Ava Marie

Canada

Hi I'm Ava
15
She/Her

Aspiring Author
Dancer
Rock Climber

Always laughing
Beatlemaniac
Favourite book: The Book Thief by Markus Zusak
Bad jokes are the best!
I draw occasionally
I love constructive criticism!

Joined: 11/14/2020

Message from Writer

~Aspire to inspire~
———————————————————————
Go check out my amazing real-life little sister Peyton Feltham, and real-life friend kebivy!!!
Also, my very talented WtW friends Rival and BizzleWrites!!
———————————————————————
"Though my soul may set in darkness,
it will rise in perfect light;
I have loved the stars
too fondly to be fearful
of the night."
-Sarah Williams
———
"You have to be odd to be number one."
-Dr. Seuss
———
"He said:
Don't you feel lonely living in your own little world?
She whispered:
Don't you feel powerless living in other people's worlds?"
-F.G.
———
"I am under no obligation to make sense to you."
-Unknown
———
"Tell the truth and make it rhyme."
-John Lennon

Published Work

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition: 2021

Something to Write About (link to performance in footnotes)

I guess you could say I’m lucky.
My home life is great and I’ve never been bullied
I’ve never done drugs,
And, other than the smallest sips from my mom’s wine when I was younger,
I’ve never drinken alcohol. 
And I know these are all good things,
But it seems like the people who’ve seen the worst of the night,
Love the sunrise so much more,
And can write poems that they don’t feel the need to erase.
So sometimes I feel like creativity just slammed its door in my face.

I don’t suffer from anxiety, depression or ADHD,
I don’t have major insecurities or a disability.
The only problem with this is;
I have nothing to write about!

Most poetry is written about love or overcoming something,
But I’ve never been in love, 
and what have I overcome?
A molehill, which, compared to others, is nothing.
But my molehill can still feel like a mountain
I can get lost...

A Conversation with my Sister

My sister(Peyton):
*Put's an empty amazon package, one of the yellow bag ones, on her head*

Peyton: 
    "Have you ordered anything from Amazon lately?"

Me:
*Thinking she's just asking normal question.*
    "No."

Peyton:
*In a completely serious tone*
    "Oh, you should order a real-live doll that looks like me."

Peyton: 
*Goes on to describe all of the different versions of this doll and what actions they do.*

My Storybook Characters

Okay, so I'm in the process of writing the first chapter of a novel I've had the idea for for almost a year now. Anyways, I decided to write some character rundowns. There are eight people that I will be introducing in this piece because they are the only ones I've thought of. I might add on when I introduce more later on.

Indigo- Indigo Rose is an optimistic, fierce, mature 14 year old girl, although she can be very stubborn at times. She has shoulder length, deep brown hair and dark blue eyes. She's 5'4" and has two younger siblings. Her birthday is September 12th. She loves to draw, and has strait A's in school, she is a super fast runner, and her dad taught her how to fly a helicopter when she was 10. 

Oliver- Oliver Whitfield is an extroverted, confident, friendly 14 year old boy, though he is also a bit of a troublemaker. He...

Shoes Are Overrated

Have you ever
run,
in the middle of the road,
at night,
barefoot?
exhilarating.

Have you ever
walked,
through the grass,
in the morning,
and felt the dew,
brush up the sides of your feet?
happy.

Have you ever
stood,
on a beach,
with the sand,
between your toes?
peaceful. 

Have you ever
tiptoed,
on loose gravel,
trying,
to not step on,
the sharp rocks?
fun.

Have you ever
played,
on a trail,
getting dirt,
underneath your toenails?
rejuvenating.

Have you ever
splashed,
through puddles,
    oceans,
lakes,
    sprinklers,
to wash off the,
    pavement,
grass,
    sand,
stones,
    dirt,
that has attached,
to your bare feet?
refreshing.

Have you ever
taken off your shoes,
and had fun,
outside,
within this last year?

If not,
do so,
because,
shoes are overrated.

Shoes Are Overrated

have you ever
run,
in the middle of the road,
at night,
barefoot?
exhilarating.

have you ever
walked,
through the grass,
in the morning,
and felt the dew,
brush up the sides of your feet?
happy.

have you ever
stood,
on a beach,
with the sand,
between your toes?
peaceful. 

have you ever
tiptoed,
on loose gravel,
trying,
to not step on,
the sharp rocks?
fun.

have you ever
played,
on a trail,
getting dirt,
underneath your toenails?
rejuvenating.

have you ever
splashed,
through puddles,
oceans,
lakes,
sprinklers,
to wash off the,
pavement,
grass,
sand,
stones,
dirt,
that has attached,
to your bare feet?
refreshing.

have you ever
taken off your shoes,
and had fun,
outside,
within this last year?

if not,
do so,
because,
shoes are overrated.

