On the first day of September, we ended our long series of “write!” salons at JohnnyCakes Cafe in Nyack, which we “prompt”-ly eulogized in verse. Many thanks to Mary Blehl for sharing her fresh-on-the-page musings.
Our community “write!” salons continue at three other times and places this fall; check our calendar for details.
Last Day Hodgepodge
by Mary Blehl
The last day never happened.
Continue reading “Borrowed Pages – “the last day””
To honor all of our mothers and the start of Mother’s Day weekend, our Friday afternoon community writing salon took up this prompt: “Your mother said, ….” A loving tribute to relationships and many tender stories followed. Enjoy these few borrowed pages from our writers. Happy Mother’s Day!
Come Home When You Can
by Steven Swank
Things my mother said:
Be kind to strangers, we are all going somewhere.
Don’t use so much peanut butter….
that jar has to last us all week.
Tell the truth, seems simple enough,
don’t hide your mistakes by making up stuff.
Come home when you can, she said.
Your father and I are here on the farm
waiting your safe return.
I return many times:
In sickness, in health, with girlfriends, without,
with joyous exuberance, burns, injuries, doubt,
from hitchhiking New England in winter or fall
or across the country, I return from them all.
Once with a girlfriend with whom I was living,
we came to celebrate with family Thanksgiving;
the sleeping arrangement raised their alarm,
so to sleep together, we go to the barn.
I think about these things as the coroner
and funeral guys lift her unceremoniously
onto death’s gurney, then wheel her
through the house and out the door.
Continue reading “Mother says~”
The afternoon of Sunday, February 19 was unusually balmy, offering a warm kickoff to the centennial celebration of local writer Carson McCullers. River River editors and members enjoyed a literary and musical performance based on the author’s work at Nyack Library, then a sunlit stroll to the historic Carson McCullers house, a white Victorian a short distance down South Broadway, for a festive reception.
Nyack Library’s Carnegie Room provided a rich setting for actor Patrick Donovan’s dramatic monologue of “A Tree. A Rock. A Cloud.“, written by McCullers at age 19. Liliya Ugay followed with a haunting performance of her original piano composition inspired by the story, accompanied by Paul Neubauer on viola.
Continue reading “Carson McCullers, A Local Centennial Celebration”
Jean Marie Donnelly, also a member of Rockland County’s Writing Beyond the Basics, leads River River salons at Cuppa Pulp Writers’ Space. She is at work on a novel set in a dystopian world in which creativity has been banned. The following story, true to Jean Marie’s taste for the weird and fantastical, is based on a prompt called “The Invitation.” We always love a good twist!
I stare at the wedding invitation on my kitchen table. There’s been some mistake. The invitation looks exactly like the one my fiancée, Declan, and I picked out. I touch it to be sure; rough where the roses belong and pearl smooth around the edges. I run my finger across the raised lettering I had insisted upon. D-E-C-L-A-N S-A-V-O-Y. The letters are so neatly spaced out and his name feels so good under my fingers. M-E-G-A-N L-A-N-G-S-T-O-N. My finger traces out the rise, fall, crevice, and groove of each letter. Surely there is some mistake. Declan and I met during our junior year of college. We’ve been a genuinely loving couple for the last six years. Why is Megan’s name there? This mystery is not helping the piercing headache I can’t seem to cure.
Continue reading “The Invitation by Jean Marie Donnelly”
We know we can always look forward to a taste of the macabre from John, a confirmed horror fan and writer who has been published in California Quarterly, Forge, and Diverse Voices Quarterly. John attends River River’s write! in Nyack, a weekly group that shares a writing prompt and a round of readings, in both poetry and prose. We bring you this unedited excerpt dripping fresh gore…
by John Morrison
Henry was frustrated. He wanted to write something down, anything. So he wrote about his frustrating inability to put words to paper. It didn’t help. He threw his pen down on the table, stood up, and grabbed the folding chair he had been sitting on. His knuckles turned white as he lifted the chair and heaved it through the window. The glass erupted outward and rained down on the sidewalk.
Continue reading “Borrowed Pages: A Taste of the Macabre”