Camp half-blood( Percy Jackson)

Rafay Waqar

Camp Half-blood is a camp for demi-gods which are the daughters and sons of all the Greek gods.A demi-god is a son or daughter of a Greek god who is half human and half god.This camp is located on Long island sound in America.This camp is directed by the centaur named Dionysus.A centaur is a mythical Greek creature which is half horse and half human. These demi-gods live here and train here.They train here because the outside world is dangerous for them because they can be attacked by many mythical creatures like Cyclopes , Minotaur , Griffins and many others.Mostly these creatures are sent by Hades( god of the underworld).This camp is surrounded by a shield which only lets demi-gods enter.This mythical shield around the camp protects these demi-gods by keeping out all these dangerous mythical creatures.I took all of this information from the book Percy Jackson the lightning thief.

The Sandstorm

Hey Nike, I did it already

I had sand in my shoes

“This is about the struggles of a man stranded in the desert. The sentences listed above are the sentences that have to be included in this passage.”

Hey Nike, I did it already. As I walked through the sandstorm screaming, I realized how thirsty I was. I started looking for some water in my backpack and was disappointed to find none. I then remembered that I forgot to place it into my backpack, and screamed, not strong like you would if you were angry, but a weaker, more frail scream, like I was drained of my energy and could barely move. I had sand in my shoes. I had no food or water. And worst of all, I had nowhere to shield myself from the storm. My vision blurred as sand got into my eyes, but I kept looking into the distance. There, stood a building, not tall or short, not fat or thin, kind of similar to a hut. Attached to the top of the building was a large sign, tinted silver with a date on it, “October 9, 2083”. Desperate, tired, dehydrated, and on the brink of losing consciousness, I made my valiant effort to crawl to the hut. Energy left me with each crawl, leaving me winded at every movement of my body. It seemed close, and yet so far away. “5 more minutes” I told myself, “5 more minutes”. But as I reached to move forward, I didn’t touch the grainy sand that littered the desert. No, I didn’t even touch the brick that supported the seemingly close building. No, what I touched, was the nothingness and darkness that my exhaustion led me to. Overwhelmed with warmth, I felt every last glimpse of light disappear. The warmth enveloped me, and as my life dissipated before my eyes, I took one last, long breath, and collapsed.

Eric Gorner

black and white


black /blak/


the color of the world on days where it’s too much. the sound of silence when all you want to do is speak, staring too long to try to remember how anything feels. the color of never ending keys on a piano that remind you of his heart. ink splatters on old clothes, the text on forgotten books from times past. the color of his wings when you two flew up to the sun, but he let you fall into the sea. black is color you saw when you looked into his eyes and realized how foolish you were to have ever loved him.

white /(h)wīt/


the color of new beginnings, of scars beginning to heal over. the foam from the waves that crashed upon you over and over again, until they didn’t as much anymore. the color of the keys that made you forget, trying to remedy the broken parts of its player. the pages of the books that you read that made you dream again, hope again. the color of the shirt you wore when you first saw the boy. the innocence you see in little kids, reminding us all of how the world can still be good sometimes. the color you saw when you looked up at the boy that saved you. his hair so light, that sometimes you could’ve sworn you almost saw a halo. white is color of your wings when you realize that you can finally fly again, but this time without the fear of falling into the sea.





Along the Way

Along the way,

you’ll come across a man who needs your help.

There he sits, unkempt, unclean, and unnoticed. He is thin. So thin, that his ribs can be seen through his tattered shirt, and the skin around his bony fingers wilts like a flower in the cold. He will reach those fingers out to you.

Along the way,

you’ll come across a man, slumped against a tree in the dead of winter, no coat around his shoulders and his bare feet buried in the snow for warmth. The tree’s icy bark peels and digs into his back. You may wonder about his family and his friends and his children and where they all could’ve gone. Was this man, now barely clinging to life, once along the way as you are now?

Along the way,

you’ll wonder many things about this man, but even as you wonder, you won’t stop walking. You won’t take the decrepit hand he reaches out to you. You’ll keep going, your boots crunching in the snow. For you’re along the way, and you don’t have time to stop. You’ll trudge right past, barely looking him in the eye.

Along the way,

you might find yourself to tired to walk any further, your boots are long gone, your coat has been lost, and your clothes have been reduced to rags. You’ll slump against a tree in the dead of winter, wondering about your family and your friends and your children and where they all went, and why this person walking by you won’t stop for a second, just a second, to even look you in the eye.

But then, someone else,

Along the way,

may pause for a second, just a second. You’ll reach your hand out to her, the skin around your fingers wilting like a flower in the cold. You reach your hand out to her in need,

and she might take it, because she knows,

you were along the way once, too.

-Joey Schuman


A Mind’s Eye

Stevenson University Creative writing camp is a 1-2 week session that allows you to delve into your imagination/memory and put it on paper. Every day we learn new material and get to dig deep into our creative senses. Each morning starts a full day that includes writing, activities, games, and snacks. We help each other develop our writing through encouragement and workshops. This camp allows us to explore and open our minds to the many themes of fictional writing.

We have explored many types of writing in our classes, such as fiction, poetry, and memoirs. We were under the instruction of Nate Brown, Krystle Carter, Dare Turner, Anthony Moll, Sarah Shellow, Lady Brion, and Amanda Licastro. The course “Monsters are People, Too” taught us about a variety of creatures seen in folklore around the world and helped us incorporate it into our writing.  In “Writing Mysteries” we have learned how to construct mysteries through character-driven stories.  “Writing from Life” starts each class with a yoga session, followed by writing exercises, readings from non-fiction, and practicing writing techniques.  We are instructed on how to compose drafts for different genres of writing in our multimedia class, and we took part in workshops on ekphrasis in “Responding to Art with Poetry.”

We are given motive, means, and opportunity to write and experiment different styles by attending these classes. In just a week or two, we have taken inspiring workshops and explored our creativity. We observed the world around us and immortalized our perceptions and sensations through the stories we crafted.