The Thought of Freedom

    Arbeit Macht Frei; Work Sets You Free. Or so they say. 

    I guess I was one of the luckier ones. Being only twelve, I was still young enough to qualify for the school in the family camp. It wasn’t school like I was used to back home, but it was better than what the teens and adults were put through.  
The school was situated in block 31 and was run by Fredy Hirsch, whose arrival was probably the best thing that had ever happened in Auschwitz-Birkenau. Sitting inside the crowded building, we did our best to learn. Teachers would try their best with the group they were assigned, attempting to distract us from the world of death in which we were surrounded. They would teach us geography and history, play games, sing songs, and recite sections of the books they could remember. Teaching was risky, even the youngest out of us knew that if one word about it was overheard...

Mid-March Grab Bag

Grumpy Mr. Door

Write about the personality of an inanimate object. (by EllingtonStone)

    I've tried to be nice about it; welcoming people in, and escorting them out everyday. I understood that my post here is an important one, that I was chosen for this role, but it's so annoying! Nobody acknowledges my efforts or compliments my work ethic. It's so frustrating!
    The people here have shaken my hands so many times that they've forgotten that I'm not invincible. My hands are almost broken now. I am so fed up with this!
    I wish I could just walk away; get as far away from this prison as possible. But I know I can't, and they know that too, so they take advantage of me. Do you know how many times I've been pushed, shoved, slammed away when someone is having a ruff day? That's right, you don't. But the worst part is that I don't know either. I'm infuriated!
    No one listens to me either....

Contradictions

it's late,
but not really.

it's dark, 
but the sky still glows blue.

i'm tired,
but could stay awake for hours.

i want to go to sleep,
but i want to stay up. 

i'm bored,
but can think of so many things to do.

i want to write,
but don't want to describe anything.

is this something i'm not happy about?
yes.

do i care at the moment?
no.

My Friends And Family All Get Annoyed With Me When I Tell This Joke

I have nothing to write at the moment so I though I'd share my favourite joke with you guys. None of my friends or family appreciate it, and you guys probably wont either, but I don't care. So, umm, here it is I guess:


Okay, so there's this horse, and the horse wants to learn how to play the guitar. He tells this to his friend, and his friend was like: 
"Hey, there's this music store offering guitar lesson, you should take some."

And so the horse goes to the music store and starts learning the guitar.
He's getting really good at this one song when a cow comes along, and the cow's like:
"Hey, I know this song too, but on the saxophone."

And so the horse and the cow, on the guitar and the saxophone, are getting really good at this one song that they both know when a sheep comes along. And the sheep is like:
"Hey...

Sijo

Where are my words?

Hello world. Why must you make it so difficult for me;
So difficult for me to find something good to write about.
Maybe someday I'll be able to find the words.

March Grab Bag

Light

a 100 word story based on a randomly generated word - the story title should be the word that you generated (by alyanna) *Note the word generator website is not affiliated with Write the World.

---
When the world is dark, find the light and turn it on.

Light doesn't just mean brightness, or something that blinds you if you look into it the wrong way. Light is more than that.
Light is finding moments of good in a world full of bad. It's appreciating these moments while they last, because they wont last forever. 
Light is the sunrise. Slowly making its way over the horizon to let us see. To help motivate us to continue on. Reminding us that everyday is a new beginning, filled with second chances and new ideas.
Light is trust. It's the calming feeling that washes over you when you know you can trust someone completely and that they'll always be there for you. ...

Too Young

Eight-year-old Aliza Cellier was approached the border with the woman they told her would be her mother for the next while. She felt the grip of the woman’s hand around her palm tighten. Perhaps the woman was just as nervous as she was. A cold breeze pushed against her thin jacket, she shivered. 
“I want my maman,” Aliza whispered to the woman beside her.
“I am your maman, remember Marie.”
Right, Marie, the name she had been given before they had departed into the frigid air of an early January night. 
“Will I ever see her again?” asked the young girl, her voice shaky and barely audible.
But before her false mother could answer her, they heard footsteps crunching through the snow towards them. They had been spotted. The soldier was an Aryan with his dirty blond hair, blue eyes, and spotless Nazi uniform. 
“Papers,” demanded the Nazi officer that stood before them. The woman let go of her hand...

