Author’s Statement
As an English major, I do a lot of writing. However, I was not super comfortable or familiar with creative writing previous to taking this class. One thing that I particularly learned about myself while diving into the creative writing process is that I tend to overthink. While that might not always be a bad thing, it’s not helpful when it comes to letting creative juices flow. Though I enjoyed writing fiction the most, it is one of the “harder” writing genres because there is so much opportunity to make it about ANYTHING. While I like that aspect, I typically turned to realistic fiction in my pieces this semester. I was nervous about writing poetry because it is not my favorite thing, but I actually really enjoyed experimenting with the different processes of writing and formatting poetic pieces. I’ve definitely noticed a recurring theme of time, family, and love in most of my pieces, and I think that is because those are the aspects of life that I tend to focus on personally.
I enjoyed our workshops specifically because I had never really written anything to be read by other people previous to taking this class. I enjoyed hearing everyone's thoughts about my different pieces throughout this semester. I think it was helpful for everyone on both ends, especially since we took turns reading and critiquing work from everyone in the class. Not only did we create amazing work, but we also created a safe space for people to receive feedback and praise. There were several students that also went on to submit their work to organizations and contests like Writer’s Block and Hear My Voice, and I’d like to think that was made possible by the conversations we had in class about how proud we should all be of the pieces we’ve worked so hard on completing.
Below is a portfolio of some of the work I have written this semester. I’ve enjoyed experimenting with different fonts, structures, and formats for each piece. I’ve also concluded that, while taking all of those things into account definitely creates a deeper meaning, sometimes a simplistic approach works wonders for the words themselves. There is always room to expand when it comes to art, and some of the things I have included certainly are not yet in their final form. The thing is, I have learned a lot in my almost 22 years on Earth, but there is still a lot to learn from. Writing from experience takes a lot of work, and I still have work to do and things to experience. Needless to say, I am proud of what I have written this semester, but this is only the beginning.
Pause
In the morning,
when I awake
everything has stopped
Frozen in time,
the earth won’t quake,
birds sit still in the treetop
The sun won’t budge,
wind will not shake
my heart suddenly drops
People pass by,
yet they can’t escape
both prisoner and cop
And who are you,
eyes glossed opaque?
how I wish we could swap
I am left alone,
in The Twilight Zone
merely a lonesome prop
What happened to our humankind,
leaving the timeline misaligned?
A Waitress’s Routine
I clock in at 5:05. Hair curled and makeup done.
Paint a smile over my tired face. Tie my apron around my waist.
A family of three just sat down and it’s my time to shine.
Greet the table cheerily. Ask what they would like to drink.
Go behind the bar. Get the drinks.
Drop the drinks off at the table and take their order.
What’s good to eat here? My favorite is the veggie flatbread.
What if I’m not a veggie person? All of our burgers are super popular.
I’ll take a bacon mushroom swiss burger and an order of fries.
Thank the table. Walk behind the bar.
The glass rack is full. Put the order in first.
Type the order into the computer and send it back to the kitchen.
Take the glasses to the kitchen. The dishwasher is full.
Set the glass rack on the sink. Try not to drop it this time.
Quickly unload the dishwasher and put the dirty glasses in.
The phone rings. Answer the phone.
Can I place a to-go order? Sure thing, what can we get for ya?
Two fish dinners for Jane. We’ll have that ready in 15 minutes.
Thank them and hang up the phone.
The kitchen calls my name. My food is up.
Check the ticket. Stab the ticket.
Balance two plates on one arm and hold the third in my free hand.
Drop the food off. Ask if I can get them anything else.
Can I have a cup of ranch? Go back to the kitchen for a cup of ranch.
Take the ranch to the table and ask how the food is.
A new table. Grab menus and silverware.
Take a deep breath and start the routine again.
A Grandma’s Love
When I miss your call
And you leave a short voicemail
hey string bean it’s grandma
Even though I have caller-ID
When I mention that I ate a specific food
And it was really good
You’ll go to the store
To buy copious amounts of it
And you say
i have a little surprise for you
When I come to visit
And you say
hey girl i need your help ordering something online
Even though you could do it without me
When I leave work
I’ll call you to talk about our days
On the drive home
And when we hang up you say
love you
and don’t forget moodies
What If?
What if I owned chickens that laid rainbow-colored eggs?
And what if there were ice pack pants made for itchy legs?
