Crowder Quill 2024

Petrified Dunes

David Zacharias

Pittsburg, Kan.

Community Gold

Color Photography

Transitioning from film to digital photography, while still dabbling in both, Zacharias’ work traverses the variety of genres from landscapes, portraiture, abstracts, and occasional street photography.

The Terrific Tetons

Hannah Allen Joplin

Quill Staff

Color Photography

Allen is sophomore studying digital media marketing and general education. She has been recognized for photography at a state and national level.

These domed formations with the La Sal mountains in the background in Arches National Park provided a wide range of textures and color.

I was on vacation one year and we stopped at this site and waited for the perfect shot where the sun was behind the peak of the mountain.

Photography of Japan

Cailey Storms Monett Crowder Silver Color Photography

Storms is currently a student at the Cassville campus, majoring in nursing. She used to live in Japan for two years, where she took many photos.

Linda Sartin Cassville Community Honorable Mention Poetry

Rhymed Verse

IN MEMORY

We trod a well worn ancient trail, And found a long forgotten spring. We sat on spongy, gray-green moss, And listened to a goldfinch sing.

We talked and sang, we laughed, we cried, Secluded there among the pine. We shared the beauty of this earth, And gave no thought to life’s design.

But now I seek the glen alone

Though all alone I’ll never be I listen to the wild bird sing And walk with you in memory.

My husband and I loved to hike secluded wild areas. After his passing, when I visited those areas without him I never felt alone.

Sartin and her family live in Barry County where she has a handcrafted jewelry business, and is a traditionally published author of three novels. Her novel, Heartstone, took third place in the 2023 international Kiss of Death competition for mystery and suspense. She is currently finishing her fourth book and plotting her fifth.

44 The Crowder Quill | Spring 2024

I love to take photos of everything I see. I like to have memories of where I have gone to and what I see at these places. iPhone

Bird on a Wire

Patti Steel

Fayetteville, Ark. Community Honorable Mention Color Photography

For Steel, a photo is a conduit for sharing one’s experience, knowledge, beauty, and inner-truth. With her documentarystyle approach to photography, she depicts the essence of life by harnessing the intrinsic magic of film and digital media.

Kayaks Waiting

Terri White Joplin Quill Staff Color Photography

White is a current student at Crowder College getting certified in the digital marketing field. iPhone 13

I enjoy going on walks in nature at my favorite times of the day to capture light and nature together. Cardinals are also one of my favorite bird to photograph. Canon 6D, shutter 1/320 sec., f/6.3, ISO 400

When the weather is nice, this is where you will find me; outside floating on a breeze.

Billie Holladay Skelley Joplin Community Silver Nonfiction

Short Essay

Skelley received her bachelor’s and master’s degrees from the University of Wisconsin-Madison.

Now retired, she enjoys focusing on her writing. Her work has appeared in various journals, magazines, and anthologies—and she has written 12 books for children and teens.

Mountain Morning

Amber Davidson Joplin Community Honorable Mention 2D Art

A photo I took of the beautiful Colorado sun rising over the mountains was my inspiration for this oil painting.

Davidson has been teaching for 13 years, currently teaching art and photography at Carl Junction High School. She loves to travel with her family and students, and often uses inspiration from her travels in her work.

LIVE LIKE THE VIOLET

Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it” is a quote often attributed to Mark Twain. I’ve always admired this metaphor because it reminds me of the violet’s apparent ability to promptly pardon an injury. Unlike violets, however, we humans tend to hold on to our pain, to nurture resentment, and to harbor grudges.

When we are wronged, by a close friend or a perfect stranger, it’s understandable to feel upset. If the person inflicting the injury is someone we love, the feelings can be even more intense. Wounds may be purposefully inflicted or entirely accidental, but either way, they often generate resentment, bitterness, and strong feelings of injustice. They also can cause considerable indignation, intense pain, and great suffering.

These feelings, however, usually do us more harm than the actual injustice. They make it difficult to focus on our jobs and other relationships. They disrupt our lives. While we often feel like we are entitled to be hurt

or upset, the longer we allow these feelings to linger, the more likely they will lead to even greater bitterness, hatred, and anger. They also can progress to despondency and depression. When we hold on to pain, we are the ones who pay. It is only by making a conscious decision to let go and forgive that we can move forward and find peace.

Forgiveness for most of us, however, does not come easy. It may help to remember that forgiveness doesn’t mean you have to find an excuse for the injury or that you must forget that it happened. It also doesn’t mean that the onus is on you to make amends or to reconcile with the individual who caused you harm. Forgiveness is more about extending mercy— even to individuals who may not deserve it. The offense may stay with you, but when you forgive, the wound hurts less, and the injury has less power and control over you.

It also may help to acknowledge that most everyone has wounds of some type or another, and almost all people carry some inner pain. No one is perfect, and in one way or another, we are all flawed, but if we can learn to shed our bitterness, to open our hearts, and to forgive, we may find greater understanding and peace. When someone hurts us or we experience an injustice, it is difficult to respond with immediate kindness like Twain’s violet— but forgiveness and mercy may be the best response for our own health and happiness.

I wrote this short essay to show the importance of forgiveness.

I took this photo because I wanted to capture the feeling of memories and dreams you can’t quite remember. There’s a sense of mystery and sadness in the photo to show something there, yet forgotten. It affects me every time I see it because this feeling is beautiful and sad. I think this picture is perfect for that feeling.

I took a nice long walk on the beach of Destin, Fla. The sound of the waves crashing and the water cold to the touch was calming.

Remembering a Dream

*Isabelle Wheeler

Carl Junction High School Gold

Color Photography

Wheeler is an artist, photographer, and dreamer. She has been doing photography for a year but always loved it.

* Scholarship recipient

Wavy

Elijah Mazariegos

Carterville Community Honorable Mention

Color Photography

Mazariegos has been taking pictures on and off for the past 2 years, and has decided to take the next step in improving his skill by attending Crowder College for photography.

iPhone 12

Canon Rebel SL3, shutter 1/320 sec., f/16, ISO 6400

Winnie C. Jakaitis Webb City Crowder Gold Poetry

Jakaitis is from Haiti and had to learn English when she was twelve. In the process of learning the language, books were her best friends and writing became her world.

WHAT KEEPS ME AWAKE

When I close my eyes, The brightest colors arise In my head, so brightYou may say it’s a bit of a fright. But at night what keeps me awake, Is the voice I wish to partake. Every night, There is a fight Between the world I live And a world I wish to pave. When I close my eyes, The brightest color flies In mind And leaves me behind, In a place I wish to parade And never trade.

For it is a dream I long for reality And nevermore a closed-mind galaxy. But every night, All that is sight, Are the wishes in mind

Saydee Wheeler Goodman Quill Staff Poetry

This poem portrays the mirror as the antagonist in everyone’s narrative, as society places undue importance on physical appearance. In truth, one’s looks shouldn’t determine their worth or acceptance. What truly counts is the essence of who you are within.

That I wish to find. Not in a dream, Not from a mental scheme, But a world I esteem, But a world that is true. In a world that is new, In a world of desired view, Where my heart Will not fall apart. When the stars Choose to leave their scars, In a world of closed eyes dreams, In a world of opened eyes streams. All I wish, Where my pain does flourish Is to live instead, my dream. And fantasy stands extreme, Where in bed, and in my head, I will not ache, When it keeps me awake.

I’ve written many poems and so far, this one has been my favorite. It is every fear and every dream I’ve had, and that is why it is so special to me.

THE MIRROR

The silvery enchanting surface, alluring and delicate, As fragile as an angelic symmetrical butterfly. When handled with harshness, it will shatter, Sending shimmery shards of glitter shooting through the air like confetti.

Once looked at with expectant eyes, The mesmerizing glass cuts its victims from the inside out, Like a lion hunting prey. The dazzling reflection hunts and traps mankind into a despicable world.

A world of fiction and self-centered people, Straying them further from the image they were created to be

Wheeler is very passionate about writing, poetry, and anything artistic. She plans to pursue a journalism career and just go wherever life takes her from there.

LAMENT OF A LOST SOUL

My ribs sit uncomfortably around aching organs.

Their distress delights the wires

stitching my brain together

Lonely optimism burrows deep under my sternum.

Content to soak up every drop of romanticism I possess.

Gasping for air only excites my tormentor.

Gnarled fingers envelop themselves around my neck.

Bruising vocal cords.

Depriving its host of that which grants fulfillment

Jagged nails caress raw skin

Consoling my desolate spirit

One last act till all is no more.

I have known misery my entire life. Her kiss is imprinted on my spine.

Her teeth have cemented themselves within my very soul.

She is as much a part of me as I am to this wretched world.

She loves jealously, without fear of irate retribution.

I long for her guidance

No one genuinely enjoys my company. They feed off my friendly disposition. Pleased to drown me in anguished longing.

Despair encases my abdomen

Promising eternal escape

Anger seeps into crumbling façade

Flirting precariously within pale flesh

Victimizing virtue

Gashing elation; jarring loose unrevealed resentment

Hoarding remnants of misused youth

Delighting in obliterating emaciated memories

Please, end this torment, I beg you Death flirts hungrily,

Threatening to steal me away Why prolong the inevitable?

This poem adopts an unreliable narrative stance and should not be interpreted as a definitive farewell. I chose this style to delve into the complexities of depression and its influence on the mind. Despair affects individuals in varied ways, imposing a bleak perspective on life despite the abundance of hidden joys waiting to be discovered.

Patti Steel Fayeteville, Ark. Community Gold

B&W Photography

Steel sees photos as more than mere snapshots; they’re a means of sharing experiences and truths. Through her documentary-style photography, she reveals life’s essence, utilizing both film and digital media.

Janaya Erwin Washburn Crowder Silver Poetry

Erwin is a general studies major and hopes to own her own business one day. Writing provides an outlet, giving her a means to express herself freely.

During my earlier years, I pursued dancing passionately. Now, I aim to spotlight the diverse visual performing artists in my community. One of my favorite artists in Northwest Arkansas happens to be a talented belly dancer.

Undone in Silence

Carsyn Stephenson Webb City Crowder Gold

3D Art Ceramic

Stephenson is a student in surgical technology.

This ceramic piece was one of my first. It was plaster-casted off one of my beautiful friends. I actually glazed it, but it broke in the kiln and I was heartbroken. Because of that, I’m submitting the raw piece.

15 YEARS

Rachel Remmington Neosho Crowder Bronze Poetry

Rachel has been writing poetry, lyrics, and short stories since she was eleven years old. Writing started out as a great coping mechanism for her, but then later on grew into a passion and something she hopes to make a career one day.

Insomnia musked air

And tear-soaked abandoned sheets. I’ve spent years running from

All the things he did to me. Freshly fourteen daisies

Petals caught in the Flames of his twenty-three.

Thought it was the teenage love affair

Of the century

But it’s the reason I’ll always need therapy. I was a little dolly

In his pocket.

Looking back I wanna vomit

Hold my past self light while she cries.

I know nothing about her life

Feels alright.

Find someone

To get her help. It’s almost four a.m When the text comes in…

He took the plea

For the same sins he committed against me

Fifteen instead of seventy. Suddenly there is a weight making me lighter. Snowflakes letting out

Late July fire as it hits me-

In fifteen years

I’ll have a new life

Where he can never

Taint my pastels with His darkness.

I’ll get my degree

And help other Victims bloom into survivors.

I’ll share my story

Until my vocal cords melt

And all that’s left of me

Are the pages he could never take…

This poem captures the night I learned that my abuser had taken a plea deal for victimizing another woman, a strangely beautiful moment where I felt my nervous system start to regulate again. It was the calmest I’d felt since his arrest, marking a transition from victim to survivor.

