Essay 2 – No Pain, No Gain?

Please comment with either your thoughts about my writing style or the content of my writing, it would be much appreciated!

It’s completely true that you can’t accomplish anything without going through some sort of pain. That’s why I agree with the statement, “No pain, no gain.” One example of this is getting your body into shape – it is painful, but you gain something out of it in the end. Another example is Nelson Mandela, who, even after many years in prison, re-emerged stronger than ever to fight against racism.

I’m sure that everyone wants to be fit. Unfortunately, it doesn’t just come with the snap of a finger. You have to work out regularly and improve your stamina. If you are quite unfit at the beginning, it will take a lot of pain on your part to improve your physical fitness – if running the extra few meters will make you fit, go for it! Also, if you’re inflexible for your age and you want to be more flexible, the best way to do that is to stretch. Yes, it might hurt at first and yes, it’s painful, but you will be able to do a lot more sports and improve your physical fitness by being flexible. You might be asking: What’s the gain? The gain is that sports make you happier throughout the day, improving your look, inside and out, helping you concentrate better, making you sleep longer as well as drastically improving your health, reducing the risk of getting diseases such as cancer, and making you live longer. Wow, that’s a lot of gain! That’s why pain is worth it – for imagine if you never exercised at all, never ran that extra few metres, and never stretched? You would be overweight, moody, and at the risk of getting major diseases (among many other reasons). I’d much rather be the first group of things listed above rather than the second – wouldn’t you? That’s why this is a good example of “No pain, no gain.”

Even though the things that happened to Nelson Mandela for most of his life were unfair, (namely being sent to jail for many years) he still fought on throughout the rest of his life. He didn’t give up, even though he was in jail for so many years – living on rations of food and wearing the jail outfit, he would get his friend to sometimes sneak in a copy of the local newspaper to him so he could find out what was going on in the world. In jail, he would be planning ideas for what he would do once he was released. Because he went through pain, it actually made him a more patient person. When he was released at last, he fought against racism and eventually became president of South Africa. Later on in life, he earned at least fifty awards – which is a great gain from the pain that he went through for most of his life in jail. If he hadn’t fought his way out of jail, he wouldn’t have become president of South Africa and definitely wouldn’t have won any awards. Even though most of his life was pain, the remainder of his life resulted in great gains that would make him famous forever. He might have been able to accomplish all of this without going to prison, but I actually think that it made him a better person.

In conclusion, nothing good can happen to a person without some pain. Some people might think that pain only happens to bad people, but in truth, it happens to every person who wants to make a difference in this world. That’s why you have to realize that nothing is going to hand itself to you – you have to work for it. And if that means going through some pain, it doesn’t matter, for if you work hard enough, you’ll definitely get some gain out of it.

-writersblock55

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Poem 9 – Gray Skies

Please comment! I haven’t posted in a bit so I thought I would post twice today (no, you’re not seeing double).

Vancouver, Canada

A huge bear dwells in my backyard

Lush green trees

sway in the distance to the grey music

The clear blue inlet

is beckoning me;

yet I do not get swallowed up

by what I see.

Salmon reside between

pop can wrappers and seaweed,

Rocks and dirt

litter the sea floor,

Choking the sand

in its grasp.

What is there to admire

about the endless,

rusty grey skies?

Snow-capped mountains embedded in reality,

Granville Island yearns for Ambleside Park.

The waves are melodic;

rising and falling in the dark.

-writersblock55

Writing Tip 3 – Weighing the Pros and Cons of Accidental Alliteration, Puns & Rhyming

Alliteration, puns and rhyming are three of the best techniques to draw a reader into your work, and you can use them to your advantage.  However, when used ineffectively, your work can turn into a disaster. Here’s the pros and cons of these three literary techniques.

Alliteration

Pros: 

– Alliteration can entertain as well as inform the reader at the same time when used in moderation.

– It’s fun to write. Notice the title of this post – “accidental alliteration.” That was an accident, I can assure you. Let’s not pretend here, you find this hilarious.

Cons: 

Alliteration can backfire if it’s overused, since readers will focus on the alliteration itself and not the message you’re trying to convey.

Puns

Pros: 

– Puns can be used to fool a reader, and they are smart literary devices to use when trying to convey meaning.

– You feel on top of the world when you find a pun.

Cons:

– Unintended punning. It may come out wrong because it was unintended.

Rhyming

Pros:

– It’s melodic.

– Especially in poems, rhyming usually works in favor of a literary work.

Cons: 

– Too much rhyming is a pain, unless having a perfect rhyme scheme helps develop the theme of your poem.

– Rhyming prose. Just don’t do it.

