This was Theresa’s kind of thrift store. There was no concrete floor, no glazed fluorescent lighting, just the snug feeling of a boutique. Of course, that’s why people went to buffalo exchange, aside from the amazing deals.

                The shopping trip was another one of Rachelle’s ideas to cheer Theresa up. So here they were, just after lunch during the afternoon gap in classes. The shop was almost entirely empty and the shopping racks were completely full, a perfect combination.

                Theresa walked a few feet away from Rachelle and started thumbing through a rack of olive green denim jackets. She stopped on a vintage style, the olive was fading to yellow, her brother had one like this, but he never let her wear it. She pulled it off the rack and held it to her torso, “what do you think?” She asked Rachelle.

                Rachelle cocked her head to the side and “hmmm”d. After a few seconds of silence, Theresa got the hint “not really my color anyway,” she said putting it back on the rack.

                Her task completed, Rachelle turned back to a row of hemp skirts while Theresa moved over to a rack of jeans. She thumbed through before stopping cold. Theresa reached in and pulled out a pair of light blue jeans; her eyes lit up. They were “PRVCY” and looked like her size!

                She flipped them over to study the tag and almost dropped the jeans clapping her hands in excitement. Rachelle looked over, “what?” she asked.

                Theresa let the jeans fall to the floor, “nothing,” she said nonchalantly. Rachelle eyed her suspiciously before turning back to her search.

                When she was satisfied that Rachelle wasn’t looking, Theresa knelt and felt the smooth denim in her fingers. She glanced at the tag and pursed her lips, they were a six and Theresa’s snug jeans she was wearing were a seven.

                She contemplated putting them back on the rack, but her eyes found the price tag again. Fifteen dollars? She was sure she’d seen these pants in her “Cosmo” for over a hundred. The deal was too good, she had to have them. Besides, she thought, she needed motivation to keep going to the gym. The thought of walking down campus turning heads and finally showing up Jerome made her smile. True, he wouldn’t be there, but it would be revenge enough.

                There was no way she could buy them with Rachelle there. Rachelle would fawn and say they were too small. They were too small, but that was no reason not to buy them, not with so many spectacular benefits to owning them. She tucked the jeans inside the rack and pretended to shop a few more minutes.

                “I need to head out,” she said, when she was certain no one would discover her treasure. Rachelle was done looking by this point and they left the store together. But later, Theresa thought, I’ll come back.

                The gym always smelled like old sweat, Theresa wrinkled her nose. She walked through the entrance past the attendant playing angry birds at the desk and onto the springy black composite floor of the free weight section.

                Most of the gym was empty except for two football players spotting each other on the bench press. As the spotter cast a glance her direction, Theresa felt her face flush. When the spotter looked away she attempted to adjust her black workout pants to no avail.

                Her hair was pristine and pulled back in a ponytail. Her pink and black stretchy workout shirt felt tighter than usual. The bench presser had finished his set and now was nonchalantly glancing her direction. Theresa ruefully thought back to her vacation and the oodles of Christmas cookies made by Jerome’s mother, she knew it would be a bad idea.

                When the bench presser and the spotter switched places, Theresa hurried to the far side of the gym where the elliptical machines lined the wall. A fluorescent light over the cardio machines flickered intermittently making the black walls seem darker than usual.

                Theresa hopped onto the machine and adjusted the settings before selecting Tik Tok on her pink iPod Nano. As Ke$ha started singing about bottles of jack, Theresa shut her eyes and started moving ever so slightly to the music. When she had a solid rhythm she pressed start on the elliptical machine and started running.

                The machine cycled ploddingly at first and then began picking up speed. Theresa let out a long held breath and kept up the pace, all the while her eyes wandered around the gym. The two free-weight lifters finished their set and walked towards the showers, as they entered the locker room they cast a final look her direction.

                Theresa didn’t respond the embarrassment from before returned, but by now she was focusing on her workout. It remained like a nagging doubt in her mind that refused to surface. Theresa continued for several minutes when she heard the gym door open and saw a small crowd enter.

                There were at least ten of them, all dressed in blue and red jumpsuits, the volleyball team. As they walked towards her they laughed together. Theresa rolled her eyes; did the team only take blonde bombshells? That much peroxide couldn’t be a coincidence.

                The swarm made its way to Theresa’s side of the gym, when they were ten feet away the group went silent. No one looked Theresa’s direction, no one spoke, and the laughter became smirks as the team climbed onto the vacant machines.

                Theresa tried to focus on the run, but it was hopeless. They were all so perfect looking, it wasn’t fair! They kept looking knowingly her direction before turning back to each other and speaking in whispers. Theresa never caught them doing it, but she knew they were.

