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Creative Writing Samples

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Ritu Prasad

This summary provides the key details from the creative writing samples in 3 sentences: The samples describe Venice as a city that will make you lose yourself in its cobbled streets and reflections in the water, Buenos Aires as a soulful city with European influences but a true South American heart seen through wandering its colorful neighborhoods, and Bangalore as the writer's birthplace that they rediscovered and formed a new relationship with through volunteering there one summer.

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Ritu Prasad Creative Writing Samples Creative Writing Sample 1: Venice The thing you have to know about Venice is that you won’t get lost if you’re trying to. All the streets try and push you back towards the familiar facades the city puts up; every seemingly whimsical passage leads you again and again to St. Marco, to the Doge’s, to the precisely picturesque Rialto. No, you won’t find Venice if you’re looking for her. You’ll find Venice when you lose your map and you’re trying to find your way back home, trying to leave her. Suddenly you’ll look around you and see that the people in the streets don’t have cameras or wide brimmed hats and sneakers- they have flowers in their hands, and they know exactly where they’re going. You’ll realize then that Venice has taken you in. It happens in a heartbeat, in the space between each breath, in the time it takes for the ripples from worn rowboats to reach where your feet dangle into Venice’s veins from the stone steps off the cobbled streets. Venice exists in the reflections in the water from the unknown bridges and dead- end alleys that descend into the water that is her blood and soul. She is the laughter of her people, echoing out from open windows, from tucked away cafés. Soft Italian with the Venetian lilt speaks from all the shadowy corners, from the barely there doorways to the off balance plazas rich with the quiet murmurs of an old people. You won’t get lost in Venice. Venice will make you lose yourself. Creative Writing Sample 2: In My Dreams I Never Leave Buenos Aires Buenos Aires is a soulful city, born in the cradle of South American warmth but raised by a European hand. There are touches of old world Europe on every street- in the exquisite facades of the Opera, the embassies, the hotels that retain a 1920′s charm- but the true heart of Argentina is never hidden in its capital city. The city is awash with color and sound and bars where tango is played and danced as naturally as breathing. Here’s my favorite memory: After breakfast (a slow affair with fruits and pastries and cups of bitter coffee), walking out of the hotel and picking directions at random. My discoveries along the way: a small church with old vines and an unruly garden; a jewelry shop with antiques mixed in with funky neon necklaces; a cobblestone street with cafés and leather shops and a colorful store of solely ties.
Ritu Prasad Creative Writing Samples Creative Writing Sample 3: India, Memoir At dusk, the city smog does not vanish, but changes. As the indigo-gray sky of a monsoon afternoon is replaced by the inky blue of twilight, the hot, polluted city of Bangalore becomes a cool, hazy network of endless light and motion. The auto rickshaw we took to get home was hardly a smooth ride, but it was grounding. I squeezed in first to claim my preferred seat by the half open side of the rickshaw, and as my hometown-eight-thousand-miles-from-home settled into the richness of a tropical night, I experienced it up close. I had never seen India this way, with such open eyes; my only declarations prior to that summer were that India was a sweltering, dirty place where I couldn’t drink the tap water and always got sick. But I was younger then, and had the stereotypical image of ‘Exotic (Third-World) India’ stuck in my head. Previous visits to India were for one of the following reasons: a wedding, medical problems, or for other events that required my parent’s presence. That June, the summer before my senior year, for the first time, I had my own purpose. I traveled to India because I had a goal—not only give back to the country of my birth by volunteering, but to take the first step away from home. When I landed in Bangalore, waiting for the crowd to shuffle out of the plane, I looked out into the dense night and decided this: I would expect the unexpected. I wanted this country (could I call it mine, I wondered?) to surprise me. For years the notion of India as my home had been forced upon me, and I believe I rejected it to a degree because of that. Having the bias and opinions of others shoved in my mind distorted the way I truly felt about the place. This time would be different. This time, I would see India with my own uncovered eyes. I spent two months in Bangalore, experiencing the city in an incredibly different way. I worked in areas that were a huge contrast to the neighborhoods where my family lived. Interacting with the entire city this way helped me see the unique and wonderful aspects of Bangalore. I believe I now have the right to call it my second home. Bangalore is more than a grimy, congested city— it’s my birthplace; it has streets older than my grandparents, lined by rain trees with red flowers; it has colorful markets that sprawl up and down the city blocks; it has rooftop restaurants and shining skyscrapers; it is noisy and dusty, but it is full of life.
Ritu Prasad Creative Writing Samples Bangalore has not changed from the time I first saw it, but I have. I have forged a new relationship with this city—and thanks to that newfound bond, and the lessons I learned while forming it, my eyes are no longer clouded. I rediscovered India that summer, and in the process rediscovered myself. Creative Writing Sample 4: The City in the Rain Paris, closest to my heart that it is, may be my hardest city to talk about. How can I begin to describe Paris? It’s been done a thousand times before, but each time it’s a little different, because Paris is a different city depending on your eyes. Let’s start with clichés. It’s easy to write about the rain in Paris as being somehow different from anywhere else, but here’s the truth: Parisian rain is unpredictable and oftentimes cold, and the way it pitter patters on your skin and the cobblestones is a unique kind of chill, the kind that drains through your blood and crawls down your spine. It’s not a pleasant thing, that sort of rain, but it is an experience. It’s only because in Paris, that prickling feeling heightens your senses and changes your point of view.

