Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Just strolling along...
I have always just written to write, possibly with no focus or purpose, or maybe there was. It has been hard for me to realize what writers go through as they write and make revisions. I don't exactly know what I thought, maybe it was that published writers just wrote and everything came out perfect, no major revisions, no sitting around finding a focus, analysing each word and paragraph... I thought it came naturally to them. I thought that while I was reading all of these books, novels, short stories, etc... that the way everything fit perfectly might have been a major coincidence. I couldn't have conceive the amount of thought that goes into their works... I have a greater respect for writers now. Just wanted to share. :)
Blog 18
My writing has always been a way to work things out in my mind, it kept my sanity and helped me get my emotions out without having to burden others with my problems. I sometimes feel that people are so self involved and would much rather talk about themselves and therefore I have always taken on the role of listener.
I need to spend time on form and reflection, I think that I learned alot about that from this class. and although i have to admit that I have realized from this course is that unless I am inspired by something I can't write just to meet a deadline... I get stumped and then I think too much about it and too much into it that I just can't do it! It was very frustrating to me because I was so excited about taking this class and I feel that what I have written is not my best work, at all!
At this point, I feel that I am not ready for any sort of writing group. As I stated above when it comes to creativity I can not have a set time to meet and read work. It would prob stress me out knowing that I had an obligation to go weekly. I think if anything I would do something casual like go read something I wrote, that I felt proud of, at an open mic one night on a whim, that is more me.
I am not sure what I want to do in the future. I thought I wanted to go into teaching but I am not sure. And as far as using my writing in the future I'm completely unsure. haha... lots of uncertainty for this response. All I can say is that I will keep writing when I am inspired and see what happens and where it will take me.
I would like to write personal essays, life, love, happiness, sadness, very emotion, real and raw. I am a very honest person especially in my writing I don't hold back. I tell the truth especially when it comes to how I feel about things... I am true to myself.
Right now the only publication that I am going to send out is my personal essay to Literal Latte. As far as for the future it possibly might be just for the people around me... as Prof Chandler was just saying in class. I think that at this point I am more comfortable with that.
I need to spend time on form and reflection, I think that I learned alot about that from this class. and although i have to admit that I have realized from this course is that unless I am inspired by something I can't write just to meet a deadline... I get stumped and then I think too much about it and too much into it that I just can't do it! It was very frustrating to me because I was so excited about taking this class and I feel that what I have written is not my best work, at all!
At this point, I feel that I am not ready for any sort of writing group. As I stated above when it comes to creativity I can not have a set time to meet and read work. It would prob stress me out knowing that I had an obligation to go weekly. I think if anything I would do something casual like go read something I wrote, that I felt proud of, at an open mic one night on a whim, that is more me.
I am not sure what I want to do in the future. I thought I wanted to go into teaching but I am not sure. And as far as using my writing in the future I'm completely unsure. haha... lots of uncertainty for this response. All I can say is that I will keep writing when I am inspired and see what happens and where it will take me.
I would like to write personal essays, life, love, happiness, sadness, very emotion, real and raw. I am a very honest person especially in my writing I don't hold back. I tell the truth especially when it comes to how I feel about things... I am true to myself.
Right now the only publication that I am going to send out is my personal essay to Literal Latte. As far as for the future it possibly might be just for the people around me... as Prof Chandler was just saying in class. I think that at this point I am more comfortable with that.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Nature Essay
Nature Essay- I started writing about the Christmas trees then it went in a totally different direction and focus than my original plan. I don’t think it’s much of a nature essay but if you could give me some feedback that would be great. Thank you.
I get out of my car and walk towards the entrance. I walk the wrong way at first and am blocked by a large metal fence. I giggle and think to myself that I hope no one has seen my mistake. I turn around a head towards the area where I think is the entrance. I reach my destination and walk inside. Hundreds of Christmas trees surround me. Some were wrapped up in netting and some are loosely displayed. I take a walk around once and just look at them. They all look the same and I am ready for the employee to come over and help me. I know exactly what I want, “A tree not too big but not too small, full and pretty.” I don’t want to be difficult it will be an easy choice. There is only one employee to help the flocks of people that are walking in to buy the perfect tree. I stand to the side and wait for him. He notices me waiting and says, “Sorry, I’ll be right with you, you’re next, I promise.” I was in no rush so I stood there patiently. More and more people started to come in and they looked around, touching and opening up the trees, admiring their beauty and with precision choosing the perfect one for their homes. Once they had selected it, they went to the front and the one employee helped them. I waited and waited some more. I decided to take another look, it seemed so important to the other families to look at every tree and select “the one.” I wanted that too. I walked around this time and touched the branches. As my fingers grazed the pine needles, they swayed with my touch and some of the needles fell to the ground. They were not secure enough to hold on to the branch. I realized that some needles were longer and thicker than on other trees. Some trees were fuller than others were and everyone wanted those; no one wanted a sparse tree.
There was only one available spot to park and of course it was half a block away from my apartment. I got out of the car, said, “I can do this”, and unlocked all the doors. I took out a pair of little scissors I had, opened the back door. I hoisted myself up with both arms and then let go of one. With that one hand, I cut the strings that held the Christmas tree on the roof of my car. I slid it down the one side of my car, it toppled over and wow was it heavy. Was I going to make it half a block and then up two flights of stairs with a seven-foot tree? I was going to try. I started strong; I held it tight with both hands and lifted it up. I got pretty far before I had to put it down. I was tangled in it. The netting around the tree was caught on my jacket buttons. We were stuck together so I untwisted it and kept going. It kept happening repeatedly. I lugged it all the way up, by myself. I was so exhausted but the excitement in my feat overpowered that.
I placed the tree in its stand; I stood back and looked at it. It was beautiful but there were things that I was now noticing that I didn’t when I first picked it out. Each pine needle was individually attached to its branch. At the end of the branch there was a small cluster of small bulbs, it was as if a flower could sprout from it. In the inside, I found a dried up leaf. At first, it looked like a shriveled up piece of cigar paper. As I unrolled it I noticed the lines in the leaf, they were faint but still there. It was dead. The heart shape it once possessed crumbled into a million small pieces as I was holding it. I looked inside the branches for more signs of the trees natural surrounding but there were no more to be found. The branches at the top of the tree were very close together making it hard to see inside to the base of the tree. The branches at the bottom are sparse and the base is exposed. At the stump of the tree, there is a secretion of sap oozing out of the bark. It leaves me feeling melancholy. I lean down and touch it. It makes my fingers sticky and as I rub them together, the sap turns brown.
I get out of my car and walk towards the entrance. I walk the wrong way at first and am blocked by a large metal fence. I giggle and think to myself that I hope no one has seen my mistake. I turn around a head towards the area where I think is the entrance. I reach my destination and walk inside. Hundreds of Christmas trees surround me. Some were wrapped up in netting and some are loosely displayed. I take a walk around once and just look at them. They all look the same and I am ready for the employee to come over and help me. I know exactly what I want, “A tree not too big but not too small, full and pretty.” I don’t want to be difficult it will be an easy choice. There is only one employee to help the flocks of people that are walking in to buy the perfect tree. I stand to the side and wait for him. He notices me waiting and says, “Sorry, I’ll be right with you, you’re next, I promise.” I was in no rush so I stood there patiently. More and more people started to come in and they looked around, touching and opening up the trees, admiring their beauty and with precision choosing the perfect one for their homes. Once they had selected it, they went to the front and the one employee helped them. I waited and waited some more. I decided to take another look, it seemed so important to the other families to look at every tree and select “the one.” I wanted that too. I walked around this time and touched the branches. As my fingers grazed the pine needles, they swayed with my touch and some of the needles fell to the ground. They were not secure enough to hold on to the branch. I realized that some needles were longer and thicker than on other trees. Some trees were fuller than others were and everyone wanted those; no one wanted a sparse tree.
There was only one available spot to park and of course it was half a block away from my apartment. I got out of the car, said, “I can do this”, and unlocked all the doors. I took out a pair of little scissors I had, opened the back door. I hoisted myself up with both arms and then let go of one. With that one hand, I cut the strings that held the Christmas tree on the roof of my car. I slid it down the one side of my car, it toppled over and wow was it heavy. Was I going to make it half a block and then up two flights of stairs with a seven-foot tree? I was going to try. I started strong; I held it tight with both hands and lifted it up. I got pretty far before I had to put it down. I was tangled in it. The netting around the tree was caught on my jacket buttons. We were stuck together so I untwisted it and kept going. It kept happening repeatedly. I lugged it all the way up, by myself. I was so exhausted but the excitement in my feat overpowered that.
