Summer Institute 2018 Creative Writing Journal

CREATIVE WRITING JOURNAL PRECOLLEGE SUMMER INSTITUTE 2018

The University of the Arts Pre-College Summer Institute 2018 Creative Writing Journal Writing is a many splendored vocation. A story, essay, script, comic, or poem is more than a collection of words expressing a thought or adventure — each is a tool for exhibiting structured meaning. Creative writing serves to draw connections between ideas, discussing what it means to be a human being in the world by showing the similarities of experience and emotion inherent in all people, bridging of the vast gulf of perceived differences. Contained within these pages are the efforts of our 2018 Pre-College Summer Institute Creative Writing students. Each bright, young student came with their own ideas regarding what writing is or should be. Rather than fixing or changing these notions, we worked hard to expand our horizons of language, structure, form, and genre, typically with surprising and delightful results. Many of these efforts follow here. Enjoy!

T. Leslie Robinson

Pre-College Staff

CREATIVE WRITING JOURNAL

Creative Writing Coordinator Pre-College Summer Institute The University of The Arts

Rosi Dispensa Director, Pre-College Programs BFA ‘04 The University of the Arts Photography MA ‘11 The University of the Arts Art Education

Shannon Gingell Assistant Director, Pre-College Programs

William Debuono Program Assistant, Pre-College Programs

uarts.edu/summerinstitute

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UARTS IS THE PLACE OF CHOICE.

Writers 4

Ananda Long

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Trailer Trash Adjacent

5 Self-Depreciating Thoughts I Have Before Breakfast

In Golden Corral One Can Find Varicose Veins, Punks, and Love 21 Brief Questions You Ask Yourself Once You Realize You’re Bisexual

Nandika Mogha

Airplane Mode/ Beige (Because I am not Brown and Definitely not White)

How to Be a Great Poet

Andrew Lim

Bugs

BEYONCE’S HIT SINGLE (A Translation of Ave MariaFrank O’Hara)

How to Write a Good Poem

Baked Goods- A Play

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Cierra Duncan

ROXXY- A New Narrative Poem

If only

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Sara Coleman

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Ella Hechlik

No Hard Feelings, Right?

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Isabella Mccall

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Soleil Garnett

God

My Silence Will Never Be a Virtue

The Sapphire Devil: The Dream

How to Write a Good Poem

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Kaylee LeMasney

The difference between us

Welcome to Your Life!

How To Write A Poem

21 Questions White People Ask Me That Make Me an Even Angrier Black Woman 44

William De Santis

Dear Journal/ Diary

CREATIVE WRITING JOURNAL

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Ananda Long Philadelphia, PA Philadelphia High School for Creative and Performing Arts

Trailer Trash Adjacent Characters: CYNTHIA (58), a retired Mary Kay saleswoman whose favorite show is Murder She Wrote, despite the fact that it went off the air in 1996.

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JODI (17), a high school senior who believes that The All-American Rejects are the greatest band to ever exist. She doesn’t understand the concept of being an active listener, and believes that anyone who disagrees with her is a complete fool.

(Lights up on a suburban neighborhood. Five doors are center stage, with a small flower pot in the bottom left corner of each door. Every door has a very minimal porch, meaning two steps and a black banister. CYNTHIA and JODI enter from stage left. CYNTHIA is reading from a clip board, while JODI is trudging along behind her.)

Act 1, Scene 1 CYNTHIA Recycling, have ya heard of it? How about taxes?

Do these things concern you? Have no fear, vote Anderson ‘06!

Because the Andersons, can-dersons!

JODI (scoffs loudly) No one’s going to believe the dumbasses that think ‘can-dersons’ is a real word.

CYNTHIA They will if they believe that we hate taxes too.

Now what did you think of that as a slogan?

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JODI I think that we should be talking about sea turtles instead, and how every time we throw away a water bottle, a turtle dies.

Kinda makes you want to stop drinking water, doesn’t it? How much water do we need, anyway? I bet if you limit yourself to a table spoon from the tap every hour, then you’ll save a sea turtle.

CYNTHIA (brief pause, matter of factly) So the Andersons, can-dersons! /walks up to the second door and knocks on it.

An old man wearing boxers opens the door/ (extra uppity) Gooooood morning sir! I was wondering, have you ever heard of recycling? What about taxes? Those are a real kicker I bet-

(interrupts her, deadpans) Sorry, I’m not a Jehovah's Witness. /slams door/

CREATIVE WRITING JOURNAL

MAN

JODI (chuckles) They think we’re a cult.

CYNTHIA Darling it’s not a cult, it’s a religion.

JODI God mom, when are you gonna realize that ‘cult’ and ‘religion’ are synonyms? (slowly, as if her mom were an idiot) Hello, “don’t drink the kool-aid”? The Borg? The Delightful Children from Down the Lane? Think about it mom, what do they all have in common?

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(long pause) God. CYNTHIA /while knocking on the next door/ God doesn’t waste his time with cartoons /knocks again/ JODI I bet he’s a big fan of Yogi Bear.

CYNTHIA (angrily) PRE-COLLEGE SUMMER INSTITUTE 2018

Jodi, don’t say that.

JODI (in a mocking voice) /starts to circle her mother/ I bet God loves Popeye, and the Powerpuff Girls, and even… (spooky/haunting voice) King of the Hill.

CYNTHIA /drops whatever she is holding and gasps/ Jodi, please! That’s enough. /aggressively bangs against the second door, while kicking around the fallen flyers/ You’re too young for Adult Swim.

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In Golden Corral One Can Find Varicose Veins, Punks, and Love

CREATIVE WRITING JOURNAL

Minnie sat completely naked on her shower chair, desperately trying to color-correct her varicose veins. She couldn’t figure out how to layer the purples and the peaches, and the green made her look as though she died 6 years ago. With as much urgency as she could muster, she reached up to the sink, and grabbed the expired bottle of Avon foundation. Harold was calling for her from the car, keeping up a rhythm of 20 honks per minute. They were late for their annual family dinner, an event they had been consistently late to for the past 30 years. However, Harold was a musician in the army, which meant that punctuality was one of the anchors of his philosophy (the other being that a sandwich isn’t a sandwich without a dollop of mayonnaise). But Minnie would rather shank herself in the spleen with a toothbrush than have her legs look like a busted glow stick. She started to lather the foundation along her leg, appalled at the way it sank into every wrinkle. Minnie always thought that saggy, stretched skin was a consequence of obesity. Instead, she was learning that it was a consequence of aging. She reached for the setting powder that sat on the ridge of the bathtub, swatting her leg with the puck shaped sponge. Through the beige power clouds, Minnie could still make out every wrinkle in her leg, the jellyfish glow of her varicose veins, and the spots of discoloration that lined the knuckles on her hand. Instead, she decided to throw on the pair of beige tights that were thrown into a heap by the door. Minnie stood up from her shower seat, a present from her daughter for her 73rd birthday (aka, the deadly years), and headed straight for the cabinet above the sink. She opened it, reaching for both the Claritin and Ketamine, and let the mirror bounce shut.

Outside, Harold honked for 23 consecutive seconds; Minnie decided it was time to leave.

She waited outside of their 2010 Chrysler for a moment too long, finally realizing that Harold wasn't going to get out of the car and open the door for her. Instead, he stared straight ahead, tapping on the car's dashboard, his favorite baseball cap pulled down to the ridge of his nose.

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21 Brief Questions You Ask Yourself Once You Realize You’re Bisexual 1. Is this why I love Diane Keaton so much?

2. H ow many boys and girls do I have to date at the same time before I’m disqualified?

3. Does this mean that my mom will only half disown me?

4. Are inanimate objects fair game?

5. S hould the fact that 46% of bisexual women have been raped, 22% by an intimate partner, keep me from signing up for Tinder?

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6. H ow do you date when you like everyone, but no one likes you?

7. How does my sexuality warrant sexual harassment?

8. Is that why I was obsessed with Ashley Banks?

9. D o people really believe that bisexual women love going to strip clubs with their boyfriends?

10. I f I’m 50% gay, do I get birth control for my period, or for babies?

11. I f I’m 50% straight, do I have to start watching The Bachelor?

12. H oly shit, I’m in love with my female gymnastics coach, am I a lesbian?

13. H oly shit, I’m in love with my older brother’s male coworker, am I straight?

14. W ill lesbians accept me once I tell them about how I’ve fallen in love with my straight girl best friend, too?

15. W ill straight people accept me once I tell them that I want to get married one day, too?

16. W hy don’t I get to choose when my sexuality defines me?

17. H ow do I tell my girl friends that just because I like girls, it doesn’t mean I want to rape them?

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18. H ow do I tell my guy friends that just because I’m bisexual, it doesn’t mean that I want a threesome?

19. H ow do you flirt with a girl without thinking that you’re just being nice?

20. H ow do you compliment a girl so she doesn’t think that you’re flirting?

21. A m I still bisexual if I’m only attracted to guys that look like Jeff Goldblum?

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Andrew Lim Springfield, PA Springfield High School

Bugs The first time I lied to my parents about my homework as a 6th grader was when it became more apparent to me. Behind me I felt a presence lingering, crawling up my spine. I could feel the small skittering feet of a bug going up my leg, through my shirt, up my neck and into my ear, resting on my head, causing chills.

The bug in my head was rewiring the cords, mixing up good and bad, bad and good and making me scared when I shouldn’t be.

Some people would call it just me worrying too much, but I know when there is a bug in my mind and when I am just worrying.

