View allAll Photos Tagged CreativeWriting
The automatic writing project started out as an activity among friends and locals. I would write a line someone else would write a line and so on... Then people would overhear us and ask if they could participate and write something too (which surprised me) of course I said "yes!" At that point I realized that lots of people have something to say. I started asking strangers to add entries, then I graduated to offering people $1.00 to participate, some people do not accept the dollar and some pay me a $1.00 (paying it forward). It's becoming quite a lovely, surprising and compelling project. People from many walks of life are participating: homeless, a news reporter, academics, students, doctors, drug addicts, lawyers, tourists etc... People have written things in my journal that they'd never say out loud, not to anyone. Some of it's so sad, some intriguing, hilarious and so on... At the end of the day, every one of these people understand that their entries are being uploaded to the internet and are comforted in knowing that they will be heard. I have no idea where this is going, but it's going just fine! FYI: English is not everyone's first language here. I will be illustrating the book/journal after the text is done. I hope that everyone who reads these entries learns something about people, mostly that we never know what someone else is going through.
Feel free to stop by my facebook page if you like: www.facebook.com/collageandautomaticwriting/
Lab technician Sandra Rodriguez Cruz analyzes microorganisms growing on a specialized growth medium and checks for characteristic colony phenotypes. Photo by: Philip Channing
Chatting about what love is, late at night:
You said that love is made of dedication,
Togetherness and confidence. It might
Bring a new source of burning inspiration.
I was in love but twice, and love is hard.
Always a one-way street, on a fast car;
You have no brakes on, often you are off guard:
Looking in a short distance, you see afar.
And it is madness too, waking at dawn
To watch the sunrise, just because you hope
That who you love would see the same; alone
Injecting in your veins the old love dope.
When I think love, I think a silver flytrap plant
Its leaves sweet scented, fetching me - an ant, another ant.
(Sonnet by SiRiChandra)
Even though their academic interests vary from biological sciences, creative writing and theatre, (l-r) Austin Wong, Andrea Krajisnik, Aly Owen, Josh Gonzalez and Sarah Suits developed new friendships while living in residential housing. They're shown walking beside the Arts and Humanities Residential College at Parkside (left) and Parkside Apartments (background). Photo by: Philip Channing.
I never liked your hands. Your face is good.
You’re proud to look a bit like Kurt Cobain.
You knew it well: you made it understood.
You used the light to enhance your cheekbones’ plain.
I had to know that you were to be trustless
Feeling your hands, their coldness and their touch
On mine: how could I’ve been so mindless?
I was so sure you would not hurt me much.
I had to trust my hands; they knew the ending.
They saw the hardest bones inside the frame,
Learning the short clean nails, and comprehending
The man within the mask, the hidden shame.
And your best feature? Eyes, the mirror of the soul
A glazed surface, blue: eyes of a porcelain doll.
(Sonnet by SiRiChandra)
I took a creative writing class in college not realizing how it would really challenge me. I was used to the writing praises of teachers ever since elementary school. I was also used to editors’ article critiques in journalism classes and newspaper internships. I thought I had talent and thick skin.
Writing news and feature articles is much different from penning personal poems, short stories, and plays. Everything I wrote in that creative writing class was passed around for all my classmates to edit and critique along with the professor.
I’ve learned to trust my instincts and take creative chances. I’ve learned not to take things too personally. I’ve learned to use the critiques that can help me and to let the others go.
I wrote this non-rhyming poem after a discussion with my sister. We were talking about so many who miss what's going on around them while they are so focused on their own looks, talents, gifts, etc. I wish we could all do better at looking Beyond the Mirror.
