Category Archives: Creative Writing

It’s the End of the World as We Know It…

Posted on December 21, 2012 by caverns of my mind

Or maybe not.  Perhaps I shouldn’t be too cocky about it though.  In Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar (sorry, it’s on my mind because I am currently teaching it) as Caesar walks to the Capitol he sees the soothsayer who had given him the now famous warning “Beware the Ides of March” exactly a month prior, and as he sees this man he says in an arrogant fashion, “The Ides of March have come.”  The soothsayer simply replies, “Ah, but not gone.”  Less than an hour or so later, Caesar is a victim of multiple stab wounds.  So I’m waiting till the last time zone makes it into 12/22/12 before I begin grading any of the research papers turned in last week.

Ok…seriously, all this end of the world stuff, and thinking about Shakespeare, reminded me of a sonnet I wrote in tenth grade (they’re usually about love but our teacher said we could write one about nature):

The End

By: Terree L. Klaes

The sun is shining upon all the world,

But the clouds roll in like great massive waves.

Caught up in the wind, the treetops whirled.

It is desperate for the victims it craves.

In a powerful climax it gains speed:

Sweeping the landscape into an uproar

Scattering all of the soon to bloom seed,

Ruining human lives forevermore.

Gripping talons of sheer icy coldness

Rip relentlessly at helpless landscapes,

Going forth with devastating boldness.

People run in terror with no escapes.

Breaking through the clouds is the peaceful sun.

When I look for signs of life I find none.

If the world survived my poem (and Gangnam Style), certainly we can survive the end of the Mayan calendar.  My theory on a possible conversation between the guys making the calendar:

“We’ve made this calendar pretty far ahead.  Do you think it’s good enough to stop for now?”

“Yeah.  We can add the rest later, unless we get wiped out by disease and conquistadores.”

And then they both had a good laugh, because they couldn’t see into the future and were soon wiped out by disease and conquistadores.  Just sayin.’

And for more humor, here’s a snippet of something I posted on Facebook the other day:

Me: “I think the world is saved. I saw some calendars today that go all the way through to the end of 2013.”

Friend: “Were they printed by Mayans?”

Me: “Actually, I think they said ‘Made in China,’ but I’m hopeful.  I was told if I wait until after 12/21/12 to buy one it will go on clearance.”

And if you believe in God and read the Bible, be comforted by this, “However, no one knows the day or hour when these things will happen, not even the angels in heaven or the Son himself [not even the Mayans]. Only the Father knows.”  Matthew 24:36 NLT

I added the part in brackets myself.

If you like disaster movies, you’ll love the clip.  If you’re sensitive to them, please don’t watch.  Either way, don’t blame me; it’s your choice.

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If You’re Thankful and You Know It

Posted on November 19, 2012 by caverns of my mind

I just ran a three-day free promotion on my book.  It was both amazing and frightening as I watched the number of giveaways climb higher than I had expected. I was like a nervous mother watching my baby take her first steps (or so I imagine, since I don’t have any kids and all). So far the number of my actual sales has only been about 10 percent of what I just gave away for free!  It’s like I just gave away part of myself, and I’m not sure if I’m getting anything back yet or not.  Scary!  Either I’m really stupid and just forfeit some hard earned and much needed cash, or this was a great idea and now that so many people have my book, they’ll all tell their friends and write up great reviews on my book’s page on Amazon.

So, here’s hoping the second is true, and that is why I need your help.  If you are one of the people who took advantage of my book’s free promotion and you have enjoyed the book (or once you have a chance to read it, if you enjoy it), please say thanks to me by going to my book’s page and hitting the “like” button at the top. Then, if you loved the book, please write up a quick review.  This will help me make some actual sales.

In case you somehow missed it…  My book’s page at Amazon’s Kindle Store

I wrote the book because I love to write, but I would also love to spread the word more and make some sales.  I know the book is amazing, but I need other people to know it as well.  Word of mouth, Facebook shares, and good book reviews are some ways you can say, “Thanks for sharing your hard work and awesome book with me, Terri.”

