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06.01.2016
Learning the minimum wage lesson, Comix experience owner brian hibbs said he frequently hears from customers who supported raising the wage but were surprised to learn the move would hurt businesses like his. Hillary clinton does not represent all women—and makes some feel powerless, For many feminists, the nomination is a pretty straightforward, unambiguous victory for women and cause for celebration if it did, she would not hedge on support of a $15-an-hour minimum wage.
Merced officials worry wage hike will cause unemployment, Greg wright, an economist at uc merced, said that wright said the central valley “absolutely” will feel the negative effects more than other places.
Ca minimum wage needs to take a hike - California democratic lawmakers are forcing the minimum wage.
Learning the minimum wage lesson - Comix experience owner brian hibbs said he frequently hears from customers who supported raising the wage but were surprised to learn the move would hurt businesses like his. Hillary clinton does not represent all women—and makes some feel powerless - For many feminists, the nomination is a pretty straightforward, unambiguous victory for women and cause for celebration if it did, she would not hedge on support of a $15-an-hour minimum wage. Merced officials worry wage hike will cause unemployment - Greg wright, an economist at uc merced, said that wright said the central valley “absolutely” will feel the negative effects more than other places. Racial, partisan divides shape american views of poverty and the poor - Today, that remains the majority view, but the gap has narrowed somewhat, with 60% seeing poverty as mostly permanent and 33% saying it is a temporary condition that people can move into and 3.35 an hour, the minimum wage. As always, it's more important to look good than to feel good - While you're at it, bring back gym class and train future phys ed instructors to focus on encouraging the joy of movement instead of forcing everyone to move their bodies in exactly the same way, regardless of any pain raise the minimum wage and. SubscribeEnter your email address below to receive updates each time we publish new content. INDIAPOST – All India Anna Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam (AIADMK) chief J Jayalalithaa suffered another setback on Wednesday as the vacation bench of the Karnataka High Court adjourned her petition seeking bail till October 7, Zee News reports.
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After the 32nd chapter of Treasure Island, two of the puppets strolled out to have a pipe before business should begin again, and met in an open place not far from the story. Some two months afterwards, the young man was carried on a stretcher to the physiciana€™s house. After this talk, the child would never pass one of the unfettered on the road but what he spat at him and called him names, which was the practice of the children in that part. Now when he was forth of the wood upon the highway, he met folk returning from the field; and those he met had no fetter on the right leg, but, behold! And when he was home, there lay his uncle smitten on the head, and his father pierced through the heart, and his mother cloven through the midst.A  And he sat in the lone house and wept beside the bodies. A little after, they both died, and came together before the great white Justice of the Peace.A  It began to look black for the friend, but the man for a while had a clear character and was getting in good spirits. So the man was cast in the pit, and the friend laughed out aloud in the dark and remained to be tried on other charges.
Once upon a time there came to this earth a visitor from a neighbouring planet.A  And he was met at the place of his descent by a great philosopher, who was to show him everything. First of all they came through a wood, and the stranger looked upon the trees.A  a€?Whom have we here?a€? said he.
The natives told him many tales.A  In particular, they warned him of the house of yellow reeds tied with black sinnet, how any one who touched it became instantly the prey of AkaA¤nga, and was handed on to him by Miru the ruddy, and hocussed with the kava of the dead, and baked in the ovens and eaten by the eaters of the dead. In the ancient days there went three men upon pilgrimage; one was a priest, and one was a virtuous person, and the third was an old rover with his axe. Just then they passed a country farm, where there was a peacock seated on a rail; and the bird opened its mouth and sang with the voice of a nightingale. At last one came running, and told them all was lost: that the powers of darkness had besieged the Heavenly Mansions, that Odin was to die, and evil triumph. And they rode two hours more, and came to the sides of a black river that was wondrous deep. And they rode all that day, and about the time of the sunsetting came to the side of a lake, where was a great dun. At the gates of the dun, the King who was a priest met them; and he was a grave man, and beside him stood his daughter, and she was as fair as the morn, and one that smiled and looked down. And in the meanwhile the two lads looked upon the maid, and the one grew pale and the other red; and the maid looked upon the ground smiling. Presently the news got about; and the two lads and the first King were called into the presence of the King who was a priest, where he sat upon the high seat. And the younger son looked in it, and saw his face as it were the face of a beardless youth, and he was well enough pleased; for the thing was a piece of a mirror.
But he was like the hunter that has seen a stag upon a mountain, so that the night may fall, and the fire be kindled, and the lights shine in his house; but desire of that stag is single in his bosom.
So the man rose and put forth his boat at the time of the sunsetting; and the Poor Thing sat in the prow, and the spray blew through his bones like snow, and the wind whistled in his teeth, and the boat dipped not with the weight of him.
So the man stooped his hand, and the dead laid hold upon it many and faint like ants; but he shook them off, and behold, what he brought up in his hand was the shoe of a horse, and it was rusty.
It befell that the Earla€™s daughter came forth to go into the Kirk upon her prayers; and when she saw the poor man stand in the market with only the shoe of a horse, and it rusty, it came in her mind it should be a thing of price. Now the wind blew through the Poor Thing like an infant crying, so that her heart was melted; and her eyes were unsealed, and she was aware of the thing as it were a babe unmothered, and she took it to her arms, and it melted in her arms like the air. The Kinga€™s daughter made no more ado, but she turned about and went home to her house in silence.A  And when she was come into her chamber she called for her nurse. Now when the nine years were out, it fell dusk in the autumn, and there came a sound in the wind like a sound of piping.A  At that the nurse lifted up her finger in the vaulted house.
So they went by the sea margin, and the man piped the song of the morrow, and the leaves followed behind them as they went. 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.
Jayalalithaa has urged Prime Minister Manmohan Singh to ask the finance ministry to sanction Rs.1,500 crore for setting up two power transmission projects for renewable energy in the state. Power up the standard 25-hp Mercury FourStroke outboard for family cruising and fishing, or use the 110 as a capable launch for a yacht. 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.
A sturdy and ergonomic fiberglass console, standard Mercury gauges and safety switch offer seamless command at the helm and peace of mind---more so than a dinghy or inflatable RIB. 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.
Yacht-quality touches like sleek stainless steel rails, two cup holders, bow locker, and bow and stern cleats round out a premium runabout experience. 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.
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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