Writers in Progress : A publication of The Writing Center Northern Essex Community College

66 Pages·1999·3.3 MB·English

Writers
RO
RE
P G
S
S
WritcTS in Prognness
is a publication of
The Writing Center
NorthernEssexCommunityCollege
Haverhill, Massachusetts
Copyright © 2000
Allrights revert to the authors upon publication
The1999-2000edMancfWmersinVro^esswasMxxniplishedonaDdlDimensionXPST500,usingMiaosofiOffiaeandanHPlaserpnver.
Editors:
CarolineAnderberg, ClareThompson,Jennie-RebeccaFalcetta, DianeGori
Production/Layout/Design:
Caroline, ClareandJennie-Rebecca
Coverillustration:
ClareThompson
Specialthanksto;
Basic Writingstudentcontributors; Basic Writingfaculty; Diane Gori, WritingCenterCoordinator,Joanna Fortna, Curriculum Coordinatorfor
BasicWriting; David Kelley, Ed.D,AssociateDean, DivisionofInstructionalSupport; PatriciaMcDermott, Director, DevelopmentalStudies; the
PACEandVoc-Edprograms.
To allthestudents who think theycan%
andallthestudents who know theycan.
Because of the large number of submissions we receive each year, we are faced with the difficult
task of choosing which papers to publish. Space limitations prevent us from printing every paper
we receive. We apologize, because we believe that every writer who has had the courage and pride
to offer his or her work for publication deserves recognition. This issue is dedicated to all ofyou.
We
honor submissions from:
• Esteban Alvarez
• VictoriaAlvarez
• Luz Baez
• Nancy Byron
• Michael Georgopolis
• Christian Grullon
• Julia Helbich
• Joseph Marrone
• Scott McIntyre
• WildaMendez
• WilliamMoschetto
• EdwardNuesi
• Steven Paine
• Tho Phung
• MariaNieves Rios-Moya
• Jessica Rivera
• Maria Sainz
• Ken Samoisette
• Roberta Smith
• Fred Stuart
• Marcos Suriel
• Ivelisse Torres
• Sarah Wheeler
• JuanYagual
11
Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2017 with funding from
Boston Public Library
https://archive.org/details/writersinprogres1999unse
<^Table of Contents/b»
Introduction by Clare Thompson iv
Describinga Place
:
“Gone Fishing” by Bruce Powers 1
“The Good OldYard” by Yjannette Ortiz 3
“Picture Perfect” by Douglas Owens 5
Describinga Person:
“MyFavorite Flower, MyMother” by Rena Ferullo 7
“MyFriend” by KerryAnn Landers 9
“GrandpaJanet” by Sherri Brandon 11
Rememberingan Experience
:
“Tricks ofHalloween” by Mary Polanco 13
“Gotcha,Young Boy” by Benito Mendoza 16
“RacialNightmare on the Road” byJean-Max Geffrard 19
“TheNightofChange” by DawnSmith 22
Describinga lob
:
“RoadScholar” byJames Breadmore 24
“Hogan Regional:ALife Experience” by Marcie Comeau 27
“ThisJoy” by Nicholas Kafkas 30
“GivingBack” by Catherine Gitschier 32
Outlininga Process
:
“ThisStinks” byTracey Ramsdell 35
“HowtoSurvive a Breakup (Bythe Breakup Queen)” byJanelleApostolos 37
“BrushingUp On Painting Knowledge” by RuthAnnMcCashland 40
Analyzing Music
:
“GrowingWithMusic” by CraigKrasinski 42
“MozartSymphony” by Kim Fohlin 44
“You Can Run; CanYou Hide?” by Steven Murphy 47
Supportingan Opinion
:
“Vieques: Protestingfor Peace” byJose Ortis; 49
“TheAbsence ofFathers” by Narda Pimentel 51
“LatchkeyKids” by Nancy Byron 53
“Once Gone, Gone Forever” by Edward O’Brien 55
iii
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Introduction
We don’t necessarily have to change our lives around to be writers or to be writing more. We must
change the way we look at ourlives. By looking at the small, everyday circumstances and happenings, we
find ideas to fill vo—lumes.
Georgia Heard, WritingTowardHome
— Most people—who don’t write believe it comes easy for those who do. They believe only a select
few as ifby magic can see the world in words. But the writers contained in this anthology know better.
They know the real magic in writing comes in recognizing themselves as storytellers, in recognizing
themselves as people, like you, who have important things to reveal about their lives and the world around
them.
Once these writers recognized themselves as storytellers they suddenly found “ideas to fill
volumes.” They found their life stories hidden in the most unexpected, everyday places. While some found
their stories in a grandfather’s flaming redhair, or in the “scruffy smile” worn by an “unkempt man,” others
found them lying in the soft green grass ofa lazy fishing spot, or in the shadows seen by a blind girl, or in
the smell offresh paint and clean sheets. Some even found them lurking in the must old fabric ofa second
hand Santa Claus suit, and others still in the swirling, bold letters ofgraffiti smeared across a subway car. In
short, where you look, these writers seem to suggest, is where youwill find the magic ofyour story.
