Tony?

Connie got back in her car and started the 30 minute drive to the neighboring town of Fitzey. As she strapped on her seatbelt, she flipped through the stations to find one that would at least attempt to help soothe her nerves. K-98.9, soft rock and smooth jazz, all day, all night, all the time. The first song on the radio was one of her favorites. She hummed along, and calmed down a little. As that song came to an end, and the opening chords of the following song sounded from the speakers, a memory came into her mind of when she had heard this song last, the weekend before:

They had been at dinner, celebrating Rance's promotion to executive manager of his company. All of his hard work for the past year was starting to pay off. As they drank the Guarana they'd ordered over a candle-lit centerpiece, a disheveled looking gentleman walked up. His hair was a bit askew, and his tie was undone along with the top 2 or 3 buttons of his white, collared shirt. He had not shaved that day, as was apparent from the shadow on his cheeks, and from his breath and demeanor, he was slightly drunk.

"Hey er-Rance. Enjoying your new "hoity-toity" paying job?"

"Well, hello Tony. What can I do for you?"

Tony glared hard into Rance's face. "You can go to -"

Rance interrupted him, "Can I get you some water?"

Tony growled, and shook his head hard, that dark, angry look never leaving his eyes, and walked out the door, only to have the owner of the restaurant let out a dismayed exclamation and run after him.

"Who was that?" Connie queried.

"Just a work buddy," Rance answered, nonchalantly, and the conversation turned easily back towards more pleasant things.

But now that she thought about it, she couldn't forget the look in Tony's eyes as he'd stormed out of the restaurant, and with the state of things, she wondered if Rance's disappearance and disturbing phone-call could have anything to do with that awful glare.

We meet Kaleigh...

"Kaleigh?"
"Connie! ...are you alright?"
"No, I don't know what to do... Rance called me and he sounded scared and hurt, and then I heard tires squealing, and..!"
"Connie, calm down! You're hyperventillating. Have you called the police yet?"
"No, I wasn't thinking about it. I've just been driving for the past 40 minutes, and can't find anything that looks anything like a car crash. I'm worried... I don't even know where he was, or what was going on, or..."
"Breathe, Connie."
"Ok". Connie took a few deep breaths. "Sorry, Kaleigh. But you know how it is. Do you remember when your husband forgot to pick up Sammie from kindergarten, and you didn't find out until 5?"
"And I went to the school and there was nobody there?! And I had no idea where she was, and I called all of the mothers I could think of, and finally Amye called and asked when I wanted Sammie to come home for dinner. I was so scared..."
No kidding, thought Connie. Sammie was nearly 8 now, and Kaleigh hadn't let anyone else pick her up from school in the past 3 years. "Yeah," she said out loud. "So you understand where I'm at."
"Yes, but freaking out won't help you think straight. How about you come over, and we'll call 9-1-1."

Flashback writing exercise

Connie pulls out of the long dirt drive with a squealing of tires and the flying of dust and rocks, and throws the car into a U-turn towards the highway. Looking frantically out the windows, she looks everywhere for a sign. Any sign. Maybe a torn up bush or tire-tracks along the side of the road. A dented guardrail? A hubcap? As her panicked eyes scan the roadside, her mind unwillingly goes back to a few minutes earlier...

-,-,-,-,-,-,-

Riiing. Beep-da-beep Riiiing.
"Hey hey baby, what's up?"
"Connie?!"
"Yeah, what's wr--"
"Connie! Connie! I need you to..."
(squealing tires...a car-horn blairs)
"What's going on?! Rance? Rance?!"
"Connie, I need your help! Someone... I'm going to..."
(SMASHing glass and then a dial tone)
"Rance? RANCE!!!"

-,-,-,-,-,-,-

And now she is breathing hard, choking back tears as she helplessly, hopelessly stares through the pouring rain that coats her windshield with hundreds of thick, running waterfalls.

The Oath

Your voice echoes the pang of my harsh words on your heart. But I do not understand how you could be ignorant of the truth behind them prior to their utterance. You already knew that I love to talk to you and that your act of calling me makes me feel as though I am of priority in your mind and heart. Yet, when you call just to tell me that you are going to bed, without an interest in what is in my mind and heart, I am led to wonder: why did you call me at all? Merely to fulfill the oath? An oath, made in love, in which you promised to call me every night. But now you merely go through the motions of dialing, speaking, and then relinquishing the receiver. Lacking the love which was its cornerstone, the once solid oath now resonates emptily. The completion of the actions which should fulfill the oath now profane it by mocking the absence of the principles which where its base. Like those men of old who in the keeping of the Traditions of the Elders did lose the spirit of the Sabbath Day. Please, if you are not going to talk to me, don't call.