I placed the tree in its stand; I stood back and looked at it. It was beautiful but there were things that I was now noticing that I didn’t when I first picked it out. Each pine needle was individually attached to its branch. At the end of the branch there was a small cluster of small bulbs, it was as if a flower could sprout from it. In the inside, I found a dried up leaf. At first, it looked like a shriveled up piece of cigar paper. As I unrolled it I noticed the lines in the leaf, they were faint but still there. It was dead. The heart shape it once possessed crumbled into a million small pieces as I was holding it. I looked inside the branches for more signs of the trees natural surrounding but there were no more to be found. The branches at the top of the tree were very close together making it hard to see inside to the base of the tree. The branches at the bottom are sparse and the base is exposed. At the stump of the tree, there is a secretion of sap oozing out of the bark. It leaves me feeling melancholy. I lean down and touch it. It makes my fingers sticky and as I rub them together, the sap turns brown.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Blog 16
Whats the most important thing that you learned about writing in this course?
I learned a great deal about structure! I feel that that is so important. Before this class I had no idea about segments, focus, reflection...ect.
What did I learn about writing one of my papers?
In my personal essay I learned a lot in my consult with Prof. Chandler. I think that really helped me the most to understand what I was lacking in the piece. I don't feel that my peers gave me much feedback or direction. I like to know what people think honestly and what I can change to make it better for the reader. It's hard to analyse your own work because you are to personally involved in it.
Which paper was the hardest to write?
Ha ha... The Nature essay. and since I am still having trouble with it, it is not a surprise that I would have choose it as the one I didn't like. I am in life, not in nature...at least that's how I feel, but I am sure the truth is that I am in Nature more than I think. I'm living on this earth, life(nature wise) is everywhere but I can't seem to relate it to anything. It gives me a headache to think about a correlation or metaphor.
What do I want to say in my reflective essay?
I want to show the process that I took to write prob my personal essay, if not my journalistic piece, we'll see, but I feel that I still have so much more work to do on my pieces that I don't know if I can show this to the correct advantage.
What don't I want to write about?
Nature essay
memoir because I feel that these don't have enough to say... i didn't work on them as much.
I learned a great deal about structure! I feel that that is so important. Before this class I had no idea about segments, focus, reflection...ect.
What did I learn about writing one of my papers?
In my personal essay I learned a lot in my consult with Prof. Chandler. I think that really helped me the most to understand what I was lacking in the piece. I don't feel that my peers gave me much feedback or direction. I like to know what people think honestly and what I can change to make it better for the reader. It's hard to analyse your own work because you are to personally involved in it.
Which paper was the hardest to write?
Ha ha... The Nature essay. and since I am still having trouble with it, it is not a surprise that I would have choose it as the one I didn't like. I am in life, not in nature...at least that's how I feel, but I am sure the truth is that I am in Nature more than I think. I'm living on this earth, life(nature wise) is everywhere but I can't seem to relate it to anything. It gives me a headache to think about a correlation or metaphor.
What do I want to say in my reflective essay?
I want to show the process that I took to write prob my personal essay, if not my journalistic piece, we'll see, but I feel that I still have so much more work to do on my pieces that I don't know if I can show this to the correct advantage.
What don't I want to write about?
Nature essay
memoir because I feel that these don't have enough to say... i didn't work on them as much.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Lit Journalism Piece
This is just what I have so far... there is def more to come very soon. I thought it would be interesting to write about something that was on my "things I would never write about" list...look at me taking chances. :)
I’m sitting in between all these crazy people. I just don’t get them at all. They stare and scream as if it is the end of the world. I think to myself, “So your teams not winning, who cares, and seriously, it’s not the end of the world!” I wouldn’t dare say that out loud here, in their territory, or they might come after me with pitch forks and blazing torches. I am afraid of these stat talking, jersey wearing, beer drinking, intense football fans. I sit quietly, hands folded, uncomfortably smiling as if I know what’s going on.
"I swear all you guys ever talk about are sports, don't you ever get tired of it?" I know I do! But that was a dumb question and so the following one probably was also, "Why is it that you like this so much?"
One of the guys answered, "If you think that this is bad then you need to wait until baseball season, this is nothing, you haven't seen obsessed."
If this wasn't obsession then I couldn't tell Adam from Eve. These were my friends and they were all sports fans, if I would have found out during the screening process I'm sure I wouldn't have let them through but somehow we ended up here, at a sports bar. (Macho, macho, macho men, I want to beeeeeeee a macho man) watching the game.
Guy #2 looked at me and shook his head slightly, "Your just not a fan so you'll never understand."
"Ok, so why don't you tell me?" Personally I don't think that I could ever enjoy watching football, I'm just not interested in what team won, who did this, who made that play...blah blah blah...he was probably right I would never get it, "So don't you feel like it takes up entirely too much time out of your life always needing to watch and keep track?" I continued, "Is the reason you like it because football is a type of security blanket, they are a constant in your life, like they will always be there no matter what, every Sunday and Monday?" I just needed some psychological reason why, why, why?
Everyone starts yelling, "Yeah!!!" People are cheering, clapping, giving each other high fives, low fives, wedgies, wet willies, all while wetting their pants with excitement. At this point Guy #2 stopped listening to what I was saying...
I’m sitting in between all these crazy people. I just don’t get them at all. They stare and scream as if it is the end of the world. I think to myself, “So your teams not winning, who cares, and seriously, it’s not the end of the world!” I wouldn’t dare say that out loud here, in their territory, or they might come after me with pitch forks and blazing torches. I am afraid of these stat talking, jersey wearing, beer drinking, intense football fans. I sit quietly, hands folded, uncomfortably smiling as if I know what’s going on.
"I swear all you guys ever talk about are sports, don't you ever get tired of it?" I know I do! But that was a dumb question and so the following one probably was also, "Why is it that you like this so much?"
One of the guys answered, "If you think that this is bad then you need to wait until baseball season, this is nothing, you haven't seen obsessed."
If this wasn't obsession then I couldn't tell Adam from Eve. These were my friends and they were all sports fans, if I would have found out during the screening process I'm sure I wouldn't have let them through but somehow we ended up here, at a sports bar. (Macho, macho, macho men, I want to beeeeeeee a macho man) watching the game.
Guy #2 looked at me and shook his head slightly, "Your just not a fan so you'll never understand."
"Ok, so why don't you tell me?" Personally I don't think that I could ever enjoy watching football, I'm just not interested in what team won, who did this, who made that play...blah blah blah...he was probably right I would never get it, "So don't you feel like it takes up entirely too much time out of your life always needing to watch and keep track?" I continued, "Is the reason you like it because football is a type of security blanket, they are a constant in your life, like they will always be there no matter what, every Sunday and Monday?" I just needed some psychological reason why, why, why?
Everyone starts yelling, "Yeah!!!" People are cheering, clapping, giving each other high fives, low fives, wedgies, wet willies, all while wetting their pants with excitement. At this point Guy #2 stopped listening to what I was saying...
Blog 15
how did I start?
I started by brainstorming, forming an outline about the specific scenes that I would write about and also the order.
when did I figure out my focus?
I knew my focus from the beginning because I knew the scene that I was going to place and the end would tie the story together and create a sense of peace at the end.
what did I leave out? what did I change? what did I emphasize?
In my first draft I left out scenes such as the funeral and the day that I received the call telling me what had happened. Also some descriptions about Crystal that were important to the story. I received this advice from the prof and after I made these revisions the whole piece came together. It is much stronger that the original draft. I didn't think that those scenes were important in my initial brainstorming but now I see that they are essential to the essay. I still have much work that needs to be done in order to get it to where I would like it but step by step and it will eventually get there.
where did I get stuck and how did I get unstuck?
I was stuck in thinking that the essay had to be a shock to the reader but then I realized that it doesn't have to be that way for the reader to enjoy the piece.
what were my major revisions?
The segments were my major revision but there will be more changes to come in order for it to be 100% ready for me to send it out the publishers.
how did my life (not on the page) affect my writing process?
It is hard to find the right words to express how you feel because when it is actually happening the emotions are so raw and real. When you are writing from memory it is different. It is not as clear and intense, the feelings have settled a bit and you have had time to process the information, to think about it, and think about it some more and then re think about it.
where and when did I write my best? what time?
I right the best when I am in the moment. When the emotions are so painful and so strong that the only remedy is to write about what I am feeling. I actually have several journal entries about my essay topic that I was thinking about using but I didn't know if they would fit it.
how did I use thinking, talking and writing to develop my paper?
I asked my sister to read my paper and she gave me some good advise and also prof.
how did I know when I was finished and how did I decide where to start?
I started with the end (of a life) and ended with the beginning (of a new understanding).
I started by brainstorming, forming an outline about the specific scenes that I would write about and also the order.
when did I figure out my focus?
I knew my focus from the beginning because I knew the scene that I was going to place and the end would tie the story together and create a sense of peace at the end.
what did I leave out? what did I change? what did I emphasize?
In my first draft I left out scenes such as the funeral and the day that I received the call telling me what had happened. Also some descriptions about Crystal that were important to the story. I received this advice from the prof and after I made these revisions the whole piece came together. It is much stronger that the original draft. I didn't think that those scenes were important in my initial brainstorming but now I see that they are essential to the essay. I still have much work that needs to be done in order to get it to where I would like it but step by step and it will eventually get there.
where did I get stuck and how did I get unstuck?