You can watch the scrolling words with music in the background on my YouTube channel at youtu.be/BfE-7URL1Nc
While I copyright my writing, I am very free with it just like my images, but I don't automatically list my words with a Creative Commons license like my photos because I want to hear from people who want to use them. Just send me a Flickr mail to let me know you would like to use my lyrics or poetry for your personal project, gift, or card.
theatre / performance art / poetry / installation / readings / documentary / creative writing / music
Πολυχώρος Κέντρο Ελέγχου Τηλεοράσεων / TV Control Center
Κύπρου 91Α & Σικίνου 35Α, 11361, Κυψέλη, Αθήνα / 91Α Kyprou & 35Α Sikinou, 11361, Athens
Τ: (00 30) 213 00 40 496 || Mobile: (00 30) 69.45.34.84.45
Email: info@polychorosket.gr
Site: polychorosket.gr/
Facebook: www.facebook.com/kentron.el
Twitter: twitter.com/TVControlCenter
Flickr: www.flickr.com/photos/79921428@N03
YouTube: www.youtube.com/channel/UC0rOD1_SgjuNrkNmx59_sMg/videos
The College of Liberal Arts at Temple University proudly announces a handful of newly renovated “smart” classrooms for the Fall 2012 semester. These rooms, in addition to being refurbished with fresh carpeting, lighting, blinds, and oversized white boards, have been upgraded with a number of technological advances. Students and faculty assigned to the new classrooms will notice new podiums, projectors, screens and control systems.
www.cla.temple.edu/2012/09/newly-renovated-smart-classroo...
Creative Writing Conference 2015 was held at the Conference Center and Elston Inn located on Sweet Briar College's campus. Photo by Meridith De Avila Khan. Copyright Sweet Briar College.
Ed’s writer theme elements juxtaposed with old print from San Luis Obispo's Montaña de Oro, circa 2015.
They're here! They're here!
Somehow, my creative writing students and I managed to finish this collection of their short horror stories before the end of the school year. I am so excited with how they turned out, and I can't wait to hand them out today and tomorrow!!!!!
(Want to buy a copy? You'll have to PM me for details...)
Poetry session @Chapel Arts Centre for Creative Writing students (Ross Turner, Molly Burnell). Model release forms signed.
Photography - Harris Stovell.
The automatic writing project started out as an activity among friends and locals. I would write a line someone else would write a line and so on... Then people would overhear us and ask if they could participate and write something too (which surprised me) of course I said "yes!" At that point I realized that lots of people have something to say. I started asking strangers to add entries, then I graduated to offering people $1.00 to participate, some people do not accept the dollar and some pay me a $1.00 (paying it forward). It's becoming quite a lovely, surprising and compelling project. People from many walks of life are participating: homeless, a news reporter, academics, students, doctors, drug addicts, lawyers, tourists etc... People have written things in my journal that they'd never say out loud, not to anyone. Some of it's so sad, some intriguing, hilarious and so on... At the end of the day, every one of these people understand that their entries are being uploaded to the internet and are comforted in knowing that they will be heard. I have no idea where this is going, but it's going just fine! FYI: English is not everyone's first language here. I will be illustrating the book/journal after the text is done. I hope that everyone who reads these entries learns something about people, mostly that we never know what someone else is going through.
Feel free to stop by my facebook page if you like: www.facebook.com/collageandautomaticwriting/
I am afraid of masks, I’ve always been,
And as a child Carnival was a nightmare.
The blank still faces, their abnormal sheen
Was just enough to throw me in despair.
There is a why: my mother rested lying
On her white bed, her face motionless white.
I asked softly: “Mama, are you crying?”
She told me back: “Go away, I’m dead, be quiet”.
I was a little girl, and this reply
Had no solution. I knew well back then:
When you don’t talk and breathe, that’s when you die.
But mama… mama… will she speak again?
She was back with her mask, her rosy coloured shield.
I’ve seen, on her real face, her sorrow unconcealed.
(Sonnet by SiRiChandra)
punish me
lash me with fiercest words
those only can enter my scars
I am a lachrymiform poem
I wander where the letters are
I hang my soul to the trees of metaphores
I need to dwell in this land of absence
Where my self is severed from my shapeshifting body
dead ego crawling creeping behind me
I have special scissors to cut the sighs
in strange cloud shapes
I am so cruel because I do all I can so they can't rain
and I run in the wood denying all pain
dancing with black ribbons in a dirty dress
my cold and aching feet keep all the memory
under the dark blue arches of my feet
I walked on all kind of tenderness till it choke or beg for me to let it go
the shadows behind the old tree murmurs how much she loves feeding me with these waves
of spiders and bitter splatters of thoughts who can stain your spirit for ages
I hate to have to listen to this song
alter sister alter alter these pages of emptiness
fill it feel it
make origami of these void of words
paper hurts
velum aches
alter sister
alter these heavens without a name
fill me feel me feed me need me
again
we'll keep on talking to the ceiling
and the mirrors will show us another story of thorns
that still have to be written(...)
