Creative Writing

Some of you know that I have led several creative writing workshops at a nearby women's prison. It's actually something I did for the first time as a community writing class at Drake and then ended up writing a major paper on my senior year. Even after devoting 2 semesters to the concept and act of writing I was still intrigued and was able to continue the workshop with a fellow graduate and friend.

It's one of those things I appreciate when it's over, but there are those weeks in the middle of it where it seems like too much time and effort and I wish it were over. Last Tues was our last week. We present a book of the women's writing from the class to the women and celebrate our writing. So tonight, since I don't have to go to workshop, I'm going to share a few of my favorite pieces with you. The only thing I ask is that you keep in mind the few parameters we have on the writing that is done in this class. It is always treated as fiction, and any comments are positive, because writing is fragile like a newborn and this writing has not been revised.

HAIR

Water pools in the hollows of my clavicle, trickles between my breasts, and slides down my spine. Slowly I run a brush through my clean hair, carefully working through the snarls, forcing it straight. I grab a towel and squeeze the ends letting the final drops of water land in the sink. Then I swing it loose, admiring the gentle curls that fall down my back, each spiraling brown tendril with a mind of its own. I dig in the basket for the bottle of mousse and shake the shiny purple tube before tipping it upside down and releasing the fragrant, white fluff into my cupped hand. Dividing it in half, careful not to spill the contents on the floor, I start sliding it through my hair like frosting.

THAT NIGHT

That night nothing mattered but his hand holding mine, filling my heart with unquenchable joy.

That night I didn’t care that my hair was windblown and my cheeks flushed with excitement making me look like a little girl.

That night we were together for the first time, discovering each other and enjoying every moment.

That night I kissed him with a passion I didn’t know or understand, my lips holding his, never wanting to let go.

That night the stars showered down pinpricks of light that danced in our eyes and covered any fears.

That night I fell in love, head over heels, crazy for you, forever. That night.

Making Pesto

There aren't many things in my life that I do and then immediately feel the need to share with others, but I figure that's a great reason for a blog, so my big accomplishment of the night (the week, the summer!) is making pesto with home-grown basil!

Now, I've been growing basil on our balcony for the last few summers, but I never thought I had enough to actually make pesto (which is the reason to grow fresh basil, right? This has been a secret desire of mine for awhile now—it also helps that I'm reading the Italy section of Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat, Pray, Love and I'm rather obsessed with the idea of spending an extended amount of time learning Italian and eating in Italy (anyone want to join me?).

In the last year, two things changed in my basil/pesto world that made this accomplishment possible. First, I received a mini food processor for Christmas (thanks Cooleys :) and second, I splurged on a bigger pot for the baby pesto plant I bought at the farmer's market. For the last 2 month I've been nurturing my basil plants, watching them get bigger and bigger and snipping small amounts here and there for pizza and pasta, but tonight after work the wait was over. I had enough leaves to make a small batch of pesto and let me tell you, it was delicious!

And to be honest it was really simple. Here's my recipe for success:
1 packed cup of pesto leaves
2 Tablespoons toasted pine nuts
1 1/2 Tablespoons olive oil
1 teaspoon minced garlic
dash of kosher salt

I "processed" the ingredients 'til it was all green and wet and served over pasta with chicken, fresh roma tomatoes, and parmessan. It was divine. There are even left overs if you want to try it :)

for the love of books

If you know me even remotely well, you know that I love to read. magazines, books, newspapers, billboards. If there are words on it, I'll read it. So of course when my mom sent me this quote I had to share it:

"For books are more than books, they are the life, the very heart and core of ages past, the reason why men lived and worked and died, the essence and quintessence of their lives."--Gene Fowler (1890-1960), American journalist, author and dramatist

I grew up in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, which is now known as the city that flooded in 2008. I haven't been back to see the damage yet (next weekend) but I'm sure it will be unreal. Personally one of the saddest losses is the downtown library. My mom tells me that they weren't able to save any of the books on the first floor, which included all adult fiction and non-fiction. It's possible that they won't even rebuild the library there. I can't imagine Cedar Rapids without that building. How many hours did I spend there as a child. I was such a bookworm that I can remember summer afternoons when a friend and I would beg my mom to take us to the library for the afternoon. We would come home with stacks of books (from Babysitter's Club, to horse books, Nancy Drew mysteries to gymnastics series) these books painted the days of my summers. As soon as school was out for the summer I couldn't wait to get signed up for the summer reading program and begin carefully filling out each book that I read. I seriously think I read 100 books this summer. Granted they were short, but this summer I'll be doing good if I read 5! Those were the days.

I can remember graduating to the adult fiction section and delving into the fatter (300+) page sagas. Sometimes my friend and I would ask for headphones and squeeze into one of the movie viewing booths because watching a movie at the library was so much cooler than watching it at home. I remember the huge curving staircase that led to the kids' section upstairs. I can still picture the reading corners with their colorful beanbags and pillows for lounging on.

They have to rebuild it. Even if it's not in the same place, you can't have a city or a town without a library. Where else can kids start to dream about other worlds and discover adventure and triumph love and despair?

OK, so I'm getting a little sappy and sentimental now, but that library really was a significant part of my childhood.