Compared to other English courses that have existed since the dawn of time, Dramatic Writing is a newer credit for Georgia seniors. The course inspires students to write creatively by opening up their imaginative and inventive resources. Students learn to write plays and scripts for film and television, thus honing their ability to craft compelling narratives and dynamic characters.
Fun Fact: Coach George Hansen, a Kennesaw Mountain High School LEGEND, was one of the first teachers in the state of Georgia to teach the class. As a pilot school, we have had many years to perfect the course curriculum and inspire the next generation of writers.
Now, the course is taught by English teacher (and Newspaper sponsor) Mrs. Joely Shiver. Though it is her first semester teaching the course, she brings a wealth of experience and passion for storytelling to the classroom.
The first assignment in Dramatic Writing invites students to recall a memorable experience from their childhood and transform it into a vivid, four-paragraph narrative. Here are their stories:
*note: all stories have been published with the student’s consent.
I Remember Assignments (Fall 2024):
Kyla Amos
I remember watching my favorite movie for the first time. It made me laugh, smile, and showed me my new favorite characters. There’s never a day that goes by where I don’t think about them and how special their love is.
I remember entering a world that was foreign to me. All anyone could talk about was this movie and now it was my turn to form an opinion. Nighttime and lamp lights shine softly while I watched the amazing movie that ended up being mediocre to me. When the credits rolled, I was left disappointed and confused on why so many people love it.
I remember cultivating playlists that take me to my favorite worlds when I’m away from home. Playlist titles, cover photos, and the songs, make me feel like I’m my favorite characters. Calm soundtracks to pop albums play through my airpods to give me energy or the creative inspiration I need.
But mostly I remember reading the words that changed me. They transported me to New York, Italy, and all around the world. I got to look into the lives of real and fictional characters. Their experiences and stories have taught me how to be a better person and how I want to be seen. The wisdom in their words is something I can’t explain but only feel.
Kylie Betsill
I remember the little southern magnolia tree on the corner near the bus stop in my old neighborhood. It was at the bottom of the hill leading up to the culdesac. Just a little tree, couldn’t have been more than a dozen feet tall, with low-to-the-ground branches and dark, glossy leaves hiding fuzzy undersides. Dirty magnolia buds, (which to me at the time seemed like velvet pinecones,) could be found freshly fallen under its shade in the fall. On summer afternoons after elementary school let out I would stumble down the hill in cheap rubber flip flops that gave me blisters and try to climb it. One small foot on the lowest branch, one palm grasping the highest curve, and I would hoist myself up into the foliage.
I remember resenting the fact that I couldn’t climb to the top, despite how short and stout the tree was. I could only get a few feet off the ground before it got to be too much. For one, summers like that were sweltering hot. The Georgia sun could burn the skin right off my shoulders. And I was terrified of bugs, which is a terrible fear to have when you’re stuck very high up in a magnolia tree. The youngest daughter from the house across the street had broken her leg trying to climb to the top. We all saw her leg bend wrong. We all kept away from the tree after that- except for me, lonely in July, looking for something warm to hold on to. Even if the sun scorched my back and the twigs stabbed my ribs. Even if I truthfully hated it a little. It felt like my tree, even if it technically belonged to the house on the corner with the unfairly large front yard. I needed it, even if I didn’t understand it. It’s good, when you’re a kid, to have somewhere else you can go and call home. To feel like your entire personhood isn’t confined to just one room in one house. And so I never abandoned it, at least not until I abandoned the neighborhood itself, when that house started to fall apart, and my parents were forced to find somewhere new.
Most of all, I remember a magnolia tree I saw in my friend’s neighborhood just recently. I remember it better because it was only about a year ago, and because it stunned me. It was huge. Majestic, sprawling branches, reaching heights as tall as a house and lengths that could block the road if not tended to. A deity-like mass with gorgeous, soft, white flowers as big as apples tucked beneath the fuzzy undersides of every dark, glossy leaf. It humbled me to stand in its effective shade. I didn’t know they could grow to that size. I couldn’t help but think about my old magnolia tree, and how young it must have been to be so small, with such little shade, and how I could barely climb a few feet off the ground. I couldn’t imagine growing up down the street from this behemoth of a tree. All of the kids in the neighborhood would have played in it. I might have grown to be stronger, more courageous. More social. …But I suppose that I could have broken my leg, too, I thought.