I was stuck in thinking that the essay had to be a shock to the reader but then I realized that it doesn't have to be that way for the reader to enjoy the piece.
what were my major revisions?
The segments were my major revision but there will be more changes to come in order for it to be 100% ready for me to send it out the publishers.
how did my life (not on the page) affect my writing process?
It is hard to find the right words to express how you feel because when it is actually happening the emotions are so raw and real. When you are writing from memory it is different. It is not as clear and intense, the feelings have settled a bit and you have had time to process the information, to think about it, and think about it some more and then re think about it.
where and when did I write my best? what time?
I right the best when I am in the moment. When the emotions are so painful and so strong that the only remedy is to write about what I am feeling. I actually have several journal entries about my essay topic that I was thinking about using but I didn't know if they would fit it.
how did I use thinking, talking and writing to develop my paper?
I asked my sister to read my paper and she gave me some good advise and also prof.
how did I know when I was finished and how did I decide where to start?
I started with the end (of a life) and ended with the beginning (of a new understanding).
Blog 14
Ordered List of what I did to develop my writing for one of my assignments
Personal Essay
1. Brainstormed: made a list of possible topics (things we wanted to write about and things we would never write about)
2. Decided on a topic that was personal but that I needed to explore
3. I made a list of relevant events that might be included in my story
4. I narrowed my list to 3 specific events that I could tie together but still keep the story in a segmented format.
5. I decided on an order for my segments that would be successful to the overall meaning of the essay
6. I began to write about these events.
7. I re-read and revised before posting.
8. I met with Prof Chandler and she gave me insight on what I could fix to make the piece stronger.
9. I added more segments about different events that took place and changed the order of the segments.
10. I proof read and posted final copy.
11. The end.
Personal Essay
1. Brainstormed: made a list of possible topics (things we wanted to write about and things we would never write about)
2. Decided on a topic that was personal but that I needed to explore
3. I made a list of relevant events that might be included in my story
4. I narrowed my list to 3 specific events that I could tie together but still keep the story in a segmented format.
5. I decided on an order for my segments that would be successful to the overall meaning of the essay
6. I began to write about these events.
7. I re-read and revised before posting.
8. I met with Prof Chandler and she gave me insight on what I could fix to make the piece stronger.
9. I added more segments about different events that took place and changed the order of the segments.
10. I proof read and posted final copy.
11. The end.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Blog 12
I found a couple of good sites to submit my personal essay. The most interesting is Literal Latte online mag. It meets all the right criteria.
I also came across this website... it seems perfect for my personal essay submission, maybe more so than the one above. :) I'm not sure which one I will choose yet but I could also submit to both. Also this could be perfect for some of my classmates... it would fit perfectly for a couple of the essays that I have read of theirs. You guys should def check it out.
--------------------> http://www.slowtrains.com/slowtrainssub.html
I also came across this website... it seems perfect for my personal essay submission, maybe more so than the one above. :) I'm not sure which one I will choose yet but I could also submit to both. Also this could be perfect for some of my classmates... it would fit perfectly for a couple of the essays that I have read of theirs. You guys should def check it out.
--------------------> http://www.slowtrains.com/slowtrainssub.html
blog 13
RHETORICAL ANALYSIS OF PUBLICATION VENUES
1. Analysis of the editorial description of essays accepted
- See http://www.literal-latte.com/submit_new.html Unpublished Stories or Personal Essays, up to 6,000 words, short plays or poems, up to 4,000 words, Art from cover art to literary cartoons. Photograph, Paintings, Drawing in Black & White or Color (Slides or Copies, not originals) -- Styles range from classical to experimental.
- Reading dates: 365 days a year
2. Description of several representative essays published in your venue;
- Sample essays: Julie Marie Wade - "Meditation 26" Bruce Holland Rogers "The Perfect Story"
- Authors they like: Ray Bradbury, Michael Brodsky, Robert Olen Butler, Stephen Dixon, Michael Dorris, Harlan Ellison, Allen Ginsberg, Daniel Harris, Phillip Lopate, Carole Maso, Nancy Milford, Carol Muske, Lynne Sharon Schwartz, Gloria Steinem, Frank Stella, Jerry Uelsmann, JOhn Updike, & Exciting new talents...
- Subject matter: Essays on personal experiences and fiction.varied subject material -not really limited by subject except, the personal essays I read were reflective and dealt with refelective life issues such as death and change.
- Voice: Reflective on personal life expieriences that are relatable to everyone.
- Depth of discussion: I only read a personal essay and a short story, not the stories labled fiction, they were fairly long and had alot of discription of the events and places they took place. Also lots of dialoge.
- Form (modes of writing/experimental) description, narration, dialog, uses imagry and reflection of childhood expierience/significant events to get overall point across.
- Artistry: High—It publishes many poems, cartoons, painting, photographs, drawingsLength: up to 6000 words for personal essays
3. Niche
- Audience - unresolved explainations, reflective, one central idea that is not resolved but examined through expierences.
- Purpose - To try and understand the human mind and life, through reflection.
4. Other
- No electronic submissions
- Replies within 5 months
- Publishes within a year of submission
- No mention of pay
- Include biography
- Send with self addressed stamped envelope
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Blog 11 - Final Draft Personal Essay
That Night
There I was walking towards the crème colored double doors. I passed two unfamiliar faces; I did not smile at them or frown, my face remained emotionless. I opened the door and slowly walked in, looking around for a friend. I saw Diana standing with a couple of other acquaintances, some of whom I knew, Carmella and Crystal, and others that I only know by their faces. They hugged me hard. I could not hold back the tears as I watched their tears run down their faces. “Are you going to go up there? Cause I can’t do it.” Diana asked. I looked around, blurry eyed, there was five picture collages on large poster boards. Group pictures with smiling and happy people filled the posters from corner to corner. I looked back at Diana, “I don’t know if I can either.” She extended her hand towards me and handed me a picture, it was of her and Rye. He had his arm around her and they were smiling at the camera. He looked young and innocent, before the hardships of the world had tainted him. “Can you please put this in for me, pleasseee, I want him to remember us, I can’t, I just can’t go up there,” she could not control her tears as she asked me for a favor I was not prepared to do. I looked at Crystal she was taking things especially hard. Her and Rye dated for a several years and had a close bond. The next couple of times that I saw Crystal out I could tell that she was high on something. This was her way of surviving. I took the picture from Diana and walked robotically to the front. I knew this was my chance to talk to him and tell him I was sorry. Sorry, for not realizing something was wrong, sorry for brushing him off and sorry for wanting to yell at him for leaving people that care about him behind. I stood in line, awaiting my turn. I reached his parents and siblings; I gave them all hugs and said I was sorry for their loss. There is never anything “right” to say at these disheartening moments in time. I walked up to the casket and knelt down. My hand gradually moved across my body to make the sign of the cross: up, down, left, right. Hastily I placed the picture next to his lifeless leg. I could see that there were other pictures placed inside. I closed my eyes for a second and could not think or speak. I got up and walked away unsettled.
Diana and I went to our bar on Friday night. I just got out of work and needed to have a drink, the stress of serving people all night can lead me to drink. We sat in our usual spot, right next to the brass taps, about ten steps from the door. I got a Bacardi and coke, with a lime, of course, and Diana got a draft beer. We always have a good time when we go to this bar. This particular night we ran into a couple of people we knew and had not seen in awhile. There is nothing better than catching up with old friends. Rye was there. I had not seen him in months. His parents always come into my job and I wait on them, they are such great people, sometimes it is hard when I have to face them. Rye was wearing a black and white bandana, a white tank and jeans. As soon as he saw Diana and I he came right over to say hello and gave us each a kiss on the cheek and told us how great it was to see us. We did the same.
Diana is a social butterfly and had to make her rounds talking to everyone she knew. As I sipped on my drink, Rye kept me company.
“So what have you been up too?” The typical way people who have not seen each other in a while start a conversation.
“Well I’m still working at Friday’s and going to school.”
That was my automatic response every time I was asked that question. I asked him the same question and he told me he was doing some landscaping work for now but was going to go to school really soon. I thought that was great because ever since I have known Rye he did not have much direction in his life. I could tell he felt ashamed that his life was not in order because when he mentioned he did not have a car, he looked away as if he said something wrong.
“Thanks for that response on MySpace.”
I did not think that he was going to bring that up. I was hoping he was not going to bring that up, but he did. In his message, he confessed that he had a huge crush on me and he wanted to take me out.
I did not know what to say, “Umm… well, I was trying to be polite, I’m sorry, you know Dave and I just broke up and I don’t think I’m ready or looking to date anyone right now.”
I liked Rye, but just as a friend. I did not want to hurt his feeling or make anything awkward that night.
“Daph, if I take you out, I promise you will have a good time. Do you think I’m not good enough for you or something, that the impression that I get?”
“I know we would have a good time, that’s not it, I just went through a breakup and I just want to be single and not have to deal with men for a while.”
