Sparkle and Shine

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

SPARKLE AND SHINE

Kathleen Clark

2012 ©

The galaxy was abuzz! Speculations ran high! All the stars, novae to ancient waited with great anticipation. The question had been tossed about for centuries. Who would the Lord of the Stars choose for this greatest of honors?

Generations of stars had formed, lived and burned out. . . waiting, waiting, till hope almost vanished. The answer hung in space and fell silently to earth like shooting stars.

The singular foreshadowed event was destined to change the course of history.

Light years away

A cosmic dance of dust, gas and debris mixed with a potpourri of interstellar elements, becoming a galaxy.

Spinning, dipping and swaying

the swirling particles formed a new star,

swaddled in an ethereal birth cloud.

As it rotated and wobbled awkwardly in mid space, a strong breeze caused it to pause. . .

Lightning streaked across the sky, and a thunderous sound shook the heavens.

Shine, an ancient, wise and benevolent Supernova, appeared bearing a message for the novae star:

“I’m honored to

The Ghostly Hoosac Tunnel

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

THE GHOSTLY HOOSAC TUNNEL

Kathleen Clark

“This ride into the tunnel is far from being a cheerful one. The fitful glare of the lamps upon the walls of the dripping cavern – the frightful noises that echo from the low roof, and the ghoul-like voices of the miners coming out of the gloom ahead, are not what would be called enlivening.” —The Hoosac Tunnel, Scribner’s, December 1870

     The ridges of the Berkshire Mountains, located in the Deerfield Valley, stretch across western Massachusetts. The Hoosac Tunnel located in North Adams and known as “the Bloody Pit,” winds through the mountain base. I was fascinated by the many first-hand accounts of ghostly hauntings that surround the tunnel‘s construction. It provided a difficult and troubled challenge to the men who worked it.     
     Almost every tunnel bored through the mountains during the early 19th century posed problems particular to its location. Starting at the East Portal side, barely ten feet into the proposed Hoosac route, the specially made seventy-ton steam-driven boring machine cut a perfect hole . . . then stopped forever. The workers resorted to hand-drills and gunpowder, but couldn’t exceed sixty feet a month on either end of the tunnel. Boring on the West Portal side, drills hit soft rock, mica schist and water resulting in a soupy mixture referred to as “porridge” and prevented further penetration.    
     Thus a second tunnel was begun immediately to the right of the abandoned tunnel, using the new compressed-air Burleigh Drill invented by Charles Burleigh of Fitchburg, Massachusetts. This four drill contraption that could be pulled along the tracks as the men worked, in tandem with the introduction of Nitroglycerine explosives, finally resulted in the tunnel’s completion in 1875. Although only 4.82 miles long, the Hoosac took an unprecedented

Fifteen Minutes of Fame: Part 2—Wanna Be Fame

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

FIFTEEN MINUTES OF FAME: Part 2—WANNA BE FAME

What I’d like to be known for. . .

Kathleen Clark 

     I’m neither an actress, singer or otherwise known celebrity.

     If I could choose my moment of fame, I’d prefer it to be something notable, noble and/or memorable—something friends, relative and the unknown millions could point to with pride.

     Being a writer I’d love to have a successfully published New York Times Best Seller novel. Or a collection of short stories or poems future generations can pull off their local library shelves or buy at Barnes & Noble.

     “Look Emily, your great-great grandmother wrote this!”

     Such is every writer’s dream!

     My second choice, which is closer to reality, comes from my artistic talent. I’ve always loved dabbling in paint, making crafts and drawing. Leaving behind a collection of artistic creations recently became a distinct reality when I was accepted into a training program through Westmoreland County Community College (Youngwood, Pennsylvania), which placed me at the Geyer Performing Arts Center in Scottdale.

     While there I took on the often overwhelming task of

Fifteen Minutes of Fame: Part 1—The Real Thing

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

FIFTEEN MINUTES OF FAME: Part 1—THE REAL THING

Kathleen Clark

     Not fifteen minutes, but fifteen seconds of celebrity!

     It had been dry and hot for at least a fortnight in my Southwestern Pennsylvania neighborhood. No rain fell until the fishtail of Hurricanes Gustav and Hannah rumbled through on an early morning in September.

     Lightening slashed across the sky while the reluctant heavens finally showered a sprinkling of rain.Some wind swiped the trees, but nothing drastic. Waking up around 9:00 a.m., I reached to flip on the bathroom light – nothing! The power was out. I’d no idea when it happened.

     I dressed, gathered the garbage and headed to the dumpster. Allegheny Power trucks were in the parking lot and a couple guys out back were attempting to find the cause of the power outage, The generator lid popped open.