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I was planning to go to the city alone three years ago, I was 13 at the time. It was supposed to be a nice adventure, a break from home if you may. But as I was about to leave the bug redirected my thoughts, it made me think I had forgotten something and I started to worry as the world started to pressure me. “Water, snacks, phone, headphones, money, wallet, coat, extra clothes,” I would repeat the same order of objects as I counted them in my bag one by one, over and over again not feeling anything else but the whisper of the bug and the pressure against myself in my own mind pushing me down. When I was done the bug wasn’t satisfied and I walked back into the house checking through my bag again and yet again, through the house I looked for items I might be forgetting. “Bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, living room,” I would say repeating the same checking order if over and over. I ended up not going to the city that day.

Two years ago, it was my little brother’s birthday and I had gotten him a present. It was a soft small stuffed bear that you could easily fit into your hand like the one I had since I was a child. I thought he would like something, he was turning three so having a stuffed animal as a companion would be nice to have. That is at least what I thought, the bug however thought differently. I had gotten him a stuffed bear, but the bug luckily corrected me and said kids these days liked all these different toys, games, and videos or whatever. When he got older the bear would only be tossed to the side and forgotten like so many others in other families. The bug was clearly correct.

I ended up not giving my brother a present that year, but my bear did get a new friend to talk to while I would be gone.

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One year ago I was caught in a net of some drama at school.

While going to the bathroom I had caught Hannah and Keith kissing. Keith already had a girlfriend and when they saw I was watching Keith threatened he would beat me up if I told anybody.

I told him I wouldn’t but after a few days the bug told me to tell some of my friends just for fun. I tried to ignore the bug but I wasn’t able to because it was distracting my work throughout the day. The next day half the grade knew. By the day after that Keith found out I had told people. By the day after that we fought, the bug said it was going to be ok. It wasn’t. When I got home I had bruises all over my body, I was surprised I had survived.

The bug told me it knew it was right and I had lived. By the time

CREATIVE WRITING JOURNAL

Around the same time of my brother’s birthday I had went camping with my friends. It was my first time camping, the bug told me that I was going to have a bad time, but it was surprisingly fun.

We had went hiking, threw stones into the river, and went exploring through the woods and played manhunt, but then it would turn night. Everyone else looked like they were having so much fun so I didn’t tell them about how scared I was of the dark. Both me and the bug agreed if I had told them they would laugh at me, so I spent the rest of the night around the campfire weakly laughing with my friends as the dark scared me more and more. I was in a tent alone curled up like a rollie pollie trying to fall asleep when I heard someone unzipping my tent. I jumped and wanted to look but the bug stopped me keeping me in the curled position. I heard Jana’s soft voice as scared as I was, she opened the tent. I let her in scooting to the right corner of the tent while Jana took the left corner. She had also brought her sleeping bag in which confused me. When I asked her she explained how scared she was scared and started leaning against me crying. Jana was not weak to say the least, but she did get scared easily and was scared of a lot of things. I was caught off guard, me and Jana were close in terms of friendship but I couldn’t tell what she was doing meant.

The bug answered for me explaining this would become a problem in the future because Jana had a boyfriend in Indiana and if he found out he would get mad at me and probably make me stop talking to Jana. When Jana was done talking she had fallen asleep with her head resting on my chest. The bug made me move out of the tent and call my mom to pick me up early in the middle of the night. I was scared about the darkness and what would happen if Jana found out she managed to fall asleep with me in my tent. I was nagged by my mother the whole way home but I wasn’t listening because I was thinking if Jana had her own bug in her head maybe she wouldn’t have gotten us stuck in that situation. I stopped going camping again after that and I stopped talking to Jana.

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I got to school the next day no one trusted me anymore because they all found out how I couldn’t keep a secret.

In the same year we had gotten a new student. His name was Paul. He was nice to me and we had become friends by the end of the first week of school. Paul didn’t know about the things I did or what the bug has had me do but that was the best part. For half the year we were good friends until Paul made more friends outside of me. They told Paul about the things I did, he didn’t believe them though. This made me very happy, but the bug told me to tell the truth. I told the bug no and that Paul was my friend and I didn’t want him to hate me. The bug made me tell the truth and although he said he would still be my friend the bug told me that it was better if I ignored him. I didn’t talk to Paul anymore.

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Now I am here today writing it down in a notebook like the bug told me to do so I remember all the things I did over the years.

I looked around at all the people but when I caught a group of people watching me they quickly turned away. I wanted to forget about it but the bug told me to write it down because they were probably talking about me and I needed to get them back. I told the bug no, I wrote all of their names down in the notebook anyway.

The teacher came in and got all the students to quiet down and looked over at me at me. I was told to walk to the guidance office for the school’s “annual check ins” by the counselors. The bug and I both agreed that these “check ins” were a waste of time, what did the counselors even need to know anyway? I walked into the guidance office and signed in, the office felt like I was waiting at the doctors since I had nothing to do and only could wait until they would call me in. My counselor Mr. Weaver called me and I walked into the cozy office. I sat in the same chair that I always sit in, next to the small table with the lava lamp that would always take me away from the questions Mr. Weaver would ask me. He asked me how I was doing, the bug told me to tell him I was fine. There was no point in the bug telling me to because that is how I would have answered anyway. There is no point in general for the counselor to ask because barely anyone was going to answer truthfully to these questions, that is what I think at least. Mr. Weaver asked me a couple more questions about my school life and grades, I answered as best I could so he wouldn’t guess anything bad has happened. The bug helped me out some and we got through it together. I left the guidance office hoping I did not leave a bad impression but I also felt I had done something wrong. Like I should have said something I didn’t.

That day I got home, I walked upstairs to my bedroom next door to the stairs. My bag slid from my arm and landed on the ground hitting it hard and creating a low boom. I fell onto the bed and repositioned myself so I could sleep, I had to do the homework I got though and tried to get up. While I was grabbing my backpack that fell the bug suggested if I just didn’t today. It said since I worked so hard on other things for so long I could at least take one break. The logic was enough for me to take a break from my homework, then another, then another, then it almost seemed normal. There were times when I did something small but even those became nothing. My grades fell, I was going to start failing most of my classes, the bug didn’t stop me.

Slowly but surely I got my grades back up and each time I did it the bug seemed to get weaker and weaker. I was getting scared, if I kept going would the bug leave? But the bug was the only friend I had, but for some reason I still kept going. The bug kept telling me that this was a bad idea, that I would regret it later. Then one night while the bug was at its weakest I closed my eyes and thought, and thought, and thought, and thought about everything the bug had told me and the decisions I made.

That is when I noticed how lonely I was, thinking of everyone I had lost over the years, how many people I must’ve disappointed because I listened to the bug. So I kept going, ignoring the bug in my head until my grades were back up when I became my strongest. Then in the middle of the night I felt a chill run down my spine again just like the one day in 6th grade, the small skittering feet coming out my ear, down my neck, through my shirt, and down my leg. The bug was gone and I was alone now.

Completely alone with no friends or complete allies, no one to lean to but myself, but I was still smiling. I was able to make my own decisions now and later when I felt another chill down my spine and more small skittering feet on my leg, I swatted it away.

CREATIVE WRITING JOURNAL

My mother came in one day while I was sleeping and woke me up from my nap. She asked me why my grades had were almost failing. She seemed agitated, the bug told me to lie but I knew that I couldn’t lie about this and get away with it.

I told her the truth about the bug and why my grades were going down. She didn’t seem to understand anything about the bug and only grounded me until I got my grades back up.

That was the first time I ignored the suggestions from my only companion the bug.

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How to Write a Good Poem

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I drown myself in my own words, even if I have to speak in my own voice Especially in poems I must use my complete self or it will never be good enough, Andrew Lim A poem must have value, a meaning.

You must have a reason to be writing, Love, life, dreams, wishes, anger, fear, boredom, curiosity.

Write something that people can understand, No something they all will understand.

So the ones you want to keep close don’t end up feeling too distant.

Make it broad enough so people can hear you, so they can understand your emotions so they can understand the words you drown yourself in so they can understand why you are writing but broad enough so they don’t notice enough about yourself.

Keep them in the dark but enough for them to get a glimpse.

Use words and references that only your people will get the complete meaning, Peachy, munchkin, boat, code tree, and that Eromanga-sensei is shit but fun anime to watch.

Poems are an art where you can say things you refuse to say out loud, It is also an art to say fucked up things that you usually wouldn’t but there are no restrictions, And somewhere to have fun, something short when boredom hits.

A poem can not be complete shit or brilliance, It can only be your own and what you can do with your own thoughts.

A poem is only finished when you are satisfied with what you have said in it, so are you satisfied with this poem yet?

Are you satisfied with the value, the meaning, the words, were you honest so you feel satisfied but broad enough at the same time?

Did you let out the emotions you wanted?

Did you reach the people you wanted to reach?

Is your boredom quenched?

The poem is an art form where you speak to yourself.

At least that is what I think.

Cierra Duncan Philadelphia, PA Germantown Friends School

If only March 27, 11:37 pm

CREATIVE WRITING JOURNAL

I can't really hear anything. It's all just mumble to me. Mom is sleeping but she looks like she is dead. Her face is pale and she has tubes coming out of her mouth. I can also see the bloodstained bandages around her wrists. I don't like the sight of blood because it makes me queasy so I'm not going to write about this anymore. I have seen more than enough today.

She can’t die. Who would take care of me?. The doctors keep coming in and out, trying to talk to me. Can’t they see that I'm writing? I find it rude that they would have the audacity to keep interrupting me like this. I have been counting the seconds before they realize that I won't respond or look up from my journal. It’s been exactly 143 seconds. Anyways, I don't know what is going to happen to me if she doesn't get better. Maybe I can live with grandmother and bring Wilburt with me. All I know is that Wilburt has to come wherever I go. I love him so much.

