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3.The writer must avoid the two essential faults of creative writinga€”those that touch its essence and those that are accidental. 4.The plot should have a beginning, middle, and end, and thus resemble a living organism in all its unity. 5.The beginning and end of the story must be capable of being brought within a single view or theme. 6.Plot should be arranged on the complex plan, one in which change of fortune takes place through reversal of situation, recognition, or both and includes scenes of suffering. 8.Plot can consist of either a single thread or double thread in which an opposite ending occurs for the good and bad characters.
10.Plot should imitate actions that incite pity and feara€”pity as aroused by unmerited misfortune, and fear by witnessing the misfortune of a character like ourselves.
11.This character must be someone who brings misfortune on himself or herself, not through vice or depravity, but by some error or frailty. 13.The writer must focus on the action in the story and the part taken by the characters, and not drift off in several lines of action carried on at the same time.
14.The writer should put the scene before his or her eyes, as if he or she is an actual eyewitness to an event happening while writing. Hero or heroine faces jeopardy that incites in reader emotions of sympathetic fear and anxiety as to the outcome of the situation. Plant the idea or action early, then develop readera€™s understanding by returning to idea or action later in story. Description is the attempt to represent reality by using language to present as directly as possible the qualities of a person, place, object, or event.
1)The Eye of Insight sheds new light by examining inscape, viewing the interior, the shape within the shape of a thing. 2)The All-Accepting Eye examines things that we might rather not see, discards the labels, and searches for the beauty in a flaw, beginning discovery with the thing and not its label. 3)The Gliding Eye observes things in movement through time or space or both, picks up details of the passage, recording birth and decay of sensation at the center of a spinning mind. 4)The Childa€™s Eye observes a thing with the seriousness of a child at play, in a focused, highly concentrated way, without hurrya€”like watching an ant crawl across the ground or observing a dung beetle move a mass five times its size and weight.
5)The Dream Eye fragments reality and reshapes it, perhaps using symbols to penetrate below surface appearances. The Naked Eye merges with the Imaginative Eye to create effective descriptiona€”The Big Picturea€”by making things from, not making things up. New idea built from comparison between two unlike things; tension between two actualities creates possibility, or new meaning.
An Allusion measures a thing against a known cultural or memory tweak by referencing something the reader will know (Allegory, Conceit, direct or indirect reference to other texts (intertextuality), music, movies, etc. Respond to each othera€™s work with respect, depth and thoughtfulness, in a manner that is civil and constructive. Over the Top a€“ material is presented in such a way that reader has a hard time believing the story.
Greenfield, Tennessee, a farm and factory town of twenty-two hundred in the statea€™s rural northwest corner, has never been more than a place between places, one in a long list of towns to be passed through along kudzu-choked U.S.
It was in fact the railroad, and not the nearby Mississippi River, which was the prime mover in the delta land where I grew up. On September 2, 1979, two members of the Weakley County rescue squad found the raped and murdered body of eight year-old Cary Ann Medlin in one of the communitya€™s namesake green fields, not far from the Illinois Central tracks. I remember hearing news of her murder and running to find my first grade yearbook, hoping to fix her school days photo in my mind so I wouldna€™t lose it.
It wasna€™t until twenty-one years later, long after Ia€™d left Tennessee, after Martin and Greenfield had became only places in my mind and that Lovera€™s Lane a Memory Lane that I began to consider the murdera€™s place in a childhood which I now see as violent in so many other ways.
That first grade photo of Cary appeared over and over in the news in the months leading up to the Coe execution, along with another I found printed years before in the Nashville Tennessean and now reprinted as the newspaper re-capped the story: a shot of those rescue workers bent over the soybean plants, long-haired and t-shirted, hunting the girla€™s body. Bob Cowser, Jr.'s first book, Dream Season, was a New York Times Book Review a€?Editor's Choicea€? and a€?Paperback Rowa€? selection and was listed among the Chronicle of Higher Education's best-ever college sports books.
Above our heads, a banner of the eartha€™s children: an African boy with corduroy hair, a fur-muffled Eskimo, a golden girl from Holland. Six years later my first stockings were seamed and I thought of Miss Ranney while I sat on the edge of the bathtub shaving the pale brown hairs.
