New Site for Writers by Gina Gareri-Watkins, Staff Writer, Kennesaw State University’s The Sentinel Tuesday, 16 September 2008 The Sentinel recently talked shop with Joellen Kubiak-Woodall, developer and editor of the online magazine, The Write Room. Kubiak-Woodall is a recent KSU graduate currently enrolled in KSU’s Master of Arts in Professional Writing (MAPW) program in Creative Writing. Born in Athens, Georgia, to a homemaker mother and journeyman father, Kubiak-Woodall was raised by her mother and maternal grandparents in North Augusta, SC, a small town straddling the South Carolina-Georgia state line. Much like the Savannah River separating the two states, Kubiak-Woodall … Continue reading The Sentinel Interview with The Write Room’s Developer
David Dresner was born and raised in Miami, Florida. He attended Florida State University, where he received a bachelor’s degree in English with a minor in Journalism. He has worked as a performing musician, a baseball coach, an animal handler, a camera repairman, campaign assistant, photographer and news writer for an array of publications (The Famuan, The FSView, JazzTimes Magazine, Harp Magazine, and Miami’s Community Newspapers). Currently enrolled in Kennesaw State University’s Masters of Arts in Professional Writing program, he is now compiling a collection of short fiction and poetry for his master’s thesis in Spring 2009. He currently lives … Continue reading David Dresner
by David Dresner I figured all of them for the itch, and not the camp itch that our men have, but the seven year kind. Even the little one with the crescent moon scar from her temple to her chin: She had it too! There were children all over the house. Children hanging from oil lamps, fatherless and filthy, curled up on the floor, needing milk, medicine, climbing the pantry, needing more. They were looking at me like I was their pa, asking when the war was going to be over, asking me to stay, to help. I decided against … Continue reading The Itch
by David Dresner “Are you hurt badly?” Sherman asked me at the Creek. Mother, I can even remember your breasts. “I was ordered to take those works, Sir.” Father, I lost your watch along the way. “I’ve got a little job for you,” I told the good doctor. “Cut that leg off.” Sister, you were our mother after she flew away. “They were going to the front for glory and I was going to the rear disabled.” Brother, I will be your father after he is gone. “Then I cried like a child – yes, like a child!” God, you … Continue reading Shot on the Fourth of July
I sleep above a war.
I dream of muskets shooting at me through the pines, Continue reading Cannonball Man