chanelstory

Mormon Lit Blitz

2012-02-06T21:35:00.000-05:00

The team at Mormon Artist have sponsored a Mormon creative writing contest. Unfortunately, my submission wasn't selected as one of 12 finalists to be published online this month, but that only means that the finalists are even better than they would have been if I had won.

I am getting very excited to read the winning pieces and vote on my favorite. They will be posted from February 15th-29th at mormonartist.net, and voting for the Grand Prize will be open between March 1st and 15th.

Now, for your reading enjoyment (I hope), here is my submission. It is fiction.

Four Sisters

In dress, we are the same: skirts, blouses, thick black tights to block out the Swedish winter, Dansko shoes, wool coats, black nametags.

But, when Sister Swensen is asked if she is a nun she replies by asking, "Can a nun dance like this?" and sliding her feet across the floor.

When Sister Williams talks, she smiles—not sometimes, but all the time.

Sister Rice arrived only a few months ago from England. She still struggles conjugating her verbs. Her pronunciation sounds labored, and her understanding is limited.

I love them all because I can't not love them. I love how these three women wake up early every morning to go running before settling into several hours of sincere study. I love how they open their mail, how they read their mail, how they sing, how they pray, how they cry when they are happy and cry when they are sad. How they patiently help each other. I love how they love me.

We all dress the same—and when we teach, we use the same inflections, language and scriptures.

But, when Sister Swensen was an adventurer scout in Örnsköldsvik she survived a bear attack that claimed the life of her closest friend. When she was in college she helped another friend get through a heroine addiction.

When Sister Williams left her farm in Oklahoma to go on a mission, she also left behind three men who thought they were going to marry her. She responded to all of their letters, but carefully avoided making any promises. She never went to college, but wants to, and is afraid early marriage will stop her.

When Sister Rice was in high school, her father was in jail. She tried to kill herself and was saved by a miracle. She believes in honest‐to‐goodness literal miracles like she believes the sun will rise. She doesn't talk about herself very much.

I know them all like they are my biological sisters, like we grew up in the same house. I wake up early and study and watch. I teach and bear testimony and wonder what I did to earn the right to sit with them. I believe. I believe in Joseph Smith and Thomas S. Monson, in astrology and homeopathy, and maybe in reincarnation. I believe in miracles like I believe in evolution, and understand neither.

Every Wednesday we stand on the same corner near the train station. We set up a little A‐frame sign and hand out tracts, books, and cards.

When a middle‐aged man asks Sister Swensen if she is a Jehovah's Witness she answers in the affirmative, but before she can go on to explain that she doesn't only bear witness of Jehovah, but also of Joseph Smith, Sister Williams hits her in the arm, and clarifies that we are Mormons.

When Sister Rice gets into a difficult conversation I step in to help her. We work together, explaining that Mormons do believe in the Bible, and that we also use technology.

As the day progresses, I see an endless stream of faces pass us by with the same look, a look that says, "You Americans are all the same."

If only they knew that when Sister Swensen prays, I feel excitement. When Sister Rice prays, I feel peace. When Sister Willams prays, I feel the power of God. And when I pray, I feel the hope that every answer will come with time and love.

Favorite Children's Books

2012-01-24T21:53:00.000-05:00

I have reviewed and recommended many books for adults, but in reality, I read at least ten (and sometimes it feels like closer to a hundred) children's books for every one novel or memoir I read.

I have been reading children's books for over twenty five years, and I certainly have some strong opinions about them.

Here are five of my current favorites. Each of these books is good for kids, but tolerable for parents to read over and over again. Most of them feature adults in at least a minor role, and none of them are about obnoxious children, spoiled princesses or superheroes. They are good books, written for people, not for preschoolers with limited attention spans.

1. A Pig Parade is a Terrible Idea - by Michael Ian Black, Illustrated by Kevin Hawkes

This book is hilarious. I love how wonderfully persuasive it is, and how silly it is. My daughters love it too, which is nice, but really, I read it to them every day because I want to, not because they ask me to.

2. Frog and Toad - By Arnold Lobel

This entire series makes me giggle with glee. I can read them all day. The characters are nice and realistic. The stories are potentially boring, but that's one of the things I like about them. I always try to find books that are as slow as my children can handle.

3. In the Night Kitchen - By Maurice Sendak

I know that Where the Wild Things Are is Sendack's biggest hit, but I just love this one. It has a neat rhythm and fun illustrations. It has bakers and messes and the entire milky way.

4. Everybody Needs a Rock - by Byrd Baylor, Illustrated by Peter Parnall

I have always known that everybody needed a rock, but this book really helped me understand why it is important and how to find one. The illustrations are less colorful than some of the other books I love, but they are still beautiful and imaginative.

5. A Day with Wilbur Robinson - By William Joyce

I am always so happy when my kids want me to read this one. It is silly, yes, and imaginative, and it has good illustrations. The plot is very simple and easy to follow, even though the action is all over the place.

Another Book Review!

2012-01-19T22:27:00.001-05:00

Mark Ruckledge just reviewed my book on his blog, and while he certainly had some criticism, I am excited to report that he gave it four out of five stars and still liked it.

To read the review click here.

I'm Back

2012-01-10T00:15:00.001-05:00

Well, I didn't plan on taking a long break during the holidays, but it happened. The end of the semester sucked away my early December and was followed by a long vacation to Utah—without the computer. When we got back it took every spare minute just to prepare for the new semester and get started.

Now, I'm back. The semester has begun, my evenings are freeing up, and I am working on a few new and interesting writing projects.

So, sit back and enjoy this delightful video for the new year. (You get ten extra points if you can catch the Dune reference.) I have a feeling 2012 is going to be the best year yet.

Book Review

2011-12-10T05:30:00.000-05:00

Lisa Turner at Mormon Mommy Writers published a review of my book today. To read the review and her interview with me click here.

Snuggly Winter Reads

2011-12-05T10:16:00.001-05:00

Here at Ivy Tech Bloomington, several members of the English Department faculty have set up a nice display suggesting books that make great winter reads, books to read during the three week vacation that is coming soon (I can't wait).

Of course, I love the idea of sinking into an overstuffed chair with a cup of cocoa and a good book while the a fireplace crackles beside me. But what would I read? This is the inspiration for today's post. Here are five books I am considering rereading this Christmas holiday. Other than that, they have very little in common, just five books I love, that I want to read again this winter.

If you want to weigh in on which book I should read first, or make an alternate suggestion, please leave a comment.

1. Walden Pond - Henry David Thoreau

I love this book. Not only is it beautifully written, but it also includes some wonderful scenes of winter. The frozen pond is the perfect subject for winter meditations, and the pond in spring is just the right scene to help cut through the winter doldrums. I appreciate how the book connects me to nature, in a season where, honestly, I spend a lot less time outside.

2. Alanna - Tamora Pierce

I first read this series when I was younger and I haven't reread it in a long time, although I keep wanting to. The story begins when Alanna, a 12-year-old girl, disguises herself as her brother and begins training as a knight. She is bold and insecure and has many adventures before the series is over. I especially like how much fun these books are and how easy they are to read.

3. The Sorrows of Young Werther - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

I read this many years ago and want to reread it not only because I enjoyed it, but also because I remember so very little of it. I remember this novella being a wintery read: romantic and tragic and, as the title suggests, full of sorrow. I am also interested in reading it from my current perspective. A lot has changed in the ten years since I read it, and I fully expect to have new insights and ideas as I read.

