Writers of fiction, poetry, lyrics, screenplays and life stories come from diverse backgrounds. For the past three years a small group has met weekly to write together, offering criticism and support to whoever stopped by. Over 200 different people have dropped by; we learned something from each one of them. Most of the people who found us had already written for years- some even published.

If this is something that interests you, join us! We meet every Wednesday, from 9 AM - 10:30 at the Jesus Center on Park Avenue.



Wednesday, March 12, 2014

Catman and Sparrow Wednesday



Midnight passed, Wednesday:
Catman’s initial thought was that he could go to Bradley Wayne’s downtown office but he realized that his keys and his wallet were in his other uniform. He turned the cart around, meandered the alleys and side streets for a while in confusion, then decided to go up Kanes Ravine, he kept a spare Catcave key in a hollow stump.
The cart ran out of gas a mile from downtown, five miles from Kanes Ravine.
An hour into the hike his phone buzzed. He pulled it from a boot pocket and looked at the incoming number, “Hello Miss Strehli. It’s rather late.”
“This is the same hour you visited my apartment last night, Mr. Wayne.”
“I guess it is… How did you get this number? Not even Albert knows this line.”
“I did my research, Mr. Wayne.”
“Why are you calling?—I’m rather indisposed at the moment.”
“I know. I’ve been watching the news. Willie Wilson is offering a one million cash dollars reward to the person that turns you over to him. He wants to unmask the Catman live on global TV.”
“And you want to collect?”
“My only concern is for Richard’s welfare, Mr. Wayne.”
“This is not a good time to talk.”
“There was another story on the news, Mr. Wayne. The police went to Wayne Manor and arrested your butler Albert. They traced the High School bomb threat to his telephone.”
Catman stopped in his tracks, “Albert?”

Saturday, March 1, 2014

End of the Brothel--Updated


   Another tiring night, the men were in a poor mood and took their pleasure roughly, made bruises. Then the guards did their flush fueled sadism and left the entire crib exhausted. When the red pills came around the babes all dosed eagerly, anxious to get away from the waking World.
   In dreams Salyanna always went blank, nullified reality completely until the drug wore off.
   A harsh sound intruded, pulled her to a state of grogginess and she sat up. The noise buzzed and brayed—on-off-on-off-on-off—and moving light entered the crib from the window, chased shadows around the wall above her bunk. Mabutu stood next to Kreesha, Honi got out of bed and joined them, they watched the scene outside. Salyanna wobbled to her feet and went to the crowd.
   Past the window guards ran, they carried guns and elevated them. She heard rattling and popping sounds, the gun barrels sparked. Other sparks returned from the darkness at the horizon.
   The window shattered, glass came flying inwards around their heads, a row of holes appeared in the opposite wall. Everybody screamed and ducked, Kreesha pulled the covers over her blue hair.
   Salyanna crawled for her bed and struggled to get underneath. Her girth was too wide, she couldn’t get past the bottom rail. She pulled the mattress down and wedged herself into the angle of wall and floor with the bed pad on top.
   Her cheek to the ground, she saw through a small gap under the mattress, watched Mabutu crawl to the door, his fingernails clawed at the edge and desperately caught it. He pulled it open and scrambled for the hall, away from flying glass.