Here are some more detailed instructions for the collaborative manuscript project that we are beginning to undertake. More to come as we progress: 1) Think of some significant moments in your personal or family history. Choose one that has a particular and memorable location. In 25-100 words write this story. The more poetic and succinct the better. Separate one short line from the whole. This might be a quote, or climax, or denouement… something that sums up the memory or perhaps expands it to your present context, etc…. Please add your story as a comment to this post.
2) Next, think of a path you have memorized having traveled it repeatedly. It should be a route that is not simply a straight line, and that returns to its starting point (to make a loop). Make a drawing of this path from memory as a map, as accurately as possible. Then print off a satellite or internet map source of this same path, carefully highlighting or tracing it in some way to make it prominent. 3) Gather visual references (or create your own!) that connect with your narrative. Organize these elements into a compositional structure that flows naturally from the story.
Incorporate several visual ways of bringing order and richness to your piece: line, rhythm, balance, scale, texture, value, color (ie. limited palette), pattern, framing, layers, transparency, grid, diagram, contrast, emphasis…. For inspiration from those who have gone before, click here. Final size of the page should be 8×10 inches and vertical. Convince me/us that you have considered every square inch of the composition. This does not necessarily mean you have to “fill” all the space, but that you have thought about and taken care with the whole. Enjoy yourself in the making!


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September 16, 2010 at 10:13 am
Emily Labutta
My dad is in the army, but we never had to go overseas. He did. When I was in third grade, he went to Egypt for six months. What hurt me was his absence for my birthday. However, when I awoke that day, my sight was obstructed by a swaying cloud of mylar balloons. There was a note scratched in his distinctive scrawl, but that wasn’t all. The weight for the balloons wasn’t sand; it was a heaping pile of Hershey’s kisses. I now can’t help but be happy when I see balloons, Hershey’s kisses, or his sometimes unintelligible handwriting.
September 29, 2010 at 9:55 pm
jbotts
Emily. A lot of really great visual possibilities here… You might consider two different “zones” or areas within the final composition for the two locations: your Dad in Egypt and your bedroom on your birthday morning. The unintelligible handwriting played off the crisp mylar balloons could be very nice too. Hershey kisses could make nice ornaments….
September 16, 2010 at 10:51 am
Clement Bilhorn
[Dr. Botts: As you may notice, I changed my idea a bit]
When I was first forming memories, I was in Africa. The world shaped me as I grew up within its borders. I hunted invisible monsters in the labyrinthine spaces of unfinished houses. I navigated the alien landscapes of my mind while biking across miles of dry riverbeds, bracketed by walls of cruel thorns. I imagined myself an ancient leviathan while swimming in rivers where, only days prior, had swum crocodiles ten times my size. I am gone from that place, but I remember.
September 29, 2010 at 10:04 pm
jbotts
Obviously there is much of visual quality to cull from here. I like very much the imagining of these landscapes and you in the skin of leviathan. Scales. Teeth. Thorns. Cracked riverbeds. Perhaps unfinished house plans / drawings? You might also create a piece conscious of where you are now, with locations in the composition for the memory / dream place as well as the present. Recalling the Crom Cruach serpent scene…. and Africa?!
September 16, 2010 at 7:49 pm
Rachel Wassink
Every summer that I was in Alaska, my brother and I would take the same exact paddle boat ride in a nearby lake everyday. One day, he decided to hop of the boat with both of the paddles when we got to shore, and then he proceeded to push the boat with all his might.
I was a six year old left in a boat without any paddles, headed toward the middle of a lake in the deep woods of Alaska.
My brother ran and hid in the outhouse because he was afraid of getting in trouble. Meanwhile, I tried to rock the boat back to shore, but the winds were stronger. I eventually made it to the other side of the lake and ran back to the cabin. Thankfully, the only trouble I ran into were some fresh moose droppings.
October 6, 2010 at 11:05 am
jbotts
This is a great, certainly memorable story. It reminded me of a similar event in my own childhood where a so-called experienced sailor (of my same age) took me out on a small sailboat and couldn’t get us back to shore… thunderstorm coming on us quickly… having to go to the other side of the lake, etc…. Strong visuals to express: the forest (what kinds of trees?), the border / frame of the lake, moose droppings, the outhouse. You might consider trying to give the viewer a sense of the perspective of a 6-year old (ie. what do a 6-year old’s shoes look like? what might the forest look like?)?
September 17, 2010 at 6:15 pm
Tanya Rymas
Where in the Effingham are we???