I never went back to visit my old neighborhood. I don’t think I ever will. But I try to be nice to my younger self, and to understand why she acted how she did. Why she kept going back to a tree she didn’t even necessarily like climbing. She was only so little. So was the magnolia.
Jon-Dominque Bruce
I remember the first and last time I rode a bicycle. The Hello Kitty bike with training wheels, the one I got for my 7th birthday. The one with cheap pink and white streamers on the handlebar that all pulled out on the first day. The one that was left covered with mud in a ditch by my Nene’s house.
I remember my neighbors, a large Mexican family that lived across the street. The ones that had frequent loud celebrations with names I could not pronounce. The four children that would play outside almost daily. I remember the oldest son, the coolest person alive, because he rode a dark blue dirt bike up and down the street every Friday afternoon. The coolest person, who I remember picking me up and asking me in broken English if I was alright because I had just flown off my Hello Kitty bike with training wheels and cheap pink and white streamers directly in front of him.
I remember sobbing to my father that I wanted to go back inside. I remember him begging me to get back on the bike and try again. I remember adamantly refusing and walking back to my Nene’s front door. I remember my father’s plea to come back.
In the present, my father remembers disappointment. He remembers the shock of seeing his confident, assertive young daughter completely give up. He remembers selling the bike months later because I vowed to never ride it again. That’s what he remembers. But for me, I remember the scabs on my knees and the bruise on my ego. I remember humiliation and pure embarrassment. I remember trying something new for the first time just to be punished with pain and shame. I remember the first and last time I rode a bicycle. The Hello Kitty bike with training wheels, with cheap pink and white streamers on the handlebar.
Gustavo Derrico-Filho
I remember one cold afternoon, during the winter in Sao Paulo, where the 5 year old me with an old family blanket on my head, and an innocent mind, was wondering around the house while my parents where eating and watching TV. The curious 5 year old was finally tall enough to reach the doorknob of the closet under the stairs, and on that full of stuff closet, he wondered if he could touch the ceiling using the funny looking ladder that was stored there.
I remember going up the ladder and trying to touch the ceiling, and once I got to the top of the ladder, and I was so excited that I was finally looking at the top of all the pile of boxes that held so many of my parents’ memories, that I didn’t even notice the blanket on my head touching the lamp of the ceiling of the closet.
I remember the room suddenly getting hot and brighter, and after I noticed, the blanket caught on fire, and in shock, I fell from the top of the ladder. I remember being on the floor and the blanket on fire right next to me, and I remember my parents rushing into the closet after they heard the noise of me falling from the ladder, once they got there, my dad saw the fire and started stepping on the blanket as my mom, who thankfully is a nurse, and helped me with the pain I was felling after falling.
But mostly I remember that my parents were not mad that I had burned the old family blanket, but they were worried about me and just wanted me to be ok. I remember the horror I felt, and I will most definitely forever remember the love my mom and dad showed to me.
Jackson Dietz
I remember waking up to the sun beaming through the windows. The creaking of doors throughout the village as teams spilled out of their barracks ready for the day. The cold wind sending chills down your spine as the nerves kick in for the biggest tournament of the year.
I remember the dew of the grass soaking your shoes way before you hear the words play ball. The moist dirt making your cleats way a ton. The excitement on your teammates and coaches as you huddle up waiting for the umpire to official say play ball.
I remember the thud of the ball hitting the wooden fence as I inched closer and closer to my first homerun. Watching my teammates hit the ball over the fence and trotting around the bases as the team mobbed them when they stepped on home wondering when my time will come.
