The Least Influential Teacher

A random writing prompt from the WritingFix website (no editing):
"Who taught you close to nothing? Write about the teacher who had the least impact on you."



In 8th grade, I was the ultimate nerd. I loved school and, since I was inept at sports, my competitive nature was fueled by grades. How well I did on quizzes, was I the highest scorer on the test, and did I get straight A’s were my benchmarks in the world as I knew it. I wasn’t that great in technical subjects, like math, but ones which demanded my own thoughts and opinions were the classes where I excelled.

History was my favorite because it was the closest to meeting that criteria. Yes, I had to memorize dates and places, but the wonderful thing about history was the fact that you had to analyze why certain events happened. And then, you could wonder if certain events, which seemed small at the time, hadn’t happened, what would the world be like today? And were bad events almost necessary to get us to where we are now? Wonderful, philosophical questions came from the study of history and I was an ardent student.

So, imagine my disgust when, on my first day of 8th grade, in walked Mr. Smith. Mr. Smith was the new wrestling coach and was “made” to also teach. And he got history as his subject. I spent the year horrified as he put the Battle of Normandy in Britain, insisted FDR served two terms, and only wanted the basics of dates and places. There were no philosophical discussions in Mr. Smith’s class, except in his discussion of the previous night’s wrestling meet.

He was even worse in classroom management. He seemed like he wanted to be our peer instead of teacher. So dealing with him was exactly like dealing with a friend you would have in junior high. One day, you were his best friend and could do no wrong. The next, you had committed some unknown grievance and were made to sit in the hallway.

The final straw for me was the class trip we were supposed to take. I was told one day before I wouldn’t be able to go because my name was on the board. Earlier in the year, Mr. Smith had decided a “Lord of the Flies” approach to teaching was needed and told students that if anyone bothered them, they could write that student’s name on the board and said student would be punished. I pointed out that the date my name was written on the board was on a day I wasn’t even in class but was at a band competition. He thought for a minute and then said, “Well, that doesn’t matter. Your name was on the board and you can’t go.”

I wished horrible things for Mr. Smith on that day, or at least as horrible as a twelve-year old’s mind can go. Mainly, I just wished he wasn’t my teacher anymore, or anyone else’s teacher for that matter. He was young, athletic, loved wrestling, and obviously didn’t want to be in the classroom. Why couldn’t he just go away?

Fast forward fifteen years and I was an assistant administrator of a nursing home. Our facility had been advertising for a housekeeper and we hadn’t received any good applicants. I had gotten back from a short vacation and went to the administrator’s office. She told me she had finally found a new housekeeper and he was in my office filling out paperwork and would be ready for me to give him an orientation to the facility policies and rules. I walked into my office and my stomach hit the floor. There, sitting in one of the chairs and obviously struggling with the paperwork, was Mr. Smith. The years had not been kind. When he looked up at me, I didn’t see any kind of recognition in his eyes and thought maybe I got it wrong. We started talking and it was obvious that drug use had taken most his faculties and even simple sentences were difficult. I kept glancing at his paperwork and there was his name all over it. It had to be him. Finally, I looked at his resume; there it was, the schooling and degree needed for him to have the past I remembered.

We both ignored the elephant in the room and I took care of his paperwork and orientation. It was strange to tell Mr. Smith, now called by his first name, to clean up the various messes of a nursing home. My twelve-year old heart would have loved to be in the position to order Mr. Smith around, but my twenty-seven year old heart wondered how did he become like this?

Finally, one day, I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I saw Mr. Smith in the hallway and started to say, “You probably don’t remember me, but I was a student of yours…” He interrupted me and stated that he did remember. He realized it on the first day. He didn’t give a lot of details of his life since then. But, at one point, he did put his head down and quietly said, “Well, I wasn’t that good of a teacher anyway.”

There was a long silence. I didn’t know what to say. I know a part of him needed to hear that, yes, you were good back then; at one point in your life, you were good at something, Mr. Smith. But, I couldn’t do it. He wasn’t a good teacher because he didn’t have any interest in it. I just mumbled something about needing to get back to my office and the paperwork.

I still wonder what I should have said.

Welcome

I just sent an email invite to Nikki from the class, so we should be seeing her join the author's list soon. Hi, Nikki, and welcome!

I thought about...

Seeking submissions!!!
I want to put together a compendium of really funny one-liners because I love them and I can never remember them. To get the group started...here are a couple:
1. I thought about being a pessimist, but I figured it wouldn't work out.
2. If everything is coming your way, get in the other lane!

I'm sure you know some too...maybe we can even write some new ones!

Another author!!!

Hey everyone. NeiserDawn from the class has joined us. You'll see her as Denise in the author's list. Welcome!

Welcome to another author

Just sent an email invite to Rachel from our class. Hi, Rachel...hope to see you on the author's list soon.

Personal Ad

I went to the Writing Fix website and got the following prompt: "What would be an interesting personal ad to read in the newspaper? Imagine who might send it, then write the ad." Here's my story based on that prompt:




As she sat on the couch eating Ben and Jerry’s Americone Dream straight out of the carton, she thought to herself maybe she should make some changes in her life.

It had been awhile since she had been in the dating scene. She smirked as she realized saying “awhile” was the same as saying the Atlantic Ocean was “wet.” When she was young, she concentrated on other things; her career and education. There would always be time for romance later. But later came sooner than she expected and now she realized there had to be more.

She was always the person everyone came to for answers. She had always been a methodical thinker and could analyze a problem from its big picture down the details needed to solve it. But she honestly had no idea how to approach this.

The modern world seemed so different than the love stories she heard growing up. In the past, meetings at structured social functions had led to true love while dancing to big bands. But, the world today wasn’t accommodating enough to provide structure to its social functions and seem to actually enjoy letting its inhabitants randomly crash into each other without a thought of everlasting love.

She had heard about personal ads and had taken a look many times. But the ads seemed almost like comedy writings. If that many people were interested in soul mates, walks along the beach, and sunsets, where had all the romance in the real world gone? She decided she would buck the trend and write a completely honest personal ad. An ad that described the “real” her. Surely, the masses would appreciate someone finally presenting an honest evaluation of self.

“Single, 41 year-old female. Has absolutely no idea how romance works. Has really let herself go over the years. Tends to be cranky, especially in the mornings. Grew up an only child and has always had a problem with sharing. Thinks sarcasm is an appropriate response for most anything, including deeply personal stories. Isn’t really much into doing things outside the comfort of her own home except for eating out. Doesn’t really like people around “hovering” all the time. Very picky about everything.”

