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Articles 1 - 19 of 19

Full-Text Articles in Creative Writing

My Mother On Dream Interpretation And The Lack Of Finality In Death, Jaime Elizabeth Johnston Dec 2018

My Mother On Dream Interpretation And The Lack Of Finality In Death, Jaime Elizabeth Johnston

Comparative Woman

This is an interview with my mother, a dream interpreter. In this interview we explore her process of interpreting dreams and her contact with the spirit world.


Grampy Hagen's Tale, Steven Schmidt Oct 2014

Grampy Hagen's Tale, Steven Schmidt

Manuscripts

"They's some folks what believes in haints," said Grampy Hagen. We, my brother Johnnie and I, were ready for bed, but first we huddled together in front of the fire while Grampy Hagen sat in the big old oak rocking chair. "Yes, sir, some folks believes in haints 'n spooks 'n things. But I weren't one of 'em, no sir! Leastwise, not afore I spent the night in the cabin down in the holler by the Willow Creek wash."


And Not To Yield, Lisa Nowak Oct 2014

And Not To Yield, Lisa Nowak

Manuscripts

Harry Theobald, formerly called Ulderico Theobaldi, entered the kingdom of God today at 11:02 a.m. having lived his life with all the vigor he possessed. At age 76, he died of leukemia at the Golden Hills Nursing Home, leaving three children and three granddaughters the deed to his warm spirit. Included in his will was a document citing three basic inheritances--faith, hope, and love--to be practiced with positive consideration and serious contemplation in his remembrance.


Untitled, Alice Monds Oct 2014

Untitled, Alice Monds

Manuscripts

He took an old Barlow knife from his pocket and eased into the cane bottom chair, tipping it back on two legs against the low stone fence. Methodically, he drew the gleaming blade across a fragrant block of red and yellow cedar. His gnarled, weathered hands moved deftly. He worked intently for some time, honing the block to a soft roundness and piling thin light curls of cedar around his feet. He peered at his companion from singular eyes set below incredibly unmanageable gray brows.


A Child's Viewpoint, Alice Monds Oct 2014

A Child's Viewpoint, Alice Monds

Manuscripts

She beckoned to me, and with much apprehension I entered the door of the shabby unpainted house. Inside, the room was small and dark and almost the entire space was taken up by a big metal-framed bed which stuck out into the middle of the room. A ragged upholstered chair in one corner and a small pot-bellied stove in the other completed the furnishings. The windows, uncurtained, were filthy and one was covered with pieces of a cardboard box where the pane had been broken out.


An Initiation (There Are No More Somedays...), Mike Swarzman Oct 2014

An Initiation (There Are No More Somedays...), Mike Swarzman

Manuscripts

"Come on son, today's the day we find the perfect piece of wood, strong, yet easy to carve--come on."

Scott refocused his eyes on his father who stood over his bed.

"Come on son, let's go."

The brown haired blur moved again, and Scott, full of expectation, dressed quickly and hurried to the door.


A Nightmare, Jane Burrin May 2014

A Nightmare, Jane Burrin

Manuscripts

The lake was unusually calm that particular June day, when my Mother and Father started on their daily fishing trip.

I bade them farewell from the dock, and reluctantly started back to the cottage. Although I did not have the patience for fishing, it seemed that there should be something more exciting to look forward to than a game of solitaire.

Resigning myself to this entertainment, I settled down on the screened porch with my cards and the radio. I played the necessary unsuccessful game, and my luck began to change. I triumphantly placed the last ace on the stack ...


Our Christmas Tree, Lester Hunt May 2014

Our Christmas Tree, Lester Hunt

Manuscripts

We, like many other families, have our own special customs. We have our holiday customs, our dinner customs, our own way of making beds, and our own brand of humour. There is one holiday custom, however, that I especially treasure because I had a share in its initiation. It is the custom of getting our own Christmas tree.

As I remember this first experience, it took place about a week before Christmas, but we still hadn't found a Christmas tree that we liked. It was then that we "menfolks" decided to get our own tree. I was eight years ...


How To Amuse A Younger Sister, Don Griffin Apr 2014

How To Amuse A Younger Sister, Don Griffin

Manuscripts

Amusement for a younger sister depends upon her age. Suppose she is just ten months. There's not much to do for her when she cries except carry her about the house and change her diaper. But that isn't very amusing.

A few months later she will be delighted to yank on your hair, poke your eyes, or grab for your spectacles.

When she begins to walk, she will find many things to be amused with around the house. There will probably be broken lamps, torn clothing and paper, and many things damaged. You will not be required to ...


