Date: August 2, 2026
Location: Lake Andrew, New London, MN

I didn’t know my tears would mingle
with your waters.
Ripples on the surface at sunrise.
Memories lapping gently with your waves
for the first time in fifteen years.
But the ghosts aren’t haunting here –
They are dancing
laughing
singing
loving.
And for the first time in fifteen years
I feel like the girl
who lived her summers
in your waters.
I feel like I am on the way
back to myself again,
like I am
on the way back
home.

Date: July 26, 2026
Location: Cream & Amber, Hopkins
Prompt: Write a piece using these words (Dawn, Ice cream, Safety, Heat, Human)

She was still hungry. Hungry enough to devour the morning.

Dawn poured over the horizon like melting ice cream, all peaches and salmons and tangerines. The sun emerged from the edge of the world, a single scoop of vanilla, quickly casting everything in a hazy Dreamsicle light. She had mostly forgotten what food tasted like, but it came back to her in moments like this. She watched from the relative safety of the cave, the yawning entrance narrowing to a crevasse toothed with rock icicles, where the sun’s rays could not reach.

The sunrise looks different, after the Change. Like it’s not quite meant for your eyes. Because it isn’t, not anymore. One step into the daylight, and she would be dust. No one – not even her Changer, and he was old – no one knew whether that process of “becoming of the earth” was painless.

Others would call her foolish, or that she was tempting a terrible fate. But she made a point to watch the sunrise every morning, before retreating for slumber. It was the last thing, the only remaining thing in her life, that reminded her of what it felt like to be human. She could practically taste the heat of sunkissed skin, and it made her salivate. For the last fifty years, she hunted her meals by the light of the moon, the cool of the night, and there was just always something lacking.

The sun rose higher, and she could feel her retinas starting to toast. Vision wavering, she retreated to the depths of the cave, resigned to yet another sunless sleep under the earth.

Until she heard it. Quiet at first, but then louder. Footsteps. The sound of metal against stone. A trickle of laughter. Her Changed eyes could see the dim edges of a beam of artificial light. Her Changed ears perceived the melody of a beating heart.

Waiting, she inhaled, teeth bared, and tasted the morning.

Date: June 7, 2026 (Pride Month)
Location: Cream & Amber, Hopkins 
Prompt: Identity

Once upon a time, we walked away from each other: I only now realize it is because you had to. The place we were, where we grew up, the circle where I felt comfortable and safe… that place was not safe for you. I didn’t see that, back then.

I stayed in this circle. Status quo, call it what you want. I didn’t have the word for it. I had the privilege to be oblivious.

And suddenly you, friend, were not in the circle with me anymore. You were suddenly very far away. I know now you were more courageous than anyone, finding yourself in the journey outside the circle. Back then, I just watched you walk away.

I wondered for a long time what had happened. I saw them Other you, and wondered who had decided that. I wondered if I was the default, and who decided what that was. And then I started to wonder who I had been listening to, and why. I started wondering why my comfort and safety and why you stepped away went hand in hand.

I called myself an ally for a while but didn’t know what that word meant, not truly. I know now that I cannot apply that word to myself until I stopped centering my own identity against the context of others.

Humans try to make sense of the world through our own eyes, but that is lonely. I know now that we – those of us who stayed in the circle – don’t have to stay there. We can step out too. We can catch up. Those of us who walked away from each other – we take steps back toward each other slowly, carefully, to understand in bits and pieces.

This world is far bigger than the little circle I left. I see you in the distance, friend, and am following your footsteps. I am discovering along the way, not who I should have been but who I always was. I see you up ahead, and I can’t wait to know you.

Date: May 17, 2026 
Location: Cream & Amber, Hopkins 
Prompt: Write a piece mostly composed of dialogue, with your characters discussing the weather.

“I hate this weather.”

“Well, you weren’t complaining when we first got here.”

“When we first got here, we were in Miami. Now we’re in this shack on stilts in the middle of one of the biggest swamps in the world, there are alligators, and the air is dripping.”

“You told me you liked Florida.” 

“Maybe I liked the idea of Florida. I liked Miami just fine. But you’re the genius who chose to move us into a tropical swamp.”

“I didn’t choose it. This is the only location on Earth where this particular species has been sighted. And–”

“I know, I know. If you’re going to have a chance at publishing it, you have to find it. But you dragged me along with you, into the armpit of America, to try to find a flower the size of a toddler’s thumbnail that might be living somewhere within 2 million acres of swamp, and the air is dripping, so please forgive me if I’m having a little trouble coping. It’s been a lot of change for me.”

“It isn’t just a flower, it’s an orchid that was thought to be extinct for over fifty years…”

“Did you even hear what I said?”

“I know you don’t love change, but this is a very important opportunity for me, and I really want to see if I can narrow down possible habitats before hurricane season.”

“Hurricanes…”

“Well, yes. We are in Florida.”

“…”

“Hurricanes are to be expected.”

“Do you… do you think our shack on stilts is going to manage through a hurricane?”

“Well, I suppose we will find out in about a month or so.” 

“Do you mind if I sit here?”

The strange voice immediately shifted the air, a sudden heavy stillness matched the sinking pit in her stomach.

Without looking up from her book, she moved as far to the edge of the bench as she could while avoiding an undignified fall into a pile on the grass.

He sat. She turned the page. The stillness persisted, then:

“What a peculiar day for a storm, don’t you think?”

“What?” She wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly.

“What a strange day for the storm that’s coming.“

“There are no clouds.” She couldn’t help herself. It was 75 degrees and sunny. She heard a chuckle, deep and rumbling.

“I didn’t say it would be a rainstorm, did I?”

“What kind of storm do you expect?”

“Oh, I think it’ll be a surprise for everyone. Something no one expects, least of all me.”

“I’m not sure I’m understanding you.”

“I don’t believe you’re supposed to. Not yet.”

Date: April 19, 2026
Location: Cream & Amber, Hopkins
Prompt: Finding the joy in something ordinary

We have not seen many warm days in April
but my heart is thawing anyway.

Like the ground
slowly casting off its frozen armor
rousing from sleep amid longer days.

Roots are stirring
freed from their ice shackles;
Sap flows with the rhythm of the
hours, minutes, seconds;
Buds appear on twigs
promising leaf and bloom and fruit.

I stand with bare feet
to the chilled earth
a warming sun on my skin
and the energy of the waking world
sings through my limbs.

Tomorrow I will plant.
Tomorrow I will grow.
Today I will dream.