What if I could pilot a helicopter and put out forest fires from the air?
And what if I could just teleport all that water up there?
What if animals could talk back to me?
And what if they asked me to feed them raspberries and brie?
What if social media was never invented?
And what if all vomit was pretty and sweetly scented?
I know what you’re thinking,
It all sounds insane
That could never happen,
What’s going on in your brain?
And I’m not saying it will happen
Though maybe some of it could
But what if it did happen?
Maybe then everything would be good
Graduation
I wake up at 8 a.m.
the windows in my bedroom are open
it’s cool and dewy outside
the air smells like fresh-cut grass
my family is in town to watch me walk
and get my high school diploma
I shower and blow-dry
my blonde shoulder-length hair
whoosh, brush, whoosh
and brush some more
quickly add some curls to my hair
and shake them out,
put my bright purple gown on
over my white dress
while my family finds their seats in the gym
I meet with my friends in the cafeteria,
Purple and yellow-painted beehives
line the walls
The exact same spot we gathered each day,
in the morning before school
Before we could drive
and we had to take the bus
Before friendships fizzled out
And we all slowly grew apart
We did the senior walk
on the last day of school
And I relived all my old memories
In the halls of my elementary school
Little love letters
that scatter the playground
scars from kickball
And blisters from the monkey bars
At the end of a chapter,
or perhaps a book
an epilogue is left unwritten
Because I’m not really finished
My family smiles and waves
from the gymnasium bleachers
It’s my turn to walk across the stage,
I shake some hands
and smile big
Then return to my seat
Though it is rainy,
we take pictures outside
As the sun occasionally peeks in
Looking through the scattered clouds
My mom says we should go out to eat
So we walk to our cars
As I wait to turn out
of the packed parking lot
I hang my tassel,
on my rearview mirror
The Casino
Today I went to the casino with $100 in my pocket. I was amazed at the number of people gambling on a Sunday morning. There were old people pushing their walkers through the endless aisles of slot machines. I sat down at the Sex and the City-themed machine. I slowly lost the feeling in my toes as I watched the woman on the machine next to me celebrate her $200 win. My palms began to sweat as I checked my remaining balance on the machine. $11.74. I quietly kick myself for choosing this machine instead of the one to my left. It could’ve made all the difference. Why am I never as lucky as the people I end up sitting next to? And yet, I keep going back to the casino just to lose all my money. I guess I’ll continue to hope my luck might one day change.
Today I went to the casino with $100 in my pocket. I was amazed at the number of people gambling on a Sunday morning. There were old people pushing their walkers through the endless aisles of slot machines. I sat down at the Sex and the City-themed machine. I slowly lost the feeling in my toes as I watched the woman on the machine next to me celebrate her $200 win. My palms began to sweat as I checked my remaining balance on the machine. $11.74. I quietly kick myself for choosing this machine instead of the one to my left. It could’ve made all the difference. Why am I never as lucky as the people I end up sitting next to? And yet, I keep going back to the casino just to lose all my money. I guess I’ll continue to hope my luck might one day change.
Garage
Grandma and Grandpa live in a one-story house with three bedrooms and a garage attached to the laundry room. When we were young, all of us young kids would gather in the garage to play while the adults conversed in the house. The garage was like a second living room, really; It had the classic middle-class family “back-up” refrigerator stored with cases of water and a variety of other sugary drinks. Grandpa always had a tub of ice cream or a box of popsicles to share with us in the freezer. Grandma’s workout equipment would line one side of the room while Grandpa’s toolboxes would be on the opposite wall. The floor was lined with a thin, red carpet that just barely cushioned the cold, cement floor when we fell from playing a little too rough. A TV was hung on the wall next to the propane heater; A small cabinet set just below it filled with all the Disney movies you could ever dream of on VHS. We’d build a fort with all the pillows and blankets we could find in the house and fall asleep watching Cinderella while munching on apple slices with peanut butter and chocolate milk that Grandma would bring in for us from the kitchen.