But most of all I remember the ding from my bat echoing through the field as I watched my first ever home run ball soar through the air. Hearing the roars of excitement from my coaches, teammates, and the crowd as I got my opportunity to trot the bases and finally get piled on by the team. With a smile glued to my face I received the home run ball accomplishing one big goal to hit a home run at Cooperstown Dream Park.
Jacob Heller
I remember when the world shut down, when the earth lost its sing. The streets once
filled with voices gone silent, the sky once filled with planes, blue again, just plain. I
remember begging the months prior to be isolated, only to think that I was the cause of
the virus. My sister once ready for a new adventure in college, now back at home stuck in
the nest she had been in the last 7 years. Yet happy she got to become closer with the
brother she thought she was losing. Playing just dance and laughing over reality tv,
smiling knowing that through these tough times, she created bonds as strong as diamonds
with her own family, that will never be cracked.
I remember the friends I lost, but more importantly the friends I gained. Though I could
not see them in person, the nights spent talking and laughing over mindless video games
or talking about our goals and ambitions in racing. With smells of autumn coming, the
days got cooler, and the nights got longer. The look of a room dark only illuminated by
computer monitors and led lights was the look of a comfortable uncomfortable world.
I remember the memories made outside. Although you could go nowhere public, sitting
on a swing listening to music. Or walking with my neighbors who needed socialization,
gave me health. Inhaling the clean air with minimal pollution, hearing an eerie but
comforting silence, and feeling the sun rays beat down on my skin, or the rain hit the
asphalt, or the leaves rustling in the wind. It felt like the earth telling me everything
would be okay.
But most of all, I remember the young man I came out of after it. Once a boy who feared
the world, a boy who didn’t know how to act, humbled by the lockdown. Given an
opportunity to grow and mature and taking it right when it was a presented. I remember
becoming a better person and starting a new chapter. Because once the earth got its sing
back, so did I.
Akhaia Hightower
I remember – or for a better use of words I barely remember – any of my dreams. In exchange for energy and moments of uninterrupted peace, you miss the moments around you. So while I was dead asleep dreaming up my own world, I missed conversations, countdowns, small earthquakes, and endings to movies I wasn’t even allowed to watch… but there were still the moments I vaguely remembered in between.
I barely remember my mom leaving me to catch a night flight. For my mom, who has definitely taken a flight or two, it was a key point in her routine to tell me goodbye before she left. Sometimes it was just to barge in at 3am and tell me she’ll be back by Monday night. But at other times, I could see the light in my room turn on. I could hear her walking towards my bed to
check if I was really sleeping, her coming to tell me how she loved me and that she would be back soon… then flicking the light switch off and quietly closing my door. And even though I was half conscious, her voice echoed in my dreams. The separate world I was in stood still and all I heard was her. I’d respond to her, barely remembering it. Or I’d sit up out of my dream to say goodbye.
I barely remembered her leaving but I remembered her presence, her love. With all the moments I left outside my mind while I slept, I still got to keep those vague moments. Now that I’m old enough to know, that voice doesn’t visit me when she leaves. My dreams carry though and there’s nothing outside of it to interrupt me. So now it’s up to me to try and remember those sweet moments between my dreams that I barely remember.
Calista Johnson
I remember sitting in my brightly painted room, swirls of color and magic covering the walls, showcasing the love and time that my father put into painting it. Laying in bed, I would watch the words on my book pages come to life as my mother spoke them into existence. Characters danced around the room and watched me and my mom sitting comfortably on my fairy-covered bedspread.
I remember my mom leaving the room and turning off the light. The darkness enveloped what used to be a world of magic and turned it into a world of shadows. Hiding under my blanket, I would envision what could be awaiting in the shadows. Nightmares showcased the creatures that were lurking: ghosts that were ready to take me away from my family and monsters that were waiting for the perfect moment to attack. Heart pounding, I would clutch onto my soft pink stuffed bunny that was fondly named “Bunny”, since I felt that no other name was more deserving for my furry friend.
I remember clutching my trusted bunny friend and running across the dark cavern beyond my bed, knowing that at any second I could be snatched by the creatures and taken into their dark worlds. My tiny hand would flip the white plastic light switch that turned the darkness and fear back into the magical world from before.
