The Sandwich Artist

The Sandwich Artist

A guy makes eye contact
with her, comes into the store
and opens his mouth. Words
come, but none make sense.
Then the same questions get asked,
“Are you here alone tonight?”
She rolls her eyes.
“What do you recommend?”
Like she cares what sandwich
they order. One by one
she gets them through
the line, and suddenly
she makes eye contact again.

A guy and his friend walk
in. They ask her about the special
and she fakes
her smile
the best
she can. This one wants
cookies. That one gets
chips and a drink.
They leave.

Still more come. She barely
has time to rest,
and still the store needs
to be cleaned.
Her slender figure,
hazel eyes
and long brown hair
keeps pulling them back.
She knows the job is temporary
so she puts the fake
smile
on and asks what type
of bread the next
one wants.


This is a poem I've posted in other places before, and I'm posting it here because I think it's pretty funny. I wrote it while Beth was at work at Subway her freshman year and I was keeping her company before close.

Finally

The working title of the second novel I have right now:

Finally

It's not the one I was working for during Novel November, but the one I've been working with for about a year. I just wrote part of the end so I know a big piece of what I needed to know. Mwahaha I know, so vague. It was romantic in nature. I've got so many pieces of it done hopefully I'll have another full novel soon, yet it will need some editing. Heck, the first one needs editing.

I'm going to go back to writing. I'm in the zone!

November a bust...or not?

I did not finish my novel in the month of November. Sad, I know. But I have the foundation for another great story and I have grown a lot in the past four weeks. I also submitted a short story to Writers Digests competition. I'll find out in February if they are going to publish it.

Lately I've had a lot of issues with myself, with things that have happened to me, and with my relationships. I have pin-pointed where a lot of that has come from so I can hopefully write clearer, live happier, and enjoy my time with people I care about again.

No more sour puss Jenn!!! At least not until the next depressive wave hits. I leave this with a poem.

Lost in the mist of some unfortunate
dream, I hope
for an arm to touch
or even a reassuring glance.
No such luck
since the phone calls stop
when you forget
your happy nature
and find yourself passing
opportunities. Only reason
pulls me back to escape
from the surreal and haunting
crevice of the mind
that pushes everyone away. Leave
the dangerous fantasy
to rejoin a world
with peace, love, joy,
destruction,
hatred,
pain,
sorry--
what's the difference?