{"id":141,"date":"2012-04-01T16:01:27","date_gmt":"2012-04-01T16:01:27","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.augsburg.edu\/now\/?p=141"},"modified":"2016-02-17T17:02:24","modified_gmt":"2016-02-17T17:02:24","slug":"auggie-writers-challenge","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.augsburg.edu\/now\/2012\/04\/01\/auggie-writers-challenge\/","title":{"rendered":"Auggie writers\u2019 challenge"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"WritersWith the 2013 launch of the new Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing<\/a>, Augsburg will welcome even more aspiring writers to the College. To celebrate Augsburg\u2019s tradition of creative writing excellence, we asked Augsburg English Department faculty to help us recruit Auggie alumni writers for a creative writing assignment.<\/p>\n

The assignment was to write a 250-word piece\u2014of any genre\u2014based on the photo above. We told the writers nothing about the photo\u2014not when or where it was taken or by whom. Following are the stories they crafted. Read their stories first, then see the photographer\u2019s story, below<\/a>.<\/strong><\/p>\n

The Cat<\/strong><\/p>\n

Kayla Skarbakka \u201909, writing consultant, Walden University<\/p>\n

Alan found the cat in Mom\u2019s bed, under the sour-smelling comforter. It was a weasely thing, patchy, crusty-eyed.<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you know about this?\u201d he asked the girls.<\/p>\n

Erin was folding a sweatshirt, one of the syrupy ones, printed with wildflowers and the words Someone special calls me Grandma. She looked up and gasped.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere did it come from?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n

Helen, who\u2019d been sorting jewelry, glanced up and wrinkled her nose. \u201cThe question is, where is it going.\u201d She\u2019d always had an armored sensibility. \u201cYou know,\u201d she added, \u201cthe boys are allergic.\u201d<\/p>\n

Alan sat down by the cat. It flicked its tail, which was hooked and jointed like a broken finger.<\/p>\n

\u201cUm,\u201d said Erin, which was how she started most arguments. \u201cI can\u2019t really bring it on the plane.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell,\u201d said Helen, \u201cI certainly won\u2019t take it home.\u201d<\/p>\n

Alan offered no excuse, and they didn\u2019t him ask for one. They rarely did.<\/p>\n

They\u2019d had few tussles that day. Alan gave the girls credit for that. A debate about the sofa, one watery altercation regarding Dad\u2019s old Dutch clock, but for the most part, they\u2019d worked efficiently, tallying, dividing, and claiming.<\/p>\n

Alan claimed little. A bar stool, because one of his had broken. A crucifix, because Helen made him. But otherwise he\u2019d chosen odd jobs, clearing the fridge and garage shelves, and stayed out of the way.<\/p>\n

It was a tactic he\u2019d learned early on from Dad who\u2019d sat with him on the couch while Helen marched past with a scarf or purse, dragging Erin, who cried hard but clung harder, with Mom trotting behind crying share, share, share.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cThose girls,\u201d Dad would say, and Alan called them those girls <\/em>too, even though Alice was ten and Helen fourteen when he was born, even though they squabbled with each other over him his whole childhood, mothers in training.<\/p>\n

It was harder on them, Alan thought. It took more out. They were tired.<\/p>\n

They hardly even raised their voices now.<\/p>\n

\u201cPeople fly with animals all the time.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s half dead. It\u2019ll have a stroke.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo, that solves everything.\u201d<\/p>\n

Alan touched the cat\u2019s ear. It flicked its tab of sandy tongue.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll do it,\u201d Alan said.<\/p>\n

The girls turned and stared at him. They looked awful, Alan thought. They looked old.<\/p>\n

\u201cReally,\u201d he said. It was his best, his quickest ticket out. He grabbed the cat and felt its skin slide across its ribs.<\/p>\n

\u201cAlan,\u201d said Helen.<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease,\u201d said Erin.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll get some food in this thing.\u201d He kissed the girls. \u201cCall me tomorrow.\u201d He packed his meager accumulations. He considered tossing the cat out a few blocks away. Instead, he went to Petco.<\/p>\n

In his apartment, he opened a can of Friskies and placed the cat in his lap. \u201cTurkey and giblets,\u201d he coaxed.<\/p>\n

It blinked. It couldn\u2019t seem to focus.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome on.\u201d He pressed its nose into the can. It gurgled, but wouldn\u2019t open its mouth.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t be stupid.\u201d He felt annoyed. He\u2019d gone out of his way.<\/p>\n

