Tuesday, June 20, 2017
Thursday, June 15, 2017
My second undergrad major (after Creative Writing) is Multimedia and Digital Culture. Not too many schools have a program like this one. So what does the program even look like? Well, you can read about it, in an article I wrote for The Odyssey Online, right here.
Monday, June 12, 2017
As you may know, one of my majors in college is Creative Writing. But what does a Creative Writing major even look like? It's not a major that every school has, at least as such. You can read about my program in an article I wrote for The Odyssey Online here.
Saturday, June 10, 2017
[Note: This story started out as a drabble--a story numbering exactly 100 words--some time in late 2014. I later expanded it to a bit over 500 words, submitted it to a few places that rejected it, then used it in the March 2015 issue of my high school's newspaper as my fiction story for the issue. I read it over again a few days ago, and I really liked it, so I'm gonna give it some new life here.]
There is no wind on Edelraa. Its trees never bend nor bow. Its birds never ride a gale nor battle a gust. And so they fall, for they have not grown strong like those of Earth. Edelraa is perishing.
I cannot change the course of our little colony ship, barreling through space toward the third planet in the system of the red dwarf Drake VII. There isn’t enough fuel to turn back for home. We must land on Edelraa, to survive there or be snuffed out like a candle; not a flame gently blown out, but one smothered under a glass bell.
The first settlers on Edelraa were dying of starvation and suffocation at the time of their last transmission to our colony ship. That was three months ago. They have not responded to our replies.
There are five hundred and thirty “people” aboard Sterling. I’ll explain the quotes later. We come from forty-seven nations across four planets, not counting the fifty children born aboard during our five years of travel. The animals in our pen are multiplying, so much so that we’ve been eating steak every night for the past week. The greenhouse is laden with green vegetables and healthy fruits, grown in designed soils. Until this morning, I thought we might be able to throw our mission aside and live out of our tiny ship, without need to descend onto the deoxygenating surface of Edelraa.
Two significant events occurred between the Earth-time hours of 05:00 and 07:00 today. The first was an eerie transmission we received from the planet. When it came in, I threw down everything I was doing and listened, believing it to be from my husband, the leader of the planet’s sole settlement. As it turns out, there is a much larger power on Edelraa. It calls itself the “Wind God.” Apparently it is angry with us. That explains quite a lot.
The second event is just as supernatural and a bit more terrifying. One of my crew woke up this morning dead. Yes, she died, and then she woke up. I had the brilliant idea to put on “Monster Mash” and see what would happen, but it only slowed her down. She would be the “running kind” of zombie, except we’re in low-gravity, so the pursuit occurs in slow-motion. Isn’t that how everyone dreams of having their brain devoured by a zombie? So far she’s eaten two brains, killed three passengers with her plasma sidearm, and infected five other people. Unarmed zombies are one thing, but pistol-toting zombies are a whole ‘nother story. They give you a choice. You can run away and get shot, try to fight and get your brain munched upon, or sit there and accept zombification as a new stage in your existence.
I don’t feel a whole lot different as a zombie. In fact, maybe there isn’t a problem here at all. Since I don’t need to breathe, there’s no reason to not just form the colony on Edelraa as planned. What’s the Wind God going to do, kill us? I’ll take this over suffocation.
Wednesday, June 7, 2017
[Note: This is a narrative snippet. It does not have a full narrative arc. It's a rewrite of a few paragraphs of Stephen Crane's story "The Open Boat," but I hadn't read the story at that point, only the few paragraphs I was working with, so some aspects to it don't align with the original story.]
Jonathan leaned hard against his brother as they each carved into the dark waters with their oars. The sheer masonry of the wave served to lock his eyes to its majesty, but in truth there was little else to see. It seemed that the ocean had had enough of the men. They were Mongols, ready to steal its jade. The boat lilted, tumbling over the wall. A new barrier followed.
The next snarling crest spit in their faces. Norbert grunted. “We’re gonna have to start bailing this ding out if this swell don’t calm the hell down.”
The cook shot him a dirty glance. He exchanged a phrase with the correspondent. Something about stations and houses of some sort.
Jonathan huffed, hoping that the sea would start huffing with him. He knew it wouldn’t. There had been two Danish fellows on his first brig, tall whips of men. When the ship had stopped to restore provisions they would race each other up and down the streets of the little coastal towns. They made Jonathan exhausted just to watch them. The sea almost reminded him of them, except that at night the sea didn’t stop, whereas those Danes had been suckers for a good supper and bottle of gin.
By the looks of the sun drooping on the horizon it was far past supper time. The cook’s stomach growled. His hadn’t swelled up yet. There was no time for the hunger anyway. Jonathan raised his oar, bit down into the water one more time.
The sun gained ground up the dome of the sky, and he laughed. It was dawn, not dusk. The sea was a bed of emeralds, streaked with streams of topaz. Foam poured forth from the gem field, snow in June.