April 2013
1 post
An Instance
Here’s a sample from the instance collection I’ve been working on all semester.
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Please just don’t play with me,
Mid-summer, windows rolled down in my mom’s old silver-blue Hyundai, half drank Demon Dog’s milk shake in hand, I could almost forget where I was coming from.
My paper heart will bleed.
We were turning onto the Kennedy Expressway ramp, the sun...
November 2012
1 post
3 tags
It's been 6 months?
I can’t believe it’s been 6 months since I last posted on this blog. I guess I should fill you in on the hectic nature of my life that has dictated my lack of postage. After a long summer/beginning of fall of going in and out of retail, losing one job to find another, working 2 jobs at all times, music festivals/concerts, somehow managing a social life, a new kitten, the start of...
April 2012
10 posts
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Things They Carried Parody
This was my full movement that I turned in today for Fiction II. I haven’t decided whether this is going to be its entirety or if there’s more to it.
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They all carried resentment. The six closest of friends in the Northwestern undergraduate program had all been torn apart by a backpacking trip through Europe the summer before their senior year. All of them were...
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"King Cole's American Salvage" Alternate Endings
Bonnie Jo Campbell’s “American Salvage” is an AMAZING collection of short stories. If you haven’t read it, you really should. This following piece includes some alternate endings I wrote for my Critical Reading and Writing class last semester. Not nearly as talented as Bonnie Jo Campbell, but I took a stab at her style.
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“King Cole’s American Salvage” by Bonnie Jo...
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The Head
This is one of my first full fledged attempts at fantasy.
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The Factory Artist sits on his stool, nervously scratching the mop of curly hair on his head. He pushes it back, a habit he’d gained doing art over the years. Five months and all he had was a goddamn head. Granted, the head was perfect. Michelangelo couldn’t have sculpted a better face if he did so for hours on end...
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Menthol
This is my final rewrite that I completed for Fiction I at Columbia College Chicago.
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I stand over the farmhouse sink in our open yellow and white kitchen. I don’t have practice or a game tonight and so I scratch bits of organic mac n’ cheese off the dishes by hand before putting them in the dishwasher. I watch Maddie, averting my eyes to her subtly every 20 to 30 seconds. Her damaged,...
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Dear Ivan,
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Dear Ivan,
You weren’t here. I didn’t want to make this letter accusatory but sitting in the blue Lazy Boy blackened by remnants of your Chicago smoking career that I had to drag into Mom’s room to keep watch, I can’t think of any other way to write what I need to write and so I say again, you weren’t here. You haven’t been here. While you enjoy Brooklyn’s 2AM pancake concerts and...
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A Dream
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“Cut. It. Out,” The semi-middle aged man hisses through his teeth to the 15-year old girl. In a moment, his fingers trail from the girl’s eyebrow to the midway of her wispy charcoal hair and in three quick, gliding movements, her right ear is exposed to the sweltering air that seems to rise in temperature each time she shivers at a moment of fear.
The black mop-top haired man...
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Lua
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Lua pushes her eyelids wide quickly and regrets that immediately as the pain of sobriety and a somehow intense gray light thwack her retinas. Her senses still tinny from last night’s binge, she uses her peripherals to see Brandon alive and putting on a new pot of coffee. He had a way of bouncing back from nights like last night and most every other night, probably because he...
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Theatre 7
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Roy finds his achy body on the couch yet again that early Sunday morning. Sally has been guarding the bed as if it were child since she got fired: papers strewn across the comforter, her laptop to her side and a pen in hand even as she sleeps. Roy understands that she has an entitlement to the bed (it was hers, originally), but what he was failing to understand was, if he’s...
3 tags
Shaken
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Ryan grabs his dazed mother by her frail biceps. Her arms are bare minding the track marks left over from last week’s binge. He clutches onto her skin and begins to move her motionless body vigorously. Rita feels nothing but the slightest tug, her fuzzy vision only permitting so much light. The apartment is gray in both their eyes despite the crimson walls, beige carpet and yellow rays...
Hello readers!
This is my new blog where I will post some of my old work, new work and upcoming ideas. Some of these posts will be finished, others getting there. I hope that I can keep this as updated as possible. Thanks for reading! :)
XOXO,
NRCC
