Why YOU (if you’re a young writer, grades 6-12) should join our Writing Club on iUrban Teen Online:

  • We’re not judgmental, and we don’t get grades.
  • We have fun – it’s more of a discussion than a class.
  • We learn and try new things in our writing.
  • We support each other as writers.
  • We all love writing – and we love reading and talking about writing.
  • We really want more members/young writers!

Examples of Young Writers’ Work

Flying High

By Kara.

After living a life in the clouds for so long, the bird had forgotten what it was like to be human. It had been many years since she had transformed, so she’d never really given it much regard anymore. She didn’t dwell anymore on thoughts like, “What would it be like to be human again?” or “It would be so much better to be human again.” But sometimes, like today, when she had the wind in her feathers, the sun on her back, and a mission to complete, the bird allowed herself to remember.

She remembered hands that touched, eyes that saw, ears that heard, and most
importantly, a heart that loved. Love. What was it? It was an alien thing to the bird now.
Her feathers ruffled slightly at the word. But she did remember loving.

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By Ximena B.

“Andromeda, that’s what you can call me, please.” This was a little speech I created in my mind for everyone who asked my name. Of course, my “real” name remains a mystery to them. I find that people are quite amused by me, maybe because of my shaved head or the fact that I make my own clothes and tiny matching clothes for the
doll I carry with me everywhere.

My life has been a daily cycle for four of these adult life years. I would wake up and pick out mine and Bootes clothes. Most of the time it would be something I sewed or knit together the day before. We would go to our local cafe and order a chocolate croissant with an espresso.

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By Sophie J.

Everything Comes with a Price
They walked in woods with trees of gold
And played in ponds where silver grows
And stretched their wings in glassy skies
But deep below, a heartbeat slows.
They danced together with the stars
He never asks, she never knows
And all is silent, all is calm
But deep below, injustice shows.

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On The Railing

By Claudia B.
Finally getting enough of the sobbing and cries for mercy from God, I manage to shuffle myself over to the balcony, knowing no one would really notice if I was gone.

Letting my arms rest on the railing, I held myself up with my hands. I wasn’t crying, even though I should have been. And I wasn’t bottling up my emotions to a breaking point or anything, either. I just felt… empty. Empty after that one Monday evening. Empty after I lost my brother forever.

Looking out on the city before me, I took a mental picture. Sirens going on and off, the blinding lights of office buildings, hospitals, skyscrapers. I wonder if he would like the view. Did he see that same view before he–?

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The Underappreciated Car

By Jace L.
I am a muscular plug-in hybrid car, like my so-called superior models. Those superiors tease me about my shortcomings, but I don’t understand why. They don’t seem too major! I can travel 35 miles on electricity alone, which is 90 percent of an average daily commute. Reviewers praise me for charging fast, since my battery recharges to 80 percent in just 15 minutes, a lower number than my all-electric range.

In my cavernous interior, leather seats can be found, with gold stitching. A big screen with smartphone integration apps can be found in between the front seats.

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How My Sister Helped Our Father Lose His Reelection

Aurelia N.

People eventually got to know Tarka as April brought May. Ze turned out to be an accomplished artist, and set up a table in the park where people could come and look at zir work, and maybe even take a piece home if ze allowed it. Ze never sold anything, and ze never made the same thing twice, not even photos (of the -graph or -copy types) of zir work were allowed. Ze was particularly taken with beads, and was often seen sitting at zir table or on a park bench (or both—sometimes ze moved the table in front of the bench. I say “the” bench because it was always the same bench. Tarka’s bench), laser-focused on the beads ze was stringing, trying not to drop them.

Alice Newman swears that Tarka Levin was the first guest at the Starton Public Library. Because, you see, Tarka didn’t have a place in town to live, as zir only possessions seemed to be zir clothes, zir cane, and a cloth shoulder bag in which ze carried food, water, and art supplies. There was only one motel in Starton, and a run-down one at that, but run-down or not, motels cost money, something Tarka possessed little to none of. And when you have no place to live in Starton, you go to the library.

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