New sl et te r - Ja nu ar y 20 03

Table of Contents
The Write Stories
The Write Poetry
Critique of the Month
Learn From the Masters
The Write "Stuff"

THE WRITE STORIES



Response to The Write Stuff Challenge!
This member finished the story prompt provided, shown in bold.

--
punkrockerkc333@comcast.net
---

The wind rasped through the trees like a blustery voice whispering secrets of the universe. The day was a wet inferno and I had had enough. If he could not solve the problem on my mind, no one could. He told me to let time heal, but how could time heal my problems when I couldnt even begin to deal with them? I was sore all over; each and every limb ached and begged for mercy. But I would not give in. My mind pleaded with me to rest, but I stayed strong. But over everything, the pain of my heart echoed through my whole body. Sharp bolts of pain would surge through every vein, I was weak. No one knew what I was going through, how hard its been, how much Ive been hurting, except him. He was the one who had caused this madness, and he was the only one who could make it better. I longed for him to wrap his arms around me and tell me things would be okay. I wanted to feel his weight upon me, caressing me, I wanted him back I wasnt ready for him to leave me all alone. I was heartbroken. But I wouldnt give in to the tears, I held strong. I was a woman and I refused to let him get the best of me. I was fighting against current and losing the whole way.

It was an awful day outside, the kind of day you wanted to stay in. The clouds were dark overhead and the sun was hidden. Rain would sprinkle through to feed the plants and flowers recently planted, awaiting spring. I sat inside, just me and my problems, locked, behind the bars of the wind and shadows lurking outside. The world was working against me, pushing me to cry and frustrated with my battle. Hours passed of endless thoughts that were unnecessary, and me, doing useless chores just to keep my mind occupied. I lay in my bed, the bed we had lain on many times, together. My head rested upon the pillow, the pillow his head had grazed and touched, over and over again. Sheets below me, sheets that have seen what he and I have been through and felt the passion and fire we had once felt. The rain knocked on my window, and I gave in. The tears exploded. They were full of feelings and hurt Id been hiding so long. I was now vulnerable and weak. There was my heart and soul for everyone to see, my claims of strength blown away by the wind. I was forever indebted with pain. But I was okay.

The wind rasped through the trees like a blustery voice whispering secrets of the universe.




THE WRITE POETRY


Visions of smoked glass
Crushed undertoe to
Leech out the blood that society expects.
Of course there must be blood.
Teenagers must know nothing but pain
Temptation
Frustration
Aggravation

Condescencion.
Happiness is a facade.
How can it be anything else
Before wisdom graces
One's hair with the speckling of
Silvery dignity?
It's gray.
Tumultuous years:

I am fat.
I am ugly.
I am helpless
And in agony.
The world is cruel
Hard
And I don't think I can face it.
I say I am happy

But I must be pretending.
Teenagers can do nothing else.
I appear happy
I feel happy
I am happy.
You don't accept it.
You don't believe me.
What am I hiding?
I must be in turmoil.

It's a given.
So society forces me to crush my foot against the smoked glass
To tell me that it will be okay,
That my cry of pain is expected and not to fret.
But I only jabbed my foot for you.
I can step around the glass.
I might be the only one,
But I am happy.

You don't notice through the petty screams of adolescent anguish.




Invisible
[punkrockerkc333@comcast.net]

Withdrawing from the world
For Im now far away,
Invisible actions are all I do
Silent words are all I say.
Hiding in the shadows
In the loud end of the seen,
Unstable in my stance
Unsure which way I lean.
My head held low
But my open eyes still see,
The shallow thats possessed
Ungratefulness of free.
New people all around
Changes coming fast,
Fate controlling future
Regrets controlling past.
Sitting in the background
Of a world I could despise,
Holding back from life
Invisible to human eyes.



[spoiledme1987]
You could have helped me
But instead you hurt me
You could have loved me
But instead you hated me
You could have hugged me
But instead you hit me
You could have cared for me
But instead you neglected me
You could have been concerned about me
But instead you didn't care about me
You could have stayed with me
But instead you abandoned me
You could have helped me
But instead you hurt me



Pressure Cooker
[sphinxmagic@yahoo.com]

The steam is gathering
inside the pot,
the pressure's building
why won't it stop?
the handle is burning
from wooden core out,
the lid is side-stepping
but it's losing the bout,

cooking
scorching
dying

POP!






