Welcome to Creative Corner

Welcome! Calling all creatives and writers with a taste for something different. This is the beginning of Creative Corner, the Features section’s new column for those looking to curl up and read for a few minutes, or to share their work with the NAU community. This is a place for all creative fiction, poetry, satire — you name it. Perhaps the rules are obvious, but don’t have overly dark and dreary themes, and please keep swearing to a minimum. I don’t want to see your erotica either — not here at least. We’re looking to publish new work and spread a love of writing, as it comes in many forms, and the intention is to open this up so everyone can submit work. Keep up with The Lumberjack and our social media for updates, but without further ado, I offer my work for the first publication. Thanks for stopping by.

Go to get more coffee — and oh, look, we’re out of filters.

But there’s always been filters here before.

It whisks away all the pretentious weirdos who want to push their own dramatics forward.


I’m 2/4s through college, where I had set out to tell the truth.

Everyone thinks the media is broken and news should be free.

Look forward to freelancing for the rest of your youth, everyone always says to me.

24 24 24 

That’s what I was told the other day.

They’ll take a 24 year old,

they’ll make them work for 24 hours a day,

and they’ll pay them 24 thousand a year. 

You have to understand, I love literature, but the honesty and deadlines and structure are … not as satisfying as they used to be.

I tell myself:

you are not your news. 

But after twenty years of being led here, what is it all for? 

Give me more responsibility or give me death.

If you scrape the truth off the top, my eyes are straining, but where’s the lie? 

A little white lie never hurts anyone unless you’re consuming them every night.

Choke on the chalkiness of the day’s chagrin.

You lie down for the night, but here I am still working.

And when I do close my eyes I hear a mantra of

24 24 24, 24 24 24

“That kid,” they’ll whisper in the newsroom.

“Just need the tools to not be so forlorn,”

“A story a day keeps the commenters away,”

“They’re spitting out wood chips with that stick so far u-“

“Hey kid,”

The boss will say, 

“Are you too behind or have you finished all your work for today?”

The stress shows up in cold sores and stomach aches and shedding and a burning at the back of my throat.

And I’ll smile. 

“Sure thing,” I said. “Almost at my 24th hour.”

They’ll nod and tell me,

“Keep on writing kid, it’s got to be good for something.”

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