4. Peace Like a River - Leif Enger

This book has staying power. I read it quickly and thought it was good, but now several years later it keeps sticking around. It is in me. It has amazing settings, language and characters. The events are fantastic and real at the same time, and the relationships are interesting. I want to read it again just to see if it is as good as I remember it being.

5. Nine Horses - Billy Collins

Really, I love all of Billy Collins' collections. But this one is special. I don't know why. I can't even remember which poems are in it aside from the title poem, but I know that when I think about it I get a little tingly with nostalgia. It wasn't the first book of his I read, but I think of it as my favorite.

Ich spreche kein Französisch

2011-12-01T00:24:00.001-05:00

I took a year of French in junior high school. In high school I joined the Spanish club for a while, but German won out in the end. I love German, and if I could only speak two languages I think I've ended up with good ones.

Still, this song makes me wish I spoke french.

Do

Machine of Death #2

2011-11-10T22:12:00.001-05:00

(I thought up this little story a few days before the submissions to the second machine of death anthology were due. I rather like the idea of telling a story through an obituary, but I found it to be a difficult genre. I wanted it to be literary and poetic, but also to sound like an obituary—cheesy and happy. Those you who aren't familiar with the machine of death concept should probably read a short summary of it (here) before reading this story.)

Picnic, Lightning

JoAnna Beach - (1972 – 2050)

JoAnna Beach (nee Johnson), 78, of Bloomington, Indiana, died Saturday, July 2,2050, among family and friends at Karst Farm Park.

Ourmother, teacher, grandmother, great grandmother and friend, Jo Anna was bornMarch 12, 1972, in Indianapolis. She was the daughter of Carl and Jane (neeAnderson) Johnson and the last of seven children. Jo Anna loved family life. In2001 she married her best friend, Gary Evan Johnson of Indianapolis, and togetherthey had five children. Jo Anna always found ways to show her love, wasdedicated to serving her family, and enjoyed every minute spent with hergrandchildren and great grandchildren. She has left a hole in the hearts ofthose who knew her.

JoAnna had many talents and accomplishments. She attended Ball State where shereceived a degree in Sociology. In 1996 she earned a PhD from RutgersUniversity in Library Sciences, after which she began teaching at IndianaUniversity. Of her many academic achievements, she is most known for her workcollecting and cataloging machine of death predictions. Her most celebratedbook "Diversity of Deaths: From Anesthesia to Zip Line" topped the New YorkTimes bestseller list, and was awarded the National Book Critic's Circle Award.

Inaddition to her contributions as a wife, mother, teacher and researcher, JoAnna dedicated her life to the service of mankind. She helped found theOrganization to End Fear, which worked to help people overcome the sometimes-devastatingemotional effects caused by receiving their predictions. She worked as avolunteer with the OEF up until she died, and lived her life by the mantra, "I can'tchange my fate, why should I let it change me?" All who met her were inspiredby her love, compassion and enthusiasm.

Sheis survived by her children, Daniel (Annie) Johnson, Barbara (Brett) Blewitt,Debbie (Clark) Johnson-Hughes, and Marsha Johnson; 11 grandchildren and 27great grandchildren.

Sheis preceded in death by her husband, her son Craig Johnson, her parents, andher brother Mark Johnson.

FuneralServices and interment will be held Wednesday, July 6 at 10:00 a.m. at Memory Gardens. A viewing for close family andfriends will take place the Tuesday prior from 6-8 p.m.

Tocontinue in Jo Anna's legacy the Beach family requests that in lieu of flowersdonations be made to the OEF.

Machine of Death #1

2011-11-10T21:36:00.001-05:00

(This is the first story I wrote to submit to the second Machine of Death anthology. Unfortunately, it wasn't chosen. Many of you are already familiar with the machine of death concept. But those of you who aren't should probably read a short summary of it (here) before reading this story.

Incidentally, Broken Heart and A Broken Heart were two of the most common titles among the almost 2,000 stories submitted to the second anthology.)

Broken Heart

A family:one mother, three sons, ages eight, six, three. Ms. Holladay carries Adam, the youngest, on one hip as twosets of skinny legs carry the others past them and down the long hospital corridor:Jackson and Nathan.

"Stop!"she whispers and yells simultaneously, "Stop it you two, or we’re goinghome."

Thechildren freeze, their curly brown tops and dirty hands returning quietly totheir places next to their mother’s long skirt. They won’t go home. They will stay and then tomorrow theywill know.

The room iscrowded, filled with bodies and fear.

"Number1037," the nurse calls out.

"Here,"the children hear their mother say. She advances toward the reception desk, the children remaining close.

"Ah,and numbers 1038 through 1040, I see." The young nurse smiles at the children as she hands theirmother the documents. "Justsign here, at the bottom," she points, "Do you kids want somesuckers?" She hands them eacha red lollipop. "And sign thewaivers as well."

The mothersigns twice for each of them: once each for the test results, and once each towaive the right to sue the hospital for any damages the results may cause.

"Andhere they are," the nurse hands the mother four grey envelopes. "Sosorry for the wait. Have apleasant evening."

Ms.Holladay forces a smile. "As pleasant as it can be," she says.

She opensthe envelopes alone that night, the boys already asleep. Who invented this machine?

She thinksas she slices the thin wooden dagger into Nathan’s envelope. Why did they do it? Why?

She thinksof the boys’ father, wishing him next to her, holding her hand, or placing iton her shoulder. Her hands shake asshe pulls out the first of the fates.

SHOT BYBROTHER

Her heartfalls into the floor. Her lungs ache; a part of her head begins to explode, thepart in the very center.

She pullsout another.

SHOT BYBROTHER

Why? She cries, why? why?By the time she gets to the third envelope she can barely open it, her shakyhands have become violent.

EXECUTEDFOR MURDER

She gasps.She never reads the last envelope: hers. She burns them one at a time in thecolored glass ashtray that only he ever used.

"Nate,don’t!" A thirteen year old Jackson urges. "Mom said we shouldn’tknow. She said not to."

Nathan sitsin the grey booth, he stares into the touch screen with resolve. "I have to know," he says,and blinks twice as he pricks his finger on the sterile needle to the right. "Momthinks it will hurt me, but I can take it, at least then I’ll know how I go."He is calm and slow. He squeezes his index finger tightly between the thumb andmiddle finger while he enters his mother’s credit card number into the machinewith his left hand. "Just because you and mom are scared…well I’m not. I’mnot scared at all."

Processing…Processing…thescreen flashes. They wait.

"Fine,"Jackson says, "I’ll do it. But don’t tell mom."

Nathansteps out of the booth, clutching a receipt, five inches of thin whiteprophetic paper: the future. His knuckles are white, his eyes sunken. Jacksonclimbs into the booth after him.

"Well,what does it say?"

"I’mnot telling," Nathan responds.

"C’mon,I’ll tell you mine. It can’t be that bad. We’re brothers."

Jacksonpierces his finger, the credit card, his hands shake, his knees bounce, Processing…Processing…hesteps out of the booth.

"Well,will you tell me now?" he holds out his receipt, daring Nathan to take it.

Theyexchange. Their faces pale as they read the cold prophesy.

"Wedie together," Jackson says. "Let’s go get Adam."

They testAdam four times on different machines. By the end he is crying, but his fate remainsthe same. Fingers raw, curls soaked with sweat, his brothers look at himdifferently.

Ms.Holladay works double shifts as a sewing machine operator. She lifts the heavydenim onto the table and feeds it into the machine. Every seven seconds shewatches as the machine completes a buttonhole. Feed, remove, feed, remove,feed, remove. The repetition is endless. The sound of the machine rings in her ears,louder than thought or dream. Her movements are practiced and accurate.

