Annabella Twomey

United States

lover of reading, writing, exploring, and creativity

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I love any type of constructive feedback that will help my writing! Please feel free to be as critical as you want if you feel like you know something that will greatly improve the piece you are reviewing.

Published Work

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Writing Sample 1

Sample Piece

Writing Sample

Sample Title #2

    You’ve likely heard about the Stanford rape victim. There is debate and controversy flying around, especially following the verdict in the case. The defendant, 20 year-old Brock Allen Turner, faced a maximum of 14 years in state prison. Instead, he got six months and probation, the judge citing that a longer sentence would have “severe impact” on Turner.
    On January 18th, 2015, two men on bicycles stopped and restrained a man (Turner) who was raping an unconscious woman behind a dumpster. The half-naked, unresponsive woman was rushed to the hospital where she woke up, only to find out what had happened to her, since she could remember none of it herself.
    What unfolded over the next year and a half was a grueling, painful, and traumatic process for all those involved. Because the victim was unable to remember, prosecutors were able to fight her on the details of the situation, attempting to paint the picture that both people were so...

Mimic of "Directive" by Robert Frost

Remember this town vividly,
For when you return, few things will remain the same

Start, slowly, on a road through suburbia-
A path riddled with fine china and silverware, but littered with the corruption of materialism

You will pass dogs, dozens of them, so stop to pet them.
Their eagerness may make its way to you

It won’t be long before a chance comes along,
Beckoning you to the mountains of Vershire

Follow this path and explore
The sugar maples and and the sloping roche mountonées

Meet children your age, but who seem wise beyond their years
And wander with them, with no set direction except to explore the unknown

Stop to notice the wool lining the rock outcrop, and every chicken that escapes the pen
Remember this when you are back with those who seem to care a little less

A saturated polaroid will be awaiting your return,
As a remnant of a place you truly got to know

Six-Word Memoir

Growing Up


The lines blurred between “right choices."

YOU in threes

Annabella x 3

  1. Three quirks or idiosyncrasies.

-Always touching/playing with my hair

-I always check my closet before I go to sleep!

-I love Ina Garten and her cookbooks. Sometimes I just read through them for fun and I went to watch her speak in Boston. Note: The audience was mostly moms.

  1. Three adjectives your peers would use to describe you.

-Extroverted

-Open

-Passionate

  1. Three adjectives your family would use (after asking my mom)

-Curious

-Genuine

-Enthusiastic

  1. Three things about you that very few people know.

-Although I like TV shows as much as the next person, I am incapable of “binge-watching”

-If I were to have a career in science, I would choose marine biology.

-My favorite things to write about are my own experiences and my extended family.

  1. Three beliefs you hold.

-Welcoming everyone’s ideas (in almost any given setting), no matter their background, ethnicity, gender, age, or GPA

-Doing things you’re passionate about is more important than doing things for...

Snow White

“I love you guys! That was amazing!” Caroline shrieked and hugged me as the curtain fell after the eighth grade class’s production of “Enchanted.” I do not exaggerate when saying this middle school play was like no other. It is required for all the eighth graders, but no matter how much you can’t dance, sing, or act, you love every minute of it by the end. The crew used special effect lighting, hired a small symphony, and everyone had a part that felt vital to the show. The director had a whistle that she used to whip people into order during rehearsal. As militaristic and intense as it sounds, it was the highlight of the year.

    I hugged Caroline back, and jumped up and down. This had been our last night of the show, and now came the after-party. My friends and I ran to get changed and wiped the fairy glitter off of our faces. We loaded into...

New Year Competition 2015

Salt and Pepper

"Quinoa salad with lemon juice, kale, red cabbage, hummus, and avocado," my mother declares, beaming. I look up at her questioningly, then down at the bowl she has placed in front of me. It looks good enough, bursting with a "rainbow of color you should always see on your plate" being my mom's latest mantra. I stick my fork in and swirl the different ingredients together obediently. 

This isn't the first time a new dish has been set out, but I haven't quite gotten used to it. It's not like I inhale junk food, but I'm used to a couple of boxes of Oreos, even some ice cream, lurking in our pantry. I normally have salad with my dinner, but always something else to keep me from feeling like my stomach acids were gnawing at my intestines. A steak. Breaded chicken. Maybe even some pizza. But our pantry has gone through some major reforms, housing coconut oil, tasteless breads, and every grain...

All in a Name

Unique Vs. Common

My full first name, Annabella, has experienced plenty of emotion from me, whether it's hate, love, affection, or contempt.

Growing up as a young child, I struggled to accept my name. Nobody else seemed to share it; no celebrities I could relate to, no classmates I could share an inside joke with because we both shared that primary trait. I was always being mistaken for Annabel. And if I was in a toy store no name keychains or name cups had MY name emblazoned on the front, something that could seem like a disaster for a 6-year old. I felt out of touch and out of place when it came to names, like a gazelle amongst a pack of cheetahs.

I may have been more willing to accept my name if there was a creative and entertaining story behind why my name was assigned to me. I came up with the idea that my father liked the name "Anna," my...

Five Line Fiction

December Winds

Blustering winds pound the windows, waking him to the dark which he fell asleep to. As he rises from bed, floorbeads creak as much as his ancient bones. He passes the hallway filled with photographs, remembrances of those passed and those forgotten. He can't help but shake his head when he hears it's the "Most Wonderful Time of the Year." He is wide awake, and it's just another day of solemnity. 

One Sentence Story

Wedding Day

As I reflect on the day we spent together, I see bright colors piercing my eyes, because we had succumbed to the sun; yet now, as I squeeze my father's arm as he walks me down the aisle, all I see is the white of our wedding day, soon to be intermingled with the colors of my emotion.

All in a Name

Unique Vs. Common

My full first name, Annabella, has experience plenty of emotion from, whether it's hate, love, affection, or contempt.

Growing up as a young child, I struggled to accept my name. Nobody else seemed to share it; no celebrities I could relate to, no classmates I could share an inside joke with because we both shared that primary trait. I was always being mistaken for Annabel. And if I was in a toy store no name keychains or name cups had MY name emblazoned on the front, something that could seem like a disaster for a 6-year old. I felt out of touch and out of place when it came to names, like a gazelle amongst a pack of cheetahs.

I may have been more willing to accept my name if there was a creative and entertaining story behind why my name was assigned to me. I came up with the idea that my father liked the name "Anna," my mother...

Life Through A Window

On The Surface

That girl. You could spot her in a crowd of people, not just for her glossy, hair and perfect makeup, but she has an aura of nothing but confidence. She's the one who has it easy in all areas of society, whether it be boys, looks, or athletics. You can't help but look in the mirror at your flat hair, longing for blonde locks, stare at your simple, house with plain gray shutters with a hint of disdain. You imagine the majestic mansion that she must occupy.

You ponder this imbalance between a "lucky girl" and an average one like yourself as you walk home from school. It's a brisk day, the wind harshly whips through your parka, so you decide to walk on the sunny side of the road, one you don't normally venture to. While walking, you begin to observe houses you've never seen before. A bright yellow one with blue shutters. A tall, brick one with a...