     Walking across the lot, I spotted a

Scottdale’s (PA) Little Off-Broadway Theater: The Right Place to Be

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

SCOTTDALE’S LITTLE OFF-BROADWAY THEATER:

THE RIGHT PLACE TO BE (in Pennsylvania)
Kathleen Clark

 

SCOTTDALE (PA) THEATER MARQUEE

    “Hello! Geyer Performing Arts Center. May I help you…yes, we have a few tickets left for the show. Where would you like to sit?”   
    It’s shortly after nine in the morning, the fax line is ringing and the door chime lets us know someone has arrived. While the theater manager attends to box office, I tackle a variety of duties for the day. These may include writing press releases, preparing a media packet, stuffing and addressing envelopes to send out fundraising letters or monthly show schedules. A program flyer I compiled for the 4th Annual Battle of the Bands, including copy, photos, ads and layout was a first for me! 
     When an acting group rehearses, voices and music filter upstairs from the stage, as do the sounds of prop people working on sets and lighting. The second floor office is

Wildlife Wonders

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

WILDLIFE WONDERS

Kathleen Clark

     “Where shall we go this weekend?” My mother would ask. Dad would raise one quizzical eyebrow, and I’d wonder whether she was planning an educational or a recreational trip.

     “Someplace new or someplace we’ve already been?” I’d ask.

     Yep, my mom’s responsible for turning me into a “wild child.” She steered me ‘off the beaten path” just far enough, so that I enjoy spending a Sunday morning gazing out my two by four foot porch into the lush green growth, admiring the birds and blooming buds, much more than sitting in the plushest pew in the finest church.

     At least once a month we packed a picnic lunch and headed down the highway to explore local places of interest—Falling Water, Powdermill Nature Reserve, the Flagship Hotel or Busy Run Battlefield. If mom was in a recreational mood, we’d grab our

Halloween Night

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

HALLOWEEN NIGHT

Kathleen Clark

Hey, there, Halloween eyes

master of disguise

lurking around in the dark

giving my heart a jump-start!

Darkness unfurls like Dracula’s cape

swirling around the mustard moon

soon…very soon…

the living dead will escape…

Gliding across misty fields, lurking down inky alleys

little ghouls and goblins

slink on cat feet, ring doorbells on pumpkin-lit porches

then RUN SCREAMING…

It’s a devilishly scary night

so slip inside and revel in the fright

of cobwebbed corners, flickering lights

blood-curdling screams!!!

Shiver with delight as you sit

cross-legged with flashlight

reading ghostly, sanguine tales

of horror and doom.

ADDITIONAL READING:

True Love

THE KILLER KITTEN

THE HAUNTED CABIN IN THE WOODS

JOURNEY’S END

Ghostly white pumpkins of the Lunar variety

THE SNITTY CAT LIKES PUMPKIN PIE?

G-20 Poem

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

G-20 POEM

Kathleen Clark

Oh, the G-20. 

My thoughts for a penny!

Here come the troopers

Those party poopers!

We were just hangin’ around

Not makin’ a sound

All peaceful and quiet like

Still we got a strike!

Just lettin’ our banner speak for us

So really – – – what’s all the fuss?

(Then there were all the others who really proved nothing by breaking windows & causing havoc – to the tune of $50,000)

ADDITIONAL READING:

Living with OCD

THE ART OF THE INTERVIEW: Things Writers Should Know

BOOKALICIOUS!

Can You Write Your Memoir in Six Words?

DEVELOPING CHARACTERS IN NOVEL WRITING

Manuela’s Mission Part II

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE
MANUELA’S MISSION Part II
Kathleen Clark

The Beanery Writers Group extends congratulations to Kathleen Clark, who won Second Place Award in the 2009 Short Story Contest sponsored by the Works in Progress Writer’s Workshop in Somerset, Pennsylvania. Her story will be posted in two parts. To read Part I of Manuela’s Mission, click on: Manuela’s Mission Part I

     Father Angelo knocked loudly, insistently. Well acquainted with the older priest’s temperament, Father Santiago opened the office door. Leaning heavily on the silver-footed cane, Father Angelo limped to the desk side chair and sat heavily. “What is going on?” he spoke without preamble, his square jaw set in a hard line. 
     “The incident is under investigation,” Father Santiago replied. “It’s too soon…”
     “Unforgivable!  Disgraceful!” Father Angelo interrupted, his slate-gray eyes flashing.  “Reportedly, it’s a

Manuela’s Mission Part I

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE
MANUELA’S MISSION Part I
Kathleen Clark

 The Beanery Writers Group extends congratulations to Kathleen Clark, who won Second Place Award in the 2009 Short Story Contest sponsored by the Works in Progress Writer’s Workshop in Somerset, Pennsylvania. Her story will be posted in two parts. Visit the Beanery Online Literary Magazine on Monday to read Part II.   
     Shivers skittered down my spine. Goosebumps peppered my tawny-brown arms.  Sweat beaded my forehead. This horrible thing couldn’t be happening! I wouldn’t let it!  Saint Joan, help me!  I crossed myself.  With my mind already working like a tumbler lock, I set to scheming. Telling Father Santiago would be easy; but would he believe me?  Every night, keys dangling from his waist, he securely locked the massive front doors.  The arched windows were about eight feet above the ground, except one, beneath the staircase leading to the bell tower.
     I’d overheard a disturbing conversation between two unknown men, where from the back of the church, I knelt praying the Rosary for my ailing sister, Rosa. 
     “Soooo. . . this is the legendary crucifix!  Hummm!  Exquisite, eh?  Mere words are an injustice!” I turned, quickly glanced at the men.
     “Providin’ it’s authentic, it’s well worth a fortune!” Commented the lanky man.   
     The scruffy guy whistled, “Fine piece for