Rebecca McClanahan has published nine books, most recently Deep Light: New and Selected Poems 1987-2007 and The Riddle Song and Other Rememberings, which won the 2005 Glasgow prize in nonfiction. There was a woman who died while I was in Daffiama; she was young and eight months pregnant. Jillian Schedneck taught Literature and Creative Writing at the American University in Dubai for the 2007-2008 academic year.
Sitting on the edge of her bed, with legs dangling and shoulders slumped, my six-year-old stares at the wall in a trance. She moves to the beat of her own drum, but once in the car, I settle into the morning routine. As the overburdened stretch of I-95 south of the Capitol extends before me, with cars packed in every lane as we creep toward our northbound destinations, I cannot stop the seething anger and indignation that boils within me.
Our passage onto the base is slowed at the gate by the forklift placing barriers in front of the gate shack. I look at her, and though I answer a€?yes,a€? I realize that I was late because I forgot to leave. Being a mother is not just something I do; it is who I am, who I should have been, and who I always want to be. On the way to work, I listen to the news, but then I turn it off and just listen to the sound of my breathing. During my first sixth months of recruiting duty, workdays lasted from 0700 to 2300 Monday thru Friday, and from 0800 to 1800 on Sunday. Making all those a€?numbersa€? was occasionally impossible, especially the a€?three appointments for the next day.a€? The recruiter had to contact the staff non-commissioned officer in charge and report his numbers before securing. Create Scene, driving home, reflecting on the hours spent on the road as a recruiter and the nastiness of the bars carried on Na€™s clothing into the cara€”describe car: At the end of that night, I went home exhausted, sweaty, and smelling like the smoke from the bars, an odor I despise. Create Scene: Pulling into the driveway at 0200 all I could think of was getting a shower and going to sleep. Deodorant soap replaced the smell of sweat and cigarette smoke from my body, but the taste in my mouth was getting worse. A recruiting SNCOIC doesna€™t want his recruiters getting caught with their integrity down but he is willing to risk it to make mission. This is a separate story inside this storya€”N is avoiding the real story by ending with this: Anyway, rumor had it the old man had assaulted a recruiter in Georgia and the Colonel just moved him to a new duty-station, in Daytona Beach, Florida. Like I said before, you have real talent, so dona€™t think badly of your writing when you see my comments. One of the most important things you can do, is to take this piece and determine what is summary and what is scene. When you create your timeline, start with placing the major events in this piece on the line first. Being assigned to recruiting from my usual job as a criminal investigator was both good and bad.
Getting back to those tasks based on statistics, stay with me now as I get through how the numbers worked out. I talked to those people either on the telephone or in person, what we called daily activities. When I returned to my desk from the bathroom, the old sergeant was heading out the door with his Bible. This was the guy I had to call every night and get approval to secure, to leave work and go home at night.
After almost five hours of talking to people on the phone and going out and talking to people at malls, stores and various other public places, I felt done for the day. Dragging ass, I continued to approach people around 7-eleven stores and such, acting like I just happened to be stopping by on my way home from work. After ironing out the details and writing down his contact information, I finally left the musty tavern and drove home, exhausted and sweaty. The glowing numbers on the clock said it was a short night before I had to get back up and start another recruiting day. Born and raised in a small town in the South, David Charles joined the US Marine Corps as a teenager during the Cold War period. There has been quite a bit of misinformation published for this family, and so I think it is important to put down in writing a summary of the documentation that may help researchers find the correct trail to our ancestors. In this document, I will merely summarize a bit of our family history in Germany to clarify our heritage so as to address some of the errors made by others. Another error that has been perpetuated is that our a€?Hans Martina€? must have been a young boy, under age 16, when he came to North America, and that his name was therefore not recorded, but that the a€?Hans Martin Kirschmana€? listed on the passengera€™s list must have been his father. But, to help convince others of that claim, leta€™s begin our story with actual confirming documents from Germany. In this paper, we will start with: Johann a€?Hanssa€? Martin Kirschenmann, who was born on 26 Feb.
