So...I haven't posted in a while...thought I would post something that is new to the blog but older to me. Comments welcomed!
I’LL COOK FOR MYSELF
I don’t know how it got this way,
I know its not alright-
crab-cake Benedicts
keeping me in
backwater Columbus.
I tried so hard, to prove
I wasn’t your property,
dueling for a position above
the welcome mat.
I won’t be stepped on and stepped over
in the end.
*ps. This piece uses a writing technique that a friend told me about- putting other written works inside of your own...It would make me really happy if someone recognized the written work that I used (hint: It's song lyrics)*
Monday, December 3, 2012
Saturday, October 20, 2012
Hello again!
So its been a while since I've written anything... and so I decided to start up again. Thanks to my Ethics professor, I've taken on the challenge of describing the taste of cinnamon gum to someone who has never tasted it before...here it goes!
CINNAMON GUM
Its that moment when autumn air hits your teeth
and bites clear down to your toenails.
That moment when wasabi meets your tongue and
slithers up through your nose.
Its the moment when the dentist steps back and
you suck in cleanliness like Dysons or Orecks.
Or when pop rocks salsa throughout your mouth,
bouncing off the roof and cheeks, pinching at their
Discretion.
It's the taste of Christmas, Halloween and
birthdays rolled into one, throwing in a wedding
of roller-coasters and waterfalls.
CINNAMON GUM
Its that moment when autumn air hits your teeth
and bites clear down to your toenails.
That moment when wasabi meets your tongue and
slithers up through your nose.
Its the moment when the dentist steps back and
you suck in cleanliness like Dysons or Orecks.
Or when pop rocks salsa throughout your mouth,
bouncing off the roof and cheeks, pinching at their
Discretion.
It's the taste of Christmas, Halloween and
birthdays rolled into one, throwing in a wedding
of roller-coasters and waterfalls.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Improv/Imitation Entry 1 (Week 10)
This is an improv/imitation of Robert Frost's poem "Fire and Ice"
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
my imitation:
Fear and Pain
People talk about ending with fear,
others mention pain.
In the end though, I've lent my ear
and heard both gain.
No one wants to see how near
both endings actually are,
but our tears are rain
and the flood is here.
Fire and Ice
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
my imitation:
Fear and Pain
People talk about ending with fear,
others mention pain.
In the end though, I've lent my ear
and heard both gain.
No one wants to see how near
both endings actually are,
but our tears are rain
and the flood is here.
Peer Response Entry 2 (Week 10)
This is in response to Kelsey's Free Entry "Eyebrows." (link: http://kflemin.blogspot.com/2012/03/free-entry-eyebrows-week-10.html)...
This is a really interesting piece. I love the simplicity in the title, when I first read "Eyebrows," I thought "oh boy. Where could this be going?" But I love how you went about this, not jumping straight into the scorching, but focusing on playing with Barbies and then describing the junk drawer. This is a nice use of that idea of creating a scene. I would love to see where this piece goes, because the way you ended:
"The door to my parent’s bedroom opened and my mother walked out in a towel, she lifted her nose and sniffed the air reminding me of a mouse and asked, “What’s burning?”
My voiced wobbled as I replied, “My face.”" had me wondering how your mom reacts...I can only imagine how much trouble your sister got in!
This is a really interesting piece. I love the simplicity in the title, when I first read "Eyebrows," I thought "oh boy. Where could this be going?" But I love how you went about this, not jumping straight into the scorching, but focusing on playing with Barbies and then describing the junk drawer. This is a nice use of that idea of creating a scene. I would love to see where this piece goes, because the way you ended:
"The door to my parent’s bedroom opened and my mother walked out in a towel, she lifted her nose and sniffed the air reminding me of a mouse and asked, “What’s burning?”
My voiced wobbled as I replied, “My face.”" had me wondering how your mom reacts...I can only imagine how much trouble your sister got in!
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Free Entry 1 (Week 10)
This is just a quick free entry--comments and critiques welcomed!
What does it feel like?
How do you know when something is right?
Some say it hits you like a bullet to your brain-
But that's too overused, too cliched.
What does it really feel like?
When the sun hits the dew in the morning,
Or the bird hits the high C.
Maybe when the Neapolitan soft serve swirls into a clean spiral on the cone,
Or the cat stretches out on the hammock in the midday sun for a nap.
Is that what it feels like?
But then how do you know when something is wrong?
Some say you just know-
But that's the cowards answer.
What does it really feel like?
When the mugger grabs your purse on the bustling street and disappears,
Or the little girl’s chin and lips start wobbling up and down, faster and faster.
Maybe when your mother looks up across the table with tears in her big brown eyes,
Or the student’s blank stare when you ask for that paper from last week.
Is that what it feels like?
What does it feel like?
How do you know when something is right?
Some say it hits you like a bullet to your brain-
But that's too overused, too cliched.
What does it really feel like?
When the sun hits the dew in the morning,
Or the bird hits the high C.
Maybe when the Neapolitan soft serve swirls into a clean spiral on the cone,
Or the cat stretches out on the hammock in the midday sun for a nap.
Is that what it feels like?
But then how do you know when something is wrong?
Some say you just know-
But that's the cowards answer.
What does it really feel like?
When the mugger grabs your purse on the bustling street and disappears,
Or the little girl’s chin and lips start wobbling up and down, faster and faster.
Maybe when your mother looks up across the table with tears in her big brown eyes,
Or the student’s blank stare when you ask for that paper from last week.
Is that what it feels like?
Peer Response Entry 1 (Week 10)
This is in response to Brittany's Junkyard Quote 3: ""When life gives you grapes make raisins."
-Aaron (my cousin)."
This is really cute. I don't know how old the cousin is, but it definitely sounds like something a child would say. I think this would be a great start to a story about someone who doesn't really care for lemons, so tries to use that typical phrase with different items. I can visualize a scene with this character going something like this:
Jimmy reached for his glass of bright yellow lemonade, took a sip and puckered his face.
"Urrg. I can't drink this mom," he spluttered, handing the glass to the woman with her back to him.
She turned around and said pointedly "when life gives you lemons Jimmy, make lemonade." And turned back around at the recipe she was studying.
Jimmy shook his head and placed the condensation covered glass on the coaster, grabbed a handful of grapes and opened the sliding glass door to the porch. He sat down on the hot cement and studied the lizard slithering by, roasting in the New Mexico sun.
"Screw lemons and lemonade Mom. Its all about grapes nowadays. When life gives you grapes, make raisins," where he proceeded to pull two off the vine and pluck one in his mouth and set the other on the ground next to him, watching the sun suck all the moisture into the air.
Its just a start, but I'd love to see where this quote could go in a piece.
This is really cute. I don't know how old the cousin is, but it definitely sounds like something a child would say. I think this would be a great start to a story about someone who doesn't really care for lemons, so tries to use that typical phrase with different items. I can visualize a scene with this character going something like this:
Jimmy reached for his glass of bright yellow lemonade, took a sip and puckered his face.
"Urrg. I can't drink this mom," he spluttered, handing the glass to the woman with her back to him.
She turned around and said pointedly "when life gives you lemons Jimmy, make lemonade." And turned back around at the recipe she was studying.
Jimmy shook his head and placed the condensation covered glass on the coaster, grabbed a handful of grapes and opened the sliding glass door to the porch. He sat down on the hot cement and studied the lizard slithering by, roasting in the New Mexico sun.
"Screw lemons and lemonade Mom. Its all about grapes nowadays. When life gives you grapes, make raisins," where he proceeded to pull two off the vine and pluck one in his mouth and set the other on the ground next to him, watching the sun suck all the moisture into the air.
Its just a start, but I'd love to see where this quote could go in a piece.
Reading Response Entry 1 (Week 10)
For my reading response I wanted to do the actual reading I attended on Wednesday with Dionne Irving and Melanie Jordan. Some of the things I noticed while at this reading was the comfort level of the readers. Melanie Jordan seemed very confident while reading, and even interacts with the audience by providing a little explanation to some of the poems. Dionne Irving, on the other hand, seemed a bit more nervous in the beginning, she kind of stumbled over some of the words and stuttered a little bit, but by the time she made it to the second piece, she seemed much more confident and stronger. She didn't interact as much with the audience, but she only read two pieces. I really enjoyed this reading. Melanie Jordan's poems were great and I liked how she threw in the Audrey Rich poem as a sort of eulogy, and Dionne Irving's stories were marvelous. I was entranced and she never broke that spell that Dr. Davidson always talks about fiction writers doing.
I still remember something that Melanie Jordan said that I want to carry into my writing: she said "I avoided love poems and girl poems for the longest time, but now it seems that's all I write. I found that I avoided them because they were hard and I've learned that I can't avoid what's hard, but rather just do it my own way."
I still remember something that Melanie Jordan said that I want to carry into my writing: she said "I avoided love poems and girl poems for the longest time, but now it seems that's all I write. I found that I avoided them because they were hard and I've learned that I can't avoid what's hard, but rather just do it my own way."
Friday, March 30, 2012
Calisthenic Entry 1 (Week 10)
This is the in class work that we did with Dionne Irving regarding character development...mine kind of turned into a poem...don't know if that was supposed to happen...but...
Red
No one is here, so she opens a 1982 bottle of Merlot.
The deep crimson sloshes into the long necked glass.
Her hands tremble while straining to hold the bottle steady.
She is like an injured bird struggling to remain in the air.
Staggering towards the window, she catches a glimpse of him on the lawn by the lake,
But when her eyes dart back to the wine level in the glass, he vanishes.
He will never return-she knows.
But she hides this like she hides his slippers, tucked
Under the bed in that worn cardboard box of forgotten dreams.
Her wish to be a teacher-wrapped in his Navy Blues.
Her old dog Jubie- buried deep with his cancer medication.
This time, it is only her fear, fury and failures she’s left with.
These will remain tucked in her heart, her soul, with him.
The smell of burnt blackened sugar cookies fills the air.
Its like her alarm-snapping her back to the reality which she sleeps to avoid.
Be strong woman!
She can’t yell at herself the way her daughter yells “Mom, come on.”
Instead, she overflows another glass of Merlot and drowns herself in red.
Red
No one is here, so she opens a 1982 bottle of Merlot.
The deep crimson sloshes into the long necked glass.
Her hands tremble while straining to hold the bottle steady.
She is like an injured bird struggling to remain in the air.
Staggering towards the window, she catches a glimpse of him on the lawn by the lake,
But when her eyes dart back to the wine level in the glass, he vanishes.
He will never return-she knows.
But she hides this like she hides his slippers, tucked
Under the bed in that worn cardboard box of forgotten dreams.
Her wish to be a teacher-wrapped in his Navy Blues.
Her old dog Jubie- buried deep with his cancer medication.
This time, it is only her fear, fury and failures she’s left with.
These will remain tucked in her heart, her soul, with him.
The smell of burnt blackened sugar cookies fills the air.
Its like her alarm-snapping her back to the reality which she sleeps to avoid.
Be strong woman!
She can’t yell at herself the way her daughter yells “Mom, come on.”
Instead, she overflows another glass of Merlot and drowns herself in red.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Junkyard Quote Entry 4 (Week 10)
"Hunting should be when you sit up in a tree for three days and you cover yourself in deer piss."
-My Critical Thinking teacher
-My Critical Thinking teacher
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Junkyard Quote Entry 3 (Week 10)
"Regrets collect like old friends, here to relive your darkest moments."
-Florence + The Machine "Shake It Out"
-Florence + The Machine "Shake It Out"
Friday, March 23, 2012
Junkyard Quote Entry 2 (Week 10)
"What he's dating someone? Let me guess, tall, huge pendulous breasts? Who is she? Her name's Sienna, or Jade? She's one of those hot girls that's named after a crayon?"
-Lily on Neal's new girlfriend from "Whitney"
-Lily on Neal's new girlfriend from "Whitney"
Junkyard Quote Entry 1 (Week 10)
"If Mary Tyler Moore married and divorced Steven Tyler and then married and divorced Michael Moore then got into a three way lesbian relationship with Demi Moore and Mandy Moore would she go by Mary Tyler Moore Tyler Moore Moore Moore?"
-Max on "Happy Endings"
-Max on "Happy Endings"
Monday, March 19, 2012
Meet my family: me, my husband, our five kids and the dog...
This reminded me of the discussion we had about the family decals and how annoying they were...
Calisthenic Entry 1 (Week 9)
This entry is using the metaphor substitution on page 99 of the Writing Poetry book:
The idea of this is to combine the stock phrase with an unusual ending...
1. calling from the far shore of her last date
2. cutting down the briar of their hopelessness
3. burning the wood of his latest disaster
4. stockpiling for the winter of her pop song
5. smug by the fire of his mother's voice
not sure how well that worked...
The idea of this is to combine the stock phrase with an unusual ending...
1. calling from the far shore of her last date
2. cutting down the briar of their hopelessness
3. burning the wood of his latest disaster
4. stockpiling for the winter of her pop song
5. smug by the fire of his mother's voice
not sure how well that worked...
Peer Response Entry 2 (Week 9)
This is in response to Kay's Junkyard Quote 4: "I hate when I see cars with no bumper. It's like they're missing their mouth or they have a cleft palette."
This is an intriguing statement...it sounds like the beginning to a story about a car mechanic or someone who enjoys fixing cars because these "problems" irritate them. That is the quirky detail that Dr. Davidson says creates the interest or the questions in the reader. I would love to see this statement used somewhere in your writing...it holds a lot of interest.
This is an intriguing statement...it sounds like the beginning to a story about a car mechanic or someone who enjoys fixing cars because these "problems" irritate them. That is the quirky detail that Dr. Davidson says creates the interest or the questions in the reader. I would love to see this statement used somewhere in your writing...it holds a lot of interest.
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Peer Response Entry 1 (Week 9)
This is in response to Kelsey's six word short stories:
"I wanted to try doing the six word story thing we talked about in class. This was so incredibly hard for me to do!
"I have a sock farmer tan."
"Men's bathroom—worst hiding spot ever.""
I totally agree with the fact that these were difficult...I had such a hard time with finding something to write about and then making it as interesting as a prose piece or poem...but I think you are there. The second six word short story leaves the reader with so many questions, and if I remember correctly from class, that is the point. As a reader and writer, we are supposed to take those questions and run with them, and man, my thoughts just go everywhere with that men's bathroom story. First of all, what gender is the speaker? Why is he or she hiding in the bathroom in the first place? And why is it such a bad hiding spot? What happened!? That's just to ask a few!
