Iowa Wedding
“What about buttons for favors? Here look at this one, I Heart Science,” Kara said.
“Hmm… my vote’s for I Shotgun Zombies.” I replied.
“Let’s get ‘em all! It’s our wedding!” And we did, adding several other designs like Old School (which depicted the planets in our solar system but still included Pluto) or Go Big or Go Gnome (complete with yard gnome). One of my favorites was a silhouette of an Iowa prairie bursting with a cartoon rainbow. We scattered the button favors on the checkered tables of the reception on my Aunt Joan’s lawn. And they looked perfect, perched next to the vases exploding with wild flowers Martha grew.
It was hot and on the verge of raining that day. But our guests said that the minute we stood on the lawn for the ceremony, the clouds actually parted and dripped us with a ray of sunshine for the vows. The folks standing on the sidewalk said that two hawks played in the sky above our heads; they dove and spun around one another as we kissed. Of these things I can’t say. Honestly, from my spot on the lawn, I was just trying not to breakdown into a fit of crying buffoonery, and the only way to do that was focus on Kara’s face, her crystalline blue eyes. Beyond that was a colorful blur, faces mixed into the lawn in peach, red, green and yellow. All the best people from my life on a menagerie of blankets, radiating nothing but good vibes to us. Hands down—the best day ever.
Read more from Hypertext magazine.
Our Urban Garden
It all started with the rhubarb and a letter. Well, maybe that’s not true. It may have existed in LeighAnne’s imagination long before, but it was the rhubarb that really got things going. Before anyone knew the wiser, we’d defy the myth that you can’t live in a city and cultivate an impressive green space and build a little community to boot.
Our apartment’s backyard provided tiny garden plots for tenants. I was sad to discover that our new space wasn’t big enough cultivate the tomatoes of my childhood— those fire engine fruits, needing just a dash of salt to “make” the perfect summer side. To make matters worse, the plants I did have disappeared. In March, the rhubarb went missing. I assumed that this was the work of our dour neighbor, Tad. A man who leaves notes on the mailboxes complaining that no one should use bleach in the washing machines. I was sure Tad killed the rhubarb.
Read more from Mindful Metropolis’s November issue.
The Bedroom
The bedroom had dark plank floors with one rug poking out in the center. The walls were yellow behind a painting of wild mustangs galloping through a mountain range, their muscles statuesque. Grandma kept quarters in turquoise beaded purses from South Dakota on her dresser, the brown-edged photos of her children jammed into the sides of her mirror. In the corner was a black rolltop writing desk. She placed a photo of her father, Donald, there.
Read more at The Iowa Review.
Where the Wild Voices Are
By April NewmanSince I graduated with my MFA, the economy’s hit the tank. By moving from teaching in the classroom to the internet, I’m saving cash on professional attire and spending only on cereal and pajama pants. That’s the great thing about this era of the internet revolution: pants are optional. And you don’t have to show your face.
There are other advantages to the online experience for writers: Classroom diversity. What? One of your students is a kid from New Trier and a mom coming back to school? Well, I’ll raise you: In my online classroom, I’ve got a lady in her seventies, Nettie; Avondalyn, from New Jersey; and this dude Scooter who just got back from Iraq. Imagine that class! There are challenges with regards to language when we have so many differences: generational, urban, rural, religious, and secular identities converging to talk one thing. Stories. But there is richness in the challenge. And exposure to experiences.
This online roll call reminds me of the diversity in classes when the Story Workshop approach was introduced back in the sixties. Columbia College’s urban environment and open admissions policy brought all sorts of people together. But my personal experience here felt less…seasoned. Columbia is definitely a place that celebrates diversity, but when you get down to it, the non-traditional students just aren’t filling the seats anymore.
Why? Underserved students, students who got the standard low-rent public education or were pregnant at sixteen, do not make up the majority at four-year universities. They have to work. They’re online. And if they can learn online without having to drop a hundred grand, that’s where they’ll stay. And that’s too bad, because these people have some stories!
What you’re missing in the face-to-face classroom are these points of view that will challenge you the most: the poorest folks in the cities, the people from insular Christian and religious communities, people who are thirty years your senior, as your classmates. Online education is breaking barriers exponentially and changing the educational landscape in ways we might never have imagined. Personally, I do better work eroding the power of the Christian Right by honoring Nettie’s Christian romance story, and discussing ways to make it effective on the page. Because, meanwhile, Nettie has to read Taylor’s sexy vampire fiction, and talk about scenes. Without realizing it, two cultural enemies now have a common language through their writing. Slowly, we come to find that we are not so different despite all the rules that have been ingrained in us over time.
Read more from Fictionary Magazine, Fall 2009
Complete List:
- Lesbian Movie Night, Windy City Queer, November, 2011
- The Green Scene, Hypertext magazine November, 2011
- Iowa Wedding, Hypertext magazine April, 2011
- An American Couple in Italy, EG magazine November, 2011
- Seed Starting, EG magazine April, 2011
- Once Upon a Uterus, Hair Trigger magazine 2010
- Where the Wild Voices Are, Fictionary 2010
- Diagnosing Father, Hair Trigger magazine 2009
- The Bedroom, The Iowa Review 2008
- The Day Your Cat Died, Swell 2008
- On First Dates, Antimuse 2008