50 The Crowder Quill | Spring 2024

TEARS

If tears were people

How many we have caused to fall If every sob was a death

How many have we killed in all?

If every unanswered cry Was someones very last

How many have you let die In all the years of your past

Can we call ourselves manKIND

When we hurt so many

Your hands may be unblemished

Yet our tongue can hurt plenty

For tears are people

Someone dies for each one shed

Can we call ourselves human

When we count up the dead

I crafted this poem to shed light on how our actions can cause harm to others. By likening tears to people, I aimed to create a powerful impact and provoke introspection.

I made this painting during my Painting 1 class. While painting my eye, I experienced so many different emotions: a mixture of anxiety and despair, then the most rewarding feeling to keep me coming back for more.

Lillyann Bell Webb City High School Silver Poetry

Bell is a young poet who has been writing since the spring of 2023. She was inspired by her mother and 8th grade writing teacher. She someday hopes to work as an editor for Simon and Schuster in New York.

Auge

Abigail Bremer Neosho Crowder Gold 2D Art

Bremer is is on her second year and thoroughly enjoys every moment of her time there. She likes to keep herself busy with all the different projects from her classes. After Crowder, she hopes to apprentice at a tattoo shop and eventually open her own.

Atlas Imhof Riverton High School Silver Fiction

For this story, I wanted to try something completely new and out of left field. The love interest doesn’t have any specific descriptions because I wanted every reader to see their dream person without my interference, the same way horror writers create horrifying monsters out of our own imaginations.

Imhof is an active member of the Rams Writing League. They have big dreams for the future, hoping to have their debut novel published by the end of 2024 and to one day produce and direct films based on their favorite movies.

TEARTHʼS ANGEL

he airport bustles around you, some people rushing to catch their flights and others walking as if they’ve all the time in the world. Maybe they do.

You sit alone in a coffee shop, the stale airport air solidifying in your lungs. Lunchtime rush is in full swing, though you’d expected more people to be in the air around this time. The person at the register steps away and sweeps up the last open table, much to the dismay of the person behind them.

Great heavens, they were incredible. They stepped forward to order their food, and though you couldn’t make out what they ordered, their voice was mesmerizing. Like the sound of bird calls on a misty morning, or the splash of putting sugar cubes into warm tea.

They look around, frustrated at the lack of space. Before you realize what’s happening, you’re standing up, and beckoning them towards your table. They look at you, puzzled. Why would a total stranger want to share their table? You flash a wide grin and continue to wave them over. They awkwardly walk over, as if they feel they should know you, but can’t put a name to a face.

“Je suis désolé, est-ce que je te connais?” they ask quietly.

Your face falls for a moment. You hoped that perhaps the two of you could have a lovely conversation, that they’d be even half as enamored with you as you are with them. As they stare at you blankly, an idea creeps into the back of your mind.

“Excuse-moi?”

“Sorry! Sorry, just wait!” You hold up a finger, as if to say just a moment more with you. You draw your phone out of your pocket and race through the contacts until you find your housemate Eliza. Eliza is a polyglot, someone who speaks several languages. Or in Eliza’s case, seemingly all of them. You dial Eliza and pray she picks up the phone. The dial tone seems deafeningly loud as you stare at the work of art in front of you, taking in every detail of their face, in case you never see them again.

“Hey! Everything okay?” Eliza calls through the phone. Thank the skies.

“Yes! Everything is amazing! Listen, I’m still at the airport; my flight got held back a couple hours. I need you to translate for me. The most ethereal human being is standing in front of me, I need to know them.” You flip

the phone around so they can see each other, frantically gesturing towards the phone.

“Salut?” They ask, turning their head the same way a puppy does when they’re confused.

“Salut! They’re French!” Eliza exclaims. “What do you want me to say?”

“Tell them I want to share my table with them, that I want to have lunch with them.” A grin creeps across your face. This might just work.

“Mon ami maladroit aimerait déjeuner avec vous.” They giggle at Eliza, what extra remark did she sneak in?

It doesn’t matter, they’re smiling and nodding at you. “J’aimerais ça!”

“They’d like that!” Someone at the counter calls into the cafe, catching their attention, they speak to Eliza and then walk away. “They’re getting their lunch. Am I going to be stuck here until one of you has a flight to dramatically run and catch?”

“Eliza, I can’t express how much I owe you for this one. Seriously.” You look back to them, shining as bright as the sun and as elegant as the moon. The rest of the world falls away as you look at them. You can see the future in their eyes, and pray that you’re a part of it. They make their way back to your shared table, beaming in a way that melts your soul.

“Je dois demander,” They pause, just for a moment. “pourquoi m’as-tu fait signe?”

“They want to know why you waved them over, heartstopper.” Eliza catches on quickly. In her defense, it’s not like you were subtle.

How do you tell someone they look like the child of a god and have the stars in their eyes? How do you tell someone you were one ask from following them to the ends of the earth? “There was extra space at my table, figured you’d like to sit.” You pause as Eliza translates. “Why did you come?” They pause for a moment, presumably deliberating their own answer. They speak again, and though you can’t understand any of the words, you feel as if you know the answer before Eliza needs to translate.

“I was intrigued. I’m not used to strangers asking me to the lunch I’m already having.”

You both laugh. Great heavens, their laugh is intoxicating, Like a candy you could never get sick from eating.

“So, where are you headed?” Their face falls as Eliza translates, and anxiety surges through your heart. There weren’t

any do-overs on chance encounters in airport cafes.

“My mother’s funeral in Oxford. She was lost in an accident a few days ago. I’m assured she wasn’t in any pain.” They smile sadly, as if the fact that their mother wasn’t suffering could erase their own.

“I’m so sorry.” You say, hardly loud enough for Eliza to hear. You put your hand on theirs, in a feeble attempt to provide comfort. They smile weakly at you, tears forming like oceans in their eyes.

“Thank you. She was an incredible woman. She was the one who made me who I am.” You send a silent thanks to their mother, wherever she may be, for creating an angel on earth. “She was a light in the dark, down until the end. She meant the world to me, I hope to be even half the person she was. She always said she wanted to be buried where she met my father, isn’t that romantic?” They take a breath, steadying themselves. “Enough of sadness. I hope you’re headed somewhere nicer.” They say, wiping at tears that haven’t yet fallen.

Nature’s Angel

Ialani Yang Neosho Crowder Honorable Mention 2D Art

This piece represents the start of something new. As the last art project I completed as a senior in high school before I graduated in May of 2023, . I wanted every element to be an homage to past works I had done throughout the year.

Yang is a freshman currently majoring in art and design. She plans to pursue a career in the art industry.

“My niece is graduating, I’m going to surprise her.” The mention of your niece brings a smile to your eyes. “She’s top of her class, and she’s got amazing things ahead of her.” They match your smile.

“She sounds lovely. I have a nephew in the third grade; he just won his spelling bee.”

“That’s awesome! French words have some strange spellings, don’t they?”

“Oui!” Finally, one singular word you understand without the help of Eliza.

You laugh and eat together, Eliza translating with seemingly perfect accuracy. They seem to be growing even more radiant by the second; is that even possible? As they

tell you a story about their brother who never could stay out of trouble, your mind craves the answer to the questions echoing through your entire body. Do they feel the same? Like your meeting was fated? Like they might just explode if they never see you again? Do they crave your touch as much as you crave theirs? Did they believe in love at first sight before today? Do they believe now? You sure do.

“Hello? You still with us?” Eliza’s voice tears you from your burning questions. “They asked what time your flight leaves.”

Your flight! The entire reason you were even in the cafe. You rush to check your watch. To your horror, you have exactly thirteen minutes before your flight leaves. You panic, grabbing the few bags you planned on carrying on.

“I’m so sorry, I have to go! Ten minutes!” You scramble out of the cafe, away from

[Continued to 54]

the single best lunch date of your life. You navigate through the terminals, and find they’re about to stop boarding. It’s close, but you made it.

“Arrêter!” An angelic voice calls from behind you. You whip your head around to see them rushing towards you. You stop in your tracks. Your niece could bear your absence.

They pause, just for a moment, breathing heavily. Did they run all the way from the cafe?

Before you can think of how to ask them, they kiss you. Fireworks erupt inside your soul, life given meaning by their lips. The rest of the world and its worries melt away as you melt in their embrace. All they had to do was ask you to stay, to fly with them to Oxford, and you would without hesitation.

But instead, they simply whisper to you.

“Au revoir.” And then they’re gone, just as quickly as they came. The world seems to fade to gray as you board the plane. You hadn’t known how dull life without them was until you met. Your heart yearns for more of their stories, to hear their laugh one more time, to kiss them until you both pass out.

could’ve happened. Your heart aches as you shuffle to your seat. You’ve heard of people dying from literal broken hearts, is that what’s happening now?

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your pilot speaking, and welcome to-” You drone out the pre-flight announcements, you’ve flown enough to know what to do. Stay in your seat, pay attention to the seatbelt light, put your phone on airplane mode, et cetera.

As you reach for your phone, you feel something that wasn’t there before. A glimmer of hope seizes your soul. Your hands shake as you pull the napkin from your pocket and unfold it. It has a note, and an email address.

“J’ai demandé un signe à ma mère, et la prochaine chose que j’ai su, c’est qu’un étranger mezmirizing m’a appelé. Merci.” You pull out your laptop and quickly plug the words into a translator.

“I asked my mom for a sign, and the next thing I knew a mesmerizing stranger called me. Thanks.”

You’re sure it was deeply poetic in French. You’ll have to ask Eliza once you return home. You turn on airplane mode and relax in your chair. The world is blissful and bright, and though you’re not next to them in the moment, you know you’ll see them again, and that is enough.  [Continued

But they’re gone, and you will never meet again. You shouldn’t be surprised, or even sad. You knew that you’d never see them again when you first called them over, but you did it anyway. It was crazy to believe anything else

Speckled Mugs

Cecilia Monsalvo McDonald County High School Bronze | 3D Art

I have made multiple pieces of pottery this school year and with each piece I strayed away from using speckled and bursting glaze colors, afraid that it would ruin my pieces. Through this project I was able to step out of my comfort zone and try a new approach.

Monsalvo is a senior who hopes to enjoy the present and thrive in the future.

I combined the concept of the Pueblo Story Teller with my beloved Skye Terriers in this piece. I also added the figure of Kokopelli, the effigy of fertility of her blanket because Skyes are rated as a critically endangered breed.

Skye Story Teller

Venita Henson Neosho Community Gold

3D Art

I have always been a great admirer of the pottery and figurative art of the Pueblo Indians.

Nest Egg

*Kaitlyn Mustain | McDonald County High School | Gold | 2D Art | Charcoal

This piece expresses how I’m saving up for my future. It reminds me of my commitment to my goals. Mustain is an aspiring artist who hopes to get a bachelors in fine arts. * Scholarship recipient

Daniel McGuffey McDonald County High School

Honorable Mention Nonfiction

I have always enjoyed writing and creating stories. I hope that I have created something well said enough to have my piece published. But, mainly I want this to be a learning experience for myself.

McGuffey is currently on the path of finding what he is talented at, what he enjoys, and how he can make a living. He is a very passionate young adult who is far from perfect attempting to be the best version of himself with the life presented to him.

