Original Poem
More Than I Thought I Got
My father, standing in front of his boat
holding a large trout, is smiling
as four of his friends look on
admiringly.
I used to be jealous of my father’s
friends, because
I could not develop the kind of relationship
he had with them.
Things he enjoyed, I was never interested in; probably because
never took the time to expose me to any of them.
Time passes and our interactions devolve into one blow-up
after another.
I move out and focus on my own life;
But I’m still bitter at all the things I felt
he never gave me. We go months without
saying a word to each other.
Gone. My anger has diminished since
his passing. My love of learning,
my passion for things I enjoy, my sense of humor.
All came from him. Thanks Dad.
Instructor Feedback
Some thoughts while reading your poem, Jim: 2nd stanza, last line: "he" is needed; your last stanza is powerful and raw!! That's how it's done!! Every word counts 100% and nothing else is needed. That said, how can you get the other stanzas to be as chiseled and perfect?? --Gary
What I Modified
1. Corrected grammar errors
2. Modified stanzas 1 - 3 in an attempt to give them more power. I tried to do this by focusing more on the relationship between me and my father and less on his relationship with him and his friends.
More Than I Thought I Got
My father, looking very happy,
is standing with his friends in front of
his boat; I never once rode on it.
My father enjoyed the company
of others,
as long as that company was not me.
We never developed any kind of relationship; probably because he never exposed me to
anything he was interested in.
Every conversation we had was just one
blow-up after another.
It almost became an involuntary reflex for us to
put each other down; the goal
seemed to be to make ourselves feel
superior over the other person.
Months would go by with no interaction between us whatsoever;
I got nothing from him but an inferiority complex.
Gone. My anger has diminished since
his passing. My love of learning,
my passion for things I enjoy, my sense of humor.
All came from him. Thanks Dad.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Final Blog - Revised Short Story
Original story
Giving and Receiving
“How can people live with this stench?” Kevin thought to himself as he walked into the lobby of the Xavier Springs Nursing Facility. He couldn’t identify the source of the smell, but the feeling of nausea was overpowering. Despite being twenty-three, he’d never been in a place like this before. In addition to the odor, which he finally decided smelled like a combination of turnips and Lysol, he also was uncomfortable with the way so many of the patients just seemed to be sitting in wheelchairs doing nothing. He went to front desk and asked what room his Aunt Rita was in. While his she was his favorite aunt, Kevin couldn’t wait to get out of this place.
As he walked down the long corridor of towards his aunt’s room, he heard someone asking for tapioca pudding. The odd thing was she kept asking for it over and over again. He looked in the room where the sound was coming from and saw there was no one in there but a small woman in a big bed. “Just ignore her,” said a girl who looked much younger than Kevin, “that’s all she says all day long.” “Wow, that must be annoying.” “Well, you get used to it after a while.” Finally, he got to his aunt’s room and knocked on the door. A very weak voice beckoned him to come in. Despite the low volume of the voice, he recognized it and walked in. He was immediately struck by how sad she looked. Rita had tried really hard to stay in her apartment, but after a fall her niece Carol (Rita had never married and had no immediate family) had decided that she couldn’t take care of herself anymore and the only place she could afford was this facility. As soon as he came toward her, she started to cry. “Please get me out here Kevin, I hate this place.” Kevin immediately wished he’d never come. What was he going to say? She went on to tell him that while everyone was very nice to her she felt like she was in prison. He could certainly see what she meant. The cinder block walls were barren, and the room was very dark, even with the lights on. People had come to visit her, but she wondered how long that would last. “People have their own lives; they don’t want to come see a decrepit old woman.” Kevin asked where all the stuff from her apartment was. “Carol put it in storage for me.” “Well, maybe it might be more like your apartment if you had some of your things in here.” Rita agreed and gave him a list of things she’d like to have in her room. Kevin promised to return the following week with the items.
Week after week Kevin came; he even began to tolerate the smell, though he never got used to the “tapioca woman”. One time he was asking Rita about her life when she was little. He found himself fascinated by things that happened when she and her brother (Kevin’s father who had died a few years earlier) were growing up. He’d never been particularly close to his father, and was both sad that he didn’t know much of what she told him, but happy to finally be getting so much insight into his father’s life when he was little.
Kevin continued his periodic visits to see his aunt until she contracted pneumonia and died after three days. At Rita’s funeral, his cousin Carol handed him a package. She told him that she had found it in a drawer at the nursing home. He opened the package and saw that it was pages that she had taken out of one of the photo albums he had brought her from storage. They were all pictures of his father growing up. In addition, she had included several pages of reflections on each of the pictures. It appeared that she had been working on it for some time, but hadn’t finished it before she got sick. Paper clipped to the first page was a note that said “Kevin, I know you miss your father. Hopefully these pictures and my ramblings about them will bring you a little happiness. Goodness knows your visits have brought me more joy than you can imagine. Think fondly of me whenever you have tapioca pudding! Love, Aunt Rita.”
