Archive for the ‘Writing’ Category

Songwriting and Publishing: Burning Bridges

Sunday, July 24th, 2022

Burning Bridges

Any fan of Taylor Swift can reassure you that there is no better feeling than screaming one of her bridges at the top of your lungs. You might even lose your voice from it. There’s something in the way that she writes this pivotal part of her songs; they make you feel like you’re releasing the emotions you’ve tried so hard to gather. The bridge of any song, but hers, in particular, progresses the story, allowing the audience to fluidly follow. For example, the bridge of Taylor’s song “Cruel Summer” gets me every time. The catchiness of the shift in melody and the impact of such well-written lyrics make it impossible to not scream along. It evokes the feeling of falling in love with the windows down in your car going a million miles an hour. Listening to it makes you feel like you’ve just popped a bottle of champagne and there’s an overflow of bubbles you cannot contain. This is what makes a good bridge; not only does the song provoke such emotion, but it is the shift in emotion that makes it so valuable. It is the showing and not telling part of the song that allows people to feel such an overwhelmingness of emotion that you, plain and simple, have to scream. 

With such high expectations to live up to, writing a bridge is very difficult for me, especially the part where you change tones in the melody. Usually, in all the songs I listen to, the bridge is a variation or alteration of the original chord progression found in the verses and the chorus. This automatically sets the tone for the bridge. Will it be uplifting or will it be absolutely gut-wrenching? If it’s uplifting, major chords will suffice, but if it’s a sadder vibe you are willing to achieve, minor chords are your best friend. Sometimes, or in my case, I chose to make the bridge in my song take a more despairing turn melodically, but have the lyrics be on the happier side to create a push and pull effect. I think that this adds more dimension to what I’m trying to achieve. Yes, a love song is supposed to be happy and make you feel, well, in love, but love itself is a very complicated emotion. It is not a linear line to get from point A to B, but more like a tornado of different emotions combined into one. Cruel Summer is a perfect example of this. It makes you feel happy during the verses and chorus, but once that bridge hits, I’m three sheets to the wind and angered, wanting to scream the words that Taylor wrote so beautifully. 

There is no such thing as a perfect bridge, let alone, any part of a song. What I think makes an effective bridge is a distinctive contrast in point of view. Lyrically the words shouldn’t be ones that simply push or continue the already stated narrative but create a new outlook. I usually draw inspiration from events in my life to solidify what I’m trying to convey. In any circumstance, this is the most natural way for me to gather inspiration. For example, Taylor Swift’s song “Betty” is told from a whole different point of view that isn’t Betty’s, but from a teenage boy who is experiencing losing his first love after making a huge mistake. This throws the audience off, but when you listen to it, the more intense it grows, all from a perspective that isn’t her own. The bridge in this song is a sense of realization in his apology, saying “I was walking home on broken cobblestones/ Just thinking of you/ When she pulled up like/ A figment of my worst intentions/ She said “James, get in, let’s drive”/ Those days turned into nights/ Slept next to her, but/ I dreamt of you all summer long”. This bridge not only leads us listeners right into the sweet spot of the song but unpacks more of the story as to why things happened the way they did. 

It’s important to note that not all songs need bridges and sometimes it doesn’t even feel necessary to clump one in. A bridge should act as an emotional response to the rest of the verses and chorus. Think of it as a tool to lyrically shift the perspective in your writing, but it is not always imperative to include one, some songs do just fine without them. What I love the most about bridges and writing them is that they take a situation and look at it from a completely different angle which can be so therapeutic, especially if the song is based on true life experiences. It gives not only the audience clarity for the sake of the progression of the story, but it allows you as a writer to step back from your work and look at your inspirations from a completely fresh point of view. 

Use this coupon at Al’s Cafe to get a $10 student deal to grab a sub in between songwriting!


By Megan Grosfeld

Megan Grosfeld is a Junior at Emerson College majoring in Writing, Literature, and Publishing with a concentration in Publishing. Her dream is to be like the modern Carrie Bradshaw of the Publishing world, but with more writing, sex, and infinite pairs of Manolo Blahniks.


For over 20 years, the Campus Clipper has been offering awesome student discounts in NYC, from the East Side to Greenwich Village. Along with inspiration, the company offers students a special coupon booklet and the Official Student Guide, which encourages them to discover new places in the city and save money on food, clothing, and services. At the Campus Clipper, not only do we help our interns learn new skills, make money, and create wonderful e-books, we give them a platform to teach others. Check our website for more student savings and watch our YouTube video showing off some of New York City’s finest students during the Welcome Week of 2015.