She reviewed the ad and plopped back down on the sofa, grabbing the Ben and Jerry’s ice cream before her behind hit the sofa cushions. Maybe the world isn’t ready for that kind of honesty, she thought. Maybe she could at least pretend to like the occasional sunset.

Our authors' list continues to grow....

As I said in a previous post, I had sent an email invite to Robyn Kim and there she is in our list of authors as Robyn K. And, an email invite was just sent to Emerald Eyes.

Welcome to both!!!!

Overview of things to come

This might not be a good idea, but in order to answer the questions in response to my creative piece in the class, I'm going to try to answer with a minimum amount of details.

The piece was actually chronologically the 7th of 25 chapters in my story of stories, but is the first chapter in my book. Although this was submitted as a creative piece, the creativity is only in the telling. The stories themselves are as true as the breath you are taking. No..not the one you are exhaling..the one you are about to take..no..wait..okay, you need to keep up with me here! :-)

After telling us we were adopted, Mom told us about our dad being a crooked man, threatening my mother to the point she got scared and left - but left my sister and I with him. We traversed the country avoiding capture by the authorities, "hooking up" with his new girlfriend and our now believed-to-be-mother, and eventually he was arrested by the FBI and removed from our lives. This was a traumatic event for me (age 4+ at the time), which caused me to lose memory of everything prior to the day he was taken away by train. The rest of the story deals with discovering the whereabouts of my birth mother, discovering a brother, losing that brother again, our decision, disappointments and whole process of adoption of our children and much, much more.

More good news!

We have another author joining us...just got an email from Val and she should be showing up on the author's list soon. Welcome, Val!

I'm finally back!

Oh dear! Work exploded all over the place with writing of grants, mission-driven strategic plans (I know all of you are jealous over that one), and a couple of unexpected twists including starting to outline and lead a task force which will present a analysis/report to the governor about the impact of Alzheimer's Disease on our state. Mmm-hmm, lots of creativity : )

Anyway, I've scrambled trying to catch up with class and get my assignments posted. I've started to leave some comments on classmates' final pieces and everyone did such an amazing job! I'm a bit upset, to be honest. I really didn't spend enough time on my 500 words but I went ahead and posted what I had. But, I'm also a bit excited as I know there's a lot of work for me to do, but I really feel like I have the tools now to keep improving it and, with our blog, I'll have the perfect place to post and get critiques.

I hope to spend so more time tomorrow catching up on comments here on the wonderful works everyone is posting and catching up in the discussion area for class. Also, I'm going to finish adding the links Ann provided for our class so we'll have them for our use as we continue writing.

And, in the best news, somehow my email stopped being crabby and let Robyn Kim in, so we should have her added as one of our authors soon. Welcome, Robyn!

On Blogging

This is an essay I wrote in my personal blog on LiveJournal a couple years ago. It seemed relevant to this endeavor on Blogger, so I thought I'd re-post it here.

By my estimation, this coming week will mark my second anniversary as a "blogger." By happy coincidence, I came across an excellent article in The Economist yesterday that deals with the blogging phenomenon and what it might mean for society.

Although I have a lot of thoughts on the article, I don't really want to elaborate on them here. I will say that it's interesting to think that simply writing essays about domestic life, pet peeves, and the odd opinion on current events somehow makes me and many of the people reading this foot soldiers in the new media revolution. What I would like to do with this post is to lay out a list of things that the past two years of keeping an online journal have taught me about writing. (That's not to say I will always apply the lessons. But when you see me violate one of them, you can rest assured that I know better.) So without further adieu, here is my personal manifesto on blogging:

1. When I started doing this, I laid down a rule for myself that I would only write about topics that interested me, and I would never force myself to write about something just because it was the hot topic du jour. If I'm not interested in something, I can't write about it in an interesting way.
2. There are no boring topics, only boring writers. I sincerely believe that any subject matter can be brought to life by someone who approaches it with enthusiasm, originality and some sense of writing craft. Note that I'm not saying that I am capable of taking on any topic. There are some things I wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole, simply because I'm not a good enough writer to pull them off.
3. Related to point #2, a good thing to remember is that the less inherent drama or comedy a situation has, the harder you'll have to work to make a decent post out of it. Someone writing about how they were trapped in a burning building, were being chased by the police for a crime they didn't commit, or got locked out of their house while dressed only in their underwear doesn't have to put many flourishes or stylistic tricks into the essay to make it work. Writing about what one had for dinner, or the small details on ones daily routine requires a bit more heavy lifting. In grad school, I took a class on copywriting that was taught by a wonderfully vulgar and blunt instructor. When one of us wrote an ad that had a lackluster concept behind it, he would often say, "You could use that approach, but the end result had better be one (bleeping) charming piece of writing!" I hear that guy's voice ringing in my head every time I'm tempted to write a laundry list of my daily activities a la, "I woke up today, took a shower, got ready for work, etc., etc."
4. Sports radio host Jim Rome likes to tell his callers, "Have a take and don't suck." That is a great piece of advice for people trying to communicate in any medium. The "don't suck" part goes without saying and was more or less the point of #3 above. The "have a take" part is equally important. I try not to write about something unless I have an opinion or an attitude about it. The degree to which a certain post succeeds or fails is largely a function of how well that opinion comes across by the end of the essay. That's not to say that I can or even want to change the reader's mind about anything. My goal is simply to explain what I feel and why at any given point in time.
5. I'm not interested in stock observations, canned arguments, toeing an absolutely consistent ideological line or taking a run at easy targets. There is way too much writing along those lines out there, and some of it is produced by very intelligent people who are capable of much more. I don't enjoy reading the products of intellectual laziness and I certainly don't want to produce any for others to read. A general rule of thumb is that if I find myself writing something that sounds like it came off a bumper sticker, that means I need to dig a little deeper and put some more thought into it. Real people living in the real world have complex and ambivalent reactions, hold inconsistent attitudes, divided loyalties and are constantly confronted with cognitive dissonance. I don't think acknowledging those things while making a point is a sign of weakness.
6. I am sometimes accused of writing War and Peace length posts. My only reaction in the face of that criticism is to shrug and say, "I yam what I yam." I rarely come away from a piece of writing feeling like I wrote more or less than I wanted to. I write as long as I think there's still a point to be developed. Once I don't feel like there's anything left to say, I stop. Of course the reader is the ultimate arbiter of "too long" or "too short." If you notice the word count one way or the other, then the writer has failed on some level. If that's the case here, you get what you pay for.
7. The very act of keeping an online journal is supremely presumptuous and narcissistic. It is based on the assumption that anyone in the entire world with Internet access might be interested in your life and thoughts. That's a mighty big assumption. I try not to compound the inherent hubris of this medium by taking myself too seriously. I think it's important to post something every so often that assures readers that I know I am full of shit.
8. There's no substitute for honesty. I always strive to tell the truth as I see it, while at the same time understanding that neither I nor anyone else has a monopoly on THE TRUTH. Hemingway once said, "All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence you know." I can't improve on that sentiment, other than perhaps to refrain from blowing my head off with a shotgun after invoking it.