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Creative Writing Samples

  • 1. Ritu Prasad Creative Writing Samples Creative Writing Sample 1: Venice The thing you have to know about Venice is that you won’t get lost if you’re trying to. All the streets try and push you back towards the familiar facades the city puts up; every seemingly whimsical passage leads you again and again to St. Marco, to the Doge’s, to the precisely picturesque Rialto. No, you won’t find Venice if you’re looking for her. You’ll find Venice when you lose your map and you’re trying to find your way back home, trying to leave her. Suddenly you’ll look around you and see that the people in the streets don’t have cameras or wide brimmed hats and sneakers- they have flowers in their hands, and they know exactly where they’re going. You’ll realize then that Venice has taken you in. It happens in a heartbeat, in the space between each breath, in the time it takes for the ripples from worn rowboats to reach where your feet dangle into Venice’s veins from the stone steps off the cobbled streets. Venice exists in the reflections in the water from the unknown bridges and dead- end alleys that descend into the water that is her blood and soul. She is the laughter of her people, echoing out from open windows, from tucked away cafés. Soft Italian with the Venetian lilt speaks from all the shadowy corners, from the barely there doorways to the off balance plazas rich with the quiet murmurs of an old people. You won’t get lost in Venice. Venice will make you lose yourself. Creative Writing Sample 2: In My Dreams I Never Leave Buenos Aires Buenos Aires is a soulful city, born in the cradle of South American warmth but raised by a European hand. There are touches of old world Europe on every street- in the exquisite facades of the Opera, the embassies, the hotels that retain a 1920′s charm- but the true heart of Argentina is never hidden in its capital city. The city is awash with color and sound and bars where tango is played and danced as naturally as breathing. Here’s my favorite memory: After breakfast (a slow affair with fruits and pastries and cups of bitter coffee), walking out of the hotel and picking directions at random. My discoveries along the way: a small church with old vines and an unruly garden; a jewelry shop with antiques mixed in with funky neon necklaces; a cobblestone street with cafés and leather shops and a colorful store of solely ties.
  • 2. Ritu Prasad Creative Writing Samples Creative Writing Sample 3: India, Memoir At dusk, the city smog does not vanish, but changes. As the indigo-gray sky of a monsoon afternoon is replaced by the inky blue of twilight, the hot, polluted city of Bangalore becomes a cool, hazy network of endless light and motion. The auto rickshaw we took to get home was hardly a smooth ride, but it was grounding. I squeezed in first to claim my preferred seat by the half open side of the rickshaw, and as my hometown-eight-thousand-miles-from-home settled into the richness of a tropical night, I experienced it up close. I had never seen India this way, with such open eyes; my only declarations prior to that summer were that India was a sweltering, dirty place where I couldn’t drink the tap water and always got sick. But I was younger then, and had the stereotypical image of ‘Exotic (Third-World) India’ stuck in my head. Previous visits to India were for one of the following reasons: a wedding, medical problems, or for other events that required my parent’s presence. That June, the summer before my senior year, for the first time, I had my own purpose. I traveled to India because I had a goal—not only give back to the country of my birth by volunteering, but to take the first step away from home. When I landed in Bangalore, waiting for the crowd to shuffle out of the plane, I looked out into the dense night and decided this: I would expect the unexpected. I wanted this country (could I call it mine, I wondered?) to surprise me. For years the notion of India as my home had been forced upon me, and I believe I rejected it to a degree because of that. Having the bias and opinions of others shoved in my mind distorted the way I truly felt about the place. This time would be different. This time, I would see India with my own uncovered eyes. I spent two months in Bangalore, experiencing the city in an incredibly different way. I worked in areas that were a huge contrast to the neighborhoods where my family lived. Interacting with the entire city this way helped me see the unique and wonderful aspects of Bangalore. I believe I now have the right to call it my second home. Bangalore is more than a grimy, congested city— it’s my birthplace; it has streets older than my grandparents, lined by rain trees with red flowers; it has colorful markets that sprawl up and down the city blocks; it has rooftop restaurants and shining skyscrapers; it is noisy and dusty, but it is full of life.
  • 3. Ritu Prasad Creative Writing Samples Bangalore has not changed from the time I first saw it, but I have. I have forged a new relationship with this city—and thanks to that newfound bond, and the lessons I learned while forming it, my eyes are no longer clouded. I rediscovered India that summer, and in the process rediscovered myself. Creative Writing Sample 4: The City in the Rain Paris, closest to my heart that it is, may be my hardest city to talk about. How can I begin to describe Paris? It’s been done a thousand times before, but each time it’s a little different, because Paris is a different city depending on your eyes. Let’s start with clichés. It’s easy to write about the rain in Paris as being somehow different from anywhere else, but here’s the truth: Parisian rain is unpredictable and oftentimes cold, and the way it pitter patters on your skin and the cobblestones is a unique kind of chill, the kind that drains through your blood and crawls down your spine. It’s not a pleasant thing, that sort of rain, but it is an experience. It’s only because in Paris, that prickling feeling heightens your senses and changes your point of view.