Reflection

        Overall, I have really enjoyed the first semester of Creative Writing. I love being able to come to school each morning and just write. I think this first semester has taught me a lot about my writing skills and how to hone that creativity in my writing. I think I have come a long way in my sentence level writing and in my ability to explore my ideas fully. Writing has never felt very natural to me, but after being in this class for a semester, I feel like it has become something I really enjoy and could see myself venturing deeper into. 

My favorite part of this semester was definitely the playwriting workshop. Although I have always been passionate about the performing arts and will continue to study theatre in college next year, I never thought about exploring the writing aspect of it. I feel that playwriting is a form of creativity that I really connected to and can excel in if I continue to write and explore it. At first, I found it hard to start off a play and create characters that an audience could connect to. However, once I began with a vague objective for a character, ideas just came to me pretty naturally. Looking back on it, my story is very complex and unique; however, I think those ideas have always been in my head, but I have not yet had the chance to actually write them out. My form of storytelling is through actors on a stage, rather than through my own voice. I think because I have been so inspired by other incredible pieces of theatre, I can connect to that form of telling a story: through diving in to the emotional state of a character.

I hope to continue playwriting next semester and maybe even create a piece for the One Acts. Whether finishing the piece that I have already begun, or creating something totally different, I think it would be an amazing challenge for me to create a piece for my peers to perform and in front of an actual audience.

Memoir

It was my oldest cousin’s wedding day. This was the first wedding I had ever attended and my whole family from my mother’s side was reunited for the first time. I was eight years old and my family traveled to all the way to the English country side for a week of celebration and happiness.

            My huge English family (my mum had four brothers and three sisters) drove to the ceremony in a pack black Mercedes-Benz’. It was raining out and everyone was frantically running around trying to keep dry.

            The church we drove down to was in the middle of the beautiful English town of Weymouth. I swear everyone in Weymouth knew each other, something I was not used to living in Los Angeles where people don’t even know their neighbor’s names. The church had beautiful pointed arches and seemed even more beautiful in the harsh rain.

            When my cousin exited the car, she illuminated the misty air. It’s funny, I used to hate brides. My mum always tells me stories of how I used to cover my eyes in horror every time we would drive by a bridal party getting their photos taken in the Beverly Hills Park. But when my cousin walked up the stairs to the church, I wasn’t frightened at all, I was even drawn to how magical she looked.

            The ceremony seemed to go on and on and on. As an eight-year-old you can imagine how long a traditional English wedding might seem.

            Cut to the after party. My aunt and uncle’s beautiful seaside home turned into a castle for the night. People were dancing, drinking, and letting go. I remember a relative that I had never met, clearly having a few too many glasses of champagne,  came up to me accusing me that I had a glass of red wine in my hand. I was eight. I said “No, it’s Coke.” She took my glass, through the straw on the ground, and gulped down the entire drink until there was nothing but ice left. “Oh, you’re right,” she said as she handed me the glass and walked toward the bar.

            Cut to the next morning. Silence. I woke up and noticed my mum was already up. I tiptoed out of my room, stopped in my tracks, and tried to listen if I could hear any voices in this old mansion.

            I made my way to the kitchen, knowing that every morning my aunt is in there making tea and big breakfasts for everyone.