Be warned, however: cultivating faith in your own magic is tricky business. At first you must
believe in the unseen potential you have tucked deep inside of you, as a caterpillar must in the unseen
butterfly wings tucked deep inside its small, slender body. Like a caterpillar, you must trust in the process
ofdiscovering your unseen butterfly wings as a writer. Let this faith in the unseen allow you to be patient
with yourself, let it allow you to take the risks you need to fly, and, above all, let it allow you to release
your story.
Some say stories beget stories and that is the hope of this anthology. The hope is that the stories
unleashed on the following pages will unleash your own. This anthology dares you to see your world in
words. It begs you to take your turn as the storyteller. So look around inside the deep pockets and comers
ofyour life or inbetweenthe cracks ofyour memories in search ofyour story.
After all, the nextgeneration ofBasic Writersbegins with you.
Best wishes,
Clare Thompson
May2000
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Gone Fishing
by Bruce Powers
In the summer of 1964, I wasjust a boy growing up in a small New Hampshire town. As in many
small communitiesback then, most ofus children attended the same school and would play together in our
free time. Baseball and soccer were favorite pastimes. Sometimes, ifthe spirit moved us, we wouldgo for
a visitto what we called the “Haunted House,”but thatis another story.
Because my parents were divorced, my home life was somewhat different from the rest of my
friends. My mother worked, so she was not around a lot. This turn of events left my older sister “in
charge,” or so she thought. Actually, it was my oldestbrother Randy who really was in charge, so to speak.
It didn’t matter much to me one way or the other because I did whatever I wanted anyway. When luck
would have it that they were both away, a time I was always waiting for, I would pursue my favorite
pastime. I would grab my trusty blue fishin’ rod with the black spinning reel and be on my way to the
river.
The river itselfwas a ways off, but that didn’t bother me all that much because getting there was
halfthe fun. The first part ofthe walk led me past giant swale grass thatgrew to be eight feet tall. Luckily,
the grass was soft. What was so scary about it was that I could not see anything in front ofme, or behind
me, so I would have to rely on my sense ofdirection to get through it. This all made me feel as ifI was a
true explorer, blazing trails through the wilderness. I would also have to cross some railroad tracks on the
way. I can remember the distinctive smell ofthe creosote-coatedrailroad ties as theybasked in the summer
sun. I always had a fascination with the tracks, and looking back on it now, I see that they may have
influencedmy yearningto be on the move.
As I made my approach, ever nearer to the river, the very first harbinger wouldbe the noise ofthe
waterfalls. The waterfalls were loudlike cannons. Thewater there moves so fastthatifI watcheditfor any
length oftime, I wouldbe mesmerized. The way the water smashes hard against the rocks reminded me of
awashingmachine full ofsuds. The smell ofthe water wouldbe all around. On the other side ofthe river,
I could see the houses and apartment buildings ofthe neighboring town. There was an old brick factory of
some kind too. They all had looked as though they had seenbetter days. It looked somewhat similar to my
1
town, and little did 1 know at the time 1 would be living there someday. Upriver, all there was to see was
more water flowing down within the riverbanks that the river had long ago formed on its journey to the
sea.
Down the river, there was a greatbig steel and cementbridge that I wouldhave to cross goingback
and forth to school. The bridge could be scary too and for some reason it made me feel like I was going to
fall right through it.
The spot where I fished from had a few trees on both sides ofme. Thinking back, I believe they
must have been hemlock trees, because I remember the leaves. The sun was out but the temperature was
not too hot. School was out for the day so I was glad about that. Everything was green and lush around the
riverbank, the trees andgrass andwhat have you. I remember the tiger lilies too. There was only one thing
about the trees that was not so good. However nice the trees looked, they gave me back twice as much
trouble. The trees taught me how to get the knots out of my line and encouraged me to improve my
casting skills. Besides the trees, there was also stuff in the water to get my line around. Not only were
there rocks and branches, but also a shopping cart, some bottles, and an old rim and tire. Nevertheless,
there were fish in the river; I could see them. I wouldrun my line out and ofcourse I wouldget afish. The
challenge was to land it. Considering all I had to go through to get a fish, in and out ofthe water, I was to
become a town renowned fisherman. Eventually I would nm out of bait, or the little flies would start
attacking me, or perhaps I would just get lonely, and so it would be time to go home. I did not want to
make thatjourney in the dark, thatis for sure. Besides, I had to leave somefish inthe river fornexttime.
BrucePowersis aforty-tw(>year-old native ofMorrisviUe, Vermont, andis currently a Business Maruxgement major.
As astudentofJoanna Fortna in thefallof 1999, Brucefound, in learningto write, he hada "great imagination."As
a childarui nowas anadult, Bruce continues to inspire his imagiruition by beingoutdoors. Between classes, he can often
befoundwalkingaroundKenoza. Lake.
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