A while ago, due to some outings and random conversations, a group of friends and I started referring to going out, drinking, dancing, and having a good time as “networking”. I decided to write a piece about this, but format it as a classroom worksheet, which the character was using as a diary of sorts rather than completing the assignment. Below are the results. I haven’t looked at it for a while, and think I want to expand on it, either as is, or incorporating it into a larger work. Let me know what you think and if you have any other suggestions for questions/answers that could be on the worksheet. Read the rest of this entry
I wrote this one for a creative writing class after reading Lolita. The assignment was to write a piece with the phrase “picnic, lightning”.
After seventeen years of idyllic childhood, the core of Kara’s Stepfordian world was crumbling. As the family sat down for their weekly Sunday picnic, lightning flashed in her mind. Thunderclouds of thoughts and confusion clogged up her contemplating cerebrum. In the terror of this tornado, Kara did not know what to do. All of the structure that she had established in her life was gone. It had begun with a pizza and ended with Kara walking in on her mom and the delivery man. Read the rest of this entry
A punny fellow English major friend and I almost named this one “stream of conciousness.” But the title as it is is perfect, and though I’ve thought of making many changes after readers misunderstood and just failed to “get” this piece, it says exactly what I want it to, and I can’t really imagine any changes without compromising the piece.
Without further rambling…
It is a gorgeous day. I swim freely in my lovely, fast-paced stream, loving life. For a while, I was afraid that I would regret leaving the cave-pond where I grew up, but I longed to escape. I needed change. So I left, and I am loving my life in this action-packed river. But don’t be fooled. Though I have been sheltered, I am not ignorant of the ways of this world. I know the dangers that lurk around every corner, waiting to catch me unawares.
So of course, your bait does not fool me. Yes, that plump worm is tempting, floating there, just begging to be snatched up, but I know that hiding beneath that fleshy mass is a wiry hook- a hook that has caught many fish already, and will catch many more. I refuse to be one of those fish. Read the rest of this entry
The lonely, pale apple hung from the tree as all the children reached for its brighter, more appetizing counterparts. Sharlene, a girl of eight years old, looked up at the tree, stretching her small head as far back as it would go, and decided she would be the one to get the apple at the very top. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and scrambled to start her ascent.
As the lone apple longingly watched her climb past, it felt a tickle in its skin. A worm was coming to visit! The apple did not mind the worm’s invasive presence, as it so deeply longed for company. Perhaps the worm would stay the night in the burrow it had created. Nights were so much warmer with a friend. Read the rest of this entry
The woman on the park bench is exhausted. Her hair is unbrushed and her head hangs, hiding in the hood of the sweatshirt that conceals the rest of her figure. She’s been sitting for hours, hardly moving, barely distinguishable from the bench she occupies. Several people walk by and consider sitting down, but move on to other benches. Something about her aura pushes them away. It is obvious that the other half of the bench is being saved for someone. Whether this person is tangible or just the ghost of a memory is unclear.
A man, casually dressed, stands next to a nearby tree. He watches the woman for a good ten minutes before approaching. He sits like he belongs there, and suddenly, he does. He is the one she’s been waiting for. Read the rest of this entry
Floating, flying, dancing through the air as we usually do, we orbit our moon. We shoot out to the limits of gravity’s reach and squeal with excitement as we get pulled back into her cool embrace. We do this constantly, always moving. Moving is how we obtain our knowledge. Sounds and actions, thoughts and colors from all over the universe bounce by at lightning speed. If we move quickly, we can see them.
This is how we learned that the humans are coming. Read the rest of this entry
This is a piece I wrote a couple of years ago for The Promethean, Concordia University-Portland’s literary journal. It is based (loosely) on a true story.
It all started with a squirrel. Actually, there were three of them, if we’re going to be exact. One would not think that three members of one of the cuter rodent families in the world would be responsible for so much chaos, yet that is precisely what happened.
It was, of course, a normal day in Portland, Oregon. The sun was shining, though it had been raining moments prior and would be raining again within the next quarter hour.
One of the previously mentioned squirrels was out gathering food and forage and going about his normal squirrely business, when he saw two other squirrels. One was a fellow male. The other was the nuttiest smelling female his pheromone detectors had ever sensed. He instantly dropped his load and scurried to get a better look. Read the rest of this entry