At nightshe tucks her boys into bed. She moves quickly, the sound of the machine ringingin her ears.

"Murderer,"the children point and whisper when Adam comes into view.

"Killer!" they yell down thehalls at him.

A teenageboy in a blue hooded sweatshirt follows Adam as he walks across the field. "Tryit," he taunts, "I dare you. Just try and kill me. I can take you."

Adam doesn’tfight.

In theafternoon Adam walks home slowly. His books are wet and his clothes are ripped.He has a bloody nose and even though the rain has stopped, his tired skinshines.

The boysgrow up. Nathan and Jackson work in airport security. Jackson sits next to theconveyor belt, carefully checking each carry-on as it passes under the X-raymachine. Nathan searches passengers with a handheld metal detector. Their bosswaits for them to shoot each other.

Adam, themurderer, does not work. He goes on long walks in the park and watches the children.He volunteers at the downtown soup kitchen, where causes of death are keptprivate. His volunteer coordinatorsees him as a volunteer, a kind and helpful man.

Ms.Holladay no longer tucks them in at night. But the house remains full: amother, three sons, anger, and fear.

Adam entersthe house whistling. He leaves his shoes at the door and enters the kitchenwhere Jackson is sitting at the ancient card table. The whistling stops.

"Pullup a chair," Jackson says, handing his brother a freshly rolled cigarette.

Thebrothers look at each other, they measure and calculate, they do not smile.

Adam takesthe cigarette. "I quit smoking you know." He lights it, and takes acasual drag.

Jacksonlooks at his brother again, the question weighing him down. "You wouldn’tdo it, right?" He asks.

"Dowhat?"

"Killus. You know, like you are supposed to."

"No."Adam does not hesitate, his answer come quickly and honestly.

Jacksonwaits, he thinks, he pauses.

"Wetried to kill you once."

"Onlyonce?"

"Itwas right after we found out. We bought dark sunglasses for our getaway. Webought this stuff from a kid on the corner. He said one teaspoon would killanybody. But it didn’t work. Nathan broke the glasses, threw them off of theroof."

"I gotreally sick, didn’t I?"

Jacksonnods as he lights up another cigarette.

"I won’tkill you." Adam says as he puts his out. "I’ve thought a lot aboutthis and I don’t know how I…I couldn’t kill anyone."

"Well,you’re going to kill someone. Sorry, but the machine never lies."

"I won’tdo it. The machine can say whatever it wants. I’m going. Tell mom I’ll be out late."

Theapartment is quiet when Adam returns, entering the hallway slowly, leaving hisshoes on.

"Nathan?Jackson? Mom?" He hears only the quick breathing of his mother.

"Youfinally showed." Nathan’s voice echoes through the bare kitchen, unhingedfrom reality. "But are you ready?"

Adam pausesand looks around the room, confused. The tiled floor is splattered red.

"Iguess I was the murderer all along." Nathan says as his brother enters theroom. Jackson’s body lies heaped in the corner. He does not breathe, his faceis white, his eyes are closed. Adam sees the blood, the holes in his chest, thegun in Nathan’s hand.

Ms.Holladay shakes as she sits in her chair, her ears ringing. Her peppered hair covers her face.

"Stopit Nathan," she stutters between sobs, barely whispering. Then she looksat Adam, her eyes peering through the thin strands of hair. "He’s notright. Go!" she pleads, "Run! Go! Get away!"

Nathanshifts his weight in a sudden move toward his brother. Adam reacts. He leaps forward,grabbing the handgun. Ms. Holladay hears the faint sound of a gunshot in herringing ears. Her heart fails her: three lifeless bodies.

A passingcar hears the shot and calls the police.

Adam’scause of death is entered into evidence. And in the matter of the State vs.Adam Holladay, they find the defendant guilty.

Rejection Week!

2011-11-07T23:35:00.003-05:00

Back in July, I submitted several pieces for publication. One story, "One Hundred Breaths," was published in Revolution House in September. I also had a short poem published by Three Line Poetry.

The rest of my submissions took a little bit more waiting. Then, a little over a week ago, an essay I submitted to Orion was rejected, and Friday both of my Machine of Death (MOD) submissions were also tossed out. I had expected them to be rejected, since the competition was fierce—almost 2,000 stories—but of course, it still hurts.

After reading my very kindly worded rejection letters, I went through a sort of grieving process, and I can honestly say that today I am feeling much better about things. If any of you out there are still trying to feel good about your own MOD rejection letters, here are some of the things that helped me.

1. Eating a lot of Halloween candy.
2. Reading blog posts and tweets written by other people who were rejected.
3. Eating chips.
4. Rereading my stories and looking for mistakes.
5. Sleeping.
6. Getting some things done around the house.
7. Making cookies.
8. Writing.
9. Remembering that I have a life.
10. Christmas shopping.
11. Time.

I don't know if these things will help anyone else. But I am going to keep this list around when I get my next rejection letter (which will probably be soon). As long as I can keep the candy, chip and cookie eating to a minimum, I should be okay.

So far this year, I have received five rejections and two acceptances. Which is actually a pretty good record, I think.

I also currently have two pieces under consideration at five markets, and two pieces under consideration with markets that seem to be defunct. I've got to do a little research and find out what is going on there.

MOD stories coming soon!

Halloween Hits

2011-10-31T00:42:00.000-04:00

Today is the day. It's time to dress up in an embarrassing costume and eat way more candy than is healthy. I am excited to see my daughter actually sit still while getting her hair fixed, instead of fighting me like she usually does, and I am excited to celebrate with some of my favorite scary stories.

Now, it's important to say that I don't like being scared, and I don't like horror. I haven't been in a haunted house since I was a teenager. I froze in fear and had to be let out the back way without walking through the rest of the rooms. However, I do appreciate the sort of mild horror that these Halloween reads have to offer. Here are three of my favorites.

1. The Graveyard Book - by Neil Gaiman

This book is delightful. It is dark enough for Halloween, but not really scary for adults and older children. the book is based on The Jungle Book, but instead of Mowgli, who is raised by jungle animals, the reader follows Bod, who is raised by ghosts. I can't wait until my kids are old enough to share this with me.

2. The Tell-Tale Heart - by Edgar Allen Poe

Of course, Poe is the master of the scary short story, and this story is my favorite. It is so terrifying and insane. It is haunting. I love reading the story, and I love Vincent Price's dramatization of it.

3. Any story read by Garrison Keillor

Now this is not a story to read, but to listen to. It has become a tradition at our house to listen to Garrison Keillor tell Halloween stories from Lake Wobegon. They are sweet and unexpected. They are real, scary, dark, funny, hopeful and exciting, all told with that deep voice I love so much.

The best stories are available on the CD "Horrors! a Prairie Home Companion," but you can watch a short clip of one of the stories here.

Enjoy! I hope your Halloween is full of treats, not tricks, and just enough fear to keep you comfortable. If you can think of any great scary stories you'd like to recommend, please do. I would love to read them. (Lovecraft, for example, where do I start?)

How to Give a Book Reading

2011-10-29T23:54:00.000-04:00

Tonight, I gave my first book reading at Boxcar Books in Downtown Bloomington.

In preparation I tried to come up with a few ideas to make my reading special. I wanted to try and get everyone who came to like my stories and be interested in reading them. Here are some of the things I tried:

1. I wanted to give the audience information that they couldn't get from the book itself. So I shared an alternate epigraph I had considered for the book and talked a little bit about the process of naming the collection.