The cat closed its eyes.<\/p>\n

Helen had told him once, one dinnertime, that all the food he didn\u2019t eat would count against him in heaven. Um<\/em>, Erin had said. Maybe you shouldn\u2019t say that.<\/em> He had cried. Someone had held him. He didn\u2019t remember who.<\/p>\n

The cat was breathing quickly. Its skin was cooler than it should have been.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ll die,\u201d he told it. He suddenly didn\u2019t want it touching him. He didn\u2019t want it in his home.<\/p>\n

He slid opened the glass balcony door and placed the cat outside. It lay still where he set it, curled away from him, toward the city, spine knobbed and crooked, feet tucked beneath.<\/p>\n

He could kick it, he thought. He could kick it right over the edge. He went inside and shut the door.<\/p>\n

The cat was motionless except for the rapid stir of breath.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ll die,\u201d he repeated. He hadn\u2019t had to take it. He wanted it to look at him, to acknowledge him. He rapped on the glass.<\/p>\n

Who had held him? he wondered.<\/p>\n

The cat didn\u2019t turn. Alan wondered what it saw. He followed its gaze to the warehouse roofs and, beyond, the tinny glint of the river.<\/p>\n

Late Morning Window View<\/strong><\/p>\n

Jeremy Anderson \u201907, client relations manager, Furnituredealer.net<\/a><\/p>\n

First thing,<\/p>\n

stop at Charlie\u2019s on the corner<\/p>\n

for a sweet chai on the go.<\/p>\n

Catch the rail and scroll<\/p>\n

the morning news. Work will start<\/p>\n

soon enough, bustling tables,<\/p>\n

shit shooting with the regs.<\/p>\n

Don\u2019t let Old Rick ride<\/p>\n

you too much<\/p>\n

because tonight it\u2019s microbrews<\/p>\n

along St. Anthony Main.<\/p>\n

Usual sites, different taste<\/p>\n

(order something the menu describes<\/p>\n

as dark and complex).<\/p>\n

Let \u2019em flow down and just talk and listen and talk back.<\/p>\n

Try and top \u2019em. Tell \u2019em, Tell \u2019em what you learned,<\/p>\n

what you read, who you ran into, that thing you Googled the other<\/p>\n

day and what popped up. Remember when? Remember when?<\/p>\n

Remember when? And all that shit. It\u2019s good<\/p>\n

to let it blur. The best is when it blurs into something<\/p>\n

unclear. My head is warm. My arms, heavy and strong.<\/p>\n

There\u2019s a pulse in these veins, an exciting calm to the night until<\/p>\n

eventually I\u2019ll gaze back out this way<\/p>\n

with an arm snug around my Laura (maybe, hopefully)<\/p>\n

and a glass of pinot<\/p>\n

in my other hand –<\/p>\n

as street lamps torch the dark<\/p>\n

dark sky.<\/p>\n

Profile Pic<\/strong><\/p>\n

Orion Wisness \u201903, technical consultant, Kroll Ontrack<\/p>\n

Here is a man who wants to keep you guessing. He looks away from you but commands your attention by looming large in the patio doors. He chooses a strong stance, a confident pose, all while hiding in the light of day right in front of you. But he appears more hat rack than human. An armless X meant to distract you from the finer points, the tiny details, which expose his personality.<\/p>\n

You suppose he is doing one of three things in decreasing order of profundity: practicing Zen Croquet, contemplating the evening\u2019s dinner (the size of the grill suggests he consumes a fair share of red meat), or standing fully clothed in the sunlight in order to tan only his face. He has cats and creases in his pants. He\u2019s tidy for sure, but he\u2019s forgotten Mr. Whiskers\u2019 ball near the door jamb. He prefers a shirt with a collar but won\u2019t spring for a rug to wipe his feet when stepping from the balcony. A grocery bag near the grill contains the shadow of a Chihuahua, which makes you wonder why a man so tall would have so tiny a dog?<\/p>\n

You could puzzle yourself with questions all day, but what you want to do is tap him on the shoulder. The opposite shoulder from where you\u2019re standing. Make him guess where you are, who you are, and what you\u2019re doing.<\/p>\n

The Apocalypse, as Seen from Unit 24E<\/strong><\/p>\n

Jaye Lawrence \u201905 WEC, director of web communications, Carleton College<\/p>\n

Franklin liked order. Neatness. Discipline. He\u2019d been a drill sergeant once, and it showed. You could take the man out of the Army but never the Army out of the man.<\/p>\n

