The Possesion of Horrible Horror Films

http://screenrant.com/possession-movie-reviews/
     This is a great review, it has good points, some being; the fact that is says both good and bad things about the film The Possession.  It pin points the main points of the movie that were great but it also tells you the bad parts because it wasn't the best 'horror film' I wouldnt call it a horror film.  It was more like a scary thriller.  The review critic did a great job of showing these points. 
      However I think it was a little long and I didn't enjoy how much detail he went into with it.  He told you every detail of the movie and every surprise and it would ruin the movie for anyone who never watched it. 

       In another sense what made the review good was the detail he put into it and how much he seemed to enjoy the good details of the film even though it wasn't really a good horror film.  It caught your attention when you watched it but when you think back it wasn't as good as you expected it to be.  The critic tells you that all the great aspects of the movie are shown in the trailer and hes right.  I agree with a lot of his view points thats why I think this review is good and accurate. 

Writing Inventory

          I write in my spare time, but it is very hard to have spare time, I'm quite busy.  I try to write whenever I'm not reading or walking or doing yoga. My favorite writers are; Chuck Palahniuck, Christopher Pike, Sylvia Plath, Cassandra Clare and many more.  I am most influenced by Chuck Palahniuck though.  I love their writing because the words are beautiful and it is very well written.  The story captivates you and thats what I love in a book.  I don't tend to read anything that involves true events unless it has horror in it.  I love science fiction that is dark.  I love fantasy worlds that you can just jump into.  The writing that comes easiest to me is of course the type of writing that I can most relate to and is reflected by what I read and or think.  Writing that is challanging for me is when I am given a specific topic to write about.  Something boring like How to Make a Sandwich, or Discuss You're Christmas, informal writing I guess.  I think that kind of writing is dull. I don't want to tell you about my Christmas because 10 chances out of 10 I didn't do anything worth mentioning.
         I like most people, get their writing ideas from what they read, self thoughts, anything my imagination can come up with. I am currently not working on any stories, I wrote small paragraphs with ideas but I can't recall what they were. Just sentances I like I suppose. However, I am currently writing up gym projects, my most recent was on injuries in cheerleading.  I am expecially proud of the story I wrote based on a song I love, it got published and I've never been more proud of my work.  I normally only produce one draft for a school writing peice and for my own writing.  I love drafts because you can make them look brutal and write more ideas all over them. 
        I don't feel that I have many strengths as a writer however I know that my voice always come out and I really like discription.  I don't nessecarily have any weaknesses as a writer I suppose I could use better grammer and everyone could always use more interesting words.  My favorite subject to write about would be anything involving fantasy.  I like this because there are an endless amount of possibilities.  My second choice would be writing about an image or something to promt the imagination. My goals as a writer is to write more often and keep creativity on the climb.  I expect to do well in this course, I hope to anyway.  I expect to always have things done and done well. 
          
          

Bitter of Winter

    It was an average day in the town of Holton, school was 15 minutes from being out and the class was rushing to finish all their work, well some of the class was, there are always some people who do nothing at all.  Tick, tick, tick, tick the seconds tick away on the clock. It always seems like forever on a Friday.  Everyone is excited to go out and “party” which normally consists of being drunk and sexual with each other around a campfire.  What. A. Life. God, I feel awful about missing out. Down to five minutes. We hear “Pack up please children, but don’t get too loud.”  Poor Mrs. Grimmings, she doesn’t know what she just started.  The class erupts into a hurricane and the students turn into zoo animals.  Everything feels like bitter noise the distinct “bing” of the bell chimes and the animals get pushed out of the herd.

    I make my way down the stairs, taking my time nearly getting knocked over by a group of waddling penguins. Soon I meet up with the only person who’s time I enjoy, my dearest friend Rory, her hair is so short you can barely run your hands through it, but it suits her.  Her face is slim and angled, the only way to describe it is by looking at a painting by one of her favorite artists.  She looks like she was painted in to my miserable life.  Rory is the yin to my yang, she is perfect to me.  Even if she doesn’t think very highly of herself.
   
    “I have to stay after for my painting lessons today, but I’ll call you when i get home, okay?”
Darn, I forgot all about her painting lessons, I guess I’m stuck walking home alone today then.  She has them every second week, I feel dumb for forgetting.
   

“Yeah, sure.  Call me when you get back and show me your great masterpiece.”  I wink at her then begin my solo journey home.

   

“This one will be fantastic!” She yells at my back, far too exuberant.

    As I walk out of the school doors I groan in annoyance.  The first snowfall of the year had to come today when I decided to walk home.  Even though all the rivers are partially frozen and theres always frost on the ground the snow will be falling on me and turning into cold droplets of water.  Having already missed the buses I have no choice but to embark on my adventure.  I make my way out of the school parking lot and begin down the shortcut trail Rory and I take every Friday.

    The snow gently falls tickling my hair, sliding against my skin like silk.  The air is cold and bitter but still holds the sweetness of fall.  The trails that use to be full of life all summer are now dying as the trees become naked and sad.  Something in my heart aches for them in a way.  So cold and bare as the snow falls around them, yet so beautiful in a way.  I figured if I wandered off the track a little i’d be okay.  Everything just looks like a fragile image from a snow globe.

    Slowly I make my way through the forest, crunching the half frozen sticks beneath my feet.  The woods are not completely dead, the soft chirps of birds are still slight in the air and squirrels travel searching for nuts, bunnies hop gracefully, showing off their beauty.  Soon I recognize nothing and I know I’ve wandered way too far.  I can hear the soft current of running water and make my way towards it.  I began to panic, not recognizing my surroundings my heart pace quickened, before I knew it I began hyperventilating.

    I sank to my knees in the cold snow, a thin blanket to the barren earth.  I shook, cold to the bone.  Nothing looked beautiful anymore,  It was a distorted nightmare, the ground shivered beneath me and then crumbled.  I grabbed for a stick, a twig, a vine anything, I couldn’t fall.  I just couldn’t.  The water invoked me and a scream was gurgled from my lungs.  The cold was needles in my skin, millions and millions of tiny needles crawling against my skin choking me, holding me down.  They want me as their victim, their medication. My vision blurs to red and everything aches more than ever as I tumble through the current.

    This is it, this is where I will die.  Everything in my life has been meaningless, I’ve never done anything worth being remembered.  Now I wake up, I want to wake up now. I want this to be some sick twisted dream but it isn’t.  I’m not going to wake up. I want to fight but I have nothing left in me.  Slowly my body gives up and everything is meaningless.