Nonfiction Commons^™

Three Silent Things, Ann Holloway

Manuscripts

Things that cause the eardrum to vibrate are relatively unimportant in the Universe. Nature's thunder, the boom of the cannon on the battlefield, or man-made machinery in operation create sound, but the very fact that they do so has no bearing on their significance in the world. Trees, wind, stupendous buildings, books, music, and art possess audibility or visibility, but these objects and elements in themselves are meaningless. The silent, intangible factors that allow the trees to exist, the wind to blow, or the artist to paint are the foundations on which the plan of creation is laid.

Rhapsody In Hue, Dorothy Masters

Manuscripts

Always, wherever I am, when I smell wood smoke, a blanket of color waves before my eyes. I can taste the crisp, juicy apples bought at a crude roadside stand and sold by a toothless 'hill-billy' and his apron clad wife or tousled-headed children. I see the brilliant orange of bittersweet clinging to the fence posts, and I can see each article in the antique shops - especially the spinning wheel and trundle bed and the corn-cob dolls with their hooped-skirts. I see fields of corn stripped of their harvest, standing tiredly, waiting, bearing no resemblance to the proud tall-tassled …

Infant Climbs A Mountain, Peggy O'Donnell

Manuscripts

Ever since they'd left New England behind to come west, Infant had been excited; there had been so many things to see, all new and different. At first she had thought that Indiana would be like it was in her first grade reader; that they'd live in a log cabin, that she'd wear a coonskin cap and deerskin breeches just like Dan'l Boone, (only smaller, because Infant was only six) and that there would be real live Indians with tomahawks. Mother had explained that that had been a long time ago, and that Indiana now was just like New England. …

Peace Through Prayer, W. S. Mclean

Manuscripts

As far back as he could remember he had been afraid of storms. Back there in the early years, some member of the family had set the pace of fear when a storm came. There was an old belief - probably a superstition - that if one sat on a feather bed, lightning wouldn't strike. Anyway, there was a general migration to the bedrooms during a storm. Mother became nervous if the storm was severe, and sister would have a fit of trembling. Brother made a vain show of bravery, which only intensified the uneasiness. All through his seventeen years …

Solliloquy, Doris Daley

Manuscripts

The northern day was drawing to a close, and as I watched the sun slide down behind multi-colored clouds, its satellite rays trailing after, it seemed that with it went something of the human quality of this earth, leaving me alone in the presence of the unknown.

Standing topside in the prow, I could look down and watch the slender ship cut the never-ending swells. On either side, the smooth hull sent the backwash sliding along its sides, crested with foam at first, and gradually spiralling out into shining ripples amidships, all the while roaring like a hungry beast. But …

Snowfall, Nancy Rodecker

Manuscripts

Dusk was enveloping the city when the first tiny flakes began to fall. I remember looking through my bedroom window and noticing that the naked redbud outside was clothed in a powdery robe of snow that lent it a fragile and ghostly air. Since first snowfalls had always interested me, I curled up in an easy chair and viewed the frosty process from the warmth of my room. Outside, the atmosphere was brittle and clear. The bitter wind of the day had retired for the night, and the snow sifted through the trees in an unbroken pattern, as if it …

Why Americans Like Baseball, William Roberts

Manuscripts

On Monday afternoon two weeks ago, men who were at home sat glued to their comfortable chairs beside a radio; people who were in the business sectors crowded around radios on the sidewalk in front of stores; college students carried portable radios with them; sailors were standing near short wave sets on ships at sea; and soldiers on distant battle fronts gathered around short wave radio sets also, while 70,000 lucky people were able to crowd into Yankee Stadium.

The Influence Of The War On Me, Thomas Haynes

Manuscripts

'Wars wreck everything. A happy home, a lover's dream, a commercial manager's contract, and even politicians' plans suffer from the dire consequence of war. War, inevitable war, has broken, shaped, and reshaped maps and men's lives since the dawn of man.