But mostly I remember my small legs quivering from adrenaline and fear as I graced the dark hall to my parent’s room. Approached by a large white door, I turned the bronze doorknob that sat eye-level to my face. Entering my new safe room, I was greeted by two tired loving parents who welcomed me in. Their warm smiles filled my heart as I instantly felt relief course through my veins. That night I lay in between my sleeping parents. Suddenly the monsters lurking in the dark were gone, and I was only left with the loving soft embrace of my mother and the not-so-soft snoring of my father.
Cameron Mckitt
I remember the days when I went to my Grandpa’s house on the weekends, the long drive past the prison, past the community center I used to go to and past the fields of Hay and the many bales littered along it.
I remember the transition from the rolling yellow fields to the deep dark green forests, and the change of moisture in the air. The dank smell of the lake and water drawing closer as we approached and the mosquitoes that constantly bit me.
I remember the lake. The days when my grandpa would take me and my sister out on the water, sometimes to catch and release fish, other times just to enjoy the hot sun and cool splashes of the water.
What I remember most is the one day my grandpa just took me outside. The dark sky and the low dim lights under the water line of the docks that turned green from the algae of the lake. We didn’t talk about much. I just sat there in silence with him, waiting for the fish to bite and watching the stars and fireflies drift by. That was the most comfortable I’ve felt in my life.
Jordan McLain
I remember the sun on my back during a warm summer’s day as I wandered the land near my childhood home. The air was humid and saturated with the scents of the plants and the soil. Light filtered through the canopy of dark green leaves, and the gentle breeze that stirred the branches made the rays swirl and spin on the ground below. I hopped from one fallen tree to the next, careful to keep my balance on the bare and rotting wood, before looking up to watch the sky turn and to listen to the world hum its sweet melody.
I remember the wind racing through the trees in autumn, its chill nipping at my face and ears as branches adorned with red and gold roared furiously. The ground turned from green to brown as the season tucked the meadow to sleep in its leathery quilt. I plowed through that quilt, tearing it apart as I cut artificial paths and constructed great structures. The precious seeds I made my own, collecting and hiding, to the squirrel’s despair. But still, I always looked up and watched the sky turn as the world sang its song, however soft and sad the tune.
I remember seeing it for the first time. The beetle, its torn wings dragged limply through the grass. The bird, its half-bare body lying broken on the wet leaves. The squirrel, its mouth agape but silent as flies swarmed its eyes. I had been told only of leaves and moss, of sun and rain. None had dared to speak of winter and death, of wounds and sicknesses, of skeleton trees and ghost creeks. Yet I looked up, and the sky still turned, and the world still whispered its lullaby.
But mostly, I remember the petals unfurling and the buds emerging. Warmth replaced the biting cold, and the air was again heavy with moisture. Once more, the canopy sang with the hum of the beetles’ wings, the chirping of the hungry nestlings, and the scratching of the squirrels’ claws. The world seemed to have come back from the dead, revived with a newfound vigor and defiance. I realized that this was the story of the world: a constant cycle of death and rebirth, of overcoming destruction, of pushing on towards tomorrow. I found wisdom in the natural rhythms, as well as a cheeky stubbornness. Though the cold would inevitably kill my leaves, I knew that I would rise again in spring, my branches and stems stronger than ever before.
Ethan Nguyen
I remember my childhood being a blend of tension and curiosity, my older sister Kadence and I often clashing like stormy waves against a rugged shore. She was two years older than me, and our age difference felt like a chasm, separating our interests, friends, and even our ways of thinking. I admired her confidence, the way she navigated the world with ease, while I struggled to find my own footing. Yet, our interactions were often marked by rivalry and misunderstanding,
I remember the summer days of our youth, the Georgia heat in the air, when arguments would flare up over the smallest things—who got to control the TV remote or who had to wash the dishes. Our voices, sharp and cutting, filled the house with tension. My parents, patient and hopeful always tried encouraging us to find common ground.
