Creative Writing Portfolio | Ivy Tech Community College

Joshua McWhorter
Creative Writing
12/14/2014

Creative Writing Portfolio | Ivy Tech Community College

Table of Contents
Forward......................................................................................................................... 3
Home At Last Fiction................................................................................................. 5
A Fine Morning Adieu Creative Non-fiction............................................................. 7
A River Journey Non-fiction...................................................................................... 9

Creative Writing Portfolio | Ivy Tech Community College

Forward
During my revision process, I focused on streamlining the structure and wording
in my writing selections. I wanted them to flow and sound more natural. To do this, I
removed elements in my writing that felt too wordy or disorganized. In A River
Journey for example, the original ending wasn't quite polished. It lacked a clear
transition from the boating experience to when they got in the vehicle. To fix this, I
organized it better and lengthened that part of the story to put more emphases on the
description of events, making things play out in a more natural fashion.
During my revision of Home At Last, my favorite piece because of how
descriptive it is, I really tried to focus on voice, setting, and character. I want the
reader to inject some of their own experiences into the image and setting that I
created, instead of me doing it for them. I am just starting to realize, as an element of
story telling, how effective this can beit has been a real discovery for me.
One of the most important things I have learned this semester, is the need to focus
on being more precise with my wording, getting rid of the unnecessary flufflike
reducing the number of superfluous adjectives I am using.
The biggest change I made as a result of my instructor's feedback, was cutting the
last third of A Fine Morning Adieu. She had suggested that it was too long and
inconsistent with the rest of the piece, and I agreed with that observation.
Basically, streamlining the flow of my stories and making sure they are consistent
in voice, setting, and structure is my main focus, and hopefully I have done this.

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Home At Last
I stepped from the plane, squinting at the ports glaring overhead lights. Their
intensity was blinding in contrast to the planes dim interior. The domed area of the
terminal was surrounded by a rocky and arid landscape that seemed harsh and
inhospitable to the idea of life in this place. The only signs of water that I could see
were the rainbows of liquid misting through the air from a distant plane being washed.
The ground, both in the dome and surrounding it, was made from a combination
of red clays and abrasive silicates. Inside the dome, these soils climbed up the sides of
buildings and equipment, kicking up as swirls of dust that danced patterns across the
open expanse of asphaltfollowing in the wake of maintenance vehicles, and pushing
away from the exhaust systems of the fuel hungry closed looped industrial turbines
making their way around the terminal.
The smell of the port was worse than I expected, it had a sweaty and acrimonious
quality that was offensive to my nose. It carried the odor of stale atmosphere and
reprocessed farts that had mixed with decade's old industrial waste and run through a
system of scrubbers inadequate to the task they were given. Even I knew that
maintaining freshness in a system like this was fruitless, but it was worse than I could
have imagined. In the end, one could only hope they got used to it and that the quality
improved the closer they got to the residential areas of the community. At least that
us what I am praying for.
Id been waiting my entire life to stand here and look over this staggered mass of
rocky pillars, harsh dust, and tin can structures. There was no way I was going to let a

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few nasty smells get in the way of me enjoying this new beginning.
I scanned the horizon beyond the dome, surprised by the beauty of the lateafternoon sun and its fiery red hue. At this time of day, the sun set low on the horizon,
casting dark shadows across the landscape that stretched outward from the mountains
and across the wide-open expanse of plains that surrounded us in all directions. It was
a hellish scene compared to the dull palette of blues, grays, and pasture greens that
adorned the airport walls. The washed-out crystal blues of the overhead lights, and the
sun reflecting off the dome, made the scene even more dramatic than it really was.
The attendant at the door noticed me starring and politely ushered me along the
gangway towards the dusty tarmac below. As I reached the bottom, another attendant
gently placed his hand on my shoulder to get my attention. His reassuring gesture was
the only thing that stood out from the sensory overload of being on the ground floor of
the busy terminal. He smiled at me and shook his hand in the direction of an
automated passenger trolley, pointing his finger at an open seat. I smiled at him and
nodded in acknowledgment, making sure to thank him as he ushered me forward with
a smile, a nod, and a gentle push.
Gracefully, I maneuvered through the crowd and settled into the trolley, making
an effort to smile at the other passengers. The group, none of which I had seen on my
own plane, seemed just as overwhelmed by their arrival as I was, but they maintained
a friendly disposition. As soon as I was seated, the trolley lurched forward with a hiss,
following a path that weaved itself around the port.
The small group of passengers began conversing among themselves as we rolled