Anna Marie born 29 May 1737 -- she had, in 1771, an illegitimate child [male] named Christian born in Pfalzgrafenweiler.
Again, the above record comes from the Pfalzgrafenweiler Jakoba€™s Church record, which was the home parish of Hanss. Now, there is a very interesting item noted for this young woman in her own parish record, which says that: she was married on 28 Jan. This clearly establishes the birth of Johann a€?Hansa€? Martin Kirschenmann (our immigrant ancestor) as the son of a€?Hanss Martin Kirschenmann and his wife, Anna Catharina Schmid, who were married about eleven months following his birth. Not far away, in the village of Goettelfingen (about 6-7 miles northwest of Pfalzgrafenweiler)--as the crow flies, lived the family of Christian Schwarz.
Their oldest daughter, Agnes Schwartz is the one who is of the greatest interest to us, as our immigrant grandmother, but also take note of the names of her brothers, as two of those will come up again later.


Sometime after the birth of their second child, this family moved to Kaelberbronn, which is about four miles to the south of where they were living, and about half way to Pfalzgrafenweiler.
For the source of much of the following information, see: History and Genealogy of the German Emigrant Johan Christian Kirschenmann, Anglicized Cashman by Arthur Weaner and William F. Hans Martin Kirschenmann and his young bride, both about 20 years old, began their migration together down the Rhine River in 1752. This Hans Martin Kirschman was the 20 years old father of our American family by this name. In all of Pennsylvania there were only two Kirschman (Kirschenmann, even by other variant spellings) families that can be found in the time frame between 1752 and 1776. In 1761, after living in PA for nine years, and after succeeding waves of immigrants had arrived in Berks Co. The other family by that name living in Pennsylvania at about that time was that of Johan Christian Kirschman (Kirschenmann) who boarded a ship a€?Hamiltona€?, Charles Smith, Commander, in Rotterdam, Netherlands, and sailed to Cowes, England, arriving at Philadelphia, PA on 9 Nov. Both of the above men were thought to have come from the same general area in Wuerttemberg, Germany. We know the names of the following children of Johann Martin Cashman and his wife, Agnes Schwartz, who were still living in 1804 when Martin made his will in Bedford Co., Virginia--from the gaps between their birth years, there could have been additional children who died earlier than this date. Martin Kirschman was listed as a carpenter, and paid taxes on 1 horse and two cows in Berks Co., PA in 1767 [Tax List of Berks County] and was also listed in the tax list for 1768. During this period, Hans Martina€™s oldest son, George, married in Washington County, MD and had a daughter on 13 Nov.
In 1778 (during the war years) Men were asked to take an a€?Oath of Allegiancea€? to the new United States of America.
There was also a mention of Adam Bumgartner as a resident of Washington Co., MD, in 1778, the year prior to his marriage. I have seen a claim that Martin Kirschman may have moved to Bedford County, PA about at this time and paid taxes there in 1779.
As the Revolutionary War drew towards its close with the surrender of General Cornwallis to George Washington at Yorktown, VA in 1781 thousands of British soldiers were taken as prisoners.
We have not been able to find any other records for our Hans Martin Kirschman after this date--except for his will. This surname is just not close enough to say that this was our a€?Martin Kirschmana€? but it is given here only as a point of interest. Now, we have an even longer stretch without any documentation, but in 1803, Hans Martin & Agnesa€™s youngest daughter, Elisabeth Kirschman, or a€?Betsya€? married Jesse Orendorff in Bedford Coounty, VA (or Botetourt County, VA).
At least by 1804, and probably earlier, our Hans Martin Kirschman and Agnes Schwartz had moved to Bedford County, VA., which occupies most of the area between Roanoak and Lynchburg, VA in southwestern Virginia. This last Will and Testament of Martin Kershmon, deceased, was exhibited in Court and proved by the oath of James Ripley, a subscribing witness and continued for further proof and a Court held for said County the 24th day of September 1804a€”this will was further proved by the oath of Presley Sinclair another subscribing witness and ordered to be recorded. In the 1820 US census, there was only one Cashman family still in the area and this was for a George Cashman in Providence Twp, Bedford Co., PA.