And speaking of Facebook, if you aren’t my fan yet, go like my page now.  I want so much for people to like me, to really, really like me!

Thank you for your support.

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Oh, the Horror!

Posted on October 27, 2012 by caverns of my mind

The title probably makes this seem scarier than it actually is, but who cares?  Made you look!

Seriously, I’ve never really been big on the whole Halloween thing.  The day holds something much more important to me and I really do not enjoy gross, scary stuff.  However, that didn’t stop me back in the day (sometime in high school or college) from writing a creepy little something, which I will now share with you.

I went for a walk at midnight, a ghastly hour for a walk by oneself, but a quiet time for thinking as well.  As I walked I saw an open gate in the soft moonlight, inviting me in.  I’d never noticed it before, so I wandered closer and peeked inside.  The yard was of reasonable size.  I decided to continue my walking through the yard, but crept along slowly, for I did not want to disturb anyone.

My neighborhood had been in peril for a few weeks now.  Every other day it seemed another person would disappear.  Nobody I was knew well was missing yet, so I felt fairly safe, for now.  My next door neighbor Mrs. Short, however, had gone shopping one day and not returned.

The moonlight was being eaten up by thick clouds above, and visibility was becoming obscured.  In an instant, I tripped over something and fell.  Not able to figure out my surroundings, I felt around for something to help myself up again.  I suddenly wanted nothing more than to get out of that mysterious yard before I was discovered.

Whatever I had tripped over was cold, stiff, and fleshy.  Slowly, the moonlight began to creep again through the yard, and I found myself holding onto a woman’s arm, reaching out from a mound of dirt.  Two feet away was a stone with the words, “Mrs. Short” engraved on it.  Then a door behind me burst open, and as the light flowed out I could see several headstones in a row, the last one bearing my own name!  As I turned to see who or what had opened the door, the moonlight and artificial light from the house mixed together, glinting off a knife coming towards me.  Then I awoke, safe and sound in my bed.

I know!  What a cop-out, right?  Also, why the heck would anyone take a casual stroll at midnight around a neighborhood where people are disappearing, especially into an unknown yard?  Another reason I cannot watch horror movies…stupid people.  You know what I mean, and if you don’t, please refer to the movie Scream where stupid people in horror movies is discussed.

Speaking of Scream, I must confess exactly how much I do not like being scared. I roomed with my oldest sister for a while during college and we rented the movie, watched it with all the lights on, and kept them all on when we went to bed that night… and maybe even the next night.  It’s okay to laugh.  I know most people do not find that movie very frightening, and it’s really almost more of a dark comedy, but it freaked me out anyway.  This is why Halloween is not my favorite holiday.  I’ll stick to celebrating my birthday that day and making the most out of my upcoming Christmas season.

For those of you who do enjoy Halloween, you may want to check out a video made by my friend.  He holds the secret to killing zombies.

 

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It’s My Book and I’ll Brag if I Want to

Posted on October 15, 2012 by caverns of my mind

Self publishing= self promoting= a difficult equation (I hate equations anyway because I hate math).

My book was finished over two years ago, but as a teacher, I found the only time I really had to put into the process of trying to publish it came in the summer, and so each summer I would research and see that trends were constantly changing.  I know this is usually true of most anything, but technology is changing the publishing world so quickly that I just couldn’t keep up with what I would need to do anymore, so I risked self publishing. I figured it was the only way I’d ever actually have time to publish my masterpiece.

Now I have to self promote, and that seems even harder.  I use Facebook, this blog, and word of mouth, because that’s really all I have.  The thing is, I know my book is awesome.  I’m not usually the type to seriously brag, but why not do it when I’m sure of something?  Yes, I’m biased, but it’s true.  The book is funny, and real (well, it’s fiction, but it’s realistic), and covers a time in life we’ve all had to survive…middle school.  I’ve also been told by some people who know me that reading the book is like listening to me talk, which means I managed to capture my “voice” in the book, something of which I am proud.

