Getting To Know You

I read the pieces of Jordan, Tanner, and Glenda today. It was great to get to know a bit about the people I'll be sharing Creative Writing with. 

Jordan's story was really funny. I loved that it was personal to him and a puzzle piece of his own story that he was willing to share. He wrote about how his cousin crashed into a trash can while they were on a bike ride in Florida. The way he described the scene and the crash itself was very humorous. On his piece I commented: 

Hi Jordan! I hope your day is going well.
Most of the time nonfiction stories are perceived as boring, but your piece was so funny! I loved the imagery you used when you described the waves. It was very easy to imagine what that scene must have looked like with you getting hit by the waves. You set up the scene very well for the climactic ending (your cousin hitting the trash can). I almost laughed out loud because I could totally see it in my head! Your story was great, 
Keep writing,
Laura

Then I went on to Tanner's writing. His was a eerie story about a cursed nutcracker. I loved the way he made the story so realistic. He turned an otherwise cheery aura of Christmas into a creepy one and it was really interesting to see a horror type take on that holiday. It gave me shivers of fear. On his piece I commented:

Hey Tanner,
First of all, I'd like to point out that I'm going to have nightmares for the rest of the week. Secondly, I'm a huge fan of horror movies and scary stories, so your piece was right up my ally. You hooked me from the first sentence. I really wanted to see why your character was so haunted! You write in a style where I would have totally believed this was a true story. If you hadn't pointed out the year of 1992 I would have totally been convinced. I love that you described the sleep deprivation of the parents as "zombified". It really added to the creepy undertone. 
Have a good one,
Laura

The third story I read was Glenda's. She has a very unique fiction piece. I doubt anyone in the class, or anyone ever for that matter, has a story like it! It was really creative to me because she told the story from the perspective of sticks of gum, focusing on one particular piece's adventure. It really made me think what other intimate objects could be brought to life through writing! On her piece I commented: 

Good morning Glenda!
Out of the other pieces I've read, yours was very unique. I bet nobody in the class has anything like it which is very refreshing. I really liked how you personified the gum and took the reader on an adventure I'm sure they've never been on before. I love how you described the girls mouth as opposed to the guys. The ending of your story really left the reader wanting to know the stories of the other pieces of gum. 
I can't wait to read more of your stories!
Laura

Marlboro Reds: The Story of a Lost Boy

Author's Note: This is a fictional story inspired by the Marlboro cigarette butt I found on our walk.

 He knew it was a bad habit, but it was one that got him through the day. At this point, anything that made him feel anything other than mediocre would do. He bought the pack this morning before classes, the gas meter in his rusted pickup truck grazing over the “E”. He used the last of his money he earned at the car wash at the gas station, but not to buy gas; instead, he bought Marlboro Reds. He brushed his fingers over the little box in the pocket of his dark washed jeans and sighed. It had only been a week since his mother’s funeral, but it felt like years. He returned to reality, a grimacing chuckle escaped his lips. How ironic that the very thing that killed his mother was the only thing keeping him alive.

His classmates left him alone ever since his mother passed away. They didn’t seem to understand that the one thing he needed in those lonely hours was someone to talk to. His mom was the only person he had left. Well, his mother and the cigarettes. She offered him his first puff at age 12, the first cough beginning his dangerous love affair, and furthering hers. Almost 7 years later, the word “cancer” fell upon his ears. That word was more poisonous than the thousands of chemicals in the cigarettes ever were.  He still remembered her hooked up to all of those monstrous machines, the sterile scent in the air, interrupted by the smell of smoke that he had been so familiar with. He tried to snatch the rolled up death sentence from her hand, but she would always stop him. “Darling”, she whispered, the low rasp of her once beautiful voice filling his ears, “this is the only thing that I can feel anymore. Please let me feel.”

How could he say no? He understood exactly what she was saying, even without a having a life-threatening disease himself.

He straightened his thoughts and returned to the solid, unwelcoming ground of the present. With that, a flood of withdrawal rushed into his body. His head was pounding, the fatigue creeping in behind his golden brown eyes. He always knew how to fix the self-induced pain. Sometimes, he’d almost rather suffer through it than light yet another cigarette, but they were an old friend. They provided him with solace. They would always be there for him. They knew his secrets, his deepest fears, and contained the antidote to curing his pain. They were his best friend and his worst enemy.

After the overwhelming thoughts of all he had been through in the past year, he slipped the cigarette box out of his pocket. He rolled it around in his palms, the quiet music from his car stereo distracting his thoughts. As he ripped away the plastic, exposing the cigarettes to the outside world, he stopped and grabbed the little black lighter from his glove box.  He placed one of the Marlboros upside down in the box for good luck, and took one out for himself. Raising the cigarette to his lips, he heard his mother’s words and turned them into his own silent prayer. “Please let me feel.”

I Am... Laura

“I Am” Poem

I am…

Springfield, Missouri, with its unpredictable weather and varying personalities

my yellow security blanket that when lost, changed to my security polar bear named Cinnamon

annual first day of school photos, taken with disposable cameras to digital cameras to smartphones

a brand new backpack full of unfinished papers, unfulfilled plans, and used gum wrappers

waking up late on chilly Saturday mornings, scalding coffee, and the invitation of tapping rain on my window

spinning records, late night phone calls with friends when I should be asleep, and burning lavender scented candles in my room

polaroid photos that capture the memories of a lifetime within seconds, clothes pinned and hung on a long piece of twine

stacks of blank CDs waiting to be filled with my favorite collections of songs

hour long car rides on the highway going nowhere, the stars as my only witness

showing up either too early or too late

barely having enough money or time to go out with friends but going out anyway

the twinkling street lights behind me of the city I know best

the twinkling green eyes in front of me of the person I know best

a secret wish of eternal childhood

someone refusing of change

a book, constantly starting new chapters until it reaches its conclusion