2. I wanted to share a little bit of my own personality and personal experience with the audience, so I talked about what segments in the book came out of my own life and then read a story that contained some autobiography.

3. I tried to sound interesting while I read, and to read loudly.

4. I shortened the last story by 4-5 minutes. I think it was an interesting story, and I could have probably read the whole thing, but I didn't want to make the reading too long.

5. I took questions at the end.

6. I brought cookies and had some good friends do the same.

So, how did it go? I think some of the things I tried worked really well. But, I think I could have done better. Here are a few new ideas I'm going to try next time:

1. Find someone in advance to begin the event by announcing me and (in this case) the other reader.

2. Talk more and read less. I sort of rushed through the introductions and then slowed down while I was reading. I think it might be better to spend more time introducing shorter passages.

3. Practice more! This is basically my constant need. I need to practice reading my stories out loud, especially when I cut sections out of them.

4. Think of more jokes. I got a few laughs, but if I had put a little bit of effort in, I probably could have been funnier.

These seem to be some good rules and ideas for giving a book reading. If you have any other ideas, please let me know. I hope to have the opportunity to refine my own reading and presenting skills as time progresses, and your feedback and ideas would be very helpful.

Exquisite Corpse: Halloween

2011-10-27T23:02:00.001-04:00

In honor of Halloween, Alyssa, Joel, Martin and I held a special round of the exquisite corpse. Here's one of the horrifying stories it produced:

Willem had never considered—never even thought—that he would once again have to face Mr. Trudgenson, his first employer; the man had been dead for 13 years.

Of course, Willem could have been wrong in identifying the visage as that of Mr. Trudgenson as in his memory old Trudgenson seemed taller.

As Willem peered closer he realized the spectre in fact had no legs, and bones protruded from the place where they ought to have been.

The bone-legged being pointed a similarly bony finger at Willem and opened his mouth to speak.

A dry, forsaken gasp echoed past the being's lips—nearly inaudible and, to all but Willem, unintelligible—beckoning him to follow.

Willem followed the forsaken gasp into the library and towards the shelf which held his family history—the finger beckoned him to take out vol. 3.

Volume 3 followed the line of the Thurgoods, which had long been rumored to have intermingled with werebeasts and wizards, and Willem knew that same blood was coming alive within him.

He pulled the book off of the shelf and began frantically turning pages in search of the proper incantation.

As he spoke the words to the ancient rhyme, the night cleared and the air quieted; at long last, peace returned.

Reading at Boxcar Books

2011-10-19T00:01:00.002-04:00

Well, I guess it's time I started acting like an author. I will be giving my first reading this Saturday, October 29, at 7 p.m.Among other pieces, I will be reading from What to Say toSomeone Who's Dying.

Cara Prill, a great friend and coworker at Ivy Tech Community College, has agreed to read with me. She recently won second place in Bloom magazine's first shortfiction contest.

The reading is free. There will be goodies, good stories and copies of my book for sale.

Come on out, and bring a friend!

Exquisite Corpse: Dating

2011-10-16T22:29:00.001-04:00

Followers of my blog will remember the parlor game Exquisite Corpse and the hilarious stories is produces. This weekend Martin and I played another round with our friends Joel and Alyssa Feik. Here are two new stories we created after choosing "Dating" as out theme.

As before, paragraph breaks signal a new writer. While writing, the writer only had access to the line before the one they were writing.

Story 1:

Flickr photo by stevendamron

Billy hated blind dates, always had, but this one was the worst—she was taller than he was, brought her dog along with her, and her name was Billy.

Billy took her to the drive-in to see a scary movie, thinking that at least there she could tie up the dog outside and that maybe she wouldn't be so bad in the dark.

Billy was wrong. Once they got to the drive-in she insisted the mutt should stay inside the vehicle in his plaid carrying case ans should be allowed to bark incessantly.

"Well," Billy thought, "better that dog's yapping then your incessant chattering!"

Billy looked Billy over again, trying to find at least one thing he liked about her, something that would keep him from walking away .

While he was thinking, she abruptly leaned over and planted him a big wet one.

His heart continued to beat faster and faster as she laid on her sloppy wet kisses, and he briefly began to wonder if time had ceased to pass.

He soon realized that it wasn't time that had stopped, but his breathing—his dog allergy was going to kill him if he didn't get away from this situation.

"I've gotta go, " he said with difficulty, his throat beginning to swell.

He left and forgot all about her because the next day he met the girl of his dream, and they got married and had 20 kids and 75 grandkids who all lived perfectly happy lives.

Story 2:

Flickr photo by smile4camera

"Yeah, it's a Ford," Blaine casually stated while stretching his arms wide, believing that Judith was actually interested in his car.

Judith wouldn't know the difference between Blaine's Ford and a rocketship—she was only going on this date because she was bored and lonely.

"Nice wheels," she said obligingly, "So what do you do?"

"I work in the love industry, baby," he relied with a grin, "if you know what I mean, wink, wink, nudge, nudge."

"Are you implying that you work in the wedding industry, or do you mean something like Tiger Beat or Teen Magazine."

"Actually, I write the wedding column for Tiger Beat Magazine," he responded.

"Really," she said, "that's exciting, what kind of money do you make?"

"Let's put it this way—if you marry me, you'll have so much money you could fill swimming pools full of it," he then pulled out a small box to seal the deal.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa—would you be filling swimming pools full of $1 bills or $1,000 bills—it's a pretty crucial difference?"

"No, I'd go with 50's—I just love a man with a beard.

Contest

2011-10-10T23:43:00.003-04:00

What to Say to Someone Who's Dying now has an official Facebook page! Which means I am sponsoring my first contest.

The first 100 people to like and share the new page will be entered to win a free copy of the book. The winner will be randomly selected.

To like the page, either search for it on Facebook or click in the box in the sidebar right here on the blog.

I am so grateful to all of you who have read the book and talked to me about it. Thank you for your encouragement, advice, comments and questions. It means so much to me every time I hear that you have recommended the book to a friend or family member.

Thanks again and good reading!

Music Video Monday: Economics

2011-10-04T00:44:00.000-04:00

This music video is amazing. I can't say the music is brilliant, but the video—how it fits, together, what it says, how much fun it is—really impresses me. If you have seen it before, I hope you feel, like I do, that it is probably time to see it again.

Book Sale Results

2011-10-04T00:38:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow is free day at the Red Cross Book Fair, but I think I may skip it, having already procured enough new books this week to keep me busy for a while.

It was a decent year for book buying. We found almost a dozen books that we thought worth the $1-$3 "full" price, even at our meager student income. Then today we filled a large shopping bag with all the books we wanted for another $10.

Total money spent: $30

Total New books: 55
Picture books: 34
Adult Fiction: 7
Nonfiction/Memoir: 7
Young Adult: 6
Sci-fi/Fantasy: 3
Poetry: 1
Cookbook: 1
Game: 1

Obviously we hit the picture books pretty hard, most of them are skinny little paperbacks with titles like, Cinderella, Dig into Fossils and Arrow Book of Project Fun. We did, however, find some truly great books like Jon Agee's The Incredible Painting of Felix Clousseau.

Other excellent finds included My Side of the Mountain, which I have been wanting to reread for years; Garrison Keillor's Good Poems for Hard Times, which has already made me cry; a practically new copy of Housekeeping by Marilyn Robinson; and two Star Wars books by Timothy Zahn which come highly recommended by a friend of mine.