You are on the right track with these! I want you to write some more...I would love to see what else you come up with!
"I wanted to try doing the six word story thing we talked about in class. This was so incredibly hard for me to do!
"I have a sock farmer tan."
"Men's bathroom—worst hiding spot ever.""
I totally agree with the fact that these were difficult...I had such a hard time with finding something to write about and then making it as interesting as a prose piece or poem...but I think you are there. The second six word short story leaves the reader with so many questions, and if I remember correctly from class, that is the point. As a reader and writer, we are supposed to take those questions and run with them, and man, my thoughts just go everywhere with that men's bathroom story. First of all, what gender is the speaker? Why is he or she hiding in the bathroom in the first place? And why is it such a bad hiding spot? What happened!? That's just to ask a few!
You are on the right track with these! I want you to write some more...I would love to see what else you come up with!
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Free Entry 1 (Week 9)
This is a rough first draft, critiques welcomed!
True Falsity
What makes someone love relentlessly?
Have them skirt past the reality of your actions
only believing the lies you told,
even though they know the hiding truth?
What makes someone hate relentlessly?
Focusing on the truth behind those actions,
those lies you told at the beginning,
even though they know the reasons why?
How do you get back there?
To that place where all was cliche,
sparkling red wine, deep maroon sunsets,
those images you were skirting like the plague?
How do you know those were there in the first place?
Did you make them up,
keeping yourself protected, fortressed in
by the fantasy of what could be?
True Falsity
What makes someone love relentlessly?
Have them skirt past the reality of your actions
only believing the lies you told,
even though they know the hiding truth?
What makes someone hate relentlessly?
Focusing on the truth behind those actions,
those lies you told at the beginning,
even though they know the reasons why?
How do you get back there?
To that place where all was cliche,
sparkling red wine, deep maroon sunsets,
those images you were skirting like the plague?
How do you know those were there in the first place?
Did you make them up,
keeping yourself protected, fortressed in
by the fantasy of what could be?
Improv/Imitation Entry 1 (Week 9)
This is an improv on the idea of the six word short story...
1.)
Sunshine bus
of backpacks,
wailing tears.
2.)
Life flys
from fun
they say.
3.)
Smiles shrinking
while growing
pain lingers.
4.)
Pinkies linked
then, but
now unlinked.
5.)
Over eighty
sirens wail
pushing ninety.
1.)
Sunshine bus
of backpacks,
wailing tears.
2.)
Life flys
from fun
they say.
3.)
Smiles shrinking
while growing
pain lingers.
4.)
Pinkies linked
then, but
now unlinked.
5.)
Over eighty
sirens wail
pushing ninety.
Reading Response Entry 1 (Week 9)
This is a response to Dionne Irving's piece Florida Lives...
When we talked about strategies in class, I loved the strategy of how the landscape embodies the internal turmoil of the characters. It reminded me immediately of when my AP English class in high school studied Fall of the House of Usher and my teacher was talking about how the house was the soul and the windows were the eyes to that soul. This is that same idea. The couple puts up curtains and creates a "luxurious" feel to hide the true decrepit nature of the house. This mirrors the idea of their relationship falling apart but them trying to put up a front for the Fletchers and other people. This strategy melts into the other strategy that she uses about euphemisms. This shows the narrators inability to say that she wants out of the relationship, or inability to discuss what she really feels. They cannot grasp the reality of what they want from each other and are too afraid to say what they really feel because they don't know what will become of them in societies eyes. Euphemisms are sometimes related to the area that you are in...and therefore societies roles and expectations change...so they could be feeling some pressure to stay a certain way.
These strategies are intriguing to me. I would love to be able to create the complexity in the characters the way Irving does...how you start out thinking one way about the narrator and her husband-they are relatively normal but were having issues with their relationship- but then they meet their neighbors and you begin to wonder about their complexity and what exactly they hate about these people and why they are hating so badly. This creation of a slowly complex character is something that I want to work on...I don't think my characters are one dimensional, but it would be interesting to have these kinds of characters.
When we talked about strategies in class, I loved the strategy of how the landscape embodies the internal turmoil of the characters. It reminded me immediately of when my AP English class in high school studied Fall of the House of Usher and my teacher was talking about how the house was the soul and the windows were the eyes to that soul. This is that same idea. The couple puts up curtains and creates a "luxurious" feel to hide the true decrepit nature of the house. This mirrors the idea of their relationship falling apart but them trying to put up a front for the Fletchers and other people. This strategy melts into the other strategy that she uses about euphemisms. This shows the narrators inability to say that she wants out of the relationship, or inability to discuss what she really feels. They cannot grasp the reality of what they want from each other and are too afraid to say what they really feel because they don't know what will become of them in societies eyes. Euphemisms are sometimes related to the area that you are in...and therefore societies roles and expectations change...so they could be feeling some pressure to stay a certain way.
These strategies are intriguing to me. I would love to be able to create the complexity in the characters the way Irving does...how you start out thinking one way about the narrator and her husband-they are relatively normal but were having issues with their relationship- but then they meet their neighbors and you begin to wonder about their complexity and what exactly they hate about these people and why they are hating so badly. This creation of a slowly complex character is something that I want to work on...I don't think my characters are one dimensional, but it would be interesting to have these kinds of characters.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Junkyard Quote Entry 4 (Week 9)
"Our brain is like a house and the memories and the thoughts fill the house and that is the furniture. If you have a nice house, you expect nice things to be in there, but you can have a nice house that has crappy furniture. The experiences that you go through influences the way you think."
-Psychology teacher
-Psychology teacher
Monday, March 12, 2012
Junkyard Quote Entry 1 (Week 9)
"You look like two seals fighting for a grape."
-I can't remember where I heard this...
-I can't remember where I heard this...
Taco Tuesday
My friend was cleaning his room the other day and I found a flier for an actual Taco Tuesday!!
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Improv/Imitation Entry 1 (Week 8)
I wanted to imitate the poem that I wrote about for my reading response...the one about Cinderella...but I want to do it from the point of the slipper. I know it is an inanimate object, but I feel like that glass slipper has its own story to tell. So, comments are welcome!
Glassy Lock
Created from a wish,
a wish for one night out nonetheless.
That's all it took to make me.
No true thought put in,
that stylish godmother only thought
"oh! Glass slippers would match this dress perfectly!"
She didn't even bother with Cinderella's foot size-
that's why I fell off.
Lying there,
watching the reason I was made
stumble down the stairs,
all I could do was pray
that the bumbling prince staggering behind her
wouldn't crush me to pieces with those size 12 giants.
Her petite 6's fit into me fabulously, all soft
and well manicured-
surprising for where she came from-
But he was all calloused and rough,
I didn't even have to see the foot to know.
But he didn't end my life,
rather, he saved me from any future unfortunate accidents.
Unlike my brother on the left, I survived
and saved the future of the kingdom
by sitting on the plush purple pillow of the prince
but having to try on all the eligable girls like a slut.
Where was my match?
Where could she be?
When we finally found her, hidden away in that mousy attic,
I sighed with relief and allowed her pale key fit into
my glassy lock and release the unknown to come
for us all.
Glassy Lock
Created from a wish,
a wish for one night out nonetheless.
That's all it took to make me.
No true thought put in,
that stylish godmother only thought
"oh! Glass slippers would match this dress perfectly!"
She didn't even bother with Cinderella's foot size-
that's why I fell off.
Lying there,
watching the reason I was made
stumble down the stairs,
all I could do was pray
that the bumbling prince staggering behind her
wouldn't crush me to pieces with those size 12 giants.
Her petite 6's fit into me fabulously, all soft
and well manicured-
surprising for where she came from-
But he was all calloused and rough,
I didn't even have to see the foot to know.
But he didn't end my life,
rather, he saved me from any future unfortunate accidents.
Unlike my brother on the left, I survived
and saved the future of the kingdom
by sitting on the plush purple pillow of the prince
but having to try on all the eligable girls like a slut.
Where was my match?
Where could she be?
When we finally found her, hidden away in that mousy attic,
I sighed with relief and allowed her pale key fit into
my glassy lock and release the unknown to come
for us all.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Reading Response Entry 1 (Week 8)
This is a response to one of the poems in Chapter Three of Writing Poetry, called "Cinderelly, Cinderelly."
I didn't resort to ribbon tying and la la la's
Just for the family atmosphere
And free cheese, sons. It was pure,
Calculated, gleaming opportunity.
No one can ignore a blonde on her knees,
And wherever pity took her, I'd follow,
Riding on apron ties or fairy dust or
Whatever it took.
I was a self made steed.
It was genius, my lustrous coat,
Power, high hooves, and silver fittings,
Pulling a pumpkin, as it were, but that pumpkin
Was plush velvet and gold, sons, and
I was a stallion
Until midnight. That godmother was a flake,
And fat, and I didn't don that hat
And doting smile
To get pushed aside,
Just a rat forgotten
After a perverse post menopausal whim.
Bitter, you say? Look at me, sons,
Dying in a drawing room filled
With cat hair and torn garters,
While Mrs Charming's maids
Tighten gilded corsets over stretch marks
And set death traps in the kitchens
For the pesky little mice that
Pester their sweet mistress so.
The reason I felt like writing about this poem, was because of the unfamiliarity, freshness of the poem. The narrator is one which we haven't heard from before and the language itself is exactly like the book was trying to explain: it is natural. The whole point is to write the way that the speaker would talk, and to avoid the "extra." I love how the text captured the bitter, sort of melancholy tone of the mouse, all the while adding to the character. The reader got to take a peek into what the speaker was feeling, by writing in a way that this would be clear. This is something that I want to do: I want to make it clear, but magical in a sense.
I didn't resort to ribbon tying and la la la's
Just for the family atmosphere
And free cheese, sons. It was pure,
Calculated, gleaming opportunity.
No one can ignore a blonde on her knees,
And wherever pity took her, I'd follow,
Riding on apron ties or fairy dust or
Whatever it took.
I was a self made steed.
It was genius, my lustrous coat,
Power, high hooves, and silver fittings,
Pulling a pumpkin, as it were, but that pumpkin
Was plush velvet and gold, sons, and
I was a stallion
Until midnight. That godmother was a flake,
And fat, and I didn't don that hat
And doting smile
To get pushed aside,
Just a rat forgotten
After a perverse post menopausal whim.
Bitter, you say? Look at me, sons,
Dying in a drawing room filled
With cat hair and torn garters,
While Mrs Charming's maids
Tighten gilded corsets over stretch marks
And set death traps in the kitchens
For the pesky little mice that
Pester their sweet mistress so.
The reason I felt like writing about this poem, was because of the unfamiliarity, freshness of the poem. The narrator is one which we haven't heard from before and the language itself is exactly like the book was trying to explain: it is natural. The whole point is to write the way that the speaker would talk, and to avoid the "extra." I love how the text captured the bitter, sort of melancholy tone of the mouse, all the while adding to the character. The reader got to take a peek into what the speaker was feeling, by writing in a way that this would be clear. This is something that I want to do: I want to make it clear, but magical in a sense.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Peer Response Entry 2 (Week 8)
This is a response to April's Junkyard Quote 2 "I ache for the beat of a drum and not just the pitter patter of a dull
lifeless cavity."
This is a really interesting quote...when I first read it, it sounded like the beginning line of a "love" type poem...one where the main character wants the feeling of nervous thumping that you get when you are around someone that you love. Also, the "beat of the drum" may seem to be available, but the "pitter patter of dull lifeless cavity" kind of offsets that with its interesting combination...pitter patter doesn't seem very lifeless, it just seems quiet and what someone would typically ache for-that fast pace heart beat...this switch-up of language keeps the reader on their toes...and makes me want to know what comes next!
This is a really interesting quote...when I first read it, it sounded like the beginning line of a "love" type poem...one where the main character wants the feeling of nervous thumping that you get when you are around someone that you love. Also, the "beat of the drum" may seem to be available, but the "pitter patter of dull lifeless cavity" kind of offsets that with its interesting combination...pitter patter doesn't seem very lifeless, it just seems quiet and what someone would typically ache for-that fast pace heart beat...this switch-up of language keeps the reader on their toes...and makes me want to know what comes next!
Peer Response Entry 1 (Week 8)
This is a response to Drika's Calisthenic Entry.
This is a very interesting reversal. When I watch Tom and Jerry it is more of a funny, slapstick show, but the way you have represented it as a scary and kind of sad show is really interesting (and I know that this was the point of the activity). I love how you said "I’ve watched this show before, but now I can see that the constant circle of frying pans to the face and 200 feet falls off cliffs are wearing away at them." It makes it seem like they are getting as tired of this as you are. I like that it seems as though the viewer is bored with this, as though it is available or cliched now.
This is a very interesting reversal. When I watch Tom and Jerry it is more of a funny, slapstick show, but the way you have represented it as a scary and kind of sad show is really interesting (and I know that this was the point of the activity). I love how you said "I’ve watched this show before, but now I can see that the constant circle of frying pans to the face and 200 feet falls off cliffs are wearing away at them." It makes it seem like they are getting as tired of this as you are. I like that it seems as though the viewer is bored with this, as though it is available or cliched now.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Junkyard Quote Entry 4 (Week 8)
"I have this tradition where every Presidents Day, I eat like William Howard Taft for 12 months."
-Facebook status
-Facebook status
Calisthenics Entry 1 (Week 8)
Today in class we did a reversal calisthenic where you take an emotion from something you've seen and flip it, in this case we did TV shows. I chose the show Cupcake Wars, where the typical emotion is happiness of winning the contest. So, this is what I came up with:
Cupcake Memory Wars
Flipping through the 500 plus channels
the screen stops on the Food Network,
where a panel of pastry judges gorge on twelve cupcakes.
Not red velvet or chocolate chip, but rather
pistachio with lemon meringue or devils food with rum and citrus.
I ponder the excitement felt by those three,
tasting the different combinations, the different themes wrapped
in tinfoil cups topped with witch hats and flying fondent monkeys.
But then I wonder about the two finalists and the depression
the sink into, like butter into batter,
the fact that they can't revel in the glorious melting or bitter crumbling
of these Cupcake Wars.