Then I went on my usual tangent about how men are horrible human beings, all they do is cheat and all they want is sex.
Then he said the sweetest thing to me, “You just haven’t met the right guy yet who will treat you that way that you deserve.”
I just looked at him and smiled. Diana came back; she and Rye were talking about her birthday plans next month. She told him he had to celebrate it with her or she would be mad at him. He said how happy he was to see us that night and that he would definitely go out for her birthday.
Rye went back to his friends and Diana and I just sat down at the bar and had our usual girl talk. I did not tell her about my conversation with Rye. I did not want to talk about it while he was still around just in case he overheard. I decided I would tell her later that night but I never got the chance and then I never wanted to.
I took a puff of my cigarette and let it out. It felt so good. It was a busy night at work and this 5-minute cigarette break was all I needed.
Rye walked up and lit a cigarette, “You don’t mind if I join you?”
“Of course not, I enjoy the company, so what’s up? How’s work been going for you tonight?” I tend to ask a couple of questions in a row without waiting for an answer.
“Good. Why is it that girls always smoke cigarettes standing in the same position? My sister does the same thing.”
I was standing with the cigarette in my right hand while my left hand cradled my right elbow. “I don’t know I guess it’s just the cool thing to do, maybe you should stand like that too!”
We both chuckled. We were always joking around. Laughing. He liked to laugh at almost anything that I said. I would say, “You don’t have to be nice I know I’m not as funny as you make me out to be.”
My phone rang earlier than usual on a Saturday morning. I didn’t think anything of it until I picked it up to her undistinguishable sounds.
“Diana I can’t make out what your saying. What’s going on, what happened?” “It’s Rye. He’s dead”
“What? What are you talking about? We were with him last night, what happened?”
“He’s gone, he committed suicide last night, after he got home from the bar.”
“Are you sure because he looked fine last night. He even said he was coming out for your birthday and he was going back to school. Are you sure?”
“I know. He seemed so exciting to see us. It’s true though. It was confirmed by an officer that was at his house today.”
We were both crying and wondering how this could have happened. We just saw him! It felt unreal. We went over last nights events in microscopic detail looking for clues to suggest that this was going to happen. There was nothing. In the back of my mind, I kept thinking about the conversation that Rye and I had. To think, while I was lying in my warm bed that night dreaming and thinking about my life, he was putting an end to his.
The barbeque was seven months after that night, the night Rye passed away. Since then I kept replaying mine and Rye’s conversation; I couldn’t get it out of my head. I still had not told a sole about it because I felt guilty. As the sun started to set, more people began to arrive. Groups formed and conversations filled the air. Crystal came up to me and said, “I haven’t seen you or Diana since Rye’s funeral.” She did not remember seeing me numerous times since then and I decided it was better not to mention it. “I had a really hard time dealing with Rye’s death. He called me a couple of times that night. I didn’t pick up. He left messages and I deleted them without listening to them. If I knew what was going to happen I would have picked up. I have no idea what those messages said. Then after all that I don’t know if you’ve heard or not but I got involved with drugs and went to a institution for a while to clear my mind. I was in real bad shape but I am doing a lot better now.” I just listened I didn’t know what to say. She continued, “Yea, I don’t mind talking about it now. It actually helps me to talk to people and I’m ok with everything. I had a dream a couple of weeks ago about Rye. He came to me and told me that I can’t keep beating myself up about what happened. He said I have to let it go and live my life. It was the weirdest thing because when I woke up I could still feel him. I believe it was really him, he came to me, and I’m trying listen to him. I feel a lot better these days.” While she was telling me about her dream, I felt a shiver run through me. I believed it too. He would have wanted us to be happy, the way he never could.
There I was walking towards the crème colored double doors. I passed two unfamiliar faces; I did not smile at them or frown, my face remained emotionless. I opened the door and slowly walked in, looking around for a friend. I saw Diana standing with a couple of other acquaintances, some of whom I knew, Carmella and Crystal, and others that I only know by their faces. They hugged me hard. I could not hold back the tears as I watched their tears run down their faces. “Are you going to go up there? Cause I can’t do it.” Diana asked. I looked around, blurry eyed, there was five picture collages on large poster boards. Group pictures with smiling and happy people filled the posters from corner to corner. I looked back at Diana, “I don’t know if I can either.” She extended her hand towards me and handed me a picture, it was of her and Rye. He had his arm around her and they were smiling at the camera. He looked young and innocent, before the hardships of the world had tainted him. “Can you please put this in for me, pleasseee, I want him to remember us, I can’t, I just can’t go up there,” she could not control her tears as she asked me for a favor I was not prepared to do. I looked at Crystal she was taking things especially hard. Her and Rye dated for a several years and had a close bond. The next couple of times that I saw Crystal out I could tell that she was high on something. This was her way of surviving. I took the picture from Diana and walked robotically to the front. I knew this was my chance to talk to him and tell him I was sorry. Sorry, for not realizing something was wrong, sorry for brushing him off and sorry for wanting to yell at him for leaving people that care about him behind. I stood in line, awaiting my turn. I reached his parents and siblings; I gave them all hugs and said I was sorry for their loss. There is never anything “right” to say at these disheartening moments in time. I walked up to the casket and knelt down. My hand gradually moved across my body to make the sign of the cross: up, down, left, right. Hastily I placed the picture next to his lifeless leg. I could see that there were other pictures placed inside. I closed my eyes for a second and could not think or speak. I got up and walked away unsettled.
Diana and I went to our bar on Friday night. I just got out of work and needed to have a drink, the stress of serving people all night can lead me to drink. We sat in our usual spot, right next to the brass taps, about ten steps from the door. I got a Bacardi and coke, with a lime, of course, and Diana got a draft beer. We always have a good time when we go to this bar. This particular night we ran into a couple of people we knew and had not seen in awhile. There is nothing better than catching up with old friends. Rye was there. I had not seen him in months. His parents always come into my job and I wait on them, they are such great people, sometimes it is hard when I have to face them. Rye was wearing a black and white bandana, a white tank and jeans. As soon as he saw Diana and I he came right over to say hello and gave us each a kiss on the cheek and told us how great it was to see us. We did the same.
Diana is a social butterfly and had to make her rounds talking to everyone she knew. As I sipped on my drink, Rye kept me company.
“So what have you been up too?” The typical way people who have not seen each other in a while start a conversation.
“Well I’m still working at Friday’s and going to school.”
That was my automatic response every time I was asked that question. I asked him the same question and he told me he was doing some landscaping work for now but was going to go to school really soon. I thought that was great because ever since I have known Rye he did not have much direction in his life. I could tell he felt ashamed that his life was not in order because when he mentioned he did not have a car, he looked away as if he said something wrong.
“Thanks for that response on MySpace.”
I did not think that he was going to bring that up. I was hoping he was not going to bring that up, but he did. In his message, he confessed that he had a huge crush on me and he wanted to take me out.
I did not know what to say, “Umm… well, I was trying to be polite, I’m sorry, you know Dave and I just broke up and I don’t think I’m ready or looking to date anyone right now.”
I liked Rye, but just as a friend. I did not want to hurt his feeling or make anything awkward that night.
“Daph, if I take you out, I promise you will have a good time. Do you think I’m not good enough for you or something, that the impression that I get?”
“I know we would have a good time, that’s not it, I just went through a breakup and I just want to be single and not have to deal with men for a while.”
Then I went on my usual tangent about how men are horrible human beings, all they do is cheat and all they want is sex.
Then he said the sweetest thing to me, “You just haven’t met the right guy yet who will treat you that way that you deserve.”
I just looked at him and smiled. Diana came back; she and Rye were talking about her birthday plans next month. She told him he had to celebrate it with her or she would be mad at him. He said how happy he was to see us that night and that he would definitely go out for her birthday.
Rye went back to his friends and Diana and I just sat down at the bar and had our usual girl talk. I did not tell her about my conversation with Rye. I did not want to talk about it while he was still around just in case he overheard. I decided I would tell her later that night but I never got the chance and then I never wanted to.
I took a puff of my cigarette and let it out. It felt so good. It was a busy night at work and this 5-minute cigarette break was all I needed.
Rye walked up and lit a cigarette, “You don’t mind if I join you?”
“Of course not, I enjoy the company, so what’s up? How’s work been going for you tonight?” I tend to ask a couple of questions in a row without waiting for an answer.
“Good. Why is it that girls always smoke cigarettes standing in the same position? My sister does the same thing.”
I was standing with the cigarette in my right hand while my left hand cradled my right elbow. “I don’t know I guess it’s just the cool thing to do, maybe you should stand like that too!”
We both chuckled. We were always joking around. Laughing. He liked to laugh at almost anything that I said. I would say, “You don’t have to be nice I know I’m not as funny as you make me out to be.”
My phone rang earlier than usual on a Saturday morning. I didn’t think anything of it until I picked it up to her undistinguishable sounds.
“Diana I can’t make out what your saying. What’s going on, what happened?” “It’s Rye. He’s dead”
“What? What are you talking about? We were with him last night, what happened?”