Spring Break 2010. One car. Two girls. 2000+ miles. 28 hours. 41 ounce bag of skittles. 4 apples. 1 Arizona Tea. 1 Vitamin Water. 4 blueberry muffins. 2 boxes of Cheez-Its. 1 compostable bag of Harvest Cheddar Sun Chips. Wrong turns. Multiple Starbucks stops. Effingham. Lady Gaga. Georgia! 15 different Goodwill stores. Skittles again. Giant Superman. Moose. Haircuts. Giant Dogs. Llamas. More skittles. Dress shopping. U turns. Side roads. Trees. Cliffs. Radio. Air mattress. Lots of blankets…still not enough. Getting lost. Daniel the GPS. Home.
October 6, 2010 at 11:09 am
jbotts
This is a wonderful list. You might consider a format that retains this list format, but also engages the aerial view of the path? Will be interesting to see how Lady Gaga, Moose and skittles exist in the same space!
September 19, 2010 at 12:16 pm
Shane McGann
Just got on the road and only 2000 miles to go, the fact that I got my license two months ago doesn’t seem to faze him as we head out from L.A. I am freaking out, how am I, a sixteen year old supposed to help him, my father, drive 2000 miles through the desert and who knows what else to get home. This will be interesting to say the least. But we set out on this journey, bound to run into trouble alone the way, because that’s what we do you know, we get into trouble my dad and I.
October 6, 2010 at 11:12 am
jbotts
The idea is great here. It’s going to take some very specific imagery to help set the place. Perhaps the car interior (seeing the dashboard and all the things that enabled you to “get into trouble”?) and a horizon line, set against the aerial view of the full route? A visual reference to LA or your license?
September 19, 2010 at 1:43 pm
Taylor Dalton
To come home you must first leave it.
Missionaries and furlough trips go hand and hand with each other. Thus, being an mk from Indonesia, I had become accustomed to the long 54 hour trips crossing thousands of miles of land and ocean to go to and from the United States. Through these many trips I have come to consider airports a major part of my life; a place constantly filled with different and unique peoples of different culture. All airports themselves are even different, some being better while others are worse.
October 6, 2010 at 11:15 am
jbotts
Airport diagrams are pretty visually interesting. You might look at some of the ones you traveled through regularly… overlaid on one another? Or see the paths you would take through them as against the longer path of the plane? And then the different languages (visual alphabetic) and color palettes of these different cultures…. Much here to work with!
September 19, 2010 at 3:28 pm
Dan Wanee
“Nightmare To Remember, I’ll never be the same,
What began as laughter, so soon would turn to pain.”
A week filled with disaster I failed to recover.
The end of a day spent with good friend and brother.
Frustrated and foolish, I chose to be alone,
After far too many hours, I made my way back home.
With that last downhearted song, I truly felt Forsaken,
In retrospect it’s clear how much I was mistaken.
It’s a miracle I lived
I really should have died,
“By the grace of God above,” somehow I survived.
October 6, 2010 at 11:07 pm
jbotts
Your poem is clearly chronicling a significant moment in your life. Thank you for being willing to share with us. Your particular challenge may be how to make specific visual references without being too overt (as your writing is intentionally mysterious). I look forward to seeing what you come up with.
September 20, 2010 at 7:10 pm
tanya kondratyuk
Once upon a time my dad and I decided to take a road trip across the country; from Chicago to L.A. It was an extraordinary experience. Scenic drives along Route 66, Johnny Cash playing in the car, and stops at major cities and natural landmarks encompassed the essence of the trip. The epitome of our travels was when we reached the West coast and I came to a realization of how vast and magnificent the world is; and I had only seen a glimpse of it.
October 6, 2010 at 11:18 pm
jbotts
This is a nice entrance into what must have been a wonderful road trip. It will be interesting to see how you engage the “moments along the way” in a two dimensional and visual way. It might be fun to try to make the whole “extraordinary experience” live within a visual border, such that it becomes only a glimpse of the vastness of this world. Johnny on the radio is a great way to set the scene.
September 20, 2010 at 7:53 pm
Kristen Brown
As my friends and I desperately tried to navigate our way through the dark streets of Paris, I could not help but feel hopeless. The combination of five teenage girls, one mother, hardly any money, and little knowledge of the French language, made for pretty grim odds of us ever getting back alive. As we finally arrived at the last possible metro station after what seemed like hours of searching, I could not help but be filled with utter gratitude…
We had stepped onto the last train of the night, which just so happened to take us directly to our hotel. Dieu ne cesse de m’étonner!
October 6, 2010 at 11:26 pm
jbotts
It might be nice to use the device of silhouettes in some manner in your piece. The scene is certainly dramatic, and you might even consider making visual your fears in the shadows? And choosing how to represent the glowing metro station in a hopeful and perhaps central location? Specific visual details that make it clear to the viewer that we are in Paris will be most welcome.