Instructor feedback on story (includes corrections in italics)
Giving and Receiving
“How can people live with this stench?” Kevin thought to himself as he walked into the lobby of the Xavier Springs Nursing Facility. strong opening line He couldn’t identify the source of the smell, but the feeling of nausea was overpowering. Despite being twenty-three, he’d never been in a place like this before. In addition to the odor, which he finally decided smelled like a combination of turnips and Lysol, he also was uncomfortable with the way so many of the patients just seemed to be sitting in wheelchairs doing nothing. He went to the front desk and asked what room his Aunt Rita was in. While his she was his favorite aunt, Kevin couldn’t wait to get out of this place.
As he walked down the long corridor of towards his aunt’s room, he heard someone asking for tapioca pudding. The odd thing was she kept asking for it over and over again. He looked in the room where the sound was coming from and saw there was no one in there but a small woman in a big bed. “Just ignore her,” said a girl who looked much younger than Kevin. “That’s all she says all day long.” “Wow, that must be annoying.” “Well, you get used to it after a while.” Finally, he got to his aunt’s room and knocked on the door. A very weak voice beckoned him to come in. Despite the low volume of the voice, he recognized it and walked in. He was immediately struck by how sad she looked. Rita had tried really hard to stay in her apartment, but after a fall her niece Carol (Rita had never married and had no immediate family) had decided that she couldn’t take care of herself anymore and the only place she could afford was this facility. As soon as he came toward her, she started to cry. “Please get me out here Kevin, I hate this place.” comma splice Kevin immediately wished he’d never come. What was he going to say? She went on to tell him that while everyone was very nice to her she felt like she was in prison. He could certainly see what she meant. The cinder block walls were barren, and the room was very dark, even with the lights on. People had come to visit her, but she wondered how long that would last. “People have their own lives; they don’t want to come see a decrepit old woman.” Kevin asked where all the stuff from her apartment was. “Carol put it in storage for me.” “Well, maybe it might be more like your apartment if you had some of your things in here.” Rita agreed and gave him a list of things she’d like to have in her room. Kevin promised to return the following week with the items.
Week after week Kevin came; he even began to tolerate the smell, though he never got used to the “tapioca woman”. place period inside the qmarks One time he was asking Rita about her life when she was little. He found himself fascinated by things that happened when she and her brother (Kevin’s father who had died a few years earlier) were growing up. He’d never been particularly close to his father, and was both sad that he didn’t know much of what she told him, but happy to finally be getting so much insight into his father’s life when he was little.
Kevin continued his periodic visits to see his aunt until she contracted pneumonia and died after three days. [ later. omit] At Rita’s funeral, his cousin Carol handed him a package. She told him that she had found it in a drawer at the nursing home. He opened the package and saw that it was pages that she had taken out of one of the photo albums he had brought her from storage. They were all pictures of his father growing up. In addition, she had included several pages of reflections on each of the pictures. It appeared that she had been working on it for some time, but hadn’t finished it before she got sick. Paper clipped to the first page was a note that said, “Kevin, I know you miss your father. Hopefully these pictures and my ramblings about them will bring you a little happiness. Goodness knows your visits have brought me more joy than you can imagine. Think fondly of me whenever you have tapioca pudding! Love, Aunt Rita.” funny and perfect last line!
Instructor Feedback
Hi Jim: Your Kevin's certainly an ordinary character in a very ordinary setting (though I'd like to see the setting be a bit more symbolic of what he discovers or learns) who finds something extraordinary that changes his life in a small but very significant way. Your story has a strong sense of plot, characters, and setting. Overall, strong work. But review how to handle / format dialogue. Notice models in our text. See how each exchange of dialogue typically gets its own line. Dialogue is handled as though it's a new paragraph, which means line breaks. Contact me if you need help. The revision module is activated so that you can start thinking about how you'd like to re-see this piece for your portfolio / blog. Oh, and about the two page limit: well, that's to make sure students don't ramble and say a lot of nothing:) Two pages means you really have to think about what goes into your story and what doesn't belong. Word economy and purpose are very important. W/out them your readers may get the sense you're wasting their time. Make sense? --Gary
Suggestions incorporated into revised story:
1. Split up dialogue so each speaker was a new paragraph
2. Made the setting more symbolic by having Kevin reflect on the last time he was in this nursing home; visting his father who ultimately died there.