I remember as we grew older, the landscape of our relationship began to shift. The stormy waves gradually calmed, giving way to a gentler tide. It started with small moments—sharing music we both liked, confiding in each other about school dramas, and eventually, spending late nights talking about our dreams and fears. The awkwardness that once defined our relationship slowly melted away, replaced by an unspoken understanding and mutual respect.
But I mostly remember Our parents watching from over the years, their faces glowing more with happiness day by day. My dad, however, was always the silent observer, wore a straight face no matter how happy he was. while my mom’s eyes sparkled with joy. They had always hoped for this day, when their children would not just tolerate each other but cherish the bond we share.
Wesely Oliver
I remember waking up to the sound of leaves blowing in the wind, and birds singing their hearts out within the trees. And the morning doves o’ how graceful, with melodies of peace and innocence.
I remember the smell of freshly cut grass. The thrill of fighting over a ball and the itchiness that accompanied it. With screams of joy and laughter filling the mid day air.
I remember my mom telling me “Oh your fine.” As my ankle writhed in pain. After days of pain we were suggested to go see the doctor. For the next few months I was walking around with a cast and crutches.
But mostly I remember all the lessons taught to me by my parents, no madder how they were taught to me. Thanks to those lessons I learned to control my emotions even though they still slip sometimes. I have learned to be physically more careful, though the marks on my body would say otherwise.
Anja Remolina
I remember the joy and cheer of Christmas time, infecting people’s spirits and the feeling of the atmosphere. The time that everyone comes together to celebrate and is infected by good feelings, and hopeful wishes.
I remember my family coming together to spend Christmas with me. There were cousins, aunts, and uncles, and close family and friends and a feeling of joy beaming among them. To be gathered in one place, together and whole, but for me the feeling was lacking I didn’t feel whole I was not
content because my grandparents were missing, and I wasn’t with them. My grandparents live in a land far away, where its hot, humid, and part of the jungle grows, they live in Colombia where the jaguars and capybaras roam. It is a misfortune that they live so far away because I do not see them
often, which makes my heart break. Missed opportunities of fun and joy are what I face all because they live so far away.
I remember the feeling of another Christmas without them happy but not fully content because I love my grandparents to the fullest extent, but I was in luck and unaware of the surprise my family had plotted to make my spirits high.
I remember being called from the thrill of a film with my family and friends, and racing my brother to the front door, I remember pushing and shoving to see what had arrived, I remember running outside to the chilly cold air, and seeing my grandparents standing right there, standing right there in my driveway outside, I remember the emotion that overtook me and lead me to cry. I remember running to embrace them and never letting go, I remember the joy and peace of being with them, my family was complete because I was with them.
Amelia Scaggs
I remember the innocent giggles of my little self. She had no idea what was about to happen to her.
I remember my antique mini rocking chair that I fit in like a glove. For me, that chair was a rollercoaster, rocking back and forth, testing my limits with each sway. I rocked and rocked and searched the tv screen for the yellow triangles Dora was so persistent on finding because what else is a 3 year old going to do with her time?
I remember the fun turned to disabling fear as my far lean on the hind legs of the rocking chair became just too far, and all I could do was scream. I felt my head split open as the sharp, exposed wood of my mom’s bed and I collided.
Jalen Smith
I remember back when I lived in my favorite childhood home, the backyard was huge to a kid like me. I felt like an adventurer about to explore a new oasis. There was so many different animals and plants to explore.
I remember spending hours on hours outside with my siblings, playing with sticks pretending to be swordsmen and running around as if we drove race-cars. Our imaginations ran rampant keeping us distracted from issues at home. We were each others best friends back then, always playing and hanging out.
I remember being outside, playing in grass and catching grasshoppers. Filled with joy, I brought them in to show my mom. She would always yell at me for bringing things in the house, but I still always wanted to show her.
