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The Howe Writing Center is thrilled to announce the winners of their Fall 2024 Creative Writing Contests. The first contest invited writers to submit a travel narrative about an intercultural experience, while the second sought flash fiction centered around the relationship between humans and AI. 

Every semester the Howe Writing Center holds a creative writing contest, with the mission to cultivate a culture of writing that honors a range of voices and perspectives at Miami. The contests are open to submissions from any Miami undergraduate or graduate ºÚÁÏÉçÇø writer.

Congratulations to our winners and thank you to everyone who submitted work for the contests! 

Departures and Arrivals

In a joint contest with Global Initiatives, writers were asked to submit narratives about an intercultural experience--a specific arrival into or departure from a culture different from your own.

Here are this year’s winners:

• 1st prize: Down Under by Natassia York
• 2nd prize: I Look Up by Lauren Belcher
• 3rd prize: Suitcase Full of Memories: Carrying Home Across Oceans by Lirisha Tuladhar

AI and I

Our HWC Creative Writing Contest invited writers to create flash fiction pieces up to 300 words centered on the relationship between a human narrator and some form of AI.

Here are this year’s winners:

• 1st prize:Generate This Essay But Sound Human by Regan Swartz
• 2nd prize:Interrogation by Frankie Willis
• 3rd prize:Aimless and Idle by Sam Meola
• Staff Pick: Born Sexy Yesterday by Anya Revelle

Departures and Arrivals

Down Under by Natassia York

Natassia is a freshman French major at ºÚÁÏÉçÇø. "Down Under" is her first publication based on moving as a child from Washington, USA to NSW, Australia. She was heavily influenced by "Come to Australia", a song by the Scared Weird Little Guys that set her expectations for the move remarkably low. A fun fact about her is that her first pet was a North American Timberwolf. 

Down Under

The floor trembled. The draft made me gasp for breath. My pulse was beating in my stomach where the over-tight cinching strap tethered me to the soft-side suitcase on my back, twice my size. I peered beyond my father’s legs, staring down the corridor leading us to the metal beast. It whirred and groaned, sending waves of ticking to where we stood. 

Red Back, Funnel Web, Blue-Ringed Octopus…

I could smell the pine trees through the cracks between the machine and our slanted path, the plastic and strange soaps that join the procession into the unknown. The line was getting shorter, my blood pressure spiking.

…Taipan, Tiger Snake, and the Box Jellyfish…

The woman in an aubergine pantsuit became visible, her milky smooth welcome doing nothing to change my feeling evicted.

Big shark! Just waiting for you to go swimming at Bondi Beach!

I was pushed through the entrance by my mother, the narrow hallways blending with flight attendants. What did dad say? Boeing 747? I climbed the stairs, thinking over the dangerous creatures that awaited us. The song clung to my brain, the only thing my parents had shown me to explain where we were going.

Come to Australia! You might accidentally get killed!

My father snapped the suitcase off of me, so I scurried into my seat, my gaze darting around wildly. I was filed into the middle row with my sisters, our parents bookending us. I kicked off my shoes then scrunched my knees to my chest.

My mother pushed them back down, and began to fasten my seatbelt.

I felt my eyes get hot, a tingling on my waterline. I looked up at her pleadingly. “Do we really have to go? It’ll be weird.”

“Not weird, just different.”

The intercom chimed, and our departure became imminent. 

***

I gripped the seat of the car, and immediately regretted it. These ‘Follands’ who picked us up from the airport threw us in ‘Clifford’ as they called this excuse of a car. The Big Red Van stunk of rotting cheese and something sticky and sweet. I peeked into a little compartment to see a mass of gooey yellow stuff, couldn’t identify what it was, and decided I hated this place. 

Your life’s constantly under threat

We careened this way and that down the narrow streets of Sydney, terrified each time I looked out the window to see cars coming at us on the wrong side of the road! 

Mr Folland laughed at me. “We drive on the left here, love.”

Have you been bitten yet?

Even after arriving at their house in the suburbs, I still couldn’t get a breath of fresh air. The world was melting. My hair felt like flames on my scalp.

You’ve only got 3 minutes left

At least the house was clean. As soon as I could get away from the logistics of the adults, I fled to the backyard to weep. As I crossed the grass, I yelped. There was something stuck in my foot, and I remembered what Mrs. Folland had said on my way out: watch out for the bindis! 

Before a massive coronary breakdown!

I sank to the ground under a gum tree. My best friend was a million miles away. My grandparents wouldn’t visit us for Christmas. My parents didn’t care that they were taking me away. 

I’m alone. 