I remember the days where my mother and I
would sit and bake and watch these whisking battles.
Who can create the tastiest mini cake while also
keeping in mind the theme of the day. I ache to remember more,
to taste less dark chocolate of now
and more raspberry filling of before-
my cupcake memories burnt and washed out.
Cupcake Memory Wars
Flipping through the 500 plus channels
the screen stops on the Food Network,
where a panel of pastry judges gorge on twelve cupcakes.
Not red velvet or chocolate chip, but rather
pistachio with lemon meringue or devils food with rum and citrus.
I ponder the excitement felt by those three,
tasting the different combinations, the different themes wrapped
in tinfoil cups topped with witch hats and flying fondent monkeys.
But then I wonder about the two finalists and the depression
the sink into, like butter into batter,
the fact that they can't revel in the glorious melting or bitter crumbling
of these Cupcake Wars.
I remember the days where my mother and I
would sit and bake and watch these whisking battles.
Who can create the tastiest mini cake while also
keeping in mind the theme of the day. I ache to remember more,
to taste less dark chocolate of now
and more raspberry filling of before-
my cupcake memories burnt and washed out.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Free Entry 1 (Week 8)
This is a piece that I wrote using the idea that Professor Davidson gave us in class about taking bits and pieces from Junkyard Quotes and Improvs and other work that we have done, to try and make a poem...I'd love to know what you think!
The Scent of Decay
She trembles to caress the light
by taking Ibuprofen like Skittles
and watching the salty compound drain down
her cheeks, creating puddles of life around her fingers.
The dreary faces of gaiety
make the people writhe
in what looks like pain-
all bunched up and pout-like.
But her feeling of intense humor,
a surge of sick happiness,
flows over, like the waves of dirt
flowing through the crevices
and hallways of the mind.
Their teenage embodiments of angry demons
slouch in their seats, throwing shards of glass, eyes gleaming
like remaining rain drops hovering on premature leaves.
While she lumps in the short hair upon fear
of every square inch of space swarmed
with feet and flailing arms.
The cement block of life wobbles
under the fear in her feet
as she watches him escape from the binds of the Earth,
wishing he'd take her with him.
The Scent of Decay
She trembles to caress the light
by taking Ibuprofen like Skittles
and watching the salty compound drain down
her cheeks, creating puddles of life around her fingers.
The dreary faces of gaiety
make the people writhe
in what looks like pain-
all bunched up and pout-like.
But her feeling of intense humor,
a surge of sick happiness,
flows over, like the waves of dirt
flowing through the crevices
and hallways of the mind.
Their teenage embodiments of angry demons
slouch in their seats, throwing shards of glass, eyes gleaming
like remaining rain drops hovering on premature leaves.
While she lumps in the short hair upon fear
of every square inch of space swarmed
with feet and flailing arms.
The cement block of life wobbles
under the fear in her feet
as she watches him escape from the binds of the Earth,
wishing he'd take her with him.
Junkyard Quote Entry 3 (Week 8)
"Five to ten black people. That not black people. That's a dot on a line."
-Leah on the lack of black people in my town
-Leah on the lack of black people in my town
Junkyard Quote Entry 2 (Week 8)
"Let it moisten the crevices of your brain."
-a conversation me and my friend Leah had: she has said some snappy thing, and then I shot a comeback and she sat there staring at me...so I said the above quote and we started laughing.
It is a euphemism for "just think about that."
-a conversation me and my friend Leah had: she has said some snappy thing, and then I shot a comeback and she sat there staring at me...so I said the above quote and we started laughing.
It is a euphemism for "just think about that."
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Improv/Imitation Entry 1 (Week 7)
This is an improv off the concept that Katie Chaple used, the concept of taking something in the news and using it as a triggering subject: I read an article today about some sort of video taken by an iPhone of the Mayan pyramid which showed a light beam coming from the top.
End of Days
A photo taken in seconds.
The quick click click captures
our end of days.
The stream of light emblazoned
in the memory of the iPhone 4.
Can the mesmerizing glitch symbolize our doom?
Now, photoshop dissects,
studies each pixel and the saturation sensor
wondering if their never failing software failed.
Meanwhile, the human race paces,
on the edge of their pyramids,
waiting to tumble off the edge
and watch ruins emerge from the lightbeams of Heaven.
End of Days
A photo taken in seconds.
The quick click click captures
our end of days.
The stream of light emblazoned
in the memory of the iPhone 4.
Can the mesmerizing glitch symbolize our doom?
Now, photoshop dissects,
studies each pixel and the saturation sensor
wondering if their never failing software failed.
Meanwhile, the human race paces,
on the edge of their pyramids,
waiting to tumble off the edge
and watch ruins emerge from the lightbeams of Heaven.
Peer Response Entry 2 (Week 7)
This is in response to Drika's Free Entry regarding her idea of love:
"Her heart pounded in her chest as she circled her eyes locked on her
goal. She shifted the weight onto her left foot and punched sending him
staggering backwards. He recovered quickly and charged at her, his
intent clear. She deflected his attack and took a few steps back in an
attempt to catch her breath. The intense burning of her chest as she
tried to suck in air only added to her agony.
“Give up.” His foot connected with her side.
“Great idea.” She delivers a perfectly executed uppercut to his chin
that drops him to the floor. The bell rings in the distance and the
fight is over.
“Hey! Don’t break my control!” she watches the brand new glow in the dark PS3 controller skitter across the floor.
“Cheater.” He storms away leaving her holding the matching joystick.
She crossed the room and picked up the controller, checking for
scratches. Once she was satisfied his temper tantrum hadn’t caused any
damage she sat back on the couch and set the match to replay again.
“Best 3 out of five?”
He stomped back into the room and grabbed the controller she was handing him.
“Sorry I threw the controller.”"
This is a very interesting piece because it isn't something that people normally think of when they think of love. Usually, like we talk about in class, people think of romance and lovey dovey giggling, but in this case, love is as simple as just withstanding a temper tantrum. That simplicity of love is so overlooked nowadays in literature, and I like that image of "she crossed the room and picked up the controller, checking for scratches. Once she was satisfied his temper tantrum hadn't caused any damage she sat back on the couch and set the match to replay again," because she isn't fazed by this. It makes me wonder if this male character has done the temper tantrum thing before...if he has, maybe you could touch on that, therefore showing her love being strong purely because this is a norm.
I also like the fact that you don't start out by stating that they are playing a video game...we don't find that out until later and that has the reader guessing about the fight in the beginning. I thought that they were actually fighting and then laughed when realizing that it was a video game.
My suggestion would be to expand upon the male character...does he have these tantrums often? Do they normally sit around playing video games? What does he do for her that shows his love?
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Reading Response Entry 1 (Week 7)
This is a reading response to "Returning Madame Bovary." I really like this poem due to the truth and explicit nature of it. Katie Chaple read this poem when she came to the University of West Georgia and she read this with such a calm and neutral tone, that you were able to just listen and understand what she was trying to say. I love how her poems have to do with women and either the power that they have, or the ways that they are portrayed to be powerless.
In this poem, Chaple utilizes the triggering and end subject ideas that Hugo has by starting with a scene at a store returning a book but changing to the idea that people have the unconscious desire to be wanted. And women hold the power to control men through their desire. This transition is so smooth because of the image in the first stanza. That image sets up the power that women have over men, but the second stanza confirms the unconscious desire both men and women have, through the image of the prisoner reaching past his bars and visitors to the attractive guard, something that he can't have.
That easy transition between the triggering and end subject is something that I want to perfect in my work.
In this poem, Chaple utilizes the triggering and end subject ideas that Hugo has by starting with a scene at a store returning a book but changing to the idea that people have the unconscious desire to be wanted. And women hold the power to control men through their desire. This transition is so smooth because of the image in the first stanza. That image sets up the power that women have over men, but the second stanza confirms the unconscious desire both men and women have, through the image of the prisoner reaching past his bars and visitors to the attractive guard, something that he can't have.
That easy transition between the triggering and end subject is something that I want to perfect in my work.
Peer Response Entry 1 (Week 7)
This is in response to Guillem's Calisthenic Week 7...
Between a ghost town and a village,
empty streets—no tangle ups,
across from where Augusta stood
with a smoldering cat,
both hissing at the past.
Outside all's unknown,
hidden patterns taped to ceilings
glow, not shine
like alternating pegs,
their home not jet black space
but the flesh of a child.
I love all the images that are in this piece. The language of "smoldering cats" and "hissing at the past" are so intriguing because they are not typically compared. Its fresh. The way they are combined with the unknown outside from the second stanza is also very creative because it makes the reader wonder why...why is it important that the hidden patterns homes are not black spaces? Why is it important that their homes are in the flesh of children? Why is it unknown? I would suggest maybe expanding upon that "unknown" idea. The first line of the second stanza may be a bit available, but you could grow upon it and make it less available by using the exciting and fresh language that you do with the smoldering cat hissing at the past.
Between a ghost town and a village,
empty streets—no tangle ups,
across from where Augusta stood
with a smoldering cat,
both hissing at the past.
Outside all's unknown,
hidden patterns taped to ceilings
glow, not shine
like alternating pegs,
their home not jet black space
but the flesh of a child.
I love all the images that are in this piece. The language of "smoldering cats" and "hissing at the past" are so intriguing because they are not typically compared. Its fresh. The way they are combined with the unknown outside from the second stanza is also very creative because it makes the reader wonder why...why is it important that the hidden patterns homes are not black spaces? Why is it important that their homes are in the flesh of children? Why is it unknown? I would suggest maybe expanding upon that "unknown" idea. The first line of the second stanza may be a bit available, but you could grow upon it and make it less available by using the exciting and fresh language that you do with the smoldering cat hissing at the past.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Junkyard Quote Entry 4 (Week 7)
"Crimson Tide: the algae that suffocates the fish…its like a mass killing…just like what happens when Alabama plays football."
-girl in my psych class
-girl in my psych class
Junkyard Quote Entry 3 (Week 7)
"I can't help it that I shine so bright haters cling to me like mothballs."
-someone's Facebook status
-someone's Facebook status
Calisthenics Entry 1 (Week 7)
So I wanted to write my own poem about the interrogation that occurred to me today...
Not Quite Ripe
Between Wasco and St. Charles-
where you'd worry if ten hormonal children
weren't shoe-printing in the freshly tarred driveways
as you mowed- that's where I lived.
From Elgin-
the slimy E-Town,
with not yet ripe tangerine
and puke yellow bricks making each house
the same, and all the kids are cooped up
watching Days Of Our Lives
with everyone's mothers, afraid
of the rapist next door-
to here, the ghostly retirement village.
Not Quite Ripe
Between Wasco and St. Charles-
where you'd worry if ten hormonal children
weren't shoe-printing in the freshly tarred driveways
as you mowed- that's where I lived.
From Elgin-
the slimy E-Town,
with not yet ripe tangerine
and puke yellow bricks making each house
the same, and all the kids are cooped up
watching Days Of Our Lives
with everyone's mothers, afraid
of the rapist next door-
to here, the ghostly retirement village.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Junkyard Quote Entry 2 (Week 7)
"You don't think I can love you. Now you've made your choice and you will regret it forever. All you will have is an empty heart and a chipped cup."
-Once Upon A Time
-Once Upon A Time
Monday, February 27, 2012
Free Entry 1 (Week 7)
So, using the response from Morgan and David, here is draft two:
I am a self proclaimed pack-rat...
Just like my Grandmother.
A hoarder of knowledge
and school supplies.
Each weekend
I open the door to my father
reminding me of the empty filing cabinet
backed up
against the blank white wall
with its supposed contents
carpeting instead, my closet floor.
Each day,
when questions
to which no one actually wants answers
are asked,
I am the one to respond
pulling and searching from me,
the filing cabinet,
with those discarded closeted files
scattered in piles,
filling the pre-frontal cortex
of my brain.
I am a self proclaimed pack-rat...
Just like my Grandmother.
A hoarder of knowledge
and school supplies.
Each weekend
I open the door to my father
reminding me of the empty filing cabinet
backed up
against the blank white wall
with its supposed contents
carpeting instead, my closet floor.
Each day,
when questions
to which no one actually wants answers
are asked,
I am the one to respond
pulling and searching from me,
the filing cabinet,
with those discarded closeted files
scattered in piles,
filling the pre-frontal cortex
of my brain.
Reading Response Entry 1 (Week 6)
This is in response to Katie Chaple's Pretty Little Rooms. I like this piece because of the way that Chaple uses the triggering subject and the discovered/end subject. Hugo says that the triggering subject is the idea that you start with: for Chaple, it is the initial article that she read about the body being exhumed and finding that there were two different people in the tomb. That in itself is an interesting way to go about finding something to write about. I want to try that one day: find something random in the paper and write a piece about what it makes me think in regards to the people involved. But then, in the end the discovered subject is revealed to be the idea that the female body is a commodity for science. "Nobody asks: Whose body was not loved enough/ that her skull could travel like a pebble,/could be used to punctuate the line of a man's body?" I love the different connotations of the word "used." It could mean utilized, implement, fulfilled, or "used up," "abused." And then she uses "punctuate the line" and that could mean both the line of the skeleton (the woman's skull is the ending of the man's body) or a line of poetry (its the end of the poem).
These multiple meanings and multiple subjects are what I really enjoy with her poems. I want to utilize that idea in my pieces.
These multiple meanings and multiple subjects are what I really enjoy with her poems. I want to utilize that idea in my pieces.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Peer Response Entry 2 (Week 6)
This is a response to David's Calisthenic:
Madagascar
madatgascars
madatfastcars
madatfuriousfastcars
toofastwomadatgascars
immadatthatcar
mattatgascar
mattsagascar
mattsgascaristoofast
toofast
breakfast
madassgascars
madasshattercar
alicegascar
inwonderlandcashcar
wondercashcab
wondercashcabinet
aliceinwondercascade
cascadecairfreshener
You said that you thought you weren't very good at this, see I disagree. I feel like with this Modulart Method, it doesn't matter whether your piece makes sense or not. I really like this one. Especially the first stanza...the way you messed with the spelling of Madagascar was really interesting and surprising to read because I never knew what was going to come next. But, I don't think you need "Breakfast" at the end. It doesn't quite fit with the rest of the piece. I think you could change it to "mattsgascarisfast/toofast" and it would sound more precise...if you didn't want to get rid of "breakfast" you could change to "breakneckfast"...that could be interesting.
