Where I'm From -- After George Elia Lyon

I am from homemade Baileys Irish Cream
fromt he bleach my mother and her sister put in their hair
and the tanning oil that greased their skin
as their bodies cooked in our driveway
I am from the pear tree in my Memeres back yard
(pale green, usually hard
but sometimes juicy)
I am from the rose bush
the one that grows back every year
even in the snow
to let me know that she is still here

I'm from my Papa's Marine war metals,
from tree climbing and ice cream sandwiches
I'm from "you'll learn!" when I stub my toes
from "getting flip" with my mother
and Bridgie Bum from my Dad
From looking sharp! and Damned If I know
I'm from Over The Rainbow
Where skies are blue
In a brogue I only hear in a song or when I'm in trouble

I'm from the roaring campfire,
where I learned more about my Papa than any place else
As I munched on Smores
from coffee black
It's scent filling the air and awaking my nose each morning
from the boat that brought my Nanny here
to the bed where her mother went away

My grandparents had a large cupboard
Inside were boxes filled with memories
and an antique camera that captured them
I sat on the floor, treasuring each one
As the smell of moth balls gave me the strength

Reading As A Writer -- Poetry

I really enjoyed reading Anne section's poem The Statty Night. It was written very beautifully. I admired the little details that I didn't really catch onto the first time reading it. For example, the way she said "this is how I want to die" ending in a period the first time. Here she described the tree laying int the water and looking up to the stars as if it were drowning. It's a beautiful image but I know hat she does not literally Mean that she wants to drown. In the last part she says again "this is how I want to die:" and uses a colon instead of a period. Following she says:

"Into that rushing beast of the night,

sucked up by that great dragon,

to split from my life with no flag,

no belly no cry"

Prompt #3: The Paring Knife

My eyes locked on the last dusty box in the attic with my name printed on a piece of packing tape. It was moving day and I had a new apartment all to myself waiting for me in the city. For the life of me I couldn’t remember bringing that box up into the attic, it was probably full of hand me down clothes or toys from my childhood that I had completely forgotten about. I pulled the box out and sliced open the tape with the box cutter.

 Immediately after opening the box, I recognized its contents; A teddy bear won for me at the town fair, a comfy old black sweatshirt folded neatly at the bottom, a scrapbook filled with pictures, movie tickets and little notes I had received long ago. It was the box I had tossed down the stairs and had assumed had been dropped off at the dump years ago. It seems my mother knew I would want it someday and packed it away in the attic instead. I pulled out the sweatshirt and held it to my face, trying to get a wif of the aroma that had faded and been replaced with a slightly musty scent long ago.

                Nevertheless, I pulled the sweatshirt over my head, remembering all of the lazy days I spent in it. I sat down on a stack of boxes and pulled the scrap book out and onto my lap. Sheepishly, I opened it up. It made a crackling noise, as if it weren’t meant to be opened ever again. The first page was full of pictures of the two of us goofing around; pictures of us with fake mustaches on and dorky glasses, pictures of the brownies we cooked and the mess we made in the process, pictures of us laughing and having fun at the arcade. It brought a slight smile to my face as I remembered back to those days of my youth.

                There were other pages with hand written notes and the receipt from our dinner on our anniversary. Even a page that displayed the neon orange parking ticket I got when we decided to go on a spontaneous trip into the city. Then there were the pictures from my prom; the image of him all dressed up handsomely in his suit brought me back. My eyes left the page and I immediately closed the book, stuffing it back into the box. I felt the color drain from my face as the blonde hair on my arm stood straight up, accompanied by a million little goose bumps.

                I pulled out the teddy bear and gave it a tight squeeze. It too had lost his scent. I closed my eyes and thought about the day I had worked so hard to try and forget. He was lying at the front of the room, encased in solid mahogany wood, his arms crossed at his chest. His face.. it didn’t look like him. Could it have been too much makeup or just the way they positioned it that was so unlike the way it fell naturally?  And his hair.. It was combed to the side and neatly flattened so that not a single strand was out of place. As many times as I had tried to calm the hair that fell so freely, I had never been successful. As I looked at it flat and without personality, I wondered why I ever tried to fix it in the first place.

                I hadn’t eaten in days and the smell of the funeral home, a mix of cleaning materials, air fresheners and flowers disturbed my stomach to the extent that I didn’t think I would build up an appetite for days longer. And I didn’t. It seemed as though everything was in a fog; time was passing by and things were happening but I didn’t want them to. I was talking to people who came to give their condolences but I couldn’t recall a word of the conversations. Had I even made conversation at all or was I just standing there looking as empty as I felt?

                The funeral directors daughter approached me. She was very tall and thin, the bones on her shoulders stood out even in the very concealing black dress she was wearing. Her dark hair was neatly pulled back into a pony tail. I imagined her entire wardrobe to be black and depressing. Was she so thin because the smell of this place took away her appetite as well? I believe I gave her half a smile, although my mind was still stuck on the idea that while this could potentially be the worst day of my life, it was a normal day at work for her.