-writersblock55

http://www.dailywritingtips.com/3-types-of-accidental-writing-to-avoid/

Story 6 – Evolution

This is a story that I wrote for a contest a while ago (around 5 years or so ago) that I dug out from the depths of my computer. I didn’t win the contest, but I still admire this work to this very day. As you can see, I’m in the mood of posting stories… Please comment!

The night was moonless, pitch-black. I could not even see my own hand in front of my face. But my instinct told me that I should venture off into the cave anyway.

‘The cave’ is a cave with surprisingly magical powers that a person could not tell by the rough, black rock, wet by the rain of the previous day. It could transform a person into anything they would like, anything at all. The hard part is what you have to do in order to become anything you would like. No, there are no ‘magic words’ that you have to recite in order to transform yourself. Instead, you have to have ‘received’ a quantity of liquid in your stomach (without drinking it- you can feel it only if you need it) called elava. Only the people chosen (I don’t know by whom) can do this, and the chosen persons have a special type of cave, that looks exactly like mine: rough, black rock, with slight tinges of gray, with a size of about eight metres tall, and only six metres wide.

My parents died, long ago when I was just five. How they died was very odd, really, especially considering the fact that I don’t remember much, since I was only five when the tragedy occurred. I just seem to remember blurs: trees smashing down like they were pulled by an ultimate gravity force, smoke, yes, lots of thick, black smoke, the smoke piercing the air, shouts and screams, the sound of rushing water and millions of people thundering down, down, into the murky depths of the water.

That’s all I remember, really. But, for me it’s enough to tell me that my parents died in a disastrous fire. For years afterwards our community had to work on rebuilding our precious city, the city of Elavanor. No one will ever find out (and they never will, only the chosen people will know forevermore) but the city was renamed after elava, the mysterious liquid.

My name is Sophia, and I am sixteen years old. I have a brother Jerry, who is two years younger than me, at age fourteen. Before, it used to be a giant age difference, but now that we’re (well, at least, I am) in our late teens, it doesn’t matter anymore. We are close friends, very close friends, not just brother and sister.

My parents were rich. Of course, I don’t mean to brag, but they were quite rich and most times they wore expensive clothes from well-known designers. In their will, they left us this house and most of its contents: money, (we rarely use it much) passports, pictures- to put it shortly, basically anything that you can imagine, from rusty bed springs to millions and millions of dollars.

And since they died, Jerry and I have become close friends. We sometimes fight like cats and dogs, but mostly we agree, or at least, try to agree with each other. I never knew that soon, our bond would be closely tightened.

Where was my sister? It was already 1:00 in the afternoon, and the sun was high in the sky, with no clouds in sight, promising a good, warm day.

                  She’s still in that cave, and it’s lunch time, I thought miserably. Sometimes I think that she’s more attached to it than I am.

                  Suddenly, the door burst open with an excruciatingly loud BANG. Two men stood in the doorway, their eyes alert. I quickly pushed back my short locks of golden-brown hair, and stood taller, as if trying to show them that I wasn’t really fourteen, wasn’t really ‘just a child’ anymore. At least, that’s what all the adults say. They always talk about us in their odd way, as if they weren’t a kid once in their painful I-wish-that-I-had-more-time-in-the-day lives.

The men in the doorway were different from any I had seen in my life. Their faces were as black as night, and their eyes were gleaming with unspoken triumph, as if they had just made a giant accomplishment. The one to the left had giant, ugly muscles, and looked like he hadn’t exercised recently, on account that he was quite stocky. The other one to the right, the peculiar one, had thin, crisp lips and an extraordinary smirk, as if he were sneering at me because I was ‘just a child.’ He also had a thin exterior, looking almost like a leg of a chair

“Give.” The man to the left spoke in a low, monotonous voice, almost like a broken record.

“G-give what? And wh-what are y-you doing here? Y-ou have n-n-n-no, no right to trespass into my house!” I tried my best to make my voice sound assertive, but I knew that my voice had more than just a slight quaver in it.
“Oh, yes, we do,” the man to the left said impatiently. “I want to get ’em outta here- run, partner!” Now the man eyed his partner, the feeble man to the left. In one quick jerk, the man, showing outstanding running skills, sprinted upstairs, to where the attic and the key to the box with the money was.

I could not do anything but run, and the other man outwitted me.

A series of shouts that turned to screams of “SOPHIA! HELP!” brought me out of my  long sleep. I had slept all night, and my instinct told me that something was wrong.

Was it Jerry? I wondered impatiently, kicking off a soft wad of dirt on the ground. If he was in trouble, I had no time to waste.

I leaped to my feet, hastily shaking off access excess dirt from my jeans. Who was screaming in that ultimately I’m-in-trouble-and-I-need-help-fast voice? I strained my ears once more, hoping to catch even a murmer of that strangely familiar voice.

