<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<rss version="2.0"
	xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/"
	xmlns:wfw="http://wellformedweb.org/CommentAPI/"
	xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/"
	xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom"
	xmlns:sy="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/syndication/"
	xmlns:slash="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/slash/"
	>

<channel>
	<title>The Blue Pencil Online</title>
	<atom:link href="http://www.thebluepencil.net/feed/" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml" />
	<link>http://www.thebluepencil.net</link>
	<description>Writing &#38; Publishing at Walnut Hill</description>
	<lastBuildDate>Sat, 31 Jul 2010 01:04:27 +0000</lastBuildDate>
	<generator>http://wordpress.org/?v=2.9.2</generator>
	<language>en</language>
	<sy:updatePeriod>hourly</sy:updatePeriod>
	<sy:updateFrequency>1</sy:updateFrequency>
			<item>
		<title>Figure</title>
		<link>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/figure/</link>
		<comments>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/figure/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 30 Jul 2010 19:49:12 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Elizabeth McClure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Verse]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.thebluepencil.net/?p=6789</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[For Aupa
If only I could witness the way you packed your suitcase that night, pulling
Worn denim and flannel shirts from the chest of drawers, folded by your wife’s
Own hands. Walls would whisper of a man who drove to Florida for a lover
The day of his daughter’s birth. A single windowpane might reflect a portrait
Of Christmas [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/figure/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>McClure, Elizabeth</title>
		<link>http://www.thebluepencil.net/authors/mcclure-elizabeth/</link>
		<comments>http://www.thebluepencil.net/authors/mcclure-elizabeth/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 30 Jul 2010 19:48:52 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Bios]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.thebluepencil.net/?p=6801</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Elizabeth McClure is from Charleston, South Carolina. She is a member of the Class of 2010 at the South Carolina Governor’s School for the Arts and Humanities. She enjoys a day full of rods and reels, shrimp nets, and crab traps. She rides her 3-speed bicycle everywhere. [July 2010]

To see   all  work [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.thebluepencil.net/authors/mcclure-elizabeth/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Blue Pencil Online</title>
		<link>http://www.thebluepencil.net/front-page/tbpo-home/</link>
		<comments>http://www.thebluepencil.net/front-page/tbpo-home/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 30 Jul 2010 15:49:15 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Front Page]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.thebluepencil.net/?p=6662</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[&#8220;So you&#8217;re in love &#8230;&#8221;
—
Verse
by Emma Stein
 .
Newark Academy
Short Hills, NJ
&#8220;Each person speaks a different figure&#8221;
—
Verse
by Elizabeth McClure
S.C. Governor&#8217;s School for the Arts and Humanities
Charleston, SC
 
 
  
I smell a rat!
—
Nonfiction
by Kiyanna Hill
.Appomattox Regional Governor&#8217;s School
Petersburg, VA
&#8220;Have you broken the drinking cup?&#8221;
—
 Verse
by Marina Stevenson
Renaissance School
Charlottesville, VA
&#8220;Honey, I&#8217;m home &#8230;
again!&#8221;
—
A play excerpt
by
Kelly Roderick
California [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.thebluepencil.net/front-page/tbpo-home/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Stein, Emma</title>
		<link>http://www.thebluepencil.net/authors/stein-emma/</link>
		<comments>http://www.thebluepencil.net/authors/stein-emma/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 26 Jul 2010 01:10:30 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Bios]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.thebluepencil.net/?p=6829</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Emma Stein is a member of the Class of 2010 at Newark Academy. She lives in Short Hills, New Jersey, but will be off to Columbia University in the fall. [July 2010]
To see   all  work by this author in the Online Archive, click here.
]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.thebluepencil.net/authors/stein-emma/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Painter to Her Ex-lover</title>
		<link>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/painter-to-her-ex-lover/</link>
		<comments>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/painter-to-her-ex-lover/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 26 Jul 2010 01:09:55 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Emma Stein]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Verse]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.thebluepencil.net/?p=6803</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[So you&#8217;re in love.
Most people wouldn&#8217;t be able to tell, you know.
But I&#8217;m not most people.
I can trace you like Degas
Traced ballerinas, in hazy recollections
Of peach pastel, so blended
You forget yourself.
But I am immutable. I don&#8217;t forget
What I had for breakfast
Or the state fish of Indiana.
Or that car&#8217;s carcass
I saw the other day,
Spread out on [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/painter-to-her-ex-lover/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Nursery Rhyme</title>
		<link>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/nursery-rhyme/</link>
		<comments>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/nursery-rhyme/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 18 Jul 2010 12:48:41 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Marina Stevenson]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Verse]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.thebluepencil.net/?p=6772</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[I.
A sign that reads “FOR RENT” has just gone up
At the entrance of the home inside the house.
The cat drags each claw clean through her teeth.
She has just devoured the head of a brown dormouse.
II.
The child observes the body of the cat he has killed.
It lies as motionless, as wooden, as a 2&#215;4.
He took it [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/nursery-rhyme/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Stevenson, Marina</title>
		<link>http://www.thebluepencil.net/authors/stevenson-marina/</link>
		<comments>http://www.thebluepencil.net/authors/stevenson-marina/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 18 Jul 2010 12:48:22 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Bios]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.thebluepencil.net/?p=6769</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Marina Stevenson is a member of the Class of 2010 at Renaissance School, in Charlottesville, Virginia. Her short story &#8220;Green Beans&#8221; won the 2009 Elizabeth Bishop Prize in Fiction and was published in The Blue Pencil 2009, which can be read here. [July 2010]
To see   all  work by this author in the [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.thebluepencil.net/authors/stevenson-marina/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>11317 Jerusalem Plank Road</title>
		<link>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/nonfiction/jerusalem-plank-road/</link>
		<comments>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/nonfiction/jerusalem-plank-road/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 14 Jul 2010 19:11:05 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Kiyanna Hill]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Nonfiction]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.thebluepencil.net/?p=6628</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[11317 Jerusalem Plank Road
An essay

by Kiyanna Hill

¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯
The humidity rushed toward me as I opened the front door. I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise. My mother and I had stayed inside our air-conditioned living room all morning, watching episodes of The Real World. She’d chewed on ice cubes while I played [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/nonfiction/jerusalem-plank-road/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Hill, Kiyanna</title>
		<link>http://www.thebluepencil.net/authors/hill-kiyanna/</link>
		<comments>http://www.thebluepencil.net/authors/hill-kiyanna/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 14 Jul 2010 19:10:26 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Bios]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.thebluepencil.net/?p=6621</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Kiyanna Hill is a member of the  Class of 2010 at Appomattox Regional Governor&#8217;s School, in Petersburg,  Virginia. She enjoys indie films, poetry, and all types of coffee. [July 2010]
To see  all  work by this author in the Online Archive, click here.
]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.thebluepencil.net/authors/hill-kiyanna/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Backpackers, Beachshackers</title>
		<link>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/backpackers/</link>
		<comments>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/backpackers/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 08 Jul 2010 13:43:29 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Erica Berry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Verse]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.thebluepencil.net/?p=6606</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Pits of our feet pockmark the beach.
We are music—metal cups
Clip-clop, toes pebble-trip,
Dip between fists of rock.
Can you hear our marching hearts?
Watch us water-walk from pregnant tides,
The sun our bride and we are almost virgin too,
Sand whoring at our ankles.
We two-step sea stars—starfish—
Crayfish, spread-eagled along the brim,
Their bodies snarled in hollow
Driftwood beads.
We fear salt-swollen waves: pickled, [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/backpackers/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
	</channel>
</rss>
