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?

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.

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."

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.

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

Junkyard Quote Entry 3 (Week 10)

"Regrets collect like old friends, here to relive your darkest moments."
-Florence + The Machine "Shake It Out"

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"

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"

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...

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.

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!

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?

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.

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.

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

Junkyard Quote Entry 3 (Week 9)

"Sperm are like Kamikaze pilots"
-Biology teacher

Junkyard Quote Entry 2 (Week 9)

"I wonder if fish smoke weed."
-Kenny

Junkyard Quote Entry 1 (Week 9)

"You look like two seals fighting for a grape."
-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!!

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.

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.

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!

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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."

Junkyard Quote Entry 1 (Week 8)

"It's very alive over there in the graveyard."
-Ghost Adventures

Best American Short Plays

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.

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?

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.

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.

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

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

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.