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Health, Beauty, and Body Image

Wednesday, July 6th, 2022

When I was at dance a few weeks ago, I was looking at myself in the mirror and made a passing comment about how I wished my stomach was thinner. This immediately got a reaction from all of my friends around me. 

“No, you’re so pretty though!”

“At least you have nice arms.”

“Same, I look so ugly.”

 Everything they hated about their bodies were things that I hated about mine at one point; everything they said to tell me how pretty I was were things that I have said countless times to countless people. Despite our best efforts and our growing knowledge on the subject, we still attached body image, health, and beauty as one big package as if we couldn’t have one without the others. Even comments meant to build others up are, in one way or another, tied to this idea that we have to be skinny and fit to be beautiful.

I have always been a very healthy person and have enjoyed being active throughout my life. My lifestyle often reflected itself in my weight. I used to tie how healthy and beautiful I was to the number on the scale. This mentality was also held by the people around me, with my mother especially always encouraging us to be fit. This became a problem when COVID-19 hit and I had to quarantine in my home. I lost my healthy lifestyle and have struggled to gain it back since. This has resulted in a lot of weight gain and, with the weight, came the anxiety around how I looked. 

It’s hard to fight the thoughts telling you that you’re ugly and pathetic when everything around you seems to be agreeing with them. 

This became even more difficult when I came back to dance and realized that almost every other person was skinnier than me. I felt like I stuck out like a sore thumb and this did not help my feelings of inadequacy and ugliness. I was suddenly uncomfortably aware of the weight I had gained and, even if no one else noticed, it frequently sent me into spirals of negative self talk about my body. 

Ideal Beauty Standards for women over the past 100 years

The beauty standards of today are impossibly warped. We have been conditioned to believe that one specific body type is the best and everyone without it is ugly. This especially affects women, who feel pressured to conform to society’s beauty standards because that is sometimes the only thing that is valued. However, with the ever-changing standards, many women feel like nothing is good enough – they are constantly being asked to change themselves for everyone else. According to an article published by Bradley University, “the “perfect” woman was described as 5’5”, 128 pounds, with a 26-inch waist” which is nearly impossible to achieve. Beauty standards do not only affect women. Oftentimes, men are also facing unrealistic standards pushed by the fitness and fashion industry. All of this results in a mix up of what is healthy and what is beautiful and people seem to think that they go hand in hand. 

I soon came to realize that it wasn’t just my weight or my body type that was bothering me, but my ability to move. Oftentimes, when I said “I’m so fat,” what I actually meant was “I don’t feel like I can move the way I used to.” I found it harder to perform certain dance moves the way I used to. I found it more difficult to stretch or reach or even leap the way I was used to. During one of my first rehearsals after quarantine, I was doing a stretch and found it extremely difficult to do. Because I had more weight around my waist, I wasn’t able to bend the way I used to without it getting in the way. This revelation coupled with a surge of anxiety almost had me crying in the middle of practice. I felt like I was losing my ability to do what I wanted to do and, with it, any chance I had of being beautiful. 

I know I’m not the only one who thinks like this. The amount of times I’ve made a comment about feeling fat only to have the rebuttal be “but you’re beautiful” is too numerous to count. According to a blog post on Beauty Schools Directory, children as young as four can develop weight bias and see it as a negative thing to be heavier. It’s ingrained in our society and impacts how we think about both health and beauty. The fitness industry doubles down on this ingrained mindset by selling us the idea that health equals skinny and that’s what makes you attractive. It’s very easy to get caught up in the cycle of thinking that all of these things are tied together. 

It’s taken me a long time to separate my weight from my health and my health from my confidence in my looks. I’m still working on it every day. However, I’ve slowly begun to accept that health and beauty are two separate things. One does not dictate the other. You are not ugly just because you picked a burger over a salad, and you are not healthy just because you fit society’s idea of beauty. This realization has helped me reframe how I think about myself and my goals. Now, instead of thinking about how I wish my stomach was thinner, I can say that I wish I had more core strength to be able to do more dance moves. This gives me a clear goal to work towards while separating how I look and how I feel. I am slowly learning to make lifestyle changes for my own health and goals rather than what I think will make me beautiful. I already am beautiful.

Takeaway: Health and beauty are separate and one does not dictate the other.


No matter how you feel about yourself, you deserve to be pampered. Use this coupon to treat yourself to a fun spa day!

