Teens Creating @ the Library

WTPL Teen Writing Group

Teens meet monthly to try creative writing together, share projects they are working on  and just connect with like minded friends. 

Below are samples of of what’s been happening over the past year. Please enjoy their work. 


WTPL Teen Writing Group Virtual Literary Magazine

Chipotle Writing Prompt - by TWG

It was a dark, Christmas night. There was good tea, but the Wi-Fi was down. 

“Bloody hell,” said Ron. Ron angrily slammed his phone on the table. “It’s Seamus again… why can’t the dang Wi-Fi work!”

He glowered at the ground. “I gave Seamus the food order, and now I have no idea when it’s gonna be here.”

Hermione was taking care of Hugo.

“I want my Chipotle burrito!” Hugo screamed angrily. Crack. Hugo broke Rose’s new broomstick. Hermione started yelling hysterically at Hugo for ruining his sister’s property. 

Harry’s eyes and voice became far away. Their food wasn’t coming from Chipotle anymore. Harry didn’t know how he would ever tell Hermione. 

Harry was staring into space, and Ron said, “Are you okay?”
Harry stared blankly at Ron as if he wasn’t there, and said in a dull voice, “There will be bloodshed tonight.”

“There will only be bloodshed if I don’t get my Chipotle burrito,” Ron snaps back.

“You won’t be able to eat your Chipotle burrito if you aren’t alive!”

Voldemort takes the form of Seamus with Polyjuice potion and poisons the food with cyanide after bringing it to the house.

The doorbell rang, Ron opened the door to Seamus who thrusted the bag of Chipotle at his chest and walked away. Ron looked at Harry and yelled,

“Oi! Seamus brought the Chipotle.”

There was another knock at the door. Ron shot a confused look at Harry who shrugged. There was a small teenage voice coming from where the door stood.

“My name is Seth Clearwater, and I’m here to warn you.”

Ron said, “Why are you here?” and ran away screaming loudly after grabbing his Chipotle.

Wolves by Liv A

Halloween Night
By Leah A

Vampires and werewolf creeping in the night 

Peeking out, just for a fright 

The full moon’s light, leading us to a frightening site Treats, treats, a bag of sugary sweets 

Pumpkins, pumpkins carve it out or stuff it with chocolatey treats Pumpkins, pumpkins, its salty seeds 

Planted deep in the ground, sprouting up as weeds Knock, knock, knock trick or treat 

Now give me something sweet to eat 

It is the night where all things come alive


  • Artist: Leah A
  • Artwork: colored pencil

Nightmare at the Window

By Jasmine S

Windows are interesting things. They allow you to look outside at the world beyond, but hinder you from actually going there. Sometimes it almost looks as if there’s not even a window there and you reach out to touch the comforting spring breeze and feel only cold glass. 

I remember talking to my friend, Noah, at school last week, Thursday I think. We were sitting outside at recess, the only time of the school day where we can truly socialize and breathe fresh air. It wasn’t always that way, but it is now, and has been for a long time. I’m beginning to find it hard to remember the normal life I had once had. CLICK HERE TO READ MORE!

The Endless Darkness and Mystery of the Ocean is Getting a Bit Tempting to Dive into Now

By Olivia A

Patterns. Habits. Repetition. Why do we do it? Why is it that before we even brush our teeth, our eyes are glued to a screen? Why is it that we are constantly choosing the wrong people to adore? Why is it, that at the slip of a tongue, leaders are prepared to launch into a war. Eternal, and hostile, and unethical, and terrifyingly lethal. The coincidences and the purposeful actions that draw attention to our faults. The ever-changing cycle of the moon and the hastening blaze of wildfires, the latter of which is our fault. In people, the swelling of a heart caused by just a glance. In animals, the need to protect their own; some of the strongest bonds known to the earth. In history, the coveting of power, freedom, land, you name it. As long as it can be fought over, there has been a significant event. There are the consistent things, things that seem mundane until you look a little closer; the sun rising every morning, setting in the evening to give way to the moon. the leaves falling, dying, and growing with the constant, mortal change of seasons. Gentle sweeps of the hand; both parties still feigning ignorance. 