WFIND YOURSELF

ith the odern implementation of films and social media surrounding us, it’s hard to not make a connection. It’s hard not to strive to direct your life in a specific way to resemble our favorite stories and the characters within them. Sometimes it’s even hard not to plagiarize others’ lives trying to live the way they do. We do these things because we see that what they do works. And it’s easier to copy them hoping to achieve a similar living condition rather than becoming the best versions of ourselves. We achieve personal growth usually from self-reflection, which often comes from intense losses and deeply negative events. Nobody wants to experience that, but there is beauty in the struggle, a rainbow after the rain. We are human and that brings consciousness which inspires emotions negative, positive, and even some that leave us outright lost and confused. These people may be role models and that is perfectly okay to label them as such and to see them that way. You can find their success inspiring, motivating, giving a sense of respect, etc, but the moment you become an imitator you lose your uniqueness. You are different and there will never be somebody that is quite the same as you. And nobody will ever fully be capable of understanding you as much as you possess the potential to. The moment you find your own way marks the beginning of your unique story.

Hope is as equally positive as it is negative. Hope can make you ignore the truth that some things may not ever be what you hope. Love, friendships, jobs, the preservation of anything we call good--all can leave one disappointed and eventually hurt you or even others. On the contrary, hope can inspire you to defy the overwhelming odds of overthrowing a suppressive, abusive rule mentally, spiritually, or even physically. It can bring others up, making them the best versions of themselves by implanting hope into their minds. Hope is a blessing as much as it can be a burden. Hope is what makes us human, it’s what makes us emotionally aware by presenting us with losses and victories. Some people with an “it is what it is” mindset tend to just accept what happens without learning the lesson it may provide, inevitably repeating the same mistakes or allowing the same problems

to unfold. But understanding emotions and the lessons provided, specifically your own is the key to happiness. Learning who you are is not something as simple as understanding what you like and what you don’t. It’s mostly being humble and self-aware enough to admit your faults, which will give you an epiphany and a push in the right direction to become better. The world needs more empathy. If people were able to understand others better and simply communicate, we as a society would better understand ourselves through the insight of our friends, family, and the people we interact with. We are preached to from a young age that before we judge we should put ourselves in other’s shoes. But it would be better if we could give a straighter, less rural path for people to traverse, lessening the wear on the “shoes”. We can achieve this with empathy and communication, and attempt to fully understand our own feelings, impulses, reasonings, and executions. This can help us understand ourselves, which would give us the capability to effectively explain the reasons why we do things that may have affected others, helping them learn from what has happened, rather than leaving it a mystery for them to piece together themselves. Also having a good grasp of empathy can give you the power to help others through times of confusion, like being able to see through the fog they may be running through. Someone who truly cares about you and your well-being will give good advice. They will hear your perspective and understand the others that oppose it, therefore giving the ability of true empathy. With that understanding, you become a guide for explaining the whys, dismissing the what-ifs, and preventing anger, false hope, or deep sadness.

Sadness is a constant feeling that Is believed to never leave the mind but is merely outshined and cast away by other stronger emotions. Sadness is an infection that grows from memories we don’t want to remember. It attaches itself to faces, moments in time, smells, sounds, locations, etc. things we wish we never experienced. Sadness makes us want to forget and hide. Unlike anger, sadness doesn’t make us ignore what we’ve done wrong. Sadness will most definitely cause you to pick yourself apart. Self-criticizing yourself so much that you may even make up things to

blame on yourself. This prolongs you finding out who you are because you are too busy changing yourself to fill a narrative easier to understand. It’s normal to feel sadness but it’s important to master the understanding of what it can cause if you don’t learn to accept things as they are. You shouldn’t be desperate when searching for things to explain others’ actions specifically when consumed by emotion. Search for clarity and understand that the chemicals in your mind can and do affect your ability to understand things clearly. Fear instills desperation; being afraid of losing something or someone will cause you to hold on too tightly, making it hurt worse when the inevitable occurs. Fear is an emotion that, similar to sadness, tends to linger in our minds taking on the form of insecurities, anxiety, and the fear of the future being laced with our past. Fear makes you question if you’re too fat, too skinny even. Fear makes you wonder if things you’re feeling are real or if it’s just in your head. Am I overreacting? Are they lying? Did I do something wrong? Do I need to change? Was this ever even real? These are questions many will privately ask themselves trying to fix something that is seemingly wrong. But in some cases, it could just be a natural occurrence. Maybe it’s not because of anyone, and accepting that gives you peace of mind that whatever may have happened might not be

anyone’s fault and instead was just not as much as you made it up to be in your mind. Because whatever it is you lost you loved. Maybe even more than you can describe making it all the more confusing. Love is difficult to understand because we can love at a scale that isn’t always the same. Love can make it hard to have our priorities straight at times. You can love so deeply that even the thought of valuing yourself more or putting yourself first is unimaginable. And arguably what’s even more confusing, you can love someone so deeply that it’s like playing god. When in relationships, specifically serious ones, romantic movie-like scenarios do happen and it’s the couple’s creation that instills a love that is so deep that it can feel almost destined. And in relationships, though it’s typical to imagine and plan your future together, with a deeply connected couple it’s godlike because you create a world that isn’t real but feels so achievable and realistic that it feels like it may be one day. So when we make a world based on being with someone it’s effectively making a reality that could or couldn’t exist. And that can be dangerous if it were to fail. When going through a rough breakup it can at times feel like everything is falling apart, or like it’s the end of the world. And I think that feeling derives from the world

[Continued to 58]

Open Gate

Ialani Yang Neosho Crowder Gold

Digital Art

The inspiration for this piece came from a song I had made with the same title. While listening to it, I could imagine an ancient gate appearing and opening up to another reality. I really loved experimenting with texture and lighting, and I feel as though I was able to make my idea come to life.

Yang is currently majoring in art and design. She plans to pursue a career in the art industry.

you created and planned together the world that is ending. It’s devastating to have the foundation you based your future on ripped away from under you. Love makes us foolish and devoted and so desperate to be the best that when you aren’t fully aware of how to control these emotions it can make you blind to your flaws, such as the things you do wrong and even the negatives that could be coming from the person you love. When you care so much for someone and you feel these ways about them, you will excuse disrespect because you hold them so highly in your mind. Love is a very strong emotion that is hard to come to terms with and be able to understand. The fact that love is sometimes self-destructive if not handled appropriately and delicately makes it easy for love to be interpreted in so

Stairs to Peace

Zack Pierce Neosho Quill Staff Digital Art

I originally was never going to post this year, but a few people convinced me to do it. All of my digital art is done on my phone or on my personal tablet.

Pierce grew up wanting to be someone who read the weather forecast or to warn people of bad weather, yet as he grew older, he started to become more of an artist and pretty soon his interests shifted, and he is on his way to become a multimedia artist and a graphic designer.

There is nobody on this earth that will live in our lifetime that will be the same as you. Even an identical twin has their thoughts and emotions. Only you can understand yourself fully, so don’t waste any time and find yourself. Break down your emotions, understand why you feel the way you do, and what those feelings can cause. That way you can control the course of your life better, not fully but better. More importantly, protect your happiness by being aware that good emotions are capable of causing the bad ones; don’t be afraid though just be aware. Reading this will captivate your mind and hopefully cause you to reflect on losses and bad times with a different view. Without those memories, there would be no strong lessons that define us. Nothing well-forged hasn’t been through the fire and beaten into shape. Most iconic people in the world all have tragic and negative events that created who they are. You are not alone. Be happy that you get to lose because without loss you would have nothing worth learning. It’s important to remember there is no expectancy to figure everything out about ourselves at any specific age. Learn at your rate because it will come naturally. It’s okay to feel lost because if you knew the whole way, then it wouldn’t be an adventure. Find yourself your way, don’t rely on directions or imitate others.  [Continued from

many different ways because of how often it occurs and how it is related to so many other emotions on every side of the spectrum. This leads to opinions being formed and relayed to others on how love should and shouldn’t be. And the more relationships that happen the more ways to love are created. it’s unique to everyone and doesn’t work the same for everybody. Some people are just not meant to love or be loved a certain way. Some love is romantic, mutualistic, or even platonic. There’s bad and good, and there are plenty more ways yet to be created, but the more common ones are typically named but won’t always perfectly fit your way.

THE BURNT BRIDGE

I stopped in front of the bur nt bridge

The girl who was usually on the other side was too far to see

I had been here before

So why was this time so scary

I want to yell out

To see if she still on the other side

I start to walk away

I think about turning back

But instead I keep walking away

I think about the girl who might be on the other side

No longer consumed by fear

I turn around

Running back to the burnt bridge

I stand in front of the burnt bridge once again

As I go to step forward

I’m prepared to fall

But as soon as I plant my foot

The bridge starts to rebuild

I start running forward

Yelling for the girl who might be on the other side

I keep running forward

The bridge rebuilding under my feet

Than I see her

My heart starts pounding

Scared she might run the other way I stop

I’m in the middle of the burnt bridge

Knowing now for the bridge to be completely rebuilt

The girl on the other side has to take a few steps

As she does a smile appears on my face

I’ve finally returned to my best friend

I wrote this poem after fixing my relationship with my best friend. I wrote this poem to show that sometimes it’s good to take that leap of faith and it will work out in the end.

Lorenzo Rogers Cassville High School

Honorable Mention Poetry

Rogers started writing poems as a way to express all the built up emotions. Soon he realized writing poems helped him cope with the emotions that reality and life threw at him.

Abandoned Stairs

Latonia Bailey Neosho

Quill Staff Adviser

Color Photography

Bailey, coordinator of the Digital Marketing and Photography programs, enjoys contributing to the contest each year in various categories.

Abandoned mining camps in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado pose an eerie scene for exploring.

*Lydia Churchill Carl Junction High School Gold Poetry

Churchill is a sophomore, writes Star Wars fan fiction and other fictional stories, and hopes to become a published author someday.

* Scholarship recipient

THE PERSISTENCE OF DANDELIONS

On a summer breeze, the fluff goes flyin’ The innocent baby dandelions Would the flight of seeds have abated, If only they knew how much they are hated? Would they keep back, knowing they’d be ripped from the ground by gardeners, and with herbicides drowned? Or to know that they would land in a desert of concrete dark piles of rubble, or hot asphalt street? It’s practically impossible to thrive where they blow. And yet…. they grow. Taking root in the darkness, groping for light, Drowning in gravel, to survive, they must fight.

Weak and pale, starving for sun Do these little shoots yield, do they admit that they’re done? No.

They spring from the wreckage, feeble though they may be, They grow past their hardships, and bloom for all to see. Till it’s time for the next generation to fly, And fearlessly lift off into the sky. In this I find a lesson both relevant and true: We can thrive amongst adversities where we’re not expected to.

This poem spawned from a walk in the back lot of my high school along a rocky culvert. A sunny dandelion had sprouted from a shadowy bed of stones, and I thought at that moment that, weeds or not, the spirit and adaptability of a plant to grow wherever it’s planted is admirable.

Roots

Amani Firestone Neosho Crowder Silver 2D Art

I initially wanted to make something that felt playful, but it soon turned more into a fantasy, something that felt surreal and a little earthy. The name Roots stems from the feeling of child-like fun as well as being inspired by the plants seen in the piece.

Firestone is currently pursuing an art and design degree and plans to continue her art education to better understand her passion for art.

THE REAPER MEETS A FRIGHTENED CHILD

Jonathan’s bed felt cold. Cold, and yet it was soothing against the heat of his skin. He couldn’t move at all, and an intense, fiery sort of pain coursed through his body. The smell of charred flesh assaulted his nostrils. His eyes were partially open yet unseeing, and the stinging sensation caused hot tears to escape. Something cold pressed against his face, and it constantly pumped cold air into his struggling lungs. Somewhere in the room, a machine beeped to the labored rhythm of his heart.

