What a man

Hemingway

Coach in Pictures

Had the weekend of our lives! Unfortunately I was only able to get my "professional" camera in two of the three days, so the images are limited. Luckily Elise brought hers in...more images to follow.

lights

friends

black keys
hydration station
sunset

dancing with ducksauce

Happy New Year!

I have got to say, I am ecstatic to put 2010 behind me, and I am hopeful for a brilliant 2011. I’m not one for making resolutions, mostly because I am incapable of sticking to them, but this year I have decided to man up and start writing again. I spent four years of my live devoted to journalism and now that I am out of school I have let it slip away. So expect to hear more from yours truly.

I’m reading through my old work for some inspiration, so I thought I’d share it here. I wrote this for a creative non-fiction course. The prompt asked us to be extremely descriptive and to start each sentence with the same word the previous sentence ended with. Hope you like it.

"Lost in Aix"

Daylight’s brilliance presented an unfamiliar territory, keeping my head below the skyline, I observe the archaic cobblestone streets, quaint store-fronts, masterfully sculpted fountains, overflowing heaps of baguettes, pristinely placed pastries and the illuminated shapes formed by arrows of sunlight darting through the trees. Trees now loom over me, encapsulating me in unfamiliar darkness, thick, sliding metal doors now veil the store-fronts that shone so brightly mere hours ago, the fountains produce an eerie glow, and the streets create uneven, stumble-causing pathways. Pathways wind in every which way, and my over-confidence has left me map-less, wandering through now unfamiliar streets with incomprehensible names taunting my emotions. Emotions of complete solitude stung my frozen body, “Who could tell me how to get to the bus…even worse, how would I understand them, or they my broken French?” French phrases somersaulted in my mind, “Ou Est-ce que le Rotonde?” I repeated in my head in fluctuating accents and structures. Structures of French phrases jumbled together like leftover crumbs on a messy dinner table, they benefited no one. One person who would possess the capability and compassion to see through my poor, frazzled French appeared in my path the instant I summoned the courage to ask for help. Help came in the form of a Midwest American exchange student, groceries in hand, heading home for the night. Night became a bleak darkness as she guided me, weaving through the alleyways. Alleyways endlessly meandered until suddenly the street widened and illumination beamed from the colossal fountain, marking the city center surrounded by commotion. Commotion bustled around my emotionally draught body as my guiding angel called my French family. Family, I missed the most that first night in Aix-en-Provence when darkness devoured the beauty I had acquainted myself with in the daylight.