The MFA Whidbey Student Community at Northwest Institute of Literary Arts

Congratulations to Sarina Dorie of Oregon City, Oregon, winner of the February Student Contest.

A GHOST’S GUIDE TO HAUNTING HUMANS

1. Make the first impression a lasting one. Do you really want to be the ghost known for tripping on ectoplasm as you make your big entrance? Take care in planning your first meet with your mortal ‘hauntees’.
2. Avoid clichés. Creaking stairs have been done. Moaning, wailing, shaking chains, leaving stains on carpets and saying, “Waaaaaah!” or “Ooooooh!” isn’t scary, it’s just pathetic. It reeks of amateur.

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Congratulations to Susan See of Seattle, Washington, winner of the December Student Contest.

GUM!

“Mark, what is our rule about gum in the classroom?” Mrs. Wilson pointed to the trash can by her desk.

For a split second Mark thought about the distance between his feet and Mrs. Wilson’s green running shoes, and his feet and the door. On a brown sandal day when Mrs. Wilson took her shoes off and rubbed her feet under her desk when she thought no one was looking, he and the gum might have made it to the hall before she caught them, but not on a green shoe day.

He spit the gum in his hand. He was especially sad to lose this piece. It was Super Huge Juicy Cherry gum, barely started. His crazy Uncle Morgan had given him just the one piece. Chew it with care, he had told Mark very seriously while making his eyes wobble in their sockets and pretending the end of his tongue was his upper lip.

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Congratulations to Timothy Marshal-Nichols of Merseyside, United Kingdom, winner of the December Student Contest.

AVOIDANCE

Nancy was still slumped over her steering wheel when the emergency services arrived. Still waiting she watched the blue flashing lights as they reflected in the night air. She did not want to look back. She did not want to see the cars, vans and lorries all crumpled behind her. She did not want to engage with the grieving parents and shocked holidaymakers. Somehow she found herself being escorted into the grassy bank at the side of the duel carriageway. She stood, motionless, not wanting to engage with the carnage.

She watched as the police officer talked in turn to the other survivors. And dreaded her turn. She watched as they pointed in her direction. Pointed to her faithful old blue saloon. Pointed her out. She dreaded those accusing fingers. She trued to edge away from the crowd. She desperately wanted to run, but feared running so much more than waiting.

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We had no winner for the month of November. Thank you for participating.

Congratulations to Aaron Polson of Lawrence, KS., winner of the October Student Contest.

DIFFERENT STRINGS

We found the other basement during a summer rainstorm while visiting Grandma J. Neither of us could pronounce Grandma’s real name, her Polish name. We knew the ‘j’made a ‘y’ sound. We knew she lived in a creepy house. We knew her backyard spanned three acres, an old corner lot on which Grandpa J, dead for ten years then, operated a service station. The station was gone, leaving a concrete slab. Weeds and unruly trees had conquered the three acres, knotting them in a mess of organic chaos.

Usually, we ran through the neighborhood with boys and girls who lived near Grandma, playing football or baseball in the quiet streets. Cloistered by the rain, Mother suggested we go to the attic and look for toys, some of the things she enjoyed as a child. Grandma’s attic wasn’t a pure attic, but an unfinished section of the second floor reached through a small door in the wall of one bedroom. Dust covered everything. Cobwebs threatened, but, in addition to a shared fear of spiders and birthday, Alice and I were curious. Curiosity trumped arachnophobia, especially for ten-year-olds. Grandma’s attic held treasures. The centerpiece was the cedar chest.

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Congratulations to Brian Ted Jones of Oklahoma City, OK., winner of the September Student Contest.

THE PERFORMER

Before any of us could so much as blink he’d swung his body around and grabbed the cigarette out of Joe Parker’s mouth. Joe said later he never touched his lips. Didn’t even graze’m.

Then, while we all just stood there, staring like dummies, he swung his arms down and forward, squatted, and made a move like he was jumping rope. He landed and put the cigarette between his lips and did this little tap dancey thing. He held his arms up, and his hands out.

“Ta da!” he said.

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Interview with Jennie Shortridge on writing When She Flew, by MFA student Sandra Sarr.

Congratulations to Mercedes M. Yardley of Las Vegas, NV., winner of the August Student Contest.

STORMLIGHT
The last time that I saw her
it was noonlight.
It lit her hair
her smile
the backs of her knees
under her school uniform.
We’d meet later, she had said.
We’d go to a movie,
maybe a walk.
Her knee socks refracted light
and gave off rainbows.
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