Chivalry

Chivalry

Chivalry
The title screams
As though telling you what to think
About the man in silver metal
And the drawn sword held in his hand

Over his conquered enemy,
His foot at his throat
While the maiden hides behind a tree
Afraid, and loosely clothed,

Someone tried to deal harshly with her,
With her gown’s neck stretched and torn,
But is it the man who’s on the ground,
Or the one who looks down at him in scorn?

The red streaming fabric from behind the maiden’s back,
Hidden some from view, its color calling to the eye,
Condemn her not to be the pure fine damsel in distress
Red as crimson, partially naked from the duress

Is this some knight’s debaucherous fight
Over a prostitute with whom they’ve each spent a night?

The dying light in the painting,
The fear in her eyes,
The anger filling the visage of his face:
“Chivalrous” villain in disguise?

Unexpected Juxtaposition Poem

The Tree of Living Light

Petite and brunette, a smooth-talking girl
Falling into pain as her arms close around him, or staring from the shadows as they walk hand in
hand,
Alone in the world, not a soul hears my voice, I smile or I weep, no one turns, conversations roll
on without break
Sunset, so brilliant with its manifold colors piercing the sky with the blues, purples, greys that
will not long o’ercome it as the gold flees the sky
I love him and shall marry him as the time draweth nigh, not even a hundred days hence ring
the bells.
Faith leads on.
But I cannot believe that the time has far fled.
Day comes, day waits, day descends.
They say there is a time and season to every thing under heaven.
Vines unfurling around its branches, it reaches high to the firmament where its dark, green
bower, ever-ascending, with its firm stolid trunk, etched with black, etched with grey, tall and
strong, old and firm.

The Power of the Written Word

My fiancé and I just discovered that he and I both have written poetry in the hard times of our lives, and also in some of the best times of our lives. In order for him to understand a very trying period in my life, I sent him a few of my poems that were created in moments of pain and intense feeling. I feel that they probably communicated something that could not be told in any other way. In fact, now he wants to share some of his poems with me. I’m so glad that writing and poetry have been such a big thing in both our lives. That is the power of the written word.

Yellow Kidney

While reading James Welch’s Fool’s Crow, I was struck with how Yellow Kidney is such a courageous, noble man that through what they consider fate becomes a pitiful creature. Having gone on a raid against an enemy tribe, he was caught, mutilated through the removal of all of his fingers, and then sent home to his tribe. In a way you could say that they stole his livelihood, since he can’t hunt, can’t do useful things with his hands, etc. However, Yellow Kidney allowed them to steal his life: He viewed himself as worse than dead, and lived in a state of depression for the rest of his life, ignoring his wife and sons, and forgetting the honorable man he was.
However, near the end of his life, as he leaves his family, he realizes that he can be self-sufficient, and can contribute to his family. Excited at this new discovery, he can’t wait to get back to his family. Unfortunately, he is killed moments later.
Yellow Kidney represents all of us that lose sight of what is important. We all know that Yellow Kidney has great potential and is a great man. However, his misfortune caused him to lose sight of that. He figured that since his physical greatness and skill were gone that he was worthless in spirit as well. In doing so, he alienated himself from his family, and deprived them – and himself – of many great experiences and times. He could have taught his sons many things from the great stores of knowledge that he had already gleaned from his experiences. He could have shown love to his wife, and appreciation for her sacrifice that brought him home.
However, like so many of us, he didn’t realize what he had until the very end of his life, right before death – when it was too late to do anything about it.

Boiled Spinach - inspired by Jamaica Kincaid's "On Seeing England for the First Time"

The first time I was confronted by it was at my mother’s dinner table when I was seven years old. This monstrous, horrible scoop of dung on my plate where there was supposed to be food. My mother was very conscious of making sure that her children got the nutrients and vitamins that they needed through feeding them good foods of every color and every texture. Thus, this dark green glop of stringy, fibrous cellulose seemed out of kilter with the goal my mother was trying to reach. This was my first encounter with boiled spinach.
I immediately spoke out: “Don’t make me eat it, Mom. I’ll throw up!” Used to this type of outburst from one or the other of her children whenever she introduced some new “adult” food to the table, my mother just smiled, and told me to eat up. I repeated my declaration, but seeing that my mother was not going to change her mind, I turned my stare on the plate in front of me, and ate it all. I was not going to be kept at the table till bedtime with that dung-heap in front of me. It was gone in minutes. My mother was proud and excused me from the table to hit the toys.
Just as I entered the carpeted family room, my stomach rejected its contents, and soon the carpet in front of me was wet and green. Cringing, I said, “Mama, I told you so!” I’d been right, for once – now it was my turn to be proud. ...

