Treatment

Ordinary World: The city of Atlanta before the meteor hits.

Call to Adventure: The meteor hits, everyone dies, now Ulgoth needs to find a way to get out.

Refusal of the Call: Ulgoth, out of sorrow, refuses to leave.

Meeting with the Mentor: Ulgoth meets Zanzi and Zanzi gives him the encouragement and information on what to do to get out.

Crossing the Threshold: Ulgoth and Zanzi meet Lara and the three of them steal a spaceship and take off.

Tests, Allies, and Enemies: Tests: Using the rocket ship, their adventures in space, and the fight with Lord Recto on planet Mesa.
Allies: Zanzi and Lara
Enemies: Lord Recto, the Spiranox

Approach: After the group passes through a giant electrical cloud in space, the ship loses power. Zanzi has to restore power, rekindling their drive.

Ordeal: Ulgoth is knocked out cold by Lord Recto, and his friends throw water on him, only to find out that water from Earth has special powers, and Ulgoth is revived, stronger than ever.

Reward: Ulgoth beats the crap out of Lord Recto, and then he gets with Lara.

The Road Back: Ulgoth and the gang make their way back to the ship and fly off.

Ressurection: Lord Recto catches up with them and they have a chase scene. Lord Recto ends up flying into a giant rock and dies. They go and kill the Spiranox.

Return with Elixir: Since the Spiranox was the connection to the deaths of the people, the destruction of the Spiranox revived the people.

Hero: Ulgoth, Zanzi

Mentor: Zanzi

Threshold Guardian: The Spiranox

Herald: Lara

Shapeshifter: Lord Recto

Shadow: The Spiranox, Lord Recto

Trickster: Lord Recto

Hero's Journey for The Departed

Ordinary World: The story begins when Colin Sullivan and Billy Costigan both join the police force.

Call to Adventure: Sullivan is called to SIU, and Costigan is called to be an undercover agent.

Refusal of the Call: Both of the main characters are slightly unsure of going through their operations.

Meeting with the Mentor: Sullivan meets Costello as a kid, and Costigan Meets Costello in the bar after being accepted into the force.

Crossing the Threshold: Costigan finally becomes a member of Costello's group, and Sullivan becomes the leader of the investigation of the rat in the force.

Tests, Allies, Enemies: Tests-various crimes Costello forces Costigan to perform, and Sullivan trying to track down the rat.
Allies-Costello(to Sullivan), Dignam/Queenan (Costigan)
Enemies-The cops (Sullivan), Mr. French and Costello (Costigan)

Approach: Both Sullivan and Costigan are suspected of being rats on each end. They have to try convince them both that they are actually on their side.

Ordeal: When Queenan gets killed, Costigan's desire to send the criminals to justice reaches a new high.

Reward: Sullivan has brought justice to everyone, and betrayed everyone, and he thought he got away with it--until Staff Sargeant Dignam caps him at the end.

The Road Back: Sullivan returns to his home. Everything seems normal.

Resurrection: Costello pulls a gun on Sullivan, but Sullivan caps him first.

Return with Elixir: Sullivan, the snake, goes home, and he takes the feeling that everything is okay with him, which everyone else believes, as well. However, Dignam putting a bullet in his head really just satisfies everyone's needs.


Hero: Costigan, Sullivan, Dignam, Queenan

Mentor: Queenan, Costello

Threshold Guardian: Mr. French, Sgt. Dignam

Herald: Queenan, Sullivan

Shapeshifter: Costigan, Sullivan, Costello

Shadow: Barrigan

Trickster: Basically Everyone. No but really it's Costigan, Sullivan, Costello, and Barrigan

Final Draft of "Gift I'd Like to Give"

Few were like him. He could move mountains with his vocabulary. He could make children cry with his metaphors. He is also the proud father of several works of poetry. No one knows how he does it, but most can agree with one thing: he is one of the greatest English instructors the world has ever seen.

Ever since I began to read, I have always wanted to write. I can’t explain why, but I always had a huge desire for the paper and pen. It’s so fascinating to me how one could just go into their own little world and leave all the rest behind, to express thoughts, emotions, and experiences with only a stick in your hand.

I moved up in the ranks—ran through elementary school, dragged myself through middle school, then I finally made it—the teenage drama smorgasbord they call high school. I was just another bit of plaque clogging the arteries of Lone Peak. I arrived at school bright and early, and I was prepared for a long first day.

That is, until I showed up to English class.

The moment I entered the classroom I knew I was in for a ride. I was early, and I don’t think I could have arrived at a better time. The desks were all arranged in a circle, and the teacher was sitting on a single desk in the middle of the room, letting his feet dangle. He was younger, and he had a little five o’ clock shadow sported on his chin.

I looked at him, he looked at me. I knew him from the football field, and it was strange to see him in the classroom teaching rather than coaching. He told me to have a seat. I did so, knowing little about what was to come in the year to come. After all, he was only a football coach right? I mean, how much can he actually know about teaching?