In 1942, this day, I look with apprehension upon this world of conflict, and wonder (with no less apprehension) what will become of me. I had plans, yes. I've done my share of dreaming. I've even earned a large share of money at one time or another. I've seen a bit of the world. I've gained a considerable amount …

Aptitude Tests, Bob Dyer

Manuscripts

One of the ,devices most commonly used by universities to overawe incoming freshmen and to make them conscious of the tremendous amount of knowledge connected with the institution, is the college aptitude test. The test, presumably, is to serve as a key to the student's ability along various lines. How this purpose is served remains a mystery to the poor subject. The average college freshman cannot see how such a garbled mass of nothing can lead his instructors to a better understanding of his educational needs.

D Minor, Jean Siskel

Manuscripts

With stealthy passion
The music filled the room,
Brushing with mystic melody
His throbbing heart.

Outside the stony window frames
Were trees,
Rustling excitedly,
Bowing with frantic grace.

Do trees have hearts? Can they too
Feel the stirring touch of tone?
For trees, there is wind;
For men, music.

On Nantucket Sound, Lucy Kaufman

Manuscripts

Do you recall the morning on Nantucket Sound
when white wind whipped our sails against the August sun,
when we stood tanned and laughing, loving the sea, and bound
for any port or none?

Do you recall that out from the tiny towns which lay
along the coast, came salty strangers seeking cod,
tanned and laughing as we, plundering the bay
with net and fishing rod?

Do you recall that when the west waxed pink again
homeward we turned the tiller, and as we came around
with sails set full for shore, lights flashed from a world forgotten
on Nantucket …

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.

Definitions Of Liberty And Freedom, Virginia Skidmore

Manuscripts

Almost any discussion of the present war will involve the use of the terms "liberty" and "freedom". They are used interchangeably so often that it is difficult to make a distinction between them. Both "liberty" and "freedom" in their primary significance refer to the state of being free or the absence of restraint, compulsion, or subjection of the individual and his actions. The idea of liberty often contains the added implication that such restraint or subjection had existed previously.

A Very Short Story, Or The Amazing Case Of Mr. Ex, Lucy Kaufman

Manuscripts

For the most part it was a lazy day. The drowsiness of afternoon was thick as honey over Central Park. Warm sunlight splashed the world like white wine, and the sky was an uninterrupted blue, except for powdery whiffs of clouds which were. urged along by the wind. Men, having finished their noon meals, stretched out on benches and slept or endeavored to. Women strolled down the paths, miraculously unmindful of gossip. Only a group of children frisking among the trees and their frantic attendants who pursued them were untouched by the midday lethargy.

Dry Leaves, Mary M. Schortemeier

Manuscripts

In stealth
Stalking its prey
Winter is creeping
Groping its way.

Today
Summer is reigning.
Only the dry leaves
Show it is waning.

Too soon
Comes one final leap
For winter - for summer
Only to weep.

Today
My heart is young.
Dry leaves for me?
From mortals I'm sprung.

These Things She Loved, Janet Jarrett

Manuscripts

Nancy McIntire lay quite still in the great four-poster bed. Her tiny shrivelled frame was huddled beneath the covers and her eyes had lost their old sparkle. She knew that what everybody said was true, that she would never again leave her bed. For Nancy McIntire was nearly ninety.

There was a narrow band of sunlight streaming through a crack in the shade. Dumbly she watched the particles of dust caught in its rays. Bits of matter suddenly snatched up in their idle drifting by a slim golden shaft, turned into a thousand shimmering little worlds, and then dropped back …

The Barrier Between, Richard Moores

Manuscripts

It was one o'clock in the afternoon, and the crowd in the restaurant was thining. A dark-haired woman played on an elevated organ, and the waitresses walked wearily between the empty tables, collecting dishes and silverware. Big electric fans moved back and forth with sluggish precision, and stirred the rising cigarette smoke. The restaurant was slowly, almost imperceptibly, becoming enveloped in an atmosphere of lanquorous silence that would last until dinner-time.

Two young men sat facing each other across a linen-topped table, and a woman looked at them through the twisted iron grill-work that separated the two tables. The woman, …

Flamingos, Lucy Kaufman

Manuscripts

Far through the jungle, bird cries mark night's end.
Eastwardly the sky is streaked with pink,
and near the water's edge black orchids bend
beneath webbed-feet, as white flamingos drink.

Deep among the spindling silent stalks
which border banks surrounding the lagoon
wet reeds stir, and a tall flamingo walks
infringing on the sleep of afternoon.