“He’s gone, he committed suicide last night, after he got home from the bar.”
“Are you sure because he looked fine last night. He even said he was coming out for your birthday and he was going back to school. Are you sure?”
“I know. He seemed so exciting to see us. It’s true though. It was confirmed by an officer that was at his house today.”
We were both crying and wondering how this could have happened. We just saw him! It felt unreal. We went over last nights events in microscopic detail looking for clues to suggest that this was going to happen. There was nothing. In the back of my mind, I kept thinking about the conversation that Rye and I had. To think, while I was lying in my warm bed that night dreaming and thinking about my life, he was putting an end to his.
The barbeque was seven months after that night, the night Rye passed away. Since then I kept replaying mine and Rye’s conversation; I couldn’t get it out of my head. I still had not told a sole about it because I felt guilty. As the sun started to set, more people began to arrive. Groups formed and conversations filled the air. Crystal came up to me and said, “I haven’t seen you or Diana since Rye’s funeral.” She did not remember seeing me numerous times since then and I decided it was better not to mention it. “I had a really hard time dealing with Rye’s death. He called me a couple of times that night. I didn’t pick up. He left messages and I deleted them without listening to them. If I knew what was going to happen I would have picked up. I have no idea what those messages said. Then after all that I don’t know if you’ve heard or not but I got involved with drugs and went to a institution for a while to clear my mind. I was in real bad shape but I am doing a lot better now.” I just listened I didn’t know what to say. She continued, “Yea, I don’t mind talking about it now. It actually helps me to talk to people and I’m ok with everything. I had a dream a couple of weeks ago about Rye. He came to me and told me that I can’t keep beating myself up about what happened. He said I have to let it go and live my life. It was the weirdest thing because when I woke up I could still feel him. I believe it was really him, he came to me, and I’m trying listen to him. I feel a lot better these days.” While she was telling me about her dream, I felt a shiver run through me. I believed it too. He would have wanted us to be happy, the way he never could.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Blog 10
This is from my observation of the fossil in class. I found out, through the wonders of the internet, that this fossil is called Exogyra erraticostata and is found in Texas' Austin Chalk.
Outside
5” long about 3 pounds
Shell-like.
Ridges
Curve in shape, spiral
Towards the spiral it is smoother, like a seashell, with subtle ridges
Where it gets larger in shape the ridges are paper thin but the layers are more noticeable.
It is choppy in the back, like it was broken
In between the layers there are air pockets where tiny pieces of sand are imbedded.
Dark grey, light grey, white specks
Back side, where you can see the inside layers perfectly, light brownish color.
Looks like a rock layers
Large holes like something was attached to it
Inside
Deep
Smooth
Light, crème color
Flaky, dried up pie crust.
Rust
Outside
5” long about 3 pounds
Shell-like.
Ridges
Curve in shape, spiral
Towards the spiral it is smoother, like a seashell, with subtle ridges
Where it gets larger in shape the ridges are paper thin but the layers are more noticeable.
It is choppy in the back, like it was broken
In between the layers there are air pockets where tiny pieces of sand are imbedded.
Dark grey, light grey, white specks
Back side, where you can see the inside layers perfectly, light brownish color.
Looks like a rock layers
Large holes like something was attached to it
Inside
Deep
Smooth
Light, crème color
Flaky, like dried up pie crust.
Rust stains
Monday, October 29, 2007
Blog 9
I am sitting on a white cement bench that feels cold and hard. The wind is blowing furiously, howling through the branches of the trees. The leaves sway and send a chill through me. Winter is on its way. The smell of wood burning fills the air. It is dusk and the sky is slowly becoming black each minute that passes. Nothing that can be heard besides the wind and the thoughts in my mind. With each passing breeze, a new idea floats into my thoughts, the coldness, and my life.
The coy fish that are in the pond in the backyard had babies and we are going to keep them safe until they are big enough to go back into the pond. We crouched down around the pond, which has eight beautiful fish swimming in it. There are two that are smaller then the rest and are dark grey. Four of them are bright orange, one is a mixture of white, orange, and black, and the biggest one is completely white. We sit there silent looking for the baby fish, there are hidden between the rocks that surround the pond. These rocks are large and not sturdy they move as we crawl on them to get a better look into the water. The water filter is on which is making small ripples of waves. It makes it harder to see into the water and find the small fish that are the size of a peanut. We know they are there but are concealed to the naked eye.
I am looking at a picture I took when I went to the Everglades in Florida. It is the most magical picture. It was taken during dusk. The sky has so many layers of colors in it that you cannot distinguish when one begins and the other ends. The land and water are a dark black, they fade together. Above the sea and earth a symphony is created. From light blue, to purple, then a faint rose color then back to blue. A perfectly round, bright white moon hangs in the upper right-hand corner of the scene. In the distance, there is a figure of a man. His features indistinguishable, he is solid, only an outline of his frame is captured against the rainbow of colors in the sky.
The coy fish that are in the pond in the backyard had babies and we are going to keep them safe until they are big enough to go back into the pond. We crouched down around the pond, which has eight beautiful fish swimming in it. There are two that are smaller then the rest and are dark grey. Four of them are bright orange, one is a mixture of white, orange, and black, and the biggest one is completely white. We sit there silent looking for the baby fish, there are hidden between the rocks that surround the pond. These rocks are large and not sturdy they move as we crawl on them to get a better look into the water. The water filter is on which is making small ripples of waves. It makes it harder to see into the water and find the small fish that are the size of a peanut. We know they are there but are concealed to the naked eye.
I am looking at a picture I took when I went to the Everglades in Florida. It is the most magical picture. It was taken during dusk. The sky has so many layers of colors in it that you cannot distinguish when one begins and the other ends. The land and water are a dark black, they fade together. Above the sea and earth a symphony is created. From light blue, to purple, then a faint rose color then back to blue. A perfectly round, bright white moon hangs in the upper right-hand corner of the scene. In the distance, there is a figure of a man. His features indistinguishable, he is solid, only an outline of his frame is captured against the rainbow of colors in the sky.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Blog 8 Nature Writing
This is what I wrote about when we went outside during class...
The slow moving water basically still, murky. Leaves from the sweetgum tree floating in the water like stars. The weeds are peaking through the edges of where the water and soil meet. There are all sorts of weeds, one with purple little flowers buds on it, some are just random long leaves sprouting from the dirt. They emerge from the sides of the banks, angling towards the center of the water. Tall grasses are futher down the stream, cover the sides as the lift in the ground gets lower and lower. The water and land are becoming level. The roots from the trees are exposed, large veins leading towards the stream, there are also some small ones that look like worms. brown the same color as the dirt, almost hidden, their outside layer is not as rough and harsh as on the tree stump. The tree keeps dropping something from high above. Little light brown pieces, almost creme colored, fall to the ground. With the stillness in the air, as they drop you can hear them hit the ground. There are large qualities surrounding the stump. Where are they? High in the leaves nothing can be seen, not an animal or insect. These pieces are dicarded as useless, thrown away and unessesary.
There could be some themes in here. I have been trying to think of some interested concepts.
The seeds of the "gumballs" are eaten and then discarded. (used and thrown away)
The river is the source for all. (One thing or person that holds your family together)
The roots of a tree can be interesting to work with. They are hidden underground, you can't see them (usually) but there are there and are needed as a source to the life of the tree. It keeps it grounded. "Roots grow where water, minerals and oxygen are found in the soil. Because the greatest supplies of these materials usually are located in the surface layer of soil, the largest concentration of feeder roots exists in this zone." http://www.ext.colostate.edu/PUBS/garden/02926.html
The were exposed by where the stream was, it was seeking water. I don't know if any of this might translate into nature writing with a reflection, I'm just writing ideas as they come to me, whether they make sense of not.
The slow moving water basically still, murky. Leaves from the sweetgum tree floating in the water like stars. The weeds are peaking through the edges of where the water and soil meet. There are all sorts of weeds, one with purple little flowers buds on it, some are just random long leaves sprouting from the dirt. They emerge from the sides of the banks, angling towards the center of the water. Tall grasses are futher down the stream, cover the sides as the lift in the ground gets lower and lower. The water and land are becoming level. The roots from the trees are exposed, large veins leading towards the stream, there are also some small ones that look like worms. brown the same color as the dirt, almost hidden, their outside layer is not as rough and harsh as on the tree stump. The tree keeps dropping something from high above. Little light brown pieces, almost creme colored, fall to the ground. With the stillness in the air, as they drop you can hear them hit the ground. There are large qualities surrounding the stump. Where are they? High in the leaves nothing can be seen, not an animal or insect. These pieces are dicarded as useless, thrown away and unessesary.
There could be some themes in here. I have been trying to think of some interested concepts.