As discussed above, Catherine Kirschman was born about June of 1752 in Amsterdam while her family was en route from Germany to America. Catherine spent her early years in Berks County, PA until she was in her mid-teens, when the family moved to York County, PA, and about 25 years old when they moved to Washington County, MD. There were only two Catherine Kirschmans (by any spelling) that we can find in the USA at that time.
It is not clear where and how Catherine next met David Buck, but since he was absent from his home in Bedford Co., PA from 1785 till about 1789. Shortly after their marriage, they returned to Davida€™s home in Bedford County, PA, where this couple had Davida€™s first child, a son, Thomas Buck, named after Davida€™s father. We do not know the birth years of any of these, but they all would have been born between 1780-86 and probably in Washington Co. David and Catherine remained on Brush Creek in West Providence, Bedford, PA for the rest of their lives. According to David Buck's will, there are two daughters younger than Elizabeth Buck, who was born 2 May 1795.
There were many political and religious difficulties multiplied by physical hardships in continental Europe during the 16th, 17th an 18th centuries to make the mind fertile to emigration to America. In 1681 William Penn received from King Charles II of England, 40,000 square miles of land in America, in liquidation of a debt of 16,000 pounds the British government owed William Penna€™s father. The journey to Pennsylvania consumed from eighteen to twenty six weeks.[3] The first part was the journey from the Palatine down the Rhine River to Rotterdam, in our case, or to some other seaport {note that for the family of Johann Martin Kirschman, the embarkation port was Amsterdam}.
The Passengers were usually crowded, with insufficient and improper food and water, subjecting many to all sorts of diseases which resulted in the death of many, especially the children. It was of early concern to the rulers of the Province of the emigration of the Germans to English Pennsylvania. From the dock, the arrivals go to the City Hall, sign the above oaths, and square their account with the Captain.
To what extent Christian Cashman, his wife and family participated in these sufferings is not known, but it is safe to assume that they endured many trials. It is on these ship and oath lists above referred to, that is found the name of JOHAN CHRISTIAN KIRSCHENMANN. The Foreigners whose names are underwritten, imported in the Ship Hamilton, Commanded by Charles Smith, from Rotterdam, did this day take and subscribe the usual Qualifications. Only the names of males above age sixteen appear, but tradition states he was accompanied by his wife, Catharan (whose maiden name has not been ascertained), and five of his six children,[7] viz: Christian, Barbra, George, John and Susanah.
On the Ship Edinburgh, James Russell Commander, from Rotterdam, {Note: the author made an error here.
At the same source for the year 1767, under name Martin Kirschman, a carpenter, 1 horse and 2 cows, tax L2.[4] The surname Kerschner appears frequently in Berks County records. Martin Kirschman and his wife Agnes, Daughter Elizabeth, born September 14, 1775, baptized November 26, 1775. This is all the data found on this family, and no descendants have been ascertained at the time of writing.
List of inhabitants of Providence Township, Bedford County, Pennsylvania, made subject by law to the performance of militia duty, taken by Peter Morgert, the 27th Jany. Martin Cashman a€“ The Ancestral File of the LDS Church contains a family from a€?Paa€?, where the fathera€™s name is a€?Martin Cashmana€? born 1764 in Pa. I know that Martin Jr and Elizabeth (wife of Jesse Orendorff) moved their families to Breckenridge County Kentucky in the early 1800s. Martin Sr's wife Agnes Schwartz had two brothers, Frederick and Chrisian who located in Botetourt County Virginia around 1790-1800.
There has been quite a bit of misinformation published for this family, and so I think it is important to put down in writing a summary of the documentation that may help researchers find the correct trail to our ancestors.A  For additional information on this family while living back in Germany (Wuerttemberg) before their immigration to America, please see Our Kirschenmann Haritage in Wuerttemberg, Germany by Lionel Nebeker also available on this web-site in the a€?Librarya€?. Another error that has been perpetuated is that our a€?Hans Martina€? must have been a young boy, under age 16, when he came to North America, and that his name was therefore not recorded, but that the a€?Hans Martin Kirschmana€? listed on the passengera€™s list must have been his father.A  Indeed, the man listed on that passengera€™s list (and wea€™ll discuss that below) was our only immigrant by that name--and he was 20 years old at the time of his migration.