He lay there for what seemed like an eternity, trying to hold on to… anything, really. Everything hurt, and he wanted so desperately for the pain to go away. His eyes slowly closed, forcing leftover tears to fall and sting his seared face. All he saw was fire, red and hot, completely devouring his family home. The ceiling falling, the floor cracking, the walls collapsing and giving way to the relentless inferno. A man—or was it a woman?—in a heavy suit came sprinting into the building, dodging debris, to save him from the blaze.

The suited person had bolted out of the building with him in their arms. The loud wail of sirens echoed in Jonathan’s head as he was taken from the house and put on a stretcher. He had been whisked away to the hospital, where he now lay waiting for someone to save him from this pain. The beeping from the monitor sped up to match his own increased heartbeat. A few minutes passed, and his heart slowed dramatically.

Jonathan opened his eyes, finally able to see. He sat up slowly and looked down at his body, only to find that it was still lying down. A highpitched electronic tone pierced the silent air of the hospital room—the heart monitor. Jonathan looked up, startled, as doctors rushed into the room, frantically trying to bring him back. Moments later, his mother burst in and began screaming and crying at the sight of his failing body.

“No!” she wailed. “Not my baby! Not my little boy!”

The doctors forced her out into the hallway and reassured her that they would do everything they could to bring him back. Jonathan looked

back down at his frighteningly still body on the bed. The sight was nothing like he had ever seen before; his skin was charred, his face destroyed almost beyond recognition under the oxygen mask.

The doctors got his pulse back for a moment and breathed a collective sigh of relief, but his lungs failed and his body finally gave in. The final tone of the heart monitor was the only sound in the room as the disheartened doctors left. Seconds passed, and Jonathan could hear his mother’s scream of agony through the walls. The heart monitor continued to blare.

Jonathan started crying; he wasn’t ready to go yet. He would miss his family, his friends… he would miss his little kitten, Jack.

Jack, the furball his mom had gotten him a month ago. The orange kitten that followed him everywhere around the house and always begged for his attention. Jonathan smiled slightly through his tears. The little kitten had made his life so much brighter.

A light appeared in the corner of the hospital room. Jonathan heard a quiet

[Continued to 62]

Kristen Stough Cassville Crowder Gold Fiction

People tend to think of the Grim Reaper as a big scary skeleton with a giant scythe that collects your soul when you die. I thought he would actually take the form of something that brings the soul comfort so they feel better about moving on.

Stough is working toward a potential degree in Computer Programming. She has been writing in her free time since she was in middle school.

Overgrowth

Avari Fifer Carl Junction High School Silver

2D Art

I wanted to portray the danger and beauty of snakes, with bright colors and defined details of the creature. This piece has brought me a sense of respect and wonder towards snakes.

Fifer, a junior, plans to major in art and become a professional artist. She also experiments with 3D art.

The Bus to the Barn

Lori Gibbs Monett Crowder Bronze Color Photography

I snapped this picture at the sale barn as the cattle arrived on their “bus”.

Gibbs is pursuing nursing, is a mom of two beauties, and has a love for agriculture and the outdoors.

[Continued from 61]

mew from there, and he was surprised to see a tiny orange kitten emerging from the white glow. It wobbled along clumsily, stumbling over its feet every few steps.

“Jack?” Jonathan whispered. The kitten looked up at him and meowed again.

“Not quite,” said a distant voice. “I have taken the form of your kitten to bring you comfort.”

“Bring me comfort?” he asked. “Who are you?”

“I am what humans call the Grim Reaper.

Woosaw

Stacy Kern Stotts City Quill Staff B&W Photography

I captured a bull riding practice pen and a young man “calming” the bull out of the buck.

Kern seeks to better her skills in photography and digital media, turning her passion into a career.

I am here to escort you to the Afterlife.” The tiny kitten climbed its way onto the bed and meowed again.

“But I thought...” Jonathan paused, allowing the animal to crawl into his lap. “I thought you were a big scary skeleton with a scythe.”

“That is the form I take only for the… unsavory people of the world. You lived a good, albeit brief, life. You were taken unfairly, and for that you deserve a proper Afterlife.”

“Can I still see my family from the Afterlife?” Jonathan asked. “I’m going to miss them a lot. Is there a way I can still see them, even if they can’t see me?”

The kitten on his lap began to purr. “I believe there is a way for you to visit your family. But for now, we must cross over. Are you ready?”

Jonathan looked down at the kitten. Those green eyes glowed with a wisdom far greater than anything he’d ever seen before.

“Yeah, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” he said, and climbed off the hospital bed with the kitten in his arms. Then he wondered. “Do I call you the Grim Reaper?”

“You may call me whatever you would like, dear child.”

“Can I call you Jack?”

The kitten nuzzled Jonathan’s cheek. “I would be honored to carry his name.”

Jonathan grinned and left behind the sterile hospital. His Afterlife was waiting, and for the first time, he was looking forward to it. 

THE YARB DOCTORʼS MAGIC

“It sounds like you’re still fighting that nasty cough, Nicholas. Can’t have you ailing when we’re so short-handed for the harvest. I’m sending for the yarb doctor in the morning.”

“No, Ma. Don’t do that. I can’t stand the taste and smell of all that awful medicine she makes up when I’m sick.” But Sadie Vanpool’s sixteen-year-old son knew that his complaining would fall on deaf ears. His two older brothers had participated in the recent land rush, and were off trying to claim ground in Oklahoma Territory, just over the state line to the west. His father had passed away the previous year, and it would be up to Nicholas and his mother, along with a few benevolent neighbors, to cut and bale the flax and hay crops in the coming weeks.

“Oh, and I suppose you think I’ve got the time and the money to drive you over to that fancy city doctor in Pineville. Well, I don’t. The yarb lady will do just fine. She’s gotten you through colic, and scarlet fever, and the worst case of poison ivy I ever saw.” Mrs. Vanpool paused to take another sip of her evening coffee. “Besides, she’s your grandmother. Be thankful we’ve got an expert like that in the family.”

The next morning Doctor Ella showed up at the Vanpool farmhouse to look down the throat of the ailing teen.

“It don’t look too bad, Nicholas. I’m gonna make you up a strong tea of mint leaves, pigweed, and snake root boiled in leek water. You drink a full cup every hour for the rest of the day, and then sleep with a slice of vinegar-soaked bread layin’ on your chest tonight. In the morning, you’ll be as good as new.”

“Okay, Grandma. Sounds terrible, but I’ll do it.”

As the old woman was stirring up the tea, she decided to question the boy about another apparent ailment. “By the way, Son, I was on the porch at the livery yesterday, and happened to see that Bradley boy and all of his hooligan friends a-pesterin’ you and Miss Daisy. Seems like you was the butt of their jokes, but wasn’t doin’ nothin’ about it.”

Nicholas stared at the floor, and had no answer.

“You can’t let them ruffians get away with all that, Nicholas, Boy. Stand up to them. They ain’t nothin’ but a bunch a blowhards,

anyhow.”

“I know, Grandma.”

“If you let ‘em, they’re just gonna keep pickin’ at you. I ain’t sayin’ you should go looking to get into a scrap, but I don’t want to see you runnin’ from one, either. Sometimes you just got to be a man and swap punches with the Devil.”

The embarrassed young man just shrugged, and said, “Guess I just ain’t cut out like that.”

Doctor Ella cozied up to the boy like she was going to share a secret. Very quietly, she said, “Well, Nicholas. I’ve got a potion mixture that will fix all that.”

“You do?”

“Yes, I do. It’s somethin’ that will take the jitters out of you every time that Bradley and his group starts to botherin’ ya. Why, you’ll hit that rascal so hard his shirt tail will roll up like a window curtain.”

The boy smiled as his interest grew. “Guaranteed?”

“Guaranteed.”

“So, what’s in it?”

The old yarb doctor looked over her shoulders in both directions, just to make sure no one was nearby to listen in. “Well, don’t never share this with anyone, Nicholas. It’s my own secret recipe, and it’s so powerful, I only prescribe it for special cases. And even then, the patient can just take it once a week… on account of it bein’ so strong.

“Okay.”

“Here’s what you mix together. The juice from one ripe persimmon, one tablespoon of honey, three leaves from a chickweed plant, and three cloves of garlic.” She watched as Nicholas closed his eyes to concentrate on the strange list of items. “Remember now, Boy. I said three cloves of garlic. Whatever you do, don’t get wild and use four…just three cloves of garlic.”

“What happens if I accidentally put in four?”

“Well, do you remember that Robinson feller from over in Tiff City?”

“You mean that man they put in the county jail because he single-handedly beat up everyone in Wagner’s Tavern last 4th of July?”

She nodded yes. “I tried to tell him…just use three cloves.”

Only a week later, Nicholas and Daisy [Continued to 64]

Ron Reed Smith Loma Linda Community Gold Fiction

I have always enjoyed short stories, particularly those that have an interesting twist at the end. I also tend to prefer tales that take place within a rural setting.

Smith is a lifelong resident of the Ozarks, and is an author of non-fiction articles, short stories, and novella-length manuscripts. He is a member of the Ozarks Writers League, and is currently serving as the president of the Joplin Writers’ Guild.

Billy the Goat

Eden Stewart Neosho Community Bronze Digital Art

I created this due to my interest in earthy colors of goats, their unique eyes, and the visual texture of their fur.

Stewart has been an artist her whole life, earned a bachelors degree in art, and taught several years at different art centers.

were walking home from the ice cream social at the Baptist church, when Henry Bradley and some of his cronies rushed out onto the wooden sidewalk and blocked their way. “Well, if it ain’t the dandy of Vanpool Acres…a-walkin’ his little sweetheart home to see Mama.”

“We ain’t causin’ you no problems, Bradley. Just go on your way, and let us pass by.”

“Pretty tough words for a feller like you, ain’t they?”

Within the blink of an eye, Nicholas’ right fist smashed into Henry Bradley’s jaw. The bully was launched backward, and landed in the street. A couple from his gang rushed forward, as if they would come to their leader’s rescue, and be the next to challenge the surprisingly aggressive Nicholas Vanpool. However, noticing an apparent steely-eyed determination, and a posture that resembled a grizzly bear ready to attack, they quickly shrank back to a distance just out of Nicholas’ reach. The danger having passed, the young farmer extended his arm to the lovely Daisy, and the two of them resumed their leisurely stroll.

After that encounter, life for Nicholas was never the same. A ten-second scuffle had turned a backward, bashful, docile

puppy-dog-of-a-human into one who was as brave and as confident as an eagle. He was never again badgered by Henry Bradley, or anyone else, for that matter. Amongst the citizens of Elk Mills, Nicholas had suddenly earned respect and admiration.

By the time Nicholas was twenty-one, he had married Miss Daisy, expanded his mother’s crop land to a full 160 acres, and had become the envy of every flax farmer in McDonald County. Why, in some circles, he was even being considered as a legitimate candidate for that open seat in the State legislature.

And then one day, Nicholas received word that the old yarb doctor, his Grandma Ella, had passed on. The legendary healer, whose potions and poultices had brought relief to so many ailing farmers in the southwest corner of the state, had finally issued her last prescription, and had gone on to claim her heavenly reward.

The Vanpool farmhouse was the site of her wake, and most of the townspeople showed up to pay their respects. Then, after all the guests had left, Nicholas’ mother walked up and ceremoniously presented him with a large leather pouch.

“Grandma Ella loved you dearly, and wanted me to give this to you after she was gone. Take care of it, Son. It was her most prized possession.”

“Thanks, Ma. I loved her, too.”