And that's pretty much all I know about writing a blog.

Walking With Miss Gracie

Walkikng With Miss Gracie


I went for a walk today with Miss Gracie, an energetic chatterbox of a girl. She’s two and the world is a wonderful place to explore. After I cleaned out imaginary sticks and rocks in her pink boots and she slipped them on and zipped them up, we set out on our adventure.


I intended to go around the block in a somewhat formal manner and get back to my tasks of the afternoon. But Miss Gracie had other ideas. She had to decide which direction to go first and what side of the street to walk on. We smelled pink button flowers in boxes along the sidewalk and then crossed over to the green and white broad leaves of a bush. We delighted in purple posies and decided that daises were pretty to look at and not to smell. Miss Gracie smiled back at the faces of pansies, tried a balancing act on the rocks, and meandered over grass and brush, reminding me of a river that could not make a straight path along its banks. We stopped to pet the pretty lion statues in a yard and I laughed as she had to stop to ‘rest her eggs ‘ on the bus stop bench.


Miss Gracie and I rounded the corner to climb a mountain of dirt and jump over stumps, all the while keeping a constant commentary on the importance of trees and rocks and pinecones. We stopped to say hello to her friend’s slide and finally arrived back at Miss Gracie’s house ready to explore another day; walking with Miss Gracie.

For Robyn Kim plus some blog bizness

I'm so sorry you're having problems trying to sign up for the site!!! Maybe this is the issue: I have my email listed as jkcase_1999(at)yahoo.com. I spelled out the word "at" to stop companies who "fish" for emails and send you spam. So make sure, when you're when you're typing my email address to replace the word "at" with the actual "at symbol" located on the #2 on your keyboard. Also, don't forget the underscore (the line) between jkcase and 1999. Hope this makes sense and solves the problem.

And for everyone else....I'll be away from the blog for a few days. Work is crazy again/still and I'm writing a huge strategic plan PLUS yet another grant....both of which are due Friday. So, if there are any authors needing to be added or any other business-related issues, I'll be back in force Friday afternoon or evening. Thanks guys...I hope all of you know how much I'm enjoying reading, commenting, and being inspired by what everyone is doing here!

Writer's are like redwood trees!

Weak analogies here we come!

Beginning Writers are like redwood trees. Individually, our roots are shallow, and we can be pulled from our foundation rather easily. However, when we cluster together, we grow together. Our roots will inter-twine, and provide each of us the support we need to grow tall in our endeavors and shade our communities of influence with leaves of creativity and enlightenment.

Rejoicing at life.

(No quality writing here...simply a rant!)

Sometimes when we think about issues, we take a very narrow perspective based solely on our own experiences and understanding. Is it helpful to take an opposite approach in our minds, if not on paper, to find flaws in our thinking? Personally, it is helpful for moral issues. The following is an example that can be loaded with emotions on all sides.
Do you think that if there is a higher power, however it is embodied, that higher power cherishes little children? Are those little children that are so young they don't have the capacity to think and decide for themselves bound for Hell before they make their own decision which will lead them elsewhere? I've always held them "Heaven-bound" until they make the conscious human decision to "bite the apple". Certainly infants and younger would be covered in the protective hands of that higher power, which I know to be, and will heretofore call, God.
If a woman dies while pregnant in a car accident, and the baby also dies, won't that child go to Heaven? I believe so...we don't know about the mother...but God does...and the decision will be made based on her life and decisions.
If a baby of a pregnant mother dies in an accident, will the baby go to Heaven? Will the mother? What if the mother took steps to cause the accident to happen knowing the baby would die and she wouldn't, and no one else would be the wiser. Will the baby go to heaven? Again, I believe so. Would the mother? Depends on the events that would follow. Would she be "judged" by God? Yes, but she can also find forgiveness, right.
Whether the rest of the world knows about such a thing or not...the baby will go to Heaven, and the mother (and father if involved) will be judged by God appropriately...and possibly eternally. Left to humans, the mother and father might not receive the appropriate judgement and penalty. In any case...the baby who dies, is safe for eternity.
This makes we wonder, and I've not yet cemented in my mind, whether the amount of money, energy and effort that we as a people put forth trying to permit, outlaw, control things such as abortion really have an eternal payoff - or are they strictly to make US feel better about US.
If "Susie, Sally, or Jane, and Fred, John or Marty" make a decision to abort a child before it is born, and no one in the world knows but them...the baby will go to Heaven. Whether WE think it is right, wrong or indifferent makes no eternal difference! God will judge each and everyone of us based on the lives we've lived.
One additional question that plagues me is...what if 'we the people' decide the baby can not be aborted and we force them to give it birth to this world. There are no guarantees that the child will be safe and secure for eternity, for the parents and the child's eventual choices and decisions will play a major role.
So my point is not that abortion should be legal or not, or that any other moral issue should be left to my discretion. Simply stated, let God decide what God should decide...and let the rest of us concentrate on living a life worthy of the judgement we hope He'll make about how we lived - NOT how our neighbors lived.
Did I just open a can of worms?

Doodlings

So I'm a little frustrated and tried my hand at this:


The Weeds in My Garden

Why is it that the weeds grow better than your plants? Why is it that weeds don’t need water or fertilizer or any other tender loving care? They are always growing.

I went out into my garden tonight to see what I could do in a half hour span. To my dismay, I found my hanging baskets dead because no one has watered them. They were so pretty. Ever since Mark lost his job and was under employed, I went without my baskets for several years. Now that he has a better job, I look forward to resurrecting that part of my garden. Now here they are dead and I want to cry.

Everywhere I look, things need trimming, clearing, and mowing. All except the weeds! Those bundles of greenery have enough energy to overcome any gardener’s nightmare. They refuse to be pulled out by the roots and stubbornly remain in my front yard. I think I will have to leave them there and pull at them another day. By the way, can someone find me a watering can?

