“It Started With the Magnifying Glass” pt 1.

The featured image is of the comments my Professor wrote at the end of my story for our class’ workshop. I cried when reading it. It was all I ever wanted to hear.


The featured image is of the comments my Professor wrote at the end of my story for our class’ workshop. I cried when reading it. It was all I ever wanted to hear.

Continue reading ““It Started With the Magnifying Glass” pt 1.”

Prompt: “I can’t support you anymore”

It takes two to mango

In everyone’s favorite creative writing workshop a few weeks ago, the one I feverishly plan on being on the eboard next semester for, one of four prompts was: Fiction- “I can’t support you anymore.”

While I did not write a piece of fiction, I did write a haiku. Disclaimer: it’s not based off someone I know, from as far as you can tell, at least.


I can’t support you

When you eat mango pulp from

Hefty, black trash bags


Please, spin me a tale of someone you can no longer support, and write, possibly in haiku form, why you can’t support them anymore.

With love, Alyssa

Photo by: Watercolor Artist Susaleena, Susaleena.com. Her paintings are hyper-realistic and vibrant.

Book Review: “Me and Earl and the Dying Girl”

Author’s note: I’m going on vacation for the next three weeks, so expect a few book reviews amongst poetry about the magnificence of low tide and a possible rejected Odyssey article titled ‘What One Week Without My Laptop Taught Me About the Stone Age, As Told By Edward Scissorhands.’

Imagine this: You’re Augustus Waters on a plane for the first time, with a full tummy but a burning hunger to fulfill a storyline’s situational irony quota. You pull out a cigarette only to have a stewardess tell you that smoking on a plane is illegal. Do you (a) apologize and put the cigarette away, (b) put it away but take it out when the stewardess isn’t looking, (c) stick it up your ass, or (d) have your girlfriend look the stewardess in the eye and tell her, “it’s a metaphor.”

If you were truly Augustus Waters, you’d know the correct (but at what cost?) answer is (d). The stewardess, of course, will look at you and think to herself, “what the fuck,” but hey! She just doesn’t understand that these teenage “coming of age” metaphors, over the years, have become YA novel staples the same way we fall asleep; slowly, then all at once.

A book similar in themes but far superior in realism, writing, storyline, friendships, and just about everything else, is Me and Earl and the Dying Girl by Jesse Andrews.

Continue reading “Book Review: “Me and Earl and the Dying Girl””

He Thought of Them Every Moment

Writing letters had become second hand knowledge. It started with the first one, a general I moved in, I miss you anecdote to Simon’s parents.

Hey y’all. For my english class, we were assigned books to read and do a number of projects on. The book I received was Nalini Jones’ auspicious debut, What You Call Winter, and by all means, it’s exactly What You Call a Good Read (Get it? I’m so sorry). I highly recommend it if you favor short stories. With that said, these short stories are unlike any others. Nalini Jones masters the art of weaving stories together through the lives of an extended family by tracing the ways that small actions, events, and traits of a character can affect family members down the line. This is especially tangible when you’re given the same characters at different ages, for example, in “In the Garden,” we’re given a tale of nine-year-old Marian, and later on in “We Think of You Every Day,” a twelve-year-old and sixteen-year-old Marian are brought into play. The collection of interwoven stories isn’t linear, making the shifts forward and backwards in time from chapter to chapter a bit confusing to follow. Still, once you get the hang of it, it proves to be quite imperative.

Continue reading “He Thought of Them Every Moment”

Housewarming… Literally

If anyone’s curious, a line from my first draft was: “…I’d spy with my big eyes white foam gushing everywhere at the hands of a man…” I’m very sorry.

For a little over a week, I’ve been counting down until March 2nd, a Wednesday. On February 23rd, I hastily wrote a short story which I planned on submitting to a club’s literary magazine. However, the train got somewhat derailed. That last Tuesday in February, I sat down and in forty minutes, gave birth to a story masked with a number of sexual innuendo’s that I didn’t originally catch. After reviewing the feedback I was given and pondering on advice, I decided to submit the story to my college’s student-run newspaper. On March 2nd, the issue in which my story was featured in was printed and left around campus, giving me the opportunity to pick up several copies (One for myself to frame, one for my mom [who shouldn’t be reading what I wrote – honestly. Her heart couldn’t take it. You’ll see what I mean shortly.], one for me to actually read, and a few extra to hand out as party favors or birthday gifts.).

The day finally came and went, but not without me talking about the elephant in the room; the elephant in the room being what it is solely due to a number of lines that my friends and I all raised eyebrows to. With that, I give you the edited final copy of a story near and dear to my heart:

Continue reading “Housewarming… Literally”