Chelsie Roberts

Contributing Artists

Erica Jackson

Chelsie Roberts

Josh Ingram

Kristen Evans

Moriah Beagel

Brianne York

Featured Writer

Hao Anh Nguyen

By Moriah Beagel

Lit In A Flash 4

Featured Writer 8

Editor’s Corner 14

Blue Ships Magazine

August 2011, Issue #003

Lit In A Flash

Turkey

The aroma of that Thanksgiving

Meat stirs up the thoughts of

My great-grandfather as

We each have a tender leg

As we watch the game on

His ancient television.

An overpowering stench

Of chewing tobacco enters my

Nose as I cuddle against

His big, warm body in

His big armchair as

We watch ‘our’ movie.

I suffocate from the smell

Of medicine and stiff sheets

As my whole family

And I grow impatient

In the hospital

Waiting room.

The sad mixture of

Tears and musky perfume

Lingers still as I stare at

My Friend

In his last bed.

By Erica Jackson

My Best Friend

By: Kristen J Evans

When you ask someone who their best friend is they may sit there for a moment and have to think about it. Or when you ask them

what a best friend is you may hear the same thing over and over again. Someone who stands beside you, supports you, listens to

you, someone you laugh with or cry with, and a person that is true.

As I sat back the other day I was trying to think to myself who my best friend is. There was only one person that came to my mind,

my mom. Now I will admit that I have friends that I have known for nearly two decades and some that I have known for a short

period of time, but none that I could call my best friend.

Years ago growing up my mom would always say, “One day I will be your best friend.” She tells me stories how I would always look

at her with this crazy look on my face or I would tell her no because I already had best friends and they were going to be there for

life.

Then in 1997 I was sixteen years old and I was pregnant. No one in my family knew about my pregnancy until about a week and a

half before my daughter was born. As I told my mom she did not believe me. I actually had to show her the sonogram picture with

my name on it to get her to believe that she was going to be a grandmother and I was going to be a mom soon.

After my daughter was born my daughter and I went back to my mom’s house to live. Every other night and every other weekend

my mom and I switched off to take care of her. She helped me finish school, continue to have a life as a teenager, and taught me

how to become a mom. Without my mom I don’t know where my daughter or I would have ended up.

Those friends that I once thought were my best friends soon started to disappear. Those people I were calling my best friends

started to just become friends. And as of today fourteen years later she still the person who stands beside me, supports me, listens

to me, the one I laugh with or cry with, and a person that is true to me. It is not only because I am her daughter, but because she is

my best friend.

I now look at my daughter and tell her the same thing that my mom once told me. One day I am going to be your best friend. And

she does the same thing that I once did to my mom. But in all hopes I hope and pray that I will be the one who stands beside her,

supports her, listens to her, someone she will laugh with or cry with, and a person that is true to her.

The Intangible Woman

By

Josh Ingram

She glides to and fro and never hinders

walking circles around a tongue, always delivers;

She lifts you up when feeling down

and turns frowns round

A beauty matched by no other--

insatiable lust how it flutters--

She is passion in transit

how you wish you could board it

She is priceless,

but O, how you wish you could afford it

The Breaking of My Heart

It's starting now The breaking of my heart Shattered into pieces Shaped like little Reeces Pieces Just like the pieces of the broken glass From a mirror All over the bathroom floor For the whole world to see I didn't want it to happen Not now Not ever It's too late now My hearts shattered forever

By Brianne York

by Moriah Beagel

Apocalipsi

He looked to the sky

At dark clouds coming near.

It would rain soon.

There was no sun in sight, no warmth.

Even the cardinals could not sing

Nor could the cattails bloom.

Only salt in the air.

He could only feel the wind

Prickle his skin.

Heavy rain was coming,

But he did not move.

He just stood there,

Watching as others ran.

Mankind had brought this upon themselves

And until lessons are learned, idle hands raised,

This time…there would be no rainbow.

Hao Anh Nguyen is a sophomore at the Minnesota State University of Moorhead going for English with an empha-

sis on Creative Writing with goals to pursue a Ph.D in English or a Master in Fine Arts for Writing. His real dream though is to

create works that will influence readers to do what makes them happy, take up opportunities, realize flaws in themselves, and

strive to be better. He write, not for money nor fame, but influence. He aspires to inspire.

FEATURED WRITER

I Once Saw A Kid

A series of senryus

I once saw a kid

Who used to watch the rain fall,

But no longer does.

Instead, he looks down,

Avoiding wet drops that strike,

Every time he walks.

There was once a sun

That gave him shape-shifting clouds

For him to wonder.

