Writing Portfolio

CREATIVE WRITING

WRITING PORTFOLIO SABRINA MACEDO

03 Letter from the Author 04 Creative Non-Fiction 06 CNF Reflection 07 Poetry

TABLE

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CONTENTS

09 Poetry Reflection 10 Fiction 14 Fiction Reflection 15 About the Author

LETTER FROM THE AUTHOR To those who say, “Writing is fun!” I can now join the crowd.

In the past, I did not believe I was capable of crafting a creative piece that others could enjoy. As part of my creative writing course at St. Edward’s University, I had the opportunity to acquire new writing skills and processes.

I have compiled five of my favorite pieces in this portfolio to share with others. There is a large variety of different themes that can be found within my pieces, from personal adaptation to fear of failure. The great thing about each and every one of them is how they speak to different audiences. It was enlightening to explore different genres of writing: creative nonfiction, poetry, and fiction.

Towards the end of my writing process, a global pandemic occurred. Having to stay home, I had more time on my hands.

During this period, I developed my writing skills to strengthen my final pieces. I had time to concentrate on the concepts that I aimed to express and the emotions I wanted to create through my pieces.

With the help of advice from my peers, I got to enhance my pieces for an effortless and pleasant read. This writing process was an amazing experience for me to grow as a writer. I can now see myself writing for comfort in the future to continue to add on to my current skills. As for now, I hope you enjoy reading my pieces!

CREATIVE NON-FICTION PIECE TINY CRAWLERS Moonlight slips through the blinds, illuminating and casting shadows across different parts of the room. Everyone else in the house has gone to sleep while you stayed up to watch the most random videos on YouTube, like a video of two men building a primitive swimming pool. Your body is finally ready to call it a night—or so you thought. It is almost one in the morning. If you fall asleep now, you will get about seven hours of sleep. You will not snooze the alarm three times in the morning. Only two. Okay, just close your eyesand, in no time, you will feel like you are wrapped in soft 100% cotton sheets that cost more than your rent; not the twenty-dollar cotton-blend sheets you picked up at Target because you thought they matched your comforter. Clear your mind and falling asleep will become a simple task.

Why does it feel like your arrector pili muscles are contracting? You are not cold, and you aredefinitely not scared. There is nothing in the room with you. No demons standing in the darkcorner by the door, no witches clawing their nails on the window, no ghosts sleeping next to you, and surely no Chucky under your queensized bed. But, as you look around the room, your mind begins to direct a horror movie where you are the main character being stalked by a demon. This is what happens when you are a horror fanatic who is also afraid of the dark. These are the few thoughts that distract you from the exasperating itch going up and down your legs, like a bunch of lousy, amateur figure skaters constantly messing up their fall and tripping on your leg hairs.

Y o u r e a c h o v e r t o g r a b y o u r p h o n e o n y o u r n i g h t s t a n d . I t i s 1 : 1 6 a m. Ma y b e , i f y o u r e ma i n c a l m a n d r e s i s t t h e u r g e t o s c r a t c h , t h e d r e a d f u l i t c h i n e s s wi l l g o a wa y f o r e v e r .

Gi v e i t a s h o t . Gr e a t , h e r e c o me s t h e f r e e a c u p u n c t u r e v i s i t f r o m t h e wi t c h . No ma t t e r h o w ma n y t i me s y o u t e l l h e r y o u d o n o t wa n t h e r s e r v i c e s b e c a u s e t h e y d o n o t r e l a x y o u r b o d y a n d b e c a u s e h e r l o n g n a i l s ma k e i t wo r s e , s h e d o e s n o t l e a v e . S h e s t a n d s b y the foot of your bed as she carefully lays out the box of needles on top of your c o mf o r t e r . A r e 1 , 0 0 0 n e e d l e s r e a l l y r e q u i r e d ? A n a c u p u n c t u r e s e s s i o n a l mo s t e v e r y night for the past three years is not necessary.

You have told your mom, but she thinks it is all in your mind. What does that even mean? Is she saying your mind is weak and not capable of putting an end to this eternal feeling? You believed it was only a phase, like the nasal congestion issue you had years back that surprisingly went away as soon as you started getting a thousand millipedes running sprints on your legs. What if it isn’t only a phase? It has been years. You do not know how much more of this you can take.