September 20, 2010 at 7:57 pm
Kristin Kokubun
As soon as the funeral ended, my best friend and I sprinted out the back door together. Our 10 year old spirits were desperate to escape all the hugging and crying behind us. We ran toward the beach to climb onto the rock wall. We sat there in silence staring out at the water; the only sound was the ocean waves. The sun was setting. Behind us our mothers embraced. Her mom came over and told her that they needed to go on the boat to spread her dad’s ashes into the ocean.
October 6, 2010 at 11:32 pm
jbotts
I’m so glad you were there for your friend… and recognized that the most important thing was to be present… even in silence. A lot of rich visuals to draw from. You might also try to visually represent your ten year old perspective on the whole scene? Open (not necessarily blank) space will probably be your friend.
September 20, 2010 at 8:23 pm
Jason Bhatta
My dad is from Nepal, the small country that houses the very big Mt. Everest. When I was 14 I went there for the second time and it was breathtaking. I was in a real life National Geographic episode. Tigers, Elephants, sherpas, monks and everything you can imagine I saw. Seeing my aunts and uncles, grandma and grandpa and cousins for the first time was amazing and something I will never forget. Being able to experience my dad’s culture that he grew up in was one of the most eye opening and educational opportunities I have had in my life.
October 6, 2010 at 11:37 pm
jbotts
There is a lot here to draw from. I wonder if there is a specific moment in the trip that might also “stand in” as representative of the richness of the whole experience? The specific colors of Nepal… the kinds of weavings, patterns, tiger skin, all want to find visual voice.
September 20, 2010 at 8:36 pm
Korey Dalton
For my high school senior trip, I went to Bali. I explored ancient temples filled with incense, engravings, and golden idols. I surfed and parasailed on bright blue beaches. I passed through busy markets with vibrant colors and a multitude of sarongs. The trip culminated as I stood on top of a platform, waiting for my turn to bungee jump. I will never forget the feeling of intense anticipation. As I stood at the top, I observed terraced rice paddies, beautiful beaches, and jungles filled with exotic fruits. I didn’t know what would lie ahead, but I had to jump.
October 6, 2010 at 11:48 pm
jbotts
So much here to choose from! Maybe include it all? I’m not sure if you’re seeing your work as possibly commenting on the ancient and contemporary? I can see these images surrounding the central moment in the narrative, helping to reveal the exotic nature of Bali to an audience who is unfamiliar.
September 20, 2010 at 9:12 pm
Kristin Kroeze
Every summer I go to New Jersey for family reunions. My grandparents have owned a hotel in New Jersey on Ocean Avenue since I could remember and every summer, my 14 Aunts and Uncles and 35 cousins get together and to reunite and talk about the past year. I know the area like the back of my hand. Ocean Avenue has been a huge part of my life and the second place in the world that I spend a majority of my time. In particular, the best time that was had was the summer of 2008 (particularly in June) when my cousin got married right on the beach. My whole family was there to celebrate and it was a time of reunion on the spot we meet every summer.
September 21, 2010 at 5:44 pm
Kristin Kroeze
I’m changing my story:
White water rafting…it’s supposed to be fun and harmless right? Not when I’m doing it. I was 12 years old, on a family vacation in Colorado. My family always likes to do fun, crazy, exciting things on vacation. So we went white water rafting. The tour guide said no one had ever fallen in. Since I have the luck that I do, I was the first of the tour guide’s “clients” to fall in the rapids and I got caught under the boat. It was a moment of panic for my family, as no one could find me. My sister finally realized I was under the raft and grabbed me and saved my life. It gave everyone a bad scare but we ended up recovering and having a great rest of the trip.
October 6, 2010 at 11:52 pm
jbotts
Wow. It would be intriguing to try to represent what it would look like from the bottom of the boat. Perhaps life jacket orange is a color that can help set the scene. And ultimately, the reaching hand of your sister, and the ability to appreciate the rest of the journey… the marvelous grandeur of the Rockies….
September 20, 2010 at 9:31 pm
Shelby Swart
We took the 10:57 train, carrying backpacks full of apples and sandwiches. We weren’t ourselves anymore; we were Anna, a British exchange student, Willow, a hard-core skater, Aric, the girl with the scandalous past, and Kia, the loveable stoner. We set out to face our fears, we never thought that day would be the one that would tie together our heart strings and bind us together as best friends. We just knew we were laughing. Posing. Skating. Discovering. Crashing. Smiling. Falling in love with a beautiful city and what we were together.