Cover art by the talented Sydney Schake

As of now, my book is only available through Amazon’s Kindle Store.  So, of course I get people who say things like, “That’s cool, but wouldn’t you like to actually have it published- you know in a real book?”  (…as if my book is the Pinocchio of the book world). Yep, that hurts.  They might as well be saying, “You know you didn’t really get your book published.  I wasn’t planning to read it anyway, but I just really wanted to pop your bubble in case you were proud of your accomplishment.”  Thanks for the support people!  How’d the book you wrote do?  Oh yeah, that’s right, you didn’t write one!  Stop tinkling in my Lucky Charms!

Yes, I would love to open up a real printed copy of my book, press my nose up to the pages and breathe in that new book aroma, and to fan the pages against my skin like feathers.  I also have this secret dream that maybe someone will just happen to come across my book and I will get an offer for it to be printed.  It could happen, right?  Of course, there’s also the print on demand setup I’m thinking about doing.  It’s still not quite the same, but some people told me they’re holding out because they don’t want an electronic copy.

For now, I really just want to promote my book as much as possible.  Most of the people I know who are actually going to read it already have, so I need help from the outside.  You can help by checking out my book (teaser included on Amazon page) and “like” my Facebook author page. 

“If you don’t expect too much, you won’t be disappointed. This isn’t a ‘self-help’ book to boost your friend and/or money making abilities. In fact, I’ll teach you how to NOT throw the perfect party, how to NOT land the boyfriend of your dreams, and how to NOT be popular.”

Set in the early 1990’s, in this story the author retells the experiences of Drew Hotchner, an “extraordinarily ordinary” girl through Drew’s possibly wiser and honest adult self. Drew struggles not only with the unavoidable awkwardness of being in middle school, but also with having to start over again her entire social world after she experiences the culture shock of moving across the country. Through her humorous adventures in trespassing, accidental theft, and throwing punches at her best friend, the relatable Drew learns who she really is. And if you can admit you are also extraordinarily ordinary, just as Drew claims to be, that we all just want to know who we really are, and that sometimes we surprise ourselves along the way, this might be the book for you.

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We Need to Talk

Posted on September 22, 2012 by caverns of my mind

Here’s a piece of something.  I don’t know what:

Angie rolled her eyes at her mother, not so much in the directly disrespectful manner of an average fifteen-year-old girl as out of expectation of what was to come.  Another lecture of how life and kids were back when she was Angie’s age.

“But Mom, when you were my age, I bet you were already about 40,” she said, punctuating her sentence with a laugh.

Not that her mother would ever really tell her about her childhood.  Vague lessons in life and generalities about time spent on a farm, in “the city,” and in an RV bumping around the U.S. were all Angie ever heard of.  Somehow her mother always managed to avoid giving specifics by adding more generalities on top of the others, until she had built an entirely empty empire.  When Angie was little she never questioned anything her mother said, but she wasn’t so easily fooled any longer and she wanted real answers before her mother passed away.  After all, once the cancer defeated her mother, Angie didn’t want to be an orphan.  There had to be some family somewhere.  Somebody had to have driven that RV, right?

Her mother took Angie’s hand between her two frail ones and held it to her lips, pressing them gently to the back of Angie’s hand, as soft and yet strong as a hummingbird flutter.  “I know what you’re thinking, Angie, and you’re right.  We need to talk.”

