We just began Creative Non-Fiction in my creative writing class.In class, my teacher says: "if it doesn't make sense you're doing it right." We have practice by taking three random categories, writing a paragraph for each and then putting them together.For example: in class we did a money problem, your ideal love and wind. So I chose two, a bit more vague, categories: death and water. So here it is:

WHEN THE HOUSE CALLS HOME

My eyes opened at the seams, my tears flooding the floor. The urn sat in the middle of the oak alter, before the same wooden pews. Flowers decorated the sides, shockingly alive in their vases. They spilt onto the stairs, dripping with petals. My breath caught in my throat as I pictured her tall frame returning to dust and fitting into that small box. That’s a church thing, right? “You are dust, and to dust you shall return.” The rain dripped onto the cement from the edge of the gutter, sounding like a metronome. The raindrops slid down our driveway into the storm drain. When I was six, I won a goldfish at the carnival and took him home. He danced around his plastic bag making loops and spirals with his fins. I didn’t know what to do with him; didn’t have a bowl big enough. We sat on my porch, with him in his plastic home and me in my sandals. That summer I poured him down the storm drain, giving him back to his home.

I'll be writing more soon, seeing as this unit has just begun.

Love from Pullman,

The Blonde and the Bullshit

Here are the last two poems for the section on poetry for my English 302 class. The first was called ego-tripping. We were suppose to pull from our real lives but also pull from a life that you don't have:

I was born in Norway

I was recruited for ballet before I could walk

I quit for crew, almost quit that too

I know that any pain is temporary

I know I can replace it with fear

I can do what I want, not what you think I can do

I eat all my wishes and luck for strength and happiness

I’ve already seen more death than you and you combined

I’ve already said goodbye but you’re still here.

The second was to be an ode. I did mine in tribute to crew. So here is my ode to my blister:

She sits on my hand, pink and peeling.

She winces in pain when I

stretch my hand out wide

like a child making an angel in the snow.

Raw, baby skin peeks out of the corners

of my ripped skin, searching for fresh air.

She is my prize, my gantlet, for the day.

She is proof of my work and she is stunning.

She is the tear that clings to my patchwork skin,

waiting to be tested again tomorrow;

waiting to prove her tenacity.

We are finished with this poetry unit and I'm a little sad to see it go. However, we are still working on poetry in my English 251 class.

Love from Pullman,

The Blonde and the Bullshit

I have two poems today because I forgot to put up this first one from September 24. It was another mimic poem, this one of "This is Just to Say."

‘THIS IS JUST TO SAY’

I thought you

Should know,

You’ve moved out

Of the

Apartment.  Your

Boxes are

In the kitchen and

Your cat

In her crate.

Forgive me

But it turns out,

It’s time for you to go.

This next poem is crazy long, unintentionally. We were suppose to write a poem in the form of a recipe and wrote mine about how to make a blackberry pie.

BLACKBERRY PIE

                       

Mom said you can’t make blackberry pie

without a little luck, so I guess that’s

where you start.

You get yourself some luck, put it in a

container so it doesn’t slip away,

and stick it in the fridge for when we need it.

Because, mom said, you always need a little.

Then you put your cornstarch in a bowl,

add all that sugar and the 6 cups of blackberries.

Before touching this mess, you’ve got

to wash your hands because

blackberries don’t like to get sick either.

Now you push up your sleeves,

hold out your hands like a grizzly ready to attack,

and start mushing the stuff together.

Once they’ve all become such good friends

that you can’t tell one from the other,

you stick it in the fridge next to the luck.

Now, mom said, it’s time for the tricky part:

The crust.

Mom said the crust is like a hospital.

Everything has to be cold before you begin

and everything is crème colored.

Your flour, nearly too cold to cut butter,

a pinch of salt and little sugar and

some water that mom said if you poured

on a baboon's behind it would fall straight off.

Then go ahead and mix all of that together.

Now, before you get all cocky and lay down

your dough, thinking you know what you’re doing.

Stop.

Go to the fridge, take out your container of luck

and pour the whole thing in, because, like mom said,

you’re going to need it all, not just a little.

Okay, now you can lay it all out and take the rolling pin

and spread it into a circle, nine inches wide and this much thick.

Mom shows me by nearly pinching her fingers tips together.

Now because you’ve got all your luck weaving

throughout all that dough, it’s perfect and you can

lay it over your red ceramic pie dish.

Pinch the sides of the crust like mom does it.

Go to the fridge, take out the insides and pour

them all into your perfect pie shell.

Once the pie is out of the oven, all that

goodness and happiness and momness

will seep into your pores and you’ll know that,

with a little bit of luck, you did it just like mom.

Love from Pullman,

The Blonde and the Bullshit