Hey!

Hey, what's up everyone! I just wanted to know how everyone's school year is going. If you like reading, there is a website I have started to use in my English class called Shelfari. It is a place where you can post up books that you have read and chat with others about books. Well, I hope everone has a great school year and hopefully see many of you next summer @ the writing camp. ~Jacki F.~ :) :)

Once Upon A Time

Once upon a time there was a girl. With face as pale as lilies white, eyes as blue as the seas. Hair that shined red in the sun, a girl who only wanted to please.

Her dreams at night were filled with things that to others did not exist. Fairies, dragons, big black wolves, mystical creatures and ancient woods. She dreamed she was an angel who could bring the dead to life.

She rarely felt important, she felt guilty for feeling so; to make it up she imagined she was a princess who could make snow. In the darkness of her mind she created Light; she filled that emptiness with visions of the night. Her mind became a place where other worlds she did create, a secret garden that only she knew was there.

Many thought her clueless, to others she was queer, and it became easier for her to return There. Hours she would spend in that selfsame world, seeking to

Escape the harshness of reality.

She didn’t care what they said as long as she could still retreat into that secret garden. There, she knew what she was-much of many things: an alien, an angel

with beautiful wings, a white furred wolf with eyes so wise, an elfish maiden who had to bear the burden of being alone. A fairy girl with skin so pale who lived in

Moonlight Forest, who slept in the trees and whose wings were radiant, delicate things. The leader of a race of beings created to prevent the doom of humankind.

A girl who bore the name of Moon and could turn into a fairy, fox, or moon white doe.

Her garden led to many worlds, so alien or beautiful, whatever she

wanted them to be. A land forever frozen, awash with blinding white. A realm always fire, never was there night. Another dark and mysterious, never with any light.

One she made was the Earth, in a future much like the west, while in the North there were ruins of some ancient world. She copied the realm of Middle Earth, made it her Own-many adventures did she have there, with a name that became Known.

She became the wives that did die before Rinec could save them; she felt the pain of his daughters prematurely growing up. The harshness of the worlds

She made caused her to realize that the pain in her heart she could deny, but she could not disguise. She was still waiting for someone to see her, waiting for her Prince.

So many times in real life, and in every one of her stories,

the girl got her man. But this girl, this Princess, still remained alone. Waiting for the Prince to come…waiting…waiting.

At first the stories in her head ended happily. But as time went on she realized they reflected her feelings-the girl maybe got the man, she was

no longer alone, but then something terrible happened, and only the man remained-as cold as stone, grieving. Was this her inner feeling, that she would

find happiness, and as the wind changes swiftly, so she would fade away, leaving the Love she had finally found to slowly decay?

Oh, so sad it was for her to know deep inside, that this world she made was keeping her from having a real life. She wanted one, for sure she did, yet something

held her back. The end of this world inside meant the return of the black. For as it was in the Beginning, so it was with her-at first she was alone in darkness, then she did make light, in the void when there was nothing, suddenly there was life.

If the secret garden died, she would be a Princess no longer, the fair alien flowers would wilt and fade, the portals that led to other worlds would simply…go away.

Even if she let the world that she had created die, still she knew that in real life, nothing would change. There would still be those who whispered, still be those

who mocked, and the worst thing would be that she would not have a secret garden to go to and to rest. Yes, she would have her Father, yet did not her Father allow her to

create the garden? She knew though that He did not want her to stay there, He wanted her to make friends that really did care.

How could this girl choose between one and the other? If she kept the garden, it would slowly destroy her and she never would have friends, yet if she let it go, she always would regret it.

So she did sigh so deeply, with such feeling, and gathering her courage, she dared stay. Her heart and mind remained in that secret garden, rarely adventuring back into

the real world and reality. Occasionally she left and would make small conversation, and then she would withdraw back into the realm that no one else could see.

She had determined in her soul that always she would be that girl that once upon a time did make a secret garden.

Sad she was every once and a while, rarely did she smile, but it was a small price to pay to always be the Fairy, always be the Princess, always be the Queen.

New Poem!!!!!What do you think? Is it too sad? Should I put it on my blog???

Hey Hey...It's the Antholo-jay!

I received my anthology yesterday, so you should have received yours as well. If you'd like, you can also download a copy onto your computer. Here it is.

The Anthology

Am I the only one who has not recieved their copy of the anthology yet? Please comment back.
~Adam

Hi from Jacki

Hey everyone! I hope you are enjoying the rest of the summer, and getting ready for school ( like we really want to go back, right?). I really want feedback on my blog spot, and don't be afarid to post your work on it! Enjoy the rest of your summer vaca and good luck in the '07-'08 school year!!! Love always, Jacki Flis



Editor's Note: Access Jacki's Blog here...