As time went on and we all got older, we stopped visiting as much. Time and distance allowed us to grow apart, and eventually, those fun-filled nights at Grandma’s house were just an obscure memory in the back of our minds. I slowly watched as Grandma and Grandpa got older and the space in the garage went from being “our place” to Grandpa’s makeshift man cave. All of the card games and small trinkets we left at Grandma’s over the years are kept safe in an extra drawer in the back of the garage, though they remain untouched, collecting dust. One day when Grandma and Grandpa have passed we will all gather one last time at their house to sort through abandoned belongings. We will sit on the floor in the garage on top of old comforters and clothes that still linger with the smell of two of our favorite people in the world while we reminisce on the fun we used to have. We will hold each other tight while we laugh and cry. To the outside world, it’s just a plain-old garage; To us, it is a childhood safe haven filled with memories that we will dream about reliving once it’s far too late.
Untitled
I found the card you wrote to me.
It’s slept in the bottom of my dresser drawer for the last two years.
If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to call me.
I wanted to pick up the phone.
But you’re not mine to call anymore.
And I’m no longer yours to answer to.
To The Apple Fest
Johnny Appleseed died in Fort Wayne, Indiana in 1845. Every year, the Johnny Appleseed Festival is held to celebrate everything apple-related and commemorate him.
The brisk October air whisks through my hair as we wait for the bus to take us to the fairgrounds. It is damp outside, it seems to rain every year during the festival, and I made sure to wear my waterproof boots to tread through the everlasting mud. We sort through the food and craft vendors listed on the brochure and pick out where we want to stop first. Excitedly, we board the bus and dream about the different foods we are about to encounter. The velvet seats are printed with colorful designs and we trace them during the ride to kill time. The bus drops us off at the entrance and everyone files out in a single line, patient yet eager at the same time.
Stepping into the apple festival is like traveling back in time. The women at the vendor stations are dressed in long gowns and the men are dressed in white button-down shirts and breeches. There is a live band playing music on banjos and people line-dancing for entertainment. There is a candle-making station and an area to make corn-husk dolls. Sometimes you’ll find Johnny Appleseed or Abraham Lincoln dressed up to take pictures with people and give educational insight about the history of the festival.
The smell of burning wood chips and delicious foods fills the air. There are people at different booths cooking food in giant, cast-iron pots over an open fire. Somehow it smells both savory, like smoked pork, and sweet, like apple cider donuts. My favorite thing to do at the apple festival is eat all of the great food that is offered. Apple-smoked buffalo boneless wings. Chocolate-covered fresh fruit kabobs. Apple cider, both hot and cold. White chicken chili with jalapeno cornbread. Chicken and Noodles. Beef and Noodles. Deep-fried apple fritters. Smoked turkey legs. Caramel apples. Homemade apple butter. Absolute heaven to the taste buds.
While we eat we walk through the craft barns and look at all the handmade goods. Soaps, blankets, seasonal decorations, wooden-crafted toys, and jewelry. There are also demonstrations for people to watch as they walk around. Sheep shearing, quilting, weaving, and spinning.
I love the history behind it all. I love going with my favorite people each year. I love the fact that you’ll never eat a bad dish there. I love that, even though everything is almost the same every year, going to the apple festival is still my favorite thing to do and my favorite place to be.
Thoughts of a Dreamer
Words will swell at the dreamer’s will,
disintegrate and wither away,
circling themselves around the drain.
Slippery pages edged with guilt
A shallow bowl filled with tears
Save the curiosities of life as it is lived
Let us persevere before we forget,
while the images remain vivid,
and lively to the mind’s eye.
The Wife
I pulled up to Mr. Elrod's driveway right off the edge of town and slowed down just enough to slowly turn right into the entrance. His driveway was long and clouded by a tunnel of low-hanging trees. It was rainy out today, and the trees shielded my squad car from the downpour. When I reached the run-down one-story home and shifted the cruiser to park. As I approached the front door I stifled the smell coming from the house. It reeked of rot, and I couldn’t tell if it was oozing from the garbage bag that sat on the front porch or if there was something behind the fence to the backyard that I just couldn’t see.
Tom Elrod was a strange, reserved man that worked for a manufacturing company nearby. Nobody in town knew him real well, but his wife, Sue, was something like an angel, or that’s what almost everyone in town always says. She is a short, simple-looking woman with caramel-colored hair and a rather thin build. Though she is plain to look at, she has an amazing personality, and that is what everyone seems to love about her. I’d seen Sue Elrod a couple of times when I visited the local farmer’s market over the summer and she always had a big smile on her face. She sold canned goods and homemade baked goods that she would make in her free time. My wife brought home her banana bread cookies one time and they were to die for.