Mid-February Grab Bag

A Favourite Place of Mine

A descriptive piece about your favourite city/place without revealing the location! That's for your readers to guess! (by Saloni Soni)

A small town, a beach of rock, a beautiful view. 

With a land area of 8.435 km2, this bay has a population of 684, I know, it's small. It takes forty-five minutes to an hour and a half to walk through the town. The houses are more rustic looking and kinda scattered randomly, like no one wanted to take the time to properly line them up, I'm thankful for this because it helps with the feel of the town. Many a time I've walked/run through the town with my Nan, my sister, and my cousins, and every time there is this one big rock (that's probably on someone's property) that we always climb. The boulder is light grey and maybe six feet tall, with lots of slopes, slants, and groves to help you climb up. 
The beaches are probably...

The Drabble

Writers Block (edited)

    The words seem to flow effortlessly from your fingertips; the almost overwhelming rush of ideas inside begging to become one with the empty space of your paper.
    Typing as fast as you can, stringing together a blissfully brilliant plot made up of the combination of letters and punctuation. There's character development, conflict, tastefully placed metaphors, everything you'd ever want in a story. 
Then it stops. The hourglass filled with all your grains of ideas slowly filter down the tunnel from your mind to your fingertips until there's nothing left. You stare at the page. 
    Maybe you'll have better luck tomorrow.

Poem Thing

If a butterfly stands alone in a field of honey,
It will die because it is alone,
And there is no one there to save it.

Dust Jacket

A Bit About Me

PROMPT #1: WRITER ID

1. What is your favourite genre to write?
My favourite genre to write would have to be historical fiction, specifically pieces set during the holocaust. I love learning about the history behind it all, for me, doing the research is half the fun. 

2. What is your favourite genre to read? 
My favourite genre to read is either fantasy or historical fiction.
For fantasy some of my favourite series are: Harry Potter, Percy Jackson/Heros of Olympus, Wings of Fire, House of Secrets, Land of Stories, and Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children. 
For historical fiction my favourites are: The Book Thief!!!!, Salt to the Sea, The Diary of Anne Frank, and The Book of Lost Names.

3. What draws you to the WtW community? 
What draws me to the WtW community has to be the community itself. Everyone is so kind and encouraging and I am so grateful that I found this platform. 

4.What do you find most...

The Thought of Freedom


Arbeit Macht Frei; Work Sets You Free. Or so they say. 

I guess I was one of the luckier ones. Being only twelve, I was still young enough to qualify for the school in the family camp. It wasn’t school like I was used to back home, but it was better than what the teens and adults were put through.  
The school was situated in block 31 and was run by Fredy Hirsch, whose arrival was probably the best thing that had ever happened in Auschwitz-Birkenau. Sitting inside the crowded building, we did our best to learn. Teachers would try their best with the group they were assigned, attempting to distract us from the world of death in which we were surrounded. They would teach us geography and history, play games, sing songs, and recite sections of the books they could remember. Teaching was risky, even the youngest out of us knew that if one word about it was overheard...

The Squeaker

It was an early Monday morning, there was still half an hour before first bell. The hallways were quiet enough to hear the rain coming down in sheets outside. The droplets pounded against the window. I closed my eyes, wanting to go back to sleep, but that wasn’t an option. Instead, I picked up my book from where it lay and leaned into the hard, cold outside of my locker. Drawing my knees into my chest, I opened my book and started to read.  

Just as I was starting to become immersed in the pages the door opened. Even though I was sitting around the corner wearing a jacket, the gust of wind still sent shivers down my spine. I looked up from my book, distracted now, to observe the newcomer. I listened to the incompetent shuffle of shoes on the carpet right inside the door. 

Then they stepped off the mat. I clenched my teeth. The sound made my...

A Child's Secret Hiding Place

The dark space was her sanctuary, her very own cave of wonders. It was here that she came up with her best ideas, it was here that she could escape. The walls, close enough to touch on both sides if she reached out her arms, gave a sense of security. In front of her hung the navy-blue blanket she’d draped over the rack in the spare room closet. The only source of light was from the flashlight she’d hung from the ceiling. In here she was isolated from her family, it was probably the only place where the bickering of her younger siblings couldn’t be heard. Blanketed from the outside world, her thoughts came alive. They danced around the room in the dim light. And she would watch them, from the comfort of the soft, grey pillow she’d stollen from her bed. Suddenly, she could smell her mom cooking downstairs, citrus and pepper drifting up through the vents. They were...

