Summer Poetry Project #1

One of our summer projects this year is to compile all of the award winning poems from our annual poetry contest dating back to 2002 and publishing them in an ebook. We are looking at a book consisting of 58 poems, including the honorable mentions.

Out of 50 writers to be included, I have been able to contact 19. I have heard back from 6 of them, and talked to another 3.  I’ve been asked some questions about the book, but there is not a lot to tell yet.  I knew tracking down some of the writers was going to be tricky, so that is actually our starting point.  I hope to come up with a timeline and keep people posted with the progress at this site.

The general plan is this: we want to publish an ebook of 58 poems, subdivided by images of posters for the contests. Jason agreed to write an introduction telling a little about High Plains Writers and the origin of the contest.  we would like to include writer bios. along with anything the writers might like to say about their poems, the contest, or writing in general.

High Plains Writers will need to have a formal group meeting to figure out all of the details. We have a publisher in mind, a local start-up that isn’t quite started yet.  If that doesn’t work out, we will self-publish.

Here is a list of writers I have no idea how to contact. I haven’t googled them yet. If anyone recognizes any of these people, please have them contact one of us or send us a message on facebook.

Greg Hanson, Brandyn Johnson, Robert Nelson, Jess Satrang

Another Rambling Non Sequitur

Well, gentle reader, we have, once again, taken the art of story telling and flogged it like a two-bit whore in an alleyway.  By which, I mean, a few members of the High Plains Writers got together last Friday and took part in one of our favorite writing exercises.  I don't know if there is a formal name for it, but I like to call it Blind Writing.

The concept is simple.  Take a piece of paper and write three to four lines of fiction, then fold the paper so only the last line is showing.  Hand it off to the next author and they use the last line to write another set of lines, after which they again fold the paper so the last line is showing.  Rinse, repeat.  Do so until you have either filled the page or until you collapse from exhaustion. 

Our latest Frankensteinian effort is posted below.  A transcript follows for those who don't want to play scrawl crawl with the original.

Everything was just peachy-keen that Spring day until everyone realized

that the shrimp-boil had been compromised.  This would be no big deal

except that there wasn't any toilet paper in any of the stalls, so

she reached under the stall and grabbed the ankle of the person

next to her.  After wrestling their socks off, she wiped and ran.

She didn't realize until three blocks later that she had left her

chihuahua behind and was still holding the stranger's shoe.  No matter.

In the mean time, while holding the stranger's shoe, I turned

around to look at the chihuahua. "Well, I guess we'll just

have to go our own way."  So we walked in the other direction

because our hemorrhoids were hurting and we needed

a soft place to sit.  We went home, put preparation H 

on our butts and watched "Game of Thrones."

This would have been fine except for the fact that there was also a

Ru Paul marathon on so we flipped for it: the loser would have to

run out for more shitter paper and pixie stix which were on sale at

Come-n-go for $1.99 if you also purchased a Big Gulp.

But that would never satisfy her for long.  She knew

that only the refreshing taste of avocado rice milk would

keep her going.  The very idea of putting anything less in her

was beyond thought.  Only the finest, most expensive

amaretto was good enough for tiramisu that she would eat.

Or was it? She thought for a moment.  Maybe just

a smidgen of Baily's Irish Cream might give

the tiramisu a kick.  She sipped on her vodka.

What she really needed was to get laid

by that hot dude at the gym.  "Good luck," said the weird

asymmetrically-faced weird checkout dude at Albertson's.

She wasn't sure that was a sign of hop, but she'd take

any bit of hope she could.

There you go.  Another tale of daring don't.  Stay tuned for future endeavors of hilarity.