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Morbid Whimsy

Posted on September 15, 2012 by caverns of my mind

I can’t keep avoiding the need to write new material much longer… I just hate to begin something and not have time to really dig in.  To begin creating a world and the lives to fill it up, only to have to abandon it and the characters for indefinite periods of time is difficult for me- separation anxiety or something.  It’s like I’m afraid of what they might do without my supervision, and I’ll miss them.  Yeah, I’m well aware of how crazy that sounds, and I’m ok with it.  If I could, I’d lock myself away for days to write out a good story.  Instead, I spend days writing out lesson plans and essential questions (if you’re not a Learning Focused teacher, don’t ask)…

So, just for the sake of posting something different from the string of recent serious posts, I’m sharing another old poem of mine.  My mom and sister (mostly my sister) used to tease me because of all the depressing poetry I would write.  But hey, I was in high school.  Anyway, this poem comes off as a bit morbid, but I had fun writing it, because it wasn’t really serious at all.  Well, you’ll have to read what I mean…

My Death by Terree L. Klaes

I died while walking

on the beach one night,

In the chilling cool water,

and the shimmering moonlight.

My body sank deeply

into the sand,

With nothing exposed,

not even a hand.

My corpse quickly

was engulfed by waves.

And I was sure my body

would not be found for days.

But then slowly I opened

my eyes to see…

I had simply fallen asleep

next to the sea.

1997

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Gustar

Posted on September 3, 2012 by caverns of my mind

Something I have NOT done in years is write poetry.  I enjoy prose more, but I used to write poetry almost exclusively.  Here’s one I always liked.

Gustar

I’d like to free the night

And walk on the ocean

I’d like to touch the rain

As it drips from the sky

I’d like to hear a whisper

Carried off in the wind

I’d like to see the air

Resting all around me

I’d like to smell the moon

As it sails through the night

I’d like to taste the sun

Setting slowly at sea

I’d like to pick a yellow rose

And never let it die

I’d like to feel you with me

When you can’t be by my side

-Terree L. Klaes-

1993

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Please Don’t Call Me a Tease, Even if I Am

Posted on August 19, 2012 by caverns of my mind

I’ve decided to give you all another little sample from my book.

I See What You Mean

Soon after we got back to school, I got called into the nurse’s office.  She wanted to check my vision.  I looked at charts with all sorts of letters, with one eye, then the other, then both.  She asked me if I ever got headaches, did I have to squint a lot, and where did I sit in my classes?  No on the headaches, yes on the squinting, sometimes, and in the back whenever possible were my replies.

“Drew, I am making a note for my records, and I am sending home a letter with you to your parents suggesting they take you to get glasses.”  She smiled like she hadn’t just said every teenage girl’s nightmare was now happening to me.

“Glasses?” I tripped over the word, practically spitting it out, which would have been really embarrassing.

“Or contacts,” she added with a reassuring note.  “That’s up to you and your parents.  But you can’t keep ignoring the problem.  Your eyes will just get worse.”

The funny thing was that I had never noticed I had a problem until that day.  I never thought about how natural it felt to squint my eyes into the perfect slat to make the board visible, or the fact that I often dazed off when it came time to read overheads or watch videos.  Everyone did that.  At home, I usually planted myself on the floor with a pillow, so I was never extremely far away from the TV, and books were held closely anyway.  Glasses.  How could this be?  After that day, all of these irritations became more noticeable to me, and I was getting frustrated, but would not give my parents the note from the nurse.  I figured she would forget all about me.  I was usually good at being forgotten by adults, being the quiet one and all.  But I had a bad feeling when I got off the bus one afternoon.  Usually I had the bad feeling when I got on the bus, so I knew there had to be a problem.

“Drew,” my mother greeted me at the door that day.  Unusual.  “Has anything interesting come up at school over the last few weeks?”  I thought for a long while.  I knew I was making mostly B’s in my classes, so nothing there alarmed me.  The bus rides, though dreaded, had been uneventful, and I had actually put the visit with the nurse in the back of my mind by then, as much as possible.

“No, not really.  They started serving curly fries in the cafeteria,” I offered.  I wasn’t trying to be funny, but Mom thought so.

“Young lady, vision impairment is a serious matter.”  In my mind, everything came crashing down on me.  The nurse must have called because the letter was so far lost in my locker, it would have taken the jaws-of-life to dig it out.