3. Cleaned up grammatical errors (incorrect pronouns, comma splice, period outside of quotation marks.
Modified story
Giving and Receiving
“How can people live with this stench?” Kevin thought to himself as he walked into the lobby of the Xavier Springs Nursing Facility. He couldn’t identify the source of the smell, but the feeling of nausea was overpowering. Despite being twenty-three, he’d never been in a place like this before. In addition to the odor, which he finally decided smelled like a combination of turnips and Lysol, he also was uncomfortable with the way so many of the patients just seemed to be sitting in wheelchairs doing nothing. He went to front desk and asked what room his Aunt Rita was in. While his she was his favorite aunt, Kevin couldn’t wait to get out of this place.
As he walked down the long corridor of towards his aunt’s room, he heard someone asking for tapioca pudding. The odd thing was she kept asking for it over and over again. He looked in the room where the sound was coming from and saw there was no one in there but a small woman in a big bed. “Just ignore her,” said a girl who looked much younger than Kevin, “that’s all she says all day long.” “Wow, that must be annoying.” “Well, you get used to it after a while.” Finally, he got to his aunt’s room and knocked on the door. A very weak voice beckoned him to come in. Despite the low volume of the voice, he recognized it and walked in. He was immediately struck by how sad she looked. Rita had tried really hard to stay in her apartment, but after a fall her niece Carol (Rita had never married and had no immediate family) had decided that she couldn’t take care of herself anymore and the only place she could afford was this facility. As soon as he came toward her, she started to cry. “Please get me out here Kevin, I hate this place.” Kevin immediately wished he’d never come. What was he going to say? She went on to tell him that while everyone was very nice to her she felt like she was in prison. He could certainly see what she meant. The cinder block walls were barren, and the room was very dark, even with the lights on. People had come to visit her, but she wondered how long that would last. “People have their own lives; they don’t want to come see a decrepit old woman.” Kevin asked where all the stuff from her apartment was. “Carol put it in storage for me.” “Well, maybe it might be more like your apartment if you had some of your things in here.” Rita agreed and gave him a list of things she’d like to have in her room. Kevin promised to return the following week with the items.
Week after week Kevin came; he even began to tolerate the smell, though he never got used to the “tapioca woman”. One time he was asking Rita about her life when she was little. He found himself fascinated by things that happened when she and her brother (Kevin’s father who had died a few years earlier) were growing up. He’d never been particularly close to his father, and was both sad that he didn’t know much of what she told him, but happy to finally be getting so much insight into his father’s life when he was little.
Kevin continued his periodic visits to see his aunt until she contracted pneumonia and died after three days. At Rita’s funeral, his cousin Carol handed him a package. She told him that she had found it in a drawer at the nursing home. He opened the package and saw that it was pages that she had taken out of one of the photo albums he had brought her from storage. They were all pictures of his father growing up. In addition, she had included several pages of reflections on each of the pictures. It appeared that she had been working on it for some time, but hadn’t finished it before she got sick. Paper clipped to the first page was a note that said “Kevin, I know you miss your father. Hopefully these pictures and my ramblings about them will bring you a little happiness. Goodness knows your visits have brought me more joy than you can imagine. Think fondly of me whenever you have tapioca pudding! Love, Aunt Rita.”
Instructor feedback on story (includes corrections in italics)
Giving and Receiving
“How can people live with this stench?” Kevin thought to himself as he walked into the lobby of the Xavier Springs Nursing Facility. strong opening line He couldn’t identify the source of the smell, but the feeling of nausea was overpowering. Despite being twenty-three, he’d never been in a place like this before. In addition to the odor, which he finally decided smelled like a combination of turnips and Lysol, he also was uncomfortable with the way so many of the patients just seemed to be sitting in wheelchairs doing nothing. He went to the front desk and asked what room his Aunt Rita was in. While his she was his favorite aunt, Kevin couldn’t wait to get out of this place.
As he walked down the long corridor of towards his aunt’s room, he heard someone asking for tapioca pudding. The odd thing was she kept asking for it over and over again. He looked in the room where the sound was coming from and saw there was no one in there but a small woman in a big bed. “Just ignore her,” said a girl who looked much younger than Kevin. “That’s all she says all day long.” “Wow, that must be annoying.” “Well, you get used to it after a while.” Finally, he got to his aunt’s room and knocked on the door. A very weak voice beckoned him to come in. Despite the low volume of the voice, he recognized it and walked in. He was immediately struck by how sad she looked. Rita had tried really hard to stay in her apartment, but after a fall her niece Carol (Rita had never married and had no immediate family) had decided that she couldn’t take care of herself anymore and the only place she could afford was this facility. As soon as he came toward her, she started to cry. “Please get me out here Kevin, I hate this place.” comma splice Kevin immediately wished he’d never come. What was he going to say? She went on to tell him that while everyone was very nice to her she felt like she was in prison. He could certainly see what she meant. The cinder block walls were barren, and the room was very dark, even with the lights on. People had come to visit her, but she wondered how long that would last. “People have their own lives; they don’t want to come see a decrepit old woman.” Kevin asked where all the stuff from her apartment was. “Carol put it in storage for me.” “Well, maybe it might be more like your apartment if you had some of your things in here.” Rita agreed and gave him a list of things she’d like to have in her room. Kevin promised to return the following week with the items.
