Young Writers discussion

A white canvas. Plain white. An empty expanse, an endless abyss, which Henry is now the commander of. For hours he stares at this canvas, just wishing he could think of something worthy to fill this space, something beautiful and rich, something to take the ordinary observer to an extraordinary place. All of a sudden, Henry is hit by an idea which sends his mind reeling. The entire picture comes into focus, the colors and shading and things hidden in the shadows. He practically runs across his small Upper Manhattan apartment, all he could afford as an art student on his own, to grab his box of paints and brushes, the only materials he would need to occupy the coming hours. In his haste to return to the canvas, Henry manages to spill an old mug of stale coffee across his already stained carpet after stubbing his toe on a red armchair with a tear along the seat. Deciding to worry about it later, he launches himself away and into his chair. He takes out a large ceramic pallete and squeezes all the colors he will so far need onto it. Red, blue, yellow, black, and white, all spread, reaching each other's borders on the ceramic surface. Feverishly and with great deliberation, he chooses a brush and begins.
Long swaths of grey across the canvas completely cover the upper portion, a good base for the soon to be sky. Then, below that, blue, the water along the banks of a forest soon to be created, along with all the mysteries that come with it. Slow, dark blue movements across the sky darken the shade, and carefully placed white creates the stars and their shining brilliance. Then orange below that, mixed with the blue and gold and grey, creates almost a white, a day beginning and ending. Then the colors of sun darken as they descend to where you can see barely the top of the glowing orb, floating low on the dark waves, tossed by the easy wind. The water expands until you can no longer see it in the distance, but it starts at the rocky shore, made of gravel and sand, course from lack of human exposure. Above the rocks lies soft, vibrant green grass, darker though in the coming evening. The grasses are tall, tall enough to conceal all manners of small animals and insects which live in the bordering forest. The huge evergreen trees tower above all else near the icy water, kings of their stretch of land, their pines stretching out to the horizons and their peaks reaching for the heavens and worshipping the dying rays of the great sun. They sway in the light wind, the alive green needles rustling against each otehr as they dance to the rhythm of all the raw nature around them.
And then...nothing.
Henry sits back, eyes closed, just breathing. Simply breathing. He has finished. Minutes later, slowly, very slowly, he opens his eyes to see what he has created. With a sense of awe, he reveled in his work, noticing small things he hadn't even remembered drawing, such as the small yellow pair of eyes peering out from a stand of bushes near a copse of trees, or the remains of what was the wreckage of a rowboat, demolished on the unforgiving rocks. A large white seabired wheeled around in the sky, surverying its kingdom, starlight refracting off its snowy wings, delicate and light, yet strong. Henry had been so immersed in the making of this painting that he unconciously added these things that fit so right, somehow knowing without thinking that they were meant to be.
Pleased with his work but really too tired to take much pride, considering it was 2:30 in the morning and he'd been at it for six hours, he cleaned the coffee earlier spilled, and the bitter smell inspired him to brew another pot. As soon as it was ready, he poured it into a red mug, a souvenier from his art school, and stepped outside onto his fire escape and into the chilly November air. Feeling the steam from the hot, aromatic drink reach his face, he looked out across the city and listened to the cars honk, the people shout, and a light rain begin to fall, illuminated by the pink neon lights of the bar just one block over. Finally becoming fully at rest, Henry drained the last of the coffee, slipped into a pair of blue and grey pajama pants, and loped off to his couch where he fell asleep, exhausted.

The Manhattan Story
Sunday, November 19th, 2013
OBITUARIES
Henry Dallas White.
1991-2013
A now famous artist, Henry was discovered early the morning of November 27th in his Manhattan apartment, motionless. When police arrived on the scene, it was determined he died of a heart attack, at just 22 years old. Police noticed a canvas leaning against the wall with a most beautiful painting, the paint not yet even dry. It is now on display at the college of art at which he attended. Henry will be dearly missed by friends and family, and mourned by the nation for such a talented man's passing.

Is that a real obituary? Either way, I think this is very powerful ... the imagery is wonderful.

I really like the imagery too. It's captivating.

Haha nope, I got bored in Spanish class the other day and started writing :). And thanks! I like to create images.

Ahh okay. :D I just wondered because it reminded me of this assignment I once had in a writing class where we had to write poems based on real news stories we found.

Wow, that sounds great! I wish I could take a writing class.

Hopefully you'll get to someday! This was during my senior year of high school, and I've also taken a bunch in college. But before that I barely got to do any creative writing in school. :P

Yeah, I'm not sure for college, I either want to major in music or writing/journalism, but its a really hard decision for me. I'm in marching band right now and its pretty much my life.

You could double-major! Although I don't know how difficult that is ... my college doesn't have majors so I don't exactly know how they work, haha.

Brigid *Flying Kick-a-pow!* wrote: "You could double-major! Although I don't know how difficult that is ... my college doesn't have majors so I don't exactly know how they work, haha."

Or do creative writing as a minor! I'm a Journalism student and it's not gonna be like this at every college but we are required to have a minor, so I get to use that to do creative writing. :D Not that I've gotten to take any classes for it yet, but I can't wait to!

Wow, that's awesome! My three main things I want to do are be a music major and teach, major in music and go on to play trumpet in the Navy, or travel as a journalist. Oh well, I'm a freshman, guess as long as I take the courses I need for college in highschool I should be good :P

Josie wrote: "Wow, that's awesome! My three main things I want to do are be a music major and teach, major in music and go on to play trumpet in the Navy, or travel as a journalist. Oh well, I'm a freshman, gues..."

FELLOW TRUMPET PLAYER? HELLO. HELLO FRIEND.

i loved this! your writing is so amazing!

FELLOW TRUMPET PLAYER! HELLO FRIEND!!! :D