Also, with the second stanza, I like how you threw in the wonderland bit. It went off on a different tangent than I expected with Madagascar. But again, I am not sure you need "cascadeairfreshener" at the end. It was a bit confusing...if you changed it to "wondercashcab/wondercashcabinet/aliceinwondercage/madagascagecar"...that would take out the confusing (for me) cascade thing.
But I really liked this, I thought you did a nice job.
Peer Response Entry 1 (Week 6)
This is a response to Brittany's Junkyard Quote "Blue, in almost any shade, is a fugitive paint. (If you've ever owned a blue car or blue jeans, you know what fugitive means.)"
This quote is from that Primary Colors book. I thought the describe of blue as a fugitive paint was interesting."
I have a hard time understanding why blue was described as fugitive. This sounds like something someone would say while critiquing an art piece. That would be a really interesting set of dialogue if there was an art critic and maybe his or her significant other talking about a piece involving a lot of the color blue and the critic throws this phrase out and then the other person has to think about it. I am just stuck on the word fugitive and why the Primary Colors book described it as such, the dialogue would be a fun way for you to explain it.
This quote is from that Primary Colors book. I thought the describe of blue as a fugitive paint was interesting."
I have a hard time understanding why blue was described as fugitive. This sounds like something someone would say while critiquing an art piece. That would be a really interesting set of dialogue if there was an art critic and maybe his or her significant other talking about a piece involving a lot of the color blue and the critic throws this phrase out and then the other person has to think about it. I am just stuck on the word fugitive and why the Primary Colors book described it as such, the dialogue would be a fun way for you to explain it.
Friday, February 24, 2012
Improv/ Imitation Entry 1 (Week 6)
I wanted to try my hand at the technique that we learned from Stefano and Giorgia in class on Thursday. The Modulart Method. This is the first time I have ever attempted this, so I am sorry if I fail miserably. Please help if you can.
myapple
myapp
letsmefind
placestogo
toeat
myapplease
bequiet
tryingtosleep
whileeating
myjuicy
deliciousapple
brightredcolor
pesticidefreegleam
makesmesmile
smilebright
smileright
milerightoffthehighway
totheorchard
wheremyapp
letsmeyap
andfind
my
own
apple
Free Entry 1 (Week 6)
This is an entry that is in the first few stages of writing, so help would be welcomed. I wanted to include a technique that Katie Chaple uses, which is when you use the title as the first line of the poem...
I am a self proclaimed pack-rat...
Just like my Grandmother.
A hoarder of knowledge
and school supplies.
Each weekend
I open the door to my father
reminding me of the filing cabinet
with no files
sitting against the blank wall
in my room.
Each day
when questions,
to which no one wants answers,
are asked,
I am one to respond
reminding me of the filing cabinet
with all the files
sitting against the pre-frontal cortex
of my brain.
I am a self proclaimed pack-rat...
Just like my Grandmother.
A hoarder of knowledge
and school supplies.
Each weekend
I open the door to my father
reminding me of the filing cabinet
with no files
sitting against the blank wall
in my room.
Each day
when questions,
to which no one wants answers,
are asked,
I am one to respond
reminding me of the filing cabinet
with all the files
sitting against the pre-frontal cortex
of my brain.
Junkyard Quote Entry 4 (Week 6)
I am a self proclaimed packrat,
just like my grandmother.
A horder of knowledge
and school supplies.
--something I said to my friend the other day.
just like my grandmother.
A horder of knowledge
and school supplies.
--something I said to my friend the other day.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Junkyard Quote Entry 3 (Week 6)
"I love you, in a really, really big pretend to like your taste in music, let you eat the last piece of cheesecake, hold a radio over my head outside your window, unfortunate way that makes me hate you, love you."
-Facebook Status
-Facebook Status
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Calisthenics Entry 1 (Week 6)
Today we did a calisthenic in class where we picked out phrases or words that caught our eye. I found the phrase "Language is a slut" in one of the books that I read and I decided to use that as my Calisthenic...combining today's calisthenic with the one from last week...the dialogue one.
"Language is a slut. She cheats on other languages with each other." Becky looked down at the whites of her nails and picked at the cuticles with her BIC pencil.
"Oh my god! You know who's a slut? Julie Armstrong. She smushed the ENTIRE football team behind the bleachers of the football field last week. Not at one time of course. That would just make her kinky." Jackie shook her head disappointed.
A 16 year old Gears of War addict with blackheads and cysts spotting his face nearly dropped his tray when he tripped over his size 13 sneaker. He looked up apologetically at Jackie, who waved him along with her hand.
"I went to France in July with my parents, hoping to practice my French, but apparently there are fourteen different ways to say blueberries. The languages are so fickle, with all their stupid dialects."
"But you didn't hear that from me." Jackie pleaded. "Oh my god. Have you seen my wardrobe on Pintrest?"
"Language is a slut. She cheats on other languages with each other." Becky looked down at the whites of her nails and picked at the cuticles with her BIC pencil.
"Oh my god! You know who's a slut? Julie Armstrong. She smushed the ENTIRE football team behind the bleachers of the football field last week. Not at one time of course. That would just make her kinky." Jackie shook her head disappointed.
A 16 year old Gears of War addict with blackheads and cysts spotting his face nearly dropped his tray when he tripped over his size 13 sneaker. He looked up apologetically at Jackie, who waved him along with her hand.
"I went to France in July with my parents, hoping to practice my French, but apparently there are fourteen different ways to say blueberries. The languages are so fickle, with all their stupid dialects."
"But you didn't hear that from me." Jackie pleaded. "Oh my god. Have you seen my wardrobe on Pintrest?"
Junkyard Quote Entry 2 (Week 6)
"I don't want my classroom to start acting like a kindergarten, with you all looking at porn and facebook."
-My critical thinking teacher on letting us use our computers in class
-My critical thinking teacher on letting us use our computers in class
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Improv/Imitation Entry 1 (Week 5)
I wanted to imitate one of the poems that I read in Pretty Little Rooms.
I really liked the first stanza in "Wayne, Balanced" and the memorability of the image, so I wanted to imitate it.
The original:
"His talent was equilibrium,
tops of pianos, backs of couches, the side of the tub,
and once, even the roofline.
Poised there, two stories closer to the sun,
arms stretched, half a pimento cheese sandwich in one hand,
he ignored his mother's howl
at seeing him so out of reach."
My version:
"His talent was agility,
tops of cars, the back of the loveseat, the handrail of the staircase,
and once even a basketball hoop.
Perched there, two stories above my head,
legs waving down, slow android phone in one hand,
he basked in the awe
of watching him escape from the binds of the earth."
I really liked the first stanza in "Wayne, Balanced" and the memorability of the image, so I wanted to imitate it.
The original:
"His talent was equilibrium,
tops of pianos, backs of couches, the side of the tub,
and once, even the roofline.
Poised there, two stories closer to the sun,
arms stretched, half a pimento cheese sandwich in one hand,
he ignored his mother's howl
at seeing him so out of reach."
My version:
"His talent was agility,
tops of cars, the back of the loveseat, the handrail of the staircase,
and once even a basketball hoop.
Perched there, two stories above my head,
legs waving down, slow android phone in one hand,
he basked in the awe
of watching him escape from the binds of the earth."
Peer Response Entry 2 (Week 5)
This is a response to Osa's piece:
When Father Fling
The ones that swim swim.
Mothers cheer
as their little Phelpses go.
Darwin's underwater show
Takes to the sky.
Yoruba fathers hurl their sons,
after puberty,
across the Atlantic, on
seven-hundred and forty seven fowls.
Everyone cheers,
no one weeps.
This scares me a little bit. I love the specificity and the images you write but the concepts are what scare me. I wonder why families throw their children into the water, but that is beside the point. What I can't get out of my head are your images. "Mothers cheer/as their little Phelpses go./ Darwin's underwater show/takes to the sky." I love how you use the reference to Michael Phelps.
I wonder though...what are the tubes? And is there a way you could talk about why people do this?
I feel like those two things would be an interesting addition to the piece.
Also, line five, where you say "the ones that swim swim," I think it might sound better if you put the second swim in its own line.
When Father Fling
Ijaw fathers fling their babies
into the Ibadan River,
tubes in their navels,
faces cement-cold.into the Ibadan River,
tubes in their navels,
The ones that swim swim.
Mothers cheer
as their little Phelpses go.
Darwin's underwater show
Takes to the sky.
Yoruba fathers hurl their sons,
after puberty,
across the Atlantic, on
seven-hundred and forty seven fowls.
Everyone cheers,
no one weeps.
This scares me a little bit. I love the specificity and the images you write but the concepts are what scare me. I wonder why families throw their children into the water, but that is beside the point. What I can't get out of my head are your images. "Mothers cheer/as their little Phelpses go./ Darwin's underwater show/takes to the sky." I love how you use the reference to Michael Phelps.
I wonder though...what are the tubes? And is there a way you could talk about why people do this?
I feel like those two things would be an interesting addition to the piece.
Also, line five, where you say "the ones that swim swim," I think it might sound better if you put the second swim in its own line.
Friday, February 17, 2012
Reading Response Entry 1 (Week 5)
This is a response to the "West of Stupid" play by Cusi Cram. What Professor Davidson said to focus on was how the dialogue propels the story.
This aspect of the play is absolutely fascinating, because dialogue is what we have been focusing on in class and is the weakest part of most fiction. I know that I am terrible at writing dialogue, so I was reading ravenously, trying to find what I could steal.
I love how in the play Cram uses the character Jeff to keep the story propelled by asking his mother June questions. She just talks and talks and talks about anything on her mind, jumping from subject to subject avoiding the questions, but he keeps at her and ends up getting what he wants. This constant berating is seen in the part on page 90 where June keeps asking why her son is clenching his teeth. As readers, we know that there is something on his mind, but when he responds "Mrs. Franchetti," we know she is just a triggering subject, or excuse for what he really wants his mother to talk about...her fear of dying.
The way that Cram writes June's speech to dance around the question that her son is asking is amazing because the strength that her son was worried about her losing is seen in this stubbornness. I really want to make my dialogue hint at these character traits and feelings as well.
This aspect of the play is absolutely fascinating, because dialogue is what we have been focusing on in class and is the weakest part of most fiction. I know that I am terrible at writing dialogue, so I was reading ravenously, trying to find what I could steal.
I love how in the play Cram uses the character Jeff to keep the story propelled by asking his mother June questions. She just talks and talks and talks about anything on her mind, jumping from subject to subject avoiding the questions, but he keeps at her and ends up getting what he wants. This constant berating is seen in the part on page 90 where June keeps asking why her son is clenching his teeth. As readers, we know that there is something on his mind, but when he responds "Mrs. Franchetti," we know she is just a triggering subject, or excuse for what he really wants his mother to talk about...her fear of dying.
The way that Cram writes June's speech to dance around the question that her son is asking is amazing because the strength that her son was worried about her losing is seen in this stubbornness. I really want to make my dialogue hint at these character traits and feelings as well.
Peer Response Entry 1 (Week 5)
This is a response to David's Calisthenic Entry (http://dillidg1sjournal.blogspot.com/2012/02/calisthenics-wk-5.html)...
This is quite funny. I really enjoyed the second character especially when he said that ultrasound gel was like a giant hocked a loogie on someones stomach. This was written exactly as conversations happen in reality. The first character, who can't tell jokes, also made me laugh because that's the same with me...I can never really get the joke quite right and end up ruining it in the end.
However, I don't think that you need the "As if his response wasn't enough to let you know he wasn't listening" part. This seems a little vague and just doesn't quite fit with the rest of the piece. I think you could rewrite that sentence to be something more like "The pencil seesawing on his nose and eyes glazed behind my right shoulder showed that he really wasn't paying attention to what I was saying."
This is quite funny. I really enjoyed the second character especially when he said that ultrasound gel was like a giant hocked a loogie on someones stomach. This was written exactly as conversations happen in reality. The first character, who can't tell jokes, also made me laugh because that's the same with me...I can never really get the joke quite right and end up ruining it in the end.
However, I don't think that you need the "As if his response wasn't enough to let you know he wasn't listening" part. This seems a little vague and just doesn't quite fit with the rest of the piece. I think you could rewrite that sentence to be something more like "The pencil seesawing on his nose and eyes glazed behind my right shoulder showed that he really wasn't paying attention to what I was saying."
Junkyard Quote Entry 4 (Week 5)
"The ultrasound gel feels like a giant hocked a loogie on your stomach."
-Calisthenic entry by David (http://dillidg1sjournal.blogspot.com/2012/02/calisthenics-wk-5.html)
-Calisthenic entry by David (http://dillidg1sjournal.blogspot.com/2012/02/calisthenics-wk-5.html)
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Free Entry 1 (Week 5)
My friend was telling me about her day a couple of days ago, and the one thing I thought of was Taco Tuesday. I asked if I could write about it and so here is her Taco Tuesday story...I'd love some comments and critiques.
Taco Tuesday
Six AM, waking to the sound of mom
screeching about the piles of blue plastic dinner plates
and mix matched coffee cups left in the sink from yesterday.
Oops.
Eleven AM, first class of the day in the TLC
but the parking lot, bigger than the Falcons Stadium,
seems to be full. My grey Corolla scratched
trying to fit between two Jeep Hurricanes.
Fantastic.
One PM, finally easing my car out of the squished spot
and on the way to Ingles for my one to nine shift.
I have to work with HIM, my own personal stalker,
the kid who won’t take no for an answer and asks me
to his prom every time he sees my face.
Lovely.
Nine PM, counting the many green bills in my register
once, twice, three times? Why does the manager have to come
and stand over me? I stare bewildered as she checks my math
once, twice, three times. The misery and dark blue pity shadowing in her eyes
tells me all I need to know. My second write up
but this time, I’m an Alexander Hamilton over.
Kill me now.
Eleven PM, opening the door to the sound of my mother
“HONEY? WHICH IPOD IS YOURS?”
my stomach drops. I point. Eyes filled with remorse and deep brown pity,
she doesn’t have to say what I already know. The 5,000
Never Shout Never, LMFAO, Lil’Wayne, and Nicki Minaj songs
Gone.