                When the elliptical machine hit twenty minutes Theresa immediately pressed the stop button and hopped down. As soon as she left her machine, the volleyball player on the end walked down and took her place. Theresa walked toward the locker room and paused to look back. They look like a Baywatch squad she laughed to herself.

                With resignation she walked into the locker room, she still had to study tonight.

                It was the whale that fascinated Theresa the most, that massive whale (of what kind Theresa couldn’t say) leaping out of the water and frozen in time before the earth came crashing back. Underneath was the word “determination” in big blue letters.

                The only sound in the admissions office was the tapping of the advisor on the keyboard. Theresa sat, her hands in her lap, and fidgeted nervously with her fingers.

                The advisor took a sip from the coffee she had no doubt purchased from the college’s “Free Trade” coffee shop. Her hair hung in long waves to her elbows, covering her numerous ear piercings. The ring in her nose was still visible, as was the tattoo on her neck, a small patch of leopard print.

                Her blouse was hemp, and her olive green loose-fitting skirt hung just over her knees. Under the desk, red toms tapped impatiently on the ground. The advisor turned her pale green eyes on Theresa and stopped typing, “So what do you want to do?”

                “I don’t know,” Theresa ventured cautiously, “I’m a business major right now…”

                The advisor rolled her eyes, but didn’t interrupt as Theresa continued.               

                “I just don’t enjoy it that much…I thought it might be a time to change majors.”

                The advisor nodded and began tapping again. “You’ve finished your general eds, was there anything you liked?”
                Theresa thought for a moment. “I liked Geography…and comm…”

                Another sip of the free-trade latte and the advisor shivered and stopped typing, “you could try poli-sci,” she suggested, “social work maybe? Do you think you’d like teaching?”

                Theresa shook her head. “I don’t know.”
                “I’m signing you up for modern political thought…child psychology…what about a sport?”

                “That’s not really my thing,” Theresa ventured.

                “You have to take something…what about basketball?”

                Theresa didn’t respond she was thinking. She liked watching basketball, but playing? The advisor seemed to notice her pause and leaned forward. “Can I say something?”

                Theresa nodded.

                “You’re a sophomore in college and you’ve already finished your gen eds. I think you need to live a little bit, try a class. If you don’t like it, you can always switch. You’re only going to be in college once.”          

                Theresa chewed her lower lip and nodded. “Ok,” she said, “I’ll try it.”

                “Sooo…what happened?”
                Theresa fidgeted with her hands under the table while Rachelle took another sip of her orange smoothie. Outside the blizzard continued, Theresa glance back at the table and her peppermint mocha with wilting whipped cream on top. She glanced curiously at Rachelle, if drinking the frozen drink on such a cold day bothered her she didn’t show it.

                The choice of drink was as obscure as her clothing. Rachelle was sporting a medium-length tan skirt, sweater, and ugg boots. The fashion had been dubbed: eskiho by Theresa when she had seen it first, but Rachelle insisted.

                Theresa might have continued her musing for several more minutes and stalled the inevitable question, but Rachelle’s cup crashing into the table broke her concentration. “Hey! Quit ignoring me.”
                Theresa raised the mocha to her lips and took a sip. This was not a conversation she wanted to have. She might have wanted to talk, but Rachelle was being so demanding and why did she have to dress that way? It made Theresa feel like a skank.

                It was another few moments before Theresa gave in. “Well…I went to his parent’s house for dinner Christmas eve.”

                Rachelle raised an eyebrow, “and…”

                Theresa felt her lip tremble, as she thought the words the memories came flooding back. “And I had his present all wrapped and we sat down for dinner and there was a ring at the doorbell.” The tears were starting to well up now. “He went to the door and when he came back…” her voice trailed off. Everything had been so perfect until.

                Rachelle waited a few seconds before motioning with her hands, “what?”

                “He had Bethany with him.”

                Rachelle’s hand went to her mouth. “His ex-girlfriend?”

                Theresa’s tears were falling fast now, “and no one said anything. He kissed her on the side of the head and then everything just spun and I left as fast as I could.”

                “Did he say anything?”

                Theresa nodded. “He sent me a text. Apparently they got back together and he wanted to tell me there…he thought it’d be easiest.” As Theresa let out a sob, Rachelle jumped to her feet. “We’re going home right now,” she said soothingly. Rachelle guided the distraught Theresa out the door to her car.

                The snow continued to fly, but Rachelle ignored it until they were both inside her Miata with the heater running. The car was drowned in silence as Rachelle  backed out of the parking lot and started home. All the while, Theresa couldn’t stop crying.

      The apartment was immaculate. In fact, that’s what seemed to make it so infuriating. Theresa stood in her apartment living room, hands on hips, and chewed her lower lip. Why was it that everything you lost, you seemed to lose right after you cleaned the apartment. Where could it be hidden now?