Military experience was an asset. It kept him alive, and his ragtag band of survivors too. But that need for order? That was a problem. That just might be the thing that finally drove him mad.<\/p>\n

Franklin no longer lived in an orderly world.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou should be asleep,\u201d chided a voice behind him, thready with age. \u201cWeren\u2019t you supposed to wake me for CQ duty at oh-three hundred?\u201d<\/p>\n

Esther. Franklin didn\u2019t turn or relax his stance, but the corners of his stern mouth twitched. He didn\u2019t smile much, never had, and he sure as hell didn\u2019t have occasion to anymore\u2014but 83-year-old Esther Rosenberg from 23C, bona fide blue-haired lady, former bane of the condo board of directors, spouting military jargon? That tickled his funny bone.<\/p>\n

With a slow soft tread of orthopedic shoes, Esther crossed the room to stand beside him. Franklin inspected her with a sidelong glance, granting a curt nod of approval to the pistol accessorizing her polyester pantsuit. Esther always kept his rules. Many who\u2019d been younger, faster, and fitter had not.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy didn\u2019t you wake me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI like seeing the sun come up again.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAh.\u201d A sigh, light as a whisper. \u201cYes, I do too.\u201d<\/p>\n

Esther patted his arm. She used her left hand, keeping the right free for the pistol.<\/p>\n

Franklin smiled.<\/p>\n

Witness<\/strong><\/p>\n

Andrea Sanow \u201909, administrative assistant, Augsburg College Office of Undergraduate Research and Graduate Opportunity<\/p>\n

They catch sight of each other\u2019s shoes underneath a bathroom stall, and when they are washing their hands, they are too embarrassed to look each other in the eye.<\/p>\n

Then, they are strangers the next semester when they take Calculus together. They laugh about being two of the four girls in the room and they bond over the fact that they aren\u2019t going to major in mathematics. And when Emily doesn\u2019t come to class, Rachel worries.<\/p>\n

Em, where r u?<\/p>\n

My grandma died, take notes for me.<\/p>\n

And Rachel goes to the funeral. And they take classes together. And they live together and share clothes and try to learn to cook while they recount the jokes of every day.<\/p>\n

Then, Rachel travels abroad and one night, from somewhere in South Africa where she has gotten drunk for Em\u2019s 21st birthday, she writes:<\/p>\n

Here\u2019s what I see on my walk home: a tree that grows at a 90- degree angle out of the sidewalk, a woman sitting with a baby, a spraypainted stencil of a tiny red man, a few kids who ask me to say something with my accent, and a man, who every day sees me walk back to my apartment and the triangle from foot to crotch to foot reminds me that somewhere we remember geometry or whatever and you are passing me a note and we\u2019re meeting after class and you\u2019re pissed\u2014I\u2019ve borrowed your favorite pair of shoes.<\/p>\n

THE PHOTOGRAPHER\u2019S STORY<\/h2>\n

While studying in Augsburg\u2019s Weekend College program, Philip Pelto \u201910 made this self-portrait for a class. He wrote:<\/p>\n

The photo was taken at my condo in downtown Minneapolis. It\u2019s looking east out over the Depot and the Guthrie Theater, and Augsburg is not too far off in the distance to the right. It\u2019s a self-portrait, and I was experimenting with the lighting. I was trying to get a cool silhouette with the outside in focus. What I wound up getting is this really cool photo that reminds me of where I came from and where I am now. The photo conjures up feelings of success. I\u2019m in my condo, surveying my city, taking it all in. There\u2019s a sense that I\u2019ve made it.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

With the 2013 launch of the new Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing, Augsburg will welcome even more aspiring writers to the College. To celebrate Augsburg\u2019s tradition of creative writing excellence, we asked Augsburg English Department faculty to help us recruit Auggie alumni writers for a creative writing assignment. The assignment was to write <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":5,"featured_media":6026,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[52],"class_list":["post-141","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-featured-stories","tag-spring-2012"],"wps_subtitle":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.augsburg.edu\/now\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/141","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.augsburg.edu\/now\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.augsburg.edu\/now\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.augsburg.edu\/now\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/5"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.augsburg.edu\/now\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=141"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/www.augsburg.edu\/now\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/141\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6563,"href":"https:\/\/www.augsburg.edu\/now\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/141\/revisions\/6563"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.augsburg.edu\/now\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/6026"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.augsburg.edu\/now\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=141"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.augsburg.edu\/now\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=141"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.augsburg.edu\/now\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=141"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}