October 6, 2010 at 11:56 pm
jbotts
Trying to represent each of the four friends could really make this piece. I like the way you’ve set it up almost like a play, where the characters are quickly drawn with a broad brush, then set about to play together.
September 20, 2010 at 9:32 pm
Yaphet Tedla
Across the atlantic, across home, across, comfort, across familiarity, across family, across friends. Across, i travelled over seas of unknown, over lands unheard of. I knew nothing of what was to come and what was to be expected. But soon I found myself in a land full of white(?). Meet by ones I have longed to see and some whom I have never seen.
October 7, 2010 at 12:00 am
jbotts
An intriguing entrance into your story. I look forward to specific visual details you can bring / add / share with us to make this narrative particular and clear. Perhaps your traveling path crisscrosses the composition repeatedly, to begin to create locations for other elements or text?
September 20, 2010 at 10:38 pm
Gabriel Ponton
The air smelled like oil, the kind that you can’t get enough of. Something new, yet something you could always deduce in the back of your mind. In the moving car we waited, and waited, up the hill we found the home. The smell of a stylish yet motherly woman waiting to show you the basket of chocolate you could never dream of that she made for each of your siblings, a furry little creature barking at you with a bell around its neck. I found a new home; one that I didn’t know existed, in Caracas, Venezuela.
October 7, 2010 at 12:05 am
jbotts
The colors and perhaps textiles, weavings (?) of this place will serve you well as you share it with us. The little dog with bell is precious too… and might also serve as a metaphorical element (ie. what does its bark really mean?)
September 20, 2010 at 11:16 pm
Dylan Mooney
Ever since i can remember my aunt has been at every major event in my life. She was at my birthday’s, Christmases, and proud occasions. She moved away from the area when i was around ten and seeing her became an important part in my life, especially since i identified greatly with her. This physical distance was representative of the growing distance between my aunt and other people. One day when i was 16, we got a call at our house. My dad answered the phone and i could see the dread on his face, and the short somber conversation ended and he proceeded to tell me that my aunt had taken her own life. This event would come to change the way i thought about life.
October 7, 2010 at 12:10 am
jbotts
It can be a very difficult thing to make work about great loss… but can also be remarkably transformative and compelling. Try to really set the stage of your house (or wherever all these events would happen). You might use the telephone (cord or cordless?) as a motif. The silhouette might be worth exploring….
September 20, 2010 at 11:20 pm
Lucy Hull
They Boyce’s were our neighbors at 36 Jefferson Rd. when we first moved to Princeton, NJ. Debbie and Bill had four children: Sarah, Billy, Katie, and Rachel. Katie was the closes to my age, just a year older. Ever since the day we later dubbed the “garden incident,” we have been life long friends.
I lived in a duplex next to an older Italian couple. The husband’s name was Savario, and he used to let Katie and I go into his yard and play on the swings or in the sand box he’d built for his grandchildren. One summer afternoon, Katie and I wandered into Savario’s yard as usual and commenced an imaginary game in which we were captured on a pirate ship mid sea. Savario had just invested in two beautiful new pots of Marigold flowers, to which Katie and I immediately took interest. Neither of us can recall to this day our reasoning behind what we did next, but somehow Katie and I thought it would be a brilliant idea to individually pluck each Marigold from the pots, and throw them onto the ground about the porch where we were stationed. The flowers in our minds represented various sea critters. We proceeded to tear up other sections of Savario’s beautiful garden as props for our game. That night we were both punished by our parents, and I was additionally not allowed to watch “The Lion King” with my siblings. Our lives were so simplistic back then. I miss the days when my biggest problems were missing out on watching Disney movies.
October 7, 2010 at 10:59 am
jbotts
Ha! A great story… and full of strong imagery. The ransacked garden, marigolds becoming sea creatures, pirate ship, and the Lion King. You might find a way to visually frame certain parts of the story by others.
September 21, 2010 at 12:00 am
Scott "Hutch" Hutcherson
When I was little, I was one active little guy. Playing sports and being involved was my life. One sport that I started playing when I was six turned out to be one of the ways I found out about college. The sport I am talking about is of course, Football. Being the active little guy I was, I signed up with a few friends and was hooked. I kept on playing year after year, until I finally found myself nearing the end of my high school career. Football has had such an impact upon my life, that I believe without it I wouldn’t be here. But luckily we don’t play with the what if’s in the real world!!!