He doesn't talk and always listens to me, which I like. He never beats me or yells at things that don't exist. He's just there. I also like my grandmother because she makes tasty food and serves things the way I like. The only problem with moving in with her is that she lives in Arizona which is too hot and dry for my personal taste. A nurse is coming in to take my mother to another room.

She just reassured me that my mother is going to be ok. I guess I can scratch the grandmother idea. I don't think I should write while I walk so I’m going to stop for now March 27, 7:00 pm All of the EMTs are crowding around my mother, speaking really fast. They’re shouting out names of medicines and other medical mumbo-jumbo that I don't understand. I had recently learned the term "Mumbo Jumbo” from my counselor. She told me that it’s the term you use for words that have no meaning to you or that aren’t as important as others. I'm glad that I am able to apply what I learn and use it in casual situations like this. On another note, I have just realized that hate ambulances because they are too loud. Sounds are blaring all around me and jamming into my

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brain. I feel like I am inside of a pressure cooker and the sounds or putting pressure on me. I can't cover my ears since I am trying to hold on to my pen and paper so I will just hum to my self. I will do this so that my voice can overpower the other voices in the car. This is much better. Now I can focus. One of the EMTs kept calling me sweet pea earlier. Which confused me because I am not sweet or a pea. My name is Lori. I decided not to respond to her for the rest of this ride. Being here is so frustrating. I have quite a lot of homework due tomorrow and now I cant get it done since I'm to busy riding in this ambulance because of my ill mother. I wish I would have come home earlier. I also wish I could check on Wilbert to see if he is ok. He doesn't like to be alone March 27, 6:45 pm

PRE-COLLEGE SUMMER INSTITUTE 2018

I am in the kitchen waiting for the ambulance to come. I had to clean so much blood off the floor. Dirty floors make me anxious, especially with colors that stand out. White and red don't blend in with each other. I also had to touch her in ways that I normally wouldn't have. My mother and I have a rule to always keep a respectable distance from each other. Never touching unless it was for a practical reason. Wilbert kept licking at the blood on the floor so I had to put him in my room. Mother looked so lifeless when I first came into the kitchen. She wouldn't respond when I asked her questions so I called for help. My counselor told me to always call for help when something doesn't seem right so I thought this was and an appropriate time. Traffic was bad coming home so they might not get here soon. I decided to put clothes over her wrists so she wouldn't bleed out.

Maybe if I was home earlier I could have prevented this. I could have talked her out of cutting herself or maybe restrain her.

Wilbert is whining now so I am going to let him out of my room because no one likes to be trapped, not even dogs.

March 27, 5:25 pm

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I am on the bus now. I had to leave the party. At first, it was going great. There were lots of different foods and music that was not too loud. I stood back and watched everyone talk to each other.

I felt content seeing happy seeing happy people talking to other happy in the same space, even if I wasn't in the conversation.

Everything started to go downhill when an unfortunate looking kid decided to turn the music to a popular rap song. I could feel the bass of the music vibrating under my feet. I didn’t like it at all.

The other kids became rowdier and louder so I covered my ears and started humming in my chair. I started to get stares from the people around and then the unfortunate looking boy yelled:

“Who let the retarded girl in?�. I have heard this word many times before. I don't think I am retarded, I Am actually particularly smart according to my IQ score. Everyone started chuckling. I couldn't find Sara so I left. I will never go to a party again. I'd rather be with Wilbert March 27, 3:06 pm

March 27, 7:03 am My counselor gave me this journal yesterday to write about the things that I do and think about down. She says it will help me stabilize myself. I don't believe her but I will give this a try.

This morning I woke up at 6:00 sharp. I checked to see if the wound on my arm had healed. It was still dark purple. I then picked out my outfit making sure the colors matched. I then heard Wilbert scratching at my door so I let him in for a morning petting session. I only pet him for about 5 minutes so I could go downstairs to eat my breakfast before the bus came. I had Blue-berries which are my favorite food since they a blue and go with other breakfast food colors, like yellow or white. I then filled Wilbert's food bowl and put my shoes on to leave. Mom didn't wake up this morning, which is a normal occurrence on most Tuesdays. Speaking of mom, I think I forgot to put her medicine on the counter before I left.

CREATIVE WRITING JOURNAL

I am in my math class right now. The current math lesson is too easy for and I can't focus on anything. I'm too distracted. Sara, a semi-likable and a bit smell girl that I am classmates with, just invited me to a teen party tonight. She had never talked to me before. As a matter a fact, no one ever talked to me at school except for faculty. Even though I don't really like public affairs, I have always wanted to go to a party just to see how it felt so I said yes. I won't bother telling my mother since she is always asleep during the day on her days off. It seems like the whole class is going since I can hear their chatter. I feel like I'm part of a group, like I belong. Oh, no the teacher is yelling at the other students. She might see me writing in class when I'm not supposed to. I am ending this entry now.

March 28, 4:38 am I'm in an office at Social Services, about to leave. It's pretty quiet here. I was sent here from the hospital after the doctors inquired about the bruise on my arm. I would never lie, so I told them that my mom had done it to me the night before because she thought I was the police trying to invade her home. Lying causes so much 17

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stress for me. There are millions of scenarios that you could make up in your head and when you lie, you need to pick the most probable one and pick it quickly. Lying is such a difficult concept for me to understand while when you tell the truth, there is one scenario that is the most accurate and probably since it already happened. The tone of the doctor's voices became softer after I told them my mother did. They asked if she did this often like this and again, telling the truth, I told them that she only does this when she doesn't take her medication, which I normally leave out for her. This morning the social worker asked me if there are any relatives that could take care of me. I was actually a tiny bit excited to answer this. I never liked living with mom. I wasn't very fond of her and she wasn't very fond of me. The only thing that kept me from running away was Wilbert. I told her I wanted to live with my grandmother because if I went into foster care, they wouldn't allow me to take him. A couple of hours later, my grandmother arrived at the Office to come to pick me up. She started to cry when she saw and pulled me in for a hug. I pushed her back because hugging makes my skin crawl. She squinted her eyes and frowned as if I caused her pain somehow. I didn't know what that meant. I hoped she wasn't mad at me. When I do things like that I always hope people don't get discouraged. It is just how I am, how my brain works. Everyone has things they like and dislike, I'm just particular about my things. If only people could somehow transmit their consciousness into my brain.

Then they could truly feel the way I feel and understand what I do and why I do it. If only

Ella Hechlik Sarasota, FL Pine View School Coming from the Florida environment to the city environment was an adjustment.

Florida is a swamp. A lawless swamp full of gators and Pollo Tropical and Disney. But, it’s not all beaches and Magic Kingdom and Sea World. It’s the place snowbirds flock to and the weather report says 100% humidity every day. It doesn’t get below 60 degrees in the winter, yet people still use the occasion to pull out the boots and gloves and winter coats. We don’t have snow days, we have hurricane days. We don’t have icy roadswe have excessive construction. Did you know the crane is the unofficial state bird? We do have some fun things… you can weigh yourself at Publix?

To start off, here are a few of my favorites. All true, all within the last few years. To start us off, Florida Man charged with assault with a deadly weapon after throwing alligator through Wendy’s Drive-Thru window.

CREATIVE WRITING JOURNAL

Now, I’m sure you all have heard of it. Florida’s biggest icon.

People talk about it in mysterious whispers, “the crazies all live down in Florida.” Out in the middle of the state- nothing else to do but fry alligator and drink beer, maybe get a set of gold teeth. But, one of the state’s better-known features, I’m sure you have seen it on the news, the Florida Man headline.

I don’t know about you guys- but I would pay to sit through that trial. Could you imagine being asked to defend this man?

Another personal favorite: Florida Man steals a car, realizes a baby is in it, drops baby off safely, and makes his getaway.

See, how bad can Florida really be? Returning babies and all, what a hero.

How about- Florida Man gets tired of waiting at hospital, steals ambulance, drives home. Again- would you not pay to see that?

I’m sure we have all felt that way sitting in the waiting room, ready to commit a federal crime just so we can go home.

What about a classic Florida idea: When Hurricane Irma came through last fall- thousands of people fled to Atlanta. Families were in actual danger. Gas stations closed, people got hurt.

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Floridians decided to take things into their own hands: We put our gun laws to good use and decided the best way to handle things was to shoot the hurricane down. What could go wrong?

You know what else? I’m sure you have heard about it, Ralph Smith, a prominent Florida GOP leader defended Roseanne Barr’s racist tweet saying and I quote, “And the issue with Roseanne is?”

Or take my hometown for example. Right in my own backyardan 18-year-old high school student promposed to his girlfriend with a sign that read: If I was black I’d be picking cotton, but I’m white so I’m picking you for prom. He was excused on the fact that he “didn’t know any better”- wow, bet that really helps us Floridians out.

How about the new sociology course taught at Florida University titled “White Racism”?

PRE-COLLEGE SUMMER INSTITUTE 2018

Or, the Pulse night club shooting? My friend’s trans brother skipped going to the club on the weekend of June 12th. He had gone every other weekend for months, but he felt tired that day.

But, back to the headlines: Woman dressed as turkey arrested for shoplifting.

Can you imagine being an inmate at the prison that day?

Airplane wing damaged after alligator attack.

Florida Man bites off neighbor’s ear because he wouldn’t give him a cigarette.

Florida Man claims wife was kidnapped by holograms.