This is a poem I wrote at school when I was 9 or 10 years old. We were given a title, and had to write a poem based on it. I remember the teacher liking it, and the headmistress. Several years later, the headmistress retired. My dad went to her retirement party, as he was on the board of governors at the school. She gave him this to bring home. Apparently she had liked it so much that she had framed it, and kept it in her office. I think I typed this out on the BBC computer we had at school, and it was printed on a dot matrix printer. I like it, although I cringe at my use of the word "surrealism"...must have seemed quite pretentious for a 9 or 10 year old to use a word like that, and I vaguely remember only using it as I had just learned the word and thought it would be impressive to use.
theatre / performance art / poetry / installation / readings / documentary / creative writing / music
Πολυχώρος Κέντρο Ελέγχου Τηλεοράσεων / TV Control Center
Κύπρου 91Α & Σικίνου 35Α, 11361, Κυψέλη, Αθήνα / 91Α Kyprou & 35Α Sikinou, 11361, Athens
Τ: (00 30) 213 00 40 496 || Mobile: (00 30) 69.45.34.84.45
Email: info@polychorosket.gr
Site: polychorosket.gr/
Facebook: www.facebook.com/kentron.el
Twitter: twitter.com/TVControlCenter
Flickr: www.flickr.com/photos/79921428@N03
YouTube: www.youtube.com/channel/UC0rOD1_SgjuNrkNmx59_sMg/videos
Celeste Chong-Cerrillo, instructional laboratory manager for the Department of Biological Sciences, and lab technician Sandra Rodriguez Cruz analyze microorganisms growing on a specialized growth medium and check for characteristic colony phenotypes. Photo by: Philip Channing
The automatic writing project started out as an activity among friends and locals. I would write a line someone else would write a line and so on... Then people would overhear us and ask if they could participate and write something too (which surprised me) of course I said "yes!" At that point I realized that lots of people have something to say. I started asking strangers to add entries, then I graduated to offering people $1.00 to participate, some people do not accept the dollar and some pay me a $1.00 (paying it forward). It's becoming quite a lovely, surprising and compelling project. People from many walks of life are participating: homeless, a news reporter, academics, students, doctors, drug addicts, lawyers, tourists etc... People have written things in my journal that they'd never say out loud, not to anyone. Some of it's so sad, some intriguing, hilarious and so on... At the end of the day, every one of these people understand that their entries are being uploaded to the internet and are comforted in knowing that they will be heard. I have no idea where this is going, but it's going just fine! FYI: English is not everyone's first language here. I will be illustrating the book/journal after the text is done. I hope that everyone who reads these entries learns something about people, mostly that we never know what someone else is going through.
Feel free to stop by my facebook page if you like: www.facebook.com/collageandautomaticwriting/
“Have you forgotten me?” this is her song.
A wasp jailed in a room, hitting the panes
Of the clean windows: her spinning wheel of gold
Respinning all the lanes we walked before.
A wasp jailed in a room, hitting the panes
She sings her song, her contralto a hum
Respinning all the lanes we walked before
My hand in hers, balancing the two worlds.
She sings her song, her contralto a hum
Sometimes I sing along, to let her go
- My hand in hers, balancing the two worlds -
But she’s trapped. She sings to be perceptible.
Sometimes I sing along, to let her go
As I know she preferred the open air
But she’s trapped. She sings to be perceptible:
When I open a window her buzz fades.
As I know she preferred the open air
I keep my windows spotless, brush off the cobwebs
When I open a window her buzz fades
And off she goes. She is back the second after.
I keep my windows spotless, brush off the cobwebs
Even in winter I never lock the door
And off she goes. She is back the second after
“Have you forgotten me?” this is her song.