Twelve AM, I retreat to my room with eyes filled to the lashes
with tears. I flop like a dead goldfish onto my bed and bow
to the black hole of the day. Sucking all the life from my being,
the pillows like quicksand. The salty compound drains down
my cheeks, and creates puddles of life around my fingers.
Submit.
Taco Tuesday
Six AM, waking to the sound of mom
screeching about the piles of blue plastic dinner plates
and mix matched coffee cups left in the sink from yesterday.
Oops.
Eleven AM, first class of the day in the TLC
but the parking lot, bigger than the Falcons Stadium,
seems to be full. My grey Corolla scratched
trying to fit between two Jeep Hurricanes.
Fantastic.
One PM, finally easing my car out of the squished spot
and on the way to Ingles for my one to nine shift.
I have to work with HIM, my own personal stalker,
the kid who won’t take no for an answer and asks me
to his prom every time he sees my face.
Lovely.
Nine PM, counting the many green bills in my register
once, twice, three times? Why does the manager have to come
and stand over me? I stare bewildered as she checks my math
once, twice, three times. The misery and dark blue pity shadowing in her eyes
tells me all I need to know. My second write up
but this time, I’m an Alexander Hamilton over.
Kill me now.
Eleven PM, opening the door to the sound of my mother
“HONEY? WHICH IPOD IS YOURS?”
my stomach drops. I point. Eyes filled with remorse and deep brown pity,
she doesn’t have to say what I already know. The 5,000
Never Shout Never, LMFAO, Lil’Wayne, and Nicki Minaj songs
Gone.
Twelve AM, I retreat to my room with eyes filled to the lashes
with tears. I flop like a dead goldfish onto my bed and bow
to the black hole of the day. Sucking all the life from my being,
the pillows like quicksand. The salty compound drains down
my cheeks, and creates puddles of life around my fingers.
Submit.
Calisthenic Entry 1 (Week 5)
This is that dialogue calisthenic that we did in class. I would love to know if I am on the right track with this.
" I have always found myself eating all of the apple. The seeds, the sticker, even the stem. But that is only if someone makes fun of me for eating the whole apple. Watching their face scrunch up in confusion makes me want to creep them out even more. Its all fiber actually. Nothing that you couldn't eat regularly." I push the last bits of the Red Delicious into my mouth and lick my thumb and forefinger satisfied.
"My mother always says that I don't get enough fiber. You know she wants me to start putting Benefiber into my water? It says on the bottle that there is no taste but they lie. It makes me want to puke." Four bleach blonde, well toned Tri-Deltas walk by our table and pause briefly by our table, staring slightly in disgust.
"The only part that you really shouldn't eat is the seeds. They have small amounts of cyanide, which if you grind up five of them, you can actually kill a small child. I learned that in Chemistry sophomore year."
"Oh my gosh! My Chemistry teacher at Colonial Hills never knew how to pronounce chemicals correctly. She would screech at us every time we tried to correct her." Leah slammed her hand on the table as if having an epiphany, even though I heard this story just yesterday.
" I have always found myself eating all of the apple. The seeds, the sticker, even the stem. But that is only if someone makes fun of me for eating the whole apple. Watching their face scrunch up in confusion makes me want to creep them out even more. Its all fiber actually. Nothing that you couldn't eat regularly." I push the last bits of the Red Delicious into my mouth and lick my thumb and forefinger satisfied.
"My mother always says that I don't get enough fiber. You know she wants me to start putting Benefiber into my water? It says on the bottle that there is no taste but they lie. It makes me want to puke." Four bleach blonde, well toned Tri-Deltas walk by our table and pause briefly by our table, staring slightly in disgust.
"The only part that you really shouldn't eat is the seeds. They have small amounts of cyanide, which if you grind up five of them, you can actually kill a small child. I learned that in Chemistry sophomore year."
"Oh my gosh! My Chemistry teacher at Colonial Hills never knew how to pronounce chemicals correctly. She would screech at us every time we tried to correct her." Leah slammed her hand on the table as if having an epiphany, even though I heard this story just yesterday.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Junkyard Quote Entry 3 (Week 5)
Tuesday we were talking before class about Valentine's Day and Drika said something about "The way to my heart is through Reese's Cups. Not even the good kind, just the ones from the vending machine." I replied "Yeah. All I'm worth on Valentine's Day is the 75 cent chocolate from a vending machine. That's nice."
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Monday, February 13, 2012
Junkyard Quote Entry 1 (Week 5)
"Erin Ditto. Kicking ass and counting change correctly since 1994."
-Erin Ditto's facebook status
-Erin Ditto's facebook status
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Valentines Day
Reading Response Entry 1 (Week 4)
This week's reading response, isn't a reading response, but a presentation response of the reading by David Madden.
First of all, I am so glad that I was able to attend the reading. He did an amazing job and just being able to listen to him brought a whole new meaning to the work. I really liked, however, how he spoke. Some writers read terribly. They might stutter, or skip over words, or use too many ums. But Madden didn't really do any of those. He did switch around sentences or words, but it wasn't distracting. What brought me into the reading, and kept my attention, was the different voices and inflections that he used. He read like people talk; he didn't stay in one tone, or read at one pace, he sped up if there was a need and slowed down if it sounded right. He used a different voice for Melissa, F, Carol, and Glenda and then his own voice for when he was the narrator. These slight changes kept me interested, just like the fact that he skips around in the first chapter to maintain interest and to avoid giving anything away. In the end, listening to Madden read helped me find ways to be a better reader myself.
First of all, I am so glad that I was able to attend the reading. He did an amazing job and just being able to listen to him brought a whole new meaning to the work. I really liked, however, how he spoke. Some writers read terribly. They might stutter, or skip over words, or use too many ums. But Madden didn't really do any of those. He did switch around sentences or words, but it wasn't distracting. What brought me into the reading, and kept my attention, was the different voices and inflections that he used. He read like people talk; he didn't stay in one tone, or read at one pace, he sped up if there was a need and slowed down if it sounded right. He used a different voice for Melissa, F, Carol, and Glenda and then his own voice for when he was the narrator. These slight changes kept me interested, just like the fact that he skips around in the first chapter to maintain interest and to avoid giving anything away. In the end, listening to Madden read helped me find ways to be a better reader myself.
Peer Response Entry 2 (Week 4)
This is in response to Daniel's Free Verse Entry 1 Week 4
"Spread out under the sycamore, feeling droplets
Samba on my chest,
Drenching the sheepskin covering me. I find
Clouds are playing with the sky. Geese playing
hide & seek in Geometric
formations, skirting above the tailwinds.
I'm shivering in the midst of the torrent we're both
facing, running towards a new land. One without
regeneration. Bathing the reincarnated wishes
of long lost.
The ground is mushy, licking
fibers holding me together.
Holding me arms' length away from drowning. Rising
from the war between Zeus and
Faunus, I sense the daydreamer
staring. I snatch his dream
deferred and sowed some for safeguarding.
Going back to which calls me."
First I want to start off by saying that I really like the specificity in the piece. Especially the "samba on my chest" and "rising from the war between Zeus and Faunus." The last one was so specific, I had to Google Faunus just to figure out who that was. Turns out he was the Roman god of the forest. I also think you picked great verbs: "samba," "bathing," "snatch," "sowed," "skirting"... but there were those two instances of the verb "played." I remember in class that Professor Davidson found it difficult to write with the verb "played." So maybe in the line "I find clouds are playing with the sky," you could change "are playing" to "flitting," because as I read that line, it seems as though they move quickly across the sky, kind of like when a hummingbird flits through the air. But I really like the next line: "Geese playing hide & seek in Geometric formations..." I think you could get by with the "played" here.
This is all in all, a really good piece.
"Spread out under the sycamore, feeling droplets
Samba on my chest,
Drenching the sheepskin covering me. I find
Clouds are playing with the sky. Geese playing
hide & seek in Geometric
formations, skirting above the tailwinds.
I'm shivering in the midst of the torrent we're both
facing, running towards a new land. One without
regeneration. Bathing the reincarnated wishes
of long lost.
The ground is mushy, licking
fibers holding me together.
Holding me arms' length away from drowning. Rising
from the war between Zeus and
Faunus, I sense the daydreamer
staring. I snatch his dream
deferred and sowed some for safeguarding.
Going back to which calls me."
First I want to start off by saying that I really like the specificity in the piece. Especially the "samba on my chest" and "rising from the war between Zeus and Faunus." The last one was so specific, I had to Google Faunus just to figure out who that was. Turns out he was the Roman god of the forest. I also think you picked great verbs: "samba," "bathing," "snatch," "sowed," "skirting"... but there were those two instances of the verb "played." I remember in class that Professor Davidson found it difficult to write with the verb "played." So maybe in the line "I find clouds are playing with the sky," you could change "are playing" to "flitting," because as I read that line, it seems as though they move quickly across the sky, kind of like when a hummingbird flits through the air. But I really like the next line: "Geese playing hide & seek in Geometric formations..." I think you could get by with the "played" here.
This is all in all, a really good piece.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Free Entry 1 (Week 4)
For my free entry this week, I wanted to try the litany we did in class again. Comments and suggestions are welcomed!
Let me start off by saying,
Thank you to my knee high socks in my ankle high boots,
and thank you to the microscopic scratch
on my glasses, that only I can seem to see.
To that one woman on Taco Tuesday, who has a full fledged panic attack in line,
and that pothead smoker who laughs
even when nothing is particularly funny,
thank you.
Thank you to those few share the road bikers who boost the economy
with pseudo-sponsored gear and overpriced bikes,
Finalmente, gracias a todas las personas
con muchos ninos, especialmente en los restaurantes.
All waitresses appreciate you.
From the depth of my soul, I thank you all.
Let me start off by saying,
Thank you to my knee high socks in my ankle high boots,
and thank you to the microscopic scratch
on my glasses, that only I can seem to see.
To that one woman on Taco Tuesday, who has a full fledged panic attack in line,
and that pothead smoker who laughs
even when nothing is particularly funny,
thank you.
Thank you to those few share the road bikers who boost the economy
with pseudo-sponsored gear and overpriced bikes,
Finalmente, gracias a todas las personas
con muchos ninos, especialmente en los restaurantes.
All waitresses appreciate you.
From the depth of my soul, I thank you all.
Improv/Imitation Piece Entry 1 (Week 4)
So, Professor Davidson mentioned a piece by Frank O'Hara in class entitled "The Day Lady Died" while we were working on our litanies. Well, I really liked the first few lines:
"It is 12:20 in New York a Friday
three days after Bastille day, yes
it is 1959 and I go get a shoeshine
because I will get off the 4:19 in Easthampton
at 7:15 and then go straight to dinner
and I don’t know the people who will feed me
I walk up the muggy street beginning to sun
and have a hamburger and a malted and buy
an ugly NEW WORLD WRITING to see what the poets
in Ghana are doing these days"
and I wanted to take a stab at imitating them using life in Roswell, instead of New York City.
Its 3:40 in Roswell a Friday
the day of the rivalry game, yes
its Milton and Roswell, 2011 and we stampede into Taco Mac
because we get the 20% discount for students and are on time for 6:30 tailgating in the parking lot
and 7:00 kickoff, where up in the stands flour is thrown and no one pays attention to the game
only the drum line and no one cares about the score until the very end
I swim upstream against the angry mob of hormonal teens
and scour the stadium for my sister and her friend and buy
a overpriced Dasani water to support the PTA
in whatever unnecessary fundraiser they try to support these days.
Let me know what you think.
I loved the structure of his poem, but wanted to include the fundamentals we talked about in class.
Peer Response Entry 1 (Week 4)
This is a response to Brittany's Junkyard Quote 4 Week 4 and the Valentine's Day piece from last week that she started.
(Junkyard Quote)
"Writing is a exploration. You start from nothing and learn as you go."
-E.L. Doctorow
(Valentine's Day piece from last week)
I hate Valentines Day. Mothers have Mother's day. Fathers have father's day. There is even a Grandparent's day and a Secretaries' day. Do you know what we single people get? Palm Sunday. Today in class someone, a student I suppose, asked if I had any plans for Valentines Day. Of course I don't, not unless Trivia Night at the Irish Pub off of Hwy 166 counts as "plans." But I do that every week. I should probably call Dr. Wolf back about setting up my next appointment. He will probably go on about eating carrots. I don't think my eye sight is that bad. After all, I was able to see her.
I wanted to combine the two entries because, for me, they went hand in hand. I really liked the quote because it touches on the idea that we have been discussing in class, how great writers only create the characters and then let them run their course and their fate by themselves. And, in this piece specifically, you are starting to show this. It starts with a topic, Valentine's Day, but I can feel that there is something more to this character, something maybe with previous Valentine's Days, or her eyes, that will come out. But this is a great start and I cannot wait to see what direction this character takes you.
(Junkyard Quote)
"Writing is a exploration. You start from nothing and learn as you go."
-E.L. Doctorow
(Valentine's Day piece from last week)
I hate Valentines Day. Mothers have Mother's day. Fathers have father's day. There is even a Grandparent's day and a Secretaries' day. Do you know what we single people get? Palm Sunday. Today in class someone, a student I suppose, asked if I had any plans for Valentines Day. Of course I don't, not unless Trivia Night at the Irish Pub off of Hwy 166 counts as "plans." But I do that every week. I should probably call Dr. Wolf back about setting up my next appointment. He will probably go on about eating carrots. I don't think my eye sight is that bad. After all, I was able to see her.
I wanted to combine the two entries because, for me, they went hand in hand. I really liked the quote because it touches on the idea that we have been discussing in class, how great writers only create the characters and then let them run their course and their fate by themselves. And, in this piece specifically, you are starting to show this. It starts with a topic, Valentine's Day, but I can feel that there is something more to this character, something maybe with previous Valentine's Days, or her eyes, that will come out. But this is a great start and I cannot wait to see what direction this character takes you.
Junkyard Quote Entry 4 (Week 4)
"Committing suicide. Hamster-style. "
-me telling the story of how my hamster died
-me telling the story of how my hamster died
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Junkyard Quote Entry 3 (Week 4)
"The peril of waiting to shit..."
-Morgan's Calisthenic
"Dangling from a tree shaped diffuser hanging on a rear-view mirror of a Moscow taxi"
-Emperor of Scent
-Morgan's Calisthenic
"Dangling from a tree shaped diffuser hanging on a rear-view mirror of a Moscow taxi"
-Emperor of Scent
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Junkyard Quote Entry 2 (Week 4)
"You can sleep through tornados and firedrills...you don't throw anything away. You have a filing cabinet with nothing in it."