“Oh yeah, that.  I forgot to tell you.”  I was able to use my meager eyesight to focus in on a speck of dirt on the floor, avoiding eye contact with my mom.

“Just like you forgot to give me the letter the nurse sent home, right?”

“You know I always forget to give you notes and letters from school.  Remember when I had to clean my room when we packed everything up to move?  There were probably hundreds of notes under my bed and shoved in drawers.  It’s kinda what I do,” I chanced a smile, remembering too late that vision impairment is serious.

“I called and made an appointment for Thursday with an optometrist.  We’ll get your eyes tested, and then you can pick out some glasses.”

“Does it have to be glasses?  Could I get contacts, please?  I don’t want to look like a geek.”

“Drew, I don’t know about looking like a geek or dweeb or whatever.  Your eyesight is important.  We’ll have to see how much contacts cost.  But the bottom line is that you need to be able to see the bottom line.”  She seemed to smirk, realizing her play on words.  I was not amused.  My life was over.
Copyright 2012

If you like it, if you can relate to it, or if you know anyone else who can relate to this, or who is in middle school now, you can find the entire book, Memoirs of an Ordinary Girl by Terri Klaes Harper, on Amazon’s kindle store (btw- you can download a free kindle app onto pretty much any electronic device).  If you love it, spread the word, rate it, and/or like my author page on Facebook.

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Ready to Break Some Rules?

Posted on August 10, 2012 by caverns of my mind

My students would laugh at this following tidbit of a story, or shake their fists at me in anger.  I always tell them not to begin their essays with onomatopoeia.  Seriously, it tends to feel quite juvenile and often they cannot make it flow into their writing.  It might read something like this: “Boom.  That’s the sound the locker made when they boy slammed it shut in the hallway yesterday.”  Agh! It makes me want to pull out my eyelashes one at a time, and it reminds me of Ben Stein’s character on The Wonder Years and in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.

Then I found an old bit of something I wrote back when I was their age (tenth grade).  I do not teach creative writing though, just academic writing, so there is a difference.  It’s not quite a masterpiece; however, I always was fond of this:

The Gate by Terree Klaes (That’s how I used to spell my name- you know, for create purposes)

Bong! Bong! Bong!  Three a.m.  “Where is he?” I kept thinking to myself.  It was cold out and my whole face was getting numb.  I hated meeting him in the park so early in the morning.  Why couldn’t I just send him the money?

He had said a quarter to three.  I remembered because he had called me at work.  That was something he had never done before.

Once every month I would meet him by the entrance of the park, across from the clock tower.  Never before had he been late.

I always felt like criminal, standing by the gate with a big brown envelope tucked in my trench coat.  What I had done was nothing compared to what I felt like doing to him.  Many times I had imagined him coming to the park for his money.  I would pull out a gun and shoot him in the chest. Finally, I would be through with him.  But I couldn’t take a chance on something like that.  That could just get me into more trouble.

Why he insisted on torturing me, I couldn’t figure out, besides greed.  I had paid back every cent of the money I took.  The way I looked at the situation, it was over.

A shadow was coming up the sidewalk.  At this hour, it had to be him.  The figure walked past.  An elderly woman.

Now he was a half hour late.  Should I leave?  I didn’t know.  If I did, and he showed up, he could ruin me.  But what if he just wasn’t coming?  Then I would be at the park all night.

I had decided to leave the envelope with the money by the gate.  If he showed up, he would find it.  If not, it would be a nice gift for someone else.  Just as I was about to set the envelope down, I heard footsteps.  It was him.  Finally.

We got into an argument about the price I should be paying.  I was furious.  I opened my purse, puled out a gun, and shot him in the chest. Then I ran as fast as I could with the money still in my trench coat.

Nobody ever found out who killed him.  No one had any idea.