Kyle Nelson was just another guy out of the U of U, but to me he was much more. He was a mentor, a leader, a friend, a co-worker. He knew the right way to teach. He knew some things were easier to inspire than to assign. And most of all, he knew how to develop each of our own specialized voices. His goal, it seemed, was to mold (through us) creativity by getting us thinking. None of us could have ever really gotten much out of any other class than Mr. Nelson’s course.

Mr. Nelson, here’s my gift I’d like to give to you (which may not seem like much); my thanks.

Every day we would walk into his room with a frown glued on our faces, and we would see the title of the daily journal prompt on the board. Instantly, our depression, stress and fatigue were all washed away with feelings of wonder, thought and excitement. No one would know what exactly it was we were about to write about, until he told us. Well, there was one time when… no, never mind.

The assignments in the class were thrilling. I could taste my excitement. I could hear my ideas screaming at me, yearning to be written on a blank page. I could write with confidence, realizing why I appreciated the art for so long. I could finally write the novels I always desired to.

The creativity juices were flowing. Writing, after so many years of being assignment after assignment, had finally become enjoyable and fun for me once more. I could feel myself let go of all the textbook-defined essays and just let go. My quality of work was improving dramatically. I knew exactly how to put my ideas down on paper.

I didn’t need all those rules. I didn’t need strict teachers breathing down my neck, making writing feel like much more of a chore than a work of art. Mr. Nelson solved those problems with his innovative methods of teaching. Without them, I would be lost. I’d be stuck. I’d still just be another bit of plaque clogging arteries.

So in the end, I think it all comes down to this: I’d like to thank Mr. Nelson for the voice I have begun to discover within myself. Nelson, continue with your work. Writing will never die.

“A Gift I’d Like to Give”

Few were like him. He could move mountains with his vocabulary. He could make children cry with his metaphors. And on Fridays, he could start a forest fire with the sparks of his detailed descriptions. Some could say he knew his way around the writing world. Others would say he was a genius. To me, however, he was my teacher.

Mr. Kyle Nelson has always been an inspiration to me and my writing—well, ever since my sophomore year at Lone Peak High School. I was on the football team, and he turned out to be one of the coaches. He seemed very knowledgeable, and I was impressed. When I walked into my English class, there he was, sitting on top of a desk in the middle of the classroom.

Many have considered the man as an easy teacher, one that would give you a decent grade if you simply did the work. However, I can say that without him, my writing would be bland, stupid and unoriginal. During that year, my outlook on writing has drastically changed for the better.

No man can say simply that he was just another teacher. Yes, he did have his flaws, and sometimes questionable teaching styles, but in the end, his students' imagination was created, not just improved upon. No one could ever bring him down. No one could diminish his legacy. No one could ever teach like Mr. Nelson.

Yeah, It's a Green Stop Sign.

How can I tell her?

How, in my inferior being
can I articulate the burning
deep within my heart?

Insurmountable beauty radiates
from her entirety
No man can ignore it

a smile so radiant
a laugh so contagious
a love so pure
so perfect

I can't tell her
No, no I can't tell her
the truth
the way i feel.

I don't fear action
I fear a consequence

I'm hopeless
I'm the frog, not the prince
She's the princess

I'm sitting here
wasting my time
wishing I knew
what to do.

I'm sitting here
without a paddle.

Blinked

Memory Lane's a rough place
misery, love, and hurt
tagged on street signs.

Visiting for the weekend,
walking down the alleyway
I found my past.

I nearly remembered
my youth.

Rough as it was,
I stopped
and looked around.

Life, progress, confusion,
holidays, trips, siblings,
baseball, birthdays, guitar,
strange thoughts, crushes... driving

No one knows me
no one cares to know me
no one can make me care if they care
no one can stop me
Now or forever.

Memory Lane's a rough place
misery, love, and hurt
helps me become...
Me.

I Remember

I remember birth.

I remember innocence.

I remember the days of old; rather, the days of youth.

I remember preschool, the pool, and popcorn chicken.

I remember swimming lessons. Mom was so proud.

I remember beating up defenseless children

as the bully of the playground, the respected.

I remember the best show ever, Blues Clues.

I remember my stash of matchbox cars and hot wheels.

I remember innocence.

I remember leaving Ohio.

I remember getting my sisters in trouble.

I remember my phobia of rollercoasters.

I remember innocence.

I remember young love.

I remember young love as pointless.

I remember sixth grade.

I remember innocence.

I remember junior high racing past as I briefly closed my eyes.

I remember missing a good lunch.

I remember choir.

I remember my first sister leaving.

I remember the second one leaving.

I remember being alone.

I remember guitar.

I remember the desire I had to learn songs that I now know.

I remember my tastes in music as they progressed.

I remember the first Metallica song I heard.

I remember getting turned on.

I almost remember innocence.

I remember chasing my dreams.

I remember waking up this morning

wondering if it's worth it

wondering if I can make it through the day

wondering what people think of me

I remember the words of my father.

I remember rebirth.