-My father talking about quirky things about me
"Real friends bring [your] dickyness to the surface."
-Me talking to Leah about if she was being a "dick" then I would have to get mad at her.
-My father talking about quirky things about me
"Real friends bring [your] dickyness to the surface."
-Me talking to Leah about if she was being a "dick" then I would have to get mad at her.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Calisthenics Entry 1 (Week 4)
Today in class we were discussing Tone and had a couple of sentences with groups of words that were terrible tone words. Our assignment was to take the sentences and create better tone. BUT- we had to use one of the bad tone words.
The sentence that I chose that had bad tone was: "She yearned for escape, for oblivion, for release from her despair."
What I changed it to was: "Sarah fidgeted in her blue plastic chair, eagerly watching the second hand tick by at the pace of molasses, itching to crawl back into the solitude of her polka-dot bed and succumb to the reruns of Jersey Shore, the only safe haven in the black hole of a world."
My bad tone word was safe.
Or another one is: "Her deadly glare tore open my helpless spirit, and I wept in agony."
I changed it to: "The teenage embodiments of angry demons slouched in their seats throwing shards of glass with their eyes."
My bad tone word was angry demons.
The sentence that I chose that had bad tone was: "She yearned for escape, for oblivion, for release from her despair."
What I changed it to was: "Sarah fidgeted in her blue plastic chair, eagerly watching the second hand tick by at the pace of molasses, itching to crawl back into the solitude of her polka-dot bed and succumb to the reruns of Jersey Shore, the only safe haven in the black hole of a world."
My bad tone word was safe.
Or another one is: "Her deadly glare tore open my helpless spirit, and I wept in agony."
I changed it to: "The teenage embodiments of angry demons slouched in their seats throwing shards of glass with their eyes."
My bad tone word was angry demons.
Junkyard Quote Entry 1 (Week 4)
"Wine is like my Tylenol. Only one glass a day calms me down just fine."
-my friend Mallory's mother
"At one moment you are mean and then at another moment you are nice...You are like a Sour Patch Kid. -Lennox complaining about me being "bipolar"
-my friend Mallory's mother
"At one moment you are mean and then at another moment you are nice...You are like a Sour Patch Kid. -Lennox complaining about me being "bipolar"
Monday, February 6, 2012
Reading Response Entry 1 (Week 3)
I really liked the piece "My Father's Love Letters." What I liked most was Komunyakaa's ability to break the lines in ways that had a subliminal message to them. Especially the line "He would beg/Promising to never beat her/ Again." The way in which he broke the lines made a message all on their own. I want to do that as a writer- I want to create little messages in the piece that are not just with the words and the what they say. This also comes with the words that Komunyakaa picks: "We sat in the quiet brutality/Of voltage meters & pipe threaders." What? Those are not the typical things that you would think of using, but in class we talked about how they fit better because they are foreign to the speaker (and the reader), much like this relationship between the speaker and the father. This is also the case with "The gleam of a five-pound wedge/On the concrete floor/Pulled a sunset/Through the doorway of his toolshed." This alludes to the fact that the speaker is wedged between his father and his mother writing these love letters, trying to pull light back into the darkened relationship. I love these allusions and subliminal messages. This is the kind of writing I want to produce.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Peer Response Entry 2 (Week 3)
This is a response to Beverly's Improv: The Virgin Inquisition (link: http://beverlysmithblogspotcom.blogspot.com/2012/02/improv-my-fathers-love-letters.html)
First of all: I LOVE THE TITLE. It made me immediately say "huh? I need to read this." And then as I began to read I became entranced by your images. Especially the one "Our squirming and sinking deeper into our chairs was almost imperceptible as we prayed for an act of Nature, like a tornado or earthquake,to put an end to this awkward embarrassment and total violation of our privacy" and "Her eyes could bore a hole in your psyche that made you feel guilty for even being born with a vagina." They both show the whole idea of being uncomfortable by your mother giving "the talk" rather than just saying: it was so awkward when my mother sat us down and gave us the talk.
I also really love the inner thoughts that you throw in...I know Professor Davidson says to use those sparingly, but I think in this case they give real insight to the character and how she interacts with her mother.
This is fantastic scene. Nice job.
First of all: I LOVE THE TITLE. It made me immediately say "huh? I need to read this." And then as I began to read I became entranced by your images. Especially the one "Our squirming and sinking deeper into our chairs was almost imperceptible as we prayed for an act of Nature, like a tornado or earthquake,to put an end to this awkward embarrassment and total violation of our privacy" and "Her eyes could bore a hole in your psyche that made you feel guilty for even being born with a vagina." They both show the whole idea of being uncomfortable by your mother giving "the talk" rather than just saying: it was so awkward when my mother sat us down and gave us the talk.
I also really love the inner thoughts that you throw in...I know Professor Davidson says to use those sparingly, but I think in this case they give real insight to the character and how she interacts with her mother.
This is fantastic scene. Nice job.
Free Entry 1 (Week 3)
For my free entry this week, I wanted to go back to the day when Professor Davidson asked us about what made us us. He specifically told me to write about swimming. After trying to come up with a way to write about it, this is what I came up with (its a little long, so I apologize in advance.):
The Fish
“Event 4,
Heat 1.”
The loudspeaker blares
with the words of my turn.
The bubbles,
originally in the pool,
have now risen
from the base of my belly
to the tip of my esophagus.
Drowning out the ability
to move forward.
Step up.
The cement block wobbles
under the fear in my feet.
I’m on the side of a pirate ship
walking the plank
to the calm sea below.
Quiet noise blares in my ears.
Glancing across the seven lanes
I see my mother
nervous grinning plastered on her face.
Focus.
Searching the water
I find the perfect place
to land my ship.
Not too close,
not too far.
Unclench your toes.
Medley starts
first swimmer, second,
Brooke, third, comes skating across the pool
the gap between me and her closing.
Now.
My turn.
Her fingers grace the edge,
I’m off like a firecracker.
Leaping into the air,
poised with the precision
of a ballerina.
Gliding under the water
with the streamline of a Kingfisher.
My feet greet like old friends
before I can think.
Kick.
Feet together.
Up
Down
Up
Cutting through the water
my torso stretching,
the racing suit tearing
slightly with the pressure.
Shoulders greeting the air above
with the butterfly that becomes my arms.
Fingertips graze the lane-lines
reminding me to stay in the lane.
I notice nothing but the touch-pad,
the black X underwater
on the wall 25 meters away.
Latex swim-cap digging at my ears,
goggles fogging with the heat of
the water oozing through the cracks near the eyes.
Faster.
Nothing fazes the Jesus lizard
skimming the chlorine saturated water.
It is only when I smack into the wall
and break the surface-
greeted by the cheers
of teammates,
coaches,
parents,
friends-
that I realize we won
and I forgot to breathe.
The Fish
“Event 4,
Heat 1.”
The loudspeaker blares
with the words of my turn.
The bubbles,
originally in the pool,
have now risen
from the base of my belly
to the tip of my esophagus.
Drowning out the ability
to move forward.
Step up.
The cement block wobbles
under the fear in my feet.
I’m on the side of a pirate ship
walking the plank
to the calm sea below.
Quiet noise blares in my ears.
Glancing across the seven lanes
I see my mother
nervous grinning plastered on her face.
Focus.
Searching the water
I find the perfect place
to land my ship.
Not too close,
not too far.
Unclench your toes.
Medley starts
first swimmer, second,
Brooke, third, comes skating across the pool
the gap between me and her closing.
Now.
My turn.
Her fingers grace the edge,
I’m off like a firecracker.
Leaping into the air,
poised with the precision
of a ballerina.
Gliding under the water
with the streamline of a Kingfisher.
My feet greet like old friends
before I can think.
Kick.
Feet together.
Up
Down
Up
Cutting through the water
my torso stretching,
the racing suit tearing
slightly with the pressure.
Shoulders greeting the air above
with the butterfly that becomes my arms.
Fingertips graze the lane-lines
reminding me to stay in the lane.
I notice nothing but the touch-pad,
the black X underwater
on the wall 25 meters away.
Latex swim-cap digging at my ears,
goggles fogging with the heat of
the water oozing through the cracks near the eyes.
Faster.
Nothing fazes the Jesus lizard
skimming the chlorine saturated water.
It is only when I smack into the wall
and break the surface-
greeted by the cheers
of teammates,
coaches,
parents,
friends-
that I realize we won
and I forgot to breathe.
Friday, February 3, 2012
Peer Response Entry 1 (Week 1)
This is a response to Drika's Junkyard Quote 4:"If toast always lands butter-side down, and cats always land on their
feet, what happens if you strap toast on the back of a cat and drop it?"
-Steven Wright-
I read this the first time and could not help but laugh at the image of a cat with a piece of toast strapped to its back and then falling. I really do wonder which falling piece would have more pull...I have to think though that the cat, being heavier, would have to be the one that would land upright, rather than the toast landing upside down.
This would make a great start to a short story about someone who thinks about this quote and then sets out testing this theory...It could be someone's science fair or some sort of project!
-Steven Wright-
I read this the first time and could not help but laugh at the image of a cat with a piece of toast strapped to its back and then falling. I really do wonder which falling piece would have more pull...I have to think though that the cat, being heavier, would have to be the one that would land upright, rather than the toast landing upside down.
This would make a great start to a short story about someone who thinks about this quote and then sets out testing this theory...It could be someone's science fair or some sort of project!
Improv/ Imitation Entry 1 (Week 3)
For my imitation piece, I wanted to take the idea that Professor Davidson told us to write about (a time when your parent or a family member embarrassed you) and imitate Komunyakaa's piece "My Father's Love Letters." But specifically, I focused on the non metrical idea and then the enjambment and line breaks. I also wanted to use showing not telling, specificity and think small. I feel like its missing something, so if anyone would care to help....Thanks!
My Mother’s Birthday Present
On Wednesday she waited for me to come home
and asked about my day,
laughing suspiciously at the story
I told of my friend
who begged me to read
his paper but changed his mind.
She laughed
even though it wasn’t funny
and that was that. In the back
of my mind,
something irked.
Thursday I walked the hallway,
every square inch swarmed
with feet and flailing
arms. The balloons
bigger than Pluto,
the bags of Subway and treats,
exploded through the doors.
Looking up with sheer anguish
and guilt spread across her face,
I could only imagine
the look on mine.
“Mom?!
What are you doing here?”
The only words I could choke
out as she begins to sing
“Happy Birthday,”
off key and nervous,
in the middle of the zoo of a high school.
Running off, hiding in the solitude of the hallway,
sweating the embarrassment, taking it out on the locker door,
I began to regret.
Searching for her, I knew,
that she only wanted to surprise her oldest daughter
on her 16th birthday,
redeemed by that unending,
unembarrassed love.
My Mother’s Birthday Present
On Wednesday she waited for me to come home
and asked about my day,
laughing suspiciously at the story
I told of my friend
who begged me to read
his paper but changed his mind.
She laughed
even though it wasn’t funny
and that was that. In the back
of my mind,
something irked.
Thursday I walked the hallway,
every square inch swarmed
with feet and flailing
arms. The balloons
bigger than Pluto,
the bags of Subway and treats,
exploded through the doors.
Looking up with sheer anguish
and guilt spread across her face,
I could only imagine
the look on mine.
“Mom?!
What are you doing here?”
The only words I could choke
out as she begins to sing
“Happy Birthday,”
off key and nervous,
in the middle of the zoo of a high school.
Running off, hiding in the solitude of the hallway,
sweating the embarrassment, taking it out on the locker door,
I began to regret.
Searching for her, I knew,
that she only wanted to surprise her oldest daughter
on her 16th birthday,
redeemed by that unending,
unembarrassed love.
Junkyard Quote Entry 4 (Week 3)
"Your farts are like an atomic bomb. Mine are just like pfft. Its because of your heritage."
"So just because I'm Mexican I have bad farts."
"Yeah. Its because of what you eat."
-a conversation between my friends Mallory and Leah
"So just because I'm Mexican I have bad farts."
"Yeah. Its because of what you eat."
-a conversation between my friends Mallory and Leah
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Junkyard Quote Entry 3 (Week 3)
"You just have talent oozing out of your face"
-a woman at my friend Leah's church who said this after Leah played the flute for their service.
"My mom didn't have me, she bought me…therefore I was more wanted."
-a girl in my psychology class talking about being adopted
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Junkyard Quote Entry 2 (Week 3)
"Put this moisturizer on…it feels like a slime gleeched on your face."
My sister Lauren likes to make up words sometimes and this was her description of what a really powerful moisturizer felt like to her. If someone could explain what gleeching is...that would be fantastic.
My sister Lauren likes to make up words sometimes and this was her description of what a really powerful moisturizer felt like to her. If someone could explain what gleeching is...that would be fantastic.
Calisthenic Entry 1 (Week 3)
So. No cliches. Awesome.
We held hands and let the breeze dance in the air, while the ocean waves tickled our feet.
Bewildered tourists flooded the George Town streets snapping pictures left and right of the chickens running amok in the sidewalk forests. My fingertips lingered against his as the Caribbean spray raked at the tight spirals of my hair. We burrowed our tanned feet in Seven Mile Beach and watched the stingrays ride the waves that carried my sandal out to sea.
The moon was beautifully full, and the stars shone like diamonds in the sky.
Becky walked down Sherwood Pass and squinted at the moon, reflecting what seemed like every ray of the morning sun. Even at midnight, the lights of the Bengochea house and the Wood house couldn't drown out the spotlights in the sky.
So I know that the "spotlights in the sky" isn't the best replacement for "diamonds in the sky"... but i couldn't come up with anything, so if you can help... it would be appreciated!
We held hands and let the breeze dance in the air, while the ocean waves tickled our feet.
Bewildered tourists flooded the George Town streets snapping pictures left and right of the chickens running amok in the sidewalk forests. My fingertips lingered against his as the Caribbean spray raked at the tight spirals of my hair. We burrowed our tanned feet in Seven Mile Beach and watched the stingrays ride the waves that carried my sandal out to sea.
The moon was beautifully full, and the stars shone like diamonds in the sky.