Alright...Anthologies are Almost There

Well, today I finished burning the audio anthologies. I'm sorry it took me a few days longer than intended. I accidentally wiped my iPod with an autosync and spent three or four days trying to get the tracks back. Finally, I succeeded. Anyway, dropping off at the printers tomorrow. The anthology looks great. I'll be putting up the footage from the reception pretty soon too. Sorry about the delay.

How Do I....

How do I know when people visit my blog? It's been a couple or a few days and there are no comments or anything. Is there someplace where it will say like '5 people have visited this blog in the past day' or something? I mean, I got my own blog 'cause I thought it would be cool, but also because I wanted people to read my stuff. And except for Mr. Malley (goofy)(I hope it's alright that I call him that), I don't think anyone HAS gone to my blog and read the stuff.

guess what?

I have my own blog thing now. It's http://hannahswritingblog.blogspot.com/ or something like that. Right now it's just a couple poems. You're all welcome to check it out. :) Oh, yes...make sure it's really my blog. I accidentally went to some other Hannah's blog. I was really confused for a sec. But my blog has only 2 poems and the background's yellowish green or something and yeah...more on this later.

creepy pic

This is a still frame of a video clip gone wrong...

Publishing Opportunities

Hey, Franklin was talking today about Teen Ink, a magazine of student writing. Check it out. Submit your work. It gets distributed to every school in the nation.

He also suggested Writer's Digest.

Ta Da!

After an extremely democratic vote, the clan has spoken. This year's anthology title is...drum roll please:

Brain, Partly Cloudy:
Swimming, We Could Be (Instead, Here Are We)

Wallpaper, Qina

A girl left in the background. Wallpaper. There but not really there, that she might as well be invisible. Just sipping on her coffee, playing with the one of those thin straws that you can't really drink anything out of. Forgotten in the background. Blending in with the wallpaper. And fading…fading away.

High pitched screams of laughter. Stick-thin models in designer clothing. The 'beautiful people' took center floor once again. Even at Starbucks. There was something robotic about them, as if they were made of plastic. Clones--that talked and walked the same. Almost scary--the way they attacked their prey. Sophisticated in both sense and style, but with an animal's most primitive instincts.

“Like….Oh. My. Gawd! Did you hear about…” The Gossip Queens were at it again. As if degrading others made them even better than the best. The royalty of this day and age with each piece of clothing, handbag, and accessory, at least $100 a piece…on sale. Each with a Fat-Free French vanilla soy double latte ice cappuccino-the longer the order, the more baggage the girl's worth. So superficial.

And the invisible girl fading in the background, sipping on her coffee and breathing in the cozy warm aroma-a world apart from the drama in the same room. One year and six months ago, she was one of them. Now, she was free from not belonging--happy just being wallpaper.

Sometimes it's not worth being popular.

****
Any comments, questions, constructive criticism?

Martian bug, Emily S

The beautiful colors of the bug enchanted me as it flew by my head. Its wings were a mix of blues and greens and yellows, its body a soft brown. I didn't know what kind it was, but that just made it all the more entrancing. I let my mind wander after that, imagining that the bug was from another planet. Mars maybe, from back when there was still water on it. The bug was lost in time and space, far from its brethren and unable to return.

The little bug landed on my hand and I smiled slightly. "Hallo there, little- hey!" It bit me, the little martian bug. It flew off before I could squish it. The little bug didn't seem so entchanting anymore. The bite started to bleed sluggishly and I looked around for something to stop it. In the end I just used a bunch of tissues. It went away after a few days, but it left a tiny scar on my hand.

comments? or a title, that would be nice too...

Teacher- Tori C.

You taught me
To stand
You taught me
To speak
You taught me
To walk
You taught me
To fight for myself
You taught me
To fight for others
You taught me
To be me.

Create

Create...

Create a world all your own.!

Create a memorizing memory

♥Create something you love.!♥

♥

~Vikki~

♥

Global Warming by: Jacki Flis

You should know, global warming is a serious case and it only getting worse. Though, there are many ways humans can fix this problem, since we pretty much caused it to happen. One way to prevent global warming to stop is recycle and have a less garbage consumption. That way, we can use materials again, and we don't have to use up more trees or put more CO2 (carbon dioxide) into the air, which leads me to the next two ways you can prevent global warming. Instead of cutting down trees, plant trees. Trees take in CO2, so they are a huge help. Also, instead of driving to the grocery store a block away, walk! You will reduce the amount of pollution. which help the earth to repair itself. Always remember, nothing else matters if we can't stop global warming.