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along. Each making a conscious effort to ignore the hollow, monotone voice of the
robotic trolley as it belched out an account of Martian colonial history. As far as I was
concerned, this trip, and these carefree conversations, were the culmination of over
twenty years of saving and planning, so I was grateful to be making such fast friends.
Honestly, I couldn't wait to get below and explore everything that the Utopia
Planitia colony had to offer. I was starting to get a feeling that I was going to love
retiring hereif I could over the smell. After all, Mars was the new frontier, the new
Wild West, and few other places offered so many opportunities for someone wanting
to add a little adventure to their otherwise mundane lives. Not to mention the plethora
of entertainment and cultural options that had developed here over the last few
decades; more than someone like me could handle, even, I was sure of it.
The trolley jolted, stopping and going in response to the other passengers and
equipment being taxied around.
Within fifteen minutes, we had rounded the side of the buildings and were heading
straight towards a set of massive open doors. They were dark and looming holes in the
side of a large rocky embankment. Deep inside, we could see moving lights
descending into an underground complex. Our excitement grew as we lurched
forward. Within those dark openings, there was a new world, a new life waiting for
each of us, and we couldn't wait to dive in and see everything that it had to offer.
Tonight, we were hitting the town and celebrating the start of something
wonderful. Tonight, was going to be the first day of the rest of our lives, and we
couldn't wait for it to come!

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THE END?

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A Fine Morning Adieu

Have you ever had one of those days, where regardless of how careful you were,
or how much you tried, even the simple tasks in life didn't turn out the way you
wanted? When the mundane elements of daily living had become the insane facets of
some grand universal conspiracy to ruin your life?
You know the type of day I am talking about. One of those where you tripped
over your dog climbing out of bed and hit a wall you didn't know you had, just to find
out that you didn't have any milk for your morning meal. When that damn slick of
hair on the back of your head refused to cooperate with your best attempts to rein it in
and the water in the shower only had two temperatures: surface of the sun and
Antarctic ice sheet.
We've all been there. It's one of those days when you spill your coffee in your lap
and hoot and holler in pain as you frantically grab at the crotch of your pants in some
futile attempt to remove the scorching fluid from your delicate skin; only to sucker
punch yourself in the groin with the force of a trillion Mike Tyson's coked up and
ready to brawl. We feel your pain, we've been there and we are with youyou can get
through this.
It's one of those day when you spent an hour trying to get rid of that groggy
feeling in the back of your brain, yet the world was still a blur, and the dog is limping
through the house giving you pouty looks of justified shock and horror. A day where

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your ass and inner thighs smell of boiled meat poached in a fine aromatic blend of
french roast from dusk till dawn, and you just know you are gonna be an hour late to
work because your kids aren't even out of bed yet and the car won't start. When your
boss decides to audit the office, and you can't even make it past the water cooler
without tripping over your own two feet and looking like the office idiot?
Yeah, we've all had one of those days. You are not alone. Just keep your head
down and stay out of sight. I promise that the secret parameters of this universal grand
conspiracy will play out and forfeit its rights at the foot of the bed, and tomorrow will
be a better today.

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10

A River Journey
The year 1999 was a fine year for rafting on the American River, it was also the
last year that me and my friends ever made it to northern California before I moved
away. When we got to our launch point, we settled into the boat and carefully shuffled
around until everyone was seated and ready to go. I remember looking at my
teammates with a smile and giving a hard shove with my paddle, forcing us away
from the bank and out towards the choppy waters, sideways. I remember how the four
of us glanced at each other in silence, focused on the task at hand, only occasionally
breaking up our quiet reserve with a witty remark and some idle laughter.
One of my friends: a tall, skinny boy with red hair and pale skin, who had seated
himself on the opposite side of the raft from me, dragged his oar through the water to
straighten us out, allowing our group one last chance to survey the river ahead while
the banks were still accessible. It was a quick procedure, considering all of us had
developed a healthy appreciation for the dangers of white-water rafting. As do most
people after they get a few scrapes and bruises from being held under and dragged
and smashed against rocks and boulders.
As we floated along, I remember that the river widened, getting darker and
greener, a sign that the water had deepened. This wasn't going to last for long. Around
the next bend, we could hear the growing rumble of our destination, a place we called
the Churn.
The Churn is a point in the river that quickly narrows and drops into a fiesta of
white water fun that is both exciting and very dangerous. The top portion of the Churn