The seeds of the "gumballs" are eaten and then discarded. (used and thrown away)
The river is the source for all. (One thing or person that holds your family together)
The roots of a tree can be interesting to work with. They are hidden underground, you can't see them (usually) but there are there and are needed as a source to the life of the tree. It keeps it grounded. "Roots grow where water, minerals and oxygen are found in the soil. Because the greatest supplies of these materials usually are located in the surface layer of soil, the largest concentration of feeder roots exists in this zone." http://www.ext.colostate.edu/PUBS/garden/02926.html
The were exposed by where the stream was, it was seeking water. I don't know if any of this might translate into nature writing with a reflection, I'm just writing ideas as they come to me, whether they make sense of not.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Blog 7 - Truth
In my personal essay I can honestly say that everything that is writen is 100% accurate to my memory of what happened. The diaologe is basically how it went, I obviously don't remember the exact words.
In my memior, everything is pretty precise. It happened many years ago so maybe everything is not accurate. I know I am uncertain about his height in the story, he wasn't 3 inches shorter than I was, he was short but I think that he was my same height. I guess now that I realize it was an exaggeration on my part, I will have to correct it because I know it is false information. He was a nice guy overall but I guess I wasn't interested in him and therefore painted him in a bad light so that others could sympathize. When he spit the drink at me that did happen that was but I am sure I embelished to make it seem more dramatic. The other part of the story was pretty accurate to what I remember there is nothing in there that is incorrect. As, I read it over that is how I remember it happening. This excercise really makes you think about the truth in your story and makes you want to correct it.
In my memior, everything is pretty precise. It happened many years ago so maybe everything is not accurate. I know I am uncertain about his height in the story, he wasn't 3 inches shorter than I was, he was short but I think that he was my same height. I guess now that I realize it was an exaggeration on my part, I will have to correct it because I know it is false information. He was a nice guy overall but I guess I wasn't interested in him and therefore painted him in a bad light so that others could sympathize. When he spit the drink at me that did happen that was but I am sure I embelished to make it seem more dramatic. The other part of the story was pretty accurate to what I remember there is nothing in there that is incorrect. As, I read it over that is how I remember it happening. This excercise really makes you think about the truth in your story and makes you want to correct it.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Blog 6.5
Schwartz's essay gives readers a clear idea of the "rules" of how to write a truthful memior. If we take her ideas and apply them to Frey's book, his book is not a nonfiction memior. Most of the events that Frey writes about happened but are extreamly exaggerated. Schwartz besically states that it is how you remember the events that happened in your life, but if while you are writing something and conciously know that it is false or exaggerated then this is not a memior, it is a work of fiction. There is a fine line between fiction and non-fiction and Frey crossed it. When they question him about changing the names in his book and not writing a disclaimer he explains that it was to protect the privacy of the individuals. I believe that it is ok to change a name and not state that because you are not defined by your name. You are defined by your character and if that is writen truthfully that is all that matters. I read Frey's book, it was very intense. I am not as dissapointed as TSG and Oprah were when they found out alot of the story was untrue. It still entertained me although I do believe that he should not have categorized it as a non-fiction memior.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Blog #6
| Life in the Sunshine State In Florida I felt that I could be anyone I wanted, it was a new beginning full of excitment. I went out and bought a guitar; I would be the next Jewel. My cousin came over and asked me to play a song for him, I was embarrassed at first but reluctantly agreed. We sat on the cream colored couches. My cousin and his girlfriend sat across from me on the other couch. I began playing and singing my original song. I got really into it, my hands moving across the strings and my voice echoing in the air. Sunddenly, My cousin screamed, "Look at that. Ahhhhh." I stopped what I was doing, startled by his screams. He pointed to the door, our heads turned to look out the windows of the french doors. There was a huge rat outside the doors. It stood there looking in with it's beady eyes, staring right at me. (This is same rat my mother beat to death with a broom weeks later.) Then it scattered away. I thought, "It ruined my song, whaa" I never got to finish it. My song lured the rat to the door and I was definatly no Jewel. I was excited as I sat at on the armrest of my green couch waiting for him to arrive. This would be my first date since I moved to Florida. He was a pharmaceutical rep who came into the pediatricians’ office I worked at. He had brown hair, which was parted on the side; he always wore a suit and looked put together. I could not help but think that he was cute. What else could I ask for a man with a good job, a nice appearance and a great smile, I felt like I had won the jackpot! I was sitting at the large desk, which was positioned right in front of the door. It hovered high above the patients. This was the spot where he asked me out after months of harmless flirting. As he pulled up and I walked out to meet him as a approached he shrank. We were eye to eye, well not quite, I was about 3 inches taller than he was. He immediately apologized for running late, he had been playing tennis and the match ran late. He was wearing tennis short and white tee shirt meanwhile I was dressed for a nice dinner. The beads of sweat were forming on his face. I leaned in the kiss him on the cheek and as I pulled away, I could feel the damp residue on the corner of my mouth extending to part of my cheek. He drove us to the restaurant that was located in Lincoln Road. We sat down at our table, I sat directly across from him, and began talking about random things. He took a big gulp of his drink and began coughing so uncontrollably that he spit his drink all over me. I was in shock as I felt the sticky soda hit my entire face. He immediatly handed me a napkin and I pated my face with it but it was so flimsy that it began to fall apart and pieces of paper began to stick to my face. I got up and went to the bathroom to really freshen up. I was a complete mess; globs of white paper on my face and mascara running down my face. I had to wash my entire face and go back out to my date. Needless to say, this was was the worst date ever and we never went out again. |
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Blog #5
Analysis of Personal Essay
My essay is about letting go of guilt and realizing that ultimately things are out of your control. You can't live harboring the feeling that you could have changed the course of life, all the "what if's" can not change the past.
I am happy with the segments. I really like this style. I like the story itself and concept that I am trying to get across.
I dont know if my essay's focus is clear and concise, if the reader actually gets my personal message. My word choices can be better, with more imagry. Also I think it might be a bit confusing for the reader to understand the segments, I might have to throw something subtle for the reader to understand. My sister read it and said it was a bit unclear. Also I think the ending needs some work.
My essay is about letting go of guilt and realizing that ultimately things are out of your control. You can't live harboring the feeling that you could have changed the course of life, all the "what if's" can not change the past.
I am happy with the segments. I really like this style. I like the story itself and concept that I am trying to get across.
I dont know if my essay's focus is clear and concise, if the reader actually gets my personal message. My word choices can be better, with more imagry. Also I think it might be a bit confusing for the reader to understand the segments, I might have to throw something subtle for the reader to understand. My sister read it and said it was a bit unclear. Also I think the ending needs some work.
Blog #3
My first memories as a child
going to school in Florida, crying
breaking my arm in kindergarten
getting in to the car accident with my mother and Aida in the car, on the way to the cleaners, in Florida
Things that scared me
Third grade in class
Talking about dying
My dolls coming to life
Getting caught doing something my parents would be made at me about.
going to school, the girl that picked on me
Important people and why
my sister, she is always there for me and acts like a mother in a sense and I appreciate that. She will be there for me always, she protects me and makes me a better person and although I make fun of her and pick at her I really admire her. my grandmother, she is the loving side of my family. she was always getting us the hugs that we needed. She loved me and Pepito the best and it showed. Now he is the favorite I feel. going to her apt in nyc was like going into another word. I felt safe around her too.
Angry
I am angry at dave. he sucks. To this day he makes me feel like crap. he still thinks that it is all my fault that we broke up, “you were always mean to me”….what!??!?! I was mean to you. would you like me to start telling everyone about all the mean things that you did!!!! Come on now. Your mind is so warped, I think you need help. you made me feel like crap everyday of my life. and now I am angry that I stayed with you that long. I am the idiot. you made me lose my friends, you made me lose my self worth. You broke my porcelain dolls, on purpose and still when I think about it I want to cry and beat the crap out of you at the same time. but you will never get it. you will never understand because your mind wont allow you, you are always the victim, in your own mind, but your not I was!!!
Place
my old house it made me safe. I grew up there. I felt happy there, most of the time. I always drive past it. I wonder who lives there now and who they are and what they are doing. how their house is set up. it was a comfort and I no longer have it. since I have left it I have felt lost. more anxiety. sometimes I wish I were back there and that nothing had changed. last night I went to my sisters because it is full of life and family and I miss that. it gives me a sense of happiness to be around them. I don’t want my own but I like to be there. it comforts me too. it makes me feel like a kid, she takes care of me. feeds me looks after me, makes sure I am happy and comfortable. like a mother, everything is so clean and all the sheets smell good. there is food in the fridge, it’s like a home, not just a place to sleep. it has life with children running around. and parents reprimanding.
Family story
They tell everyone how scared I always was a child. They make fun of me. Dave tells me all the time about when I was young and I couldn’t eat in front of him cause I said I couldn’t swallow with him staring at me. They all embarrass me and with things that I do not want anyone to know.
going to school in Florida, crying
breaking my arm in kindergarten
getting in to the car accident with my mother and Aida in the car, on the way to the cleaners, in Florida
Things that scared me
Third grade in class
Talking about dying
My dolls coming to life
Getting caught doing something my parents would be made at me about.
going to school, the girl that picked on me
Important people and why
my sister, she is always there for me and acts like a mother in a sense and I appreciate that. She will be there for me always, she protects me and makes me a better person and although I make fun of her and pick at her I really admire her. my grandmother, she is the loving side of my family. she was always getting us the hugs that we needed. She loved me and Pepito the best and it showed. Now he is the favorite I feel. going to her apt in nyc was like going into another word. I felt safe around her too.