From within the weathered satchel, Nicholas pulled out an old hand-written journal, about a hundred pages in length. After thumbing through a few parts of the book, he recognized that these were Grandma Ella’s recipes for healing, each page showing precise measurements for homegrown mixtures that had been used for decades to make life in the backwoods more tolerable.

He must have been on page nine, or maybe ten, when he stumbled across one particular recipe that caught his attention.

Potion for Curing Hiccups

The juice from one ripe persimmon

One tablespoon of honey

Three leaves from a chickweed plant

Three cloves of garlic

“IVOID IN MY HEART

’m sorry,” she said softly from over the phone, “but it’s over. We’re over.”

I could barely believe my own ears. Was she breaking up with me? Why? Was it something that I did? Hundreds of thoughts flooded my head in an instant. I was under the impression that she and I were doing well together, so why?

As if she was reading my mind, my now ex-girlfriend said, “Don’t worry, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just… well…” Struggling to figure out the best way to word it, she paused. Tears welled up in my eyes as I waited for the reason. I had known that something was wrong for a few days now. She had been oddly distant for the past week, after all. However, this was one of the last things that I had expected.

“I suppose there isn’t a good way for me to say this.” She went, “There’s another guy. His name’s Nick, and after getting to know him, I found out that I liked him.”

In that moment, it felt as if my entire world was crumbling apart before my very eyes.

“Once again,” she told me, “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell you at first, but I couldn’t just keep this from you. You understand, don’t you?”

With a shaky breath, I said, “Yeah, I understand.”

And with that, it was over. The person that I had foolishly believed to be the one that I would spend the rest of my life with… she had torn down that illusion with her very own hands.

There was a ‘click’ sound as she hung up. I looked down at my phone, gazing right back into the reflection of my own hazel green eyes. A lone tear fell down, distorting the image. I felt my chest tighten up, and before long I was burying my face into my pillow, sobbing for hours at a time.

I didn’t eat dinner that night, nor did I eat any food the day after. And yet, I wasn’t hungry. It was as if I felt completely full from nothing more than the void in my heart.

I cannot say when it was, since the days of that month all blended together, but at one point I received a text from her. It was just a single word. “Hey.”

I looked at that message for quite some time. For some reason, I was questioning her motives for texting me now. She should have

been able to start a normal conversation with me as a friend, but I felt as if such a thing wasn’t possible. I was still wanting to hold on–to go back to the way things were before.

Hesitantly, I tapped on the notification, opening up the app. My chest felt warm, and I couldn’t help but get excited at the sight of just one word from her.

I thought for a minute about how I should respond. Should I act casual? Should I beg her to take me back? Should I reply at all?

After all of that thought, I ended up just saying the exact same thing as her. I typed in the word, “Hey.” Staring at it for a few moments, I slowly pushed down on the send button. Almost immediately, she replied.

“Sorry if now isn’t a good time,” she said. “I was just wanting to check on you.”

“It’s fine. Things are going well,” I lied.

“That’s a relief. Things are going great for Nick and I, too.”

I couldn’t think of a response to that. I tried to fake being okay, only to find out that she was legitimately doing well with her new boyfriend. I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw myself off of a cliff and pray to never be seen again.

And so, I didn’t say anything after that. I turned my phone off and laid down in bed. My eyelids felt heavy, so I let myself be taken into a deep slumber.

For months, I continued to feel worse and worse. I ignored my ex, trapping my feelings and stress inside of me. I also barely ate, causing me to lose an alarming amount of weight. My friends and family tried to talk to me, but I shut them out. They didn’t need to worry about me…

Eventually, I was thrown into a situation that forced me to acknowledge her. Our respective families were friends, so when it was decided that my family should visit hers, I had no choice in the matter.

And so, I sat down in the car and buckled up. It hummed as my dad started the engine. I closed my eyes, but quickly reopened them when I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. I checked it. It was her…

“Hey, you’re coming over, right? I’m exited to see you.”

I eyed the word, ‘exited’. I used to correct her spelling often. Seeing this made me think back to when we were still together. The two [Continued to 66]

*Lyriq Bartley McDonald County High School Gold

Nonfiction

I wrote this as a way to cope with my girlfriend at the time breaking up with me for another guy. I wrote it a year ago, purposely using the wrong name for the guy she was getting with. Ironically, she later got with somebody named Nick a year later.

Bartley mostly writes as a hobby but one day hopes to be a successful author.

* Scholarship recipient

of us used to be inseparable. I missed those times.

My phone buzzed again, and I received another message.

“Excited*,” she said. “Sorry, I know how much you hate it when I misspell things.”

I exhaled, shaking my head. For the first time in months, I replied, saying, “I don’t hate it. I only did it to mess with you.” “Oh.”

I smiled slightly and continued texting.

“So, it’s been awhile…”

We texted back and forth the entire time. It felt just like before. I found out that Nick had cheated on her a few weeks ago and that she was single again. Even though she had hurt me, I felt a jolt of excitement go through my very being when I learned about this. Did this mean that I had a chance to get back with her?

My thoughts were interrupted when the vehicle came to sudden stop. I looked up and saw her house. It was rather simple. A log cabin with a front porch made of old, questionably stable planks. Surrounding it was a dense forest of tall pine trees that towered over all else, and in the front yard there was a small pond. Fish could be seen swimming around in that pond, but what really caught my eye was the frog sitting on one of the smooth stones that covered the pond’s perimeter. Her favorite animal was the frog. Perhaps this was a good omen?

I could hear the old door creak as it was pushed open. I turned my head, and saw her smiling face. Following the rest of my family, I entered her home.

Nvwoti

Tiffany Blevins | Anderson | Crowder Honorable Mention | 3D Art

I took the opportunity to delve into my heritage. Nvwoti is Cherokee for medicine, the colors represent the Native American Medicine Wheel, the etchings on the bottom are traditional symbols for friendship, and the buffalo sculptural aspects and stampings of corn represent food. Food and friendship are good medicine.

Blevins has been a local creative for many years and currently is the Fine Arts Division Assistant at Crowder College. Her work is characterized by exaggerated illustrations, abstractions, and cartoonish features, among other styles.

“Hey there…” she said awkwardly as she led me to the couch. The two of us sat down as everyone else moved towards the back door. “How’ve you been?”

I could only mutter out a single word. “Good.”

“Don’t lie to me. You look awful.”

“I’m fine,” I insisted. “Just going on a diet.”

She gave me a sad look and said, “Yeah, I can see the ‘die’ part very clearly. You need to eat more.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Okay,” she went.

After that, we sat there in an awkward silence for quite some time. It was so quiet that we could’ve heard a pin drop from the other side of the house.

Wanting to break this silence, I opened my mouth.

“So, you and Nick didn’t work out?”

She shook her head. “No, sadly…”

And just like that, the awkward silence returned.

I looked out the window, seeing my siblings run around the back yard with her brother. Our parents were talking to each other, smiling and laughing the entire time. We used to be like that. We used to be happy just from being around each other.

“I’m sorry,” she said suddenly. “I know that I hurt you badly.”

I turned to her and smiled, going, “Don’t worry about it. Everyone says that the first break up hurts the most. Now I’ll be able to handle it better next time.”

She sighed, nodding her head before saying, “Maybe there doesn’t have to be a next time?” 

CHRISTMAS PUPPY

As a six-year-old, all I wanted for Christmas was a small breed dog. I forced myself to sleep so that Christmas morning would come sooner, Christmas Eve is the longest day of the year after all. I crept down the stairs at Christmas dawn to see if I had in fact received a “dog that never grew up,” a Shorkie. Annie jumped out of the velvet present box, and I tasted the excited kisses from her slobbery tongue coating my face. I squealed in delight as her claws wrinkled the pattern on my Christmas pajama onesie I hadn’t thought to change out of.

When I took a good look at her I was able to see her tiny body, fine curls of colorful fur covering her frame. Some of her hair even looked as wavy as my own messy blonde hair. She had a pink silk bow tied onto her collar and the biggest eyes I had ever seen on a puppy. She smelled like fresh dog shampoo and pine from the needles on the tree. They had made it into her hair from her tail continuously bumping the ornaments closer to the tree base shaking the delicate needles free. Her miniature paws kept hitting the torn wrapping paper laying in the living room, and her puppy yips begged for attention on her rather than the rest of my forgotten gifts. The warmth she brought to my life starting in that moment was like looking at the presents glowing under the lights on the Christmas tree.

Opening presents always happened early, but that year felt like it was even earlier. I can never remember what day Christmas is on because everyone in my family gets the day off. But I felt like that year we were done so quickly before we were sitting at the breakfast table eating a decadent egg, sausage, croissant casserole and sipping on cocoas and coffee. I insisted to my dad that Annie needed to sit at the table with me. “Dad, please! Please! Please!” It didn’t take as much convincing as I thought; my parents were lenient considering my great excitement. After I put her on my lap, I thought she would just curl up and sleep. I was wrong. I found out right then that she was highly interested in food, and I was highly interested in whatever made Annie happy.

After much prodding from mom, to, “Get that puppy off my table!” I decided to take her outside to avoid the flapping hands and screeches from my family getting their food snagged by a five-pound puppy. Secretly, I was

thriving off all the attention, good or bad, that I and Annie were given. I gave a girly giggle, “Oh, Annie! You are the greatest gift ever. We are going to go on so many walks and learn so many things together.” I said this as I put her on the ground to let her explore. Her midget sized paws touched the cold snow, and she immediately began prancing around and ferociously wagging her fluffy tail. Then, she saw the ducks waddling across the barnyard, and she just couldn’t contain herself. Before I knew it, she was speeding off towards those ducks like a bullet. “Annie! Annie, no!” I screeched my arms flailing as I bolted after her. Luckily for me, tiny puppies possess truly short bursts of energy, and I quickly caught up with her and managed to wrestle her away from the poor ducks.

I decided after looking down at my snow-soaked appearance and the number of snowballs stuck in between Annie’s paw pads it was time to call the outside adventure to a close and get ready to go to my grandparents. Annie barked a pathetic squeak of a bark as she desperately tried to wiggle her way out of my arms and back to the ducks. When we got inside, we were both shivering crazily. Annie stood there lifting one paw then another to relieve the uncomfortable feeling of cold stuck between them. I quickly brought her in by the fire and got a fuzzy red towel from the old bathroom cabinet. I sat down beside her on our neutral toned carpet and began gently putting pressure on her paws to soak up the snow and warm her back up. As the snow melted it began smelling like it does outside when the cold starts melting into the earth. Fresh but also slightly dirty like you just took a shower but then got in a mud fight right after. She gave me sweet little licks as my hands caressed her soft paw beds. “Annie, you’re perfect.” I softly whispered as that thought kept popping into my head when I saw her, held her, and just knew she was mine.

We packed up the car with Christmas goodies and gifts for family and the extra changes of clothes, previous presents, and dog supplies for the long day at my grandparents. Annie was once again full of energy and couldn’t stop wiggling as she wrinkled my cute Christmas tree sweater. We hopped into the loaded car and were on our way. My family began singing the Christmas carol ‘Jingle

[Continued to 68]

Emma Giebler Neosho Crowder Honorable Mention Nonfiction

This memoir was inspired by my childhood dog, Annie. I never planned on submitting this, but other people had different plans. I hope this as impactful to future readers as it has been to my life and previous readers.

Giebler is interested in pursuing a degree in English and writing books in her future career.

Puppy Love

Abbigail Beaver Monett Crowder Silver

B&W Photography

At first, the purpose of this picture was to capture the youth of a cute puppy. Later, however, the picture grew to mean so much more to me as he is no longer with us.