Not far away, in the village of Goettelfingen (about 6-7 miles northwest of Pfalzgrafenweiler)--as the crow flies, lived the family of Christian Schwarz.A  He was not born there, and we do not have any indication of his homeland, but he moved there in time to marry Anna Maria Kuhn (b. Determine the point at which protagonist must make a decision in order to achieve goal (crisis). Coherent: Distilled image remains True to Life by reproducing the distinctive features of original. Consistent: Distilled image links the intended meaning from beginning to middle to end creating Unity of Meaning, as in an extended metaphor or exemplification.
Allusion requires an understood knowledge base between writer and reader and recognition of a Cultural Memory Tweak by the reader in most cases.
Elusion is complex and mysterious and requires not just recognition, but discovery of what is absent.
In depicting the motions of the a€?human hearta€™ the durability of the writing depends on the exactitude. Submit line-edit suggestions, marginal comments, and an end comment (summary of your thoughts on the piece) addressed to the writer. Offer an end comment that notes what you believe the work to be about, how you see the work achieving this, and what opportunities you can see for further exploration in this work. My slightly larger hometown of Martin, ten miles north up Highway 45, took its name from tobacco plantation owner Colonel William Martin who donated land for the railroad bed.
Cary had gone on a bike ride with her little brother twenty hours earlier, gotten into a strangera€™s Grand Torino and disappeared.
Her stepfather worked in those days on the assembly line at the Goodyear tire plant in Union City, her mother as a nurse at a Jackson hospital, and before moving to Greenfield in the summer of a€?79 the family had lived for a time in Martin.
As the state of Tennessee prepared to execute Coe for the Medlin murder (its first execution in forty years), I began to understand Bean Switch Road as a rutted track in memory which might run between me and many people I loved and respected, separating me from them. Both Medlin and Coe are as dead as they could bea€”Coe for almost five years at this writing, Cary Ann for nearly a quarter century. He is also the author of Scorekeeping, a collection of coming-of-age essays, and his essays and reviews have appeared widely in American literary magazines, including Missouri Review, Prairie Schooner, American Literary Review, Sycamore Review, Brevity, Sonora Review, Fourth Genre, and Creative Nonfiction. I checked the seams each morning as we stood facing the chalkboard, my hand across a place I called a pocket but she called your heart, and I pledged allegiance to a flag no bigger than my brother's diaper flapping on the line.
I fingered my Brownie badge and renewed my oath to help other people at all times, especially those at home. She has also authored four previous books of poetry and two books of writing instruction, including Word Painting: A Guide to Writing More Descriptively. I didna€™t go to the funeral, but those who did said you could see the baby circling around inside of her, like a hand moving under a sheet. The first one fell with the Twin Towers, and as the clots of blood dripped into the toilet, I said goodbye almost thankfully, glad not to bring a child into such a world. Something is different, something has changed, and I search my body for signs that my baby is still therea€”check my breasts, my belly, the fluid in the toilet, and back again to the breasts, wondering if the life inside me has died. Not just any brown, but the kind you make with paint or too many layers of crayon when youa€™re a little kid. I would have gone to the funeral and made them cut the baby out while it was still alive, instead of after it had died.


Her essay a€?Circling,a€? which first appeared in Brevity, will be anthologized in Online Writing: The Best of the First Ten Years (Snowvigate Press, 2009). As she rifled through the box of pencils, Alejandra must have also been watching my backside as I bent over Todda€™s desk, pondering the thin line of flower-print elastic that clings to my waistline. He has dutifully added the e, but his compositiona€”five sentences describing his homea€”is riddled with errors.
Calculating the hours, I am certain the Virginia state legislature steals an hour and a half from me five days a week. Amandaa€™s before and after school care is local to our neighborhood, and my year old baby attends the day care on base. Calculating the hours, I am certain the Virginia state legislature steals an hour and a half from me every workday.