Becky walked down Sherwood Pass and squinted at the moon, reflecting what seemed like every ray of the morning sun. Even at midnight, the lights of the Bengochea house and the Wood house couldn't drown out the spotlights in the sky.
So I know that the "spotlights in the sky" isn't the best replacement for "diamonds in the sky"... but i couldn't come up with anything, so if you can help... it would be appreciated!
Junkyard Quote Entry 1 (Week 3)
"Always be a bad song…don't be a good song because all the good songs get played over and over."
-Conversation with my friend Lennox
-Conversation with my friend Lennox
Monday, January 30, 2012
Improv/ Imitation Entry 1 (Week 2)
This week I want to imitate a section of the Rattlesnake poem by Richard Hugo.
"I found him sleepy in the heat
And dust of a gopher burrow.
Coiled in loose folds upon silence
In a pit of the noonday hillside."
(here is one about the snow burrowing dogs.)
"She found her awake in the cold
and snow of the white hole.
Wrapped in a ball in the walled
in early morning mountain."
(here is one about the prairie dog)
"He saw him hiding in the dry
and straw of the grassy colony.
Lumped in the short hair upon fear
in a hole on the midday field."
So these are just two terrible examples. I wanted to try and imitate the specific place and the language but I am not sure if I did that accurately.
"I found him sleepy in the heat
And dust of a gopher burrow.
Coiled in loose folds upon silence
In a pit of the noonday hillside."
(here is one about the snow burrowing dogs.)
"She found her awake in the cold
and snow of the white hole.
Wrapped in a ball in the walled
in early morning mountain."
(here is one about the prairie dog)
"He saw him hiding in the dry
and straw of the grassy colony.
Lumped in the short hair upon fear
in a hole on the midday field."
So these are just two terrible examples. I wanted to try and imitate the specific place and the language but I am not sure if I did that accurately.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Reading Response Entry 1 (Week 2)
So, today I read "I am 21" by Mary Robinson. I know this is for class on Tuesday, but I wanted to read something other than Abducted by Circumstance. What I wanted to do for this Entry was to go through the piece and use some of the concepts that we had worked on in class:
Showing Not Telling:
"writing clockwise in the left, top and right had margins of page one in my exam booklet." I like this one because it makes me wonder what was so special about the margins? Why didn't they just write in the middle? But I also like the specificity of where they were writing.
"Some guy whose hair I could've ripped out was finished with his exam." I like this because she didn't say "some guy I was annoyed with." It was a hatred you could see.
"The plaster walls were a nothing oatmeal color, which was okay. But not okay was that some earlier renter had gooped orange-unbelievably- paint on the moldings and window frames." I like this showing because of the words she used. You can see oatmeal and you can see gooped.
"This was #2 graphite and gushy-gummy." I like the word gushy-gummy. It really describes the graphite of some pencils.
Specificity:
"probably from overdoing it with diet pills or from the green tea all last night and from reading too much all the time."
"my one picture up wasn't of a Blessed Virgin or a detail from Amiens of the King of Judan holding a rod of the Tree of Jesse. Instead, it was an eight by ten glossy of Rudy and Leslie, my folks." I just think this one is funny because of the specific paintings she picks.
Place:
"But i slapped him my exam booklet and hurried out of Meverett."
"We had to borrow a neighbor's station wagon just to get the thing safely to Dreiser Junior High."
"Willow tree on Route 987"
Background:
"He had asked me out for Cokes, but I had brushed him off. That was maybe stupid because he might've been in charge of grading exams." I like this because the importance of background is to clarify the relationships and little things about the characters and this definitely shows that the speaker is worried about this test and hopes that every little thing counts.
I wanted to search for these concepts so that I could get a better idea on how to hone these skills in my own writing. The one big question that I had for this piece, that really didn't have anything to do with any concept except for maybe the whole Don't Explain Anything, WHAT REALLY CAUSES THE RINGING?
Showing Not Telling:
"writing clockwise in the left, top and right had margins of page one in my exam booklet." I like this one because it makes me wonder what was so special about the margins? Why didn't they just write in the middle? But I also like the specificity of where they were writing.
"Some guy whose hair I could've ripped out was finished with his exam." I like this because she didn't say "some guy I was annoyed with." It was a hatred you could see.
"The plaster walls were a nothing oatmeal color, which was okay. But not okay was that some earlier renter had gooped orange-unbelievably- paint on the moldings and window frames." I like this showing because of the words she used. You can see oatmeal and you can see gooped.
"This was #2 graphite and gushy-gummy." I like the word gushy-gummy. It really describes the graphite of some pencils.
Specificity:
"probably from overdoing it with diet pills or from the green tea all last night and from reading too much all the time."
"my one picture up wasn't of a Blessed Virgin or a detail from Amiens of the King of Judan holding a rod of the Tree of Jesse. Instead, it was an eight by ten glossy of Rudy and Leslie, my folks." I just think this one is funny because of the specific paintings she picks.
Place:
"But i slapped him my exam booklet and hurried out of Meverett."
"We had to borrow a neighbor's station wagon just to get the thing safely to Dreiser Junior High."
"Willow tree on Route 987"
Background:
"He had asked me out for Cokes, but I had brushed him off. That was maybe stupid because he might've been in charge of grading exams." I like this because the importance of background is to clarify the relationships and little things about the characters and this definitely shows that the speaker is worried about this test and hopes that every little thing counts.
I wanted to search for these concepts so that I could get a better idea on how to hone these skills in my own writing. The one big question that I had for this piece, that really didn't have anything to do with any concept except for maybe the whole Don't Explain Anything, WHAT REALLY CAUSES THE RINGING?
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Peer Response Entry 2 (Week 2)
I find myself really gravitating towards April's work. There is always something interesting to read and I get sucked in, then find something that I just HAVE to post about. Her original post can be found here: http://aprilantoniou.blogspot.com/2012/01/blue-in-red-state.html
April,
I loved the Blue in a Red State idea. This whole piece was the epitome of what Davidson was talking about "what makes you you." My favorite part was the : "Everyone went stiff. The fire crackled and spit in disdain while the crickets chirped like a group of frantic old gossiping knitters: “Did you hear that?” “Gasp!” “Oh my..." Crickets definitely seem like that when everything is quiet. I also liked the end. The idea of the "maybe I can learn to love purple" took me a minute actually, but then I laughed to myself realizing that you meant that there were good things to both the red and blue states and therefore you could maybe merge the two. That was pretty creative.
However, a question I have for you is where do you live? Because near my house, there is a Whole Foods, a Trader Joe's (a couple actually)and I believe a Jack in the Box.
And finally, you are right when you said that the beginning of the piece is a little weak. It seems as though you start with a lot of telling about yourself. Maybe if you showed how you were born and raised in California, you could say:
"With my hair as blond as the grains of sand and my eyes as blue as the crystal Pacific, my body was the beach. I breathed sushi. The last of the Valley Girl breed, I believed everyone came to Hollywood seeking the fame, fortune and glamor she promised. Waitresses were never waitresses-but rather actresses. Customer Service Reps were recording artists. And everyone had their own scandalous celebrity story to leak. I, the insider, no impostor or visiting tourist to the world of pain and regret, silently smirked at the foolhardy aspirations of the many immigrants."
Or something like that.
April,
I loved the Blue in a Red State idea. This whole piece was the epitome of what Davidson was talking about "what makes you you." My favorite part was the : "Everyone went stiff. The fire crackled and spit in disdain while the crickets chirped like a group of frantic old gossiping knitters: “Did you hear that?” “Gasp!” “Oh my..." Crickets definitely seem like that when everything is quiet. I also liked the end. The idea of the "maybe I can learn to love purple" took me a minute actually, but then I laughed to myself realizing that you meant that there were good things to both the red and blue states and therefore you could maybe merge the two. That was pretty creative.
However, a question I have for you is where do you live? Because near my house, there is a Whole Foods, a Trader Joe's (a couple actually)and I believe a Jack in the Box.
And finally, you are right when you said that the beginning of the piece is a little weak. It seems as though you start with a lot of telling about yourself. Maybe if you showed how you were born and raised in California, you could say:
"With my hair as blond as the grains of sand and my eyes as blue as the crystal Pacific, my body was the beach. I breathed sushi. The last of the Valley Girl breed, I believed everyone came to Hollywood seeking the fame, fortune and glamor she promised. Waitresses were never waitresses-but rather actresses. Customer Service Reps were recording artists. And everyone had their own scandalous celebrity story to leak. I, the insider, no impostor or visiting tourist to the world of pain and regret, silently smirked at the foolhardy aspirations of the many immigrants."
Or something like that.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Response to Classmate's Journal Entry 1 (Week 2)
This is a response to April's Super Long Free Entry: http://aprilantoniou.blogspot.com/2012/01/super-long-free-entry-week-2.html (I included the link so everyone can read what I am talking about)...
April,
I really really really liked this piece. I literally devoured or scarfed (food humor) this piece up. What I enjoyed most, a lot like what Kelsey posted, was the idea that your relationship with your dad was complicated. But every bit of information, with the recipe and the relationships, all tied in together. The way you tied the bubbling and popping of the tomatoes to your brother being thrown across the house was really interesting. I noticed, and I don't know if you meant to do this or not, was that a lot of the memories conjured by the recipe had to do with your brother and your dad. It seems as though they had the worst relationship and you were there to kind of mend the two opposing forces. I also thought it was really interesting how your sauce was different than your fathers. I took it to show, a lot like how in the showing not telling exercise we did in class with the knife and the sofa, that there was a little underlying meaning to the sauce. To me, it kind of shows that even though you and your father were making the same dish (or maybe even though you both created families), the sauces (or the relationships), are different and therefore making the taste of the dishes different (making the future of your families different.)
I like to read into things. Its the psychology interest in me that brings out the weird connections. I thought this was a really good piece and you really "wrote about cooking without writing about cooking." Nice job.
April,
I really really really liked this piece. I literally devoured or scarfed (food humor) this piece up. What I enjoyed most, a lot like what Kelsey posted, was the idea that your relationship with your dad was complicated. But every bit of information, with the recipe and the relationships, all tied in together. The way you tied the bubbling and popping of the tomatoes to your brother being thrown across the house was really interesting. I noticed, and I don't know if you meant to do this or not, was that a lot of the memories conjured by the recipe had to do with your brother and your dad. It seems as though they had the worst relationship and you were there to kind of mend the two opposing forces. I also thought it was really interesting how your sauce was different than your fathers. I took it to show, a lot like how in the showing not telling exercise we did in class with the knife and the sofa, that there was a little underlying meaning to the sauce. To me, it kind of shows that even though you and your father were making the same dish (or maybe even though you both created families), the sauces (or the relationships), are different and therefore making the taste of the dishes different (making the future of your families different.)
I like to read into things. Its the psychology interest in me that brings out the weird connections. I thought this was a really good piece and you really "wrote about cooking without writing about cooking." Nice job.
Junkyard Quotes Entry 3 (Week 2)
"I'm strong like a butterfly."
-little kid my mother knew from preschool
"All their lights are on, upstairs and down, as if they have money to burn."
-Tobias Wolff "Next Door"
-little kid my mother knew from preschool
"All their lights are on, upstairs and down, as if they have money to burn."
-Tobias Wolff "Next Door"
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Free Entry 1 (Week 2)
Today in class, I cannot quite remember how we got on the topic of it, but we started talking about ants and how fun it was for me to kick over the ant hills...and like Professor Davidson says "write about it." So, keeping that in mind, I decided to write a poem about kicking over the ant hills...
I remember being five or six
squatting seriously on the ridge of the curb
staring intensely at the red brown of the hill,
the curvature of the mound,
entranced,
like a lion stalking prey.
I push off the balls of my feet
and stand,
straight as the lines of ants below,
looking down upon the little village
filled with furious insects.
Like a demonic being,
my foot juts out
scattering the bits and pieces,
the hopes and dreams of all the beings
inside that mound.
Creating chaos,
fear.
I watch,
giggling
as they scatter,
trying to pick up their lives,
trying to formulate again.
I turn
and step over,
onto the scattering ants
feeling intense humor,
a surge of sick happiness,
flow over me
like the waves of dirt
flowing through the crevices
and hallways of the mind.
I remember being five or six
squatting seriously on the ridge of the curb
staring intensely at the red brown of the hill,
the curvature of the mound,
entranced,
like a lion stalking prey.
I push off the balls of my feet
and stand,
straight as the lines of ants below,
looking down upon the little village
filled with furious insects.
Like a demonic being,
my foot juts out
scattering the bits and pieces,
the hopes and dreams of all the beings
inside that mound.
Creating chaos,
fear.
I watch,
giggling
as they scatter,
trying to pick up their lives,
trying to formulate again.
I turn
and step over,
onto the scattering ants
feeling intense humor,
a surge of sick happiness,
flow over me
like the waves of dirt
flowing through the crevices
and hallways of the mind.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Junkyard Quotes Entry 2 (Week 2)
"Rorschach inkblot test has been resoundingly discredited... I call it the Dracula of psychological tests, because no one has been able to drive a stake though the cursed things heart."
-Carol Tavris "Mind Games: Psychological Warfare Between Therapists and Scientists"
"Oh my God. You have to smell these…they smell like old man poop."
-my sister Lauren (I just like this quote because who would want to smell something that smells like old man poop...and what does that even smell like??? Its just a really hilarious comparison to me.)
-Carol Tavris "Mind Games: Psychological Warfare Between Therapists and Scientists"
"Oh my God. You have to smell these…they smell like old man poop."
-my sister Lauren (I just like this quote because who would want to smell something that smells like old man poop...and what does that even smell like??? Its just a really hilarious comparison to me.)
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Calisthenic Entry 1 (Week 2)
Today in class we never really had a chance to do the active voice assignment, so it was assigned as homework...but I kinda wanted to take a stab at it for the calisthenic post for this week.
Here it goes:
One of the original sentences was: It was a nice spring day. Ok. A spring day...that normally conjures up the birds and the flowers...but for me today was a nice almost spring like day....
So here's my sentence: The clean, clear blue sky shone brightly through the budding trees, gleaming where the remaining rain drops sit on the premature leaves.
Or there is another one: The math problem was hard.
How about this: The vein in Mike's head bulged as he furiously scribbled and erased the answer to the problem over and over, wearing down both the lead and the eraser.