Photography has always been a passion. In the future, I want to become a dental hygienist and grow my photography skills.

Bells’ as we drove, and Annie gave soft offkey howls as she ran back and forth between people’s laps and jumped up and down from window to window. “Annie, sit still. We’ll be there soon.” I said for the tenth time. She loved car rides, so much that unfortunately she slobbered all over the windshields, scratched the door handles, and made Mom develop a headache after her musical abilities were tested. “Emma, maybe you should give her to me to sit still.” Mom was telling not suggesting. But I was going to act like she was suggesting. “That’s okay, she wants to run around and see everything, Thanks though!” Mom gave me a look of annoyance but then faced correctly back in her seat.

Once we got to my grandparents Annie got so excited when we opened the car door she flopped onto the pavement. I, of course, screamed very unnecessarily, and Annie got up before I could pick her up. I snagged her by the collar and snapped a leash on her.

I learned my lesson about letting her roam freely earlier with the ducks. Annie began pulling me up towards the door when my cousin popped outside with a fuzzy white puppy in tow, a Bichon Frise, which meant Max would stay small too. We had gotten a puppy the same day! When Annie and my cousin’s dog, Max, saw each other it was an instant connection. They licked, sniffed, and showed each other their bellies, like all dogs do. It was established that they would come to all future family events with us so they could see each other.

and I’s childish winter, pale fingers. They were acting sweet, but it was because we had leftover food coating them. Cranberry sauce, gravy, potatoes, and butter were hidden in the crevices of our still chubby hands. “The puppies keep licking my fingers, it tickles so much!” I said this through breathless laughter. “Mine too! I wonder if they would tickle our faces, too, or if it would just be gross?” My cousin looked at me with a curious and delighted gaze. It was one of those moments when you feel special because you share something so similarly exciting.

When dinner had come and gone, as well as clean clothes, and tidy hair, we got ready to open presents. I changed from a Christmas sweater to more comfortable clothes that would speed up my present opening skills. Annie trailed behind me dragging increasingly as the day wore on. Puppies only have so much in them, and Christmas is an excessively big day for a tiny animal. She couldn’t stand leaving her blue baby blanket that came in the box with her, so it was also a constant companion. “If you stopped carrying that blanket in your mouth, you might not be nearly as tired so quickly.” I tried to reason with her, but she just tilted her head and looked at me with her colossal sized eyes and began panting with her baby pink tongue. “Alright, come on then!”

At Christmas dinner Annie and Max lazily slept on the couch and licked my cousin

I ran towards the living room with Annie struggling to keep up behind with the weight of her blanket dragging her down. She finally bounded into the living room after me and slid into the side of the leather couch I was sitting on. She and Max caused constant uproar when we peeled wrapping paper off presents and

threw it on the floor. They consumed more wrapping paper than dog food that day. My cousin and I were both constantly amazed at the puppies’ random burst of playfulness. One minute they’re on the floor sleeping like a rock, the next they are up and running like the devil is chasing their tails.

Christmas day dragged into Christmas night and concluded a wonderful day. People were tired, and puppies were extremely tired. People said their goodbyes and gave their love, and we headed home. Annie curled up on my lap, a total one-eighty of the drive to my grandparents and slept so soundly she even let out quite snores. I carried her inside still asleep and curled her up right next to myself in bed. She wiggled and squirmed until she was squished right up to my belly, and I stroked her until we both fell asleep. I couldn’t see myself, but if I had to guess, I would say that I fell asleep with a smile brushing my face.

A Mother’s Love

Melody Burton Anderson Quill Staff 2D Art

A few years ago, I created this picture as a birthday gift for my mother. It depicts a beautiful image of Mary holding baby Jesus, which I discovered in an old book. The image captures the profound love a mother has for her child at first sight.

Burton is an aspiring artist who has always had a love for art and hopes to further that love into tattoo design someday. She is going for a digital media certificate and in the near future a photography certificate, furthering a love of art.

Annie was the best Christmas present and the best cuddler I had ever met.

I learned that Christmas that dogs could change your whole life. As a six-year-old, having a dog came with responsibility and caretaking but also joy and patience. Annie was a modest maintenance dog, happy to sleep, cuddle, and snuggle all day. Watching something that is so carefree and alive brings joy and shows you how good it can be to take a break at times. I didn’t only learn those things then and get to experience that when I was little. I now still have Annie and she has grown to be my best friend and shown me that she is my constant companion. I know she will be there when I get home from a long day, or I can’t hold the sadness in, or I just want to snuggle and watch a good movie. She has been there every Christmas for the last twelve years. When people say, “Dogs are a man’s best friend,” I tend to agree with them. 

Dalton Schlichting Lamar Crowder Gold Nonfiction Persuasive Essay

When asking my English professor what I should write about this year, he simply asked, “What do the people need to hear?” I immediately knew what I needed to write about. This is a debate that I am very passionate about and agree with: I wholeheartedly believe I will convince others as well.

Schlichting is majoring in English education with the hopes of becoming a high school or college English professor.

FACT! DIE HARD IS A CHRISTMAS MOVIE

When people think of Christmas movies, they typically think about the nostalgic family films they grew up with. For older generations, Miracle on 34th Street or the vintage Rudolph and Frosty cartoons may tickle their fancies. Newer generations might lean more towards something like The Polar Express and everyone has their favorite rendition of How the Grinch Stole Christmas. These are classics, no doubt, but there are many other contemporary Christmas films that have warmed families with Christmas cheer for decades, like Home Alone, and yes, even Die Hard.

John McTiernan’s 1988 blockbuster, Die Hard is arguably about as Christmassy as movies can get. While some believe that the film’s use of Christmas is nothing more than a gimmick, now resurrected only to stir up this tired debate, others will see that the film’s application of the season was ingrained into every aspect of its production. But what does that even mean? What does it really take to be a Christmas movie? To be a Christmas movie, a film must tell a story that can only be told when framed around the Christmas holiday, involve common themes, motifs, and caricatures of the season, and invoke the feelings of love and community. Indisputably, Die Hard does it all.

Die Hard’s plot would not work if it wasn’t centered around Christmas. John McClane is a NYC cop who travelled across the country to see his separated wife, Holly, at her company Christmas party at the Nakatomi Plaza. Led by Hans Gruber, a group of terrorists invade the Nakatomi Plaza, soon after John’s arrival. Everyone in the building was already on the 30th floor because of the Christmas party; this made it easier for the terrorists to take hostages. John breaks away from the group of terrorists and picks them off one-by-one, all while the LAPD and the FBI inadvertently help the villains open the vault, coincidentally also on the 30th floor. One hour and countless discharged rounds later, John and Hans have a final showdown, with Holly in Hans’s arm as a hostage. It is here where Hans reveals to John and the audience that the terrorists were nothing more than thieves who made an elaborate scene to fake their deaths and get away with $600 million

in bonds. Long story short, it is baked into the theme of the movie that preconceptions and expectations are often deceiving, kind of like how a seminal 80’s action flick can still be one of the best Christmas movies of the latter century.

For this movie to work, it had to be set on Christmas Eve. McClane would not have been involved in the plot otherwise, as he would not have been anywhere near that part of the country. Holly’s workplace would not have been having a Christmas party were it not also centered around Christmas. If Hans planned to do this on a normal workday, or even another holiday, there would be no guarantee that they would be able to take all the hostages necessary to escalate the situation and believably fake their deaths. It is even possible that the FBI may not have gotten involved in the capacity as shown in the film, meaning the thieves would never have been able to steal the loot. Luckily for the audience, Hans and his group of thieves were able to make the “perfect” plan by incorporating the holiday; unluckily for Hans, he couldn’t plan for McClane’s arrival.

Not only does Die Hard contain reference to many popular Christmas movies, songs, and characters, it can even be seen as a modern, extravagant tale, loosely based on Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol. John McClane starts the movie as a single-minded, hard-boiled cop who is trying to patch his declining relationship. However, his attitudes in the opening suggest that he’s visiting out of obligation, conceding that he did nothing wrong. John acts as our Scrooge; a bullheaded, selfish man that is unwilling or hesitant to give, financially or lovingly.

Almost everyone knows the rest of the classic story, Scrooge is soon visited by Marley and the three ghosts: the Ghost of Christmas Past, the Ghost of Christmas Present, and the Ghost of Christmas Yet-to-Come. It isn’t until after the interventions with the three ghosts that Scrooge’s outlook on life changes drastically. All of Scrooge’s ghosts have an equal counterpart in Die Hard. Firstly, Marley is represented by John’s limo driver, Argyle, as he forces John to acknowledge the problems he must overcome by the end.

Each of the three other ghosts are represented by the three major terrorists. Tony is the first terrorist that John

encounters solo, and he represents the Ghost of Christmas Past. With his interaction with Tony, John feels strong, resilient, and otherwise in charge, like he has up until this point in his relationship with Holly. Tony also (unwillingly) gives McClane the tools he will need when he encounters the rest of the “Ghosts”.

The ringleader of the terrorists, Hans Gruber, represents the Ghost of Christmas Present. Towards the latter quarter of the movie, Hans disregards all the hostages, except Holly. He needs to do away with John McClane before John incinerates his master plan. The final showdown is framed in such a way that Hans is a mirror of John McClane. With Holly in Hans’s arms in clear pain, it is clear that Hans represents all of the suffering that Holly presently goes through when John didn’t move with her and the children, the sadness that is currently keeping her hostage.

The final ghost is the Ghost of Christmas Yet-to-Come, and is portrayed by Troy’s brother, Karl. After the carnage that follows the finale of an 80’s action flick, everything is seemingly calm; everyone is outside the building safely with no obvious threat. That is until Karl, avenging his brother, rises from the ashes to show John McClane to his grave, albeit a bit more forceful than the ghost in the original story. The final gunshots in the movie, fired by Sgt. Al Powell, mark the end of the hunt for John McClane, as he shoots down the Ghost of Christmas Yet-to-Come and brings an end to McClane’s Scroogely cycle.

Arguably, these reasons are enough to consider Die Hard a Christmas movie, however, there is more to the equation. If one digs a little deeper, it becomes obvious that not only is Die Hard a Christmas movie, but the film perfectly encapsulates how the meaning of Christmas translates to an adult lens; not seen through the common lenses of youthful nostalgia like so many other Christmas movies. Generally, children are the most excited for Christmas. With many

adults, it is more like set dressing and not a central focus, like in the beginning of the movie. In the modern day, people are caught up in the stress of day-to-day life; they forget to take a second to breathe, even during the holidays. Die Hard shows how easy it is to take Christmas for granted. More specifically, the film shows with the cold, bloody lens of an 80’s action movie the unfortunate truth that sometimes it takes a big life event or traumatic experience for one to realize what is most important, especially during the holiday: family, togetherness, and forgiveness.

As viewers of the movie know, John McClane’s intervention works. He apologizes to Holly for his behavior and the two reconcile their broken marriage. The film ends with a snowstorm of business documents and a classic rendition of “Let it Snow” while John and Holly ride off into the distance and the credits roll; a classic way to end any Christmas movie.

Die Hard is a perfect example of a contemporary Christmas classic. It is not trying to reinvent the formula, rather it tells a unique Christmas story in a way that only the action genre can. Die Hard is an interesting case study; it was able to tell an interesting story, allude to an older, more traditional one, and create an interesting new perspective on Christmas seldom explored in film. Maybe now it’s time to start a new tradition and watch Hans Gruber fall off the Nakatomi Plaza to begin your new year! 

A Proposal

Olivia Doss

Carl Junction High School

Honorable Mention 3D Art

If any animals are capable of expressing love the way humans do, it is penguins.