October 7, 2010 at 11:13 am
jbotts
I like the idea of visually representing yourself year by year in football attire, almost like a quasi-scientific chart. You also might consider incorporating the visual language of the football field (its numbers and markings)… and perhaps even the language of playmaking (with x’s and o’s and arrows, etc…). You could maybe still benefit from an identified moment in the sequence to pull out and emphasize (ie. championship game, memorable touchdown, interception, etc…)
September 21, 2010 at 12:02 am
Joshua Miller
the moist, vibrant smell of rain
the dark, over-saturated colors
the cold, black, iron porch chair
the ring of water pounding the slate steps
Who am I?
What am I doing here?
Why am I alive?
the rough, wet pavement tearing at my bare feet
the growing cold as the rain soaks my clothing
the swish of trees moving in the wind and rain
the warm, humid air, all around me, inside of me
where am i going?
who am i walking towards?
why am i walking?
be still
know
that I am
God
October 7, 2010 at 11:16 am
jbotts
A lot of good, poetic language here… and certainly visual. I don’t quite know still what’s going on, which is not necessarily a bad thing. Just make sure to make it as visually compelling as it is poetically so. Looking forward to seeing what you come up with.
September 21, 2010 at 12:17 am
Courtney Goll
Suffering, blundering, blind to the pain,
I had defended the bullies, allowing them to reign.
Ignorantly and stubbornly I hid from dawn’s new light,
while sitting on the sofa with this internal fight.
Upon that day, late in the night,
I found out about an opening in a Christian school.
Then did I comprehend that years of my childhood were gone,
yet I, no longer, acted as their pawn.
Once again I saw the glory of God’s creation.
Oh, the joys of starlit nights, bird-filled forests, mountains turned pink by waning sunlight!
Recollect the blessings.
October 7, 2010 at 11:40 am
jbotts
A wonderful poetic exploration of both interior and exterior spaces. I imagine your memory of this place (sofa at dawn) is pretty strong? I would consider finding ways to recreate it, perhaps with specific color, pattern, furniture, etc…. And then the line referencing the natural world! Seems to want to be strongly separated / framed from the rest. Good.
September 21, 2010 at 12:19 am
Ben Meyer
One night on a family vacation in Amsterdam, we were walking through the streets along the trolley car tracks. My siblings and I were pretending to play basketball when my middle brother grabbed my jacket as I spun away from him. He was flung off the sidewalk just as a trolleycar passed us at full speed. While it first appeared that he had fallen under the trolley car’s wheels, it was soon realized that his head bounced off the bottom of the trolley’s side and was unharmed. The ensuing trip to Ben and Jerry’s was quiet to say the least.
October 7, 2010 at 11:43 am
jbotts
Crazy dramatic to be sure! Strong visual possibilities. You might look at the facades of buildings in Amsterdam to help set the scene. And try to find what those trolleys really look like (color, shape, whether they follow an electric line above, etc…) Then the silent stroll towards the salvific, soothing ice cream (and perhaps color?)
September 21, 2010 at 9:14 am
Luke Van de Krol
It was a typical day at my dad’s house. I drove in the opposite direction out of my street toward Bob’s house. He was the dad I wish I had, looked up to, spent more time with, and loved. As a fly on the wall, I soak this healthy and right atmosphere in, observing this functional family without words or interaction. This was my escape from all the constant negativity surrounding my dad. This was my refuge.
October 7, 2010 at 11:52 am
jbotts
There is an interesting diagram to be found here… and mapmaking may be a particularly well suited language to explore it within. Try to bring in as much vernacular specifics to really set the scene for us. Of course you might also create a more idealized vision Bob’s house that would contrast even more strikingly with the reality of the “typical day at your dad’s house.” And a tiny you as a fly would be interesting… a la metamorphosis… for some reason this 80s video came to mind: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4yf2WP6K1gQ Have some fun with it too.
September 21, 2010 at 10:33 am
Nathan Hodges
I was running, no I was sprinting, from something behind me. Not someone but something, something I created and that I had to deal with. I choose to run because that was my first though of self-defense. I looked back once and nothing was there. I looked back again and I was knocked out cold. On the ground, with no one around, no one to hear my cry’s, no one to hear my whimpers. My past has caught up with me. My fears became alive.
October 7, 2010 at 12:00 pm
jbotts
This is a frightening and familiar memory / dream. Right now it is rather devoid of specific setting, so I would suggest coming up with some specific visual cues to help ground it…. or if you want to keep it dreamlike, perhaps add some dadaist or surrealist qualities to the composition (ie. surprising scale shifts, “wrong” colorations, etc…)
September 22, 2010 at 1:44 pm
Carolyn Ingermanson
It’s a misty autumn morning and the light is red-gold. Under the oak tree by the barn stands a deer, perfect, pale, resplendent in dawnlight. He is one with the morning.