A good week. So far, the only new book I've completed is Horse, Flower, Bird by Kate Birnheimer. It was a risky buy. I basically judged it by it's cover, but it was an interesting read, and finishing it has made me want to read more.

The Bloomington Red Cross Book Sale

2011-09-30T17:00:00.000-04:00

As you can see, my bookshelves have some empty space. There is a little space just to the left of My Name is Asher Lev, and sandwiched inbetween The Four Loves and Doing Philosophy. I bet I could squeeze two books in the space to the left of Blink. I may have room for five or six new books,which means it's a good thing the Red Cross Book Sale is this weekend.

The Red Cross Book Fair is beautiful. An entire warehouse full of used books at prices I can really get behind. The sale began this morning, but I just couldn't fork out the ten dollar, first day, entrance fee. Tomorrow, though, it is free to get in, and I know from experience that there will still be plenty of books.

This is, from what I have seen, the greatest book buying opportunity in Bloomington.

You can read about the sale here. But in order to truly understand the joy of browsing through the endless tables, you should visit this weekend.

Updated Ebooks

2011-09-27T22:17:00.001-04:00

Those of you who downloaded my ebook from Smashwords can now get an updated, newly edited copy. Several responses have come in that have lead to both important and unimportant, but nice, revisions.

What did I change?

- The cover is in color
- The ending of the story "Whole," which includes some superscript, is now correct.
- The spaces and indexes are better
- The smart quotes were removed
- The epigraph was moved so that more people will notice it

The Amazon version was also changed, but the revised version won't be up for a few days.

Cheers!

Three Favorite Grammar Guides

2011-09-26T09:55:00.001-04:00

Where to go when you don't want to read The Elements of Style.

1. Artful sentences: Syntax as Style

This book is amazing. After reading it, I wrote completely differently for at least a few months (now I need to reread it and get that boost again). Virginia Tufte is very well read, and she has selected over 2,000 sentences to share and discuss in this book. The examples were elegant, interesting, vivid and wonderful.

2. Style: The Basics of Clarity and Grace

This is another life changing book. Joseph M. Williams explains how to write clearly and concisely more clearly and concisely than any textbook I have ever used. It should be required reading for all writers (so, for everybody). This book has many editions that are all a little bit different, but they contain the same essential information.

3. The Deluxe Transitive Vampire

This book is fun. Karen Elizabeth Gordon uses examples and word combinations that make me want to write a Gothic novel, and she explains grammar very eloquently. This is certainly the funniest book of the three.

The Wish List: I haven't read these two books, but I hear they are great and intend to read them soon. If you've read them, let me know what you thought of them and which one I should read first.

The Elephants of Style: A Trunkload of Tips on the Big Issues and Gray Areas of Contemporary American English - By Bill Walsh

Sin and Syntax: How to Craft Wickedly Effective Prose - By Constance Hale

Book Release: What to Say to Someone Who's Dying

2011-09-20T00:04:00.001-04:00

A young boy searches for answers.

A family adds, subtracts, multiplies and divides.

A girl and her mother pass meaningful moments together.

An elderly German woman tends her bees.

This debut collection of tightly written prose weaves together themes of loss and family as well as the hope peculiar to youth. In this slender volume, author Chanel Earl presents five stories of acceptance and resolve that ask questions about love and the beauty of life, while exploring the many faces of grief: the grief of children, parents, those set to die and those left behind.

Complete with a readers guide, What to Say to Someone Who's Dying provides excellent discussion for book groups. It's cover price of $7.50 makes it an affordable gift for parents, teens and anybody who loves to read. Or, try it out as an ebook for only $2.99. Click below to get the book your way.

For the old fashioned, paper loving folk:

1. Createspace - Buy the book from the source, and give me the highest royalty.

2. Amazon - If you already have a trusting relationship with Amazon, or if you get perks such as free shipping, this might be the way to go.

3. Your local bookstore - You should be able to go into bookstores and have them order you a copy (the book will not be on their shelves ... yet). I haven't tested this, so if you try it, post a comment as to your success. The benefit of this is that you won't have to pay for shipping.

Howard's Bookstore in Bloomington, Indiana is currently selling copies at a lower price than what you will find online. If you are in Bloomington, you can stop by for a deal.

UPDATE: Boxcar Books is now selling copies.

4. I also have several copies available at a discount. So, friends here in town can stop by for a deal.

For the new-age, digital E-readers of the world:

1. Smashwords - One of the many great things about smashwords is that you can get a digital copy of the book in almost any format you like. You can get a version for your E-reader, computer or ipod.

2. Kindle Store - Although the Kindle version at Smashwords might be formatted a bit cleaner, it isn't directly delivered to your Kindle via Amazon Whispernet (which just sounds cool), so you might want to get it from Amazon directly.

Other ways to read some or all of the stories for free:

1. If you want to read the book, but just can't come up with the $2.99-$7.50 cover price, you could request it from your local library. I have already donated one copy to the Monroe County Public Library, so please request that they put it into circulation soon.

2. The first story in the book, "One Hundred Breaths" is available for free in issue 1.2 of Revolution House magazine.

3. And, the first 20 percent of the book can be downloaded for free at Smashwords.

4. It gets better. At Goodreads you can enter to win a free copy. Just click on the button in the sidebar for more details.

UPDATE: I am giving another free copy away to one of the first 100 people who "likes" the books facebook page. And 1/100 odds gives you a better chance than you will get from the Goodreads Giveaway.

Enjoy! If you like the book, spread the word.

And thanks for reading!

"One Hundred Breaths" Published in Revolution House

2011-09-19T23:27:00.000-04:00

Hooray! My story, "One Hundred Breaths," was just published in Revolution House.

This story took over two years to write, and was first inspired by Taylorsville Park, in Taylorsville, UT.

It is about a young boy's search for his father, and may or may not contain images of ghosts, war and sign language.

This story is also the first story in my recent publication What to Say to Someone Who's Dying, which is now available.

What to Say to Someone Who's Dying Ebook Now Available

2011-09-15T15:57:00.000-04:00

That's right, the wait is over. After hours and hours of formatting, What to Say to Someone Who's Dying was finally uploaded for purchase at Smashwords, and Amazon. Through Smashwords, you should also be able to get the book through sony, apple and most ebook retailers.

However, directly buying the ebook through Smashwords gives me the highest royalty, and you will get an interactive table of contents (which we just couldn't get to work in the amazon version).Don't worry kindle users, Smashwords does offer a kindle version.

I have to confess, the book still isn't perfect. One of the frustrating things about being a writer is that nothing is ever perfect. I work on a story for years sometimes and it still bothers me. In fact, I worked on some of the stories in this book for years, and then today I found some errors in the print version (which could be available any day now at both createspace and amazon). I've fixed those errors in the ebook, but some of the formatting is is still a little wuzzy. Anyway, the stories are finished, and I'd love to hear what you think of them.

So, if you've been wondering what this book was even about, here is a little bit more information. It contains five short stories that explore the themes of grief and loss.

The first story, "One Hundred Breaths," is a post apocalyptic ghost story featuring a boy who doesn't speak. It has been called "young adult fiction that needs to be published" and appears in this month's issue of Revolution House.

"Whole" is the story of a number-loving family with eleven children, and a father who loves them.

"Lorelei Remembers" is the shortest story in the collection and may actually be a longer prose poem posing as fiction.

"What to Say to Someone Who's Dying" was originally published in the SLCC Community Writing Center publication sine cera: Two Old Guys FromBrooklyn as "Evie's Story." It has undergone an overhaul and is new and improved.