What if? -Tori C.

What if
Th sun exploded?
What if
The world ended?
What if
The troops never came home?
What if
There was no technology?
What if
There was life on mars?
What if
You fell asleep and never woke up?
What if
You were a superhero?
What if
It rained blood?
Would it heal us?
Would it destroy us?
What if?

Half Blood Excerpt, Jen A.

The penetrating sound of broken glass set Sabri's heart beating wildly. A blood-curdling scream permeated the thick silence that followed. Sabri stood completely still and was instantly wracked with an agonizing paroxysm of pain. Her cries pierced the darkness. "Why are you here?" a harsh voice called out. "You know the laws! Your kind is supposed to stay in that fancy school of yours while we starve in the streets." She looked at the ground; she did indeed know the laws.
"But...but," Sabri stumbled, "You don't know what they do to us there! It's torture!"
The man spat at her feet and took a step closer. "If you know what's good for you, you'll leave and never come back."
She panicked and staggered backwards, quickly turning to sprint back to the school, knowing she could never leave again. Her chance at escape was forever lost.

So, this is the opening to a book I'm working on called Half Blood (working title). Sabri is a vampire. Figured I should get that out there, before you get too confused. So here's the 2 questions I was wondering:
1. Does the dialogue sound too forced or too cliche?
2. Does this make you want to read more?

Tell me what you think!!

Here is what I am going to read at the open mic today:
Dance
Dance your heart out.
Dance from your heart and soul.
Dance in a crowd like no one is watching.
Dance like you've never danced before stretch yourself.
Dance, like its the only thing you've got.

New Blogspot!!

If anyone wants to post any pics, poems, stories or whatever, I have created a blogspot!
Here it is: http://freedomwriter101.blogspot.com/ Enjoy!! ~Jacki Flis~

Voices, Tori C.

My friends,
My family,
My loved,
My departed,
The bells are
Ringing,
It's time
Too see
What lies
Beyond
Our vision.
Is it our
Death?
Is it our
Future?
Is it our
Loved?
Who is calling?
Whispering my
Name,
So omniously.
But I know
It is a fimiliar
Voice
Yet it's so
Mysterious
I think it is
My own.

In the trenches, Emily S

Explosions filled the air as Corporal Steven Hill sat in a trench next to his fellow American soldiers. One was across from him, rocking himself and flinching at every sound. "Poor Evan," Steven's friend John said, shaking his head. Steven nodded in agreement and tightened the grip on his gun. "Can't say that I blame him though," he said. Whatever response John gave was lost in the next explosion. It was closer, spraying dirt over the trench as the shell hit the ground. "I hate this," John said, trying to shake the mud out of his clothes. Steven nodded again as an officer came into view. "As soon as these shells stop we're moving out on my order!" He shouted over the explosions, moving on down the line and repeating the order. Steven and John looked at each other, their faces white and eyes wide with the realization that this could be the end. They shook hands solemnly and tensed for the signal to charge. Evan was oblivious, clutching his gun close to his chest as he shook. He didn't notice when a sharp blast from the officer's whistle blew; he didn't notice when his friends leaped over the side of the trench. The only things he knew were the sound of the shells and guns as the war raged on without him.

Corporal Steven Hill lost his life in that battle. His friend John lived, only to die a few months later after the trench was hit with mustard gas. Evan was sent to the army hospital, and after the war he spent the rest of his life in another hospital in the states. He never got over his shell shock, and when he died years later his family said he'd already died in the trenches of WWI.

comments? i know it's kind of short, i wrote it for the morning exercise.

Morning Reading - Gabriel Fontanez

This morning Gabriel "almost winged" the morning reading. He decided to share the song "Let The Drummer Kick" from Citizen Cope, ultimately asking us to write about whatever came to mind.

Today's Schedule

Alright Folks, we've a lot to accomplish today, so it's important that we keep to a schedule. Here you are:

9:30-10 - Morning Reading
10-12 - Writing Groups
12-1 - Open Mic/Anthology Title Selection

For those of you who have not been photographed, see me. If you haven't given me a bio, see me. If you haven't emailed work to me, do so as soon as possible.

Remember, there is no morning meeting tomorrow. We will be meeting at 6pm in the Regis Room of the Student Center. This is where you first arrived.

