Weekly No Tellin’ Scribble Challenge, and last week’s winner…


Last week’s scribble challenge asked you to write a “Dear John” letter in fifty words or less – much like poor Carrie’s infamous Sex in the City post-it note break-up. The entries just poured in. Four in all. The momentum is building.

While all of the entries were heartbreakingly sweet, Candace is the winner with her delicate “Stick a Fork in Me, I’m Done” break-up note. If you haven’t checked out her blog Crazy Texas Mommy, you must do so immediately before the Feds shut her down. Congratulations, Candace! Copy/paste the coveted No Tellin’ Scribble Challenge Winner blog badge over at your place so the Feds will know you’re no flower to be trampled underfoot!

I’m a day late posting results and a new scribble challenge. Forgive me. The dreadful tornadic weather and too much rain did something funky to my buried DSL line. Communication with anything but the neighbors has been spotty at best. The AT&T repairmen are cute though, and they can come on over any time they want to.

This week’s scribble challenge is a retrospective sort of shindig. There’s a special place in my heart for angsty, finger-snapping Beat Poetry, man. Dig? That’s the form, cats, and the subjects to choose from are the political race and Dolly Parton. You can even combine the two – sort of a country-music-meets-Wolf-Blitzer. With a goatee, man. To inspire you, I’ve got a little beat poetry from High School Confidential below. So go write something and post it in the comments or give us a link so we can find the poem on yours. Groovy.

Spring Break Countdown


Spring Break is just one week away. I’m grading like a fiend and shuffling all sorts of paperwork just to ready myself for NINE glorious days of writing just because I want to. It’s a special Spring Break present I’m giving to myself.

I’m fantasizing a string of days when I loll around until noon just playing with words and making delightful strings of nothing in particular. I’m imagining padding around in house shoes and sipping truly hot coffee while warning everyone I’ve got writing to do. And I’ll close the door. And I’ll make whatever I want.

When I’m through with that, I’ll read books that have no academic purpose. I’ll reread Absalom, Absalom again and then some completely ridiculous trash fiction that doesn’t include words like curriculum, comp theory, or paradigm.

I’m going to turn off CNN and finally discover what it feels like not to have my days narrated by Wolf Blitzer.

I’ll drag my typewriter down to the coffee shop and bang away at the keys and drink iced tea out of lidded styrofoam cups. I’ll collect words all day, like I used to before they all became, “use more detail here” and “embed this quote.” After I collect them, I’ll make stunning poems and tape them on the fridge.

That way, every time I walk past them on the way to freshen my coffee, I can remember who I am.