what you’re writing
as i got into bed that night, my face made its way easily to your chest. I could hear the uneven rhythm of your heart, mirrored by my own pounding heart. Our bodies were betraying us. They were telling the story of our feelings, contradicting that cool demeanor we wore on our faces and expressed in our words. I felt an exhilarating excitement that affected me physically, mentally, and spirituality. Physically, you drove my body crazy (enough said, right?). Mentally, my mind raced with no end in sight. I truly admired you as a person, from your easygoing, laid-back attitude to the great respect you showed me whenever I was with you. Spiritually, I felt like God had given me a gift wrapped in a lovely package. For so long, I'd been alone and had faith that God would send someone great one day, when I was ready. God truly does work in mysterious ways ... But even with all of these things contributing to my beating heart, I tried to slow the pounding, taking deep breaths. If our relationship was a flower, it'd still be a bud, half open, half closed. The seasons were changing, though, and we were slowly getting closer to being in full bloom. —Morgan Randall is a soon-to-be graduate of Notre Dame of Maryland University, majoring in Communication Arts. Her goal is to be a travel writer in order to combine her love of writing and desire to experience other cultures throughout the world.
born three weeks premature, my grandson brings with him the unexpected first bloom of spring to our family. He comes out crying and peeing, nature’s sure sign of good health. Then he is placed, tiny and red-faced, on his mother’s chest. She gazes at him with wonder and an unforgettable look of love and recognition. I watch with a full heart as he curls against her breast, his fists knotted, his feet drawn up. The first attempts
at nursing are unsuccessful, but he has the instinct and will soon learn. Later, when I first hold him, he is wrapped in a blanket, his head covered with a blue wool cap, his face peaceful in sleep. Then he squirms, stretching and feeling his limbs for the first time. He mimics all the expressions of an old man with furrowed brow and scrunched-up nose. Visitors ask if he looks like his mother or father or grandparents. The real likeness is to no one and to everyone. He is a timeless reminder that life endures and flourishes. When he cries, he squeaks a tiny birdlike sound that makes me laugh. When he smiles for the first time, it is like the bud of a crocus bursting from the earth into sunlight. And then another small miracle happens. He opens his deep blue eyes and sees the world for the first time. He looks puzzled, as if not fully seeing or grasping this strange new place. Everything he does today is for the first time, and we are fortunate to share it. New life comes in many forms, but none as wondrous or moving as a newborn. He is a gift, the chance to experience again the bloom of life.
always thought of him but never took the time to check in. Perhaps that was my own selfishness. I was sucked into the real world, and I stopped looking back. I figured he would become something impressive: a botanist with a PhD or a pharmacist or a doctor. He had the brains. He had the abilities. He was so passionate about science and nature. If anyone was going to be successful, it was him. My mom called last year to tell me the news. Aaron had overdosed on heroin and died at only 21 years old. How did the boy who could make anything bloom end up wilting so soon? —Liz C. is a full-time student in Baltimore who spends most of her free time exercising and planning her wedding with her fiancée, Kaitlyn.
“What You’re Writing” is the place for creative
—Gerard Marconi is a teacher and writer who lives in Federal Hill. His recently published novel, Gods and Heroes: Baltimore Stories, is about growing up in Baltimore during the 1960s.
when i was growing up, I had a friend named Aaron who was obsessed with plants. He loved planting them, he loved tending them, he loved caring for them. If anyone could make something beautiful out of nothing, it was Aaron. I met him in tenth grade during the botany unit of our biology class. We became pretty good friends over time, mainly because he gave me one of his seeds in a class experiment when I ruined my own. After we graduated high school, we never saw each other much. I left for school in Baltimore, and he stayed back in my hometown. I
nonfiction from our readers. Each month we pick a topic. Use the topic as a springboard into your own life and send us a true story inspired by that month’s theme. Only previously unpublished, nonfiction submissions that include contact information can be considered. We reserve the right to edit heavily for space and clarity, but we will give you the opportunity to review the edits. You may submit under “name withheld” to keep your essay anonymous, but you do need to let us know how to contact you. If you’ve already changed the names of the people involved, please let us know. Only one submission per topic, please. Send your essay to Urbanite, 2002 Clipper Park Road, Fourth Floor, Baltimore, MD 21211, or e-mail it to What YoureWriting@urbanitebaltimore.com. Submissions should be shorter than 400 words. Because of the number of essays we receive, we cannot respond individually to each writer. Please do not send originals; submissions cannot be returned. Topic Up at Dawn Nerves Companionship
Deadline May 14, 2012 June 11, 2012 July 9, 2012
Publication July 2012 August 2012 September 2012
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