Week after week Kevin came; he even began to tolerate the smell, though he never got used to the “tapioca woman”. place period inside the qmarks One time he was asking Rita about her life when she was little. He found himself fascinated by things that happened when she and her brother (Kevin’s father who had died a few years earlier) were growing up. He’d never been particularly close to his father, and was both sad that he didn’t know much of what she told him, but happy to finally be getting so much insight into his father’s life when he was little.
Kevin continued his periodic visits to see his aunt until she contracted pneumonia and died after three days. [ later. omit] At Rita’s funeral, his cousin Carol handed him a package. She told him that she had found it in a drawer at the nursing home. He opened the package and saw that it was pages that she had taken out of one of the photo albums he had brought her from storage. They were all pictures of his father growing up. In addition, she had included several pages of reflections on each of the pictures. It appeared that she had been working on it for some time, but hadn’t finished it before she got sick. Paper clipped to the first page was a note that said, “Kevin, I know you miss your father. Hopefully these pictures and my ramblings about them will bring you a little happiness. Goodness knows your visits have brought me more joy than you can imagine. Think fondly of me whenever you have tapioca pudding! Love, Aunt Rita.” funny and perfect last line!
Instructor Feedback
Hi Jim: Your Kevin's certainly an ordinary character in a very ordinary setting (though I'd like to see the setting be a bit more symbolic of what he discovers or learns) who finds something extraordinary that changes his life in a small but very significant way. Your story has a strong sense of plot, characters, and setting. Overall, strong work. But review how to handle / format dialogue. Notice models in our text. See how each exchange of dialogue typically gets its own line. Dialogue is handled as though it's a new paragraph, which means line breaks. Contact me if you need help. The revision module is activated so that you can start thinking about how you'd like to re-see this piece for your portfolio / blog. Oh, and about the two page limit: well, that's to make sure students don't ramble and say a lot of nothing:) Two pages means you really have to think about what goes into your story and what doesn't belong. Word economy and purpose are very important. W/out them your readers may get the sense you're wasting their time. Make sense? --Gary
Suggestions incorporated into revised story:
1. Split up dialogue so each speaker was a new paragraph
2. Made the setting more symbolic by having Kevin reflect on the last time he was in this nursing home; visting his father who ultimately died there.
3. Cleaned up grammatical errors (incorrect pronouns, comma splice, period outside of quotation marks.
Modified story
Giving and Receiving
“Man, this is the same stench from two years ago!” Kevin thought to himself as he walked into the lobby of the Xavier Springs Nursing Facility.
Just like then, when he came to visit his father here, the smell of turnips and Lysol brought an overpowering sense of naseau. Once again, he also was uncomfortable with the way so many of the patients just seemed to be sitting in wheelchairs doing nothing. He went to the front desk and asked what room his Aunt Rita was in. While she was his favorite aunt, Kevin couldn’t wait to get out of this place.
As he walked down the long corridor of towards his aunt’s room, he heard someone asking for tapioca pudding. The odd thing was she kept asking for it over and over again. He looked in the room where the sound was coming from and saw there was no one in there but a small woman in a big bed.
“Just ignore her,” said a girl who looked much younger than Kevin, “that’s all she says all day long.”
“Wow, that must be annoying.”
“Well, you get used to it after a while.”
Finally, he got to his aunt’s room and knocked on the door. A very weak voice beckoned him to come in. Despite the low volume of the voice, he recognized it and walked in. He was immediately struck by how sad she looked. Rita had tried really hard to stay in her apartment, but after a fall her niece Carol (Rita had never married and had no immediate family) had decided that she couldn’t take care of herself anymore and the only place she could afford was this facility. As soon as he came toward her, she started to cry.
“Please get me out here Kevin; I hate this place.”
Kevin immediately wished he’d never come. What was he going to say? She went on to tell him that while everyone was very nice to her she felt like she was in prison. He could certainly see what she meant. The cinder block walls were barren, and the room was very dark, even with the lights on. People had come to visit her, but she wondered how long that would last.
“People have their own lives; they don’t want to come see a decrepit old woman.”
Kevin asked where all the stuff from her apartment was. “Carol put it in storage for me.”
“Well, maybe it might be more like your apartment if you had some of your things in here.”
Rita agreed and gave him a list of things she’d like to have in her room. Kevin promised to return the following week with the items.
Week after week Kevin came; he even began to tolerate the smell, though he never got used to the “tapioca woman." One time he was asking Rita about her life when she was little. He found himself fascinated by things that happened when she and her brother (Kevin’s father) were growing up. He’d never been particularly close to his father, and was both sad that he didn’t know much of what she told him, but happy to finally be getting so much insight into his father’s life when he was little.