It could be these cheap Target sheets that cause the itch. Curse Target and their aesthetically cute products at every corner beckoning for your credit card! You have slept at multiple hotels over the years with their questionable sheets, but the acupuncturist witch always seems to book the same room. It even stretches into your day, like when you: are in class, at work helping a customer, or simply shopping at Target. Instead of scratching the itch, you slap the area, creating a ripple effect to cover more skin. In high school, your friend Ashley would have a look of confusion on her face as she’d hear a random slap during your medical assistant course.

It has been about half an hour since you put your phone away. Any other night you would have stayed up longer and lost yourself in conspiracy theory threads. But not tonight. The highly acclaimed Dr. Google convinced you that you may have restless leg syndrome…then made you wonder if you have an iron deficiency. You should seriously go to a real doctor.

It is difficult to remember a night when you did not struggle to fall asleep. It is not an easy taskwith that disturbing feeling running down your legs. You lose about an hour or two of sleepevery night because of this itch. You feel as if your body is no longer your own during thisduration of time. In a lateral position, you constantly move your legs as if you are riding aninvisible stationary bike. This helps alleviate the feeling of ants crawling on your legs.

Your thoughts begin to distract your mind and, for a split second, you feel at peace. But, then a sudden spike of electricity shoots through your left leg, causing the stationary bike to beginagain. Now the prickling sensation starts to spread to your back, arms, and neck. After what feels like two hours, you get up and rinse off your body with cold water. You decide not to dry off completely, as you believe the water droplets on your skin will help your legs remain cool.

Some nights you slather on thick layers of lotion to lock in moisture to your body. You quickly hop back into bed, trying to steer away from the witch.

Sunlight bursts through the window, revealing a warm spring day. You wake up with norecollection of the night before.

You made it through the night.

CREATIVE NON-FICTION REFLECTION

In the beginning, I had no idea what I wanted to write about. I then thought that I could write about something funny because I assumed it would be the easiest way for me to capture the reader’s attention. I struggled with choosing a topic because it was going to be the first time I would write an original piece in years. After tossing around a few ideas, I decided to write about an issue I unfortunately still have to deal with on most nights: itchy legs.

While writing I did not stop to think what point of view would work best, I went with my instincts and began writing in a second-person point of view. I later realized it was perfect because I was able to have the reader not only understand but feel what I sense at night.

They would be able to feel every crawl, every goosebump, every needle while reading it. I had a lot of fun writing this piece and watching it change over time with the help of my peer’s feedback.

My peers both gave me constructive feedback that helped me strengthen my creative nonfiction piece. One aspect of my piece that they enjoyed was how I incorporated specific things that they personally experience on a daily basis. For example, when I said, “If you fall asleep now, you will have gotten about seven hours of sleep and you will not snooze the alarm three times in the morning. Only two.” They both said this is something that crosses their mind before they go to bed. This comment from them made me take note that I should include more daily situations to hopefully build a stronger connection with the reader. As I was drafting my piece, the witch acupuncturist character causally came to my mind. I decided to throw it on the paper and see where it would take me. I did not expect it to hold such an important role in my piece. I was told by my peers to include more of her in the piece to expand on the creativity and strengthen the sensations I feel on my legs.

Their feedback led me to produce more powerful and vivid imagery scenes to pull in the reader.

The writing process for this piece has taught me to not be so tough on myself as a writer.

Growing up I always was uncertain about my writing. After getting this piece published for New Literati, it gave me the reassurance I needed to believe in myself. I now know to trust the writing process and to allow my creative thoughts to flow on the paper.

POETRY PIECES END OF IT ALL Words begin to spill off the page, Aligning themselves once they reach the ground, The small friend always tagging along, Trying to locate their spot at the end of the line, The little ones feel the most neglected, The most overlooked, the most unwanted, Never knowing when their time comes, To be thrown at the end once again, Being born into the family Means having to take the longest journey, Dodging all the sharp turns and curves, And dealing with numerous abrupt stops, Dreading their destiny, They can’t help but wonder, What would life be like With more character, The cycle continues, One after the other, As the words are read, The sentence ends.

UNEXPECTED The day will be unexpected, Who will I miss the most?