      The living room was furnished with a myriad of past-decade ikea, black and plastic furniture. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was fashionable. One wall was painted chalk black and was now covered with white dusty writing. At the top of Theresa’s to-do list “find keys” was underlined, which was where Theresa found herself now.

      Yesterday was cleaning day for the week, the house was swept, dusted, vacuumed, and otherwise in meticulous order; this meant there was nowhere the keys could be hiding.

      Theresa lay down on the floor and peered under the couch. A glimmer of light emanated somewhere by the couch’s metal frame. Theresa felt underneath and pulled out an earring. As she stared down a smile crossed her face.

      It was Swarovski crystal, ruby red, one of two given to her by Jerome on their last anniversary. Thinking of Jerome made the smile fade as quickly as it had come. The frustration of the search was now sullen resignation and Theresa walked into the kitchen, tossing the earring into the trash can as she went. The other half of the matching pair was thrown away weeks ago when she broke up with Jerome.

      The pink tile of the kitchen felt cool beneath her feet. Theresa walked to the refrigerator and pulled out a glass pitcher filled with coconut water. After filling a wine glass, Theresa leaned back on the counter and took a sip.

      Jerome had been ready to propose, but that was before…Theresa shook the memory away and bent to check under the counter for her keys a third time. The kitchen was the first place she had looked. First in the cupboards with the dishes, then the dishwasher, finally the refrigerator. Neither the first or second rounds of looking revealed anything.

      The familiar ticking of the kitchen wall clock attracted Theresa’s attention. Quarter to two, she would never make her afternoon class. The front door opened and Theresa saw Rachelle enter, both arms heavy laden with bags of groceries.

      Rachelle was shorter than Theresa with long blonde hair and brown eyes. She cast a smile at her roommate as she lowered the bags to the ground. When the smile was not returned, Rachelle’s friendly expression was replaced with one of worry. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

      Theresa looked away. “Nothing.” She walked out of the kitchen and into the hallway towards her room. As she walked inside, she gently pressed the door shut behind her. On her white dresser a picture of Jerome smiled up at her. Theresa slammed the picture face-down on the dresser and fell face-first on her bed.

      A few moments later there was a knock on the door. “I found your keys,” Rachelle called, “I’ll set them by your door.”

      Theresa wanted to sit up and scream at her. How dare she be so cheerful? Didn’t she understand the emotional crisis Theresa was facing? She lay on her comforter for several minutes until she heard the front door open and shut again. A few seconds later, Theresa rose and opened her bedroom door. Her keys lay on the carpet right next to a pink rose. A white card with an ivy border lay beside it. On it was a message written in pink: U R beautiful. Hang in there girl.

      Theresa picked up her keys and the rose. All at once she felt tears running down her face, but this time she managed to smile.

      Theresa wrinkled her nose and frowned, the picture in front of her still looked like a bunch of blurry cats.

      “Isn’t amazing?” the shopkeeper drawled, “Who would’ve expected to see Mount Rushmore on that page?” He smiled charmingly, but the smile was where the charm ended. The shopkeeper leered at her with grey eyes and straightened his cheap grey suit.

      Theresa stood in front of the counter, eyes burning, and willed Mount Rushmore to appear; nothing happened.

      Outside a gull cried and the chatter of swimsuit clad Californians swarmed by. San Diego’s seaport village continued to bustle as ray-addicted surfers scarfed crab and funnel cones. A few stores down, middle-class yuppies with upper-class tastes claimed to see the value of the art store’s latest purchase.

      In the middle of the hustle and bustle was Theresa, dressed in her denim skirt, knit top, army green toms, and short baggy sweatshirt. The Christmas vacation had passed and now came the hardest part of going home: souvenirs. Actually the sweatshirt wasn’t hers; Jerome had left it in her car.

      After a minute of squinting, Theresa let out a sigh and set the card down on the table.

      The shopkeeper stood smiling expectantly. “Awesome right?”

      Theresa said nothing, he smelled like garlic anyway. Instead she turned around with her hands in her sweater pockets and walked out of the store. Crowds of sun junkies flooded by on the cobblestone streets, Theresa hated how happy they were.

      After brushing a wisp of her bangs behind her ear, Theresa walked back towards her car. A group of high schoolers were leaning on the brick walls of the waffle shed as she passed. Theresa planted her eyes firmly on the cobblestones and kept walking. As she passed by, she heard one speak. “You can always tell a kept girl by her boyfriend’s sweater.”

      Theresa stopped and looked at the small group. The boy who had spoken was leaned back on the wall, one leg slightly bent; he winked at her with a click of his tongue as he brushed dust off his letterman’s jacket.

      The jock stared at Theresa for a moment before blowing a kiss, much to the amusement of his friends.

