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Barnes and Noble is My KryptoniteChelle SkinnerHundreds of books line the shelves,sorted by authors, topics, genres,calling me to come closer.Even from the parking lotmy ability to resist has weakened.The brown brick building holds my attention,the attraction between us is undeniable.I try to keep my feet firmly planted,but they more forwardunsympathetic to my brainʼs wishes.I donʼt know where to start.The covers begin to blend together,a mixed collage of bursting color seared into my brain.I continue to fight the urge,before eventually surrendering,waving my white flag,completely drowning myselfin books.Thoughts from a WriterLian ZhuWe try to cloakTruths in contradictionsAnd a chuckle.We deal in abstractionsMerged with the concrete.But while we comment on reality,We can never seem to defineThe levelOf our own writing.Pages are swept and crumpledAwayWith each new ideaThat I mottleWith my dripping,Incomplete scratchesWhich once had all the emotionOf an understanding glance between friends.Taylor CrowPerfection of DavidThe First Step to SuccessMarie BurkardItʼs my turn againTo taste the dirt of failure.This ground is not new.30 Spring 2008Rachael HurstBut how do I write without first being certainOf the meaning of my own experiencesOf the truth that can be revealed?Should I merely sit before a piece of lined paper,Wanting so desperately to seize the courage to write about somethingWhich humanity can never define fully?Or should I leave that noble idea behindTo type out something amusing on a laptopBefore hastily turning to my calculus book?Do I leave my view of the orange and red leaves,The reminder of what life was once like,Or do I stand there, in front of my paned window,Feeling so close to fingering out a familiar melody on the worn pianoBut yet, never really getting there.