This morning I received a call from Mrs. Whitlock, Sue’s good friend, saying that Sue hadn’t shown up to their book club meeting last night. She tried to call the Elrods’ home phone, but nobody would pick up. Mrs. Whitlock said that it was unusual for Sue to not call if she weren’t coming and asked if I would do a welfare check on the home. Though I was sure it isn’t a huge deal, I didn’t have anything else on my agenda for today so I decided to leave the office right after I hung up the phone.
I knocked on Elrod’s door three times. Knock Knock Knock. No answer.
“Mr. and Mrs. Elrod,” I said, “It’s Sheriff Graves.”
I knocked twice more before the door handle swung open several inches. I couldn’t see him very well, but I could tell he hadn’t brushed his hair or bothered to get dressed yet. Maybe I woke him up with all the knocking.
I explained to Mr. Elrod that someone had called looking for his wife and I was stopping by to check and make sure that everything was alright. He assured me everything was fine.
“Mind if I hear that from your wife?” I asked.
“She’s not here right now, Sheriff. She can’t talk. Maybe you can check back later.” He said before slamming the door in my face.
I looked over the outside of the house once more before turning away from the porch and heading back to my car. Something seemed off, but I couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly. I didn’t quite believe Mr. Elrod’s excuse, and I was determined to figure out why. I drove down the road into a clearing in the wooded area alongside the road. I pulled in and parked my car so that it was facing the road, but not completely visible to those that might pass by. My cruiser was hidden from view, though I wasn’t too far from the road’s edge. After an hour or two of watching, I watched Elrod pass by in his baby blue beaten 1970s Chevy C-10 with rusted-out fenders.
I waited a couple of minutes just in case he happened to see my car and turn around. When I was sure he was gone, I made my way out of the clearing on foot and ran back to his house.
I knocked on the door a few more times. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. I shielded my eyes so I could see in through the low-reaching windows. I walked along the perimeter of the house and called for Mrs. Elrod a few times No response.
I happened to notice the wooden gate was unlocked and I made my way into the backyard. There was a wheelbarrow full of rotting vegetables and eggshells that was propped up against the fence and another one full of dirt. There was a large hole in the yard; Likely for a compost area given the spoiled produce. A sliding screen door that led to the back porch happened to be unlocked, which gave me a direct entrance to the house. I didn’t know where Elrod was headed when I saw him leaving the house, but I knew that it was a possibility he could return at any moment. I quietly made my way through the home, being sure to not make any noise or leave any trail of wet, muddy footprints. There was a large window at the front of the home adjacent to the small kitchen. I noticed the sink was full of dirty dishes and there was a load of dirty laundry scattered across the living room couch. Certainly doesn’t seem like a well-kept house. Mighty unusual given that Sue Elrod is a stay-at-home wife.
I heard a car pull into the drive and quickly peered out the large window on the other side of the house. I could hear movement outside the house but I couldn’t see anyone out front. I heard the doorknob on the front door wiggle a little bit. I swiftly tiptoed my way to the back of the house and slipped out the way I came in. When I made my way to the front of the house there wasn’t anyone outside. I didn’t even see Mr. Elrod’s beaten truck.
I figured it was worth a shot to try knocking one more time before giving up. Elrod was bound to get back at any point, now. Knock, knock, knock. After a few seconds, Sue Elrod opened the door.
“Hi Sheriff, is everything okay?” She smiled.
“Hello Mrs. Elrod,” I said, a bit confused, really. “Are you okay? I had a call concerning your well-being this morning and just wanted to check-in.”
“Oh, yes of course. I had to visit my mother for a couple of days with no notice. I didn’t even have time to call Ellen Whitlock to let her know I’d be missing book club this week.” She explained. “As a matter of fact, I just got home. My nephew dropped me off because my husband had an appointment in town.”
“Ah, okay,” I said, “I’m glad to hear you are alright. I hope your visit with your mother went well.” I tipped my hat at her, gave her a smile, and turned away.
My mud-caked boots squished their way back down the driveway as I walked back to my cruiser. When I finally returned to my office, completely soaking wet and exhausted, I plopped down at my desk. I sat there flipping through the old, boring paperwork piled high on my desk and closed my eyes, imagining that Sue Elrod hadn’t returned home and that I had found the knife that was missing from the wooden block covered with her blood deep in the hole I saw in the backyard.
“Nothing exciting ever happens here.” I quietly sighed to myself. Then, I picked up my pen and got back to filling out my paperwork.
