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Show MISTY TIMES (A Castle Valley 9th grader has many opportunities for a better education) DESERT WRITERS’ WORKSHOP ‘96 On November 7th—10th I went to the Desert Writers’ workshop at Pack Creek Ranch. I was the one high school many different poems over the weekend andl got a taste of good poetry. I went to a timed writing session, and was amazed at how well it worked. Everyone wrote down an idea, and one was drawn from a hat. You would be given a certain amount of time to write whatever came into your head, and we would then go around and read them. Some really interesting things came out student chosen for a full scholarship to attend the weekend workshop. of that exercise. When I first arrived I felt really out of place. I didn’t know anyone, andI was at least fifteen years younger than any one else there. We went to a “meet The days that followed were basically the same. I got frustrated and depressed on Saturday because I fell like I couldn’t do anything right. I wrote poems that I thought were great, but the authors" reception after my mom left. I hung around with some post- graduate students from CH and so doing, met some other people without feeling too stranded. It was very embarrassing to have my picture taken twenty times, and everyone referred to me as “the scholarship student” or “the high school student”, thus further embarrassing me. Going to bed that nightI wasn’t surel was going to enjoy the weekend. David Lee, the poet teaching our section, began by reminding us some basics of poetry. Then our poetry class started off with an exercise designed to show us the basics for poem structure. when I read them to our group, their silence made me realize how naive I really was. I was embarrassed to have written such dull poetry On Sunday other writers told me they had gone through the same thing and that everyone feels that way sometimes. In class I finally read a poem that everyone liked. I was talking freely to people almost like they were my peers, and I was wondering about coming back next year. I’m not sure I would pay all that money to go, but it - DECEMBER 15,1996 White houses march up the block, stately sentinels in an army of gray leaves drift from clouds helpless to control their fate A girl flows briskly up the hill a drop of honey in the bitter tea One of the doors swallows her and she is gone The hole left by her absence is filtered in and through like molasses filling the gap left by a greedy fmger A sparrow wings through unforgiving sky, struggling to stay aloft against the omnipresent pressure of the dark canopy above A Dawn of Realization Dust whispers of honeysuckle dreams calling, commanding you to abandon Gravel crtmches under hurrying feet, was definitely an experience worth its voice finally awakened A cat molds to a lap, He told us that fifty percent of writing comes from reading. You can’t be a 5 October in Concord repeating. —Mara Ginnane - like chocolate pudding to a bowl Never stop noticing and your life will not be wasted good writer without reading. He read us —Mara Ginnane More Players, from p. 1 was cast in modern mode, the sister is attitude. The lame, the poor, and fools a third degree black belt in akido. Who else could have played (employees or not) fail to divert her attention from riding a tsunami of obsession for making a buck. Katrina played it perfect right up to the point where she shifted gears, got born again, and melted into a warm and wonderful human being. You did good, Katrina. The diminutive Babs Crachett, played by Hilary Rees, provided the traditional humble counterpoint. It was laced with a hint of side-eyed and sly humor; especially when she was dealing with Grandma Lulu. When she brought the family to Scrooge’s on Christmas day and told the Miz she had baked a pie as a gift, I half expected Babs to transit into slapstick and give her 'a well deserved Elizabeth Arden facial. Control, control, the essence of fine acting keeping us on the edge. Emily Stock as Tiny Timothea allegedly needed hip surgery. And she was literally tiny. But the lady ain't small. She had spunk and she didn’t lean on a crutch. My guess, since this Grandma. It was a stand up, step up, speak up part crafted for Livi Kulander. And she maxed it. A bit addled, some eyes big as saucers, Sarah teeters off set eyeballing the Miz and flailing her arms suggesting a fate of exaggerated obesity. Poof. Poof. And one more hot air balloon size Poof. Tears ran down might say daft, she meandered onto my cheeks. Bladder control is a must for this play. stage and pontificated brilliant soliloquies taken from classic literature: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...” etc. On first courted years mdier by a hayswd kind hearing they sounded outrageously absurd and out of place. An eyeblink later it hit you like a locomotive. Perfect quote, exquisite timing and delivery. Bullseye. Hooray. We’re going four for fom, now. Homenms all. And the count is far from over. Comes Marlene Roberts and the ghost of Christmas Past. Sarah Stock wobbled four inch high heels onto stage, tugged at her girdle, and before she opened her mouth we were in stitches. If Miz Scrooge doesn’t change here ways, she’ll stagger and bloat through eternity. Exit scene, Scrooge‘s Flashback. Miz Scrooge is being of home-boy desperately in love. Hope Kauhi provides a solid peek at how the past conditions the future. Billy, the suitor, played by the ambidextrous Kristen Shelburg, is abandoned to woe as the Miz trades love and family for fortune. Pity. Billy is short for Bill Gates. Remember Microsoft? Christmas Present and we get Kristen again. But this time she’s hip, slick, and cool. As in black evening gown with a little Tiffany bauble here and there. Hey Miz babe, the life you' got on your hands is working definition of Hades. If you always do what you always did, you always get what you always got. Nothing changes —More Players, p. 6 |