Teen Writing (Issue 1)

The Teen Writing Club, for ages 12-18, meets on Fridays from 3:30-4:30 p.m. in the teen area. “Right now, the club’s format is open-ended in order to give teen writers whatever they need,” says Teen Services Manager Katelyn Wolfe. “If students need resources to help develop their pieces, our staff can help writers locate them. If they want to work with a staff member on editing, we are happy to sit down with them. If they hope to meet other teen writers to collaborate, this is the space to do so. If they simply want a quiet place to come and write, they can find that here.”

The excerpt below is by Jessica, and is the first piece in a series of publications by your Library’s Teen Writing Club. Every month we will feature new writing submitted by club participants.


My bus comes to a screeching stop as it reaches its last turn it’s willing to take on the journey to my abandoned mansion in the woods. I take hold of my grey work bag, fumbling with the straps, and start my walk up what seems to be a never-ending hill. I look up as the rain starts to pour over this little corner of Kyoto, Japan, the moon being cast by shadows of clouds.

My clothes start to drip along with my hair and my feet slam into puddles of drooling rain, creating a soggy feel for my socks. I feel slight relief as I see the porch light I left on earlier today and start to jog a little bit faster. As my foot lands on the first step, I slow my pace allowing myself to catch my breath under the protection of my porch roof.

Closing the door behind me, I throw my keys on the table beside me, my bag following close behind. I walk into the kitchen, my stomach frantic for any type of food.

As I rummage through the half-empty stainless-steel fridge, the ear-shattering sound of the doorbell rings through-out the house. I look at the stove checking the time. A bright LED clock glares back 1:15 a.m. My curiosity turns to caution as my stance shifts to face the door. I walk towards the wide wooden door. As I get closer, I glance through the window of the door but see nothing. So, I relaxed and shrugged off the unsettled feeling in my stomach. I reach for the door handle, twisting it slowly.

A screech leaves my throat as a limp life-less hand falls to my feet. I squirm away, half examining the body left at my doorstep. I move closer, feeling relief as I watch his chest rise and fall. The man is tall with dark curly hair, a strong slender build, and young-looking features.

To be continued…


Author bio: Jessica is fourteen years old. She does martial arts, draws, writes music, and writes stories. She has an older brother, three dogs, and of course her loving mom. She was born in Durango, Colorado, and shortly after moved to Tennessee with her family. Her nationality is Irish, South Asian, Western Asian, French, and German. She hopes you enjoy reading her story!

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