by Elin Johnson As my time at Turnagain Currents comes to a close, I think back to everything that made my experience special. The musty bat cave with its mismatched chairs and stacks of outdated literature. The partially filled out schedules and all the decisions that ended with “yeah we should get to that…” My poetry enthused counterpart and our fearless editor, creating magic with a few key strokes. Our Canadian faculty advisor always encouraging us to continue writing even when academia had sucked all of our passion out of our souls through bendy straws. This eclectic group of individuals all bound together by our mutual hatred of the sound…

by Elin Johnson Jolene Perry is our amazing writer-in-residence. She grew up in Alaska and still resides in the final frontier with her husband and two kids. Jolene has written for Entangled, Albert Whitman Teen, and Simon Pulse.    Q: When did you first decide to become a writer and how did you go about doing so? A: I always wanted to be a writer, but thought I’d never have any ideas. I laugh about that now because I can’t imagine living long enough to get all my ideas down. I’ve always kept a journal and/or a blog, filling both with personal essays. One day I thought it might be…

by Elin Johnson When my parents separated my mom got a house full of  whatnot and my dad got our chubby little black lab. At eight, the loss of my four-legged best friend was more heart-wrenching than the family rupture. The presence of my father was limited strictly to weekends which left a dog-sized hole in my chest for the rest of the week. Mother compensated for this by dragging me out to the Butte in response to an ad found buried in the classifieds. We found ourselves on the ranch of an austere horse veterinarian who wouldn’t allow us to pass the driveway without first confirming we would purchase…

by Elin Johnson I sat in the back seat of the The Bug strapped into a booster seat contraption that rivaled the set up of a fighter pilot. I watched the rain drops slide down the windows, racing each other. Mom pointed at the green beast growing up out of the side of the road. “Mt. Juneau. See that?” I nodded my head stoically. “And you see those, where the snow over hangs?” Again, I nodded. “That’s a cornice.” I decided to break my silence with a solemn interrogation into its importance, since it clearly wasn’t a vegetable frequently paired with peas. “Well, you see, they’re dangerous.” Still unclear of…

by Elin Johnson Every year on the star filled evening of December 24th, our global community is united in our violation. We are assaulted in the most conniving of ways as our homes lose their sanctity and our very morals are shaken. Good Ol’ Saint Nicholas enters our dwellings and corrupts the minds of our children. His very occupation is appalling. He contravenes the work ethic we try so hard to drill into the minds of our youth and disrespects the beliefs we have established in our society. Our very relationship with the legendary man in red is perplexing. Every day of the year we shield ourselves from the outside…

by Elin Johnson One thought that resonates with me is,“life begins at the edge of your comfort zone.” This is often quoted by English teachers coercing groaning freshman into public speaking, or precedes the enigmatic string of numbers stowed away inside of stale fortune cookies. For me it has always been a mantra. One to convince myself that whatever half-baked idea I was pursuing in order to impress a cousin was worthwhile, and would, in the best-case-scenario, result in the loss of dignity instead of limbs. Growing up, I was described by most of my early elementary school teachers as “free spirited” and a “joy to have in class.” That…