The last story, "Beekeeping," is my first short story set in Germany. It features an elderly German Beekeeper who has to make an important decision of life and death.

The title of the collection is quoted from the book The Sandman: The Kindly Ones by Neil Gaiman. I have used the quotation as the epigraph for the collection. I will also place it here:

"I've been making a list of the things they don't teachyou at school. They don't teach you how to love somebody. They don't teach youhow to be famous. They don't teach you how to be rich or how to be poor. Theydon't teach you how to walk away from someone you don't love any longer. Theydon't teach you how to know what's going on in someone else's mind. They don'tteach you what to say to someone who's dying."

Bloom Magazine

2011-09-15T00:49:00.000-04:00

Bloom magazine just published the winners of their first very short fiction contest.

My friend and fellow writer Cara Prill won second place with her excellent story "The Spinnets Weather the Storm." Her story will be published in the October/November issue of the magazine, or you can download it from the Bloom website, where you can get all of the winning stories.

Machine of Death Fanfic

2011-09-09T13:20:00.000-04:00

You may remember from my previous posts that I submitted several stories to the second Machine of Death anthology. They are still under consideration (and may be for months).

During the wait, I also submitted to their interim contest where writers were asked to write a 55 word fanfic flash fiction machine of death piece (whew, that's a mouthful).

They didn't choose my piece for the flash fiction contest. The winners are here, and I am certainly impressed, many of them are quite funny.

Even though mine wasn't published on their blog, you can certainly still read it here. Enjoy!

YOU ALREADY KNOW - Chanel Earl

He fell asleep in a ditch in Dresden. When he woke up he wassitting in a machine of death. He stuck his finger in the slot. It was warm.

Billy Pilgrim was familiar with—but could not change—thepast, the present, or the future. “YOU ALREADY KNOW” his slip read.

So it goes.

Music Video Monday - Around the World

2011-09-05T23:56:00.000-04:00

I'm going to be honest, I don't get this music video. But that doesn't stop me from enjoying it.

Wordle Cloud

2011-09-03T14:26:00.003-04:00

Check out the cool wordle cloud I just made out of my stories. Obviously Justin and Evie are main characters, and I can't say I'm surprised that the words "mother," "children," "time" and "one" have a large presence in the book.

Thank you, Ashley, for letting me know about this cool site.

Proof Arrived Today

2011-09-01T22:16:00.000-04:00

My September 15 deadline is rapidly approaching, so I was thrilled today when the proof arrived in the mail. I have already spotted several errors—it's amazing how many times I can read over a story and still miss things—but that's why proofs are so great. I am looking at the book with a new perspective, and next week, it will be better than it is right now.

I know the cover image has been up for weeks now, but here is a picture of the actual book, and while the picture is still in two dimensions the book is in three.

What to Say to Someone Who's Dying - - - Ex Libris

2011-08-25T15:10:00.001-04:00

The book is moving forward nicely. You have already seen the beautiful cover, all five stories are finished, and the formatting is complete. Now all I have left to do is finish writing the acknowledgements and go over it one more time (just to make sure I didn't miss anything).

Now, for the most exciting news. Stacey Macdonald designed this ex libris for the book. It will be printed on the first page of every copy.

The bee image is crucial to one of the stories, and I thought Stacey's ex libris stamp was a perfect fit. If your interested, you can order your own ex libris stamp from asspocketproductions.etsy.com and personalize your entire library. You can order it with a blank space for the name, or even have her print the stamp with your own name already on it.

Next step: submission. I need to send the book in soon if I want to have it ready by my September 15th deadline.

And Todays Music Video Is. . .

2011-08-23T00:11:00.000-04:00

I know this is a break from the feel good, indy folk feel I had going last week, but I just love this video. It's exciting!

I'm a Mormon

2011-08-22T23:54:00.001-04:00

I finally got around to setting up my profile at mormon.org. It didn't take long, and I am excited to continue adding to it as I have time. If you're reading this, and you're Mormon, use this as the impetous to set up your own profile. If you're reading this, and you're not Mormon, check out the site to find out more about us, we're actually really nice.

Oh, and I added a shiny new widget to my blog. See if you can find it.

Music Video Monday!

2011-08-15T15:10:00.000-04:00

Here's your video for today.

Poetry Publication

2011-08-12T10:26:00.000-04:00

I just had a poem published at threelinepoetry.com. Hooray!

The poem is short (three lines obviously) and sweet, and appears in issue 6. Click on free issues once you get to the site and you won't have trouble finding it.

New: Amazon Store Right Here at Chanelstory

2011-08-09T00:06:00.001-04:00

If you ever feel the need to support chanelstory, just click on Recommended Reads above and check out my amazon store. I will be changing the books regularly as I discover new delights to share.

Short Story: Love is a Fallacy

2011-08-06T20:44:00.000-04:00

One week at Snow College, so sometime around 2003, I borrowed an English textbook from somewhere—I don't think it was from the library, but maybe from a professor or a reading room or something. I can't even remember what the textbook was called, but I read a good portion of it, and focused mostly on the fiction and poetry instead of the academic portion of the book. I remember spending a day outside reading Max Shulman's "Love is a Fallacy". It was awesome! The story really impressed me.

Of course, I gave the book back right after I read it, and I didn't remember the title or the author of the story. Then I spent the next five or six years typing things into google like "Fallacies and a Raccoon Coat" or "Girlfriend learns Logic" or "Logical Fallacies, Raccoon Coat, Short Story, Girlfriend."

I found the story last year and have been following it on line a little bit. It has popped up in reviews, it has been acted out on stage, animated and even made into a short film (below). I have loved this story for a long time and I know some of you have read it already. Those of you who haven't, I strongly recommend it. It is just a delightful read.

Arrogance, Logic, Humor, Commupens, and yes, a Raccoon Coat.

Book Cover!!

2011-08-02T22:36:00.002-04:00

I mentioned in an earlier post that I had finished my short story collection and was waiting on the cover. And, here it is:

The cover was designed by Ben Crowder, who posted an alternate version of the illustration here. The book will be released on September 15th. I'll post more details as I have them.

Music Video Monday!

2011-08-01T22:19:00.000-04:00

Although posting a video every Monday doesn't seem to be working, today is Monday and this may be the coolest music video ever made. I haven't seen them all yet, but it is the reigning champion. Enjoy!

Writing News

2011-07-28T12:58:00.001-04:00

I took a long break form posting to go on vacation, but now I am back and since this is, ultimately, a blog about my writing, I thought I would give a little update as to how my writing projects are going.

My story "One Hundred Breaths" has been accepted for publication by the online magazine Revolution House. It will appear in their September issue. Excitement!!

I have also finished and submitted two stories to the second Machine of Death anthology. Of course, both stories are brilliant, but since they received over 1,200 submissions, time will tell if they are brilliant enough.

My short story collection is finished and I am working on the formatting this week. I am also excited that Ben Crowder has agreed to design the cover for it. I will post more soon on this project.

An Inspiring Movie

2011-07-28T12:45:00.000-04:00

Last night Martin and I watched an edited version of 127 Hours. After it was over I ran around the house, so hyper I couldn't stop.

I understand that on one hand it is a movie about stupidity. Why didn't he tell someone where he was going?

But, more than that, it is a movie about survival and strength. Aron Ralston was heroic. He survived. What an amazing story.

Another Round

2011-07-12T00:33:00.001-04:00

I played another rousing game of The Exquisite Corpse this weekend with Juli, Kate, Travis, Brian and Martin.