In the grass before him sits our grey cat, Rocky. The deer leans down and their noses almost touch. What they say in the silence, I never know.
Later: a cloud of deer rustles under the trees. Rocky runs with them on his tiny feet.
Last summer Rocky disappeared and never came back.
We say he is running with his deer friends.
Maybe he is.
October 7, 2010 at 12:08 pm
jbotts
This is a beautiful little setting and story. I look forward to seeing what this barn, and this oak looks like. The images are strong and the narrative enjoyable. You might struggle with whether to make it serious and sublime, or more playful (ie. channeling bambi).
September 22, 2010 at 6:19 pm
Jeremy Heuslein
1006 Taproot
My sense of forever was only the sun
slowly slipping across the suburban sidewalk.
My skin was turning red and my lungs burned.
Help still had not come. I was trapped
on the ground, underneath the solid weight
of my tears and my bicycle.
My friend had not been home; no one was around.
The shoelace had been pulled tight in the chain,
impossible for my nine-year-old fingers to remove –
I hated my fucking bike.
I screamed again. Nothing.
I tore my shoe.
And biked home barefoot.
September 22, 2010 at 7:36 pm
Matthew Wheatley
We dig down, deeper, deeper still.
The walls of our pit reach our small
chests. Water starts to seep through the
brown and tan dirt. The porous sand
and sticky clay at our feet start
to meld and make a sly trap. My
boot begins sticking to the floor
of our brand new death trap. My boot
sinks into the ground. I can
not break myself loose. Turning to
ask David for help, I see he
is stuck too. He leaves his boots and
pulls his own body from the pit.
I, in the middle, am stuck and
am quickly being swallowed. He
gives me his arm and pulls me from
the pit, my savior, brother, friend.
September 22, 2010 at 8:12 pm
Alexandra Distler
9101 W. 148th Terr.
Overland Park, KS 66221
Home.
What is in a name? A word?
A stronger one than anyone has spoke.
More magical than anyone has thought.
Moving.
Simply really.
Until you leave behind the land you love.
The playground of your childhood.
The place that long ago captured your heart.
Grief.
Five apparent stages.
Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.
Five listed, five skipped.
Heartsick. Heartsick with no remedy.
Home is where the heart is.
My heart is home.
September 23, 2010 at 7:21 am
Ainsley McCullough
That summer I was 11 years old and had found the love of my life. There’s something about the humid days of summer and the thrill of being away from home that cultivates camp romances. This, however, is not a typical love story, for it is a story of the cruelest kind. It is a story of unrequited love. The object of my affections was many years older than me, a counselor. Day after day I would pine after him, stealing secret glances whenever I could. I told no one, for this was not a silly crush. It was true love. Then one fateful day, my hopes and dreams were dashed on the rocks of despair. His girlfriend came to visit.
September 23, 2010 at 7:51 am
Ryan Seager
The San Juan Mountain range was before me eyes. Fresh untouched powder was amidst the horizon. As I sat on the chairlift I grew antsy, awaiting the second we reached the top. My dad and I would never forget the glorious splendor that surrounded us. Telluride, CO seemed to be my new favorite place in the world. God’s “powdered sugar” was everywhere we turned. The little snow crystals could not be counted, only enjoyed. As I proceeded down the mountain through the powder I began to see the hand of our Divine Creator more and more.
September 23, 2010 at 7:51 pm
tony vargyas
Mexico. Paradise. Deep seas and bright skies. Clear water, the only thing that surrounds me. A boat, the only thing that supports me. An oar, the only thing that propels me. As i look out in the distance i see nothing but water. Waves crashing, stumbling over each other. The boat swaying side to side. The sun setting low over the horizon. Smeared over the white clouds. The longing sensation to turn back. Only time will paint the sky black. Darkness setting in. Stars dot the heavens. The silence, an eerie feeling. Open waters, treacherous. Better paddle back.
September 25, 2010 at 1:22 pm
Cassandra Kranz
It was one late afternoon in 1995. My aunt and cousins were dropping me off at home, and something seemed out of place. My mom’s car wasn’t in the driveway. I walked inside the house and saw my dad crying. He picked me up in his arms, sat me down on his lap and said to me, “Cassie, your mom is dead.” This is my first memory from my childhood. I was only 4 years old…I didn’t know that death meant I’d never see my mother again.