I mostly remember, the time where all my family was over for a get together. We all sat outside in the dark, music and laughter surrounding the area. As the fireflies surrounded us, all the kids ran around trying to catch them, and those if us who were lucky caught them in a jar. These were days that I often look back on, the feeling of being a child with no responsibilities
Nina Steinman
I remember when I trusted him. The thuds of our feet on the stairs as we raced down the steps and out the door, the prickling pain on our feet from the scorching pavement, the thunder of our hearts as we neared our destination, the pull of my lip upwards from a smile forming on my face as I sped ahead.
Anticipation
Determination
Confidence
And then betrayal.
I fell forward.
I remember when he pushed me. The burn of the pavement vanishing as I free-fell, the whoosh of air scattering to make way for my rapid descent, the slam of my back hitting a wall of water, the shiver of cold enveloping my limbs as the water pulled me under.
Surprise
Fear
Rage
And then calm.
Revenge was imminent.
I remember when I chased him. The strain of my muscles as I swam full speed towards the stairs, the sting of the sun on my now cool skin, the yelp of the pursued as I appeared behind him, the splash of droplets on my face as his flailing form hit the water.
Pride
Satisfaction
Justice
I had won.
But mostly I remember when we laughed together. The ache of our stomachs as we giggled ceaselessly, the rush of adrenaline as we jumped in again and again, the cries of disappointment when it was time to go inside, the knowledge that we would go right back to the pool the next day.
Joy
Exhilaration
Fun
Barric Tuchscher
I remember the summer days at the neighborhood lake, it must’ve been the scorching sun frying our brains that caused us to make stupid games and dumb decisions, but idiocy is expected when you have a middle school brain full of nothing but bliss. Bliss being the illusion that my friends and I fell for, thinking summer days at the neighborhood lake would stay as they were.
I remember when some friends moved, ad some developed bad habits, and the only 3 left developed stronger connections, still playing games at the neighborhood lake. Soon maturity turned games into long conversations, conversations of dreams and aspirations, and what we’d remember when we’ve grown up and had children.
We’d remember broken arms and almost drowning, climbing trees and chasing geese, and how the 3 of us has grown up together through thick, thin and everything in between. But mostly we’d remember summer days at the neighborhood lake, making stupid games and dumb decisions, and having middle school brains full of nothing but bliss, we must hold on to these memories liked prized possessions, and let them remind us that blissful illusion is sometimes needed.
Mya Winklesky
I remember the warmth on my skin as I sat under the poor attempt of shading that was our umbrella. The July heat was the thing I dreaded most about the summer.
I remember the roughness of the pages as I flipped through all 340 of them. The gripping details of the murderers as they wasted away in the cells of death row was the only thing keeping me going. Was the anxiety from the twists and turns of the story or the impending doom of junior year?
I remember the weight of my mom’s eyes on me as I heard her voice echoing, “Why haven’t you finished yet?” I had done it again. I had procrastinated my summer homework until the last minute.
But mostly I remember the sweet taste of matcha still lingering. And the sudden cool breeze that told me everything was going to be okay
Christian Winston
I remember that cold feeling, the warm embrace of death but the chill of being alone. A flash of
darkness and the thud a bird who lost its wings. I wake up to realize that I have blacked out. My friends that I were hanging out with hit me in my head. As I collect myself, no one is around. No help and alone, as I sit down and realized that I got a glimpse of darkness my friends surround me. Worried about me and what happened, I’m clueless to what the problem is.
I remember feeling so warm yet so cold, wanting to go back home I try to get up. I almost fall but my brother catches me and holds me straight. I begin to limp back to the house still in a daze and see a kid in the distant. With the look of horror on his face he turns around and screams for his mom. I am very confused and place my hand on my head. Realizing that he was screaming because of me, I feel the warm spot on my head. When I look at my hand all I see is the vibrant red of my own blood covering my hand and dripping down my arm.
I remember making it back home for my dad to be left confused about the situation. Red faced along with my friends running and crying in the house. The calm father carries me over to the sink to wash the blood away from my face. I mostly remember going to the hospital in the ER getting stitches. With the long syringe with the longing pain to come soon after. Then the relief of the moment ending with the staples to close off that experience