By: Callie Hedtke

Callie is going to be a senior at DePaul University studying Graphic Design. She loves dancing and can usually be found at her school’s gym rehearsing for her next dance show. If she’s not there, she can be found at her computer playing video games with her friends or out hiking with her family.


For over 20 years, the Campus Clipper has been offering awesome student discounts in NYC,  from the East Side to Greenwich Village. Along with inspiration, the company offers students a special coupon booklet and the Official Student Guide, which encourages them to discover new places in the city and save money on food, clothing, and services.  At the Campus Clipper, not only do we help our interns learn new skills, make money, and create wonderful e-books, we give them a platform to teach others. Check our website for more student savings and watch our YouTube video showing off some of New York City’s finest students during the Welcome Week of 2015.

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How I Got Evicted from a Farm

Tuesday, June 14th, 2022

Part One: Toledo

The minivan, blue and cloudless as the sky, rolled slow through the streets of East Toledo. Its tattered seats were damp with the sweat of my back, the fabric refusing to dry in humid air. Its open windows, every so often, sent notes of sulfur and cement up my nose, riding through on the respite of a faint breeze. On the street below, the occasional loose cobblestone made for uneven terrain—each lurch of the car gnawed at the curd of motion sickness in my stomach, born nine hours and three state lines ago. 

In the driver’s seat, Layla peered ahead through the heat in a tired search for the night’s site of temporary lodging. A bead of sweat slipped under the rim of her glasses, leaving shiny footprints to highlight the curvature of her face. Her curls had unraveled themselves over the course of the day, and with every turn of the wheel they grew further apart, resisting containment. Pausing at a stop sign, she ventured her elbow out to lean against the window, but the hot metal door prompted a quick recoil. A few more blocks to go before our first rest. 

The streets were quiet and empty of people. Up on the right, in front of each vacant house, rose a tall wire fence decorated with a dozen ‘beware dog’ signs, one every few feet, shouting through their sharp corners and neon hue. The signs were outnumbered only by the dogs themselves, which populated the yards behind the wire with consistent abundance. Groups of them gathered beside each porch, following the slow creak of the van with low growls and curious eyes, passing us off to the stares of the next pack as we left their yard behind. Some were large and hunched over, with heads that skated above the ground, held still by thick, rippling necks that curved upwards to stab the sky before reassuming connection with their spines. Others were small, with stumpy legs that grew blurry as they chased one another, carving a maze through the longer, slower limbs that rose like tree trunks around them. Many were old and withered and sick, with fur that clumped at the sides of their faces and buzzed with other creatures of the yard. One, Layla pointed out, was not a dog at all but a goat, hooved and horned and staring dejectedly into space. We silently wondered where in the world we were. 

My present meander through Toledo, destined for the west coast, had been a fairly spontaneous undertaking. Though, I suppose, equally unexpected was the onset of the pandemic, not to mention the sudden eviction from campus three quarters into freshman year and the ensuing six months I spent confined to my 80 square foot New York City bedroom. The year had already been an uphill battle, tossed back and forth between New York and Providence like the plaything of two depraved orcas. College life, in all its excitement, quickly became a fever dream upon my return to the city, where the fullness of the life I’d left behind struck me hard atop the head. When my stay in New York suddenly stretched endlessly into the future, and the world outside went vacant, I was left to stew in the mildew of this old life, the milky decades of memory that stained the walls and floors and city streets. Space itself became a yellowing palimpsest, writhing with the specters of the past, some lovely, fond, and warm, others indelibly painful, but all of them dead. To bring the walls alive was to feel it all, all at once, so I did—and my present began to rot alongside my past. 

So, Layla and I decided to leave. Rather than return to school and experience a loose translation of the life we wanted, we faced the death of our expectations head on and elected to drive west to spend a few months working and living on an orchard in California. We found the place online, called the owner—who seemed nice enough, for a stranger—and hopped in the minivan to begin the sixty hour drive that would, eventually, herald our chosen life among the trees. 

But before the trees came Toledo, Ohio. And before our rest came that endless row of houses, houses that the blue minivan rolled past careful and slow, houses guarded by dogs.

* * *

The houses stood short and sprawlingly wide, hidden behind the high fence and maximalist ornamentation of their front yards. Pink slats fell haphazardly off their sides, as if knocked down by the heavy weight of the sun. Windchimes spun and sprinkled themselves into the breeze. Thick weeds corroded the corners of stacked pots; wooden welcome boards and cheap statues overcrowded nearly every lawn. 