Florida Man steals 850 pairs of underwear from Victoria’s Secret.

Florida Man arrested for smoking pot in hospital maternity ward.

Florida Man calls 911 to check on his tax return.

Florida Man arrested after urinating on in-law’s carpet during Thanksgiving dinner. Honestly, we’ve all been there.

Rough time of the year.

Florida Man attempts to leave store with chainsaw stuffed down his pants.

Should I keep going?

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Florida Man, once arrested for fighting drag queen with a tikki torch while dressed like KKK member, now running for mayor.

Florida Man escapes prison to buy beer, no one notices.

Florida Man accused of catching and eating protected tortoises.

Florida Man rescued from vending machine.

And, a personal favorite of mine, again, right in my backyard: A man broke into Siesta Key Oyster Bar and stole 150 single dollar bills that were stapled to the walls by tourists- so that he could go and buy a pub sub.

I think a good ending point here is the headline: Florida Man arrested for yelling about how terrible Florida is.

18 million people living in a swamp.

Hell- I’d yell everyday too.

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Isabella McCall Philadelphia, PA Calvary Christian Academy

God God.

PRE-COLLEGE SUMMER INSTITUTE 2018

I’ve believed in God for as long as I could remember. I still do.

It’s kind of typical growing up in a Christian home; and an actual good Christian home, that’s rare. But I’ve always felt I lived two sides of a Christian. The Christian every other Christian wanted to see; versus the Christian only God wanted to see. Imagine, me, acting the way I usually do in front of others. Already, I can hear it, the Principal at my high school having a talk with me because I said one “bad word.” Childish really, how will those kids ever get out in the world with silk skin and cotton brains.

Please, don’t be offended, I rant sometimes; it’s what happens when you’ve been around certain people that make you bitter.

But not God. God could never make me bitter, God could never make me angry, or cuss out loud, to cry from heartbreak or bullies.

God could never make me hate someone, people have to do that. There are a lot of things people do, and that’s blame God. Well, I can’t blame God, I have no reason to. I have no reason to blame God for why I get bullied by the junkies in Christian school (yes, they smoke weed there, but where else do you not see anyone smoking weed these days?). I can’t blame God for my anger and tears; people should consider their words before they say it, but like my grandmother, we like to be as loud as the Philadelphia Medics.

But I don’t blame a lot of people. There are still so many good people in my life who have the same God I speak of.

Most of them are gay, see even God loves gay people.

But you wouldn’t believe me. No, you would pull out Leviticus 18:22 or Leviticus 20:13.

But you’re quick to forget what God said in Mark 12:31.

“Love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these.”

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Neighbor, wow, you know that translates to everyone. And by everyone I mean Black, White, Asian, Muslim, Jew, Straight, Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, Transsexual.

Oh, but you thought God only died for White conservatives, that’s cute, and you’re gonna believe Adam and Eve were actually White. Again, that’s cute.

God is not hateful.

Whoever made that up, has already screwed themselves over with God. God hates hate, especially when that hate is Judgmental. Don’t do God’s job, how dare you! You must’ve read the Book of Romans if you think you’re so self-righteous.

But you’re not, like all seven billion people on this earth, you’re not righteous. We’re imperfect, but you can’t help but shine your pride in the spotlight.

God has cried.

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God has cried for the many deaths we people have caused.

But God has also cried for the deaths we “Good Christians” have caused. How many deaths have we caused to people we’ve ostracized, when God expects us to heal and save them.

How many we have beaten and cursed out. How many people were sick with AIDS, and were left for dead in hospitals. But yet you’ve considered that a divine act. God did not create AIDS, an evil person created it. It’s sad, you consider killing them off to be the best, but you don’t consider God’s feelings when those same people are in front of Him on the judgment seat.

God, God goes to my school.

God is busy at my school, watching all those young, stupid girls dating these terrible guys. Terrible guys that smoke weed, work at the typical truck stores, and their faces are covered in red acne. All because they wanna bounce on some dick and have someone to tell them they’re pretty. Pretty, silly girls don’t you know, God made you. He already you made you stunning, you don’t need some child to tell you that. If anything you should wait for a man to tell you how God made you so beautiful. But I guess you’ll have to wait after your fifth guy like I did.

God watches those boys.

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God watches how bad they are, and how stupid they’re outlook on life is. They really think they’ll be bros for life, how silly.

God already can see that one will move away for college, one will drop out, on will not work an stay with their parents, one will be homeless, and one will die from overdose. But I don’t know, I’m not God. God My God, my God I have one more year left in this Hell I call a Christian school. Christian school, that’s a laugh when everyone is bullying each other, being racist, sexist, and homophobic. But I can get through it, I am strong, I am patient. Through God I can get through this last year. If God wills it, maybe I won’t go insane.

My God is patient.

My God is faithful.

PRE-COLLEGE SUMMER INSTITUTE 2018

My God is love.

God.

The Sapphire Devil: The Dream It was dark, so very, very dark. So dark, I could only see a black abyss in front of me. My eyes then open, and all I see is a dark turquoise hallway, with many black doors on each side of the walls. The hallway was lit with ceiling lights and a long carpet covering the wooden floor. There was nothing but a dark abyss at the end of the hall, as one light after another appeared out of the darkness. I don’t know why I was in this place but, I didn’t like it. It was cold, I could see my own breath leave my lips.

I wanted to rub my arms for warmth but, for some odd reason I couldn’t. My body just kept walking. Then I hear it.

“Thump” “Thump” “Thump” The lights flicker, and the ceiling shook slightly. I then hear moans coming through the walls, banging on the doors; and scratching, slow, muffled scratching behind the walls. Then there were squeaks, and chirping behind me. They were bug like, and it sounded like they were around me. I tried to turn around, but I

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couldn’t; I just kept walking, hearing the continuous squeaking and clicking. But from the corner of my vision, I saw little bug appendages crawling on the walls and ceiling. Bugs, I hated bugs, they always brought chills down my spine. There could’ve been thousands of them, but I couldn’t tell. My body felt fixed, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t look back.

My eyes then went to the paper, its blank side was facing towards me, as if beckoning me to pick it up. But I was afraid to pick it up. I don’t know why, but I felt that something bad would happen if I picked up the paper. I tried to look away from it, but again, my body would not let me. My body was betraying my thoughts, as my hand shakingly reached for the white paper.

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Suddenly, the lights went off and I was shrouded in darkness. I could hear the squeaks of those bugs behind me, chirping and crawling. My heart pounded in fear, I wanted to call out to someone I just couldn’t. My throat felt shut, and all that came out were terrified breaths. Then, from above me, one light flicked on.

I was met with the end of the hallway; which was only a wall with a mirror and a dark brown desk. I saw myself through the mirror, my dark skin revealed in the light. My mouth fell open, I saw the thousands of black moths, crawling and fidgeting everywhere.

My heart was pounding, my hands were wet with sweat, and I was shaking like a dead tree. I took my eyes off the bugs, and look down at the desk. I see a white moth and a white piece of paper. The white moth was still, as if dead. Looking at it, I didn’t feel as scared, it wasn’t as big as those giant moths, and it was quite small. I could better describe it as a moth, covered in snow.

“Thump” “Thump” “Thump” The thumping again, only it was louder. No, it was coming from behind me. It was far from me, but it got louder and louder as it got closer. I breathed heavy with fear, trying to stop myself with all my strength; but no matter how hard I try, I can’t pull my hand back. My fingers grasped the paper, my hand bringing it closer to my face. The thumping became louder, now sounding like footsteps. It was so close, just a few more steps and it would be behind me. Then my hand stopped and so did the thumps.

My hand turned the paper over, and I saw words in red writing: “The Darkness Yearns for A Light.”

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Then I felt the white moth fly on my wrist, as it crawls up to the back of my hand. It stopped, its big red eyes staring at me.

However, it began to squeak frantically, as if it were telling me something. Something was wrong, but I was too late to find out what, when hot breath blew behind my neck. My body tensed up, I look up at the mirror and saw the moths crawl further up the walls and floor. They were around the mirror, stretching their wings, revealing the haunting patterns on them. I saw nothing but a black abyss behind me. My heart pounded again, my mouth felt dry and tasteless. I was waiting, waiting for whatever came out of that abyss. Or...so I thought it was an abyss. Two clawed hands whisked around my body, dragging the curve of their nail against my stomach and shoulder. The hand on my shoulder glided on the side of my neck, and covered my mouth. Then, something began to emerge from the shadow, a body taller than any man’s. It was…

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I woke up, scared and confused, as my eyes glance at the inside of a bus. It was just a dream, at least, that’s what I hoped.

Kaylee LeMasney Stratford, NJ Sterling High School

The difference between us

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I was raised in a small town Where everything stays the same A town people drive by To get someplace else The friends that you have Are all that you get If you’re a fish out of water You’ll be suffocating for a long time And everyone remembers That thing you did in 5th grade In this town The people here are made out To be vulnerable As most humans are So, a white girl from Haddonfield Offends my community And drags us into the media And Jodi Picoult With her fictional characters Terrorizing students on twitter Frightened Sterling High School’s student body Into staying home from class On March 6th, 2018 Because Peter Houghton Shot and murdered 10 students At Sterling High School On March 6th, 2007 We are all predictable here Every lesson has been taught Every idea has been thought of Am I no different from them?

How could I be?

I’m not the only artist there I share similar ideas, pain, dreams As those around me No, I am not special Are any of us really?