Anthology Title Ideas

I apologize for not getting these ideas up last night, but I was busy hanging cabinets in my garage. Why? Because that's what old people do. Here is the collection of ideas in need of whittling:

• creepy songs
• the ungiven gift
• you could be swimming (Instead You're Here)
• Brain Partly Cloudy
• The Many Hats of a Lot f Creativity
• Life Sucks After High School
• Year of the Mad Hatter
• Results of Summer
  
• Starving Artists Coalition
• Paper Clip of Your Diet
• Why Say Carpet When You Can Say...Rug?
• I Write Therefore I Am
• Can We Grow Love?
• Sometimes The Best Gifts Are Left Ungiven
• Fun In The Sun
• Secret Garden, Hidden Treasure
• Mad Face
• Really Sucky at Art
• Share Your Writing
• Head in the Clouds
• Canisius' DeClassified Writer's Camp Survival Guide (For Dudes and Dudettes)
• How Much Does a Swallow Weigh?
• Coming From Sea
• The Last Petal
• Memory's Forgotten
• The Song in the Forest
• The Only Miracle
• The Mask
• In a Nutshel
• Writer Rockin' Writers
• @$!%* Shut Up Swary (Couldn't read the last word)
• Play in the Elevator
• Super Stick Eraser Shavings
• Sticked People

Lost and Found in Forest Lawn Cemetery, Qina

Our adventures in Forest Lawn Cemetery bring more than just inspiring ideas. In the process, we (by 'we', I mean, mostly Caitie) found two blank CD's, what appears to identification of some sort, two lost camper, our share of ghosts, a gazeebo, and even nirvana! With permission, I post pictures of Caitie on her endeavors in two inches deep worth of pond scum...

And finally, sight-seeing in Forest Lawn Cemetery brings us a ground-hog. Can you spot our furry little friend?

The Ocean

Ocean
Clear and blue
Soft, but hard
Moving yet still
Fish swimming
Creatures living
Waves crashing on the shore
Sand rippling along the ocean floor
The current revealing stones and shells
Bright and gentle schools of fish,
Swimming smoothly through the moving currents
Plants swaying in the water as waves move over them
The ocean ends only at the beach.

Two More Franks. - Meredith

Haha more doodles with quotes from our writing group.

MJ

Forest Lawn Pictures - Meredith

Hey! Just some pictures I took at Forest Lawn today. All from the same place, but you be the judge. I thought some of these turned out nice. Enjoy!










Meredith

Memory's Forgotten

The smell of flowers fills the air as I enter the dark, dusty church. The door seems to have shut behind me, as if she was trapping me in there. The air in the large, bright room was slightly limited. Everyone dressed in black looked like mere strangers against the wide, iridescent windows. As everyone cries and says there goodbyes, I stay for a while. Not doing anything, except sitting, wondering when I will ever feel ok to enter the world without her. I take the flowers that have been tightly clenched in my sweaty palm for over an hour, and I gently place them upon her faded, yet beautiful, skin. As I simply repeat the words that she has once told me. With every end, is a new beginning.

Extra! Extra! Open Mic Postponed!

Unfortunately, twenty minutes is not enough time for an honest open mic. Therefore, we will temporarily postpone this activity until tomorrow.

Remember! I need visual stuff. Tomorrow, get me art! Photos! A cover page! Ideas for the title!

Beware of the Blog

This afternoon, Alex tuned us into a blog put out by New Jersey's WFMU. This blog, named Beware of the Blog touts itself as the "radio station that bites back." They post and comment peculiar pop culture items, commentary on music, radio, and celebrity, and much, much more. Speck it out if you're interested.

One Million Love Messages

Hey, along the same lines as Postsecret, today's Blog of Note is One Million Love Messages, a site comprised entirely of user generated love messages. So, if you have that special someone, or are looking for inspiration or a love letter plagiarism supply, check it out.

Doodle Away and Brainstorm Ideas for a Title

Alright dudes (or dudettes, I tend to toss dude around as a unisex term)...we want you to doodle something original. Grab a lined sheet of paper or napkin or your friend's arm, let your mind wander, and doodle away. (You'll be handing this in, so make sure you have your friend's permission to amputate.)

Also, start brainstorming title ideas for the anthology. Make them related to the swarming thematic undercurrent of your writing group or the camp overall.

Morning Reading - Jen A.

This morning Jennifer shared a poem titled "Lesson of the Moth," written by Don Marquis.