One house in particular had a yard piled high with life size plaster replicas of the dogs that stood cautiously behind them. The copies seemed frozen in time, as though some moment of the past, in its intensity, caught hold of the animals and refused to let them pass wholly into their future. Yet there they stood beside the plaster, alive and in steady movement, treading seamlessly across the debris. They followed our procession magnetically, without any interruption in their line of sight—not even for a moment. 

The car rolled to a halt at a pleasant little house, just past a road that sectioned off our street from the caravan of pack animals on the other side. Digging the key out from under the front mat, we unlocked the door and step into the cool air inside. Immediately, I let out a long sigh of relief, and Layla looked at me, grinned sheepishly, and delivered a long and contented yeahhh of agreement. But it wasn’t just the air for me—it was these walls, big and beautifully unfamiliar. These walls to whom I was a stranger. Walls with memories to which I did not subscribe.

A goat standing in the front yard of a Toledo home, staring dejectedly into space.

The Toledo neighborhood goat.

As we looked around, we realized the place was far too big for just two people, so we came to occupy the back corner of the house, dark green and dimly lit by the candle lights that protruded out from the wall. A few minutes after collapsing in the bedrooms, we received an alert that the house a few doors down the street had been the site of a murder merely three days earlier. It was hard to imagine that the lavender shutters of the home, in their softness and levity, could bear witness to such a crime. Layla wondered aloud what the dogs must have thought was going on, whether in them the noise might have sparked fear or excitement. I thought intently of the walls. After a silent moment, we descended to double lock the front door before retiring upstairs. 

For all the strangeness of the day, Toledo afforded me a heavy, uninterrupted night of sleep. As we rose with the sun the next morning and continued our journey west, the shouts of dogs and occasional bleat echoed through the empty streets. Despite the noise, I neglect to turn around and look.



Zachary Federman is a student at Brown University studying literary translation and Middle East Studies. Zachary is fond of art, detests logical positivism, and is excited for the future.


For over 20 years, the Campus Clipper has been offering awesome student discounts in NYC,  from the East Side to Greenwich Village. Along with inspiration, the company offers students a special coupon booklet and the Official Student Guide, which encourages them to discover new places in the city and save money on food, clothing, and services.  At the Campus Clipper, not only do we help our interns learn new skills, make money, and create wonderful e-books, we give them a platform to teach others. Check our website for more student savings and watch our YouTube video showing off some of New York City’s finest students during the Welcome Week of 2015.

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Defining the Next Step

Friday, April 22nd, 2022

I am officially in my last month of college. As the weather warms and Union Square fills up with people who yearn for sunlight, I’ve come to reflect on the last four years of my life. While I have spent many hours thinking about my college experience this semester, the frequency of these thoughts has multiplied tenfold. At 23 years old, it feels as though something in my life is coming to an end. 

I’m trying to think of it less as something concrete and harsh and instead as something fresh and challenging… A new chapter, so to say. But that doesn’t feel quite accurate. We spend a large amount of our lives in academia; from when we first step out of our parent’s arms and onto the playground to when we walk across a grand stage to receive our diploma, we are in a state of learning. What comes after, if you don’t pursue grad school, is a different kind of life. I feel, to some unnerving degree, overwhelmed by the concept of a “career”… I am scared by the idea of taking my first few steps into an industry I’ve dreamt about since I was a child. 

Steps in the snow that caught my eye!

In past chapters, I’ve written about how intimidating it is to have a passion. This applies to having dreams as well. When you grow up dreaming of something, of working towards it, it can feel as though the moment you can start working in that dream will never come. Suddenly though, as you’re filling out graduation forms and job applications, it hits you. You realise that you’re done building your tools… Now, you have to use them. A lifetime of mounting pressure becomes real and you understand that you’re standing at the starting line of a career you’ve always wanted to pursue. 

This has, unfortunately, various detrimental effects on the psyche. It roots up points of uncertainty and self-doubt, preying on questions that grind at your mentality. It begins to make you wonder if this is what you want to do– if you’ve dedicated the last four years of your life to the right thing. 

What helps with this kind of wobbly footing? I’ve found myself searching through my own archives for solutions, for as often as these questions crop up, so do reminders of my love for literature. What I’ve come to realise is that I am not beholden to one single path. Just as I’ve explored and expanded my interests in school, I can do this again with my work. I’ve realised that this starting line isn’t for any kind of linear race; rather, it is simply a point of departure for a new adventure. It opens up my world to new opportunities, experiences, questions, ideas, and interests. Whatever I choose to do next is not something I am stuck with; instead, it is something I can learn from as I move through the world. 