Will I be able to feel it, Feel as if I miss someone?

Will I be missed?

If so, by who?

The thoughts race within my head, Beating me on random times in my day.

Knocking me when I don’t want to be hit at all, When I want to enjoy the moments.

Locking eyes with that special someone at a cafe, Viewing the marmalade sunset from the rolling hills, Feeling the rush of achievement while walking the stage, Watching the bluebonnets after a frigid winter.

Yet the moment is ruined by these thoughts, Thoughts that are hard to escape from.

The moment will be unexpected, And the thoughts will be gone.

LOCKER ROOM If you come across a day where the teacher or substitute teacher fails to arrive. Don’t panic. Remain in your seat, pull out a deck of cards, and begin playing your favorite card games with fellow peers. Today will be a day of doing nothing. No responsibilities to stress you out.

If you hear the sound of keys rustling and someone trying to open the door, act quick and cautious. Grab your bags, push in your chairs, and make sure there is no evidence left behind. Walk in an orderly fashion to the door at the far left by the exit. It is recommended for everyone to have a buddy for the duration of time.

If time allows, grab a snack from the teacher’s desk, as your time in hiding may extend for hours and hours. When you get to the hallway on the other side, you will see multiple doors. Head into the locker room which is the second door to your left. Shut off the lights and prepare yourself for absolute silence.

If the noises of someone trying to open the classroom door begin to die down, don’t be surprised once other noises begin to appear. Power your cell phones off. It is vital to save as much battery life as possible. You will find it difficult to not giggle, cough, sneeze, cry, or flatulate.

If you begin to hear the footsteps of someone in heels getting louder and louder, now is the time to panic. The outcomes are unpredictable. Good luck!

If you have been caught by the administrator, you are urged to create every excuse possible at a rate of 471 words per minute. Maintain eye contact. Try not to perspire.

And most importantly, admit to nothing. Ask to speak to a lawyer.

If you still have not been caught by the administrator, congratulations! You have proven yourself worthy of being silent. Now be aware, things could spiral out of control from here.

If you find yourself in a state of confusion. Don’t worry. Play 8-Ball Pool with your classmates to pass the time. Here the real 8-Ball Pool King/Queen will be determined. Make sure to turn off your ringer. No one wants to hear the pool jingle in the background.

Once one of you gets the courage to check the hallway and classroom, quietly step out of the room, gather your belongings and run. Do not, I repeat, do not look back. Run to your car, start the engine and drive far, far away If you do not have a car, order an Uber. If you do not have money, start walking buddy.

POETRY REFLECTION

For so long I believed all poetry had to rhyme. That there was only one correct way to write it. Being in Creative Writing taught me that poetry is what the writer wants it to be. It is about letting the ideas flow and finding the meaning within them. I saw this concept play out while writing my three poems.

I wrote “End of it All” as part of a class assignment to create a poem that mixes hyperbolic and mundane. I did not intend to have a solemn tone. I wrote the first line, “Words began to spill off the page,” during my blank stage in the writing process. I typed out the exact thing I was doing at the moment. This line helped me bring to life the existence of a period. Once I had a few lines down, I was committed to expanding on the life story of a period to the point that it began to sound realistic. After receiving feedback from my peers, they confirmed my idea that this piece would be interpreted in many different ways. They advised me to be more specific with the terms I use if I wanted to convey the story of a period.

Initially, “Unexpected” took me less than ten minutes to write as I was running out of time. I was surprised with what I had created. This poem was built around my constant fear of death that remained lurking in my mind a few years back. This fear vanished the moment I met an amazing person that made me appreciate the little moments in life. While going through the feedback process, my peers agreed that the simplicity of the poem created an effortless read. They also encouraged me to use figurative language and poetic devices to add more imagery. I took their advice and added specific images towards the end of the poem to show the reader all the beautiful moments that are hindered by the unexpected things in life.

“Locker Room” was also created as part of a class assignment. I experienced this my senior year in high school when our teacher failed to arrive. I had fun writing this piece as an evacuation plan. One of my peers gave me the idea to add a warning section in which the narrator guides the reader if they are caught. This addition to my piece enhanced the structure of my poem to sound more like a real evacuation plan.