We are working with the Marine Corps program manager to set the timeline and milestones for the new Department of Defense messaging software. She joined the Marine Corps in 1990 and is currently a Master Sergeant servingA with III Marine Expeditionary Force, Okinawa Japan. Those activities included about 200 telephone calls and, getting back to this day at a little after 5 p.m. Having joined for law enforcement training, his first Marine job after a€?recruita€? and a€?studenta€? was as a military policeman.
1733 in Pfalzgrafenweiler to Johann Martin Kirschenmann, a rafter there, who was the son of Jacob Kirschenmann, who was a baker there. And on the motion of Isaac Sinclair, the Executor therein named, who made oath together with Alexander Simmons his Security entered into and acknowledged their Bond in the Penalty of Five Hundred Dollars conditioned as the Law directs Certificate is granted him for obtaining Probate thereof in due form.
It was the largest tract of land ever granted in America, under which Penn was made the proprietor and invested with the privilege of creating a political government. Pleasant township, Adams County, Pa., in 1788, it seems highly improbable this entry could refer to him.
1733 in Pfalzgrafenweiler to Johann Martin Kirschenmann, a rafter there, who was the son of Jacob Kirschenmann, who was a baker there.A  This date matches exactly with the record in the Pfalzgrafenweiler parish given above. Scatter descriptive details by breaking large clumps of information into smaller bits and sprinkle throughout the story. More than a century ago now a conductor on a southbound Illinois Central Gulf train offered the town its name, noting the fields of winter wheat still green late in the year.
Engineer Casey Jones lived 50 miles south in Jackson, Tennessee at the time of his legendary 1903 wreck, his modest house there now a museum. By the time they found her tiny body atop a trampled swath of soybean plants just off Bean Switch Road, a notorious Lovera€™s Lane, the corpse had begun to turn in the late summer heat.
I was as sad as a nine year-old boy could be about the business I suppose, but Cary had violated that cardinal rule of childhood about talking to strangers, and the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation had Robert Glen Coe in custody just three days later. I sensed with a kind of strange excitement how the photo was an emblem of my childhooda€”the unmistakable heat, those men, something awful hidden just out of sight. We sang of mountains and amber grain, our voices always a beat or two behind the warped '45 spinning on the phonograph beside the globe on Miss Ranney's desk. Later that year, I was in Home Ec tracing my face shape with soap onto a mirror when the intercom crackled the news. McClanahana€™s work has appeared in The Best American Poetry, The Best American Essays, Kenyon Review, Georgia Review, Gettysburg Review, and numerous other publications.
Later I felt bad that I hadna€™t gone to the funeral, but I was never sure if my motivation was guilt or disappointment over missing such a spectacle.
This one is taking its time, and I have nothing more than my intuition to tell me that ita€™s gone.
Ia€™m still not completely sure, so I survey again, trying to find the feeling that was once there, that still comes back in little wisps, but seems mostly gone.
You mix all the colors togethera€”the good colors and the bad colors too, just to see what will happen, and you come up with a muddy, greenish, sickly version of the color brown, a sort of chaos and confusion of life and lifelessness all blended into one, never to be separated into sky blue, tangerine, and sea foam again. I would have taken the dead womana€™s baby for my own, as a guard against the possibility that either of us would ever be alone, as a stone thrown in the face of death, as protection against this circling, this looking for something we both need desperately that is no longer there. I consider asking him what the correct spelling might be, imagine him looking up at me with big, brown eyes, searching the details of my face for the correct letter, but decide to just tell him what he needs instead. I nod solemnly, mentally adding another dress code violation to my long list of teaching errors. Traffic is finally moving, and this idiot thinks the left lane is for pacing instead of passing.
On the way to work, I listened to the news, but sometimes I turned it off and just listened to the sound of my breathing. Looking at my watch, I realize that the few minutes that I have been delayed will cost me many more. With my simple math skills, I conclude that including weekends, they rob me of at least ten hours a week. My thoughts are focused on security, contingency operations, alternate network operations, and the myriad of requirements to overcome the obstacles presented by this occurrence. She knows something terrible has happened today and I dona€™t know how to explain it to her. Being a Marine is not something I do; it is who I am, who I have been, and who I will always be. The hands of time are moving again, but now I hear the slow, steady tick tock of each moment. She is also married to a Marine and has two daughters, ages 13 and 8.A She has served in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom, and her husband has served in support of Operation Enduring Freedom. Once he cut his teeth guarding gates and on patrol, David became a Marine criminal investigator. 1770 -- little is known of his life, but he was listed as one of Johanna€™s sons in the 1804 will. Johna€™s Evangelical Lutheran Church in a€?Elizabeth Towna€? (now Hagerstown) Maryland on 13 Nov. Liberty being granted the other Executors to join in the probate thereof when he shall think fit.