Angry
I am angry at dave. he sucks. To this day he makes me feel like crap. he still thinks that it is all my fault that we broke up, “you were always mean to me”….what!??!?! I was mean to you. would you like me to start telling everyone about all the mean things that you did!!!! Come on now. Your mind is so warped, I think you need help. you made me feel like crap everyday of my life. and now I am angry that I stayed with you that long. I am the idiot. you made me lose my friends, you made me lose my self worth. You broke my porcelain dolls, on purpose and still when I think about it I want to cry and beat the crap out of you at the same time. but you will never get it. you will never understand because your mind wont allow you, you are always the victim, in your own mind, but your not I was!!!
Place
my old house it made me safe. I grew up there. I felt happy there, most of the time. I always drive past it. I wonder who lives there now and who they are and what they are doing. how their house is set up. it was a comfort and I no longer have it. since I have left it I have felt lost. more anxiety. sometimes I wish I were back there and that nothing had changed. last night I went to my sisters because it is full of life and family and I miss that. it gives me a sense of happiness to be around them. I don’t want my own but I like to be there. it comforts me too. it makes me feel like a kid, she takes care of me. feeds me looks after me, makes sure I am happy and comfortable. like a mother, everything is so clean and all the sheets smell good. there is food in the fridge, it’s like a home, not just a place to sleep. it has life with children running around. and parents reprimanding.
Family story
They tell everyone how scared I always was a child. They make fun of me. Dave tells me all the time about when I was young and I couldn’t eat in front of him cause I said I couldn’t swallow with him staring at me. They all embarrass me and with things that I do not want anyone to know.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
(Rough Draft of personal essay)
Hello all thanks for reading my essay... I would love tons of feedback, please! It's only a rough draft and I know it still needs alot of work... so any suggestions would be great. Hope you enjoy it :)
*********************************************************************
Diana and I went to our bar on Friday night. I just got out of work and needed to have a drink, the stress of serving people all night can lead me to drink. We sat in our usual spot, right next to the brass taps, about ten steps from the door. I got a Bacardi and coke, with a lime, of course, and Diana got a draft beer. We always have a good time when we go to this bar. This particular night we ran into a couple of people we knew and had not seen in a while. There is nothing better than catching up with old friends. Rye was there. I had not seen him in months. His parents always come into my job and I wait on them, they are such great people, sometimes it is hard when I have to face them. Rye was wearing a black and white bandana, a white wife beater and jeans. As soon as he saw Diana and I he came right over to say hello and gave us each a kiss on the cheek and told us how great it was to see us. We did the same.
Diana is a social butterfly and had to make her rounds talking to everyone she knew. As I sipped on my drink, Rye kept me company.
“So what have you been up too?” The typical way people who have not seen each other in a while start a conversation.
“Well I’m still working at Friday’s and going to school.”
That was my automatic response every time I was asked that question. I asked him the same question and he told me he was doing some landscaping work for now but was going to go to school really soon. I thought that was great because ever since I have known Rye he did not have much direction in life. I could tell he felt ashamed that his life was not in order because when he mentioned he did not have a car, he looked away as if he said something wrong.
“Thanks for that response on MySpace.”
I did not think that he was going to bring that up. I was hoping he was not going to bring that up, but he did. In his message, he confessed that he had a huge crush on me and I wanted to take me out. I wrote back to him a told him that I was flattered but I could not accept his offer. Now he brought it back up and I did not know what to say, “Umm… well, I was trying to be polite, I’m sorry, you know Dave and I just broke up and I don’t think I’m ready or looking to date anyone right now.”
I liked Rye but just as a friend, I did not want to hurt his feeling or make anything awkward at that point.
“Daph, if I take you out, I promise you will have a good time, do you think I’m not good enough for you or something, that's the impression that I get?”
“I know we would have a good time, that’s not it, I just went through a breakup and I just want to be single and not have to deal with men for a while.”
Then I went on my usual tangent about how men are horrible human beings, all they do is cheat and all they want is sex.
Then he said the sweetest thing to me, “You just haven’t met the right guy yet to treat you right but you will because that’s what you deserve.”
I just looked at him and smiled. He was such a sweet guy, I wish I had those feeling for him, but I just did not. Diana came back; she and Rye were talking about her birthday plans next month. She told him he had to celebrate it with her or she would be mad at him. He said how happy he was to see us that night and that he would definitely go out for her birthday.
Rye went back to his friends and Diana and I just sat down at the bar and had our usual girl talk. I did not tell her about my conversation with Rye. I did not want to talk about it while he was still around just in case he overheard. I decided I would tell her later that night but I never got the chance and then I never wanted to.
I took a puff of my cigarette and let it out. It felt so good. It was a busy night at work and this 5 min cigarette break was all I needed.
Rye walked up and lit a cigarette, “You don’t mind if I join you?”
“Of course not, I enjoy the company, so what’s up? How’s work been going for you tonight?” I tend to ask a couple of questions in a row without waiting for an answer.
“It's going good. Why is it that girls always smoke cigarettes standing in the same position? My sister does the same thing.”
I was standing with the cigarette in my right hand while my left hand cradled my right elbow. When ever I stand this way I always think of him. “I don’t know I guess it’s just the cool thing to do, maybe you should stand like that too!”
We both chuckled. We were always joking around. Laughing. He liked to laugh at almost anything that I said. I would say, “You don’t have to be nice I know I’m not as funny as you make me out to be.”
The barbeque was about seven months after that night at the bar, the night that Rye committed suicide. His death had affected everyone and left them wishing that they had done something more for him, including myself. I saw him that same night and could not detect what he was about to do when he got home. While I was lying in my bed dreaming about all the wonderful possibilities life had to offer, he was ending his.
Crystal took it especially hard. I had heard from many people that she turned to drugs and alcohol to ease her pain. They had dated for years and where each others first loves. I saw her at the funeral and then out a couple of months later. She was a mess. You could tell that she was high on something. She ended up getting into arguments with all her friends that night and running down to street to escape reality. Her friends ran immediately after her but could not find her.
It was not until the barbeque that we run into each other again. At first, I was hesitant to speak with her because I was unsure if she was still dealing with issues and I did not want any problems that day. We said hello and did not speak again until later that night.
As the sun started to set, more people began to arrive. Groups formed and conversations filled the air. Crystal came up to me and said, “I haven’t seen you or Diana since Rye’s funeral.” She did not remember seeing me the night she run away and I decided it was better not to mention it. “I had a really hard time dealing with it. He called me a couple of times that night. I didn’t pick up. He left messages and I deleted them without listening to them. If I knew what was going to happen I would have picked up. I have no idea what those messages said; I would have helped him if I knew. Then after all that, I don’t know if you’ve heard or not, but I got involved with drugs and went to a intuition for a while to clear my mind. I was in real bad shape but I am doing a lot better now.” I just listened I didn’t know what to say. She continued, “Yea, I don’t mind talking about it now. It actually helps me to talk to people and I’m ok with everything. I had a dream a couple of weeks ago about Rye. He came to me and told me that I can’t keep beating myself up about what happened. He said I have to let it go and live my life. It was the weirdest thing because when I woke up I could still feel him. I believe it was really him, he came to me, and I’m trying listen to him. I feel a lot better these days.” While she was telling me about her dream, I felt a shiver run through me. I believed her.
*********************************************************************
Diana and I went to our bar on Friday night. I just got out of work and needed to have a drink, the stress of serving people all night can lead me to drink. We sat in our usual spot, right next to the brass taps, about ten steps from the door. I got a Bacardi and coke, with a lime, of course, and Diana got a draft beer. We always have a good time when we go to this bar. This particular night we ran into a couple of people we knew and had not seen in a while. There is nothing better than catching up with old friends. Rye was there. I had not seen him in months. His parents always come into my job and I wait on them, they are such great people, sometimes it is hard when I have to face them. Rye was wearing a black and white bandana, a white wife beater and jeans. As soon as he saw Diana and I he came right over to say hello and gave us each a kiss on the cheek and told us how great it was to see us. We did the same.
Diana is a social butterfly and had to make her rounds talking to everyone she knew. As I sipped on my drink, Rye kept me company.
“So what have you been up too?” The typical way people who have not seen each other in a while start a conversation.
“Well I’m still working at Friday’s and going to school.”
That was my automatic response every time I was asked that question. I asked him the same question and he told me he was doing some landscaping work for now but was going to go to school really soon. I thought that was great because ever since I have known Rye he did not have much direction in life. I could tell he felt ashamed that his life was not in order because when he mentioned he did not have a car, he looked away as if he said something wrong.