Staying in one place for so long

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PRE-COLLEGE SUMMER INSTITUTE 2018

Gets old fast Like a snow storm in Alaska My brother and I Had the exact same dream once My own consciousness Isn’t even separate from others No, I am not different Because I was offended And I was terrified And I learn the same lessons And think the same thoughts And I bleed the same color blood But I learn things faster And I think things more intently And I bleed slower Maybe I am not different But I am unsurpassed I am noteworthy I am unique

Welcome to Your Life!

Greetings from those socially and economically above you.

Welcome to your simple, mundane life! We hope you’re satisfied with the life you’ve been given, because unfortunately, there are no returns.

Below we have listed some rules, guidelines, and other information to make your stay as prosperous as it can be.

• Pay close attention and do extremely well in your schooling.

You must spend thousands of dollars that you don’t have and be in debt for most of your life to get a diploma so that you just might make a decent living .

• You will learn that numbers mean everything in life, including your height, weight, age, amount of money that you make, and especially your GPA and SAT scores. This all defines who you are, and you will be judged accordingly.

• Money is the most important thing in your piteous life.

Now, not to be dramatic, but if you don’t have any, you are nobody and may live a brutal and lonely life suffering and begging on the streets.

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• It is important to stay in style and keep up with trends.

Dress exactly how everyone else dresses, act like them, listen to the same music as them, speak like them, think like them. Society will leave you out in the dust in a heartbeat. Don’t be an outcast.

• You must have a spouse in order to live a happy life. Usually you must be the opposite gender as them, unless you’re Ellen DeGeneres and Portia de Rossi, then there are slight exceptions. You should also definitely have kids, so we have more people exactly like us! If you have nobody, you will die alone and no one will find your body in your empty house for days and your corpse will be partially eaten by your pet cats or iguana. In general, don’t be a recluse.

• If you stand out from others, they won’t accept you. We won’t accept you. You want everyone to like you and agree with you!

They will hate you if you’re different from them. Don’t be dissimilar from those around you.

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Remember that it’s okay to be yourself! We strongly encourage you to do so, as long as you follow these guidelines and don’t stray too far from social norms. Don’t forget that once we kick you out, we will not let you back in. There are no exceptions, unless you’re Robert Downey, Jr. (we like a good redemption story) or Elton John (you can a be a little more different if you’re in entertainment), but you’re obviously not in that category (we won’t actually care too much if you fail since you’re not famous at all, not even a little, you’ll barely be a blip on our radar, so watch it!).

We’re so happy that you’re here, and we hope you’ll enjoy your stay.

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How To Write A Poem A poem doesn’t have to rhyme In order to be a poem A poem doesn’t have to make Any goddamn sense For it to change a person’s world view It doesn’t have to be Compellingly beautiful Heartbreaking or romantic It can be ugly and raw and a disgrace To everyone around you Consider this…

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Art is supposed to make sense And money shows people Just how important you are Grades reflect exactly How intelligent you are And what you’re capable of And race determines What kind of person you are Right?

Well...

Art doesn’t make any fucking sense It’s not supposed to Money is just useless paper With no real worth behind it Grades are complete bullshit All they show is How well your memorization skills are And the color of your skin Does not make you an open page For all in the world to read It doesn’t matter if the poem Is about controversial things Dare I say…

Sex, drugs, rape, money, gangs, violence, guns, crime, sexuality, politics, feminism, or Society in general None of this matters Because poetry means nothing And it means everything Because all poetry is Is words

Nandika Mogha New Delhi, India Amity International School

5 Self-Depreciating Thoughts I Have Before Breakfast

2.

My scalp is itchy. I use my finger to scratch the top of my head and then look at the amount of crusty residue retained on my nail. I am filthy. But luckily, I have shampoo. Let’s shampoo.

I lather and wash and think about the lovely lemon grass smell of the soap until I run my fingers through and a large clump of loose hair follows through my hand. Sigh. I am losing all my hair.

Must be all the stress. Or the chemicals they put in shampoos these days. It’s a trap. But it’s okay. Pre-mature balding runs in my family.

CREATIVE WRITING JOURNAL

1.

I wake up and look at myself in my mirror. I look at my groggy face and puffy skin. My bedridden hair and crusty eyes. I feel so tired. I think to myself- no more canned wine before bed again. I look at my ugly face in the dirty mirror again. No, I think to myself. Not ugly. Just tired. Don’t judge yourself like that.

You are beautiful. You are a goddamn goddess. You’ve got this. But Mark Manson once said that if you stand in front of a mirror and repeat affirmations to yourself saying “I’m beautiful”, it’s because you already know you’re not beautiful. No happy person feels the need to prove that they are happy. That means I am not beautiful. Damn it.

3.

I check my phone while my bowl of milk heats in the microwave.

Microwaves are bad for your health. But at least my milk is 2% reduced fat and my cereal is whole grain. I’m a healthy individual.

I open Instagram. Only 2 likes on the selfie I posted last night.

That’s disappointing. I think I deserved at least 5 likes and 1 comment. Wow. Guess I really am ugly. I had resolved a long time ago to never check Facebook before 5pm without a drink in hand. Facebook is depressing for everybody. Except those who post pictures of their shockingly hot spouse and happy children and trained dogs and the helicopter they take to their perfect job every day. No. No Facebook in the morning.

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4.

I stop by Starbucks even though I read an article last night about supporting local businesses and banishing multi-national corporations- but I really need my Pumpkin Soy Latte and so I continue walking but now I am walking in guilt and hatred for me and my reckless behavior. They give me a plastic cup and a plastic straw and that’s a sin in 2018 but I suck it up. Literally and metaphorically. At least I dropped my change in the DONATE FOR THE POOR AND HELPLESS IN A THIRD WORLD COUNTRY box by the counter. I hope it reaches them.

5.

I am typing this out on my phone on the subway I take to work.

Once again, I did not get a seat because the universe decided that my tired butt is unworthy of 5 square inches of plastic on a train but it’s okay. I am used it. Someone wise once said that nobody will ever hate you as much as you hate yourself. So hate on you daily- and you will be immune to external criticism.

PRE-COLLEGE SUMMER INSTITUTE 2018

Why did I type this out again? Not that anyone is ever going to be interested in reading it. Ah. Backspace, backspace.

Select All, Delete All.

Airplane Mode/ Beige (Because I am not Brown and Definitely not White) I was born in India to Indian parents and I believed I was Indianuntil I didn’t. Do you know what I mean? To feel like a foreigner in your head? Like the bed you sleep on and the walls you weep on are bricks. Is it your mind playing tricks on you, or is it for real?

But I don’t fit in- I fit out. Have I said this before? DO YOU WANT ME TO SHOUT? So I packed in tight and took a flight, and it took a day for the TSA to say, “Go.” And I was here- till I wasn’t. I am too Indian here, with an accent I CAN’T HEAR, but it’s there- because I am brown. And I have found that my own tongue betrayed me- but it’ OK. It’s been long. So where do I belong? Somewhere in the middle I supposelike at the airport of my connecting flight- because I am FOR SURE not white- or maybe on a plane in general- miles above the ground- is that where I’ll be found?

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Guess I’ll never know. Till then I’ll keep hopping to a new city every summer- what a bummer it is- not really, though. I belong on an airplane- wait, I knew this before. In the middle of it, with the nausea of it, and perhaps in a forever state of transit.

How to Be a Great Poet Poetry is not meant to be read. You just write it and forget about it. Because it makes sense to only you. So don’t put others through the misery of trying to decipher it. Just put it in a box and burn it. Or in the Swiss Bank- if you do not want to burn it.

That’s how you write a good poem- you make sure no one reads it and you brag about how great it is and people will believe you.

Because no one bothers to cross check. They will say Amanda is a great poet- even better than John Wayne.

Mother India, let your kids go to Spice Mall.

Let them see for that New Delhi’s air pollution will build their body’s immunity. And when you are 60, and your kids are in America- they will be happy you brought them a pack of Trojans and a large popcorn and Diet Coke to go with it.

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BEYONCE’S HIT SINGLE (A Translation of Ave MariaFrank O’Hara)

So happy you let them go to CP with their date from Tinder instead of making them stay in and Tweet about how much they hate you #noonegetsme #ihatemylife.

Listen to me while you can- and don’t blame me when your children become BLIND AS FUCK by binge-watching American TV Shows like The Office and Rick and Morty on Netflix when they could have just watched 50 Shades of Grey when it was out in theatres- if only you’d let them.

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Baked Goods- A Play SCENE I (Saint Mark’s Church. THE GRANDMOTHER is sitting in the back row when THE JUNKIE enters and sits next to her.)

GRANDMOTHER (whispering) How many times do I have to tell you not to come here?

People know me here.

JUNKIE (whispering hurriedly) I am sorry. I couldn’t resist. I just need a couple grams. I have a paper due tomorrow and I need the creativity to flow.

GRANDMOTHER PRE-COLLEGE SUMMER INSTITUTE 2018

First of all, you already owe me for the last 5 times. Secondly, you are getting sloppy. You said you’d mow the lawn for the last exchange- but sweetie my grass has grown up to my knees.

I almost tripped in it this morning. My arthritis didn’t make it better. No- I am not giving any more to you.

JUNKIE (through gritted teeth) Oh please! Just like a one big slice of that pot brownie I know you made last night?

GRANDMOTHER How many times do I have tell you to not say the word “pot” when you’re talking to me in public? Just say baked goods.

Lord have mercy.

Son, I don’t lie sitting in the House of God. No means no.

I am not giving you any.

JUNKIE (growing impatient) Nah nah now hold up. I’ve got something for you that you might like.

(He reaches out into his pants and tries to take out a trashy magazine)

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GRANDMOTHER (irritably) Now you keep that filth with yourself. Jesus is watching so you best behave!!