1681 in Tumlingen, Schwarzwaldkreis, Wuerttemberg, as the son of Hans Jacob Schmid and Anna Maria Helber) who had married on 2 Aug.
After all, something has drawn you here, readera€”you want to know what it is the searchers seek among the soybean plants. Lawrence University, where he teaches courses in nonfiction writing and later American literature, and an adjunct member of the faculty of Ashland Universitya€™s Low-Residency MFA program. Our world was the Weekly Reader, hopscotch and jump rope, the only war the Cold One which America of course was winning.
They lived only for my welfare, wrote notes about my progress and pinned them to my shirt, exchanged report card signatures.
McClanahan, who lives in New York, has received the Wood Prize from POETRY, a Pushcart Prize in fiction, and (twice) the Carter prize for the essay from Shenendoah. There is something about the way the breasts suddenly deflate, the way the body stops gurgling and humming, that lets me know I will continue to chase after the symptoms of another life in my body without ever finding what I am looking for. This brown, this color I am, it sucks in the colors of crocuses, bananas, my husbanda€™s eyes, and it holds them tight, keeping them for its own but never changing, never brightening to a rich mahogany or surrendering to black. As my bitten fingernail zigzags over his sentences, I realize that even my fingers dona€™t match my image of a fourth grade teacher, who should be neat and composed, with a rosy complexion and trimmed, polished nails. He grins back at me, but there is something about his expression, the penetrating, hooded brown eyes, that tells me he knows Ia€™m overlooking his other mistakes. She is currently working on a travel memoir about her experiences in the United Arab Emirates titled a€?Abu Dhabi Days, Dubai Nights.a€? Her creative work has been published in literary journals such as The Common Review, Brevity, and Fourth River. Adding lanes in both directions just wouldna€™t have been right a€“ all that grass dividing the highway looks so much better!
Most of his career was in military law enforcement minus some out of specialty assignments, including three years on recruiting duty. 1777 [Washington County, Maryland Church Records of the 18th Century, by Family Lines Publication, 1988. She is not someone who must ask repeatedly for attention and good behavior, whose voice gets muffled in the chatter of children, who anxiously picks at her nails and tears at her cuticles until tiny red bumps appear.
I finally allow myself to smile as I imagine the opportunity to place a full handed slap across the face of the Neanderthal that came up with that brilliant idea. And now these paragraphs lie before you like stands of trees, a deep forest of wonder and darkness whose mystery beckons.
Each morning Mother locked my thermos and only Miss Ranney could loosen it, leaning over me in her ivory crepe blouse until the cap sighed once, then was free. The rest of the orbit swirls out from there: King murdered the week of my senior prom, then Bobby in a hotel just miles from my school while I marched to Pomp and Circumstance, not knowing that within a year on a July night in the back seat of a Volkswagen, I would pledge what was left of my heart to a boy leaving for Vietnam while above us the tired moon finally gave in to a tiny man in gravity boots, planting an American flag. Shea€™s probably doodling on the desk, her long, dark lashes cast down as she tries to escape the demands of the classroom and enter into the world of her drawing. She is no longer a manipulative ten year old who pouts when she wants permission to draw hearts on the chalkboard or be excused to the lavatory for the third time in an hour.
Ia€™m trying to ignore her insubordinationa€”she should be writing a paragraph like the rest of the six students in my after school reading classa€”but clearly another one of my tactics has failed. In a moment, Alejandra has become a young woman learning how to manage the intimate details of our gender. I turn around, ready to demand she sit back in her seat, prepared to be heard and heeded this time, but she is looking at me, wide eyed.



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