(A pantoum by SiRiChandra)
The automatic writing project started out as an activity among friends and locals. I would write a line someone else would write a line and so on... Then people would overhear us and ask if they could participate and write something too (which surprised me) of course I said "yes!" At that point I realized that lots of people have something to say. I started asking strangers to add entries, then I graduated to offering people $1.00 to participate, some people do not accept the dollar and some pay me a $1.00 (paying it forward). It's becoming quite a lovely, surprising and compelling project. People from many walks of life are participating: homeless, a news reporter, academics, students, doctors, drug addicts, lawyers, tourists etc... People have written things in my journal that they'd never say out loud, not to anyone. Some of it's so sad, some intriguing, hilarious and so on... At the end of the day, every one of these people understand that their entries are being uploaded to the internet and are comforted in knowing that they will be heard. I have no idea where this is going, but it's going just fine! FYI: English is not everyone's first language here. I will be illustrating the book/journal after the text is done. I hope that everyone who reads these entries learns something about people, mostly that we never know what someone else is going through.
Feel free to stop by my facebook page if you like: www.facebook.com/collageandautomaticwriting/
The automatic writing project started out as an activity among friends and locals. I would write a line someone else would write a line and so on... Then people would overhear us and ask if they could participate and write something too (which surprised me) of course I said "yes!" At that point I realized that lots of people have something to say. I started asking strangers to add entries, then I graduated to offering people $1.00 to participate, some people do not accept the dollar and some pay me a $1.00 (paying it forward). It's becoming quite a lovely, surprising and compelling project. People from many walks of life are participating: homeless, a news reporter, academics, students, doctors, drug addicts, lawyers, tourists etc... People have written things in my journal that they'd never say out loud, not to anyone. Some of it's so sad, some intriguing, hilarious and so on... At the end of the day, every one of these people understand that their entries are being uploaded to the internet and are comforted in knowing that they will be heard. I have no idea where this is going, but it's going just fine! FYI: English is not everyone's first language here. I will be illustrating the book/journal after the text is done. I hope that everyone who reads these entries learns something about people, mostly that we never know what someone else is going through.
Feel free to stop by my facebook page if you like: www.facebook.com/collageandautomaticwriting/
While turtle hunting she decided to walk a bit further in the woods. I tried telling her doesn't look good honey. She didn't take my advice and continued down in the brush. Well of course there was some loud rustling and she came running out there so fast, she ran right out of her flip flops. Later saying there was a foul odor. I remember stories from my dad of the Skunk Ape. My dad has always told stories about the Skunk Ape, Bigfoot since I was a girl. My dad never tells a lie. He's a true Florida born native he hunted barefoot with a slingshot, gun or older he jokes by cars. I am always on the look out for the elusive Bigfoot here in Florida or my summer trips to the mountains of Tennessee. So when chance gives me the oppurtunity to tell my family about the Skunk Ape I am carrying on the long standing tradition in my family of storytelling.
In Florida we have something called The Skunk Ape they are in the same family as Bigfoot, Sasquatch, Abominable Snowman, Boggy Creek Monster, Wild Man, Almas, Batutut, Fear liath, Hibagon, MonoGrande, Orang Mawas, Yeren, Yowie, Yeti and the Sassenach. The Skunk Ape is named for its appearance & strong stench. Some people have compared the foul stench to a skunk rolling around in a dumpster.
The sun has dipped below the horizon leaving an illumination in the sky. Not completely dark or lit the twilight hour is here. An unbearable heat with a slight breeze attracts the biggest mosquitoes. Birds softening their calls to a whisper fetching babies home for the night. Alligators entering the swampy creek water hoping for last minute parched animals at the edge. This is when the Skunk Ape wakes to hunt. A trail of Lima beans or string of apples can attract one, but it can be difficult. Reports have been documented since the 1970’s and film captures are extremely rare. One lady who wished to remain anonymous mailed the pictures into a local Post Office.
If you are luck enough to encounter the Florida Skunk Ape do not run. Stand still and note your surroundings, time of day, weather and please remember to take pictures.