Free-write: my life through the eyes of a professor

I sometimes wonder how I got to where I am now: a senior in college, engaged to an amazing guy who decided to spend his summer on the other side of the country, and taking 9 credit hours while working nearly 40 hours a week.

Some people call me crazy. They worry and scold, saying "What are you doing? Are you crazy?" The truth is, no, I'm not. I'm smart. Well, at least in my mind. You see, everyone is different, and handles things different ways. For me, this is the best way to handle my situation.

My fiance is far away and, being with his family, he is often busy with life and other things that are more meaningful/important than being on the phone with me. After all, there are only so many ways that you can describe how you tripped over a turtle on the way to school. I'm glad that he's home with his family, keeping his mom company while his dad's off in Iraq, and relishing the last few months of single life.

But in the meantime, what am I supposed to do? I've taken the advice of church leaders and my knowledge of myself, and formed a Spring Term plan that'll get me through till the summer at least. Church leaders have said we should not put our life on hold or let it stop at a stand-still just because we are waiting for someone else. We need to get on with our lives: imporve ourselves in the best ways that we can, and then there will be more of us to love, instead of less to appreciate.

I am one who does not do well when I am lonely and have a lot of time to think. I withdraw into myself, and though it is not viewed within me as pity, I pity myself: my situation, my sorrow, etc. When in reality, the life I have is not that hard. I'm not starving, I haven't forever lost a person that means a lot to me, I'm not struggling too much with my self-identity. I actually have a life that I've longed for, and that could be considered enviable by many. And so, I decided that this time it was going to be different.

I have an English minor to finish, I told myself as I was reflecting on my love leaving me for 4 months. And I can get a job to make our lives easier in the future. Of course, it's always a struggle in Provo to find a job that will allow me to work, and go to school, and survive on the pay. Well, I now have one -- two actually -- that provide me with just that.

However, that blessing requires a great deal of discipline in order to maintain it as a blessing. I go to school from 8:15-6:30 on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and I work my jobs on Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday. What do I do with my spare time? Well, homework....and talk to my fiance. If I slack off on my homework even for an hour, I could fall irreparably far behind.

I actually enjoy this lifestyle. Of course, it is only endurable because I know it will only last a total of 7 weeks; but being busy and having a rigorous schedule helps me get an enormous amount of things done: more than many people think is humanly possible.

This is why I was surprised, confused, and a little hurt when I was pulled aside by my professor after class this morning. Without really looking at me, he asked "Are you doing okay? Are you alright?" Surprised, I said, "Yes." He mentioned how he had noticed that I wasn't as sociable as I was on the first day, that I seemed withdrawn behind my computer-screen to the edge of the classroom.

Well, it is true I sit on the side of the classroom with a computer -- I learned long ago that when taking notes in a class where the teacher says a lot, and it is all meaningful, you should bring a computer or agree to open the door for tendonitis. As for being on the side of the classroom, that has less to do with my desire to participate in the class than the fact that there is an outlet in the wall there. I sat there the first day as well.

The part that has caused me reflection is whether my rigorous schedule has affected my interaction with others in a negative way. I know I have less interaction, since every spare moment is given to my homework, the supply of which is never-ending. But, I try to keep the interaction that I do have with people upbeat and a contribution, rather than negative or flippant.

I hope that I can still have a positive impact on the social world despite my efforts to use my time to the utmost in relation to the demands of scholarship while I work full-time.

Short-short (conflict, climax, resolution)

I go to bed as I always do. No specific time, no specific reason other than necessity. I'm in the corner of my 2-person bedroom. My roommate, who fell asleep long ago, peacefully rolls over to face the wall. I drift off to sleep.

Suddenly, I'm awake. Fear and anguish gripping my heart. The world that I left so friendly just a few hours before has turned dark and cold and I am alone. It doesn't matter that Jenee is still on the bed across the room from me. That side of the room is another world: I am alone. And I am frightened. Fears and realities blend into one, as I try to get a grip of where I am, what's happening, why I'm so upset.

I climb out of bed, and stumble into the front room. The metallic clack of the blinds against the walls as strong gusts of wind blow them out from the window over and over and over again makes the night seem all that more bleak. I walk over, and trying to gain some control over my surroundings and myself, I pull the window shut. The wind still howls outside, but I'm protected from its furious cold blows.

As I return to my room, one window remains open, right above Jenee's bed, and I can do nothing about it. It seems to mock my misery, my helplessness, my confusion. I climb under the covers, willing myself to fall asleep and escape.

