The first time I stood on UNCA’s campus was for a math test, of all things. My dad drove the two hours into the mountains with me, and we both looked a little cock-eyed at the line of dreadlocked, Birkenstock-clad hippie children streaming into the lecture hall. Dad knew the type and didn’t much like them, I guess, but I’d never spent any time outside of my hometown, and just had no idea what to make of the de facto uniform my new peers were wearing. It was a far cry from the camo jeans and baseball caps back home. […]
|
My trip back to high school creative writing class concludes with poetry. It will, I’m pretty sure, make you go blind. People keep asking me why I’ve posted this stuff, and the truth is, I’m not really sure. It was … […] Today’s selection will be the last of the high school prose I’m going to dredge up. It is the introduction to a compilation of material (I called the collection “Insights”) I wrote for my high school creative writing class. I … […] |
|
|
"There are times I've wished I said all the folly in my heart and not the wisdom in my head." ~ A.J. Roach |
|
