David Prinz Hufford

I was sleepless one night in Omaha, but that was weeks ago. I also spent a week one night in Omaha, but I lived there many years. Unless you are a writer, you may not understand these time shifts.

Often it happens, but not often enough; the tireless incubus which drives the poet comes out, many times at night, and will not let him sleep. Some do not believe in inspiration; perhaps, they have never been inspired. But I have, and sometimes, it is a longing anguish, not just to say what needs to be said, but to say what cannot be said.

I have had the opportunity at writers’ conferences, workshops, and retreats to observe others with this malady: the creature which comes out at night and will not let you sleep. I understand that de Maupassant had it, to the point of insomnia. This creature wants out and can have life only in inspiration or invention. Normal people may have it, but they go back to sleep. The inventor of the vacuum sweeper had it, so he got out of bed and drew the first design of what is now your modern convenience.

It is winter, and the creature in me needs the warmth of human association, from the waking souls who will not sleep, but who arise from a warm bed to let the emotional dog out, to what Camus called the “invincible summer,” and the excited creature acts like hope, acts like perpetual morning, and acts like love.

The Nebraska Writing Project is sponsoring two youth writing festivals this year. The first is on Saturday, March 3rd at Elkhorn High School from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. The second is at the University of Nebraska at Kearney on April 28th from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m.

Both festivals are open to any student or teacher grades 9-12.

Cost per student is $15 early registration: $20 late registration.  Registration includes a t-shirt, notebook, and pencil  (subject to availability with late registrations).

To register or for more information, including scheduling updates, go to the Youth Festival Homepage.

Youth Writing Festival Brochure

The UNO flag will be lowered to half-staff today, Jan. 18, in honor of UNO faculty member Evangelina “Gigi” Brignoni. She taught in the Education Dept. and passed away Jan. 14 at age 57.

Gigi was a Fine Lines Special Editor for two years and helped run the Oxbow Writing Project in the summer on the UNO campus. We will miss her.

David

A memorial service for Gigi is scheduled for Wednesday evening at 6:00 p.m. at Heafey-Heafey-Hoffman Dworak & Cutler Mortuary on 7805 West Center Road. Visitation will be from 3:00-6:00 p.m. The family has suggested memorials to the American Cancer Society.

Please feel free to leave comments here. Share a memory or your well wishes for her family and friends.

Evangelina "Gigi" Brignoni

by Kirk Zebolsky, Omaha Literature Examiner

December 24, 2011

“Most people die,” said an Omaha woman, a first-time author, referring to her ruptured aneurysm and her chances of survival.

A “very low percentage” of people with such a rupture survive, she said in an interview.

“The majority of people who suffer a ruptured brain aneurysm don’t make it to the hospital … my recovery was really a miracle.”

She is Kim Justus, who published her book “In a Flash” in December and has been publicizing the book. It is praised by a best-selling author and by a retired Omaha World-Herald senior editor.

Justus worked for 25 years in financial services, a field that matched her college degree. But now she is a self-published author who credits the Fine Lines Writers Group and several people in particular whose editing helped her achieve a final draft.

In an email of Dec. 14, she said she “Just got the books …  It’s been available on Amazon as paperback, also Kindle, Nook & soon in iTunes. My first book signing is Saturday … It’s all so new…happened quicker than I thought.”

“In a Flash: Miracles Here and Beyond,” which has a preview at Amazon, includes how faith was involved in her recovery from the ruptured aneurysm.

Justus also is a photographer with many of her pictures displayed online. When her photos with her poetry were on display at Lauritzen Gardens, someone liked her poetry and suggested she write more. and this book followed.

She said “anyone who’s faced a life-threatening condition … or who has lost a loved one … would find my story interesting and comforting.”

The attached letter from a new writer to Fine Lines (Shawnelle Alley, Fremont, NE) arrived just in time for the holidays. I could not have wished for a better present. Her wonderful expression of what a new writer feels like to be published is the reason we have continued to develop Fine Lines and reach out to “young writers of all ages” these past twenty years.

Dear David Martin,

I understand that I am now published twice by you; once online and once in print! Amazing!! Perhaps I am in shock, I don’t know if I should laugh, or cry, or both.

As Special Editors, I hope you know that what you do to help Fine Lines can change people’s lives. Let’s not become “bored members.” Monthly, I receive shorter messages, similar to this one. Not all of them are as well written as Shawnelle’s, but they mention that Fine Lines made a difference in their lives. I hope you look forward to our third decade of helping young writers get started, as wordsmiths, as authors who celebrate our language, as dreamers seeking for beauty and truth, line by line and page by page.

