Chance comes out of nowhere, popping its head out of the bushes and waving its wand at the sky from a darkened nook you all but forgot to examine. This is when happenings happen. An isolated thunderstorm, a vehicle explosion, a scattering of leaves that brings into light a few scant nuggets of gold. It is the skeptic's curse, these endless ( Read more... )

at Wesleyan, when I eventually take a creative-writing class at the one and final college that I will attend, I will raise my hand, and critique other people's pieces, and say kind words, and show respect, and act nothing like the arrogant, surly idiot I was in every writing class before it. I walked into all of them convinced I knew everything. I ( Read more... )

In the past couple of weeks a happening has not happened that needs to happen. As of 5:20 p.m., June 15th, almost a full month after my triumphant return from Cornell, neither I nor anyone else has gone swimming in Loch Raven Reservoir. This is terrible ( Read more... )

It looks like I'll be an intern for the Baltimore Review. This means I will be critiquing submissions for a premier literary magazine, and perhaps handing my work to published authors.

Down, Jenna.

With more or less every attempt to start a story failed, I think a weeklong writing hiatus is in order.

were feeling rather generous. Grades are out.

A one-act play detailing the terminal joyride and subsequent death of a 1987 Ford Scorpio, the only car I will ever love.

CAST:
TB: An ambitious college student, home for the summer after a tumultuous and long freshman year. He is bearded, and somewhat imposing. His hair is an electrical storm.
The Family: An assorted crew of sisters, mothers, and ( Read more... )

Yes.

drunk LJ, really, is a lot more fun than drunk-dial. I'm actually a little proud of this. Just a little though.

I don't miss Cornell one single bit. But some of the kids there, I swear, I miss like long-gone lovers.