Kevin continued his periodic visits to see his aunt until she contracted pneumonia and died three days later. At Rita’s funeral, his cousin Carol handed him a package. She told him that she had found it in a drawer at the nursing home. He opened the package and saw that it was pages that she had taken out of one of the photo albums he had brought her from storage. They were all pictures of his father growing up. In addition, she had included several pages of reflections on each of the pictures. It appeared that she had been working on it for some time, but hadn’t finished it before she got sick. Paper clipped to the first page was a note that said “Kevin, I know you miss your father. Hopefully these pictures and my ramblings about them will bring you a little happiness. Goodness knows your visits have brought me more joy than you can imagine. Think fondly of me whenever you have tapioca pudding! Love, Aunt Rita.”
Final Blog - Short/short prose poem - Five Frame Advancement
He remembers how he met her on a hay ride when
their church group went to pick apples. She was chilly and
he offered her his overcoat.
He remembers the day he stood in the church grinning from
ear to ear when the minister told him he could kiss the bride.
He remembers taking their daughter to baptized; she wouldn't
stop crying, but his wife just held her and looked so proud.
He remembers all the parishoners telling him she was
in a better place after her death from cancer, and that
one day they would be together again.
He remembers how desperately he wanted to believe
that; he had been a Christian all his life. But he knew in
his heart that she was gone and he would never see her
again; and that belief, he wishes he could forget.
The Final Letter
Gary,
I must say that I am quite pleased with the progress I have made over the past six weeks. Prior to taking this class, I wondered if I would really get anything out of it and if it would be worth my while. One of the reasons I took this class over the summer, is because I didn’t want to have to spend 15 weeks taking it at Roberts Wesleyan. Imagine my surprise, when I found that not only was it not a waste of time, but it actually provided me with opportunities to hone skills I had rarely if ever used before.
When it came to writing fiction, I was admittedly concerned. All of the writing I have done in the past twenty plus years has been solely non-fiction. Would I be able to make up things that would constitute an interesting story? I feel the answer was yes. The use of the journal assignments was very helpful as an introduction to writing a whole story. I especially liked the “Beginnings” exercise where the whole focus was simply on coming up with an introductory sentence that would grab the reader’s attention. The other helpful piece, for me anyway, was providing a framework of what you wanted our stories to be about. Having to write a story from scratch would have been difficult; writing a story centered on a particular song, was actually fun. I was able use the song as a springboard for what would happen in the story.
I definitely struggled with the poetry section; but also felt that I learned way more than I thought I would. Certainly I was familiar with terms such as “alliteration” and “metaphor,” but it was great to be able to identify the uses of those terms in poems and then ultimately incorporate them into my own work. One helpful piece was the way the course transitioned from fiction into poetry. The whole short short story to a prose poem made the transition far easier than it would have been if we had just jumped head first into writing poems. The other thing that I really liked about the poetry section was that much of what we wrote about was based on our experiences, rather than trying to craft some love poem written from someone else’s perspective.
I’ll confess, I think the class might have been more engaging for me if I had not taken it online. While the discussion sections were interesting, at least from the perspective of how other people saw writing, there wasn’t the opportunity (or maybe it’s a case of where I didn’t take the opportunity) to flesh out some of the comments that were made. I do feel that this class will be useful once I begin my new career as an elementary school teacher. Writing can be a very dry and boring subject, but utilizing some of the exercises that we did, could certainly engage the kids so that they actually feel the same creative flow that I did over the last few weeks.
Jim
I must say that I am quite pleased with the progress I have made over the past six weeks. Prior to taking this class, I wondered if I would really get anything out of it and if it would be worth my while. One of the reasons I took this class over the summer, is because I didn’t want to have to spend 15 weeks taking it at Roberts Wesleyan. Imagine my surprise, when I found that not only was it not a waste of time, but it actually provided me with opportunities to hone skills I had rarely if ever used before.
When it came to writing fiction, I was admittedly concerned. All of the writing I have done in the past twenty plus years has been solely non-fiction. Would I be able to make up things that would constitute an interesting story? I feel the answer was yes. The use of the journal assignments was very helpful as an introduction to writing a whole story. I especially liked the “Beginnings” exercise where the whole focus was simply on coming up with an introductory sentence that would grab the reader’s attention. The other helpful piece, for me anyway, was providing a framework of what you wanted our stories to be about. Having to write a story from scratch would have been difficult; writing a story centered on a particular song, was actually fun. I was able use the song as a springboard for what would happen in the story.