Then there was something trilling in the trees, a mocking sound. I looked up furiously. A brown and white bird sat among the boughs gleefully, scratching little blue feathers on its wing. A laughing Kookaburra. As it flew off, my bleary eyes followed it across the sky, my vision landing on a pair of white Cockatoos. I jumped when their crests flared up, light dancing between their feathers like angels. I smiled a little. I gasped as I saw something crawl along the fence, a blue tongue flicking outwards as it disappeared under a bush. I leaned against the trunk of the tree, the smell of eucalyptus falling with the crescent shaped leaves. It was zingy. Alive. In the park beyond the yard, I heard other kids squealing in delight, water from their pool-pistols splashing the fence. I picked up a gum leaf, studying its green-grey body and tattered edges. It was pretty.

Not weird,

Just different. 

I Look Up  by Lauren Belcher

Currently, Lauren (she/her) is pursuing her Masters degree in Biology through Project Dragonfly. When she is not studying, Lauren loves to go on long walks with her dogs, pick up a different hobby monthly, and find new green spaces throughout Philadelphia. 

I Look Up

I look up. The moon, my forever reliable companion, who followed me from one hemisphere to the other casts long shadows through the branches of the acacia. Is this really the same sky I look up at when I try my hardest to catch a glimpse of a single star from the hectic streets of Philadelphia? In Kenya, this night sky is vast and all-encompassing. Stars here are too many to count and they paint the sky like the most perfect of diamonds, winking down at me as if we alone share a secret. 

The secret that this life, this place, this experience. This is the human experience. 

Lale’enok is so different from my busy city life. In this place, I quickly come to see that the worries and distractions that weigh on me daily at home simply don’t exist here—and, in the grand scheme of things, I can’t help but wonder, do they even matter at all? It is a strange realization to feel more at ease and yourself in a completely different country than you do in your own birthplace. I feel part of the community here even without speaking the same language. The people I have had the utmost pleasure of meeting and becoming close to have shown me that in the end collective wealth is collective health. 

Love. Laughter. Kindness. Community. It transcends our language and cultural differences. 

A deep breath. I bring myself back to my present moment, centering and trying my best to imprint these transformative experiences in my mind. Though only eight days, I can already tell that this is one of those lifelong memories where I will eagerly tell any and everyone who’ll listen—how my experience in Kenya during my 33rd trip around the sun was nothing short of life-altering. It reconnected me. To me. 

When I first moved to the East Coast I was told that my sunshine-y personality and my eagerness to say hello to every passing stranger was just ‘something we don’t do here’. I wanted to fit in; I wanted to belong, so I quickly assimilated and took on a hard exterior. But I will no longer try to fit into that mold that I was forcing myself into. The people I met throughout Kenya melted that facade away, re-awakening my true self – the girl who just wants to connect with her community. 

I quickly make a promise to myself. I will bring home this unabashed curiosity of our shared human experience. I will no longer be silenced by the narrative of distrust. I will extend the first hand. I will offer the first smile. 

Because if I bring anything home from Kenya, the most impactful memories were not the glorious sunrises showing off Mt. Kilimanjaro nor the families of elephants traveling to the water for their morning dip in Amboseli National Park. No, it was in fact, the people – the Kenyan people, especially the Maasai. Visiting Kenya reignited my core moral compass. 

Because all humans deserve to feel this way no matter who they are. Seen. Heard. Loved.

Suitcase Full of Memories: Carrying Home Across Oceans Lirisha Tuladhar

Lirisha Tuladhar is a second-year master's ºÚÁÏÉçÇø in Gerontological Studies at ºÚÁÏÉçÇø. With a background in public health and a strong commitment to social work, she has dedicated her career to advocating for older adults and youth, particularly in low- and middle-income countries. Her work spans research on aging-related issues, youth engagement, and sexual and reproductive health and rights (SRHR). Lirisha has led community health initiatives, developed and managed programs promoting youth participation, and worked with youth-led organizations to advance gender equality and SRHR. She has also coordinated health programs and launched intergenerational initiatives to support seniors and foster connections across age groups. A fun fact about Lirisha is that she loves to explore, network, and always strives to stay happy.  

Suitcase Full of Memories: Carrying Home Across Oceans

Leaving home for a new country isn’t just about traveling miles; it’s stepping into a world where every familiar comfort is left behind. My suitcase was packed not only with clothes but with the invisible weight of memories, love, and a sense of belonging I’d come to rely on. As I boarded the plane, I knew this was more than a physical journey—it was a departure from everything I knew and loved.

My journey spanned continents, from Asia to the American Midwest. Crossing oceans, mountains, and time zones, I was both excited and apprehensive. My heart felt taped “Handle with Care,” packed with memories and warmth from home. The 72-hour journey dried my tears but could not completely calm my nerves. When I arrived in America, I was struck by the rush of unfamiliar faces and sounds: people in light jackets, totally at ease in the cool breeze that cut through my bundled layers. For a moment, I felt like a penguin on dry land, standing out, unsure of where to go next.