Hi

Hi Everyone, Thank you so much for getting this started. As we read each other's writings and comment, we get to know each other and I was not looking forward to class ending. Now I don't have too! Like the rest of you I'm finding this editing stuff hard! Talk to you later, Charlene

My Brain Hurts

Oh my goodness. I am pulling my hair out with this short story. SF your killing me here. lol. Is this a payback for my last post to you not wanting to make the changes Ann had suggested? If it were, then I wouldn't have to look so hard at my writing. So you see that would give me an out.

I think I am getting way off track. I need to go back to when this all came to me and make it better instead of changing it all up. It was truly a gut wrenching piece that brought some healing to me about some things. I think I am losing the power of it in the revisions. I don't know anything anymore, except this is hard work, but I am up for it, as long as I know if I am doing it right or am I all wrong. I don't know. Everyone has an opionion of what they like, no one person can gear their writing for everyone to like it, that just isn't possible. I just want to know I am writing it in the best form it could possibly be. Does any of this make any sense to anybody? I am trying to cram 40 years into 500 words. I think its a good start for that book, but I can't help rememeber the words in our last lesson, " All writers love the sound of their own words. This is natural. Wow, I read that and thought, well that explains it, its not like my singing, I know I sound bad singing, so the measuring bar is different. How will I know if I suck at this or not? Because honestly the first 50 reads I usually like what I write very much, a day or two later maybe not so much. Well, that's all I wanted to say. I am going to bed now. My brain hurts....

Surgery

Thought I'd let you all know how my surgery went.

On Wednesday I had septoplasty surgery, to fix my deviated septum in hope that I can sleep better. It is now Sunday and I am still in pain but the worst part is that I cannot blow my nose. I am so stuffed up that I sound like a pug walking around breathing. I'm wondering if I would have this done again, well I guess I'll have to wait a week or so before I can answer that. If I can breathe out of my nose and sleep better then it will have been worth it.

I missed an assignment that we could post more writing on. I know that we could have posted our sentences but what fun is that? No telling what drug induced stories I would have come up with anyway, lol.

Welcome

A big hi and welcome to our latest author, eunice. Everyone's so glad you joined us here and we're looking forward to your contributions!

The Lighter Side "Deception"-Revised thanks jkc

A month ago I saw an ad for a short story contest. The short story was to be on the topic "Deception" max 2000 words. This was my first attempt at writing something other than my own rambling thoughts. Of course I didn't submit this into the contest, but would like to put it here for your critique. Please I am not easily offended, so your bad review is welcome. I would prefer honest bad feedback than nothing or worse a nice gloss over that will keep me writing badly.
_______________

Its 3:50 pm, almost time for my daughter to get off of work. I lazily rise from bed and walk over to the vanity to begin the monotonous task of applying my makeup.

“I better change my clothes; I wouldn't want to be caught with my pajamas on when she walks through the door.” I thought to myself.

I had been considering all day on what I was going to write regarding the topic of deception, and as I sat in front of the mirror, I realized at that very moment I was perpetrating the very act of it. “How ironic”, I thought, as I applied my lipstick.

How far will I carry this out? Will I make up a story about my day? Will I expound on events that never happened? That was never my intention.

The familiar sound of rain softly beats against the windows and slowly rises in intensity. The now heavy rain beating upon my roof was somewhat symbolic of the monsoon of guilt filling my heart. A mother's instincts begin to take over; I begin to worry about her picking up my grandson in this weather. I should have at the very least picked him up for her. I call her cell phone to see if she was caught in this downpour, but to my relief, she was just leaving work. We talk briefly, and I mention that I made fresh pinto beans for dinner. Immediately, I begin the dubious task of forming my alibi.

“Beans, they take hours to cook!” I thought to myself. Of all the ways to construct my tale, to be rooted into a story by the simple line: “When I got home, I made beans”. Why did I just say that? I shook my head, disappointed in myself.

It all began innocently enough; I didn't lie when I told her I had a training session I wanted to participate in. I wasn't trying to get out of watching my grandson today, so why the deception? I woke up tired, I was awake until nearly 3:00 a.m., obsessed with a writing project that demanded my attention. I don't do very well without a full night's sleep and knew I would regret it come morning. I woke up on time with every intention of attending the training session, even though I felt I was suffering from a hangover. In retrospect, I guess I knew deep down I wasn't going, but I didn't make the final decision until they had left the house.


Why does it matter so much, that she had to wake up a little earlier this morning, get her 3 year old son up and dressed and drive him approximately 20 miles to his great grandparent's house? Most parents have to drive their children to daycare every day. Truthfully, I concede, it does matter; I love that I am in a place in my life that I can make her life easier. She has a full time job, goes to school and still manages to do a splendid job raising my grandson; however, sometimes her attitude is more out of expectancy than of appreciation. For instance, when I told her she had to make arrangements for him on these particular days the look on her face alone made me feel guilty. So, now I battled with telling her that I decided to just stay at home today.

Why should I say anything at all? My initial intent was to look like I hadn't been home all day. Nothing needed to be said to the contrary, that's not really lying, is it? Even so, that one statement earlier dug me even deeper. She walks through the door,

“How was your day?”

“Good” I say, thinking, "just don't ask specifics and everything will be fine."
If she does ask more questions, will I continue to deceive her, or will I simply tell her the truth? Did she catch my earlier statement about getting home?

This is really not looking good for me.

"Ah the webs we weave", my mother used to say. As a child I didn't really understand what that meant, but if you have ever tried to pull down a spider web you know it sticks to your fingers and can get entangled in your hair. I guess that's what mother meant; deception is like a web, you have to pull it down to get to the truth but no matter how well you believe you've removed it the remnant of it will be left behind.

Could I lose her trust? What kind of message am I sending her? Even if she could never find out, I don't like how this is making me feel.

I preach honesty all of the time. Growing up in our home, my girls knew that the lie was always worse than the crime. Then I think, would I have been so convicted had I not had this writing assignment on my mind? What does that say about me? It might be time to take a personal inventory.

What drives us to tell a lie? Different things I presume, but mine was simple; I did not want to deal with the possibility that my daughter might have a bad attitude. I would have been right, and she would have been wrong, but now I have spent most of today feeling guilty, as if I was stealing this day.

