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Articles 871 - 889 of 889
Full-Text Articles in Creative Writing
A Poem, Molly C. Masich
Parisian Traveler, Amy E. Butcher
A Phoenix Rising, Alyssa M. Falcone
Anonymous For Obvious Reasons, Molly C. Masich
Your Eyes, Heather N. Walsh
Mascara Tears, Heather N. Walsh
A Late Night Tribute, Lauren R. Barrett
And They Call It Truth, Jason H. Parker
Rusty Lovers, Molly C. Masich
We Are Not Friends, Fred G. Leebron
We Are Not Friends, Fred G. Leebron
English Faculty Publications
There is something about the way the phone rings that lets you know it's Them - a kind of glitter in the chime, a certain je ne sais quoi to the cadence, which seems to skip a beat as if it can't believe that They are calling. You pick up, heart throbbing, getting ready to move your mouth, a sly frisson of sweat striking your palms.
"They asked me to call," Their assistant says. "They want you at the house next Thursday. And then you'll all go somewhere. A plane will be involved. You'll want to bring a passport. Until …
Jefferson In Central Pennsylvania, Fred G. Leebron
Jefferson In Central Pennsylvania, Fred G. Leebron
English Faculty Publications
No abstract provided.
My Psychologist, My Psychiatrist, Fred G. Leebron
My Psychologist, My Psychiatrist, Fred G. Leebron
English Faculty Publications
I could not distinguish between them except by what we did. I was ten, then eleven. I would not ride the school bus. I always slunk home saying I missed it. I made my mother come to school with me every day, and sit in the lobby so I could wave to her during recess and class changes. In the evenings my father would come home from work, hear my mother's report, and storm upstairs, his weight pounding on the hardwood steps. I would be out of breath with crying, my head in the pillow, waiting to feel what he …
Hotel Room With My Brother, Fred G. Leebron
Hotel Room With My Brother, Fred G. Leebron
English Faculty Publications
No abstract provided.
Productive Destruction: Torture, Text, And The Body In The Old English 'Andreas', Christopher R. Fee
Productive Destruction: Torture, Text, And The Body In The Old English 'Andreas', Christopher R. Fee
English Faculty Publications
Writing in the Old English Andreas is at once both a productive and a destructive activity. We first become aware of the dangerous power of the written word quite early in the poem, when we learn that the Mermedonians have subverted the normally productive activity of writing into a tool for calculating the execution dates of their prisoners (134-37). Later, the words uttered by the devil to incite the Mermedonians against Andreas illuminate the lexical relationship between the destructive nature of writing and the productive nature of torture in the semiotic context of the poem. Finally, in a sort of …
Lovelock, Fred G. Leebron
Lovelock, Fred G. Leebron
English Faculty Publications
Presents a short story about Benjamin Scott, an ex-convict whose life turned a different course after a one-night stand with a retarded woman in Lovelock, Nevada. Promise of a job in San Francisco; Memories of traveling from state to state to get to his destination; Meeting Ana and her sister Lisa; Feelings of guilt for sleeping with Ana; Apologizing to the sisters; Decision to follow Ana to San Diego.
Résumé, Fred G. Leebron
Résumé, Fred G. Leebron
English Faculty Publications
I sat at the back of a pale classroom and watched my father teach. "Creative Inspiration," my father lectured, "is what you have as soon as you are born and the doctor slaps you on your bottom. That first cry, because you're hungry or tired or just glad to be breathing, is your first creative inspiration." I leaned back in my chair to ease the heat rising in my face. "Incidentally," my father said, grinning at the under graduates, "I've read the Sexual Harassment pamphlet, and I want you all to know I don't slap bottoms." [excerpt]
On Arrival, Fred G. Leebron
In Another Country, Fred G. Leebron
In Another Country, Fred G. Leebron
English Faculty Publications
That summer we lived in an icebox of a house, where nothing worked. The gas stove was stuck in a chimney that had no fireplace, plaid linoleum covered the chipped and rotting floor, a cold wet wind blew through the cracks in the doors and windows, the light bulbs hummed and fluttered, the clock struck at odd and unwarranted times, and we weren't allowed to drink the water from the sink because it came from an impure place. [excerpt]
New Life, Fred G. Leebron