Something else I’ve accepted is that this is not the end of my academic life– at least, not if I actively fight against it. I want to keep learning. Four years is not enough for me to feel adequately fulfilled by academia… But I realise that I don’t necessarily have to pursue grad school right away to continue my education. We are all humans who can choose to continue learning every day. We have an endless universe of knowledge right at our fingertips, not just via the internet but by the conversations we can cultivate in our lives. We can read novels, articles, and blogs. We can attend talks and plays and social events. We can meet people at book clubs or sign up for a class in something we’ve never tried before. The possibilities are endless… And so are our connections with other people. 

As we move through the world, pages of our individual stories get turned. What feels like the end is the start of something else. By expanding our view and access to the world, we expand our knowledge. Each step we take is a step toward a new experience… And perhaps new passions and dreams as well! 


By: Ehani Schneiderman

Ehani Schneiderman is a senior studying literature and anthropology at The New School. She hopes to connect with others through writing, poetry, and cultural exchange. When she isn’t nose deep in a book or word document, you can find her paddle boarding in a bay or scuba diving out at sea.


For over 20 years, the Campus Clipper has been offering awesome student discounts in NYC,  from the East Side to Greenwich Village. Along with inspiration, the company offers students a special coupon booklet and the Official Student Guide, which encourages them to discover new places in the city and save money on food, clothing, and services.  At the Campus Clipper, not only do we help our interns learn new skills, make money, and create wonderful e-books, we give them a platform to teach others. Check our website for more student savings and watch our YouTube video showing off some of New York City’s finest students during the Welcome Week of 2015

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Who You Are in the Books You Read

Thursday, April 7th, 2022

What does it mean to see yourself in a book?

As a gay South Asian woman, this is a very important question to me. As a writer, this question is, in a way, a central focus of my life. Representation is vital; as someone who grew up with limited representation, I want to help facilitate a different future for the children growing up today. As we take each step into an unknown future, we should at least know that we are trying to positively change things for the next generation. 

There have been various books that have touched me, but there are three that truly impacted me in my adult life. Ada Limon’s The Carrying, Danez Smith’s Don’t Call Us Dead, and Kabi Nagato’s My Lesbian Experience with Loneliness all shaped my early college years. When I read each of these books, there was a certain point that I would have to set it down because my tears would be overflowing. It is through the words etched onto off-white pages that I felt seen by someone. These writers didn’t know who I was but had nonetheless found a way to reach out and remind me that I exist– that I’m alive with my own stories to tell the world. 

Cover of The Carrying by Ada Limon

I’ve spent a lot of time wondering what it was that was in those books that jolted my emotions so vividly. Was there something notable about the vocabulary? Was there particularly elegant use of punctuation or cadence? Was the imagery intensely vibrant?

While these books do indeed have something special to them (to be a writer who can weave words is a talent), I found the answer to my wonder elsewhere. These writers wrote unequivocally, unapologetically, as themselves. They wrote from their experiences, their lived emotions, feelings, and truths, without leaving a shadow of insincerity. Their works are raw; they touch on difficult topics and experiences. They recount the beautiful, the dirty, the painful, the joyous, and the hopeful. This hope is something personal; from the ways they were treated in the world, these creators write collections that plants seeds for the future.

I want to write as myself. I want to write for myself. I want to write for others… But I don’t want to write for others’ approval. 

I want to be the kind of writer who can be unapologetically me in my work; I want to record the macabre, the mundane, and the hope that ebbs and flows through my life. It was bits and pieces of Limon’s, Smith’s, and Nagato’s work that stuck with me; none of their life stories align completely with mine, but there were moments that fit in with moments from my own life. We are all made up of a myriad of identities, memories, and experiences. Even if we are not all the same, there are reminders, pockets of glimmering light, that can remind us that we are not alone… That there are others out there that have been through similar things and have felt similar emotions. I hope that from the various puzzle pieces of my own life, my future readers may find some kind of solace. To achieve this though, I’ve learned that I have to be free enough to put myself into what I write. In doing so, writers create stories that capture the realities of existing in this ever-changing world.


By: Ehani Schneiderman

Ehani Schneiderman is a senior studying literature and anthropology at The New School. She hopes to connect with others through writing, poetry, and cultural exchange. When she isn’t nose deep in a book or word document, you can find her paddle boarding in a bay or scuba diving out at sea.