Penguins propose with a pebble, as portrayed in my piece of art. I was inspired to represent a story of love through two penguins. Clay

Doss loves to make art that represents her love for animals and wants to pursue a degree in wildlife ecology and conservation at Pitt State.

Maddie Allison

McDonald County High School Bronze Nonfiction

Personal Narrative

I enjoyed writing this as it took me back to one of my biggest accomplishments for me and my team.

Allison enjoys English and strives to share her love for the subject with all those around her.

ALL-AMERICAN PRESSURE

As they call us all to the stage, a million thoughts are going through my head. Everyone is chanting and cheering while walking towards the center. “Bring it on in, Bring it on in, bring it on in!” I hear them scream.

Finally, we all sat down, and my heart was beating so fast. I’m wondering if I performed well enough and made my team proud. Anxiously, I rub my hands together as they begin to announce the winners of the AllAmerican Cheer Award. I hear a faint voice call many different names and as girls cheer for their teammates.

“Stacy Lynn, Arkoma… Anna Kate, Arkoma… Kylie White, MCHS.”

It was the third day of cheer camp. We were about halfway through the grueling day as my team and I slowly walked into the main gym. We met with our coaches before going into our next segment of the day, AllAmerican practice. Before this year I never cared for the award and I honestly didn’t think highly of it, but this year I was pushed by my teammates and also feeling the desire to prove my coach wrong. My coach didn’t believe I was ready and suggested I wait till next year, my senior year. This statement fueled me with anger and drive. Next thing I know, I’m signed up to compete in the All-American selections.

The All-American Award is given to those who show great technique, facials, and a loud voice. The tryout consists of a cheer, dance, and a jump of choice. I was a little nervous because I was scared to mess up the tryout process, but Anni, my best friend in cheer and life, really pushed me and even helped me practice by calling the cheer and providing advice on how to make myself look better. As we are dismissed from our groups, me and my teammates that are participating in the event separate ourselves from our team to practice. We go over the cheer and the dance what feels like a million times, and we all still don’t feel ready. Once we get to a point where we feel at least a little confident, we move on to practice our jumps and finally decide which jumps we do. When it’s my turn to go, I need to choose between a toe touch and a right hurdle. It feels like that day I jumped more than any day in my life by the time I had finally chosen to showcase my toe touch.

After about 20 minutes of practice, everyone is called to the center of the room

in front of the stage. We are split into two groups, freshman/sophomores and juniors/ seniors. Our camp leaders lead us out into multiple lines to set us up for the complete try-out process. I ended up in line three, which meant only two groups went before me. The nerves were getting to me as the call for the first group to start their tryout. First went jumps, then the cheer, then the dance. I watched as the other girls performed till finally it was my turn to go.

Slowly I stand up and walk towards the front line. Luckily, I am last in the line for jumps. I hear one of our leaders’ voices booming through the sound system.

“Jumper number 1 can we please see your jump,” he says. I watch as the three girls throw what seem like perfect jumps beside me. Finally, it’s my turn to jump. I only notice this due to what seems like a thousand eyes turn towards me.

“And finally, jumper number 4 can we please see your jump.” I nod with a smile on my face and breathe out slowly.

“5…5-6-7-8,” I say in my head as the clasp of my hands make a faint slapping sound and I whip my legs up into what seems like the best toe touch I have ever done. As I land, I smile and clean as I hear a faint applause from the crowd.

Next is our cheer and dance segment. Everyone in my group cleans and puts smiles on our face to show we are ready for them to call the cheer. In the back I hear the loud call

“Blue and Gold!” We all clap and begin our cheer. The only thought in my head at that moment was to not mess up the words and BE TIGHT. As we go through the cheer, we can hear the other cheerleaders cheering along with us. When we finish, there’s a loud slap as we all bring our hands to our sides to clean. I give the crowd a big smile as I jump out and spirit saying fillers to keep the energy up. I turn around after I feel I have accomplished my goal and get set for them to play the music for our final part…the dance. Furthermore, I hear our announcer as he says,

“Your music is on…” A couple of moments later I heard that familiar sound initiating the beginning of our performance. I can’t remember what I was thinking, I just remember feeling so proud and confident. After the song ends, I hit my final motion and I take a breath in relief…the tryouts are over.

I wave as I run off-stage and sit with my team. Sitting down, I get a couple of good jobs and compliments on my performance. Now time for the hard part…waiting for the results.

I went through the rest of the day wondering if what I did was enough to make my team and coach proud of me. As we walk in for our last segment, I am feeling more nervous than ever. Everyone rushes to the stage after they call us up, chanting our “Bring it on!” in cheer. I sit down, smiling bigger than ever. I listen closely as they start to close out the day. After what seems like forever, they announce they are going to start calling the

winners of the All-American award. I perk up and hold hands with Kylie, who also tried out with me, as we waited anxiously for our name to be called. Many schools are called before us until finally we hear the announcer say “Kylie White…MCHS!” I cheer for my teammate as she steps forward to accept her award. As she walks back, they announce the next name.

“Maddie Allison…MCHS!” I take a breath and put a proud smile on my face as I go up to accept my award. I did it. I made my team proud. Most importantly, I finally made my coach proud of me. 

True Blue

Lexi Judy Carl Junction High School

Honorable Mention Color Photography

I had an assessment for my class to do monochromatic photography in which I did the color blue because it is my all-time favorite. IPhone 11

Judy loves to take photos and hopes to someday be able to take photos for fun.

Green Bowl

Michelle Pugh Irwin Crowder Silver 3D Art

I really love the way these glazes worked and flow together, and this bowl is the best at highlighting them. This is a wheel-thrown ceramic bowl with two different types of glaze

Pugh is working on her associates in art and design.

This piece was created freely on the pottery wheel from my imagination until I got something I thought turned out relatively aright. Chaligoj enjoys drawing and sketching as well as throwing pottery on the wheel.

* Scholarship recipient

74 The Crowder Quill | Spring 2024

Wheel-Thrown Bowl

*Jace Chaligoj | Carl Junction High School | Gold | 3D Art

ABOUT THE CONTEST

Art and literary submissions are accepted at CrowderQuill.com from May 1 to Feb. 1 each year. All entries should be submitted online except by special permission; contact Quill@ Crowder.edu to make arrangements. The maximum number of entries per category per person is four. Only one award per category is allotted per person. Entries are judged by staff members. Divisions are high school, Crowder College students, and community members. All participants must live within 100 miles of a Crowder College campus.

The Crowder Quill is a literary-art magazine published with the mission statement “to encourage and showcase the creative abilities of local writers, artists, and photographers as well as provide a cultural link between Crowder College and our surrounding communities.”

Disclaimer: Some content may be inappropriate for younger audiences.

For more details about the contest guidelines, categories, and to obtain an entry form, go to www.CrowderQuill.com. See also pages 1-4 and 76-80.

COLOPHON

This publication is designed annually by Crowder College students enrolled in DIGM 105 Applied Graphic Design and Digital Media Campaign. Text was set in Bell MT 10 point regular. Story titles were set in Myriad Pro. Credit information was set in Arial fonts.

The Crowder Quill was produced using Adobe InDesign. The magazine was printed at Sun Graphics in Parsons, Kansas. The cover stock is Sappi Flo Gloss Digital Cover 12 x 18 80 lb. 7TP coated, and inside pages are on 11x17 60 lb. white Husky Opaque Offset Domtar.

Funding of the publication comes from the college as a means to provide a cultural link with the community and for an outlet for creativity and expression.

For the 2024 contest, 694 entries were received, and 103 entries were chosen for publication. Award winners were published and received certificates to be recognized as part of the 2024 annual publication.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Special thanks to the following individuals and departments for making this publication and contest possible.

Cindy Brown, Public Information Office

Jacklyn Kidd, Graphic Design

Chase Burgett, Social Media

Josh Novak and Josh Knott, Art Department

Diane Visalis, Graphic Design Instructor

Leandra Toomoth, Instructional Design

Stephanie Witcher, Communications Division Chair

Emma LaRose, Communications Division Administrative Assistant

Works of Arc

Jammie Graves | Webb City Community | Honorable Mention Color Photography

I enjoy capturing random candid photos of people at work in a journalistic realm. These images catch people and things in their natural environments without my influence. Nikon D70, f4.5, 1/400 sec at 70mm

Graves is an amateur photographer with an engineering graphics background who enjoys making images that are technical in nature.

CROWDER STUDENTS’ & COMMUNITY MEMBERS’ HOMETOWNS

Alba Anderson

Aurora

Blytheville

Carl Junction

Carthage

Cassville

Crane

Diamond

Fayetteville, Ark.

Galena

Goodman

Granby

Irwin Joplin

Lamar

Lanagan

Loma Linda

Monett

Neosho

Noel

Ozark

Pineville

Pittsburg

Powell

Southwest City

Stotts City

Texarkana

Washburn

Webb City

2024 CROWDER QUILL CONTRIBUTORS

The magazine is a compilation of winning entries in fiction, nonfiction, poetry, photography, and art from aspiring authors, artists, and photographers. Entrants generally reside in the communities within a 100-mile radius of the six Crowder College campuses in southwest Missouri, including Cassville, Joplin, McDonald County, Neosho, Nevada, and Webb City. They may be high school students, Crowder College students, or community members. The employees of Crowder College are classified as “community” in order to avoid competition with Crowder students.

Each entry includes an artist/author statement, which is a short reflection from contributors about their goals or reasons for writing a particular piece as well as insight into the creative process, inspiration, or subject matter of their entries, as well as a biographical statement. For graphic entries, the technical process is included, if provided. There were 85 individuals published, including staff entries.

HIGH SCHOOLS

The following high schools participated:

Aurora High School

Carl Junction High School

Cassville High School

East Newton High School

Homeschool

Jasper High School

Joplin High School

Lamar High School

McDonald County High School

Monett High School

Ozark Christian Academy

Pierce City High School

Republic High School

Riverton High School

Sheldon High School

Webb City High School

2024 TRAVELING AWARD

This special award is presented to the mostwinning high school for its entries in this issue. The award is calculated on points: gold winners count as four points, silver as three, bronze as two, and honorable mention as one.

1st Place

Carl Junction High School

2nd Place

McDonald County High School

3rd Place

Riverton High School

SCHOLARSHIP RECIPIENTS

Lyriq Bartley, Fiction “Lovely Garden”

McDonald County High School

Lyriq Bartley, Nonfiction “Void in My Heart”

McDonald County High School

Jace Chaligoj, 3D Art “Wheel-Thrown Bowl”

Carl Junction High School

Lydia Churchill, Poetry “The Persistence of Dandelions”

Carl Junction High School

Evelyn Hudnall, Digital Art “Lincoln Monument”

Carl Junction High School

Kaitlyn Mustain, 2D Art “Nest Egg”

McDonald County High School

Cashton Wheeler, B&W Photography “Ghost Town Sadness”

Carl Junction High School

Isabelle Wheeler, Color Photography “Remembering a Dream”

Carl Junction High School

Gold high school entrants in each category win a $500 scholarship eligible upon enrollment in a course corresponding to the winning category. See more information on CrowderQuill.com.

CONTEST CATEGORIES

The magazine is a compilation of winning entries in the following literary and art categories.

Various forms of each genre are welcome as publication submissions. Entries should be uploaded online. The following are common terms and explanations within each category. For more detailed contest guidelines, see CrowderQuill.com.

Nonfiction

Essays, character sketches and other trueto-life writings should be limited to 1,800 words.

Fiction

Clear plot development and well-defined characters are expected; also limit of 1,800 words.

