Students featured on this podcast come from one of three courses offered at Lansing Community College: Creative Writing I, Writer in the Marketplace, and Writing the Novel. In this podcast, students share a presentation of their work developed during the course.
Off the Page: From Ink to Air is where Lansing Community College students share writing they've done for class -- fiction, poetry, creative nonfiction, and scholarly work. Hear the creativity, the craft, and the thinking behind every page.
Conner Czarnecki:
My name is Connor. I am a man caught up in existence. I just happen to think my thoughts are worth sharing.
This leaves my writing to capture the illusion of reality, but on a more grandiose scale. For a fan of big words, that's verisimilitude. For me, it's drama.
,:
And Esther, if you don't get your damn toys out of this living room, I swear on my life it'll be the last you see of them. Wads of split flew out from thin lips. His sunken eyes looked down at the toys. Little islands formed round the living room.
A herd of Arabian horses ran free on the ottoman. The leather chair hosted a meeting. It was three little ladies and their finest tea dresses, each with a small porcelain cup.
Little wooden soldiers adorned with spiked helmets and plumes went to battle. Their little nations acted independently, but but soon they would be swept together again.
The large chest resting by the vanity awaited the toy's return. While the house went to work, Eustace greased a rag and ran it down an iron barrel.
Oil filled the cracks of his hands, which took the moisture graciously. The unburdened hand wrapped itself around the grip, balancing the butt on his thigh. With a steady pressure being applied to the trigger.
His eyes longed at the barrel. Then they hovered upwards towards the buffalo. The horned beast served as the watcher of the Cricket household.
Its glassy eyes surveyed the living room 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Its ears were always open, awaiting the faintest whisper.
As Eustace polished the rifle, he cocked his head to the side, presenting a small ear to the beast. The buffalo was claimed in his younger years, far before his knees ached and long before his beard started to gray.
It was during a hunting trip to the Dakotas. He and four other men were looking to turn hides into profit.
They spent four months living off the land, tracking a herd and systematically slaughtering it. The buffalo carcasses were piled high into a mountain of death. Thousands of eyeless sockets looked upon their reapers, begging for mercy.
As the men looked on, Eustace heard a crunch of twigs and snapped around. There stood a buffalo staring at a greedy soul. None of the posse had noticed the beast. It was only him and Eustace.
The brown coat of fur blew with the wind. In a moment, Eustace has raised his rifle and pulled the trigger. What the Sam hell?
Spouted Conch, the man who brought Eustace on this trip and who would be arriving later that night. The whole group had turned to face Eustace. Their eyes traced from his head, then down to the barrel of his rifle, and finally to the buffalo.
This one's mine, he grunted. No man tried to challenge him for it. After cleaning the rifle, he placed it back on the mount, his finger running down the hammer.
Eustace took a final sweep of the house and found everything was in order. The rest of the day was spent in anticipation. He never left his seat by the fireplace.
His eyes clung to the frame, splotches of black and white which the negatives formed the impression of what should be his daughter. That concludes the excerpt.
If the story caught your ear, feel free to reach out to my email christopher.j.collectionsmail.com and I'll have a PDF copy.
Melissa Ford Lucken:
This has been Off the Page: From Ink to Air. Thank you for listening. This episode was produced as part of LCC Connect -- the voices, Vibes, and vision of Lansing Community College. Listen to more episodes and explore other shows at LCCconnect.com. Writing's messy, but do it anyway.