I definitely struggled with the poetry section; but also felt that I learned way more than I thought I would. Certainly I was familiar with terms such as “alliteration” and “metaphor,” but it was great to be able to identify the uses of those terms in poems and then ultimately incorporate them into my own work. One helpful piece was the way the course transitioned from fiction into poetry. The whole short short story to a prose poem made the transition far easier than it would have been if we had just jumped head first into writing poems. The other thing that I really liked about the poetry section was that much of what we wrote about was based on our experiences, rather than trying to craft some love poem written from someone else’s perspective.
I’ll confess, I think the class might have been more engaging for me if I had not taken it online. While the discussion sections were interesting, at least from the perspective of how other people saw writing, there wasn’t the opportunity (or maybe it’s a case of where I didn’t take the opportunity) to flesh out some of the comments that were made. I do feel that this class will be useful once I begin my new career as an elementary school teacher. Writing can be a very dry and boring subject, but utilizing some of the exercises that we did, could certainly engage the kids so that they actually feel the same creative flow that I did over the last few weeks.
Jim
Final Blog - Poem modification #2
Here is the original poem; following that are the changes you suggested.
Fear of Flying
The early 80s for me meant freedom.
Being able to drink at only 19 and cruising
without a seatbelt.
A trip to Syracuse University
to drop my sister off.
One more week and I would be singing
as a student at the Eastman School of Music;
But tonight,
My friend and I were ready for some of that legal booze.
Once we left the bar,
we drove off in his big blue boat.
We flew up a hill,
it was fun how your stomach felt when you did that.
We were going the wrong way.
"Eye of the Tiger" by Survivor blared on the radio
I wondered if I would survive as we swerved to miss
the truck
and ran head on into
a tree.
I felt like I was slowly flying,
as I went through windshield; there was
blood everywhere.
My head is stapled from front to back;
Frankenstein's monster has nothing on me.
Depression and anger for months while my body healed.
I could never go to Eastman looking like a freak;
my music career was over before it had begun.
Fear of Flying
The early 80s [for me] omit meant freedom.
Being able to drink at only 19 and cruising
without a seatbelt.
I took a trip to Syracuse University
to drop my sister off.
One more week and I would be singing
as a student at the Eastman School of Music;
But tonight,My friend and I were ready for some of that legal booze.
Once we left the bar,we drove off in his big blue boat, an Oldsmobile, __________.what kind of car though?
We flew up a hill;
it was fun how your stomach felt when you did that.
We were going the wrong way."Eye of the Tiger," by Survivor blared on the radio you're making me feel old:) thanks!!
I wondered if I would survive as we swerved to miss
the truckand ran head on into
a tree.
I felt like I was slowly flying,
as I went through the windshield; there was
blood everywhere.
My head is stapled from front to back;
Frankenstein's monster has nothing on me. funny
I was depressed and angry for months while my body healed.
I could never go to Eastman looking like a freak;
my music career was over before it had begun.
Instructor Feedback
Jim, for the poetry section I'll be providing lots of in-text commentary and I'll be making lots of suggestions for you to consider. Your job is to have an open mind and to decide what it's going to take to make your poems be their best. I'm not asking you to regurgitate my suggestions. I only want you to review them objectively.Gary
Modified Poem
Fear of Flying
The early 80s meant freedom.
Being able to drink at 19 and riding legally
without a seatbelt.
I took a trip to Syracuse University
to drop off my sister.
The next week I would be singing
as a student at the Eastman School of Music;
But tonight,
my friend and I were ready for some of the legal booze.
Once we left the bar,
we drove off in his big blue boat, an Oldsmobile Ninety-Eight.
We flew up a hill;
It was fun how your stomach felt when you did that.
We were going the wrong way up a one way street.
"Eye of the Tiger," by Survivor blared on the radio.
I wondered if I would survive as we swerved to miss
the truck
and ran head on into
a tree.
I felt like I was slowly flying,
as I went through the windshield; there was
blood everywhere.
My head is stapled from front to back;
Frankenstein's monster has nothing on me.
I was depressed and angry for months while my body healed.
I would never go to Eastman looking like a freak;
my music career was over before it had begun.
Fear of Flying
The early 80s for me meant freedom.
Being able to drink at only 19 and cruising
without a seatbelt.
A trip to Syracuse University
to drop my sister off.
One more week and I would be singing
as a student at the Eastman School of Music;
But tonight,
My friend and I were ready for some of that legal booze.
Once we left the bar,
we drove off in his big blue boat.
We flew up a hill,
it was fun how your stomach felt when you did that.
We were going the wrong way.
"Eye of the Tiger" by Survivor blared on the radio
I wondered if I would survive as we swerved to miss
the truck
and ran head on into
a tree.
I felt like I was slowly flying,
as I went through windshield; there was
blood everywhere.
My head is stapled from front to back;
Frankenstein's monster has nothing on me.
Depression and anger for months while my body healed.
I could never go to Eastman looking like a freak;
my music career was over before it had begun.
Fear of Flying
The early 80s [for me] omit meant freedom.