Poetry

Whether free verse, blank verse, rhymed or metered verse, poetry should make a point, state emotion, or relate an experience.

2D Art

Original two-dimensional art may be black and white or color. Entries may be scanned and uploaded online, hand-delivered, or mailed. Art should be created based on real life (still life, landscape, or live model), memory, or imagination rather than copied from published materials. If a source is referenced, credit must be given. Model consent required. See entry form on pages 87-88 for more detailed information.

3D Art

Qualifying art must include a relief that protrudes at least 1/8 inch off the surface. Photographs of the art (front and side view required) may be uploaded online instead of bringing the art for judging.

Digital Art

This graphic art category includes computer-generated art or extensively manipulated photographs in order to create special effects. Photography with only minor adjustments should be entered in one of the photography categories. Photo manipulations include using layers and filters for creative effects.

B&W Photography

Black and white entries may be reproduced from film or digital files with only minor corrections and adjustments.

Color Photography

We seek film or digital files that emphasize vibrant color. Files should be uploaded online. All photography is judged on originality, contrast, composition, and artistic merit.

This project is a true representation of my crazy and chaotic self, but it is still somehow pretty and interesting. Just looking at this artwork makes me happy. The textures and colors are truly the cherry on top that draw my eye to this piece, and I love being able to feel all the different fibers and variations of yarn through this artwork.

Speaking of Me

Lacey Wilson Carl Junction High School Silver 3D Art

Wilson plans to pursue a career in architecture after college. She loves the process of creating works of art and using creativity to its fullest potential.

INDEX OF PUBLISHED WORKS

LITERATURE

Tension

Miya Lawson | Carl Junction High School

Honorable Mention | 2D Art

FICTION

7 “Big Black Horse and an Apple Tree” by Prix Gautney

29 “Clipped” by Terrin Mcilvaine

52 “Earth’s Angel” by Atlas Imhof

35 “Ghost” by Venita Henson 13 “Hunted” by Lindsey Hobson

24 “Lovely Garden” by Lyriq Bartley

61 “The Reaper Meets a Frightened Child” by Kristen Stough

20 “The Traveler” by Susan Eschbach

63 “The Yarb Doctor’s Magic” by Ron Reed Smith 16 “Young,, Dumb Love” by Alexandra Olson

NONFICTION

37 “A Brave Road Trip” by Brock Bearden 72 “All-American Pressure” by Maddie Allison

67 “Christmas Puppy” by Emma Giebler

28 “Defining Disability” by Ahuli Dewolfe 70 “FACT! Die Hard Is a Christmas Movie” by Dalton

Schlichting

56 “Find Yourself” by Daniel McGuffey 32 “For Evan: I Can Only Imagine” by Kim McCully-Mobley

46 “Live Like the Violet” by Billie Holladay Skelley

19 “My Rock” by Megan Schlotz

38 “One Country, Two Opinions” by Sausha Miller

10 “Our Comet” by Linda Sartin

65 “Void in My Heart” by Lyriq Bartley

POETRY

50 “15 Years” by Rachel Remington 27 “A Neutral Life” by Billie Holladay Skelley 59 “The Burnt Bridge” by Lorenzo Rogers 6 “I Think They Hear Me Whisper” by Emi Kuschel 44 “In Memory” by Linda Sartin 49 “Lament of a Lost Soul” by Janaya Erwin 34 “Made for Sorrow” by Terrin Mcilvaine 31 “Moving Away” by Atlas Imhof 42 “Peace to December 3rd” by Diana Enamorado 48 “The Mirror” by Saydee Wheeler 60 “The Persistence of Dandelions” by Lydia Churchill 57 “Tears” by Lillyann Bell 18 “What Do You See?” by Suzanne Johnson 69 “What Keeps Me Awake” by Winnie Jakaitis

Lawson plans to attend college to study illustration and art history to ultimately further her art education and teach art to future generations.

This piece reflects the process of breaking free and transitioning from childhood to adulthood. Graduating high school is a pivotal moment often overshadowed by the anticipation of adulthood, leaving behind familiarities and diving into the unknown.

2D ART

GRAPHIC ARTS

48 “A Mother’s Love” by Melody Burton

51 “Auge” by Abigail Bremer

34 “Coffee Maiden” by Eden Stewart

5 “Ferry Boat” by Lacey Nix

46 “Mountain Morning” by Amber Davidson

53 “Nature’s Angel” by Ialani Yang

11 “Nebulous” by Michelle Pugh

1 “Neosho’s Big Spring Park” by John Mills

55 “Nest Egg” by Kaitlyn Mustain

61 “Overgrowth” by Avari Fifer

36 “Red Panda” by Ezekiel Murray

60 “Roots” by Amani Firestone

78 “Tension” by Miya Lawson

6 “The King of Sumatra” by John Shiflett

17 “Under the Native Moon” by Dawn Kimmel

3D ART

71 “A Proposal” by Olivia Doss

74 “Green Bowl” by Michelle Pugh

9 “Journey of the Tree of Life” by Raylin Gomen

66 “Nvwoti” by Tiffany Blevins

8 “Seashells and Stained Glass” by Aubree Chisam

55 “Skye Story Teller” by Venita Henson

77 “Speaking of Me” by Lacey Wilson

54 “Speckled Mugs” by Cecilia Monsalvo

50 “Undone in Silence” by Carsyn Stephenson

74 “Wheel-Thrown Bowl” by Jace Chaligoj

30 “Will I Ever Have a Family of My Own?” by Tyler Dallis

COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY

45 “Bird on a Wire” by Patti Steel

21 “Bridge to Paradise” by Sierra Wilson

23 “Crater Lake Summer” by Cashton Wheeler

23 “Florida Keys Sunset” by Latonia Bailey

19 “Joy to the World” by Melody Burton

45 “Kayaks Waiting” by Terri White

25 “Lightning” by Kaitlynn Howell

43 “Petrified Dunes” by David Zacharias

44 “Photography of Japan” Cailey Storms

47 “Remembering a Dream” by Isabelle Wheeler

Back Cover “Sunflowers of Missouri” by Stacy Kern

33 “Sunset” by Carlito Johnson

62 “The Bus to the Barn” by Lori Gibbs

43 “The Terrific Tetons” by Hannah Allen

73 “True Blue” by Lexi Judy

31 “Turret View, Great Wall” by David Frisbie

79 “Under the Sea” by Brooklin Leggett

47 “Wavy” by Elijah Mazariegos

75 “Works of Arc” by Jammie Graves

B&W PHOTOGRAPHY

59 “Abandoned Stairs” by Latonia Bailey

49 “Belly Dancer” by Patti Steel

28 “Ghost Town Sadness” by Cashton Wheeler

27 “Little Havana” by Amber Davidson

39 “Lower Fox Creek School” by David Zacharias

13 “Mr. Mooney” by Hannah Allen

42 “Now” by Steve Wilson

26 “Part of the World” by Joselyn Lopez

68 “Puppy Love” by Abbigail Beaver

12 “The Night Sky” by Lexi Judy

26 “Unspoken Heights” by Jenna Wells

62 “Woosaw” by Stacy Kern

DIGITAL ART

14 “A Real Scorcher” by Brad Stout

64 “Billy the Goat” by Eden Stewart

Inside back cover “Dream Reality” by Kira Hickman

38 “Lincoln Monument” by Evelyn Hudnall

3 “Music Has the Power” by Joshua Weaver

57 “Open Gate” by Ialani Yang

40 “Page, Arizona” by David Zacharias

29 “Ruin of the Coastal Monarch” by Max Mitchell

58 “Stairs to Peace” by Zack Pierce

Under The Sea

Brooklin Leggett | Carl Junction High School

Silver | Color Photography

I took this picture at Bass Pro Shop. I saw the jellyfish and thought they looked really pretty.

Leggett is taking a digital photography class and loving it! She can’t wait to graduate and start new adventures on her own.

DEDICATED TO EMMA LAROSE

This year, we honor and recognize Emily LaRose, administrative assistant for the Communications Division and nontraditional student at Crowder College. The Quill contest could not happen without the administrative support Emma provided. She went above and beyond, reaching out to a wider area of schools to invite them to participate in the contest, devised a more efficient process for creating award certificates, and spent countless hours sorting entries into the appropriate contest divisions, typing, and other duties. As Emma prepares to graduate Crowder with honors in May and transfer to Pittsburg State University in Kansas, she counts her contribution to the Quill as one of the highlights of her working experience at Crowder.

Emma’s 24-year educational journey is fraught with overcoming personal tragedy, physical limitations, and disruptions in her academic progress. Read Emma’s story of perseverance and dedication for family in her own words at CrowderQuill.com.

Past Recipients

2014 - The first Quill dedication was for James B. Tatum, who helped found the college in 1963 and served on the Board of Trustees for more than 50 years, distinguishing himself as the longestserving board president of a community college anywhere.

2015 - As Print Shop supervisor, Jon Finley printed more than 50 editions of the publication from the time he was hired in fall 1987 until 2015.

2016 - Dr. Kent Farnsworth, former president of Crowder College, was a great support to the Quill. Now a successful published author, Farnsworth serves as a model for aspiring authors, artists and photographers.

2017 - Dan Richard founded the Quill in 1980 to create an outlet for aspiring authors and artists and continued to advise the publication until 1988 when he retired. His legacy lives on.

2018 - Dennis and Charlene Bergen, retired art instructors from McDonald County High School, have been strong supporters of The Crowder Quill, helping many students through the years to enter the contests. They both were published in the Quill many times, demonstrating an example to their students.

2019 - All area high school and homeschool instructors who encourage their students to enter the contest were recognized. They inspire and influence their students in many positive, remarkable ways and foster an environment in which students gain confidence to pursue publication and awards with their creative works.

2020 - Produced during the beginning of a global pandemic, this edition was dedicated to all those effected by Covid-19, including Terry Ray Clarkson, beloved employee and supporter of the magazine, who passed away April 16, 2020. All campus activities were suspended during the last half of the spring 2020 semester, including hosting the Quill ceremony, which would have commemorated the 40th anniversary of the publication.

2021 - Nina Beaver, retiring chair of the Communications Division, has been a great support to the magazine and contest. Employed at Crowder since 1992 first as instructor of English and literature, Beaver encouraged many students to enter the contest. Due to low enrollment in the course, there was not a 2022 edition.

2023 - James Paul (J.P.) Dickey, original member of the Crowder Quill staff in 1980, retired as a Crowder employee after 23 years. Dickey served in various roles, including theatre instructor, director, division chair, and director of Admissions. Dickey helped support the Quill throughout the years, including as keynote speaker for the Quill awards ceremony.

Jon Finley

Dr. Kent Farnsworth

James B. Tatum

Dan Richard

Dennis & Charlene Bergen

Terry R. Clarkson

Emma LaRose

Nina Beaver

J.P. Dickey

Dream Reality

Kira Hickman | McDonald County High School | Silver | Digital Art

This piece was made to illustrate my perspective of a reality different to our own. I took inspiration from a dream I had about a different reality. I used Ibis Paint X and Infinite Painter to create this art piece. I did not use any special effects. I simply started with an outline, put rough colors, blended, and then went back for detail.

Hickman is currently a high school student aiming to make it into an art program and psychology program. She wants to use her artistic abilities to be able to make a lasting impact on how people perceive art and reality.

[Back cover]

Sunflowers of Missouri

Stacy Kern | Stotts City | Quill Staff | Color Photography

I took this picture while visiting the Exeter Corn Maze in Exeter, Mo. Kern is currently enrolled at Crowder College to better her skills in photography and digital media turning her passion into a career.