September 27, 2010 at 12:38 pm
Adam Mosbrucker
A typical weekend in the Arizona desert for my family consists flying 60 miles on our Susuki DR-350′s. On one certain weekend my dad and I decided to take another route that we typically did not take. As we are cruising past cacti, mountains, and roadrunners we come across a hill that we decide we wanted to conquer. As we reach the top we notice a strange smell lingering in the air. As we drive a little further we come across something very disturbing. Remains of two full horse skeletons and a horse maybe a day old tied together by its hooves, and bloated to about twice it’s size. So in honor of the horses we took one of the skulls and hung it on a tree in our camp. We called it “Horse Head Tree”.
September 27, 2010 at 8:11 pm
Yoshi Kozawa
Beijing, are you still the same?
In my four years in Beijing, I walked the Great Wall of China countless times with family and friends from Japan and Hong Kong. Up and down the mountainous region of Northeast China, I climbed blissfully one time with my sister, my friend from kindergarten, her brother and our driver; my mother and their mother leisurely lagging behind. Only eight years old, the wall had no historical meaning to me but I remember the public bathrooms and the local ladies selling bright pink toilet paper, autumn leaves, local food and my friends.
September 27, 2010 at 10:37 pm
Morgan Cook
My senior year of high school football ended in bliss, but to get there it was not. Hard work, blood, sweat, and tears were all a part of the season. Especially tears. We were ranked first in the state and it was the week of the regional finals. We were expected to make it all the way to state. On Monday night one of the players father passed away. His liver unexpectedly failed during a nap. It sent shock waves through our team. But this player was one of a kind. He was at practice the next day. He took his anger out on the field. That Friday night the team dedicated the game to his father and pulled out the victory in an extremely close and emotional game that changed me forever.
September 27, 2010 at 11:37 pm
Meghan Cuthbertson
Duck, duck, duck…*nervous excited laughter as he pauses*…duck, duck, duck, GOOSE! I feel a little hand lightly thwack my head and the excited laughter as I trip over my long skirt in my attempt to reach this little boy not even half my size as he rushes around the circle, sometimes going off course in his excitement. Bare feet pound the orange dirt. Squeals of laughter. Now it’s my turn. My hand touches each lovely, dusty, cornrowed head. Tongono, tonogo, tonogo, che!! Bright fabrics flash. Breathless, I sit down quickly and shove my sweaty hair under the scarf covering my hair. I look into the bright eyes of a little girl as she studies me. Shaded by this tree, in the hot sun, we are crossing cultural borders. The laughter, the smiles…we don’t speak each other’s language, but in a way, we do.
September 28, 2010 at 12:11 am
Jonathan Barbalas
Takeoff
The engine warming up,
Your gaining speed,
Front wheel up,
Back wheel up,
Now your FLYING!
Flying.
What an experience, being above the clouds.
So peaceful, so beautiful.
Everyone looks so small from up here.
Ughh.. that was jerky, gotta be more careful.
My life in my hands,
But never was I scared, too excited in the moment to be scared.
Landing
Nothing goes on forever,
Everything comes to an end.
The hardest part of the journey,
Returning back to land.
A bump and then your down,
Waiting until you can go back into the sky again.
September 28, 2010 at 7:35 am
Kenny Piccolo
Superhuman invincibility fills my mind. Faster and faster I barrel towards the ski jump. My legs buck out from under me and I feel myself amidst in the air, freefalling with the ice 15 feet below me quickly closing in. Upright all would be good but I am upside down, shear terror gripping tight “my heart with icey-cold fingers knowing full well what horrors await me.” The ground and my head meet, the rest to be told my another witness.
September 29, 2010 at 12:01 am
megan mitchell
A woman in a bed.. cannot move, cannot speak, not old, just stuck. All she does is lay and stare at sick, insane, decaying, deformed, dazed women who moan from their own beds or wander the dirty infirmary. I wonder, doubtfully if she will ever leave there. I ask if she knows the Lord. She shakes her head with disgust. Rubbing lotion on sore, sagging skin had not gotten to me, but this response brings sick to my gut, a blow of the truth that in my short time there, before flying back to normalcy, I could not possibly begin to move one brick in this concrete prison wall, to shed one ray of light in her deep, premature tomb. How on earth was she ever, from this desolate place, to understand the love of God? Ways I experienced the Lord – feeling strength in my legs as I walked along the coast of her gorgeous country, Jamaica, under an expanse of magnificent stars over the deep blue, singing praises alongside people who loved me, embraced me, told me I mattered, taking joy in hope for the future, getting to read, and comprehend Scripture for myself – were experiences she seemed a permanent exile from.Why this injustice? I do not know, but I do know this: the Father sees her there, her pain is His, and I pray to the Lover of the unloved on behalf of her precious soul.