The automatic writing project started out as an activity among friends and locals. I would write a line someone else would write a line and so on... Then people would overhear us and ask if they could participate and write something too (which surprised me) of course I said "yes!" At that point I realized that lots of people have something to say. I started asking strangers to add entries, then I graduated to offering people $1.00 to participate, some people do not accept the dollar and some pay me a $1.00 (paying it forward). It's becoming quite a lovely, surprising and compelling project. People from many walks of life are participating: homeless, a news reporter, academics, students, doctors, drug addicts, lawyers, tourists etc... People have written things in my journal that they'd never say out loud, not to anyone. Some of it's so sad, some intriguing, hilarious and so on... At the end of the day, every one of these people understand that their entries are being uploaded to the internet and are comforted in knowing that they will be heard. I have no idea where this is going, but it's going just fine! FYI: English is not everyone's first language here. I will be illustrating the book/journal after the text is done. I hope that everyone who reads these entries learns something about people, mostly that we never know what someone else is going through.
Feel free to stop by my facebook page if you like: www.facebook.com/collageandautomaticwriting/
The Creative Writing Program at ASU presents author Jess Row in a reading from his work followed by a Q&A and book signing.
Row is the author of White Flights: Race, Fiction, and the American Imagination, as well as the novel Your Face in Mine and the story collections The Train to Lo Wu and Nobody Ever Gets Lost. White Flights is his first book of nonfiction. One of Granta’s Best of Young American Novelists of 2007, he lives in New York and teaches at the College of New Jersey.
Book Summary
White Flights is a meditation on whiteness in American fiction and culture from the end of the civil rights movement to the present. At the heart of the book, Jess Row ties “white flight”—the movement of white Americans into segregated communities, whether in suburbs or newly gentrified downtowns—to white writers setting their stories in isolated or emotionally insulated landscapes, from the mountains of Idaho in Marilynne Robinson’s Housekeeping to the claustrophobic households in Jonathan Franzen’s The Corrections. Row uses brilliant close readings of work from well-known writers such as Don DeLillo, Annie Dillard, Richard Ford, and David Foster Wallace to examine the ways these and other writers have sought imaginative space for themselves at the expense of engaging with race.
White Flights aims to move fiction to a more inclusive place, and Row looks beyond criticism to consider writing as a reparative act. What would it mean, he asks, if writers used fiction “to approach each other again”? Row turns to the work of James Baldwin, Dorothy Allison, and James Alan McPherson to discuss interracial love in fiction, while also examining his own family heritage as a way to interrogate his position. A moving and provocative book that includes music, film, and literature in its arguments, White Flights is an essential work of cultural and literary criticism.
PRAISE
“Row has produced a thoughtful and timely meditation that serves as a call to white writers.”—Pop Matters
“This intelligent collection is often deeply engaged in realms of philosophy and literary theory. . . . There is something for every reader . . . in the message that fiction not only reflects but acts upon real life, and that each of us is obliged to act for justice, in reading and writing as in life.”—Shelf Awareness
“With these superb essays, Jess Row reveals himself to be an insightful critic of both literature and the American condition.”—Viet Thanh Nguyen
“Jess Row performs a much-needed analysis. . . . The landscape of the imagination, like the country itself, he argues with rich insight and brio, is neither equal nor free.”—John Keene
Pauline Yu, a Ph.D. candidate in biological sciences, prepares gels for protein electrophoresis in professor Donal T. Manahan's marine biology laboratory. Photo by: Philip Channing
The seven sisters sailed. A feather fell
And it was thunder, as they turned their head
Coiling the thin white mantles in a shell.
They tried to smile, but the thick lipstick – red –
Crumbling, marked the snowy satin stays.
And it was thunder, as they turned their head.
While whirling, her fair hair shyly ablaze,
The youngest broke down open and fell apart,
Crumbling. Marked, the snowy satin stays.
“Don’t be so silly, it won’t split your heart”,
Said the big sister, stepping on debris.
The youngest broke down open and fell apart
Vanishing in a pale foam over the sea.
The five girls, giggling, cried “They’re playing a joke!”.
Said the big sister, stepping on debris:
“That’s how it happens when the sisters meet.
The seven sisters sailed. A feather fell:
They made the storm and let the future fleet
Coiling the thin white mantles in a shell.”
(Terzanelle by SiRiChandra)