The Last Diary Entry of James Young

By Dakotah H

When I first encountered the strange being, I had been walking in the open field for some time. I was without a sense of direction or purpose, knowing only that I was fleeing the boring, monotonous life I had gotten myself into when I accepted the job at the office. I still wore a suit and carried a briefcase in one hand, but I had no sentimental ties to my previous life. An hour or so into this mindless walking, I came across a pile of ruins; a few crumbling stone walls holding out and forming a broken cube. Curious, I began walking closer, noticing a strange symbol containing birds and a sword burned onto the structure. The air inside the cube seemed to glisten and sparkle, but I shook my head. Just my imagination. 

“It is only your imagination if you wish it to be so,” a voice echoed. I whipped my head around in all directions, trying to find the source of this voice. 


Blue Dragon

  • Artist:  Leah A
  • Artwork: colored pencil


  • Artist: Jasmine S
  • Medium: colored pencil

Wood Sprite

  • Artist: Jasmine S
  • Medium: colored pencil


  • Artist: Jasmine S
  • Medium: colored pencil

girl with book

How Competitive are You? – Personal Narrative


I don’t think it’s exactly a secret that siblings are usually overly competitive with each other.

Sure, there are those dream-team, thick-as-thieves siblings who wouldn’t even think about beating their sister or brother in anything, but the majority of siblings are competitive at an early age. They come out of the womb, squealing and burning, ready to run and jump and test each other. My siblings are no exception. It’s not uncommon to walk into the living room and see my tall, gangly sister wrestling with my shorter brother, or to see them racing each other, or something else. 

It’s much more fun for her to challenge me, though.

We’re a lot closer in age, so it’s more fun for her to beat me. My brother, even though he was born with as much competition inside his short little body as the rest of us, gets boring to fight very quickly. Not only is it humiliating to get absolutely dominated in everything you try, it’s even worse when the person in question is only nine.

Nine, and born burning with enough fire to scorch the world.

But it gets boring competing with perfection personified after a while. You can only take so many losses before you move on.

I guess that makes me my sister’s rebound from him. Whenever I’m willing to be, at least.

I’d snuffed out my own flame a while ago, stepped down from my third-place pedestal. It didn’t even feel like competition at that point, just constant losing. Nothing I liked to do was flashy enough like my sibling’s sports, so I moved into cool solitude. 

I stepped out of the sun to prevent getting burned.

Of course, my sister kept trying to drag me out into the sunlight, having me join some of the sports that she loved so dearly. Track and Field? I made it a year, scoring last in nearly every race. Chess? Even if it wasn’t a sport, I was still so often beaten down by my sister that I wrote a poem about my failures. 

4 lines, easily memorizable. One of the only pieces of poetry I’ve ever written.

For a time, I told myself that competition was just a childhood impulse that you’d grow out of. I kept denying my sister’s offers to compete, even if they didn’t grow less over time. 

I was reborn from the ashes when I first beat my sister while swimming.

Sure, it was always a close call, but I usually had the upper hand by a half second. And, while competing, half seconds can mean everything.

We’d line up on the far left side of the pool, my sister always next to me with my brother or somebody else to the other side. At the go, we’d sprint forward, white foam spraying around us in our haste. After a few rushed moments, we’d reach the far right side, and turn around to swim back. We’d always slow down on the second lap, both my sister and I, but we’d press forward, back to the beginning, and I’d touch the wall first, grinning. 

“I won.” I’d always smile, without fail, to the left of me.

“I’ll beat you next time.” was always the response.

I’d forgotten what the fire felt like.

Of course, there were the rare times that she’d beat me in the pool as well, and chew my ear off about it for forever, but I didn’t care. I’d still beaten her countless times earlier, and I’d beat her countless times in the future. 

I’d finally, finally won. 

Finally, finally reignited.