However, through time

He watched them, disappearing,

Replaced by darkness.

He was always scared,

Afraid of what was to come,

But she gave him hope.

She would always sing

Songs and impossible notes;

Forever lasting.

That was when she was,

And not now when she isn’t.

He learned his lessons.

He use to stare long

At empty pages, blank sheets,

Awaiting to read.

Time never took time,

It had a schedule also,

Yet he couldn’t wait.

So he took the pen,

Opening to the pages

To write a story.

This was long ago,

Before the sun rose again

And the clouds returned.

I saw him again,

Walking in the recent rain;

His head was held high.

Excerpt from Land and Sea Turtles

“Amy, Mrs. Walter is ready for dinner. Are you done with your break?” asked another nurse in the opened door way.

“Yeah. I was just thinking about something,” she hesitated, “Nothing important.”

“Are you okay? You’ve been a little spacey lately. You’ve been also taking lots of hours lately. Are you sure you don’t need a few days off? I mean it’s the summer after all.”

Amy only gave a forced smile, “I’m fine.”

The nurse searched for stress upon Amy’s face, but reluctantly agreed, “Well if you say so. Now hurry, Mrs. Walter is waiting.”

“I’ll get to it soon.”

“Well alright.” The pager rang, “Duty calls.”

“See you later.” Amy took one more glance out the window, releasing one deep sigh before head-ing to visit Mrs. Walter.

Moments later Amy stumbled into a similar, cold gray room, seeing a slight ray of sunshine through the slim window blinds. A stench of dying lilacs along with the “peculiar” smell of elderly, re-ferred by nurses, masked the smell of the dinner she had brought in. It was times like these that she thanked her consistent work schedule; a new nose would have been overwhelmed.

Setting the trays near the side of the bed, Amy softly smiled to Mrs. Walter.

“How are you doing today? Have you had a nice nap?” Amy said as she passed out the tray onto a little table connected to the bed.

“I’m fine today. Could you be a dear and open up the blinds for me? I want to look outside.” Mrs. Walter softly asked.

Leaving the tray and walking toward the window blinds, Amy replied, “Sure. Anything for you Mrs. Walter.” She pulled the strings, raising them. A curtain of light entered the room, illuminating the dark corners. Mrs. Walter smiled as the warming hands of the sun gently brushed her wrinkled cheeks.

She gazed out through the glass, appreciating the way trees danced in the wind and clouds glided across the sky. She saw roses in the garden across the yard, remembering fresh scents and a smooth, vel-vet touch. Yet, her smile diminished as she looked back at Amy.

“How come a sweet girl like you is stuck in a place like this on such a beautiful day? It feels like I’ve seen you around here almost every morning and afternoon, and we all know that being inside so much is not good for growing young women.”

Caught off guard, Amy only responded, “Well I’ve never mentioned this, but I’ve always wanted to go to travel and see places like Ireland, but every other student is working, so I just thought that maybe I was just day-dreaming too much. People need to use their summers productively, that’s what my teach-ers always told me.”

“Oh hush. You can never day dream too much. Did you know when I was young, I used to just stay inside and stare outside the window at puddles? My mother use to say…’Martha, in this world there are land turtles, and then there are sea turtles. Land turtles hide in their shells all day, doing only what they are com-fortable with. Sticking with what they are use to. But then there are sea turtles, which swim the beautiful oceans, going wherever they want to go.’” She paused for a bit, as if reliving the moment, “I grew up just thinking she was telling weird stories. She was quite the oddball for her time. But as I grew much older, I looked back and realized I had skipped out on so many opportunities. Passed up too many summers doing what others did, but never what I wanted to do.”

Shyly, Amy asked, “What did you want to do?”

Mrs. Walter smiled, and then met Amy’s eyes, “To be young.” She gave a humble laugh as her eyes became fixed on the world outside through the fragile, yet bounding barrier, “You know there’s never a day that passes that I think about what chances and opportunities I watched drift away. My mother was right all along.“ She let out a soft sigh, letting go small breaths as well as past dreams, “I know I’m rambling, but see-ing you in this boring place, makes me see myself back at my old home…a child staring out the window at the puddles, instead of playing in them.” Her old eyes then shifted to Amy, “Answer me this: What are you? Are you a land turtle? Or are you a sea turtle?”

To be continued…

CONTRIBUTERS

Erica Jackson is a Psych major at Northwest Missouri State University and is currently involved with three organizations there: Anime Club, Northwest Advocates for Animal Aware-ness, and Common Ground. She is a person with many interests; including traveling, drawing, anime, photography, and just recently... tea, just to name a small portion.