One minute passed. Nothing.

Two minutes.

Three minutes. Still nothing.

Ten minutes.

Eleven minutes approached, and I was starting to get quite irritated. When twenty minutes dawned on the clocks, I was so hasty that I almost started to run into the house, no matter who I would meet. Then…there.

“THE CAVE! SOPHIA, THE LIQUID!” a muffled voice, coming from Jerry’s bedroom exclaimed. I recognized it instantly as Jerry’s. He was in trouble, and he wanted me to transform. And so I did.

The elava gushed into my stomach. I was ready to transform, when I wanted to.

I had a plan already worked into my head: I would gather the liquid, and not transform until I had appeared to whoever was in that house (it was obviously someone terrible, resulting in Jerry’s muffled screams) that I was just a meager girl. They would instantly de-size me, obviously thinking that two strong and powerful men against one meager girl would win (common sense.)

I summoned up all my courage and strength, and with that, I ran like never before, racing against the wind and limited time to rescue my brother, towards our manor.

“Alright, partner, we’re going in,” came the muscular man’s voice from the attic.

I tried desperately to free myself from the cuffs they had so hurriedly put on my hands and feet, but it was no use. All I could do now was utterly hope that Sophia had heard my message, and that she was coming with the elava ready in her stomach.

Right then, a very odd thing happened. The thinner man opened a piece of paper, written in curly and messy handwriting and forcefully thrust it in front of my face, saying nothing except, “read.”

So I read, and this is what it announced:

Holy song to be performed by Noir tribe.

         Holy song? Noir tribe? I don’t understand what this is all about! It’s crazy, I decided at last.

Just then, something extremely strange happened. The two terrible men, as if on cue, started to chant an out-of-this-world song:

                  Noir-i,

                  Noir-i,

                  We are the holy people,

                  We do not worship anything,

                  Except-o,

                  Except-0,

                  Elaaaava.

 

With the odd chant complete, the men stared at me, as if expecting me to speak. When I didn’t, (I was shocked and overcome by fear at the same time) the bulky one declared, as if he had memorized what he was about to say:

“There are four tribes. The other three always call us ‘bad,’ but we are the good tribe, the excellent tribe. We kill. We unleash our swords and tear and rip flesh until we see blood.”

I froze like a statue, purposely trying to look extremely terrified to the bulky man, who referred to himself as Noiri, and the thinner one Noiro. I was frightened, but inside I was also creating a plan and considering my options: I either had to try and flee or call for help, call for Sophia and the elava.

Just when I decided to shout at the top of my voice for Sophia, she came bursting into the room at top speed.

Yes, I thought in relief. She’s here, and coming to rescue me!

I dashed into the room at top speed, instantly locating Jerry. There were two strange men in the room, looking at Jerry as though he were a piece of dust.

They hadn’t noticed me yet. Just my luck, I thought happily.

The man that I had seen pop his head out of the attic door vanished again, only to step out of it holding a silver sword, which glistened in the sunlight even though it was 2:00 in the afternoon.

It frightened me out of my wits, but I forced myself to stand still. I was on a mission to rescue Jerry; and I needed to hear every little sentence that either one of the horrible men declared.

The man with the sword held up the blade and thundered, in a voice that seemed to echo amongst the rolling hills, “I will kill you! Money for the Noir tribe! Money coming to me, Noiri!”

With that, Noiri’s blade sliced the air once, twice. Now was my chance to transform. Just as I was about to, Noiri noticed me- terrible luck- and boomed:

“A revolting GIRL is here, kill her at once!” Noiri turned to Noiro, and grinned in triumph.

Noiro sprinted after me, his agile steps bouncing quickly on the wooden floor. But I outran him in one leap, and thought about transforming into a tiger.

One second passed, but that was enough time for me to transform. My body and head came first, giving me an orange head and tail, with black stripes. Next came my legs, and lastly, my tail. I felt odd, but powerful and strong, as if I could climb Mount Everest in one second.

At the sight of me, Noiro fainted instantly, with a loud THUMP. I could tell that Noiri was trying to compose his face to not look frightened, but it wasn’t working.

I traced his steps towards the door, softly so he wouldn’t hear me bunching my muscles, ready to pounce. In one swift movement, I pounced and leapt directly onto Noiri’s lungs, onto his heart.

“AARRGGGGHHH!”  He screamed desperately, but it was no use. My teeth bit into his flesh, tasting blood.

If I were human, my face would have glowed in triumph. Instead, I grinned at Jerry and he glowed, as if for me.

“You did it!” Jerry exclaimed triumphantly, as if I had won a gold medal.

I beamed- he was right. I had saved the day!

-writersblock55