I have created a haiku from my micro fiction, "We." Actually, I created two. They use similar lines, but have opposite feelings and meanings.

Haiku #1

We stripped ourselves of
only a moment to grasp
our hands together.

Haiku # 2

Only a moment
to grasp our hands together,
we had no regrets.


This is a found poem I created from 10 of my Twitter posts.

"All I Want"

If I seem like I hate you...
I really don't.
I'm just miserable, feeling like hell.
Don't judge me.
I. Hate. Snow.
(You are like a knife!)
Don't know if I'll make it;
found a warm place to sleep.
I hope it helps.
Why am I still here?
I just want to say,
can't wait to move to Cali next year.
Just totally gone.


Here are the tweets I used:

One hour left at work. Don't know if I'll make it. My hands my freeze off first.

Starting exposure therapy for my phobia today. Not really excited but I hope it helps.

I opened my car door tonight and the handle broke off. Just totally gone.

Going to school looking/feeling like hell & already behind on homework. Fail.

If I seem like I hate you today, I really don't. I'm just miserable because I'm sick.

Internet down at work. Actually, it's our whole computer system...why am I still here?

Going to see No Strings Attached. Don't judge me.

Kitten found a warm place to sleep

I. Hate. Snow. Can't wait to move to Cali next year.

"In this love you are like a knife, with which I explore myself." ~Kafka.

This micro fiction is inspired by and uses a phrase from Gloria Anzaldua's "Borderlands/La Frontera." The phrase is "car flowing down a lava of highway."

"We"

Car flowing down a lava of highway, we can feel the bridge between us and the Atlantic swell, stretch, and finally crumble beneath the weight of the distance. We rolled the windows down, our laughter fueled by the sandy wind that turned our hair into dancing flames. At the Grand Canyon, we tossed our phones into the deep cracks of the earth. The lights of Vegas called out to us, and under a gazebo lit with twinkling lights, we tied the knot on a whim.  In the city of angels we placed our hands in hardened cement, jumping and shouting when we found a familiar name. Tourists stared at us but we just got back into the car and turned west. The beach, this moment, arrived quicker than we had thought, but we had no regrets. We tossed the keys to a bum leaning against A Starry Night sky. We stripped ourselves of our shoes and jewelry, leaving a trail of the contents of this life behind us as we ran towards the ocean. There was no pause, only a moment to grasp our hands together before we plunged into the Pacific.



This micro fiction was inspired by a tweet I made where I said: "Only Shakespeare can get away with phrases like 'sluttish time.' " 

(Untitled)

Time is a whore, a slut. She gives herself away to everyone at any time she pleases. She lends herself to extended deadlines for term papers, to Daylight Savings in the spring time, to children who are beg for just one more episode of Spongebob Squarepants. She is no stranger to weekend getaways, to naps on rainy days, to New Year’s Eve. She will give herself to children, students, business executives, mechanics, musicians, teachers and secretaries. It’s all the same to her.

But ask her for a favor and she’ll turn an icy shoulder to you. Time works for herself, on her own schedule, and can’t be bothered by prayers and requests. This is why she won’t come to hospitals. She glares at them when she floats by and huffs, giving off an air of superiority. She wants everyone to know that she owes no soul a single damn thing…but really I think she feels shame for the only time in her existence, when she is near the sick and suffering and dying people, because she knows she couldn’t do a thing about it even if she tried.

To put it bluntly, Michael Ondaatje’s "Billy the Kid" confusedme, as I’m sure it confused others. I liked the poems. I thought the prose wasvery detailed and wordy, so I liked it being broken up with another genre (poetry).The prose sort of reminded of the couple of Chuck Palahniuk books I’ve read.Elements such as the way language is played with, the frankness of what’s beingsaid (but still leaving a lot underneath the surface) and a mixture of darkhumor and plain dark tones. My favorite part was the bit about the "madman'sskin." I thought it was visual and somewhat entertaining.

I really, really liked Jerome Stern's collection of microfiction. It reminds me of poetry, where each word, phrase and sentence must becarefully selected so that they hold a proper amount of weight and meaning.Words count in every writing that we do, but especially in shorter pieces. "Wrong Channel" made me laugh. It also reminded me of my friend’s boyfriend inNorway, who is working on getting his green card to come and live in the UnitedStates. I hope it will be easy for him; he has an extremely competent grasp onthe English language, so there will be no funny mishaps such as in this story.I particularly liked the language in "Mockingbird." Phrases such as "An islandof silence bobs to the surface" and "the chalky pink color of Pepto-Bismol"sounded so fresh to me. I couldn't connect much with "Land’s End," so while Ithought it was well written (with many vivid images), I didn't enjoy it as much.I did enjoy the last one, "Waiting," especially because it was one run-onsentence. I felt that that added onto the feeling of the piece. The style isone that I might use in my own writing, so I felt pretty connected to the voicein it.


In general, I enjoy the use of multigenre in a piece. It feels good to mixthings up a bit, throw in a poem or quote or song lyric. We wrote multigenrepapers in The Writer's Mind, and it was one of my favorite papers that we didin that class. It's interesting to see what happens when you try to connectdifferent forms of writing. As Dr. Maxson put it, it's also interesting toleave some things out and let the readers make connections for themselves.