The Blue Pincushion, Jeanne Gass Apr 2014

The Blue Pincushion, Jeanne Gass

Manuscripts

With a flourish of the shiny old shears, Dora snipped the last coupon from the latest copy of the Ladies Home Journal. She pushed the magazine aside and made a neat little pile of the slips of paper. She breathed a sigh of pure, undiluted bliss. Her soft white hands fluttered over the papers, almost tenderly. Her lips formed the numbers silently as she counted the coupons with all the eagerness of a miser.


Motherhood, Mary E. Shirley Apr 2014

Motherhood, Mary E. Shirley

Manuscripts

As she lay in the midst of dirt and squalor she seemed in utter oblivion. To her the cobwebby walls, the cockroaches, the plush chair with springs uncovered, and the filthy blanket were unimportant, because for once in her life, the young colored girl had captured the spotlight. She was the center of interest in that room; of secondary interest was the baby - her baby - in the next room.


Appreciation, Betty F. Thome Apr 2014

Appreciation, Betty F. Thome

Manuscripts

My father is sitting at the breakfast
table, his left hand raises by degrees a cup
of coffee to his lips, his right hand firmly
grips the most important part of his morning
meal-the newspaper. Suddenly, the
left hand goes sharply down, making the
china cup click as it hits the saucer, the
sports' page is enlightening this morning.
"By God, Galento's going to try it
again! Tonight at 8: 30!" My father issues
this announcement as fervently as a revival
preacher heralds the end of the World.
"Who is Galento?" says my mother
very innocently from her side ...


On Entering Prize Contests, Ed Mcnamara Apr 2014

On Entering Prize Contests, Ed Mcnamara

Manuscripts

"Now girls, here is all that you have to do to enter this exciting contest. Simply scrape out the inside of a five pound can of Pete's Peanutbutter and mail it together with a short essay of not more than five hundred words telling us 'Why I like Pete's Peanutbutter' to radio station E. A. T. Remember girls, this thrilling contest closes when the company has sold a certain amount of back stock. Act now girls, this may mean a down payment on a fur coat."


Question On A Bus, Jack T. Kilgore Apr 2014

Question On A Bus, Jack T. Kilgore

Manuscripts

"May I - ," George cleared his throat. "I wonder if I could take Jean to the show with me tonight." His words were engulfed by the silence that spread over the table. "(Why doesn't somebody say something'? They can't say no, they just can't. What are they waiting for?) I wouldn't be in late and there is no school tomorrow."

The mother looked up and smiled, and looked to the father for the first word. He said, "Jean who?"

"Jean Newcomb. She is in my English class. (And she smiles when she looks at me, and when ...


Tradition, Mary M. Schortemeter Apr 2014

Tradition, Mary M. Schortemeter

Manuscripts

Katherine Schneider Sat in the large, ugly, black leather chair that stood by the parlor window. She touched the worn chair arms with hesitant, reverential fingers. This had been Papa's chair, and now he was gone. All she had left was the square oil portrait so faded from the suns of many years that she could scarcely define the stern lines of his German face.

She lifted her eyes to Papa's picture and saw how stubborn was his chin, how coldly keen were his eyes. He always looked just that same way, she knew. He never changed anything ...


The Sisters, Jeanne Gass Mar 2014

The Sisters, Jeanne Gass

Manuscripts

"Kathy! Kathy! There's horses down there. Right down there by the river!" Pete came running, red pig-tails flying. Her old brown coat was slipping off one shoulder, her rolled stockings were drooping, and she was breathless with running and the excitement of her news. "There're right down there."


Tangible Evidence, Wilbur Elliott Mar 2014

Tangible Evidence, Wilbur Elliott

Manuscripts

Young Kipling Wiley silently inserted the key, and turned the knob with the greatest of caution. As he closed the door behind him, it gave only the merest hint of a squeak. Kipling mentally congratulated himself on the mouse-like quiet of his entrance, and then started across the floor on tip-toe.


Uncle George, Ruth Marie Hamill Mar 2014

Uncle George, Ruth Marie Hamill

Manuscripts

Every evening when Uncle George walks into the house, before he greets any member of the family, he yells, "O-oh, Pepper! O-oh, Ginger!" and if Pepper and her puppy aren't already scampering down the stairs, or from the living room, they come now. Pepper stands on her hind legs and leans her forepaws on him while she nuzzles in his pockets for peanuts. Ginger dances around him, making funny noises which sometimes terminate in a short bark. He picks the little dog up and feeds both him and Pepper a few peanuts or bites of candy that he has ...


Grandma Brown, Mary Burrin Mar 2014

Grandma Brown, Mary Burrin

Manuscripts

"Sit down, Grandma. There's no need for you to help. I can finish the Turkey myself," said Effie Brown to her mother-in-law.

Hmm! Sitting down was all she'd done since she'd been here. As for finishing the turkey, Effie always cooked the meat too brown and dry, so hard you couldn't eat it, thought Grandma Brown.