During one round, our theme was penguins. Here is one of the stories that came out of it:

Little Peter Penguin, who loved to tap dance, never got the attention he rightly deserved.

So one day little Peter Penguin decided that enough was enough.

He would show them all.

"They laughed, but I will laugh last," he said before engaging the switch to start the machine.

Gears started turning, lightning fast blue sparks shot across the tundra.

The wheels spun as the arrant flightless birds drove through the darkness.

As they fled the scene all they could hear was an evil laugh, echoing back from the icy cliffs.

A Lovely Short Story

2011-07-12T00:20:00.002-04:00

I have been trying to figure out what I love about the story "Eve" by Becca De La Rosa.

Eve is a hard character to write about. She is so evil to some, so good to others. We know very little about her, and speculation is always varied. She brings to my mind the myth of Pandora; and has been portrayed by Milton as a narcissus, Steinbeck as the devil incarnate.

But, this story offers something new. Eve is unfulfilled. She is lost and incomplete and spends the story trying to figure out who she is.

I love how she finds her answer in giving up a part of herself, instead of taking in something new. I love how Adam (although he is never named, I assume the man in the story is Adam) also seems incomplete without her.

I don't think I fully understand this story. I will have to think about it for a long time before I will (if I ever really do), but I love it anyway.

Music Video Independence Monday

2011-07-04T15:49:00.001-04:00

Oh, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming? Whose broad stripes and bright stars, thru the perilous fight, O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming? And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there. O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave? On the shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses? Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, In full glory reflected, now shines on the stream: Tis the star-spangled banner: O, long may it wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion A home and a country should leave us no more? Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution. No refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave: And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

O, thus be it ever when freemen shall stand, Between their loved home and the war's desolation! Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n-rescued land Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation! Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, And this be our motto: "In God is our trust" And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

Why is XKCD so clever all the time?

2011-07-03T23:15:00.002-04:00

I wish I was this clever. Maybe I will be someday, if I keep practicing. No, no I won't.

Reboot

2011-07-01T00:05:00.002-04:00

Hi friends, family, maybe even strangers. I haven't blogged in years, and most of my old posts have now been deleted, but it's time for a new beginning.

Those of you have been here before will notice some changes. I now have a green navbar, a great background that Martin created, and some new widgets that (among other things) make it easy to share this blog with your friends.

Take some time to look around, and then if you have any suggestions about how I can improve this blog even more, please email me, or leave a comment.

It's good to be back online.

Music Video Monday

2011-06-30T23:55:00.004-04:00

I had this idea that every Monday I would share a music video that I love. I know today is Thursday, but this is the first one, so I am going to launch early. Enjoy!

Exquisite Corpse 1

2011-06-29T20:41:00.003-04:00

Exquisite Corpse is a parlor game that dates back to the surrealist movement. In the version I recently played—with Martin, and Alyssa and Joel Feik—a person starts a story and then passes it along to another who adds to it. Before the third person adds a line, the first line is hidden.

Here is one of the crazy stories we came up with. I haven't edited it or changed anything to make it consistent, part of the fun of the game is that the stories that come out of it are usually random and have unexpected plots.

Ignatius was named for the volcano that loomed on the outskirts of his village.

It was a stately yet foreboding volcano, just like Ignatius himself.

Liquid hot lava rolled down its sides while Ignaius summoned his courage to aproach it.

"Fear is the mind killer, fear is the little death," Ignatius mumbled as he moved directly toward the lava stream.

He had walked on hot coals in his village, and hoping that crossing this stream of fire would be no different, he prepared himself by quoting his favorite movie.

His favorite movie was actually "Stream of Fire," and the quote he uttered was the classic line "to cross a stream of fire one must take off all of one's clothes."

He began taking off his shoes, then his socks, stripping slowly wondering if it was really a good idea to attack a volcano nude.

He imagined the ballads that would be written about him, the epic poems, the summer blockbusters honoring his heroic journey.

The thought of blockbusters gave him pause—enough to send him back home.

Home—he realized that was the only place he could go where he could be safe from the blockbusters forever, and that thought made him smile.

My Testimony of the Priesthood

2008-07-07T17:31:00.005-04:00

(I wrote this during the summer of 2007. I then submitted it to the Ensign. It wasn't printed. This month in the Ensign Elder Ballard wrote an article called "Sharing the Gospel Through the Internet." I don't know if this is what he meant, but after reading the article I remembered this little piece and decided to post it here. Enjoy!)

Last February was a difficult month. On top of full-time school and work, our landlords had decided to move and had put their house (and ours) up for sale, I had been suffering from a cold for at least two weeks, and my parents were having some difficulties, calling every week or so in search of a listening ear. I was always tired, I was often sad, and every day it was a struggle to keep going.

One day, when things seemed extra hard, I decided to ask my husband for a blessing of counsel and comfort.

We set a chair out in the middle of our bedroom floor, and he laid his hands upon my head to confer upon me a blessing. Through the blessing I was told that God loved me, and that I wasn’t alone. After the blessing ended I didn’t feel immediately whole, but I felt at peace.

A few weeks later my great grandmother passed away. Her funeral was well attended by old friends, children, grandchildren, siblings, visiting teachers and ward members. After several beautiful talks and musical numbers we caravaned to the cemetery.

It was a cold day, and as the dedication began the wind hit me, cutting through the small crowd clustered around the grave. I held my mother’s hand and we shivered together as we felt the power of the priesthood being exercised in our presence. I had managed to hold back the tears through the entire service, but at that point I broke down, not because of sadness, but because of the incredible awe that I felt. I was witnessing the power of God.

The following Sunday during Sacrament Meeting I was again reminded of the many blessings we receive from the priesthood. A baby boy was blessed that day by his father and as I saw a circle of worthy men gently bouncing him in a cradle of hands, I was reminded again of the blessings that the priesthood gives us.

From birth to death the priesthood is there to bless us. Not only are we able to receive blessings of counsel, comfort and healing, but it is only through the priesthood that man has the authority to baptize and to confer the gift of the Holy Ghost, to bless and pass the sacrament, and to officiate in holy temples.

I am so grateful for the priesthood in my life. I am grateful for the prophet Joseph Smith, through whom the priesthood was restored. I know that God loves us, he wants to bless us, and he does so through the his priesthood power.

Six Word Memoir

2008-06-24T21:06:00.008-04:00

I have been challenged by Jeremy Remy to write a six word memoir like the ones at http://www.smithmag.net/sixwords/. This is my memoir for the year 2007.

Vonnegut and Hinckley died, cried twice.

Tinder

2008-01-08T15:34:00.001-05:00

I just heard that my flash fiction piece "Tinder" will be published in the March, 2008 issue of Smokelong Quarterly.

You can read it here.

Meditations on the Halo

2007-11-21T17:24:00.003-05:00

This essay tied for first place in the non-fiction category of the Utah Museum of Fine Arts [UMFA] writing contest. After they removed it from their website, I decided to post it here.

I have always wanted a halo.

One Christmas as my uncle read from the book of Luke, my brothers and sisters and I dressed up in bathrobes to act out the nativity. Being the oldest girl, I was Mary. My brother was Joseph; baby Jesus was a doll. And my sister was an angel. She wore a hoop of tinsel on her head that sparkled when she moved. It was gold and silver and felt fuzzy and soft. I wore a blue headscarf that was held in place by a thin band. It didn’t sparkle, and I was jealous.

Now, as I see the Madonna staring down at the Christ Child, I realize that I, too, should have worn a hoop of tinsel.