Being able to drink at only 19 and cruising
without a seatbelt.
I took a trip to Syracuse University
to drop my sister off.
One more week and I would be singing
as a student at the Eastman School of Music;
But tonight,My friend and I were ready for some of that legal booze.
Once we left the bar,we drove off in his big blue boat, an Oldsmobile, __________.what kind of car though?
We flew up a hill;
it was fun how your stomach felt when you did that.
We were going the wrong way."Eye of the Tiger," by Survivor blared on the radio you're making me feel old:) thanks!!
I wondered if I would survive as we swerved to miss
the truckand ran head on into
a tree.
I felt like I was slowly flying,
as I went through the windshield; there was
blood everywhere.
My head is stapled from front to back;
Frankenstein's monster has nothing on me. funny
I was depressed and angry for months while my body healed.
I could never go to Eastman looking like a freak;
my music career was over before it had begun.
Instructor Feedback
Jim, for the poetry section I'll be providing lots of in-text commentary and I'll be making lots of suggestions for you to consider. Your job is to have an open mind and to decide what it's going to take to make your poems be their best. I'm not asking you to regurgitate my suggestions. I only want you to review them objectively.Gary
Modified Poem
Fear of Flying
The early 80s meant freedom.
Being able to drink at 19 and riding legally
without a seatbelt.
I took a trip to Syracuse University
to drop off my sister.
The next week I would be singing
as a student at the Eastman School of Music;
But tonight,
my friend and I were ready for some of the legal booze.
Once we left the bar,
we drove off in his big blue boat, an Oldsmobile Ninety-Eight.
We flew up a hill;
It was fun how your stomach felt when you did that.
We were going the wrong way up a one way street.
"Eye of the Tiger," by Survivor blared on the radio.
I wondered if I would survive as we swerved to miss
the truck
and ran head on into
a tree.
I felt like I was slowly flying,
as I went through the windshield; there was
blood everywhere.
My head is stapled from front to back;
Frankenstein's monster has nothing on me.
I was depressed and angry for months while my body healed.
I would never go to Eastman looking like a freak;
my music career was over before it had begun.
The Secret of Writing: Revising Fiction and Poetry Journal Assignment: Poetry #3
The poem Attic Revelation starts out a garbled mess. The poem itself is inexplicable, using such archaic words as Minerva (who knows or cares who that is?), quiescent, twined, puissant and atavistic. He also uses trite language with the phrase "I learned too late." In addition, the poem suffers from adjectivitis. The poem seems to go on forever with the overuse of adjectives. These include anguished, tormented, darkened, quiescent, childish, dusty, puissant, atavistic, trembling, resuscitated, aging, inarticulate, unreconcilable, and suicidal. It almost seems like ever other word has an adjective attached too it.
By the first revision, there is at least an attempt made at a cohesive work. While there are specific images (oil-painted portrait, "tore it up and slapped me", "picture was a portrait of my dad who had killed himself three months before I had been born,") it still is difficult to read mainly because it seems overly verbose. We still have the problem from the last poem with misuse of allusions and mythology with Hermes replacing Minerva. There is also a problem with nautical metaphors (boatless winter lake, Titanic's broken hull,) that have no relevance whatsoever to the overall tone and content of the poem. If you strip away all the superfluous words, the poem itself is rather lifeless and dull.
By the second draft, the poem really comes alive. First of all, it reads like a story, not a poem where you need to spend hours trying to figure out the meaning. The use of adjectives has been greatly scaled back resulting in a poem that flows much better. This version also has much better clarity. The first sentence sets the stage and catches the reader's interest. The writing also provides information in a subtle manner. It isn't as blatent as the first revision, but by the same token it's not as garbled and confusing as the first version. Finally, adjectivitis is kept to a minimum. The flow of the poem is so much better when unnecessary words are removed. You still get the image the author is trying to convey, with burrowing through a lot of words that seem to be there just to take up space
Instructor Feedback
I am pretty obsessive about editing my own work. I work over and through it until there is nothing I haven't tested. And I can say it over and over, but I'll let this quote (can't remember the author's name) speak for me here: "I have rewritten--often several times--every word I have ever published. My pencils outlast their erasers."
--Gary
By the first revision, there is at least an attempt made at a cohesive work. While there are specific images (oil-painted portrait, "tore it up and slapped me", "picture was a portrait of my dad who had killed himself three months before I had been born,") it still is difficult to read mainly because it seems overly verbose. We still have the problem from the last poem with misuse of allusions and mythology with Hermes replacing Minerva. There is also a problem with nautical metaphors (boatless winter lake, Titanic's broken hull,) that have no relevance whatsoever to the overall tone and content of the poem. If you strip away all the superfluous words, the poem itself is rather lifeless and dull.