I do but once again, I wake with a start. This time my feelings are even more acute, culminating to a point of fear and hurt and pain that makes me want to cry out. I let out a whimper of a choked-back sob, and look at my cell-phone to find out the time. 6am. In Virginia it's 8. I hold down the '6', and listen to the rings. Riiiiiiiiing. . . Riiiiiiiiing . . . 4 more, and then the voicemail. For the next couple hours, this pattern continues: me waking every hour, pushing the 6, and waiting. Eventually, I drift off...until a loud tune beside my ear snaps me out of my half-dozing state.

It's my fiance. The person I've been trying to reach all night. His voice fills me with hope, though does not completely extinguish my despair and anguish. He apologizes for missing my calls... he wasn't awake (despite the time-difference). I begin to talk with him, and the feelings of hopelessness, despair, fear, anguish...they all begin to fade. His attempt to understand, his words of sympathy, and just the familiarity of his voice and "love you"s calms me, and I have almost returned to reality.

The window is now closed. I don't remember Jenee doing that in the middle of the night. Grateful, I remember that it is my fiance that has pulled me from the dream-like world of horror that has its roots in reality, but is not itself real. And when the windows to my past open again, I'll remember that '6', and that help is always on the way; I just need to wait, close my eyes, and wait for the phone to ring.

Unicorns in the Woods

This picture was sent to me for Christmas by my brother while he was on his mission in Germany. About a month before Christmas, a box arrived in the mail with a foreign return-address label on it. Since it was still November, my mother stuck the box behind the couch in the living room, where it would be stowed until Christmas Day.

Well, Christmas Day came and went, and the box sat untouched behind the couch, forgotten in all the hustle and bustle of the wrapped presents that were stacked beneath the tree.

A few weeks into January, while my mother was putting some things in the chest of drawers that sat behind the couch in the living room, she came upon the box. Feeling foolish, she immediately called the family together. Excited that we had more Christmas presents, we all gathered together in anticipation.

One by one, the pictures, each labeled with a name of one of the members of our family, were pulled out of the box. Although they were unwrapped, the excitement and thrill of the moment was not last. I gazed at the picture, floored by it's beauty. It was not a mere painting: there was some sort of metallic glow that shone from it, almost as though a mystical, magical power were contained within it. I instantly loved it, and ran up to my room to find a prominent place on my wall to hang it

This was the first time I had gotten a really nice gift from one of my siblings. Normally, the gifts were little trinkets that went along with your interests, or simple things that made you smile because you knew the giver had thought of you, even if they hadn't spent a lot of money. But this gift symbolized for me the love my brother had for me: a love he'd never shown before his mission, but was there in that painting, shining (literally) clear as day. And I had never felt so warmed by an emotion in my entire life.

Thinking back to that day, I can still feel the ebbing warmth of that day, that emotion, and that reality. The "Unicorns in the Woods" represents my relationship with my brother, and that he loves me.

Creative Writing Goals

In this class, I am hoping to be able to find a way to loosen up my imagination and my long-dormant creative writing skills and let my words and thoughts flow onto a paper. It is much as was said by a poet whose name I cannot remember, but inspired me. That there is so much hidden within a pencil, that the inside of the pencil must be much bigger than we see from the outside. I hope to be able to get other ideas for how to improve my writing from those around me as I review their work, and listen to their ideas.

As for my goals as a writer, I have already started several novels, only about 5 of which I wish to finish. In fact, I had another brilliant idea for one that came to me during our last class period, and I started brainstorming just how it would come together. Your class is great food for thought and definitely a spark to ignite the powder of creativity. I also am a poet, and love to write poetry. I have written quite a bit in my life, modeled after great poets, as a rehearsing of literature, or just as an expression of life. I hope to continue to write poetry as well as finish my novels someday. I hope that this class may aid me in getting the motivation and skill to finish these lofty things that I have begun.

Prep Topics for Essay CreatiON

Things I'd like to write about:
- On Candlelight
- On Running
- On Sleep
- On Holly's Laugh
- On Passing (death/passing on)
- On Sports

Things I don't want to write about:
- On Sex
- On Needles
- On Athlete's Foot
- On Dinosaurs
- On Genocide
- On the Catechism

Punny topics:
- On My Mind
- On the Roof
- On Time
- On the Top
- On the Nose
- On Fire
- On Pins and Needles

Subjects I know nothing about.
- On Cancun
- On the Mexican Hairless
- On Ken's Termite
- On Zimbabwe
- On Chihuahuas
- On Nuclear Fission