If she does say something now, who am I to lecture? Reminding myself that it was me who made sure she understood the weight of deception. Besides, the moment of truth is inevitable, my daughter reads everything I write, she is my hardest critic and plays the role of my editor, so I guess the gig is up as they say. I can only hope she likes the way I put it on paper.

--The End--

Reactionary Syntax

I've been a little out of the loop for a few days. I just got a new computer and have been spending some time transferring my old files over and such. Hence my general lack of commentary here and elsewhere.

Anyway, Beijing's current status as the most talked about city in the world reminded me about a piece I wrote a couple years ago. I decided to dust it off, edit it a little bit, and post it here:

My parents used to talk funny. I'm not describing their individual dialects of English. Neither of them had speech impediments. I'm talking about the strange names they had for things - names from the past. You see, my parents were both old enough to have been my grandparents, especially my father, who was 46 when I was born. They spoke the language of the Great Depression and World War II, and what a strange tongue it was for a child of the '70s and '80s! In my house, there was no such thing as margarine, we used "oleo." The Woolworth's we had in town, which was already an anachronism by the time I was born, was the "Five and Dime" or the "Five and Ten." Imagine my dismay when all my friends spent the Ford-Carter years in cool blue jeans, while I wore "dungarees." There are plenty of other things I could mention if I thought about it, but you get the idea. In the broad scheme of things, it's a pretty silly thing to hold over my folks, but it always did strike me as funny. It was a perfect example of willful un-hipness. A stubborn refusal to get with the times. They knew all the modern nomenclature, they just refused to play along. Typical old farts.

Well, now that I am getting up there in years, I am starting to find a similar reluctance to change my language to fit with the times. It's not so much that I want to spit in the eye of younger generations (although sometimes I wouldn't mind doing so), it just seems that society likes to change the names of things for no good reason. Oh sure, there are usually reasons stated or apparent to anyone with a brain, it's just that those reasons tend to strike me as stupid, or not worth the trouble of me re-learning any vocabulary. Here are a few examples of slight language changes and naming protocols that I absolutely refuse to adopt:

1. I like history. In fact I love history. I love reading about it. When I started studying history, there was a very simple dividing line for everything: B.C. and A.D. Everyone knows this. Except now, the political correctness fascists have determined that we can't use them any more. Why, they stand for "Before Christ" and the Latin term for "In the year of our Lord!" Sheesh, if we keep using language like that, next thing you know we'll be living in a theocracy. So now, if you look at history texts written in the last decade or so, B.C. has morphed into "B.C.E." or "Before the Common Era." That means that the past 2008 years are "the Common Era." Ah, pure poetry I tell you! What bugs me about this change more than anything is that the sniveling academics responsible for it didn't even have the courage of their convictions. If you want to de-Christianize history, then why does the so-called "Common Era" coincide exactly with the traditional year assigned to the birth of Christ? What else happened that year that we're using as our historical milestone? I propose that if we are going to stop using B.C. and A.D. then we need to change the dividing line between eras. I propose we use the year formally known as 1946 A.D. as the starting point and we use B.B.B. and A.B.B. as our terms: Before the Baby Boom and After the Baby Boom. I figure that's when most of the people responsible for this kind of nonsense assume that history really started anyway - as soon as they were born.

2. If you're my age or older, you remember that when you were in school and were learning about China, the names of things were memorable, easy to pronounce and spell. The capital was Peking. Their most important political figure in the past 100 years was Mao Tse Tung. David Caradine used Kung Fu, which of course he mastered using chi. It's all different now. Somewhere along the line, somebody decided that the letters used to replicate the sounds of Chinese weren't confusing enough for the average American. Now the capital is Beijing. The homicidal maniac with the peaceful smile was named Mao Zedong. It turns out Caradine was beating up people with Gongfu and commanding the mysterious force of qi. Never mind the fact that Chinese doesn't even use our alphabet, so there's no "correct" spelling. Forget about the fact that even if there was a correct spelling the average American can't even speak European languages closely related to English without totally butchering them, much less mastering the intricacies of Mandarin Chinese. Someone (probably the reprehensible Communist government of the PRC) decided that we needed to change everything. To heck with that. Next time I'm in the mood to eat a waterfowl I'm going to order Peking Duck, and if the folks in "Beijing" don't like it, I'll take my chances that they will be unable to come over here and run over me with a tank.

3. Sticking with geography, when exactly did Hawaii officially become Hawai'i? Oh I know, you're supposed to make a distinct stop and say something like "huh-wah------ee." We all do that, right? Uh huh. Maybe if I ever go there, I'll see the light, but until then, everything I know about those islands I learned from Jack Lord, and I'll stick with the unenlightened pronunciation, and the spelling to match thank you very much.

4. I refuse to call any sports stadium by the name of its corporate sponsor - even the new ones. It was bad enough when we were told that "Candlestick Park" had become "3-Com Park" or that monstrosity in Cincinnati got even uglier when it changed its name to "Cinergy Field." Now the new stadiums start out with the corporate names and I still can't keep up with them. They change about every other year. I know that the Baltimore Ravens used to play in something called "PSI Net Stadium" or some such. The stadium is still there, but it's had three or four names. Screw that. I used to know the name of all the MLB parks and NFL stadiums. Now all I need to know is that a game is in Pittsburgh or Seattle or Atlanta. If they want me to say the name of the corporate sponsor, they can pay me for my advertising services.

I could go on and on, but I've probably worn every one out with my stick-in-the-mud, old man crustiness by now. I'm done kavetching about it. For the time being, I'll be happy to just bide my time until I can start making my kids roll their eyes at all my verbal anachronisms the way my parents did. I'll still be "taping" shows with the DVR; talking on my "cordless phone" well after the last corded phone has taken its place in the Smithsonian; and posting things on the "Internet" years after they've given this a new name or it's morphed into something barely recognizable by today's technology. And then, just to really confuse them, some morning I'll ask if they want oleo on their toast.

New Blog Labels

If you'll look at the bottom of the postings so far and in the middle of the right-hand side of the blog, you'll see new labels. I added them thinking that, as much as we're hopefully going to post, it would be nice to be able to search by your name or by a category. Listed are the labels which seem to fit so far including all of the blog authors' names.

Adding a label(s) is easy. When you're on the page typing out your new post, look at the bottom right of the box you're typing in and you'll see "Labels for this post." You can click on "Show all" in the right corner for a list of labels that have already been used, click on the label(s) you want to have added to your post, and you're done (like your author name). Or, let's say none of the labels listed really fit....you can always type in the new word you want to use as a label and, when you publish the post, your word will be added to the labels' list. The list is in alphabetical order, which should help with ease of use.