Throughout the poetry unit, my viewpoint on poetry shifted significantly. This poetry writing process taught me to appreciate poetry in all its forms. I was able to notice how poetry is very subjective to the reader. This helped me to view my poems as my own and that I do not have to write for a specific audience. I did not expect to enjoy writing poetry as much as I do now.

FICTION PIECE A FEW SPARKS “Ma’m, please take off your shoes and place them on the tray.”

She carefully slips off her sneakers, places them on the tray, and walks through the security body scanner. She steps out quickly grabbing her items from the tray. Her light gray leggings made the flight she awaited more bearable. Her dark brown hair, which she got from her mom, was held high in a ponytail. From a young age, she has always wanted to go to Morocco. She always envisioned going on this trip with the love of her life. A person she has yet to meet considering she is currently in med school, works late shifts at the hospital, and makes sure her brother stays out of trouble.

There were times where Harold, Astrid’s brother, did not come home for days. He’d return home as if no day had passed. Digging through the pantry at one in the morning looking for the package of Oreos he remembered seeing days ago. Astrid had done everything she could to get him back on his feet. She landed him a few jobs over the past few months. He never managed to keep them as he would always stop going after the second day, but Harold wasn’t always like this.

She was at the hospital covering for one of her friend’s late shifts the moment she received the news. They had no one else. It was always Astrid, Harold, and their parents.

He moved in with Astrid the next day. She decided to sell their parents home and become Harold’s legal guardian. All of his goals and aspirations in life vanished the day Astrid told him a semi-trailer had struck their parent’s car on their way home. She held him close as he trembled from the news. She wanted him to know she would always be there for him. Since that day, Harold had been all Astrid ever had.

The plane was old and narrow. Expected since it was the cheapest flight she had found.

She walks towards the back where she finally found her seat. Once she put her bag in the overhead compartment, she pulls out one of her favorite books. A few moments later a tall middle-aged man with salt and peppered hair takes the seat next to her. She had always found this feature attractive. She gives him a faint smile to be friendly.

The man glances at the book in her hands. “Jamie should have told Landon from the beginning,” mutters the man.

“Excuse me?” Astrid got a longer look at the man. He had on a worn-out baseball tee with some black sweats. Not many people take comfortable clothes on a flight, especially on an international flight. It was safe to assume he had either done plenty of research beforehand like Astrid had done or he had taken many flights in the past.

“I mean, why did she tell him ‘promise me you will not fall in me’ and not give any more details of her current state. She had so much time to tell him, even when they started dating. But she chose not to,” says the man.

“Maybe because she didn’t owe it to him. She was only his tutor, nothing else. Jamie had bigger things to worry about,” blurts Astrid.

“Exactly! That big thing was that she was dying.”

Astrid looks at him with frustration. “Landon didn’t have to know that! A Walk to Remember is perfect the way it is. I don’t know why I am arguing with a guy I just met about a book. Also, you are lucky that this is my third time reading this book. If not….,” she stops mid-sentence.

“If not what?” asks the man.

“Nothing.”

“I am Bryce by the way.” He goes for a handshake. She stares at him for a bit, wondering if she can befriend this loud-mouthed stranger who knows more Nicholas Sparks than she had expected. She thought only women could enjoy a good romance book. She returns the handshake.

“Astrid.” She begins to look out the small window thinking of the long flight ahead. Her mother would have loved to look at all the pictures from the trip. Videos of all the new and exciting foods Astrid would be trying. Late phone calls between the two talking about the kind strangers who had helped her find a good restaurant. Not Bryce of course. All he had done so far was rudely comment on Spark’s flawless story between two completely opposite characters destined for young love. “What do you even know about Nicholas Sparks?” asks Astrid.

“I know The Notebook is overrated.”

“You did not just say that! There is nothing wrong with The Notebook. It is brilliant the way it is,” Astrid says defensively.

“You asked me what I know. That is what I know,” states Bryce in a daring tone.

Astrid and her mother would fall in love with the characters together. Put themselves into the female character and go through all the wild adventures.

The two of them would stay up late watching all of Sparks’ movies. She always loved how even though they did not include slightly important details from the book, they still managed to capture the love of the characters. If it were not for her mother, she would not have this huge admiration for his books. She felt closer to her mom as she flipped the pages. Almost as if she were still there with her. It has been two years since her parents had passed away and four months since she last saw Harold.