      Theresa smiled innocently and walked right up to him. She stared right at the jock’s smug face. After a moment’s silence he clicked his tongue again, “see something you like?”

      The smug look vanished immediately after Theresa’s army green toms crashed into his shin. The jock doubled over in pain, rubbing his leg as his friends laughed hysterically.

      A few moments later Theresa sat in her silver Camry, the smile still on her face. Much better than a souvenir, she thought as she started the engine.

I have been writing for years. To make it painfully clear how long I’ve been writing, I’ve been writing seriously since my big sister told me to turn off computer games and start writing, I was twelve.

Since then my writing has gradually improved and my general knowledge on the craft has been built from nothing to almost nothing. I’ve enjoyed a certain amount of private success (my Mother says my stories are good …and other people as well) but I’ve run into universal criticism on two points: the conversation of my women characters, and their point of view.

Now if you’ve hopped over to “Project Logos” you know my artistic philosophy of seeking perfection. I’ve decided it’s time to sketch some hands…proverbially speaking. Every day I will write a short story (four pages or less and usually less) about things happenning from a woman’s perspective. I’ll contrast the same situation with a man’s perspective, and write conversations with various characters in various settings.

These are writing push-ups and I invite my women readers (and men who have a better grasp of the subject, though preferably women) to throw some constructive criticism my way. I won’t back away from harsh criticism as long as there is a suggestion on how to improve and such criticism is done with thought.

Expect the first segment tonight.

Perhaps the most misunderstood, most disliked, most undervalued kind of writing is the ever-demanded academic paper. I was a history major, so I wrote at least one of these per class. I’ve heard business majors write them as well, but are completely oblivious to their potential. (A note to business majors, I think business is as noble an academic pursuit as any other major. I just think it should only be attempted by people who really want to learn it.)

Perhaps I should begin with what an academic paper is not. It is not an excuse to come up with a thesis and then find quotes to plug into it. A friend of mine once had a method called “plug and chug.” She ripped quotes out of books and threw some of her own words in between.

Confession time: I have done this, what academic hasn’t? Yet this is one of the reasons people hate academic writing and miss out on it’s vast potential. I blame my history professors (and my own undergraduate laziness) for not getting this genre right from the very start.

If you’re a learning person, (and if you’re in college for anything other than a job you probably are), then it’s time to do what all learners do, research! I’ll lay out everything step-by-step below.

1-      Choose a topic: Depending on the class or the length of the paper, you should pick either a more general or a more specific topic. For example, you might pick Stalin for a history paper around 30 pages. The next thing you’ll do is drown yourself in sources. Unplug your television and read for about an hour to two hours a night. If you don’t enjoy reading about history, get out of that major. Read, Read, Read, Read, Read! After each source write either a paragraph or a page about your thoughts or conclusions you’ve reached. This is just to help you formulate your thoughts.

2-      Research Pt. 2: If you’ve learned something interesting in your research it’s time to pursue it further. Maybe you’ve been reading about Stalin and you’re particularly interested in those moments between the signing of his alliance with Hitler and the opening of the eastern front in WWII. There was a lot of shady stuff going on. Narrow your research, get more sources but look for those specific moments in history. Keep journaling your thoughts and a thesis may begin to take shape in your mind.

3-      Pick a thesis: You’ve learned something by this point. Don’t pretend you haven’t and those things you’ve learned have impacted you. Whether you’ve been deliberate about it or not, you can’t help it. When he hit our brain with different materials it makes an impact. True as toasted toads (enjoy a reference from a book) you will be affected by what you have read. Think about it and make a decision. Then think back on how you reached your conclusion. Reread your paragraphs and pages for each source, highlight a few key ones.

4-      Personal Outline: Track your process of coming to your conclusion. Bracket your thoughts into a rough outline. In your outline include the sources that were particularly important to the formation of your thoughts. Once you have everything in paper walk away for a few days.

5-      Skeletal Outline: Now it’s been a few days, come back to your outline. The first hard part has come. You need to take your outline and transform it from something that makes sense to you, to something that makes sense to others. Feedback might be helpful, sit down with someone who has time and walk them through your thought process. Pay attention to how to they respond to your descriptions, understanding how others think is important to creating a good outline. Gradually form the thoughts into something that someone else would understand most easily. This will be your skeletal outline. Then plug the sources in to the reorganized outline.

6-      Write the thing: Now that you’ve got your quotes and you’ve got your ideas laid out, it’s time to write. I assume anyone reading this knows how to write academically. At a later date I’ll cover styles in different types of writing. Once you have everything on paper you’re ready to edit.

So from step one to six you have what goes into creating the rough draft of an academic paper. I’ll cover each step at a later date. For now, jump into research and start learning. The most important thing with any academic paper is to make yourself an expert. The academic writer must be a master of self-education.