WRITE THE WORLD

Write

Review

Inspire

Teach

Encourage


Transform

Heal

Edit



Work

Optimism

Relate

Listen

Develop

WRITE THE WORLD

Write

Review

Inspire

Teach

Encourage


Transform

Heal

Edit



Work

Optimism

Relate

Listen

Developpe

The Drabble

Writers Block (edited)

The words seem to flow effortlessly from your fingertips; the rush of ideas in your head begging to be released onto the empty space of your paper. 
You type as fast as you can, stringing together a brilliant plot made up of the combination of letters and punctuation. There's character development, conflict, tastefully placed metaphors, everything you'd ever want in a story. 
Then it stops. The hourglass filled with all your grains of ideas slowly filters down the tunnel from your mind to your fingertips until there's nothing left. You stare at the page. 
Maybe you'll have better luck tomorrow.

25 Words

Last Moments

A tear rolled down her cheek; softly, silently, steadily.
This was the end.
Her lungs shook as she inhaled one last breath.
She was gone.

25 Words

Last Moments

A tear rolled down her cheek, softly, silently, steadily.
This was the end.
Her lungs shook as she inhaled one last breath.
She was gone.

The Thought of Freedom

Arbeit Macht Frei; Work Sets You Free. Or so they say. 

I guess I was one of the luckier ones. Being only twelve, I was still young enough to qualify for the school in the family camp. It wasn’t school like I was used to back home, but it was better than what the teens and adults were put through.  
The school was situated in block 31 and was run by Fredy Hirsch, whose arrival was probably the best thing that had ever happened in Auschwitz-Birkenau. Sitting inside the crowded building, we did our best to learn. Teachers would try their best with the group they were assigned, attempting to distract us from the world of death in which we were surrounded. They would teach us geography and history, play games, sing songs, and recite sections of the books they could remember. Teaching was risky, even the youngest out of us knew that if one word about it was overheard...

Novel Writing Competition 2020

Alice and I

I did not understand it, could not understand it. Why did she do it? After all the time we spent together, the experiences we’d shared. Was I not entertaining enough? That must be it. I would just have to try harder, become even more captivating. I didn’t want to be tossed aside anymore, I wanted to be loved. Alice loved me, or so I thought, she completely ignores me now. I should make a scene, throw myself to the floor or something, but moving even the smallest amount is excruciating. The worst part about not being able to move around is Alice’s white cat, Rabbit. Rabbit’s favorite thing to do is taunt me by pacing up and down the window every day, before laying down and grinning at me, reminding me of another sly cat that I had met on multiple occasions. Alice used to bring me everywhere, we traveled to many places. How I wish I could travel again.
•...

Too Young

Eight-year-old Aliza Cellier was approaching the border with the woman they told her would be her mother for the next while. She felt the grip from the woman’s hand around her palm tighten. Perhaps the woman was just as nervous as she was. A cold breeze pushed against her thin jacket, she shivered. 
“I want my maman,” Aliza whispered to the woman beside her.
“I am your maman, remember Marie.”
Right, Marie, the name she had been given before they had departed into the frigid air of an early January night. 
“Will I ever see her again?” asked the young girl, her voice shaky and barely audible.
But before her false mother could answer her, they heard footsteps crunching through the snow towards them. They had been spotted. The soldier was an Aryan with his dirty blond hair, blue eyes, and spotless Nazi uniform. 
“Papers,” demanded the Nazi officer that stood before them. The woman let go of her hand...

Novel Writing Competition 2020

Alice and I

I did not understand it, could not understand it. Why did she do it? After all the time we spent together, the experiences we’d shared. Was I not entertaining enough? That must be it. I would just have to try harder, become even more captivating. I didn’t want to be tossed aside anymore, I wanted to be loved. Alice loved me, or so I thought, she completely ignores me now. I should make a scene, throw myself to the floor or something, but moving even the smallest amount is excruciating. The worst part about not being able to move around is Alice’s white cat, Rabbit. Rabbit’s favorite thing to do is taunt me by pacing up and down the window every day, before laying down and grinning at me, reminding me of another sly cat that I had met on multiple occasions. Alice used to bring me everywhere, we traveled to many places. How I wish I could travel again.
•...