For over 20 years, the Campus Clipper has been offering awesome student discounts in NYC,  from the East Side to Greenwich Village. Along with inspiration, the company offers students a special coupon booklet and the Official Student Guide, which encourages them to discover new places in the city and save money on food, clothing, and services.  At the Campus Clipper, not only do we help our interns learn new skills, make money, and create wonderful e-books, we give them a platform to teach others. Check our website for more student savings and watch our YouTube video showing off some of New York City’s finest students during the Welcome Week of 2015.

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Navigating Through The Cold

Saturday, March 19th, 2022

On January 12, at 7:00 pm eastern time, I boarded a plane headed for London. After years of wishing on every star I could count that one day I would go back to my favorite city in the entire world, this was the moment my dreams would finally come true. Atleast, that’s what I thought. I stayed for just one week before coming back home, with a suitcase full of clothes I pictured would pair so perfectly alongside the twinkling streetlights of London. My experience was not picture perfect; it was the hardest week of my entire life.

Upon arriving, I couldn’t recognize the world around me. With that, it was hard to connect to anything at all. I fell completely into myself, I stopped eating, I wouldn’t go outside my dorm room to use the kitchen, I couldn’t even get up to open the curtains, because the sight of South London looked so beautiful from my window, and it made me sick with anger that I couldn’t enjoy any of it. I’ve always battled with anxiety ever since I started elementary school, but it was here, in the middle of London, where it felt like the entire world around me was falling apart. 

“Why don’t I feel happy?” I would ask myself. “Why am I so afraid?”. I met some amazing people and was able to explore a little bit, but that didn’t make me feel comfortable. Instead, it only fueled my anxiety even more, because I didn’t recognize the faces around me. Everywhere I looked it felt like there were more and more battles I would have to fight to gain even the slightest bit of comfort. All of the pain, anxiety and fear inside me finally erupted, and at 8:23 am one morning, I was presented with two choices. I could stick it out for the next four months and see if I felt better, or I could leave with her the following Wednesday and go back home. 

Thinking about staying felt terrifying, but thinking about leaving seemed even worse. What would everyone think when I came home? How many people would I let down who believed that I was finally ready to embark on such a trip? Was I going to be a complete failure for my entire life? These were the questions that echoed in my mind. It felt like either choice would make me feel miserable, but I knew deep down, I was not healthy enough to be overseas by myself. So, I packed up my things and left for Jackson, New Jersey. When I arrived home, I locked myself in my bedroom and wondered if I had just made the biggest mistake in my entire life. 

I like to compare myself to a shark; in order to stay alive, I have to keep moving, letting the cold saltwater of the ocean rush through my gills to give me the strength to move on, and if I stopped, I would die. And in this case, it felt like I did stop, and that I would die. I didn’t want to see my family, I didn’t want to call my friends, I couldn’t bear the mortifying ordeal of being known any longer. The only thing I felt I could do was write, and so I did. 

I took out my phone and typed away in a Google document. I wrote down all of the feelings and worries I was having just to put my mind at ease. This was the moment I felt truly connected to the world again. In this small, seemingly insignificant moment, where my tired eyes gazed at the dimly lit screen of my phone as my trembling thumbs furiously typed away at the keyboard, was where I felt whole again. And this feeling of pure astonishment and passion is what I am dedicating my book to. 

I want to use my story and connect it to writing, or other passion-filled projects, that give us the strength to continue forward. Moments of peril can sometimes unleash our greatest wisdom. Whether you feel you have no creativity, or you can only find inspiration in other peoples’ work, we will explore the fundamental ways of rerouting back to your own unique creative space, and channeling these worrying thoughts into works of art.


By: Alex Muniz

Alex Muniz is a Junior English Major at Pace University. She currently resides in Jackson, New Jersey where she works for Campus Clipper and Arts Management Magazine: Next Gen. Her ultimate goal is to publish a creative fiction novel and to work as a Scientific Journalist, primarily in cosmology and earth science.


For over 20 years, the Campus Clipper has been offering awesome student discounts in NYC,  from the East Side to Greenwich Village. Along with inspiration, the company offers students a special coupon booklet and the Official Student Guide, which encourages them to discover new places in the city and save money on food, clothing, and services.  At the Campus Clipper, not only do we help our interns learn new skills, make money, and create wonderful e-books, we give them a platform to teach others. Check our website for more student savings and watch our YouTube video showing off some of New York City’s finest students during the Welcome Week of 2015.

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