Clara Hammer's Writing Blog

 Objective: In the Normandale greenhouse, nestled between smooth river stones, lives a small fern. This fern is alone with only the mud and rocks as company. Light filters through the layers of leaves like a colander, reaching the fern in choppy rays. The fern's long stems unfurl from its center, each branch covered in countless small, semicircle leaves. The jewels of foliage appear to wrap around each stem, as if giving the fern the hug that it desperately needs. Each branch straightens out, reaching for the light, and then retracts back toward itself, curling under. The fern quietly observes from the edge of a small reservoir. It has begun to spread; little green dewdrops appear around the pond in an attempt to keep their mother company. The fern produces branch after branch, reaching out for some company, getting closer each time. Subjective: In a corner, wedged between humongous tropical plants, I noticed a bundle of pink flowers. This beautiful plant was comprised of dark...

  Clara Hammer 1-24-25 “Adventure” Assignment Explorations In Pasta It only takes four eggs, four cups of flour, and far too much time on your hands to make what I call pure happiness. I have always loved pasta. As a child, I was particular about food, and pasta became a comfort for me. When I visited a restaurant with my family, I became very anxious about the menu and how I might be perceived if I did not finish my food. But, if pasta was on the menu, I knew I would be safe. It took me a long time to learn how to try new foods and that leaving food on your plate when you are full is acceptable. Throughout that journey, I have tasted many pasta dishes. However, there is one thing in the realm of pasta I have never tried. So my boyfriend, Nate, and I decided to try our hands at pasta making.  I was determined to make ravioli; the pockets of soft, salty cheese had always enticed me. However, my lack of preparation foiled our plan. So we pivoted to Farfalle, one of my longest co...

  She sits hunched over her keyboard, surrounded by plants and used dishes. Her fingers fly over the keys in her improvised pattern. She had never learned how to type properly in elementary or middle school and her typing is choppy and uneven. The text on her monitor grows and shrinks like an inchworm desperately trying to crawl to its destination. She cleverly uses figurative language and smiles to herself, but while reading it back a few minutes later she shakes her head and deletes it. Her process is a constant push and pull which she still has not figured out. She takes a break to read what other students have written, and the lines on her forehead deepen. After countless breaks and freakouts, she proofreads it and submits it. Her computer breathes a sigh of relief and finally gets to rest for the night. Pick two ideas in the short essay that you think are the most important. How will these concepts help you going forward as a college student facing writing assignments? I wa...

Her shoulder-length hair had been tied up hours ago, with wispy strands now falling across her face as she desperately attempts to concentrate. She had never enjoyed reading textbooks; the text is far too small, and the images are always painfully vivid. However, she had procrastinated as much as she could allow. She lazily drags her eyes over each page. Retaining minimal information, she longs for the embrace of her warm bed. The night grows older and her motivation dwindles. She gets up from her office chair and cracks her stiff back and neck, deciding to take a quick break. When she sits back down, she recklessly tears through the pages of the text and disregards understanding it. She has managed seminars and discussions with little to no reading before and intends to do the same tomorrow. As she flips the last page, her motivation falls with it. Finally, she is done and can go to bed. She sprawls out under her plush covers and tries to sleep, but the academic guilt sets in. I would...