Here are the prompts:

• Do you agree with Archy's belief, or the moth's? Why?
• Has any small event changed your outlook on life? Explain.
• What do you think the moth means when he says, "we are like human beings used to be before they became too civilized to enjoy themselves?
• Or just ignore these and write whatever comes to mind.

the lesson of the moth

By Don Marquis, in "archy and mehitabel," 1927

i was talking to a moth
the other evening
he was trying to break into
an electric light bulb
and fry himself on the wires

why do you fellows
pull this stunt i asked him
because it is the conventional
thing for moths or why
if that had been an uncovered
candle instead of an electric
light bulb you would
now be a small unsightly cinder
have you no sense

plenty of it he answered
but at times we get tired
of using it
we get bored with the routine
and crave beauty
and excitement
fire is beautiful
and we know that if we get
too close it will kill us
but what does that matter
it is better to be happy
for a moment
and be burned up with beauty
than to live a long time
and be bored all the while
so we wad all our life up
into one little roll
and then we shoot the roll
that is what life is for
it is better to be a part of beauty
for one instant and then cease to
exist than to exist forever
and never be a part of beauty
our attitude toward life
is come easy go easy
we are like human beings
used to be before they became
too civilized to enjoy themselves

and before i could argue him
out of his philosophy
he went and immolated himself
on a patent cigar lighter
i do not agree with him
myself i would rather have
half the happiness and twice
the longevity

but at the same time i wish
there was something i wanted
as badly as he wanted to fry himself

archy

(copied and pasted from http://www.donmarquis.com/readingroom/archybooks/moth.html)

Working That Audio Anthology [sic]

Well, we've met with great success working on the audio anthology the past few days. Here's a few pics of our adventures.

Morning Reading - Kassie Maser

This morning Kassie led our morning excercise, asking us to write along with paintings. She provided us with a lot of writing latitude, requesting that we explore whatever the paintings inspire in us. Here's a link to the site where she found the pictures.

Here's her powerpoint presentation:

Curious Incident, Kelsey

When I saw the star fall, I knew something was wrong. I'm not talking about meteors or anything; I'm talking about actual falling stars. This star happened to be Polaris - you know, the star that points North (well, it used to point north, anyway). If I hadn't been looking, I would have missed the twinkling point of light hurtle downwards. Downwards to what? I had no idea. That was when all of the other stars began to fall, too, like some sick light show. I looked up in horror and watched as stars overhead began to drop closer and closer to Earth. The sky was actually falling (someone call Chicken Little). I wasn't exactly sure why Earth was falling, but everybody on it would die if it remained stationary (and probably if it fell as well). But that is when it happened. Earth began to plummet, spinning in the dark to an unknown destination, screams penetrating the cold night air. After that, all was silent.

Is it okay or was I too blunt? And is it too short? Thanks :).

Audio Anthology

Steps:
1. Record Piece
2. Edit Piece/Rerecord
3. Find Music
4. Export

www.freeplaymusic.com

Morning Reading/Hat of the Day - Derek Schultz

"Turning Dark into Light" - Today Derek read "Cemetary Symphonies Movements I & II" and asked the class to write about something effectively turning dark into light (tragedy to comedy, sadness and despair into something more fun)

Franklin's Group - Blogger

Hey guys...here are some step by step instructions to help you guys get into Blogger.

1. Go to your email. Look for an email from me. Open it up, read the instructions, and click on the link.
2. At the page you are redirected to, choose to create a Google account.
3. When you're finished with that step, you should be redirected back to the Blogger dashboard. Click on "New Post" and publish away.

Just How Much Affection Frank Has For Computers... Meredith

Just a little doodle from Friday night. :D!!