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11

is made of a series of rocky steps that we nicknamed the Deadfalls. We named them
this because of the way they dropped down the canyon like a series of stepping stones
made of tiny roaring waterfalls. There are about a dozen of these steps in total, each
about three feet high, extending out about twelve feet before dropping towards the
next step. Some of them cross the entire span of the corridor, while others only cover
part of the distance, dipping in the center like giant soup ladles that spill their contents
downward in a torrent of liquid. As you descend, the spillage picks up speed, forming
extremely fast currents that slip over the steps of the Deadfalls and slam against the
walls of the Churn.
Even when viewed from above, looking down over the sides of the canyon, the
Churn is an impressive sight. Anyone who has viewed it from this vantage point
knows how fragile they are riding through its interior on a tiny raft. Especially when
you consider the crushing weight of the water smashing against the rocks. An unlucky
boater would be helpless if they got trapped in such an unpleasant position.
The Deadfalls are also a great place to tip the inflatable and send someone, or
everyone, into the water and down over the rocky ledges without the safety of the
boat. It is a beating that no one wants to experience and one that has killed more than
a few people over the years.
Thankfully, we discovered that by maneuvering to the left of the corridor before
entering the Churn, the experience is much less turbulent. Most of the drops are on the
right and the wash of the water, if angled correctly, will carry you down and towards
the center as you descended through the rapids. We called this maneuver working the

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ladle because when we did it right it felt a lot like being gently poured from one soup
ladle to anothernice and smooth. If you did it wrong, on the other hand, we referred
to the experience as humping the bunny because you felt like you were bunny
hopping over the steps when back of the boat rose into the air and slammed down
over the ledge, leaving everyone with a sore butt from scraping the bottom on the
bounce.
On this particular trip, we were lucky enough to nail it, working the ladle all the
way through the Deadfalls. As we exited, the boat rocked and rolled with the current,
making it hard to turn the front of the raft into the water, which we needed to do to
slip between two boulders. I remember how the flow of the water wrapped up and
around the boulder on the left, forcing the front of the raft up the side when we
reached it. To keep from capsizing, we grabbed the side of the boat and dipped our
bodies in towards the bottom, keeping our center of gravity low. As we did, the back
of the raft spun outward with the flow, catching spillage from the last of the steps.
This dragged the back of the raft towards the other boulder, which ended up helping
us, because when the back of the boat hit the other rock, it couldn't go anywhere,
forcing the front down over the side with the wash of the water.
It wasn't a smooth execution, by a long-shot: when the front of the raft dropped, it
did so pretty hard, which almost threw us from the boat, but it worked out in the end,
and no one was hurt, which I consider a win.
As we descended past that portion of the Churn, the water continued dipping and
cresting over and around rocks that were submerged just under the surface. We kept

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getting slamming up and down as the boat sloshed against the side of the canyon and
down through the corridor. Occasionally, cold water splashed over the sides of the
boat, blinding us as we attempted to navigate from one obstacle to the next, but we
managed. Thankfully, as you get further down the corridor, the water gets calmer and
the sides of the river open up. The rocks and boulders get replaced by soil and then
grass and trees. The chaotic sprays of water get replaced by bugs that flutter around,
and the rays of the sun take the place of canyon shadows.
As we rounded the corner, I remember spotting our friend, off in the distance,
waving at us from the boat dock. We smiled and waved back, rowing up to the shore
after a couple of minutes of floating along. At that point, we were drained of energy.
He grabbed the boat and anchored it to the mooring, patting us on the back. He kept
asking us how everything went as he started removing our gear from the boat and
taking it to the vehicle for us, happy to help out a bunch of weary friends.
I remember back on that day fondly. I liked that our friend wasn't sour about
doing a little extra workhe got his turn in the boat, don't worry. He even drove us
back to camp as we napped, conked out from exhaustion. Of course, he jammed along
to the radio the whole way, singing to his heart's content, but that was all right.
That night we shared stories around that campfire and sipped whiskey from the
bottle, feasting on our daily catch, which we cooked directly in the coals. It was a
great a vacation, and I hope that maybe someday I will get the opportunity to return to
that spot. Until then, I have this wonderful memory think back on with fondness.