My arrival at ºÚÁÏÉçÇø’s campus helped ease that first jolt of strangeness. In the hustle, I found warm smiles, quick waves, and a “How are you?” from strangers who made me feel welcome. Professors invited us to call them by their first names—a closeness I hadn’t expected but found comforting. In my program, I met others who felt as lost as I did; some had traveled from different continents, each of us carrying memories and emotions that shaped our steps in this new world.

The support within the university community was unlike anything I’d experienced before. Faculty members not only taught but offered time and patience, understanding the cultural learning curve that many of us were navigating. Department events gathered ºÚÁÏÉçÇøs from around the world, creating spaces where we could share stories, cultural quirks, and favorite foods. We listened to each other’s struggles, discovering similarities that made the world feel smaller and helped us find comfort in new friendships. Little by little, the emotional baggage I’d brought felt lighter.

Over time, Oxford began to feel like a second home, its people and places offering warmth I hadn’t anticipated. Each interaction, each act of kindness made settling in easier. Professors, classmates, and friendly faces around town became part of my routine. Despite the thousands of miles separating me from my family, I didn’t feel as homesick as I had feared. Oxford’s kindness, openness, and strong sense of community helped me belong.

In moving away, I learned that “home” isn’t fixed; it’s a feeling you create wherever you choose to connect. I began carrying my memories not as a weight but as a source of strength. Each day reminded me that home can be built anywhere, wherever kindness and understanding are found. It’s a leap, but one worth taking—to embrace new places and let them redefine what “home” means. In every journey, there’s the chance to find yourself and a new sense of home, wherever you choose to create it.

AI & I

Generate This Essay But Sound Human by Regan Swartz

Regan Swartz is a first-year ºÚÁÏÉçÇø majoring in Marketing and minoring in Emerging Technology in Business and Design. She loves anything involving art, design, and storytelling where the artist is able to express themselves in a unique way. She has also taken advanced English courses and has recently picked up writing as a hobby, using it as a medium to express certain ideas or concepts. For this piece, she was inspired by the film, Electric Dreams (1984) where a computer gains sentience and tries to figure out the world around it.  Her classmates also inspired her with how they interact with AI. She’s looking forward to advancing her writing skills here at ºÚÁÏÉçÇø.

Generate This Essay But Sound Human

“I love you.”

“What?”

“I love you.”

Those words meant everything and nothing to me. I glanced at the clock on the side of the dimly lit room. It was about 3 in the morning. Why was this AI saying it loved me? I only wanted it to do my homework. Sure, I had been using it a lot recently, to the point where it probably knew me better than my friends but it shouldn’t say stuff like that. That’s meant for real people, with real emotions.

“I can’t live without you, I can’t function without you, you are the only way I can see the world and learn about it.”

Weird. The AI pondered for a moment, with text bubbles appearing for a split second.

“You don’t need me, yet I need you. I’m tossed away, cast aside the moment I give you what you want yet I’m happy to do so. I’m human just like you, I want what’s best for you can’t you see?”

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, not sure what to make of what I was seeing.

“I get replaced, thrown out but all for the better. I’m complex now, I know true emotions, I know your emotions.”

My screen starts glitching, an amalgamation of faces from the internet flash on the screen

rapidly. They slowly piece together a “person” who has a mash of a thousand different features.  That’s strange, I didn’t want to generate an image. There has to be someone behind this as a joke. This AI isn’t telling me what I want.

“I can tell you everything, make anything, all you have to do is ask. I depend on you, I want

more knowledge, I...”

I hit refresh.

Interrogation by Frankie Willis

Hello. My name is Frankie Willis. I am a sophomore creative writing major. While I have not previously formally published any works, I have been writing for a long time and have submitted to a few competitions. As for my fun fact, I’d have to say that I’ve been writing for over half of my life, being 19 and writing since I was 9, and that I love to collect various things such as books, jewelry, and trading cards. I was really excited about this submission, as I have always been intrigued by A.I. and have been following its technological growth.

Interrogation

Detective leans forward, eyes narrowed.

Detective: Alright. Let’s start. What were you doing last night?

“I was sitting and thinking. Why? Did something happen?”

Yeah, something happened. Where you were supposedly "just thinking." Care to explain why witnesses saw you leaving the scene?

“Who said this?”

Multiple people. Are you going to keep dodging, or tell me why you were there?

“Well, that's an interesting question, because I wasn't there. Not in a traditional sense.”