CRITIQUE OF THE MONTH

You may submit any of your writing to be critiqued by a panel of peer critics by emailing it to littleal87@aol.com with "To Critique" in the subject line.

Critiques provided by a panel of peer editors:

Anna, freshman at Oberlin College
Christopher The Red, 23
Therissa
Allison, high school senior



'Her Erotica'
By Chris

She looks at her eyes, (Her own eyes?)
Hazy behind the steam that rises in the sink.
Even in the dark she sees them.
She (not sure if lack of verb works) quiet, scared, ugly; (She's or She was?)
He was angry, greedy, hers. (I like these adjective progressions.)
His quiet whispers became lustful grunts. ("lustful" doesn't quite fit) (Oh! What about "lascivious"? Something to portray that it's not just young lust, but that it's evil.)
His sweet nothings became muted curses. ("Sweet nothings"-- rethink) (sweet nothing is a bit cliched.)(I'm not so sure I mind "sweet nothings." The phrase shows that their love might not have been more than cliche to begin with, but now even that illusion is gone.)
Their promise of forever ended moments ago. ("Promise of forever" is a bit cliche) (nice)
She pulls a hand across the mirror,
And the chill burns her fingertips. ("chill burns" is a bit too obvious)(Sorry, but I disagree again. I liked the contrast.)
She just watches. (What's she watching? Not his shape, b/c there's a period.)
As his shape is outlined behind her,
His words are cold and rushed.
She closes her eyes and listens,
As he clears the lust from his voice and pulls on his shirt (Is it still lust in his voice, or is he cold now that he's satiated?)
He calls her "Baby". (nyyeeeh.) (Period inside quotes. Also, tell us how he says it. Describe more.)
Tonight they became one
And she could feel his love running down her thigh (Wow, striking ending.)

(Despite the comments, I actually kind of like this poem... really like it, I mean. It sounds like you're drawing on a mixture of personal experience and imagination. The imagination part might need to be rethought-- the guy might not be EVIL, just thoughtless and loveless. Have more fun with her touching things-- the mirror, etc... a lot of people in that situation feel like they're not even there. Be careful of cliches and of pulling things to use just because they're easy ("promise of forever", "baby", etc.). If the guy really was evil, think of little things that prove it... things no one else would notice.)

This is a powerful piece. I like imagery and the use of language used in your poem. Just a line that was a but cliched and just a little confusion with the second line. I dont know if you left a work out or not.

I really enjoyed that poem because some of the imagery really hit me. I like the starkness of some of your statements--it's good to take the reader aback sometimes. Maybe because of that, I want to know more. Tell me more about their background, describe the scene. Are they back together? Did they ever break up? Does the girl feel guilty after being with him? Is she scared or just sad? Was he ever physically abusive? Why did you choose the title you did?



LEARN FROM THE MASTERS


"Elie Wiesel's statement, '...to remain silent and indifferent is the greatest sin of all...' stands as a succinct summary of his views on life and serves as the driving force of his work. Wiesel is the author of 36 works dealing with Judaism, the Holocaust, and the moral responsibility of all people to fight hatred, racism and genocide. Born September 30, 1928, Eliezer Wiesel led a life representative of many Jewish children. Growing up in a small village in Romania, his world revolved around family, religious study, community and God. Yet his family, community and his innocent faith were destroyed upon the deportation of his village in 1944. Arguably the most powerful and renowned passage in Holocaust literature, his first book, Night, records the inclusive experience of the Jews:

Never shall I forget that night, the first night in camp, which has turned my life into one long night, seven times cursed and seven times sealed. Never shall I forget that smoke. Never shall I forget the little faces of the children, whose bodies I saw turned into wreaths of smoke beneath a silent blue sky.
Never shall I forget those flames which consumed my faith forever.
Never shall I forget that nocturnal silence which deprived me, for all eternity, of the desire to live. Never shall I forget those moments which murdered my God and my soul and turned my dreams to dust. Never shall I forget these things, even if I am condemned to live as long as God Himself. Never.

THE WRITE "STUFF"



SPECIAL BIRTHDAY ANNOUNCEMENTS

January 24th, 1987 Sparkl3947
January 28th, 1987 LittleAL87

Happy Birthday!

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