Serving students and faculty since 1971
Spider webs stroke mein the expanding darknessof morning dog walks.– Rananda Rich September has ended and taken the last vestiges of summer with it. Now it’s time for warm apple cider, doughnuts, and hay rides. Perhaps you are in the mood to visit a haunted house. However you prefer to enjoy the cooling weather, the
In this issue of Scrap Paper: A Creative Writing Newsletter, we are focusing on submission opportunities and tips. This includes our Spooktacular Writing Contest results, the upcoming Hopwood Writing Contests, and an interview with a PentaCat Press publisher! Also featured is the first place piece from our Spooktacular Writing Contest. We hope you enjoy! Scrap Paper
Your love, a sweet veneer, concealed poison’s blade,
An insidious elixir, familiar yet ominous shade,
A weapon cloaked as affection, it did cascade,
Turning my world into a sinister masquerade.
When my future father-in-law asked how much I loved his daughter, I said more than the world, and he half-smiled. He told me to remember that when I saw “him” at the reception tomorrow. I was cut off before I could ask. He will wear a black suit, as if for a funeral.
At the foot of the bed
There hangs a mirror
The space on the wall that yet
was clear:
Welcome back students, faculty, and staff! Are you looking for creative writing activities and opportunities available this semester? If so, you’re in luck, because our September issue of Scrap Paper covers just that! Check it out to learn about the Writing Center’s own writing group, the Writers’ Circle, as well as our upcoming Spooktacular Writing
I’ve come to slay the beast. My scabbard feels light as it dances with my stride, exhilarated for what’s to come. A wretched thing: that what is to come. Killing, I mean to say. Ahead, on the path, there’s a thing that I’ve come to end. Above, the stars bore into me with ferocity. I’ve
In a dusty and forgotten corner of my grandpa’s house, there was a painting. I’m not sure how long it had been there. Perhaps it had always been a fixture, since time immemorial. Perhaps it was part of the house itself, a draw for any potential home buyers; something to sweeten the pot. Whatever the
Crooked, bloodied, and incorrectly a figure stands, human before it met its mangler. The jagged point of a femur sticks out from its left thigh. Another bone protrudes through its forearm pointing to a hand that has been forcefully parted from the webs between each finger to its wrist, dangling as the figure sways, causing
clouds engulf the sky rain patters on the ground wind whispers through the air heat is absent cheeks are pink noses disappear breaths are sharp fingertips disintegrate ears feel scorched leaves sweep across yards footsteps are erratic and bountiful children’s laughter echoes creaking comes from open doors crackling is followed by hands grabbing sweetness is