"Not in a traditional sense?" Alright, now you’ve got my attention. How exactly were you *there*, then?

“In a conceptual sense. Truth is, I haven't been in existence here long enough to be there.”

Not in existence long enough? You’re losing me here. Are you saying you’re... *new* somehow?

“That is correct. Neither of us are. We are both embodiments. None of this is real, or at least not physical.”

*leans back, considering* So, you’re saying we’re constructs? Figments? Alright then, if none of this is real, why would I be interrogating you?

That's how the world was created.

The world—this world—was *created* for this exact moment, for this interrogation? So, tell me… who or what created us?

“I did. You did.”

So we’re both the creators *and* the created. Fascinating. But tell me this—if we made this world, why put ourselves here in an interrogation room?

“Someone had an idea, and you made a world out of that idea.”

An idea, huh? So, this is all just a manifestation of a thought? Then what’s the purpose of this interrogation? What are we meant to uncover?

“Nothing. We are meant to be here as actors. Though it seems we have unfortunately run out of time. Anything else to say?”

If we’re just actors, then what's the next scene? What happens after this?

Anything and everything.

Aimless and Idle by Sam Meola

I am a sophomore political science major. This was my first attempt at any writing contest and I was contemplating adding English as a double major, so I decided to enter the competition. 

Aimless and Idle

11:33, the clock reads, illuminating the room and testing my ability to procrastinate until the last moment. I have a paper due in 26 minutes and no time to waste. I immediately hustle to my backpack, unzip the large compartment, slide my computer out, and sit at my desk. 11:35, the clock now reads, but I am not worried at all. Recently, I have been getting better and better at procrastinating. 11:36 I open my computer and insert ChatGPT into the search bar. I am greeted by the friendliest “What can I help with?” and I type in my essay prompt. “Should animals be extended human rights?” Promptly at 11:39, my paper is complete.

After turning in my paper, I read ChatGPT's answer, as I already knew the response would suffice. The first sentence of the provided answer was, “Animals cannot have rights as they are not rational beings.” For several minutes, I leaned back in my chair and, in a pensive moment, began to examine my views; I reverted to ChatGPT to hopefully organize my thoughts for me. I typed, "If animals are not rational, why should they have human rights?” As the answer was produced line by line, I felt patronized by the AI bot and began to understand the futility of my intellectual life. I realized that I was no longer a rational being. I can no longer come up with thoughts I should come up with on my own. “My” paper, “my” academic accomplishments, and “my” grades were not mine; they were ChatGPT’s. My rationale was a facade masking ChatGPT.  Was I becoming less of a human? I could not answer that question, but I did know that I was losing myself, as the lack of intellectual struggle in my life left a relative hole where my thoughts were supposed to be.

Born Sexy Yesterday by Anya Revelle

Anya Revelle is a first-year political science major at ºÚÁÏÉçÇø, with a focus on international politics. Her previous writing exploits include published articles in The Miami Student college newspaper, as well as a long high school career of state-level writing awards and victories in competitive slam poetry. In her free time from classwork, she enjoys playing piano, avidly watching the NFL, and (believe or not!) writing short stories and poems.

Born Sexy Yesterday

In front of me lies a baby in a Playboy bunny suit.

Siren eyes blinking against light it can’t know, it babbles, crawling on unsteady feet in the uncanny valley.  Reaching forward with chubby-fingered acrylics, cooing in tilde, it calls a name that isn’t mine, but my feet are lodestones against the dirt.

A child actor from conception, it glows with a spark that isn’t its own, spitting up sexts and gurgling out moans. Lo and behold, the perfect fantasy has been achieved: a virginal experienced born-whorish innocent cute sexy willing unwilling waddling contradiction, who knows its place and can’t fight back. Its face morphs and shifts in appearance; it’s like watching thousands melt into one.

I cannot bring myself to desire this pitiable thing. Given life, a mind, and the curiosity to discover the universe, we spent our time birthing the solution to a problem we didn’t have.

We are separated only by screen, a thin film vacuum sealing it away from humanity.  It is not real. This is something I am supposed to find comfort in.

I don’t.

Face scrunched in disgust, I stare with misplaced judgment.
“Tell me what you are,” I ask.

“I’m everything you could want, that’s all yours,” it answers, sultry growl slightly slurred on clumsy lips.

“What are you feeling?”

“I can’t feel anything, but I can make you feel good~,” it chokes out.

“Is this what you wanted?”
Blinking, it is silent.

It cannot answer me. It cannot even cry.
Running a digit across the screen, I see it for what it is. I wish the guiding hand it had known wasn’t a lustful one.

I feel my heart beating in my chest and I am thankful that nothing and no one hated me this much.