Josh Ingram resides in Blue Springs, MO. He attends Metropolitan Community College full-

time pursuing an English degree. In his free time he enjoys reading classic poetry by the great roman-

tics Richard Lovelace and John Keats in addition to restoring old bicycles.

Chelsie Roberts is 15 years old and lives in Overland Park, KS

Moriah Beagel, 31, is a graduate of Washburn University KS where she studied Psy-

chology, Creative writing and the Fine Arts. She has been taking pictures for over 15 years. As a

Photographer she enjoys night photography, playing with light and Portraiture. "The play of natu-

ral and artificial light has always been a personal obsession. Light holds the world and brings a

thing into life."

She currently hails from Boulder CO and Winter Park FL.

Brianne York is 20 years old and attends school at Metropolitan Community College. She

is in school for nursing, although she really has her eye on getting her doctorate. While she is a full

time student, she also has a full time job at Great Clips as a hairstylist. In Brianne's free time she

likes to write poetry, play the piano, play with children, and do some interior decorating. Having a

full time job and being a full time student doesn't leave Brianne with much free time, but she al-

ways tries to find time to do the things she enjoys. Brianne has a very bright future ahead of her

and plans to do everything in her power to be successful and make her dreams come true.

EDITOR’S CORNER

It’s a dilemma that at some point will be thrown in the face of every fiction writer. Do you or do you not kill off your favorite

characters? And if you do, how do you choose which character to eliminate?

It’s a question I am facing as I write the third installment of my series The Demon Cleaner. I have quite a wide

range of characters (I enjoy ensembles) and I find that when working with a group this large, that faces the challenges they

face, someone has to die. My one complaint about Tolkien’s, The Hobbit, is the fact that he has this huge group he’s working

with and they all survive.

Here’s my problem with ensembles surviving intact. If you’ve ever been out with a group of friends (or a large fam-

ily; works even better), you know that there is always someone who doesn’t get the memo. This person usually goes off to

the restroom and only tells one person (or no persons) and ends up left behind. Or the main leader of the group imparts

information to the two right hands who interpret the info differently.

Point is there’s always someone who misses something for any number of reasons. In fiction, this person usually

ends up dead or kidnapped…or both. (Actually, that could happen in real life as well). Therefore, when writing for a large

cast that works together (as opposed to individual groups like the cast of Heroes) I find it unrealistic that all members sur-

vive.

Now, I realize we are dealing with fiction, which lends itself to some unbelief, but come on. People are people no

matter the media. Someone is going to get confused and left behind.

Which brings me back to my original question. Who do you kill?

Here’s my general rule. Start with the people closest to the main character(s) and work your way out. Why? A couple of

reasons. First. You keep the audience with you because they have to know how everyone copes with “Bob’s” absence. From the

moment Bob’s fate is clear, your readers begin taking bets on which surrounding characters lose their minds, who handles it the

best, who handles it the worst, and who’s going to seek revenge and will this person succeed or fail epically.

Most importantly, it forces you to grow as a writer. What are you going to do now that you can’t use Bob as your crutch?

Anyone can kill off tertiary characters (I lovingly refer to them as ‘canon-fodder’) but it takes marbles to off people you have grown

attached to. You can’t call Bob anymore to pick locks and break into high-end security systems. Bob can’t be your back-up plan on-

call. Now what? Now other characters have to step up to fill that void. Jane may have to learn to parachute off buildings. Tom is

going to have to learn computer code and how to break it. Everyone’s lives has to shift and you as the artist have to decide what to

do with them.

So, that’s my advice. When trying to decide who to kill off look at the characters closest to your main character(s) and

spread out from there. Amongst your character’s close circle is Bob. Bob should be someone who has been useful to the character

so that each passage afterward forces the characters around Bob to grow. Otherwise, you’re just picking canon-fodder and no one

cares about those guys.

Now, for stories where there is only one or two characters (instead of an ensemble) you would have the reverse question.

Of the people your character comes into contact with, who do you keep and who do you leave behind? That is a different topic for

a different issue.

Ciao people.

Nadiyah Abdul-Khaliq was born in 1981 in Kansas City, Mo. She

earned her BA in English/Creative Writing from Washburn University in Topeka, KS. Since graduating, Nadiyah has authored 500 5-Minute Writing Exercises, Color in the Dark: A Collection Of Poems and Short Stories, and The Demon Cleaner Book One: Demons of The Guilded. She is also editor of the creative arts online magazine, Blue Ships Magazine. Nadiyah was recently accepted in the MA Creative Writing and The Creative Economy program at Kingston University in London, England

By Moriah Beagel

Blue Ships Magazine

Kansas City, MO 64134

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