The Emerging Artist Support Group is an informal gathering of artists who want to address basic ideas and concepts relevant to the novice. Topics for discussion might include pricing, finding the market, booth design, selecting the shows for entries. Emerging Writer: Bridget Martin.
There was a man's voice on the phone. \"Brenda, there's someone I think you should meet. She's a good writer.\" It was Troy Mills who works with the education program of the Appalachian Identity Center in Over The Rhine.
In the position of Cultural Program Specialist for the Urban Appalachian Council, I get the privilege of working in neighborhoods like Lower Price Hill, South Fairmount, Northside, and the East End to celebrate Appalachian culture through the arts. And I'm a writer and poet. So I found myself a few days later at the Appalachian Identity Center.
The face of the Id Center had changed since I had worked there but the program remains the same: help people get on with their lives through GED education, job coaching, etc.
Bridget Martin already had a high school diploma from Western Hills High School and four quarters of college work at the University of Cincinnati. Some day she will make a fine teacher. For right now, she's a single mom with three children trying to get her life together. I can relate. We sat across from each other and did the work of getting acquainted. As luck would have it, Troy was sick. Bridget showed me one of the articles she had been working on. Bridget's writing has a clean feel to it. Simple, clear ideas, nothing fancy. She let's the story tell itself.
Here's a sample of her work: When I think about my aunt, I wonder when her mind went backwards. I wonder what was so painful for her that she chose to hide herself in the corners and deep recesses of her mind. At an early age, I could tell she was different. Before the age of thirty, she spent time in a psychiatric ward. One day, while we were all in the kitchen, she stood there jumping up and down. Her face was like nothing I had ever seen. Her expression was stiff and strained. My cousin tried to restrain her, but it was impossible. With clenched teeth, she made a grunting sound that made me think that something was fighting to get out of her. I can't remember if I was ashamed in front of my friends or not. What I do remember is wondering, what does it all mean? I was never afraid of her, but I had an overwhelming sense of wonder and sadness for her. Copyright © Bridget S. Martin
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Short Story / Fantasy
Poem / Poetry
Poem / Poetry
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