MJ

untitled, Alyssa

I watched as a horse raced across the plains. His charcoal colored mane billowed out from a strongly built neck, looking like the sail of a boat caught in a storm. I could see muscles rippling under a coat the color of burnt toast as the horse heightened his speed from a canter to a gallop. His hooves sounded like the boom of a firecracker as they collided with rocks buried in sand the color of a sunset. I watched as his gait slowed and he trotted over to stand in front of me. I held out a hand for him to sniff and he bowed his head as he delicately inspected it. His breath on my hand was as soft as morning mist, as gentle as a lover’s caress. I stroked the beautiful head that was as soft as silk while he watched me from intelligent eyes the color of melting chocolate. I led him over to a rock half-covered by sand. It felt warm against my bare feet as it was heated by the midday sun’s golden rays. The horse, knowing what I intended, edged a bit closer to the rock and pawed the ground. It too, eagerly awaited the moment when we both could run freely across the sand. Then I was on his back, sitting as though I’d been born there. We charged across the desert, jumping over cactuses with spines sharper than a grandmother's sewing needle, dodging clumps of grass where a snake could be lying as it waited to strike with fangs deadlier than daggers. Our ride was cut short as my horse abruptly stopped at the edge of a cliff. Below us, a herd of wild horses looked up, ears pricked forward as they listened, nostrils flared to catch any scent that indicated danger. We stood there for a few moments, a dark silhouette against the setting sun, watching the horses and the raging river they stood beside, before my mount made his way down the cliff with steps as graceful and as careful as a dancer’s. I dismounted at the base of the cliff, and my horse and I mingled with his herd. The wild horses were beautiful, with coats ranging from a white lighter that freshly fallen snow, to a mahogany the color of the vanishing sun. Their manes ranged from a black darker than that of my horse’s to a honey brown the color of my own hair. Finally, a dark shape nudged me from behind. I turned to see my horse, he was almost invisible, but I knew it was him, I could see the moon reflected in his melting chocolate eyes. He climbed back up a part of the cliff by the river, and I followed him. The steps were slippery from droplets of river water, and my feet slipped and slided as though I was on an ice rink. I made it up eventually though and mounted the shadow that was blacker than night, my horse. We galloped back across the desert under the stars, each like a miniature sun, stuck in a blue darker than the worst nightmare. The journey back from the herd seemed shorter than the one to, and I cried as we hopped the fence that surrounded my house, the tears looked like pieces of the moon. I found myself wishing I could capture the wild horse standing in front of me. He stretched out his neck and his magnificent head brushed my palm. In that instant, that sliver of time smaller than the point of a needle, I knew what it meant to be him. I saw the world through his eyes, and we became one. I lived his life, from when he was a colt gazing in wonder at a snowflake melting on his nose, to very recently, when he and his herd ran along the Oceanside as blue-green waves flecked with foam brushed their hooves. I was him a few hours ago, going against his instincts, when he allowed me to ride him, to meet his herd in its secret place by the river. That moment of time seemed to last forever, though in truth it was no more than a second. But in that second, I realized I could capture all the wild beauty and spirit in this horse, but I could never truly tame it never make it my own. If I kept it, the horse’s wildness would slowly fade; dying away until the horse that had once ran freely across the desert was only the shadow of a memory, as empty as a wordless book. And so I watched as the horse I would never be able to call my own galloped away, his twilight colored coat silver in the moonlight, running freely under the stars and sun for all time.

This is untitled, suggestions for one would be nice, or just a comment about the piece.

Excuse Me, Kind Sir? It's Offbeat Hat Day. Thank You.

Great showing for offbeat hat day. Get ready for two different shoe Tuesday. I'm half kidding. What are we going to do next week?

Some Notes on the Audio Anthology

Here's the Schedule for Next Week:

Monday: Matt's Group
Tuesday: Frank's Group
Thursday: Franklin's Group

Now, I will have the recording devices. The only thing you need to bring is a finished piece for recording, and any music or sound effects you'd like to put in the recording. This sound must be carried in one of the following vessels or formats: CD, mp3 or wav on a jump drive or disc.

Poet Liz Mariani

This morning, local poet Liz Mariani is visiting is to talk about her craft. Make sure to check out her website at www.lizmariani.com. I'm also linking her website in the sidebar for easy reference.



Here are a few links from the presentations:

• Think Twice Radio - Live Stream of Allen Street Hardware's Spoken Word Sundays
• Liz's MySpace
  
• She can be emailed at liz@lizmariani.com
  

Also, here are some poets and spoken word artists she recommended:
Alex Mead, Mahmoud Darwish, June Jordan, Alex De Veaux, Simon Ortiz

Morning Reading - Jackie Flis

This morning(ish), Jacki did the opening (sort of) excercise. She shared an excerpt of The Second Summer of the Sisterhood and a quote; "sometimes you fall before you fly, sometimes you love when you should cry."

• What do you think the quote and the excerpt have in common?
• What do you think it means to be a good friend?
• What is one of your favorite memories with your best friends?

Hi

Testing...one, two, three, testing...I'll try for some more eloquent posts in the next few weeks. For now, this is Alex Holt, signing on...and off

Publishing Opportunities

Your writing mentors went over this today in your peer writing groups, but here it is for posterity's sake. If you lose it, feel free to come here, click, and enlarge.

Derek's Hat of the Day

Today, D. Schultz was feeling a bit more Aussie. Can I get a "Crikey!"? We expect everyone to bring their A-game tomorrow.

Emo Boy

Looking at his reflection in the scummy bathroom mirror, he frantically searches his person for any remaining flaws. Jet-black hair cuts perfectly over his bright green eyes-it had only taken him an hour to look like he had just gotten out of bed. His eyeliner, used not to make his eyes stand out but to make him fit in with all of his tortured-souled acquaintances, is the same color as his tight black jeans-ripped in seven different places and newly purchased for $150. Smoothing his eyebrows, also dyed black too match, he decides everything, at long last, is perfect. He then goes downstairs, sits on his couch, and turns up his iPod.