I also wanted to let you guys know that anyone (or everyone) can be a blog administrator. I've just done it so far to get the blog started...didn't want anyone to think I HAD to be the blog admin. If you want to also be an admin for the blog (we can easily have multiple ones), just let me know and it's a simple click of a button to have admin privileges added for you.

Olympics essay from 2004

In honor of the Summer Olympics (I'm watching the amazing Opening Ceremony right now), I'm posting a personal essay I wrote for an online blog for the last summer games in 2004.
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Forget about the upcoming presidential election, I'm all about the Olympics right now.

I can't even wrap my brain around what these people are able to do. I could never be a high-level athlete. From puking every minute to stopping competition every two minutes so I could go to the bathroom from nerves, I don't think I would be in medal contention.

Never mind the fact I can't seem to tell my left from my right ("go to your left, JKC. Okay, now go to your other left.") and my gross motor skills are sadly lacking. People used to argue over who's team had to take me. Plus, just now one of my coworkers brought me my purse, which she found on the roof of my car, so apparently I don't have that "focus thing" in my favor either.

The ages of the athletes always blow me away. Michael Phelps, the swimmer going for eight medals, is nineteen. NINETEEN! Look, I partied so much I don't even remember nineteen. Those little girl gymnasts...fifteen, y'all. At fifteen, I figured out that if I took drama and band, I wouldn't have to be in gym anymore.

I don't watch a lot of sports, but for these next couple of weeks I become an expert on all things from tae kwon do to badminton. I start rating everything from entrances into the water to dismounts from the pommel horse. A perfect example is synchronized diving. My first reaction was, "What?" But, after only a minute of watching, I was like "oh, the girl on the right entered the water WAY before the girl on the left. The judges are SO gonna deduct for that."

The sacrifices these kids make for those few seconds are incredible. There was an interview with an American gymnast who described how expensive training is and went for a full week eating only Power Bars because she couldn't afford food from the training costs. Understand, in my world, ANYTHING that keeps me away from complete meals plus snacks would be immediately cut out of my life.

So, hope everyone is enjoying the Olympics. Please be amazed and in awe of the sacrifices all of these kids have made to be there. Be as happy for a fifth place finish that was that athlete's personal best as you are for a gold medal performance. Plus, I think the men's team has a good shot at a medal in badminton.

Poetry Contest

I hope you don't mind if I post this. I found it in our local newspaper today and thought some of you might be interested.

Poetry Contest
$100,000 in Prizes Awarded Annually!
We are now accepting poetry for the Open Amateur Poetry Contest. The contest is open to everyone and entry is free. However, you must hurry, the deadline for entering your poem is September 30, 2008.

All of those who enter will receive a personal critique of their poem. Most of the prize money will be awarded to new and unpublished poets, many of whom have never entered a poetry competition before. To enter, mail one original poem, 24 lines or less, on any subject and in any style, to:
Poetry Contest
Editor 246-1
305 Madison Avenue
Suite 449
New York, NY 10165

There is a picture of a ribbon that says -- Reader's Choice Ranked #1

I don't know anything about this other than it was in our local newpaper. Try it if you like. Who knows, you might actually get paid.. :)
Anyway, good luck to any of you that try...

Welcome!

As you can see on the left, we have another new author to welcome to the blog. Hi, Randie...we're so glad you're here!

We have three other email invites out there, so fingers crossed there will be more people to welcome soon.

My Vindicator

Do you ever feel that you have an enemy that is so great that it's only objective is to destroy you? Or is it only me? Am I alone in this fight for my survival in this world? What can my purpose be that this enemy set out to destroy me so many years ago and is relentless even today?

As I begin to see the light and hope begins to rise up inside me, my enemy immediately becomes threatened and seeking its most appropriate vessel uses him most effectively. His chosen vessel begins to berate me with words that scream loudly in my head. As I fight his onslaughts, and as I try to defend myself, every word I speak is turned against me, even in my tears he screams my inadequacies at me, scorning my tears as a weakness that I should be ashamed of. He grins at my lack of control, gaining power in my loss of it. As I make my stand face to face he finds pleasure in my stance. He sees that he has roused my old self, my calm, loving disposition is beginning to disappear, and he begins to revel in the old me rising to the occasion. He knows he is winning again, he knows that I am weak to his temptations. His lies slither out of his tongue with such a vile sting. Part truth, part lie, twisted with great expertise that the very mission of these words find their target as they penetrate into my gut. I start to lash back at him wanting more than anything to destroy him, but I stop myself and begin to pray. I ask God to help me, that I not to be used as a weapon to cause more pain. God gives me strength to weaken in my stance and I lean on him as I quit fighting. My enemy unexpectedly retreats. Exhausted from my restrain I lay my head on my pillow and I cry myself to sleep. I awaken the next day with my enemy's vessel at my feet. Unlike before, he appears broken and full of sorrow. He leaves on his own accord to seek out the demons that rage inside of him, and as I watch him drive away, I realize that my enemy is also his! I rejoice that I had the presence of mind to reach for my vindicator, my banner, Jehovah Nissi, letting him fight my battle for me breaking the enemy's power over me and foiling his plan to use me as his vessel against another. Today, I am tired, but I find comfort in the scriptures and I rest assured that tomorrow will bring a renewed strength.

Scripture references:
Duet 20: 3; 4
Eph 1: 19-22
Eph 6: 10-12

Another Writing Link

I thought of Stan's Student when I first saw this link for "Write a Novel" (http://crofsblogs.typepad.com/novel), but it has some great pdf. download articles with topics such as the elements of a successful story, ten points on plotting, scene construction, and symbolism, which I know will be helpful to me in writing my creative piece for class.

For those of you who may have missed it in a previous comment, Stan's Student provided the link to the National Novel Writing Month site or nanowrimo for short. He has been an active participant in this event and has won the last three years! He's promised, as the time gets closer, to blog about the contest and his participation.

(Wow, reading over this, it's obvious Lesson 7 hasn't sunk in yet. Yikes!!!!)

My Creed

Too many years ago to remember, while some of the events in the "Story of Stories" were unfolding, I needed to work out who I was and would be about. No current bow existed to trace the source of my arrow of life, thus came a calling to define a target so the arrow would have a place to land. So the following is...My Creed.