“Dear John?” Bryce asks in a teasing manner. He looks over at Astrid as she is in deep thought recounting past memories when her life was full of love from her family.

“Dear John? So do you only watch the movies to criticize?” asks Astrid. She sees a smirk begin to appear on the corner of his mouth.

“I read the books for comfort then it leads to criticism.” Astrid was caught by surprise to hear him say this. She did not believe men would willingly read a romance book. Unless they were being forced to for a reward of money.

“I did not get you as a man that would read Nicholas Sparks simply because they wanted to.” She says quietly, “I did not get you as a man at all.” Astrid let out a subtle chuckle at her last comment wondering if he had caught on to her insult towards him.

“I guess I am a rare… man. So why Morocco?” Bryce could not read her face as she struggled to find words for a response.

After losing their parents, Astrid had hoped Harold and her would be able to move on together. That one day they would both start their own families and have kids of their own. That they could celebrate holidays together. But Harold never seemed to move on.

He was always in a constant state of depression. She never gave up on him. He was always welcome at her apartment for as long as he needed a place to stay. It wasn’t until she was informed by the police that Harold had taken his life. She knew he was mentally unstable.

Through all they have experienced, she just never thought it would lead to that.

Now here she is, having a conversation with a plainspoken stranger on the topic of her favorite author.

“I have always wanted to go.” She questions this sudden interest he has for her. “In all the flights I have taken, never have I sat with someone who had so much to say about Nicholas Sparks,” says Astrid.

“Like I said, I am rare,” states Bryce. Astrid could not help but smile at his remark.

As the hours had gone by, they had both taken multiple naps and bought ridiculously overpriced snacks to stay full. Astrid began to enjoy her conversation with Bryce. She enjoyed the constant bickering between them. They were discussing nearly every one of Sparks' novels. The sun was setting and giving light through the window. Astrid looks over at Bryce and wonders how many more sarcastic individuals she will meet in the following days.

FICTION REFLECTION For the fiction piece, we were given the opportunity to write about anything.

This got me really excited until it came time to create my piece. My mind was blank. I stared at my laptop for about twenty minutes tossing around multiple ideas. I finally decided to write about a female traveling to another country after facing multiple tragedies in her life. Next, I had to think about all the small details that would make up her character and ultimately decide on how the story would end. I did not expect my fiction piece to end up the way it did. I knew that it would be best to create a story on a topic that I knew a lot about. That is why I chose to have this piece revolve around Nicholas Sparks’ books. I am well aware that not everyone will be able to understand the context of it, but I am sure those who are familiar with Sparks’ work will appreciate this random encounter of a female and a complete stranger.

The feedback I received helped me in strengthening the story of the character. I was told to add specific years involving the events to help the reader to create a time frame while reading it. My peer also advised me to describe the character more, such as her age, height, etc. I agree that these revisions that I implemented into my fiction piece helped organize the story. These changes will help the reader comprehend my story and understand the character’s personality much more.

When people read “A Few Sparks,” they will expect a happy ending, especially since it is said in the first paragraph that she has not met the love of her life. One may believe the stranger seated next to her will turn out to be her soulmate.

Unfortunately, that was not the ending that I wanted to have. I wanted to show how unexpected life can be and how we need to accept what fate brings us.

While creating my fiction piece, I realized how much control I have as a writer.

This piece taught me the importance of writing everything down on the page, even if does not make the final cut. All my ideas, even the bizarre ones, helped develop my piece to the way it is now. This writing process also taught me that as a writer you have the power to create a piece directed towards a specific audience. I kept on reminding myself of this while crafting this piece. These are some of the things I will consider when writing my future pieces.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Hello! My name is Sabrina Macedo. I am born and raised in Austin, TX. I am in my first year at St. Edward's University with a major in Interdisciplinary Studies and a minor in Teacher Education. In a few years, I hope to become an early education teacher. I didn’t always want to be a teacher. I initially wanted to be in the medical field, but after taking some courses, I realized it was not for me. That same year I found out that I loved working with children. I want to be a positive teacher who motivates their students to always want to be the best version of themselves. I can’t wait to travel more in the years to come and try new foods!