JUNKIE Okay okay, Jesus.

GRANDMOTHER Watch your tongue.

JUNKIE Okay but I might have something you’d actually really like.

You’ll have to come with me. And you have to promiseif you like it, you’ll give me my brownie and we’ll call it a day.

GRANDMOTHER (pouting)

(The Junkie and the Grandmother go out to the back of the Church) (The Junkie points something out to the grandmother).

GRANDMOTHER

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I don’t trust you- but I am curious to see. Okay, deal.

Lord have mercy.

JUNKIE You are a grandma who loves baking. So knock yourself out.

That chicken is all yours.

GRANDMOTHER (excitedly) I’ve been meaning to make a chicken POT pie for ages!

JUNKIE (hopefully) So…will you also be baking me a brownie while you’re at it?

(The Grandmother looks at the Junkie and smiles in approval)

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GRANDMOTHER You bet your ass I will. Come on now, we better get that Cannabis cooking.

(The Junkie and The Grandmother start walking towards homeThe Grandmother is holding the chicken.)

(End of Play)

ROXXY- A New Narrative Poem She met Richie Rich on Cartoon Network and Ricky Martin when she first saw Shrek 2 and they played “Living La Vida Loca” in the rolling credits.

PRE-COLLEGE SUMMER INSTITUTE 2018

She met Randeo in Richmond because they both liked Radiohead and the Rolling Stones. She met Rachel when they played re-runs of Friends on Comedy Central and Rita Ora on a racy magazine her Aunt Rashida was hiding from her.

She met Raymond because everybody loves him and Rio because that’s some great animation. She met Rafael because her dad likes Tennis and had a crush on Ruby Rose because Rob loves Orange is the New Black.

She was such a rebel when she sang Rihanna’s “Rude Boy” in the School Choir and when she let Randy ride her like Santa rode Rudolph. Her stripper name is going to be Roxxane- or Roxxy when she is feeling racy.

She likes Reese Witherspoon but not Reese’s Pieces because who likes Peanut Butter, no, she likes Raisins better. She likes Ratatouille even though she missed her Rabies shot and is afraid of Rats because who likes MICKEY MOUSE anyway- she likes Robin Hood way better.

She was born in Richmond, she likes Raw Rhubarbs and her real name is Elizabeth. She prefers Roxxy.

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Sara Coleman Philadelphia, PA George Washington Carver High School of Engineering and Science

No Hard Feelings, Right?

Kaila is my best friend. Kaila has a boyfriend who she loves.

Her boyfriend doesn’t make her cum. She’s never cum before.

Karif has a bunch of hair. He hurts my feelings and then makes me cum, a lot. He gives really good head and I sort of forget why I was mad. We used to watch Twilight together but we’re just friends now.

Erick is short. He’s Puerto Rican. His dick is small but I was a virgin so who cares. He wants me to be his baby mom when I graduate high school but I want to go to college.

Alyssa is my cousin. She lives back home in New York. I think she’s a hoe now. I’m not sure but she’s always going to parties and twerking on random guys. She has a boyfriend now, who knows how long that will last.

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Kajani’s my big sister. She’s looked out for me my whole life and has always been honest with me.

Sierra is my heart. I can cry on Facetime with her. She’s a virgin so she doesn’t understand my addiction to sex. But I think her new boyfriend will show her a lil somethin’.

April is my little sister. I’ve always wanted to be a big sister.

Now she runs to me with all her issues. She kissed a girl for the first time a few weeks ago. She likes guys again.

Kenny is my son. He keeps me sane and makes sure I don’t get distracted. He works at Wingstop. He brings me lunch and breakfast to school sometimes.

Sheri is my mom. She’s really pretty but she’s like 50 but she looks 30. All the young guys try to come at her. She doesn’t care about them. She’s independent and a little boujee.

Frank is my dad. He still loves me; he told me. He’s married now so there’s no going back. We’re just alike. He’s my best friend.

He calls me a thot when I wear short-shorts and I joke about his hemorrhoids.

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Christian used to be like my brother. He’s a little crazy about me now. Every time he breaks up with his girlfriend he thought I would be next in line. He’s cocky.

Alex is my ex-boyfriend. We’re friends, sometimes more.

He always tries to rekindle things. He likes my mom and she likes him too. He still wants to be my boyfriend but he’s a liar.

Najah is my other best friend. I worry about her. Her boyfriend died our ninth grade year and she smokes a lot. She’s suicidal sometimes. I love her deeply.

Josh is Ayanna’s boyfriend. He’s an asshole. But other times he can be sweet and genuine. Every time they argue they plan to break up. They’re going on three years so they’ll be fine.

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Ayanna’s one of my school friends. Ever since she unraveled her dreads she’s been going off the rail. She told my boo that she knew about our issues in front of everyone. I mean yeah he was an asshole but I was tryna get dick that night and she almost ruined it.

Soleil Garnett North Chesterfield, VA Monacan High School

My Silence Will Never Be a Virtue

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I was born exactly 35 days after 9/11 and my mother, Bonita, loves to tell me how I almost never cried as a baby.

It was a miracle, they said.

I stayed silent until I was 3, and then they started testing me for every invisible birth defect possible (deaf, mute, blind, autistic).

When the doctor asked Bonita that nothing was wrong with me and no one knew why I wasn’t able to speak, Bonita swears that I looked that doctor in the eyes and told him “Well maybe I don’t have anything to say to you.”

My famous first words with the neck roll and everything.

It was a miracle, they said.

I’ve always imagined that the doctor asked Bonita on who she slept with and what drugs she was taking and what diseases she had contracted because it’s a miracle if a tiny little black girl is silent by choice and because it’s only a statistic if my condition was caused because I have a black mother.

But hey, how would I know?

I was almost blind and deaf.

Maybe I don’t have anything to say to you.

I’ve always lived by that rule because I have the pain of a thousand hurt women and a million slaves in my blood that I have to carry along with me, wherever I go.

And because I’ve always been pretty ok at being the silent kid.

They say that women are the weaker sex, that blacks are even weaker, and I think that’s a load of crap because I spent all last night wiping away my tears, alone,

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because I cried for the gays and for the homeless and for blacks and for women and for war and for water they don’t have and water that I do have and for sex and for rape and how I have to even distinguish the two and I cried for this country and how this country doesn’t feel so free or united and I cried again for women and for stupid men and stupid women and stupid children and I cried because I don’t know if fighting with my friends before the football game hurts me more than crying because I fear for our lives everyday at school and I cried because being headstrong is sexy in a business skirt but being headstrong with my fist in the air makes me angry and how saying “that’s just my opinion” is only an excuse for racist white people and I cried 10 times over for the lover that I’m probably going to call tonight and tell him about the newest poem I wrote about him that I’m probably going to put with the rest of them and give it to him right before he gets tired of me and I cried because people always get tired of and I cried because some people will torture you by still being with you while being tired of you.

I cried last night because I am an emotional crybaby and somehow I’m supposed to know how to be feminine and weak and also black and just used to living like this.

But I’ve got something to say now.

And I will use the privilege I’ve been missing all this time and lift up the mountains that have been left inside of me.

I am not silent, I am loud.

I am emotional and all-types of beautiful and that petty little doctor tried to take that away from me just like they try to do to Bonita during every nightshift and you all just let them do it and I will take my mountains and all of my voice and shove it right in your face because I finally have something to say in this world and I’ll be damned if I don’t get to cry about that.

How to Write a Good Poem Art is supposed to make sense to yourself but sometimes poetry is confusing and life is confusing and how are you even supposed to write love poems about a love you don’t have if you’re alone because you’re a poet and no one likes dating the artsy girls anymore. And if time is fleeting and life is never what you think it is, then writing a poem must always be truthful because there’s no other option. Time is fleeting so write constantly and take notes, notes, notes to always write things in the present. But life is never what you think it is but life is also only what you make of it so choose live in the complete now and forget what you felt at that moment later and begin to fabricate things to sound way more romantic than they actually were and realize you just kind of lied to yourself and now you’re not being truthful at all.

Poetry is the most obnoxious form of art because in no other type of writing can you write only about a completely different person and still only be writing about yourself. Poetry makes me write sly and cunningly and puts me in a competition at who I can love the most that day, but poetry is still the most true thing I’ve got in my life right now, so at least I know I’ve always been that way.

CREATIVE WRITING JOURNAL

My mom wants me to be on the bestsellers list because she says she knew I had it in me all along but I’m too busy writing in the present and being truthful about how I never really knew myself.

I still don’t know myself, I only know how to make the most of the poem. I don’t even know where I’m going after today, but my mom says that I write pretty sufficient poetry so I’ll definitely make it to the bestsellers list and I’m going to live and write in the now so I’m going to hold her on her words.

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21 Questions White People Ask Me That Make Me an Even Angrier Black Woman 1. Is that your real hair?

2. W hy don’t you let people touch your hair? We’re being sincere when we say we can’t believe how soft it is.

3. W ould you mind putting your hair into a ponytail? I just can’t see in front of you. How Afrocentric, amirite? Haha.

4. W ow, all of that hair! It makes your bun so tall. Do you mind sitting in the back of the classroom? Haha I promise you, sitting in the back wasn’t always that bad.

5. W hy do you have that scarf on your head?

You’re not Muslim, lol, right?

PRE-COLLEGE SUMMER INSTITUTE 2018

6. Y our name is Soleil? How exotic! French?? Even better!!!

But, for time’s sake, how about you go by an easier name.

Which one: Sally or Sarah? More practical, right?