It is my right to be decidedly me;
not a creation of those around me -- provided I will!
I look for chances to explore -- rather than to snore.
I want to risk; to dream and to build,
to fail and to succeed.
I refuse to trade favors for favors in order to get ahead.
I prefer the challenge of life to the guaranteed existence;
the thrill of accomplishment to the stale calm utopia.
I will not trade my dignity for a handout.
I will never cower before any master,
yet offer all praise, glory and respect to my God in Heaven.
It is my decision to stand erect, proud and unafraid;
to think and act for myself, enjoy the benefit
of God's creations and those created through my hands,
and to face the world boldly and say, this I have done.
All this is what it means to be me.

Another Interesting Writing Link and a Blog Bizness Note

(Everyone: Please let me know if you don't want these types of postings. I wasn't sure if any of you would be interested in links to online writing resources or not and didn't know if I should add any to our writing links section. We've got a great group of people here and we should all have a say so as to what should be posted here or not. I think we're all comfortable enough with each other to be able to express our honest opinions on these types of issues without hurting anyone's feelings.)

Another great writing site I'm falling in love with is http://www.writerswrite.com/ It seems overwhelming at first with the huge amount of information that hits you on that first page. But, I've found some great sections on the left hand side near the middle and bottom of the page. The two sections I've spent a lot of time in are the "Special Section" (which has every form of writing you can image) and the "Resources" section (which includes articles, interviews with authors, writers conferences, writers groups, writing contests, and, the bane of all our existences, grammar searches). Also, under "Jobs and Markets" there's an incredible "Guidelines Database" (for those interested in being published) which includes a search engine which lets you search by keywords (like specific genres), pay status, etc.

And just so you know, Ann Garci, I searched it by the keyword "Christian," checked all pay sources, and checked poetry and there were quite a few publishers to choose from.....HINT HINT!!!!!

Our blog is really picking up steam, which is incredible! I just wanted to let those of you who aren't familiar with Blogger to know that our page is only going to show a certain number of posts, which may not be all the posts for that day. If you scroll to the bottom of the blog, under the last post listed, you'll see "Older Posts" on the right. Click on that and you'll be able to see the posts before the ones on the first page so you won't miss any of the incredible writing being posted here (or the rants depending on how our writing went, haha!).

Mother

Several years ago, I had a serious disease and other related health problems, I was in a nasty divorce situation and had no job or money and a child to support. Mothers day was coming up and I just didn't have a thing for my mom. The following poem was all I had for her. She still has the original tucked away in what she calls her "treasure drawer"

MOTHER

As a young girl from the country you came,

You met a young boy and walked down the lane.

Excitement and love filled your head,

You and the young boy were wed.

There was a place for more love in your home,

You wanted children of your very own.

First came Sally with eyes of blue,

Oh my, if then you only knew.

Second came Harry with curly hair,

With all curiosity he really does care.

Third came Daniel so big, gentle and meek,

A handsome little baby when he was asleep.

Ma-ma, the first word of these three,

What a joyful sound it came to be.

Nothing for ourselves could we do,

All our needs were met by you.

As days went by like turning gears,

We grew into our teenage years.

Our trials and troubles came by the miles,

But we were always met with loving smiles.

With questions and problems to you we came,

No matter how big or small you answered us just the same.

Our mistakes and failures you are not at fault,

If we had just listened like we had ought.

Your deep devoted friendship and love,

Came to us, through you, from God above.

The struggles and sacrifices you have made,

Has surely a crown in glory laid.

The values of life that we have been taught,

To our children we pray have been brought.

Our childhood years have long been gone,

Most of your grandchildren are now grown.

Even some have children of their own,

We are so thankful for you they have known.

On this one most celebrated day,

To give you due thanks, there just is no way.

Your love, guidance, leadership and total giving,

Made all our lives worth living.

I am very hesitant about hitting this publish post, I feel as though I will bare my soul. I know this isn't professional writing but it's just a little something I have done. I hope you enjoy reading this. Well here goes the publish post button..............

Possible Writing Links of Interest

Science-fiction writer Michael A. Burstein has a livejournal blog at http://mabfan.livejournal.com/ with some interesting links for writers along the right-hand side near the bottom of the blog.

If you're a science-fiction writer, you'll be in heaven with all the information he includes. But, even if you're not part of the SF genre, there's a couple of websites he links to that I think would be of interest to any writer: The Grand Index of Writing has some amazing articles for beginning writers regarding ideas, word usage, the common mistakes of beginning writers, etc. that I'm really enjoying. Then, for those who have publishing dreams, the links for Robert J. Sawyer: Landing an Agent and Ralan's Publishing Index have some wonderful information.

Have fun!

Ann Garci Poem

Ann Garci is in the same boat as a lot of us "older" (clears throat) computer users in that this blog "thing" is all new (the only reason I know what little I do is to try and barely keep up with my godchildren who, I swear, were born knowing how to do these sorts of things!). Anyway, she posted a beautiful poem in the comments section of GU's poem posted below. I hope she doesn't mind, but I thought I would add it as a blog entry so we can all enjoy it!

A Single Tulip Worshiped In The Wind

I watched a tulip as it danced in the wind
It seemed to be dancing to an audience of one
It knew not that I watched, as it swayed to and fro
Lost in the essence of its creation, it worshiped all alone
Not a care, not a matter for it knew of its beauty
And its purpose in that field
To worship its creator till its last petal withered.

Oh how I longed to be that tulip
So sure and so perfect
It had no fear of lack
It worshiped without hindrance
It worshiped without doubt
To be lost in the presence of God
I could only imagine.

To what is my purpose as I stand here alone?
To be lost in the essence of my creation
To know of my beauty
To worship my creator until my last breath taken
Ah, I begin to sway to and fro and release my soul
For now I know, the tulip is but a secondary thought made for me
For I am the marvel that God himself has breathed.

(A.G....I hope I have this formatted correctly. I ran into a couple of problems with cut and paste!)

Pen names

Like SF in the class, I'm concerned the quantity of my posting may get annoying, so please don't hesitate to let me know. I've grown a very thick hide over the years, so its very difficult to offend me.

Ann Garci, in explaining the root of her pen name, inspired me to ask you all how you arrive at, or determine if you need, a pen name? Are there rules to follow, suggestions on rythym or sylable count or anthing at all? My moron meter is peaking here, can you tell?

GU

Plug for the Tub

If I don't provide a prelude, this might seem really odd. This was written many years back when I was remembering the past and gnashing my teeth over the future.


