The Literary Corner: Renegade Writer’s Guild

Published 9:35 am Thursday, October 5, 2017

“My Dance Career”

By Gaye Hoots

When Faye and I were in elementary school we were fortunate to get to take dancing lessons for a year. This would not have been possible if Janine Vogler had not enrolled in the classes. Our mother did not drive and usually, Daddy did not invest money in something that did not pay direct dividends. Mother had loved dancing, but being raised as a Quaker, she had few occasions to indulge. Somehow she persuaded him. Mrs. Elsie Vogler drove us to the lessons.

I enjoyed the dancing and the time spent with Janine and the other girls. Until now, I had been sure I wanted to grow up to be a cowboy. The dancing, plus the pictures I had seen of beautiful ballerinas, reminiscent of swans, had me considering a career change. The fact that I more closely resembled a duck than a swan and could not remember more than three moves in a sequence did not deter me. Performing in the recital fanned the flames of my ambition.

Our school had frequent chapel programs that gave each class a chance to be a part of the program. I asked our teacher if we could dance. Janine and I were in the same class, and we had the tutus from our dance recital. We decided to include Carol FitzGerald. I don’t remember her taking lessons with us, but we taught her the simple routine and secured a tutu for her.

One reason I wanted a third person was so Janine and Carol could enter from the left and right while I entered the center stage as the stars did on TV. We entered and did a dance similar to the one we had done in our recital. After a few practices, we were ready to debut.

I was so excited the morning of the chapel program that I forgot to take my tutu. When I got to school and realized this I talked the principal into letting me call home. My mom did not drive, and she refused to try to get anyone else to bring it to me. I explained that I could not do the program without the tutu. “That should help you remember the next time,” she said as she hung up.

When the music for our dance started, Janine entered from my right, and Carol entered from the left. I sat in the center of the auditorium with the rest of our class and applauded as I retired my dreams of becoming a famous dancer.


By Mike Gowen

I look around and everywhere I see

People with reasons to feel sorry to be

Children with parents who don’t really care

Children with parents who aren’t even there

People casting blame for their lot in life,

Not willing to try, or put up a fight.

Hello, world, feel sorry for me,

If it weren’t for this, I would be free.

To tell you the truth,

We all have a past,

We could choose to do nothing,

And watch life go by fast.

Should we feel pity for those who won’t try?

Who would rather sit still, and watch life pass them by?

I guess I’m old fashioned, a bit stubborn you see,

But rather than excuse, I just say, sorry.

“A Day Far Too Short”

By Kevin F. Wishon

Where has the time gone?

Seems like only a few days,

When you were here with us,

Your departure left us in a haze.

     The illness was a clue,

You were not doing well.

Deceiving ourselves,

We did not dwell.

     We look back on your life,

Wondering what it all meant.

Why all the struggles,

And suffering too, we lament.

     I miss you and your wisdom.

I hated all you had to suffer;

It seemed unreasonable,

However, it made me tougher.

     I still hear you occasionally,

Speaking to be heard,

I can hear my voice,

Saying your exact same words.

     Now, I realize you are with me,

In thoughts and upon my brow,

And in my actions too.

You are so much a part of me now.


By Marie Craig

My cow!  Look at the size of that spider web!

It must be 4 feet across.

Right in the center is an inch wide yellow spider

Waiting for prey.  I almost didn’t see it in the dark.

That was some fancy lacework I saw last night.

Today, I went to see it again, and it was gone except for a single line.

Research told me that the spider eats the silk in the morning

Except for the baseline.  Then that night, the spinnerets recycle the silk.

I also learned that the spider doesn’t see well

And plucks the silk to create a sound experience that locates his supper.

Boing!  Third row out at 45 degrees starboard.

A stuck bug, wrap him up quick for a leisurely late meal.

As I sit and crochet my ever-enlarging circle, I think about that spider.

We’re both creating art and design.

I doubt, though, I can catch anything with mine.

I’m just glad I don’t have to eat it in the morning.