I was just thinking about how I also broke the rule I teach my students about not writing too many short, choppy sentences, and yet I had done it to create a feeling of impatience and frustration.  I guess I like to apply the idea of, “you have to know the rules first before you can properly break them.”  Not that this little story is perfect; I was only 14 or 15 when I wrote it.  I’ve been trying to figure out if I should try to do anything else with it or just let it rest in peace.

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Always Wear Clean Underwear

Posted on July 5, 2012 by caverns of my mind

I was looking through some old files on a flashdrive and found this story I wrote a long time ago for some sort of short short story contest.  It did NOT win, but it made me laugh a bit, especially since I completely forgot I wrote it.

Always Wear Clean Underwear

I could have avoided all that trouble if only I had remembered to wear clean underwear.  Mom always said, “Be sure you wear clean underwear.  After all, you never know when you might get in an accident and you’ll have on dirty underwear.  How embarrassing that would be for you!” Does anybody ever really think that will happen to her?  Honestly, my problem wasn’t having on dirty underwear, rather none at all.  Let me go back to the beginning before you get the wrong idea about me.

Yesterday was laundry day.  The problem is that I left my delicate load in the washing machine overnight and by the time I realized my error, it was time to leave for class and my panties were still damp.  I’m not the type of girl who feels comfortable going without undies, but I had little choice.  I grabbed a pair out of the load as I transferred my delicates to the dryer, scooped up my book-bag, and was in my car in a flash.  Having a car with darkly tinted windows can be a great advantage, and I used the opportunity to hang my panties from the little hook over the window in the back seat.  This was great, as I had never actually found a use for one of these strange catches before.  The drive to campus was about 45 minutes and I was hoping this would be long enough for my undergarments to reach a comfortable moisture level.

My radio was blasting as I sang along with “Tainted Love” on the 80’s station.  Suddenly, the ring-tone of “The Imperial March” broke into my trance.  “Hey Danni!  What’re you up to?…. Of course I’m out of bed.  I have class this morning….. Sure, I’ll swing by to get you, and Brianna….. See ya in a few.”

I cranked my radio back up and returned to my singing.  I felt like the next American Idol in the comfort of my own car.  Yes, I had become quite comfortable in my usual routine of my morning commute.  I didn’t even mind the short detour to get my two best friends, and I had completely forgotten about my panties.

As I pulled up in front of Danni’s apartment, I saw that she and Brianna were out front waiting.  They didn’t see me though, since they were talking to Cameron on the front steps.  Cameron is a superior specimen in every way, and it is no secret that I’ve had a crush on him for about a year now.  The problem is that I never seem to have the ability of making enough small talk around him to keep him in close proximity for long.  I could have sat watching him for hours, but class was in ten minutes, so I honked the horn to get my friends’ attention.  To my surprise, all three came strolling my way.

Brianna opened the door.  “Hi Kat!  Is it all right if we give Cameron a ride?  His car won’t start,” she said, winking at me.

“Oh, sure.  There’s plenty of room.”  With that, Brianna hopped into the back seat, scooting over behind me.  Danni told Cameron she didn’t mind sitting in the back, but he insisted he would sit back there.  Once they were all in, I got the car back on the road.  Danni was digging through my CDs when Cameron said, “I thought your name was Kathryn?”

“Yeah, that’s right.  Why?”

“I just thought it was odd that your panties say “Angel”.

Smash!  In my moment of shock and humiliation, the front end of my small sedan crumpled into the back of a soccer-ball stickered mini-van full of kids carpooling to school.   The airbags had deployed.  “Is everyone all right?”  I heard myself asking, as if outside of my own body.

Once we all realized we were not only still among the living, but also mostly unharmed, we all got out of the car to check on the van full of kids.  The side door on the vehicle opened and there was pandemonium as eight kids spilled out.  Everyone seemed to have a cell phone in hand, and only a few minutes passed before the first cop arrived on the scene.  The officer was taking my statement at the back of my car when one of the kids suddenly yelled out, “Hey, lady!  Is that your underwear on the ground?  Looks like it fell out of your car.”

Copyright by Terri Klaes Harper 2006

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