The hands have spun a million times or more, and the clock continues to tick. The gala tour is over, and the mortgage remains mostly unpaid. But though the gears in the timepiece of existence still turn, and my knowledge of the house is strong, I must find the restroom to flush the waste of other times. Oh great...where's the plunger?

My skin is crawling with parasites of experience. My feet are soiled by the sands of many streets. While I draw water from the future to wash away the past, the faster the flowage, the more rapid the drainage. Has anyone seen the plug for the tub?

Green

Oh, pray I, that when I've been,
I'll naught have missed the color green,
Her hue's of life when brought in spring,
Cause even the rocks to sing.
She tells us true when winter ends,
And gallantly the browns defend,
Her undergirth of strength they be,
Though ne're as beautiful as She.
So, say I, now that I've gone,
Live, you, to adore her lovely gown,
For though a promise She may not be,
A sign of a keeping, that is She.

I wrote this in 1993 one early April morning when I was awestruck by the greens of Spring. Its always been one of my favorites, and thought I'd introduce with a question as to how much interest there is in poetry here, too. Let 'er rip, folks, I'm ripe for comments.

GU

A bit more blog bizness....

First, a big hello to GeekUnderling! Our group is going to be great!

I wanted to let everyone know, in case you missed the message, that Ann had to delete a couple of posts where I included my email address and asked others to send theirs to me if they wanted to join. As part of the school's policy, exchange of emails addresses is not allowed on the discussion boards due to liability issues. However, we can direct people to the site itself (http://www.beginningwritersunite.blogspot.com/) and tell them that information on how to join is on the right-hand side of the blog.

Also, I've included the links Ann has shared with us on the right hand side...if there are any other links you would like added, just let me know. That's why I picked Blogger...the layout and changing thereof is incredibly easy. We can add all types of information and columns on the right.

Okay, this old woman is going to bed. Talk to everyone soon!

Lightning Bugs

This is a piece I wrote in my journal about a month ago. It doesn't have anything to do with the class (I hope that's okay), but I just felt like sharing it.


One night in late June, I was sitting in my sun room, just relaxing and looking out over the back yard. The fireflies were out in force. The scores of little flashing dots showed up crisply against the near-black backdrop of trees in the rearmost portion of the yard. It was quite a light show.

Seeing the fireflies took me back to any number of summer evenings from my childhood. I was never one to go chasing fireflies in order to catch them in a jar, but they were still always a part of the scenery on those summer nights when I would be outside well after dark.

I was reminded of my father. He worked long hours during the summer, twelve or thirteen hour days, usually. He was a manager at the Birdseye frozen vegetable processing plant in town, and summer was their busy season. By the time he got home from work, it was usually approaching dusk. That was his time to tend to his garden, or to redo the yard work that my mother or I had not done to his satisfaction earlier in the day - which was pretty much all of it. He would keep working until it was too dark to see. Then he'd take his usual seat on the picnic table.

My father never sat at our picnic table unless there was a meal being served at the time or he was using it as an outdoor workbench. He preferred to sit on top of it with his feet resting on the bench and his elbows resting on his knees. With his bald head and aquiline nose, he looked like a majestic bird surveying his territory from a perch. On those long summer nights, he would sit on the table and sip beer and smoke a few cigarettes. I would often sit out there with him, partially because it seemed like something of a treat to be outside after dark, but mostly because I was a boy and wherever my dad was seemed like the right place for me to be too.

Dad didn't say a lot. Sometimes he'd comment about the state of his vegetable garden, more to himself than to me. Mostly he sat quietly, looking down with his head resting on his fingertips, moving only to take another sip from the beer or another drag from his Benson & Hedges. When he did the latter, the end of the cigarette would glow a little brighter for a few seconds. That would be followed by the sight of fireflies closing in on his position. Occasionally, he'd take a drag, and one of them would find the glowing butt so irresistible, they would fly directly into his face. The peace and calm of the night would suddenly be interrupted by Dad flailing his arms around, saying, "Shoo! Scat!! Goddamn lightning bugs!" To a seven-year-old, the scene of ones father getting dive-bombed by insects with all the resulting fidgeting and profanity is pure comedy gold. To me, the memory of it still is.

When I look back on those nights, I don't really remember much about what was going on inside the head of the young boy at that picnic table. But the old man who, at the time, was such a mystery, now seems like an open book. He worked like a dog all day to feed his family and pay the mortgage. The house he came home to was no palace, but it was his. With the few remaining hours of the day, he wanted to lose himself in a hobby and some chores around the yard - which, to him, were one in the same. Then finally, he had a chance to unwind and clear his mind enjoying some peace and quiet on a beautiful summer night, with his kid being seen but not heard.

I thought about those things as I sat alone in the sun room looking out on the back yard on a Friday night after a challenging week at work. I sat in the darkness and remembered the old man. And every now and then, my attention would be torn away from thoughts of what happened decades ago by a particularly intense display of insect fireworks in some corner of the back forty.

Goddamn lightning bugs.

Here we go!

Hey all! As you can see in the upper right corner, we've got some great authors added and hopefully more on the way. So far: Sally, Ann Garci (Theresa...awesome pen name!), ShadowFlame, and Stan's Student (Vance). And Ann Garci, didn't you post a mention of the blog earlier in our class discussion site? I didn't see it and wondered if it had been deleted. I didn't know if we should do a separate post there to advertise this group or not...what do you guys think (or is it even allowed)?

Okay, so it's time to use this blog, so I'll take the leap and go first. In my paragraph (from my supposed 500 word creative piece...not sure how that's going to work out!) that I posted to the Revision Discussion group, I said I didn't have a title. I think I may call it "Indifference [in a time vacuum]" as the central themes that keep repeating are time and indifference. The brackets used also point to a repeated theme used in the story.

Anyway, as the story is panning out so far, the character of "she" will have a connection with another character named "the other she." Here is the opening paragraph which introduces the new character:

It had been 19 years, 270 days, 14 hours, and 37 minutes since the other she had left her apartment. Time seemed to drag and fly by simultaneously which seemed to negate the definition of time as finite. The other she couldn’t remember why she stopped going into the world outside of her apartment, although she knew it wasn’t really a conscious decision. It just started with one minute, which extended into two minutes and so on.

So, critique away! I like how the last line starts but hate how it ends, so I know I need to do some revision there. Any thoughts?

Hello everyone!

I'm jkc in OKC (cute, huh?) and I started this blog in hopes that some of my fellow writers from our online beginning writing course would join me. We've had such wonderful camraderie and feedback from each other that I hope the process continues here. Looking forward to seeing all of you here!