September 29, 2010 at 12:01 am
megan mitchell
I know it is way too long… still working on shortening it I’m sorry
September 29, 2010 at 6:54 pm
Mary O'Hara
Winter day. Jubilation. New millenium. Confetti. Free brand new shirt for me. Security of home church. Then, disaster strikes.
Mother crying. A face full of an inevitable ragedy. The medium-a gentle whisper accompanied with terror that grips the heart.
“She died, Mary.”
Flashes of old memories come to mind. Trampelines. Easter egg hunts. Secrets. Guess who? Hide and Go seek.
Back to reality. Death. A powerful word a 8 year old can hardly recognize, but I myself find myself forced to study the intricate details of its face.
My dear cousin. A beacon of hope. Tiny 12 year old girl. Glistening with love and authentic faith. A kindred spirit and my role model forever.
September 29, 2010 at 7:32 pm
Chris Bradley
My parents were gone and put my sister in charge. The only rule was no popsicle without dinner. A dinnerless night passed and I found myself hungry… So I opened the freezer and took out a treat. To remain hidden I rushed to my closet, but my sister was on to me. I tried to hide the evidence but she found a mysterious orange stick without much of a search. Or that is how the legend goes: to this day where that stick came from, no one knows
September 30, 2010 at 7:58 am
Garrett Cook
I am in the country of South Africa, on a dry and dusty farm road. I walk carelessly laughing but unsure of my surroundings. Some kids in their school uniforms dance and one kid begins to follow us as he dances. I turn around and laugh. They laugh. I turn back to the road. Boom. I am on the ground. My friends help me up. I had been hit by a car riding on the wrong side of the road… wait we’re in south africa, it was not the wrong side. The car was gone. I am taken to the hospital where they take my blood pressure and give me ibuprofen and penicillin. The police find the man who hit me a few hours later and bring him back. His windshield is cracked. He yells and points at me speaking in his Zulu tongue. He wants me to pay for his windshield because I am white and I am rich…
October 3, 2010 at 9:03 pm
Mishael Lee
My first days of School in the States
I found it extremely hard to relate
From hand shakes to incomprehensible books,
From surface level questions to judgmental looks
Why do they judge me as if I’m weird?
When they’re the ones who dress funny with wannabe Jesus beards
Not knowing who to eat or hang out with,
Kids were entertained by my seeming lisp and foreignness
October 4, 2010 at 5:05 pm
David Querfeld
Have you ever heard the voice of God? I thought I did one time. I was about 8 years old and in Tampa airport. I’d just gotten in with my family from Peru and had left with my grandparents to pick up the car in the lot. I ran ahead of everyone up an escalator and into the tram to take us there. Before I turned around, I heard the whoosh of the doors closing. I got off at the next stop and heard a voice tell me to get back on to the tram. I did, rode it all the way around and met my grandparents again. God works in mysterious ways.
October 4, 2010 at 7:28 pm
Hunter Thorson
Get off the lift. Turn to go down the hill. Look and realize that my dad has taken me to a double-black-extreme terrain. I think i am ready. I start going down the sheer cliff face and there is not enough snow to cover the rocks. hit a rock and tumble. It hurts but also is fun sliding. i have to find my skis and a way down so that i dont hit any more rocks. when i get to the bottom i realize how fun it actually was.
October 5, 2010 at 7:04 pm
Yabesh Sharma
I was only three when I first traveled abroad. Our family spent many hours in numerous airports during our journey. Tokyo airport was one of them. I thought I was well experienced with airports and knew how to guide myself around. I started wondering around the airport. I did not know where I was headed. The place was very crowded and because I was short, the horizon of my vision was limited. It took me a while to figure that I was lost. I had no idea where I was or how I could get to where my family was.
October 13, 2010 at 11:38 pm
Samantha McKean
When I was a kid, I found a soft spot in the lawn, a spot that sagged. I convinced myself that it was a portal to another world. One day it was raining and I thought, “Aha! The ground is softer now, so I can break through.” I went out in the rain, screwed my eyes shut, and jumped on the spot. My feet did not push through soft earth and land in an alternate universe; they thumped solidly on hard ground. Shocked, I jumped on the spot again and again until my tears mixed with the rain. I could not believe that I had been wrong.
Sometimes, I still feel like that kid jumping on that spot.
October 14, 2010 at 6:24 am
Mike Feurdean
Two and half years ago, while doing my biweekly pilgramage
To Petland Aquarium Adventure, my eye caught sightage
Of a most peculiar sort of fish.
To purchase, raise, and love it was my wish.
I bought this toothpick-sized alligator gar,
And goldfish after goldfish it did mar,
Today, Mr. Gar measures two feet.
He would make a succulent hunk of meat
For dinner.