Flamingos showing silver in the night
fly far above the jungle toward the west,
and following a star's transluscent light
at length reach home, and white flamingos rest.

Buttonville--Population 2,005, Patricia Sylvester

Manuscripts

The calendar in Grandpa's general store, filling station and grocery reads 1939. His store is the first you see when you come into Buttonville, a town right in the center of the United States about a mile from Sugar Crossing and running along side of Catfish Creek. You can't. miss it for, as you enter, there's a sign saying "Buttonville - Population 2,005 (They crossed out the two and changed it to five when Mrs. Blanchy had the town's triplets, Minnie, Winnie and Sam, Jr.). As you leave, there's a sign reading "Come again when you can stay longer - …

Editorial

Manuscripts

Few freshmen, and few upperclassmen, are aware of the literary contests held during the year by various organizations in or outside Butler University. We feel that this lack of information is unfortunate and should be remedied, since participation in the contests may be both profitable to the would-be writer, or pleasurable to those who merely enjoy writing.

Front Matter

Manuscripts

Front matter includes: front and back covers, table of contents, and masthead.

The Next Meeting For Tdf's New Creative Writers' Festival Poster, Department Of Theatre, Dance & Film

Promotional Materials

Providence College Department of Theatre, Dance & Film

Bowab Studio Theatre

The next meeting for TDF's new Creative Writers' Festival

Tuesday, April 22, 2014, 6pm

Volume 9, Issue 4: Full Issue

Manuscripts

Full issue of the May 1942 issue of Manuscripts. Includes work by:Helen Elizabeth Hughes, Jack DeVine, Esther Benjamin, Joe Berry, J. Robert Dietz, Glenn H. Fisher, Myron Scarbrough, Patricia Sylvester, Mary Wiley, Richard Moores, Rachel Whelan, Richard Outcalt, Margaret Byram, Janet Gregory, Joseph A. Trent, Ione COlligan, Jeane Siskel, Jean M. Chalifour, Jim Mitchell, Betty Frances Thome, Bob Harris, Alfonse Tapia, Virgina Hurt, Jean Ebeling, Ardath Weigler, and Mary Ellen Shirley.

Excerpts

Manuscripts

Excerpts from additional submissions by authors: Melvin Kuebler, Richard Jowitt, Mary Elizabeth Black, Quentin West, Edward F. Wright, Margie Ann Hukriede, Margaret Dawson, Don R. Cutsinger, and Suzanne Van Talge.

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.

Winter, Ardath Weigler

Manuscripts

Faint, uncertain fluorescence of day struggling to penetrate the murk of man-made atmosphere - pushing through the exhalation of factory and furnace, making silhouette background for life. An occasional, broken shuffle of steps along the gritty alleyways as a solitary devotee gropes his path to the six o'clock mass. Lining the street - drab frame houses point a picket finger of mediocrity. Unrelieved monotony of mansard roofs jagging against the dun-colored sky, holding the saturated weight above.

About Defeat, Jean Ebeling

Manuscripts

There they lay, slung back in a corner, discarded from any future use, and looking as if every ounce of strength and good will had been wrung from their very soles. Only a few months before, that old pair of shoes could have held up its laces and thrown back its tongue, unshamefully encountering any other pair of shoes-even those of the higher priced class.

Libya, Virginia Hurt

Manuscripts

As far as one could see stretched the shimmering sands of the Sahara. The fury of the day seemed to beat upon the earth and the burning glare of the desert set weaving heat-waves into motion above the shifting hillocks, which the scorching wind swept into being and inevitably demolished with its swaying motion.

A Penny For Your Thoughts, Alfonse Tapia

Manuscripts

"A Penny for your thoughts."
What could I answer, when, in reality, I had been thinking of absolutely nothing. I was just looking at nature; nature who has always done something to me. I cannot put my finger on it, but I can feel it vaguely with a certain weakness that causes a disengagement from the powers of description. As mysterious as night itself; like the flame glowing in the fireplace, or the tobacco smoke, lazily drifting along to nowhere. It is in that way that I watch the always vanishing 'something' that is forever there in nature.

Munitions Worker, Bob Harris

Manuscripts

a little lesson in love and virtue
a discourse between god and saint peter
pertaining to the soul of a munitions maker.