7. W hat do you plan on doing after you graduate high school?

A university? Oh. That’s interesting. No, you’ll probably get in. Affirmative action and all. It must be nice to get special treatment because of the color of your skin, right? I wish I had opportunities like that. Ha. 8. W hy do you get angry when broke and balding white men approach you and start comparing you to an iced coffee, or caramel, or smooth milk chocolate? It’s only a compliment.

9. H ow cute is your hair? This natural hair movement is really picking up speed, right? Did you know I also have thick, curly hair? I bet I’d get famous if I made a natural hair YouTube page too hahahahahahahahaha!?!!?!!?

10. W ow, you’re pretty for a black girl. Where are you from?

Haha, oh that’s cool, but, hey, take it from me? You could definitely pass as a mulatto.

11. W e’re learning about slavery today in class. How rude is it to your people to have to learn about such a sensitive subject, amirite?

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12. A ren’t you happy that it’s National Black History Month?

Langston Hughes was such a great poet.

13. W hy isn’t there a National White History Month?

Or one for Asians?

14. W hy do you get so angry when I say the N word in a rap song? I don’t pronounce the R, and it’s really a curse word when I say it without the music.

15. D isregarding the fact that the Constitution was written when blacks, who were mostly slaves, were considered only 1/3 human and women were considered sexual property of their husbands, what problem could you possibly have with Independence Day? 16. H ow many social rights do I solely have that I, a white male, need to flaunt in your face to make you understand how grateful you should feel to actually be a citizen of the United States of America? After all, you have those same rights, too, right?

18. W hy do you get so angry when an unarmed black man is shot 8 times in broad daylight in front of his family by the same police who are supposed to protect us? Yeah, I know the white guy threatening people with an automatic weapon was never fired on by the police during the two week standoff, even when he pointed the gun at the police, but the police are trained to know who’s a real threat and who isn’t, after all? Can’t you see how protected I feel now?

CREATIVE WRITING JOURNAL

17. D id you know that black women in America are 4 times more likely to die during childbirth than white women?

Must be something in that special Kool Aid y’all love so much, LOL XD!

19. W hy do you get so angry all the time? Why do you let the world bring you down so much? Didn’t you know that black people are 20% more likely to have mental illnesses?

I bet if you weren’t so angry you’d feel better.

20. W hy do you get so fucking angry?

21. H aha! No, seriously....is all of that your real hair?

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Will de Santis Wynnewood, PA Lower Merion High School

Dear Journal/Diary

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March 21st, 1853 - It was my birthday today, my eighteenth to be specific. From my uncle, William, quite the strange sort of man, I received an embroidered leather notebook of high craftsmanship. He told me it was to be my diary, speaking to me like an adult would a small schoolboy. I had resolved not to write in this ‘diary’ as private snub of my uncle’s condescension, but the drear of the uneventful afternoon soon took its toll, and well, here I am.

I don’t think I’ll be writing too much in this diary, oh how I loathe that childish connotation. I’ll call it a journal, much more becoming of an adult such as myself. My mother is calling me for supper, I best end this entry. I’m Edward by the way, in case any of my progeny comes across this.

August 15th, 1853 - Today was such an interesting day, I felt some strange ethereal drive to inscribe the events within this journal. Well, interesting is probably the wrong word to use, depressing is a much more accurate describer of what happened.

Dreadful, horrid, the worst day of my entire life. It concerns the lady Catherine, with whom I have been so enamored of late.

The growing responsibilities that come with being an adult in this society include an immense pressure upon oneself to find a proper woman to marry and start a family. These past weeks have been especially exhausting. My parents and grandparents have been dropping thinly veiled attempts at spurring me towards courting a proper English lady. Finally, I decided to relent to their demands and I began crafting the perfect plan towards showing the Lady Catherine my finer qualities as a handsome gentleman. Day after day, I tried to steel myself, and finally, today, it happened. I was going to walk straight up to Catherine, and start a conversation, which would signify the start of my courtship. We would get married, have seven kids, a small amount I know, and we’d all be happy. What actually occurred, however, was quite altogether different from what I had envisioned. I approached Catherine, and said, “I was just rundering, I mean wondering…” And then I ran off. The horror! The anguish! Now I’ll just grow old and alone and become a pitiable hermit. How can I show my face in public ever again. Well, I’m glad I have some way of letting out my passionate frustration.

August 28th, 1853 - Alas! The Catherine has begun courting some foreign nobleman from France named Pierre. Oh how I loathe Pierre, with his artistic tastes and French accent.

Isn’t Pierre just the best thing since sliced bread. Sure he may be better looking, more charming, and smarter than me, but that doesn’t explain how I could be so easily passed up.

December 5th, 1853 - Just checking in, everything’s been going great with Catherine so far, I’m sure her mother’s pleased with me so far.

CREATIVE WRITING JOURNAL

September 30th, 1853 - Another eventful day, it seems these kinds of days have occurred more often in my adulthood.

Anyway, this day also concerns the illustrious Catherine, yet I believe it to be of a more positive variety of day, as you’ll soon see. I was walking along the streets of London, and I passed by Catherine’s home, I noticed Pierre storming off, futilely trying to hide his dark scowl. I was curious as to what the cause for commotion was, so I ran up to him and inquired what the situation was. He was unaware of my secret feelings for Catherine, so he readily told me that he had been rejected. Now was my chance.

I walked up to the house, and saw Catherine’s mother talking seriously with her daughter. I rapped my knuckles on the door and when I was greeted and welcomed inside, I finally inquired about courtship. Of course, as a member of higher class, I was not refused by the mother, and here I am. I finally have a chance at marrying the woman of my dreams.

February 5th, 1854 - Uncle William died a few days ago.

I feel so torn up, helpless, but I can’t tell anyone else how I feel, it’s unbecoming. At least through the pages of this journal I cannot be judged. Why do people have to die so young anyways, why can’t everyone just grow to be however old they want. People keep telling me that Uncle William’s in heaven now, but that doesn’t matter to me. I want Uncle William here, with all of us. The only people he knows in heaven are his parents, and he always said he hated his parents anyway.

May 19th, 1854 - I’ve just been engaged to Catherine.

Whilst before I had to rein in my passion, now I am free to engage in such risqué behavior as, holding hands, walking at night, and a kiss on the cheek. How primal, how carnal.

Anyway, we are to be wed next year on February. It seems like only yesterday I had just turned eighteen, and now I’m already nineteen and about to marry.

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November 5th, 1854 - As part of my newfound maturity and adulthood, I’ve begun to take the reins of my family’s textile company. Whilst I may not be fully ready to take control, I’m learning, hopefully by the time Catherine and I are married I’ll be able to begin running the company and earning a living for myself.

January 1st, 1855 - It’s the new year. It’s been almost two years since I got this journal. At first, I scoffed at the idea of writing my feelings and thoughts down, but it’s like I’m talking to a real person. I know you’re not real, but I still feel like I need to thank you for helping me when I needed helping, thanks.

February 24th, 1855 - Today was Catherine and my wedding.

It feels like such a large step in my life, I don’t really even know what to say. I can quite definitely say that this has been the best day of my life. I’ve been through trials and tribulations and Pierre’s to get here. Oh, and as a wedding gift, my father gave full control over the farm to yours truly.

PRE-COLLEGE SUMMER INSTITUTE 2018

June 3rd, 1855 - Catherine’s pregnant with our first baby.

I’m about to be a father. My times been occupied lately what with running the company and the household, I haven’t really had much time to write about the major events in my life.

We think our first kid’s going to be a girl. I’ve been wondering what to name her. I like Alice, Anne, Helen, or Broccolini.

Of course not that last one, I was making a joke.

January 5th, 1856 - Turns out our instincts were correct, we were blessed with a daughter. We ended up going with the name Helen. She has blonde hair like Catherine, and my brown eyes. An exemplary daughter to be sure.

March 20th, 1856 - The company’s been doing especially well lately, of course solely due to my diligent guidance.

Really, our employees have been getting better and better at their job. Catherine’s pregnant with another child now.

October 23rd, 1856 - I don’t really know how to say this without falling apart. Catherine died giving birth to our son.

The doctors tried to do what they could, but nothing could save her. Our son, James, wouldn’t stop crying, but I was too busy worrying about my dead wife to worry about him.

Does that make me a terrible father?

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March 21st, 1856 - It’s been quite some time since Catherine passed away, now hasn’t it? I’m sorry to make such an abrupt goodbye, but I just can’t bear to even look at you. The writing reminds me of Catherine, and it’s just too much. I hope you understand.

September. 5th: Wow, this is like, so interesting. When I found this diary at a thrift store, I never thought there would have already been writing on it. I mean, I wish it was like, empty, but hey, it was only a couple bucks. Some of the pages are all smudged up, but I can still kinda get what’s going on. Maybe some other people might have found the lives of that geezer interesting, but not me. Victorian England? Back then, shit was so weird.

Anyway, this is Amanda, and starting now, this is my diary.

September 13th: It’s the day after the party last night, and I’m like, hungover as fuck. Ugh, Chase hooked up with some random girl last night before I even had the chance to make a move, what a dick. I don’t even know what I saw in him. If he just shacks up with anything bipedal, humph! After that happened, I got like, super turnt and now here I am. I can’t believe I have to do homework, Instagram, and Snapchat all at once. Why is life so hard.

