BY jonetta rose barras
MARIA LUCAS slouched in a tattered blue leather wingback chair; she languidly passed the oblong, rose-colored fan back and forth across her face, pausing for a moment to trace, with her freshly manicured nails, the words Rose of Sharon Church written along its borders. Suddenly, she was in the first pew of the small sanctuary listening as her great grandmother, Nina, sang “his eyes is own the sparrow and I know he watches me.” Her melodious voice had made that song Maria’s favorite. Whenever she thought of those days, the melancholy was so powerfully, it frequently immobilized her. She had brought the fan to the office as a talisman, thinking it would guarantee her success, never believing she would be compelled to put into service against the heat squeezing through the crevices around the windows and snaking under the splintering door while causing beads of perspiration to collect on her forehead. Southern ladies only perspired. She felt ten minutes from the embarrassment of a full blown sweat, however[continue reading...]
For the fifth year, Antioch Writers’ Workshop–a nationally recognized creative writing workshop since 1986–offers an opportunity for young writers (those entering 10th-12th grades in fall 2014, or ages 15-18) to attend the workshop held at Antioch University Midwest in Yellow Springs, July 12-18.
by jonetta rose barras
I had just pulled from my bookshelf two of his novels–“Chronicle of a Death Foretold” and “The General in His Labyrinth”—two days before his death. Whenever I consider beginning a major project, I always consult Gabriel Garcia Marquez, knowing that regardless of which book I choose, I will be reminded that writing is a serious business, with the power to change perceptions and lives. It, therefore, demands unwavering commitment, a sort of obsession perhaps.
By jonetta rose barras
Mayor Vincent C. Gray (D) is about to become the Rodney Dangerfield of District politics. He won’t get much respect over the next eight months as the city’s lame-duck chief executive — quack, quack. Some D.C. Council members suggested they would give due deference to him and his position. But that was polite rhetoric, destined for the nearest trash heap.