When I look at the paintings around me, I am surprised at how many halos I see. It certainly seems to be the right of any member of the Holy Family to don this ring of light separating the pure from the impure, the godly from the ungodly. Artists sometimes signify holiness with a thin wire floating in space above the head. Or they frame each face with a solid disk of pure gold, sometimes ornamented with interwoven triangles, inner circles and other geometric designs. At times, divinity is marked by a soft glow encompassing the head like a crown. Rays may shoot out, turning each face into a star.

Then there are the times when the Madonna’s halo is formed from the locks of her own hair falling down around her face, or a twisted up rag serving as a headpiece. The Baby lies on a blanket and smiles.

I wonder what would be required of me before receiving such a divine emblem. It seems that artists of every religion reserve this honor for their gods. Shiva, the god of destruction holds his wife Parvati in a loving embrace. Centered behind them a flower frames their faces. Across the room Shiva stands completely surrounded by a circle of fire. Though carved from stone, it seems to burn brighter that gold.

Buddha, although not haloed, wears upon his four-faced head an elaborate headdress. Whether he has eight arms or eighteen, the intricate head-wear is the same. Sculpted in great detail, the curls and ornaments are well crafted signs of the artists’ reverence for their subject.

Heavenly messengers are often haloed, although one could argue that their wings alone signify their holiness. Saint John the Baptist has also earned a halo. But I’m not sure regular meals of locusts are a price I would be willing to pay for one. And then there is the blessed Saint Jerome, who spent his life anchored to a cathedral studying the bible, and still met his death halo-free. Perhaps after his death he was awarded his prize: a crown of ivy to wear to the grave.

My eyes land on St. Catherine, who wears a halo I haven’t yet considered. A heavy crown sits squarely on her head like a miniature Catherine Wheel. Looking at her, my head begins to fall – as if weighed down by a pound of bronze. I wonder if golden halos are as heavy as gold, or as light as wire coat hangers covered with aluminum foil and tinsel. Aphrodite has lost her head, along with her arms and legs. And I don’t know if her halo would have been heavy, like Catherine’s crown, or light and airy, like the paper fan of a Geisha, or if she wore one at all.

In Japan, ancestors are worshipped; they are sculpted with long priestly ovals attached to the backs of their heads. From the side they are thin. From the front they are round and full.

Perhaps when I become an ancestor I will finally be halo-worthy. That seems an easier task than becoming a saint, certainly more likely that my becoming a god. But usually ancestors aren’t crowned until after their death. And although I know that I, too, must die, I am not yet ready to join Saint Jerome.

The only simpler way to get a halo would be to follow the lead of the Africans, Indonesians, New Zealanders, and islanders of the South Pacific, who regularly transform themselves into deity with their own version of the halo. The wearer of the Glin mask becomes Goli, god of the sky, spirit of the dead and protector of those who follow him. Masks are made out of wood, straw, feathers, leaves, and bark. They are painted and carved and beautiful. But they are also heavy and cumbersome, like Catherine’s crown.

My ideal halo would be weightless: a light glow, an insubstantial essence. As a mere mortal, I search for a halo that I could carry with me everywhere. Something that could become a part of me.

And I see a veiled bride as she rides down the river with her wedding party.
A cowboy shades his eyes with a wide-brimmed hat.
Maidens dance in the forest, their heads encircled with wreaths of blossoms.
Bonnets. Hats. Ribbons. Headbands. Habits.

Marilyn Monroe casts a shadow behind her. It is a splash of photographic Technicolor.

And I see an Italian mirror of glass and wood. As I look into it my own face stares back at me. I have blue eyes, brown hair, and no halo. But this symbol has become universal. It unites the people of every land and religion. Gods and angels, saints and celebrities, cowboys and Indians all cover and decorate their heads.

As I look into the mirror again it frames my face. The rounded center on the top circles my head. The decorative flowers and leaves border my image. I am a museum piece, haloed like the rest.

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Finding the Lost: a Paradelle

2007-04-18T19:39:00.001-04:00

invite me into your world,
invite me into your world,
the beautiful song it sings.
the beautiful song it sings.
the world, it sings me into
your beautiful invite song.

so you move through darkness,
so you move through darkness,
towards me, and parting slowly.
towards me, and parting slowly.
so slowly, i move towards you
through parting darkness, and me.

cry not, as i meet you,
cry not, as i meet you,
we having been apart for long.
we having been apart for long.
you, i, cry. for we meet not
apart as having long been

i invite your song towards me
and you move it through,
having been apart, not parting.
so we meet, for darkness
slowly sings as you cry me
into the long, beautiful, world..

Workshopping in the Writing Center: Abstract

2007-04-09T21:13:00.002-04:00

The Application of the Creative Writing Workshop in the Writing Center
Chanel Earl (Daniel Emery)
University Writing Program/University of Utah

Creative writing pedagogy is dominated by one idea: the workshop. Workshopping is a process-oriented approach that goes beyond traditional grammar correction to focus on peer review of form, content and clarity in writing. The workshop, however, is not only applicable in creative writing teaching, but also in the teaching of academic writing. The strategies commonly used during workshops can be directly applied to the one-on-one peer tutoring sessions run daily in the writing center. Doing so allows peer tutors to focus on the writing process instead of the written product, inspiring students to become more involved in their writing. Another, less common, application is found in the addition of workshops to the writing center program. Covering diverse subjects ranging from poetry to the practical résumé, these workshops can be run by peer tutors, and would promote a higher frequency of writing center use, while increasing community involvement.

art

2007-03-08T15:44:00.001-05:00

(This story originally appeared in Snow College's Weeds.)

The artist checked his stopwatch and then looked at his painting. It was almost perfect. The blues didn’t mix quite right around the left river bank and the woman’s arm was a little long but other than that it looked great. If he could shave off fifteen seconds he would be amazing, I mean, he could really win this years state championship. He needed more practice that’s all.

He had chosen his painting because of it’s style, not because he liked it. It wasn’t much like the contemporary things he would paint when he was alone, the judges rarely gave first place to a modern style painter. It was a classic piece, very realistic and beautiful. The same painting that had won third place at the national competition. He hoped nobody else will have chosen it.

While pulling out another canvas and preparing his palate he glanced over at his previous attempts at perfection. Dozens of semi-identical paintings hung around the room, all of them almost perfect. Along the far wall lay his basics canvas filled with practice brush strokes and covered with all the colors he would need during the day. Maybe he should go back and rehearse some more blues, the blending of his blues were taking him forever today, or maybe he should do some midair stroke practice to increase his speed, the judges were going to be timing.

He set his watch and started painting again, deciding to forget the basics. Starting at the top of the canvas he began. The sky first with sweeping strokes, then dotting the clouds in with jabs. The trees suffered because he had to paint them so quickly, making up for lost time spent on those clouds, and when he began the woman and flowers he made sure to practice the sleight of hand paintbrush trick that his private instructor had taught him. (That always impresses the judge) With one minute left he completed the river and had time to improve upon those trees. A perfect copy.

Comparing his painting to the original with delight he bowed to an invisible audience, hoping tomorrow’s performance would go that well. All he had to do was keep practicing, one time right out of dozens of tries wasn’t good enough. He had to get it perfect every time.
Setting up another canvas he thought of the things he needed for the competition; pick up tuxedo from the dry cleaners, make copies of the original for the judges, make sure his brushes were clean and dry. So much to do. As he began another rehearsal he thought to himself, “Break a leg!”

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art