Writings

Tag: New York Page 3 of 6

I’m only a dolphin ma’am

It’s tagline was, “If you forgot what terror was like…it’s back,” except I wasn’t terrified until I went to sleep.

A black and white New Year

We all agreed to meet at my mom’s house in New York and spend New Year’s Eve in New York City.

I still hope it will get better

I was finishing up for the day at the Star-Herald when I received a text message I was hoping not to get. It was from her.

“Are you sure you don’t want to do it?”

The logo shouldn’t matter

There are three things I remember about Mrs. Blustein’s 5th grade class – a politician spoke to us, Joe’s boogers, and how I learned I was really poor.

A classroom exercise secretly makes me a better writer

As a 17-year old high school senior, my English teacher, Ms. Prather, assigned me and my classmates the task of writing about our bedroom and what we saw using as many adjectives as possible. It could be real or imagined. My story was a mix of both. We were also supposed to let the details do the work – show don’t tell – through the use of metaphors and similes.

We spent a week working on the assignment before turning it in on March, 4, 1988. After working on the suggestions Ms. Prather made on my third rough draft, I was confident I would receive a good grade.

I can cook now, mostly

I’m still not sure why I was home alone that monumental day, but I had graduated from setting the table for dinner to making the meal by myself.

Lorraine Schoeneberger

Gram at Uncle Dave’s fishing competition July, 15, 2007.

I grabbed the softball and turned it around in my glove until my first two fingers were set where I wanted them along the seams. I focused on the placement of the catcher’s mitt, ignoring where the batter would be. My task was to put the ball in the catcher’s mitt. That’s all I looked at. I stretched back and released the ball.

Dorothea Dix

As a young girl, I used to ride my bicycle down the road with her name on it. It was the main road around the Middletown Psychiatric Center where my mother worked and was named after the woman who spent her life working to make the lives of people with mental health issues and prisoners better.

Nella Larsen

She was one of the most promising writers to come out of the 1920s Harlem Renaissance, but died alone in obscurity. Her writings today are being revisited as they delve into the idea of race and sexuality in the black community.

The old things

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