CREATIVE WRITING JOURNAL

September 7th: Ugh, school’s started today. Last year was really difficult, with all those AP classes and SAT prep and whatnot, but I’m like, ready to be a 12th grader. Anyway, I broke up with my ex before the start of the year because this guy, Chase, got like, suuuuuper hot over the summer. Ugh, I could just stare into those dreamy eyes for months. Also, my friends and I decided to get some celebratory Wawa when the day ended, and Zoe told me there’s going to be like, a super lit party this weekend being thrown by Jeffery. For some reason, Zoe’s like, into Jeffery or something, I don’t really know, less competition for Chase I guess. Anyways, I’m finally turning eighteen on November, there’s going to be a big party then, and I can finally vote. In two years, I’m going to make sure we get a Democrat in the white house.

I’ll TTYL when something interesting happens.

September 17th: Omigosh. So like, Chase just said hi to me in the hallway, and he offered to walk with me to my second period class. What a gentleman! And so dreamy too, I might just give him a second chance if he plays his cards right. Luckily, I got an A on my Calc test, so that’s great. You wouldn’t believe the look on that dumb nerd Will’s face when I did better than him. I feel like everyone thinks I’m just some dumb party girl but funnily enough, I’m probably smarter than those people. I got a 1570 on the SAT, which puts me in like, the 9 somethingth percentile. Granted I did study for a hella long time, but still, I felt good about that 1570.

September 20th: Chase report: He just asked for my number, and we like, texted until 2 am last night. If we aren’t like, meant to be, I don’t think anyone is. Hold on, he’s sending me something right now. Eeeeeee! He just asked me if I’m single. He’s practically 47

proposing to me right there. Now I must craft a clever yet seductive message to draw him in further. Hmmm, ‘yes’. Oooh, that’s good. It doesn’t let him on too much, but just enough to let him know I’m available. Also, I had to miss hanging out with my friends because we had a Debate meeting today. Maybe I should quit Debate, or just quit having friends. Jk Jk September 31st: Chase just asked me out! Hell yeah! It’s only been one month of school and I’ve already found the man of my dreams. I also recently got a job babysitting for my aunt’s friend’s daughter on Mondays and Tuesdays. I’m so mature, just like Mom was. This is a bit of a shorter entry, but I just wanted to let me know that I’m doing great.

PRE-COLLEGE SUMMER INSTITUTE 2018

October 16th: I’ve been going out with Chase for the past couple weeks and honestly, he’s just as great as I had envisioned. He’s smart, charming, and did I mention, really good looking. Having such a popular boyfriend like that has elevated me to around the top of the high school food chain. If my middle school self could see me now, all of her reservations would be washed away in a second. School's also been doing pretty good. I have all A’s in my classes except for science, which is an A-. Who even needs to know physics anyway! Fuck physics, I’ll make my own damn rules.

My dad gave me a little shit for not doing so hot on physics so far, so I guess I just gotta double down on that. I’m literally dying from all of the pressure on me.

October 23rd: This entry may be a little sadder than the par that has been set by my previous ones. Chase, is like, acting kinda sketch lately, I don’t think he’s cheating on me, my friends make sure of that by ‘watching’ his every move, but there’s definitely something he’s hiding from me. Oh well, guess it can’t be helped.

Also, I have a physics test like, in two days, and I gotta get a one hundred on that if I want to get an A. Time to start studying.

November 1st: I just went to this bangin Halloween party last night with Chase. I dressed up in a sexy ghost costume. Chase refused to wear a costume until I whipped out the secret puppy dog look that no man can resist. I was able to wrap his torso in gauze and make him a sexy mummy. I stayed away from drugs and alcohol, I do have a test tomorrow that I need to study for. Overall, I’d say it was a great Halloween party. Oh, and Zoe totally hooked up with Jeffery. Good for her, right?

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November 10th: I honestly don’t really know what to say.

For those of you reading this when I’m famous and stuff, this may be the saddest entry in the diary. I found out that Chase has been cheating on me for the past month, with my

friend Sarah. I didn’t even think he had her number. I can’t help but wonder, was I not attractive enough, smart enough, what did I do wrong. I feel worthless. My dad wouldn’t understand, he doesn’t even want me to so much as look at a boy before I’m married to them.

November 14th: It was my birthday today. I was going to throw a party but I decided not to. Chase broke up with me a few days ago and I just needed the time to myself. I tried to tell Zoe about it, but all she did was keep bringing up her new boyfriend Jeffery, which only made me feel worse, so I hung up on her. I’ve not been doing too good on recent tests, Cs and Bs have become common. I hide the tests from my dad, so no one really knows.

I probably won’t be writing in this diary for a while.

November 15th: Chase has just begun dating Sarah December 2nd: You know what, fuck that sack of shit Chase, I don’t need to measure my worth based on some douchebag.

CREATIVE WRITING JOURNAL

December 10th: Now that I’ve like, gotten over Chase and shit, I think I’ve been doing a lot better in school and stuff. Chase and Sarah’s relationship has been literally going to shit. I’ve heard fights and stuff and you know what, I think they’re made for each other. My grades are going up, I have mostly As and A-s now.

Everyone in my friend group kinda cut Sarah out of the circle, and I just got a raise at my babysitting gig. I’ve also begun submitting applications for colleges. Even though everyone I know has advised me against it, I’m still planning on applying for schools like Harvard and shit, gotta shoot big amiright.

Maybe I’ll meet some rich doctor boy there.

December 25th: I just finished submitting my apps for all of the colleges I wanted and am celebrating Christmas with my friends.

My dad actually looks happy, which is pretty different from his usual drear, and he’s making bacon wrapped meatloaf. Hell yeah!

I was going to go to a party a couple days ago, but I didn’t really want to interact with Chase or any of his dbag cronies.

January 5th: Alright, so my grades are all finally back to A’s besides English and Physics, which are at A- and B+ respectively. My GPA is sitting at a comfortable 4.7, which is looking pretty good. Unfortunately, my debate partner decided to quit so I was faced with the option of partnering up with that snarky sonuvabitch Will or switching over to 1v1 debate, which I’m not too great at. Of course I decided to switch over to 1v1 debate! I’m not going to partner up with some guy who thinks he’s better than me even though he totally sucks at math. Ha!

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February 7th: Looks like these entries are starting to become more like monthly updates in my life, which I suppose is more interesting, because my entries aren’t really bogged down with like, boring details and shit, just the interesting SparkNotes summary of my life, and who doesn’t like SparkNotes. I’ve actually grown pretty used to 1v1 debate, and of course, Will also had to switch to 1v1 debate because there was no one left for him to partner up with. College acceptance letters are about to roll in pretty soon. Most of my friends don’t think I’ll get into a top 10 school, but at least Zoe has faith in me. I guess you gotta keep your truest g’s closest to you.

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April 24th: Alright, I decided to wait on writing this entry until all of the letters from college came in, and open them up right now as I’m writing this. Alright, let’s start with the letter from Cornell, one of the upper tier schools that I applied for. Wooo!

I did it, I got in. Alright, at least I know that’s one school I can go to. Alright, time to look at the University of Iowa. Alright!

Another victory for yours truly. Time for Stanford! Ugh, my first rejection. Anyway, this is kinda taking too long so I’m just going to open and summate the results at the end. Jefferson: accepted, Columbia: rejected, Johns Hopkins: accepted, and Harvard: accepted! Ohmigosh! I have to go tell my dad.

Alright I just told my dad and he’s super excited, we’re going out for like, ice cream. We just got ice cream, I’m going to tell all my friends. ‘All you who doubted me, check this shit out’.

Alright, I’m going to send it to Chase and tell him, “Fuck you haha!” Alright, I love that feeling of sticking it to the guy who cheated on you. All of my effort paid off, Mom, wherever you are, I hope you’re proud of me.

The Place of Choice.

We’re the only art university in the U.S. that allows our students to collaborate across traditional lines. Painters can minor in piano, dancers can study film, guitarists can take classes in screenwriting.

With more than 30 majors, 30 minors and 13 graduate programs in visual arts, performing arts, design and liberal studies, UArts develops alumni who are not only leaders in their disciplines, but also creative thinkers able to succeed in any path they choose.

We are more because you are more.

Undergraduate Programs Performing Arts

Animation

Acting

Arts Education (5 year BFA + MAT)

Composition

Ceramics

Dance

Crafts

Directing, Playwriting + Production

Fibers + Textile Studies

Instrumental Performance

Film Game Art

Music Business, Entrepreneurship + Technology

Glass

Music Education (5 year BM + MAT)

Graphic Design

Musical Theater

Illustration

Theater Design + Technology

Industrial Design

Vocal Performance

Jewelry/Metals Painting + Drawing Photography

CREATIVE WRITING JOURNAL

Visual Arts

Critical & Professional Studies Creative Writing

Printmaking + Book Arts Sculpture Wood/Furniture

Find out more at uarts.edu/programs

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Faculty David Jacobi

T. Leslie Robinson

Scriptwriting

Summer Institute Creative Writing Coordinator Creative Non-Fiction, Fiction

BFA ‘08 Purchase College Dramatic Writing MFA ‘15 UC San Diego

BA ‘94 Temple University English + Writing

Christian Patchell Writing Workshop

MA ‘10 Temple University English + Writing

BFA ‘95 The University of the Arts Illustration

Michelle Taransky Poetry BA ‘04 University of Chicago English Language + Literature

PRE-COLLEGE SUMMER INSTITUTE 2018

MFA ‘08 The University of Iowa Creative Writing

Teaching Assistants MeeRee Orlandini Teacher Assistant BFA ‘19 The University of the Arts Creative Writing

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Pre-College Programs 320 S. Broad Street Philadelphia, PA 19102 Email precollege@uarts.edu Phone 215.717.6430 Web uarts.edu/summerinstitute