beyond that of the wizards and gypsies of the world, as it lured her back into sweet memory of a far off beacon.  Yet, home still had an uncanny presence even amidst its absence.  Miles away, she could still feel the heartbeat of the home as the past drew her back to its bosom.  It was home... and that was the beginning and end of it, all wrapped together into something she’d never be able to explain.



For my friend's wonderful counterpart of this weekly themed creative writing project, go to http://thebeatlesandblackcoffee.blogspot.com