By Caitie

Writer's Block

Why is a blank page so much more formidable an opponent than one full of words? My mind stretches for an idea, any idea, just something to make that stark white paper stop looking at me, asking such insolent questions like how can I call myself a writer when I have nothing to write about. Alas, (for it is only circumstances such as these that call for ‘alas,’) my mind is blank. Stories of people and other worlds float tantalizingly above my, quite empty, head, just out of reach. I guess, just for today, the paper remains victorious.

By Caitie

good times!

hey look, i'm blogging!

Lesson #4

Tie the string around your glasses before you get into the canoe

Lesson #14

Your vehicle is not a time machine;
If you leave late, you will arrive late.

Lesson # 18

Find something you love to do,
and do it for a lifetime.

Cooking

It is not so important to know how to cook,
As it is to know how to love those for whom you are doing it.

The Poem I Don't Know What to Call :)

Stuck inside an endless black, not sure where I am. Others see my quiet side, when I rarely say a thing.
Awkward, shy, silent, still, yet a hurricane describes my soul.
Inside of me wages a war, a struggle which seems centuries old. A struggle that has more at stake than any simple kingdom. Which side will win-the outside-or the innner that shines with a heavenly light?
If I dared I would speak out, but always the outside wins. I remain silent for most of the time, afraid of nothing more than someone the same as me. I wish I could talk and smile and laugh, but always the outside wins.
So for now that side that I wish them to see is trapped and imprisoned in an endless black.
Maybe someday the war will stop, and the inner side that shines with a heavenly light will shine so bright and be so warm that afraid I will not be.
I'll talk and smile and laugh, joke and twirl and be myself, not care what anyone thinks.
Because finally the outside, the masquerade, lost the war and fell. Beaten, cowed, exhausted, the outside disappeared.

Does this poem make any sense, is it overly dramatic? Should I add more to it?

"Catastropiece" by Derek Schultz

"What a beautiful work!" The scrawny French art critic was praising a painting by Picasso. I was bored out of my mind. All I could do was stare at the painting and drool. all the formless lines seemed to draw me into the work. I stared harder, ignoring the sensation of movement. I could feel the painting literally sucking me into it. At last, the evil abstract engulfed me.

Several things happened at once: I realized I was inside the painting. My spine straightened and bent at a right angle. My eyes smeared into green circles. My arms and legs combined into a large yellow square.

Every shape shattered into fragments as my reconstructed eyes stacked themselves vertically on top of each other. My hair stretched into thin black lines. "Aw, man! If I walk home like this my mom's going to kick my head in!" It took a moment for me to realize the truth. "Oh, yeah. I don't even have a head anymore." In fact, I had no recognizable form whatsoever! I was trapped in the hellish swirling of lines and circles. Without a leg to stand on, an arm to pull me out, or a mouth to scream for help I could not escape. So when you visit the art gallery next time I'll be hanging out in "Guernica."

Untitled, Qina

This is a show not tell exercise that we did in our writing groups to write about a character that will raise a response. Now, enough said, any comments or suggestions? Also, I need help coming up with a title.

He slammed his fist on the car dashboard, the white-hot pain spreading to his knuckles. The feeling reminded him of a much simplier time when he and his friends would bang each other up to see who would bleed first. Fun times and fond memories, but he wasn't that kid anymore, and the pain didn't numb the heavy feeling in his heart or stop the thoughts from racing through his head.
"Damn it, Claire." He spoke through gritted teeth. "Please, no...not now." He begged it not to true, as if that would stop the million desperate thoughts of what was and what couldn't be, starting with what had been his dream for the past four years---his now ruined football career. Even a scholarship couldn't fix everything as he had thought once upon a time. Well, certainly not this.
How could one piece of news change his life forever? Well, he knew "how," or at least the rough mechanics of it anyways. It was result of drunken parties and car backseats, and a little something about the birds and the bees that had become lost between childhood friends like Barney and Elmo and football, which was more than just a game; it was his life. Still, he clearly remembered the sighs and grunts of his old man as his was still playing with his favorite action figures, not understanding a word his father said. He was only nine at the time and the subject of "girls" were over his head.
He focused back to reality--the very real downpour of rain pounding on the hood of his car as it drowned everything around him, the very real situation he was trapped in, and mostly the very real voice of his girlfriend that he wanted to blame but couldn't; it was his fault too.
The tiny and distant voice on the small cellular phone whined and plead. His girlfriend Claire was begging him to calm down. That everything was going to okay, trying to pacify her own fears of the new uncertainty.
It wasn't a question of morality. Not anymore, although some would consider getting pregnant in high school as a big scandal. But a simple truth. He was going to be a father. He was not even a proper adult and he was going to be a father. Yesterday he was just a kid messing around with his best buds and now he has to worry about raising a kid? It was surreal, but as they say, having a baby changes everything.