I cannot tell you how excited I am, and oddly humbled – and, in truth, I am shocked – yep, that is it; the BIGGY is shock!! I am sitting here at work processing that. I process on an ongoing basis, hence the art and word flow; when I am stunned, sometimes, there is silence. (Some people appreciate that). Thank you, David.

I am in the Academic Resource Center at Metropolitan Community College’s Fremont center this afternoon, and it is quiet. There is only one student working on research and not in need of my assistance, so I am off to clean computers in a few rooms and make some copies for the Writing Center.  Of course, I will also be pondering that you have just published me. WOW.

Shawnelle Alley

Our Special Editors are changing people’s lives through the written word. Fine Lines does make a difference.

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Write on,

David Martin

Shawnelle Alley [Shawnelle@theAlleys.us]

It wasn’t a dream, but it repeated

Then

Blurred together like finger-paint memories
Cement gray floors of confinement, tears fall
Where chunks are missing, though time crawls forward
Hugging splotchy white cinderblock walls
Rays of anticipation peek through rotting windows
Their musty lover growing moldy black specs
Clinging, like little sisters to their solid love

Because dog collar necklaces leave choking bruises
Insecure small hands fumble to release secure anxiety
If blood promises are truth dripping off tiny finger tips
Then open space is the prize of dark secrets kept
Where understanding is deeper than dirt, or a basement
You can tell me anything, because we shared everything

Grimy cold feet tiptoe bare, past creaky boards
Climbing the ladder of hope called, “This is but a dream”
Maybe locks click free with rusty nails, or birthday wishes
Gobbled up early, and so be it if cake snacks heal fear
On the other side of deadbolt locks, and streaked cheeks
Or whispered promises of more pain if we tell stories

So we sing and rock

Repeatedly

Killing sleepy-time monsters for years to come
When nightmares plagued girls with fading steps
And demon tethers, strangling breath
They punch the lock to tear down the door, setting free what should be
Putting hate in solitary confinement, watching it grow moldy
Blurring the lines of what could have been with who they’ve become
Finger painters, filling in chunks with love on open space
Like rays of hope in shadowy places

Fine Lines Fall 2011

Grace Magisana

I wondered why I had suddenly gotten the urge to rush outside and stuff butternut squash in my ears and up my nose. I wondered why I had an hour before run outside and stuffed peas in my pants. I wondered where the can was. I had just gone to the bathroom and discovered peas in my underwear. I knew then that my craving had taken over.

I am a vegetable overeater! I sighed. I went back to my room and flicked on the light. I gasped!

The room was a disaster area! Broccoli was on my pillow. A bag of frozen lima beans was strewn on my lampshade. Carrots spelled “VEGGIEZ” on my keyboard. Corn was smeared on my window. I remembered opening a bottle of ranch dressing and glugging it down. Then, I painted my name on the walls with tomatoes.

I slapped my forehead. I had thrown myself a veggie party! I slumped into a chair. CRUNCH!! I got up. I just sat on a clump of zucchini.

It was time for an appointment with Dr. Turnipheart. The wimp.

“You are a sick, sick boy, Endive,” Dr. Turnipheart chortled. She tsk-tsked.

“A CURE, Doctor!” I pleaded. I’d do anything to help my ‘disease.’

She stopped whistling. She looked at me. She whispered, “Junk food.” I was sure I heard wrong, but old Turnipheart was nodding.

“The only cure, Endive, is to eat Yodels, lollipops, Doritos, Twinkies, Ring-Dings, and Ruffles. You need to get that veggie juice out of your blood, because you are too healthy. You have eaten too many vegetables. You have never even tasted sugar in your life!”

She looked sympathetic. “Sugar is splendid, Endie. Just one morsel can change your perspective on EVERYTHING!” I wasn’t so sure. Sugar did not look too promising. Give me a radish any day.

I went to the store and bought a box of powdered sugar doughnuts. Then I drove home and gingerly removed one. I took a bite. Ick! Soft white sprinkles of sugar were gently layered over a round, puffy cake. I found it disgusting! I closed my eyes and took another bite.

“EWWWWWWW!” I shrieked.

I dropped the horrible treat and jumped onto a chair. The doughnut lay on the ground, looking like a mutated albino cockroach, balled up. It was gross.

“Sugar is splendid,” I remembered Dr. Turnipheart’s words. I shuddered. Ugh!

That night, I curled up on the floor and twitched all night. Dr. Turnipheart explained my body was used to veggies and not sweets. I was allergic to junk food. Thank heavens. Now, I could eat vegetables to my heart’s content and never worry about having to eat sugar, since I couldn’t.

I drove straight to my VA meeting. There, in the room, were five others.

To be continued…