Day 1 Writing Homework
Writing Prompt:
Write a short narrative (250–350 words) that explores the relationship between a single character and a vivid setting. Like Leo in The Lost Violinist at Circular Quay, your character should be shaped by their environment and have a relationship with it — your setting should reflect their emotions, choices, or transformation.
Your story must include:
– A character with a clear personality, vulnerability, or motivation
– A specific time and place that shapes the story’s mood (e.g., dawn, storm, fog, rooftop, train station)
– Use of sensory detail to bring the setting to life (include at least 3 senses) AND at least one example of figurative language (personification, metaphor, simile)
– At least one moment of internal conflict or emotional change in the character
– A final piece of imagery that connects character and setting in a powerful way
Please upload your homework as a comment below:
- Due Date : July 9, 2025
- Feedback will be shared in 3-5 days
1 thought on “Day 1 Writing Homework”
Fog clung to the harbor like an old sorrow on this damp October evening. Mae stood at the edge of the wooden dock in Port Arlan, her scarf fluttering in the wind like a frayed memory. The last ferry was late. The sea hissed beneath her boots, whispering promises and warnings she couldn’t quite decipher.
Mae had always been the quiet one, a librarian in a coastal town too small for secrets. But today, her world had shifted. In the hollow of her coat pocket was a letter—creased, smudged with the oils of her fingertips, read too many times. It was from her sister, Isla, gone seven years without a word. Come to me. I need you.
She hated boats. She hated the sea. And yet, here she was, drawn by something deeper than fear. The ghost of old arguments haunted her—the way she’d slammed the door, the way Isla’s voice cracked the last time they spoke. Now, regret curled tight around her ribs.
A seagull shrieked above, slicing the silence. The salty air stung her nose, mingling with the faint scent of diesel and seaweed. Her fingers trembled as she traced the name on the ferry ticket: Isla’s Cove. She closed her eyes and let the wind comb through her hair, whispering of tides and second chances.
The boat’s horn cut through the mist like a wound reopening. Mae stepped forward.
As the ferry emerged from the fog—its lights soft halos in the gray—a strange calm settled over her. The dock creaked beneath her, steady as a heartbeat. She wasn’t sure what waited on the other side, but the sea, once a wall, now felt like a bridge.
And as she boarded, the fog folded around her like a quilt, stitching her into the story she was finally ready to continue