“Thanks for that response on MySpace.”
I did not think that he was going to bring that up. I was hoping he was not going to bring that up, but he did. In his message, he confessed that he had a huge crush on me and I wanted to take me out. I wrote back to him a told him that I was flattered but I could not accept his offer. Now he brought it back up and I did not know what to say, “Umm… well, I was trying to be polite, I’m sorry, you know Dave and I just broke up and I don’t think I’m ready or looking to date anyone right now.”
I liked Rye but just as a friend, I did not want to hurt his feeling or make anything awkward at that point.
“Daph, if I take you out, I promise you will have a good time, do you think I’m not good enough for you or something, that's the impression that I get?”
“I know we would have a good time, that’s not it, I just went through a breakup and I just want to be single and not have to deal with men for a while.”
Then I went on my usual tangent about how men are horrible human beings, all they do is cheat and all they want is sex.
Then he said the sweetest thing to me, “You just haven’t met the right guy yet to treat you right but you will because that’s what you deserve.”
I just looked at him and smiled. He was such a sweet guy, I wish I had those feeling for him, but I just did not. Diana came back; she and Rye were talking about her birthday plans next month. She told him he had to celebrate it with her or she would be mad at him. He said how happy he was to see us that night and that he would definitely go out for her birthday.
Rye went back to his friends and Diana and I just sat down at the bar and had our usual girl talk. I did not tell her about my conversation with Rye. I did not want to talk about it while he was still around just in case he overheard. I decided I would tell her later that night but I never got the chance and then I never wanted to.
I took a puff of my cigarette and let it out. It felt so good. It was a busy night at work and this 5 min cigarette break was all I needed.
Rye walked up and lit a cigarette, “You don’t mind if I join you?”
“Of course not, I enjoy the company, so what’s up? How’s work been going for you tonight?” I tend to ask a couple of questions in a row without waiting for an answer.
“It's going good. Why is it that girls always smoke cigarettes standing in the same position? My sister does the same thing.”
I was standing with the cigarette in my right hand while my left hand cradled my right elbow. When ever I stand this way I always think of him. “I don’t know I guess it’s just the cool thing to do, maybe you should stand like that too!”
We both chuckled. We were always joking around. Laughing. He liked to laugh at almost anything that I said. I would say, “You don’t have to be nice I know I’m not as funny as you make me out to be.”
The barbeque was about seven months after that night at the bar, the night that Rye committed suicide. His death had affected everyone and left them wishing that they had done something more for him, including myself. I saw him that same night and could not detect what he was about to do when he got home. While I was lying in my bed dreaming about all the wonderful possibilities life had to offer, he was ending his.
Crystal took it especially hard. I had heard from many people that she turned to drugs and alcohol to ease her pain. They had dated for years and where each others first loves. I saw her at the funeral and then out a couple of months later. She was a mess. You could tell that she was high on something. She ended up getting into arguments with all her friends that night and running down to street to escape reality. Her friends ran immediately after her but could not find her.
It was not until the barbeque that we run into each other again. At first, I was hesitant to speak with her because I was unsure if she was still dealing with issues and I did not want any problems that day. We said hello and did not speak again until later that night.
As the sun started to set, more people began to arrive. Groups formed and conversations filled the air. Crystal came up to me and said, “I haven’t seen you or Diana since Rye’s funeral.” She did not remember seeing me the night she run away and I decided it was better not to mention it. “I had a really hard time dealing with it. He called me a couple of times that night. I didn’t pick up. He left messages and I deleted them without listening to them. If I knew what was going to happen I would have picked up. I have no idea what those messages said; I would have helped him if I knew. Then after all that, I don’t know if you’ve heard or not, but I got involved with drugs and went to a intuition for a while to clear my mind. I was in real bad shape but I am doing a lot better now.” I just listened I didn’t know what to say. She continued, “Yea, I don’t mind talking about it now. It actually helps me to talk to people and I’m ok with everything. I had a dream a couple of weeks ago about Rye. He came to me and told me that I can’t keep beating myself up about what happened. He said I have to let it go and live my life. It was the weirdest thing because when I woke up I could still feel him. I believe it was really him, he came to me, and I’m trying listen to him. I feel a lot better these days.” While she was telling me about her dream, I felt a shiver run through me. I believed her.
"My Father Always Said"
In Schwartz's essay she uses 6 segments to convey her overall meaning. In each segment she speaks about a different part of her trip to Rindheim with the parents, but during this she flashes foward to explain to the reader what happened 40 years later when she went back to Rindheim. These flash-fowards are thrown into her writing very subtly but are very significant in understanding the overall point Schwatz is tring to make.
Segment 1 -- She talks about what her father would always say about her going out with friends that were not from Rindheim.
Segment 2 -- They stopped by her fathers house, she wanted to go in but her father did not (she tells us how she did make it in the house 40 yrs later). They stop by the downtown. Her father says it's no Queens but Schwartz compares it to things in Queens. They stop by the Synagogue. Then the scene flashes foward and she recalls her trip years later when she speaks to a women about the synaogue. At this time there is a different mix of culture that live in this town. She compares it to Queens. When she was a child to now and wishes she could tell her father about it.
Segment 3 -- The Synagodue was a shell, burnt down. She goes into the story of how it happened and how her father escaped. He says the people that burnt it down weren't from Rindheim and their non-jewish neighbors wanted to help them but were also scared.
Segment 4 -- They stop by her fathers old school. She compares it to her school but without the paved playground and swings. She asked her father if he played with the non-jewish kids at his school since they were seperated during school hours. He said of course they did.
Segment 5 -- They get to the grave stones. She tried to picture her grandparents that pasted away but could only picture the ones back in Queens. They talk about the family members that stayed behind and what happened to them.
Segment 6 -- When she returns home, she realizes what her family went through and gains respect for her father and his sayings. When he father returns she realizes that Rindheim was not that great.
In the beginning her and her father think they are completely different from eachother. As they go around Rindheim she still pictures and relates everything to what she knows from her childhood. Her father does the same thing when they are in Queens, he relates everything there to where he grew up. They were the same... Rindheim and Queens, in a sense. This is the point that she is trying to get across during the middle of her essay. Her and her father are no different. There is a shift at the end when she realizes the full history of what happened. She then holds a greater respect for Rindheim while her fathers greatness for his hometown deminishes.
Segment 1 -- She talks about what her father would always say about her going out with friends that were not from Rindheim.
Segment 2 -- They stopped by her fathers house, she wanted to go in but her father did not (she tells us how she did make it in the house 40 yrs later). They stop by the downtown. Her father says it's no Queens but Schwartz compares it to things in Queens. They stop by the Synagogue. Then the scene flashes foward and she recalls her trip years later when she speaks to a women about the synaogue. At this time there is a different mix of culture that live in this town. She compares it to Queens. When she was a child to now and wishes she could tell her father about it.
Segment 3 -- The Synagodue was a shell, burnt down. She goes into the story of how it happened and how her father escaped. He says the people that burnt it down weren't from Rindheim and their non-jewish neighbors wanted to help them but were also scared.
Segment 4 -- They stop by her fathers old school. She compares it to her school but without the paved playground and swings. She asked her father if he played with the non-jewish kids at his school since they were seperated during school hours. He said of course they did.
Segment 5 -- They get to the grave stones. She tried to picture her grandparents that pasted away but could only picture the ones back in Queens. They talk about the family members that stayed behind and what happened to them.
Segment 6 -- When she returns home, she realizes what her family went through and gains respect for her father and his sayings. When he father returns she realizes that Rindheim was not that great.
In the beginning her and her father think they are completely different from eachother. As they go around Rindheim she still pictures and relates everything to what she knows from her childhood. Her father does the same thing when they are in Queens, he relates everything there to where he grew up. They were the same... Rindheim and Queens, in a sense. This is the point that she is trying to get across during the middle of her essay. Her and her father are no different. There is a shift at the end when she realizes the full history of what happened. She then holds a greater respect for Rindheim while her fathers greatness for his hometown deminishes.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Design Plan
The purpose for this essay is to relate my childhood experiences, which have shaped me, to my audience. It is a story of the difficultly of change and self-discovery. My motivation for this essay is to look within my self and find truth in my life. To answer those questions that replay in my mind and need to be expressed, not oppressed. I would like my audience to relate my story to similar experiences that they have went through. Everyone has had to deal with change and can relate. What do I want from my past? I want to remember all the good times, I want to go back and relive them, I do not want things to change but they have. It is hard growing up; it is hard leaving your parents, no matter how easy you thought it would be. Although this is all true if I could snap my fingers right now and move back home I would not because that would mean I would have to give up the things that I enjoy in my life now. Do you give up the present good for the past good? In order to get this point across I will have to supply background but I am not sure what this will include. Good childhood memories, a close-knit family bond, and just the little things I miss.
First time blogger
Welcome to my page! It's my first blog entry :) Shortly I will have my design plan posted. I am ready to see what everyone thinks, all feedback is welcomed.
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