The active voice assignment kind of reminds me of the showing not telling calisthenic that we did in class...
Here it goes:
One of the original sentences was: It was a nice spring day. Ok. A spring day...that normally conjures up the birds and the flowers...but for me today was a nice almost spring like day....
So here's my sentence: The clean, clear blue sky shone brightly through the budding trees, gleaming where the remaining rain drops sit on the premature leaves.
Or there is another one: The math problem was hard.
How about this: The vein in Mike's head bulged as he furiously scribbled and erased the answer to the problem over and over, wearing down both the lead and the eraser.
The active voice assignment kind of reminds me of the showing not telling calisthenic that we did in class...
Monday, January 23, 2012
Junkyard Quote Entry 1 (Week 2)
"dreary faces of gaiety…"
-David Madden Abducted By Circumstance pg. 83
"People are like butterflies. They can't always see their own beauty, but everyone else can."
-facebook status by Rebecca Terrell
-David Madden Abducted By Circumstance pg. 83
"People are like butterflies. They can't always see their own beauty, but everyone else can."
-facebook status by Rebecca Terrell
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Reading Response Entry 1 (Week 1)
I recently finished the reading assignment for Abducted By Circumstance by David Madden, and I decided to write my reading response on that. This book is one interesting piece of literature. When I first started reading, I was excited...the outside jacket quotes said that this book was going to be a crime story and was supposed to be really intriguing...but as I started to read, I became more and more confused with who was talking. There are moments when there is an outside narrator talking and then within that same paragraph, Carol will be talking to Glenda. I find it very interesting when Carol talks to Glenda, because, obviously Glenda isn't there standing in front of Carol. Carol is literally talking to herself and pretending to know what Glenda would say. It makes me wonder why Carol is taking such an interest in getting to know Glenda. It cannot be just because she witnessed the abduction. I feel there is a deeper reason...and I think that Madden touches on that in the last part of chapter five. Carol has been abducted by her life and she really wants to save herself. But, I really like the quote on page 116 where Carol says "I have these feelings of guilt about you, Glenda. Like when I catch myself feeling that you are intruding. I have my own life to live, but you keep getting between me and it. The harder I try to keep you alive, the more I feel my own life, such as it is, slip away." This quote kind of makes it seem that Carol wants to save both herself and Glenda, but in the end she can only save one.
The other thing I noticed while reading is that Melissa is not the typical six year old daughter. She has characteristics of an adult. To me, the way she talks and acts sounds more mature and more adult like than her mother. I think this could be because Melissa knows that her mom is kind of losing her mind, and she takes it upon herself to help her mother figure out what happened to Glenda and therefore kind of be Carol's mother as well as her daughter. It reflects upon Carol's life because she herself never really had a mother, and it seems like Melissa doesn't really have one as well.
This is one difficult book to read, but I hope that it gets better because even though it is confusing, it is quite interesting and I want to be able to connect all the pieces together in the end.
The other thing I noticed while reading is that Melissa is not the typical six year old daughter. She has characteristics of an adult. To me, the way she talks and acts sounds more mature and more adult like than her mother. I think this could be because Melissa knows that her mom is kind of losing her mind, and she takes it upon herself to help her mother figure out what happened to Glenda and therefore kind of be Carol's mother as well as her daughter. It reflects upon Carol's life because she herself never really had a mother, and it seems like Melissa doesn't really have one as well.
This is one difficult book to read, but I hope that it gets better because even though it is confusing, it is quite interesting and I want to be able to connect all the pieces together in the end.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Response to Classmate's Journal Entry 2 (Week 1)
This is an entry that I read today in April's journal today:
"I wanted to do another take on show and tell, but with a different twist. Can you "show" without describing anything?
Tell:
The girl was bored.
Show:
Sigh. Open book. Read.
Close book. Get up. Go to the computer.
Sit. Check email. Stand.
Nothing new.
Stretch. Yawn. Walk to the kitchen.
Open the fridge. Grab nothing. Back to the couch. "
I really liked what she did with the showing twist so this is what I commented:
"It is so typical of descriptions of boredom to be just that...descriptions. We create a scene by showing what is happening in the typical way "Maddie opened her book and desperately tried to read. Anxious, she walked to the computer and logged on..."but here you paint the same picture without doing that. The short, sharp, choppy, one-to-two-word sentences characterize the speaker as bored because the collection of sentences show how quickly the character moves from one activity to the other, trying to stay busy but failing. I think this is more effective than the typical description because it makes the boredom seem more "real" in a sense."
"I wanted to do another take on show and tell, but with a different twist. Can you "show" without describing anything?
Tell:
The girl was bored.
Show:
Sigh. Open book. Read.
Close book. Get up. Go to the computer.
Sit. Check email. Stand.
Nothing new.
Stretch. Yawn. Walk to the kitchen.
Open the fridge. Grab nothing. Back to the couch. "
I really liked what she did with the showing twist so this is what I commented:
"It is so typical of descriptions of boredom to be just that...descriptions. We create a scene by showing what is happening in the typical way "Maddie opened her book and desperately tried to read. Anxious, she walked to the computer and logged on..."but here you paint the same picture without doing that. The short, sharp, choppy, one-to-two-word sentences characterize the speaker as bored because the collection of sentences show how quickly the character moves from one activity to the other, trying to stay busy but failing. I think this is more effective than the typical description because it makes the boredom seem more "real" in a sense."
Friday, January 20, 2012
Junkyard Quotes Entry 4 (Week 1)
"Its like having the Great Wall of China in my pants..."
-my sister on wearing a too bulky pad in her pants while on her period
"I remember your name perfectly but I cant think of your face."
-Oxford professor W. A. Spooner: famous for linguistic flip flops
"I see depression as the plague of the modern era."
-Lewis Judd: former Chief of the National Institute of Mental Health
-my sister on wearing a too bulky pad in her pants while on her period
"I remember your name perfectly but I cant think of your face."
-Oxford professor W. A. Spooner: famous for linguistic flip flops
"I see depression as the plague of the modern era."
-Lewis Judd: former Chief of the National Institute of Mental Health
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Improv/ Imitation Entry 1 (Week 1)
I really cannot stop thinking about this poem that we read during the first week of class...it was "A Martian Sends A Postcard Home." I keep thinking about how creative it was of Craig Raine to take the everyday and make it so unique and I really wanted to take a stab at it myself...so here it goes...I would love to see if someone would guess what they are, but I am gonna tell you anyway...
Legs in motion.
Moving so fast-
so high off the ground
that I wonder why they don't fall backward.
Arms moving
with bars in them-
but the bars have round pieces
attached to the ends.
Some are bigger than others-
size does matter I assume.
The ones that are bigger
make the peoples faces writhe
In what looks like pain-
all bunched up and pout-like.
But they slap hands
and start again.
This short little poem was just me trying to capture what it is like at...THE GYM! I am not sure if it is the best, but its my first crack at defamiliarization.
Legs in motion.
Moving so fast-
so high off the ground
that I wonder why they don't fall backward.
Arms moving
with bars in them-
but the bars have round pieces
attached to the ends.
Some are bigger than others-
size does matter I assume.
The ones that are bigger
make the peoples faces writhe
In what looks like pain-
all bunched up and pout-like.
But they slap hands
and start again.
This short little poem was just me trying to capture what it is like at...THE GYM! I am not sure if it is the best, but its my first crack at defamiliarization.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Free Entry 1 (Week 1)
I feel like there are so many things people nowadays do not pay attention to. Including myself. I hardly ever read the news...much less watch it. If there is something better on, like Criminal Minds, or CSI or even Modern Family, you bet your bippy (as my grandmother loves to say) I am watching that before I watch Amanda Davis on Fox Five or Jovita Moore on WSB-TV...I didn't even know these people. I had to Google them. How sad is that? What is our society coming to? Or at least our generation...who would rather play a video game or watch a funny comedy show...wait! scratch funny...that is the whole adjective thing that Professor Davidson talked about...funny comedy show...as opposed to a depressing comedy show? Let me try again: a whimsical comedy show? an Emmy winning comedy show? whatever...the point is: our generation is slowly killing our brain cells and we all are offenders. I go back to the phrase that Davidson wrote on the board after the quiz on tuesday "You are writers. WRITE!" He even underlined "write" twice!! I laughed to myself because even though I call myself a writer, I have trained myself to not write in situations where is isn't "appropriate." Society, I feel, is flawed in their sense of what is appropriate and what is not. I feel kids think it isn't appropriate for them to be worried about what is happening in society, because they are just kids! It isn't their responsibility to worry about the Occupy Wallstreet, or the SOPA thing that is going on...again I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THAT IS! That is actually what prompted me to write this entry. The whole "Wikipedia goes black for a day" and all my friends on Facebook posting articles and statuses about "you need to worry about these bills because it will censor your words!" I feel so out of the loop because I don't pay attention to what is going on in the world these days.
The point of this entry, after all the tangents and all the ranting, was basically to show that, to me, society has always tried to keep kids from worrying about adult things until they have to...but for me, I feel like when we HAVE to start worrying about adult things is when it has become too late and we will never get caught up with all the stuff that is occurring and we will never fully understand. This could be just me. But I worry about society and all the future generations who may just be getting lazier and lazier...we need to start focusing on what is really going on in the world, because, as I have recently come to understand, it is our generation who will have to deal with it all and end up making a change. So that is another one of my goals for myself- FOCUS ON WHAT IS HAPPENING IN THE WORLD SO I CAN UNDERSTAND WHAT IS GOING ON...because I am not a kid anymore. I have to start becoming more of an adult...just add it to my list of things to do...
The point of this entry, after all the tangents and all the ranting, was basically to show that, to me, society has always tried to keep kids from worrying about adult things until they have to...but for me, I feel like when we HAVE to start worrying about adult things is when it has become too late and we will never get caught up with all the stuff that is occurring and we will never fully understand. This could be just me. But I worry about society and all the future generations who may just be getting lazier and lazier...we need to start focusing on what is really going on in the world, because, as I have recently come to understand, it is our generation who will have to deal with it all and end up making a change. So that is another one of my goals for myself- FOCUS ON WHAT IS HAPPENING IN THE WORLD SO I CAN UNDERSTAND WHAT IS GOING ON...because I am not a kid anymore. I have to start becoming more of an adult...just add it to my list of things to do...
Response to Classmate's Journal Entry 1 (Week 1)
I read this Entry that Drika posted on her journal today:
"I recently attended a screening of The Help here on campus, and as I watched the reactions of my fellow students I had an epiphany of sorts. I realized that we as a society take many things for granted. Simple everyday moments and privileges, such as choosing our professions, sitting where we want on the bus, eating and socializing with whomever we choose, and being protected by the law are often overlooked. That is until an incident comes along, or a movie such as The Help shows us what could have been. Once this happens, for a brief moment in time we are grateful for everything we have, but this truly grateful nature dissipates in a day’s time, and is replaced by an almost oblivious contentment with our current situation. I myself am guilty of this as well. Often I am so caught up with my laptop, iPod, and other technological devices that I fail to remember the struggles of those that allow me to enjoy such privileges. It is my goal for this week to focus on remembering and realization. I intend to focus on remembering the raw determination of the trailblazers of the past, and realizing the efforts of those today that are diligently shaping the future."
I couldn't help but just shake my head because I felt the EXACT same way...so I posted this comment:
"I love this because I feel the exact same way. I saw The Help over the summer with my mother and just cried when I thought about all the things we take for granted and all the relationships with people that we take for granted for that matter. I thought about all the people that I know that just complain complain complain about everything that "isn't fair" about life, and even though I find myself saying the same thing sometimes, I try to catch myself and remember that it is because of people like the women in The Help, or appropriately, Martin Luther King Jr., that we are able to be the society we are today...even though I think they would be shocked of some of the things that we have let happen."
I am so glad that other people have the same thoughts that I do...
"I recently attended a screening of The Help here on campus, and as I watched the reactions of my fellow students I had an epiphany of sorts. I realized that we as a society take many things for granted. Simple everyday moments and privileges, such as choosing our professions, sitting where we want on the bus, eating and socializing with whomever we choose, and being protected by the law are often overlooked. That is until an incident comes along, or a movie such as The Help shows us what could have been. Once this happens, for a brief moment in time we are grateful for everything we have, but this truly grateful nature dissipates in a day’s time, and is replaced by an almost oblivious contentment with our current situation. I myself am guilty of this as well. Often I am so caught up with my laptop, iPod, and other technological devices that I fail to remember the struggles of those that allow me to enjoy such privileges. It is my goal for this week to focus on remembering and realization. I intend to focus on remembering the raw determination of the trailblazers of the past, and realizing the efforts of those today that are diligently shaping the future."
I couldn't help but just shake my head because I felt the EXACT same way...so I posted this comment:
"I love this because I feel the exact same way. I saw The Help over the summer with my mother and just cried when I thought about all the things we take for granted and all the relationships with people that we take for granted for that matter. I thought about all the people that I know that just complain complain complain about everything that "isn't fair" about life, and even though I find myself saying the same thing sometimes, I try to catch myself and remember that it is because of people like the women in The Help, or appropriately, Martin Luther King Jr., that we are able to be the society we are today...even though I think they would be shocked of some of the things that we have let happen."
I am so glad that other people have the same thoughts that I do...
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Junkyard Quotes Entry 3 (Week 1)
"Its not like I'm taking Ibuprofen like Skittles...I take it only when I need it."
--Conversation with my friend Lennox
"If you were going on a long journey, you could do worse than bring Ed McMahon along."
--Tobias Wolff in "Next Door"
"I smell like elephants."
--Another conversation with my friend Lennox
--Conversation with my friend Lennox
"If you were going on a long journey, you could do worse than bring Ed McMahon along."
--Tobias Wolff in "Next Door"
"I smell like elephants."
--Another conversation with my friend Lennox
Monday, January 16, 2012
Junkyard Quotes Entry 2 (Week 1)
"Memories consume
Like opening the wound
I'm picking me apart again..."
--Linkin Park Breaking The Habit
"To read is to empower,
To empower is to write,
To write is to influence,
To influence is to change,
To change is to live."
--Jane Evershed
Like opening the wound
I'm picking me apart again..."
--Linkin Park Breaking The Habit
"To read is to empower,
To empower is to write,
To write is to influence,
To influence is to change,
To change is to live."
--Jane Evershed
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