2. My desired position is: A writer for the Stories/Poems area, more specifically making stories.
3. Any experience in this area? A lot actually.
4. My example: This is quite an old one actually. Tell me if some more are needed, or a more recent one.
QUOTE
I sit here on my shelf, day in and day out. I sit, waiting for my owner to pick me up, and fill his imagination to the brim with the tales that lie within my pages. I sit here, waiting to have my story told or read. These brown shelves are hurting me; the roughness of them is harsh. I glance over the edge of the shelf and see a monstrous drop; I do not dare go near that ledge.
When my owner picks me up, he grabs me by my spine, and lifts me off of the shelf into his grasp. He walks over to his nearby bed, lies down, and starts to read me. He flips me open to page one, where he begins to read my fabulous tale. He reads me with great speed, flipping the pages. When he is reading, his face is filled with curiosity of what can happen next in this tale. He’s surprised when he reaches certain points of my story, shocked that certain events happened. I could tell he was getting happier and happier as he flew through my pages, yet I was not so much.
Within a few hours, he finished my tale, happy with what he had found out. Though he was happy, I was sad. I would not be read again for quite awhile. I lay there on that dreaded shelf again, collecting dust as time flew by, waiting to be read again. Hours passed, soon days, then weeks. I was lying on that shelf, in the darkness of the room, collecting dust. Soon a fine layer was beset upon me. I sat on that shelf for ages, barely able to see as the dust was blocking my vision.
One day the reader walked into the room, and walked towards me. I was filled with excitement and anticipation. Yes! He had picked me up like before, by the spine, and gently grasped me in his hand. He brushed the layer of dust of me and began to read. I saw his face, once again with wonder as he found out new things he did not see before. Like before, he finished in a matter of hours. I was glad to have told my tale, yet sad that it would be awhile until I was read again. I was put back on my shelf.
The days went by again, slowly, I was being swallowed by the dust. I lay on that dreaded shelf, while my owner was reading of other tales and stories. It was weeks before I was touched again, but this time, something different happened. Instead of reading me, he brought me into a region of the house I had never before seen. Everything was different; it was his brother’s room. His brother sat there, drawing his doodles. He walked up to him and said “would you like to read this book?” The brother accepted and started right away. I watched as his face was also in awe just like my previous owner was. He was clearly enjoying it.
Now that I’ve been passed on, I hope to please my new owner just as much as I used to do with my old one. I was constantly read and reread by him, fascinated by my tales. I hope that I may give this happiness to others as I am passed on.
When my owner picks me up, he grabs me by my spine, and lifts me off of the shelf into his grasp. He walks over to his nearby bed, lies down, and starts to read me. He flips me open to page one, where he begins to read my fabulous tale. He reads me with great speed, flipping the pages. When he is reading, his face is filled with curiosity of what can happen next in this tale. He’s surprised when he reaches certain points of my story, shocked that certain events happened. I could tell he was getting happier and happier as he flew through my pages, yet I was not so much.
Within a few hours, he finished my tale, happy with what he had found out. Though he was happy, I was sad. I would not be read again for quite awhile. I lay there on that dreaded shelf again, collecting dust as time flew by, waiting to be read again. Hours passed, soon days, then weeks. I was lying on that shelf, in the darkness of the room, collecting dust. Soon a fine layer was beset upon me. I sat on that shelf for ages, barely able to see as the dust was blocking my vision.
One day the reader walked into the room, and walked towards me. I was filled with excitement and anticipation. Yes! He had picked me up like before, by the spine, and gently grasped me in his hand. He brushed the layer of dust of me and began to read. I saw his face, once again with wonder as he found out new things he did not see before. Like before, he finished in a matter of hours. I was glad to have told my tale, yet sad that it would be awhile until I was read again. I was put back on my shelf.
The days went by again, slowly, I was being swallowed by the dust. I lay on that dreaded shelf, while my owner was reading of other tales and stories. It was weeks before I was touched again, but this time, something different happened. Instead of reading me, he brought me into a region of the house I had never before seen. Everything was different; it was his brother’s room. His brother sat there, drawing his doodles. He walked up to him and said “would you like to read this book?” The brother accepted and started right away. I watched as his face was also in awe just like my previous owner was. He was clearly enjoying it.
Now that I’ve been passed on, I hope to please my new owner just as much as I used to do with my old one. I was constantly read and reread by him, fascinated by my tales. I hope that I may give this happiness to others as I am passed on.