                The girl pulled me into an office and sat me down. She explained to me that his family thought it would be a nice touch to have me give a reading at the funeral the next day. Before I could even agree she was handing me a thick white binder and telling me to choose a passage from the bible that I felt was appropriate to read. I simply nodded and gathered up the large binder, taking it with me back to my seat. I felt like I was under water, trying to function as if I were on land. I put down the book and walked to the front of the room. Tears welled up in my eyes and my palms began to sweat even though the thermostat must have been set below fifty in that room. My eyes set on the face of someone I had loved and lost and I tried to find the words I could silently share but there were none.

                Remembering this day made my heart heavy but somehow I found myself glad that I came across this box. I pulled out a black velvet case and opened it up. If only there had been sun in that dusty old attic to reflect off of my ring the way I had remembered it. I studied it for a brief moment, embracing all that it stood for and then laced it onto the silver chain around my neck. There was something about finding that box that made me realize that just because I’m moving on with life doesn’t mean I have to leave the past behind.

Reading As A Writer: A Rose for Emily

My initial reaction to reading William Faulkner’s A Rose for Emily was sadness. At the beginning of the short story I felt sorry for Emily for having such a somber, unfulfilling life. She lost her father who drove away all the men that tried to get close to her and the man who she was going to marry her “left her”. Her days went by without her ever leaving the house. She grew old without friends or family, only with the worker who brought her food from the market. We learn that not even he spoke to her all those years. She was lonely.            

What we find out after Emily is dead that all of the years that everyone thought that Homer, her former fiancé had left her, he had actually been killed and kept in a bedroom upstairs. She kept his tie on the dresser, his clothes on the chair and his body in the bed, his arms still in an open embrace. Faulkner made sure the reader knew that Homer was not a guy we liked. He planned on leaving Emily and so she killed him with Arsenic. When she bought the arsenic, the man who sold it to her insisted it was only used for rats ; Ironic that she used it on a man who was planning on leaving her. His decomposing body caused a stench that disturbed the whole town; Townspeople actually sprinkled lime into her basement to try and lessen the horrible smell, without realizing what was causing it and not realizing the irony that lime is used to cover the smell of decay.

On the surface this short story seems to be about a psychotic old woman but in actuality it’s about the fear of being alone and of being left, about aging and decaying and about the one unstoppable phenomenon we all must fear on some level: time.

We see that Miss Emily starts off at the beginning of the story as a young, good looking woman. As the story progresses we see that he hair becomes more gray and plump. Not before long we see Miss Emily with sunken in eyes and loose wrinkled skin. Finally, we see her grey hair and small skull that makes her seem obese lying dead on the mildew stained pillow in her house.

The years that go by are marked by the amount of times that she refuses to pay her taxes to the townspeople; it comes up again and again as the story goes on. As the townspeople visit her, the stopwatch ticks on deep within her clothes where nobody can see it. Much like the way Homer continues to decay as time goes by in the bedroom upstairs. The house is described to be worn down and smelly while it used to be presentable and nice. It’s the only thing that was left to Emily when her father passed away.

We also see that Emily is compared to her house in many ways. Just like the house, Emily has let herself go and now looks like a much less presentable, older, grayer, fatter woman. The house is described as being “Stubborn and unrelenting”.  We see Emily fit this description quite well many times, for example when they townspeople try to collect taxes from her and also when she buys the arsenic from the drugstore. She is also very stubborn about not letting them put the new mailbox up on her house. As the house decays, we also see Emily’s emotional and physical well being decay.

Across Stick Poem

Across Stick Poem

Brown eyes and long brown hair
Ring with emeralds, wooden box from my grandmother, Sophie, Kitty Necklace, Scrap book
Irish; someday i'll go to Ireland
Drink a lot of coffee
Gluten-Free
Everything is purple
Tinkerbell throw, tons of books

Truth is I want to be a writer
.

Creative Biography

1. What is the first creative moment you remember?

The first creative moment I remember happened when I was in the first grade. I'm sure I had other creative moments before first grade but not that I can actually remember. When I was in first grade I decided I wanted to write books when I got older. My teacher gave me a blank hard cover book and let me fill it up with the few things I knew how to write and draw. I really enjoyed being able to create my own story.

2. Was there anyone there to witness or appreciate it?

My first grade teacher appreciated how much I enjoyed creating books and gave another blank one to my Mom at the time. I recently found it in her desk with a note inside saying how excited she is to read my books someday.

3. What is the best idea you’ve ever had?

It's hard to pinpoint the "best" idea that I've ever had but there have been choices that I've made along the way that I am proud of. One of these choices I made when I was pretty young and decided to cut off all my hair and donate it to Locks Of Love. I later donated my hair again once it grew back.