Morning Reading 7/26

Hope you guys liked my stuff this morning. If you thought it was boring and non-inspiring (that be a word?) then that's okay. If you liked it, that's more than okay. Thanks to all the people who wrote & shared. I was very worried and ended up having a lot of fun sharing that little bit of history & my story. If anyone is interested in the entire thing, (it's not much longer) comment here & I'll get it to you. Thaaaanks. :D

-Leo

Morning Reading - Meredith Jones

This morning Meredith read from her piece of historical fiction about Leo Frank.

Here were the prompts.

What to you think is the worst circumstance of injustice? Create a story or poem around or answer with a brief explanation.


Write from the point of view of someone who has been cheated. How does your protagonist handle it? Does he/she panic?

Create a character who has experienced injustice. How does he/she react to his situation?

Create a character who has been thrown into an unlikely and sudden event.

Have you ever just felt like "life ain't fair?" Tell about it.

Or just forget my prompts and write what was inspiring.



(Zoiks...just went through and edited. Fast typing = many errors.)

PostSecret

Julie clued us into a very cool site this morning. Postsecret is an "ongoing community art project where people mail in their secrets anonymously on one side of a homemade postcard." There's some pretty inspiring, shocking, head shaking, thought provoking, and downright weird stuff there. Check it out if you're aimlessly surfing.

Warning: This is an artistic site and may contain some content that some may find objectionable.

Morning Announcements

Liz Mariani - Tomorrow local poet Liz Mariani will be joining us to talk about her craft.

Open Mic - iHey hey hey, tomorrow is the first open mic. Sign up on the side board. This is the time to share a piece or excerpt of a piece with a larger audience. Feel free to share a finished piece or a draft of something you're working on.

Reception - Next Friday, we are not meeting in the morning. That evening, we have invited your parents and friends to join us for a food, drinks, and an open microphone session. We need your RSVP sheet back ASAP.

Offbeat Hat Day - Hey, for tomorrow, your are required to wear a hat that is a bit 'o whacky. Try to be eccentric, for the love of St. Aloysius.

OMG

Who are you.?

You are nice to me

Around your friends, you act like I'm no one.!

I thought you were my true friend.?

But I guess I was wrong.!

Forget that friend.!

Have you ever had a friend like that.?

♥~Victoria Anne~♥

TALKINg my favorite.!

TALK
Speak,converse,chat
I must say I love your cat



Tell me your thoughts.!
♥~Victoria Anne~♥

Welcome to my cell, Kelsey

Welcome, dear visitor, to this place that I so unenthusiastically call my home. If you would please follow me a most laborious three to four paces to the farthest corner of my cell, you will see that, under a piece of loose stone, I have concealed an implement of great importance from the eyes of the guards. I have a small, rusted nail that I had found inside my straw mattress (it had been poking me in the back for ages before I found it). I use this implement to create detailed, intricate etchings that span over the walls of my cell. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness of my confinement and allow me to pursue such an uncomfortable task. I enjoy etching brief notes and tips in various dark corners of my cell for whoever is unlucky enough to inhabit my humble abode in the future. I leave notes such as call the mustached guard Monsieur Pimples – he’ll like that, or I strongly suggest shaking the weevils out of any biscuits you are supplied with before consuming them. I also enjoy making small dolls in the image of my captors from the straws in my mattress and subjecting them to torture (my grudges run deep). If I am ever sickened enough to not finish my weevily bread, I construct bizarre sculptures from a mixture of bread and water and leave them for the people who replace my food. My captors have had the delight of being greeted by rather mushy images of Napoleon, sailing ships, skulls, noses, and aquatic animals. I am not sure whether my aim is to thoroughly confuse my captors or it is just to save myself from dying of boredom. But, either way, I am glad you are able to experience life in this prison with me, and you are most welcome to join me in my rather curious endeavors.

Comment please!!!

It was the first time I've seen one of such radiant beauty before. How the white spots upon her glistened in the mid-afternoon light showing through the already crescent moon. It's withered bones looked haggard as she ran past us. The brown shown covering her flesh was not just a brown, it was a creamy sensation waiting to be forgotten. Her hoofs stumbled as she passed, leaving only the memory of such indescribable feelings behind her. The car screeched to a halt as all we could do was gaze at this lovely creature. Then as if by magic she slowly disappeared into the darkness.

A Couple of Pictures From Today