4. What made it great in your mind?

This idea was great to me because I had recently lost my grandmother to cancer and the way she felt about always wearing a wig and never letting anyone see her vulnerabilities was still fresh in my mind. I thought that because I was so young and didn't have money to donate, it was a good way to help out others in need.

5. What is the dumbest idea?

The dumbest idea I've ever had was probably lying to my parents and my family about something a few years back.

6. What made it stupid?

I never usually lie and it made me feel really guilty. I almost got caught and ended up getting into a lot of trouble for other things that led up to what I hid from them.

7. Can you connect the dots that led you to this idea?

Yes, for some reason it seemed like a good idea at the time but it ended up being  a bad choice. I don't necessarily regret it because it's good to live and learn from your own mistakes.

8. What is your creative ambition?

I'd like to become a writer.

9. What are the obstacles to this ambition?

There are many people who have the same ambition and there are probably not that many jobs

10. What are the vital steps to achieving this ambition?

To learn all that I can and do my best at School, obtain my degree and then work very hard until I get the job that I want to have.

11. How do you begin your day?

I begin my day by taking a shower, then getting dressed, then going downstairs and drinking coffee while finishing getting ready and watching the news.

12. What are your habits? What patterns do you repeat?

My morning routine is typically the same day after day. I go to classes, leave and go to work, come home and eat dinner and then do homework until the weekend comes around. there are days that differ where I get to actually have a social life and see my friends as well as weekends where I also get to see my boyfriend. For the most part my habits stay the same.

13. Describe your first successful creative act.

When I was in high school I took a ceramics class. For my friends it came easily to make things out of clay but for me it was hard to make coils without squishing them and near impossible to use the pottery wheel without turning my almost vase like project into a pile of mush. Finally I got the hang of it. My piece wasnt the best or even good for that matter but I still successfully made a pot.

14. Describe your second successful creative act.

Another successful creative act I have had was learning how to crochet. My grandmother tried to teach me but I just wasnt really coordinated enough to get the hang of it. My friend ended up spending the time and showing me how to do it. In the end I crocheted an entire scarf that again wasnt perfect but I still crocheted it.

15. Compare them.

In both scenarios I tried to do something creative and it didn't exactly come naturally to me. The theme is that I was determined and I tried and tried again until I was successful.

16. What are your attitudes toward: money, power, praise, rivals, work, play?

My attitudes towards money, power, praise, rivals, work and play are pretty simple. I think in the end it's most important that a person is happy. If making money or having power is what makes them the most happy, then it is suitable that they take most of their time to achieve these things. Personally, I know it is important to be successful and that will be part of my happiness in the end but it is most important that I am surrounded by people I love doing things that I enjoy.

17. Which artist do you admire most?

18. Why are they your role models?

I don't think that an artist could really be my role model.. I find my role models to be people that I actually know. Growing up I had an older cousin who was my role model. I thought everything she did was really cool and wanted to be just like her. Nowadays my biggest role model is my Papa. He is my role model because of the way he handles situation and the genuine nature in all of his actions. If something wasn't a big deal, he didn't make it one. I'd like to be more like him.

19. What do you and your role models have in common?

Well, first of all we're related. We come from the same background and family and were raised a certain way.

20. Does anyone in your life regularly inspire you?

Yes, I have friends that have been through hard times and still are amazing people. That inspires me almost every day.

21. Who is your muse?

22. Define muse?

thinking deeply about something

23. When confronted with superior intelligence or talent, how do you respond?

I usually look up to people who possess qualities of superior intelligence or talent. Sometimes I wish I was as good at something as they are.

24. When faced with stupidity, hostility, intransigence, laziness, or indifference in others, how do you respond?

It depends on the situation. When it's with my brother I usually try to walk away from him and just go to my room instead of fighting with him but we do get into arguments..

25. When faced with impending success or the threat of failure, how do you respond?

I try to work harder

26. When you work, do you love the process or the result?

No. At the job that I have now I do not love the process nor the result. I think my job is very good while I put myself through college but I would not enjoy doing it for the rest of my life or as a career.

27. At what moments do you feel your reach exceeds your grasp?

Sometimes I get overwhelmed with school when i have too much to do and not enough time.

28. What is your ideal creative activity?

My ideal creative activity would be to write children's books. I have a four year old nephew and a two year old niece and I love to create bedtime stories for them on the spot. They have the best imaginations so it's really rewarding to come up with silly stories for them.

29. What is your greatest fear?

Losing the people that I love.

30. What is the likelihood of either of the answers to the previous two questions happening?

I'm not sure how likely it is that I'm able to write children's books someday but I know it's certain that someday I'll lose everyone I love.

31. Which of your answers would you most like to change?

Obviously the second.

32. What is your idea of mastery?

Mastery would be when you know everything there is to know about something. From that point you can set out to do whatever it is you want, having all of the knowledge you need.

33. What is your greatest dream?
amy greatest dream is to have a happy life. Hopefully that includes a lot of traveling, having a family, friends that I can always count on and becoming a writer.  

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