By the second draft, the poem really comes alive. First of all, it reads like a story, not a poem where you need to spend hours trying to figure out the meaning. The use of adjectives has been greatly scaled back resulting in a poem that flows much better. This version also has much better clarity. The first sentence sets the stage and catches the reader's interest. The writing also provides information in a subtle manner. It isn't as blatent as the first revision, but by the same token it's not as garbled and confusing as the first version. Finally, adjectivitis is kept to a minimum. The flow of the poem is so much better when unnecessary words are removed. You still get the image the author is trying to convey, with burrowing through a lot of words that seem to be there just to take up space
Instructor Feedback
I am pretty obsessive about editing my own work. I work over and through it until there is nothing I haven't tested. And I can say it over and over, but I'll let this quote (can't remember the author's name) speak for me here: "I have rewritten--often several times--every word I have ever published. My pencils outlast their erasers."
--Gary
The Secret of Writing: Revising Fiction and Poetry Journal Assignment: Poetry #2
Tracks of the Wandering Mind
I want sometimes naught but to weep
As standing by the trestle deep
I long to follow that railroad train
To a realm of dream that's free of pain.
What an urge I have to stray somewhere.
On a train that's bigger than a bear
Which climbs up toward old mountain peaks
And watch the sea for days and weeks.
A train to some vast tropic isle
Where swaying beauty makes me smile.
But the trains of reality just skitter off
And my city home where pollution does cough
Doesn't let me see the pyramids
Or drink till dawn with memory's kids,
Or ride off to the Orient
To get away from this discontent.
But today something inside me went through a shift
And gave my sprits that needed lift,
And I bid adieu to my dreams of escape
While the train roared through like a ghostly shape.
1. The archaic word in the first line would be the word “naught.” Even I don’t use this word, and I even use the word “beckon” (as a response to your query about whether or not I use that word.)
2. The phrase in line two that seems artificial is “trestle deep.” It would make more sense to invert it to “deep trestle.”
3. The silliness in line 6 is comparing a train to a bear. It appears the author did it simply to have a rhyme with the word “somewhere.”
4. As to stale phrases, I was going to say one was “the train roared through like a ghostly shape,” but I actually like the phrase. So, I’ll go with “gave my spirits a needed lift,” and “I bid adieu to my dreams of escape.” The spirits a needed lift is certainly stale; the “bid adieu” is certainly not used very often, but the sentiment it implies is seems very stale.
5. “I sometimes want to do nothing but cry”“As I stand in the ditch next to the tracks,”
“I wish that the train that’s passing“
“could take me to a place where I would feel no pain.”
Instructor Feedback
In my poetry I avoid words that I don't use during everyday life. That's the point here, to be true.
Gary
I want sometimes naught but to weep
As standing by the trestle deep
I long to follow that railroad train
To a realm of dream that's free of pain.
What an urge I have to stray somewhere.
On a train that's bigger than a bear
Which climbs up toward old mountain peaks
And watch the sea for days and weeks.
A train to some vast tropic isle
Where swaying beauty makes me smile.
But the trains of reality just skitter off
And my city home where pollution does cough
Doesn't let me see the pyramids
Or drink till dawn with memory's kids,
Or ride off to the Orient
To get away from this discontent.
But today something inside me went through a shift
And gave my sprits that needed lift,
And I bid adieu to my dreams of escape
While the train roared through like a ghostly shape.
1. The archaic word in the first line would be the word “naught.” Even I don’t use this word, and I even use the word “beckon” (as a response to your query about whether or not I use that word.)
2. The phrase in line two that seems artificial is “trestle deep.” It would make more sense to invert it to “deep trestle.”
3. The silliness in line 6 is comparing a train to a bear. It appears the author did it simply to have a rhyme with the word “somewhere.”
4. As to stale phrases, I was going to say one was “the train roared through like a ghostly shape,” but I actually like the phrase. So, I’ll go with “gave my spirits a needed lift,” and “I bid adieu to my dreams of escape.” The spirits a needed lift is certainly stale; the “bid adieu” is certainly not used very often, but the sentiment it implies is seems very stale.
5. “I sometimes want to do nothing but cry”“As I stand in the ditch next to the tracks,”
“I wish that the train that’s passing“
“could take me to a place where I would feel no pain.”
Instructor Feedback
In my poetry I avoid words that I don't use during everyday life. That's the point here, to be true.
Gary
The Secret of Writing: Revising Fiction and Poetry Journal Assignment: Poetry Assignment #1
The Missing of You Hurts
O you who were there all the time
to show how much you truly cared,
so that I knew you'd evermore be true,
and gladden my heart like the sun-kissed clime
The main idea I got out of the reading is that the poem should not seem like a poem. It should seem more conversational. By that, I mean more like something someone would say rather than something someone might write. I'll confess it's hard for me to look at love poems (even well written ones) and not gag. I like to think of myself as a romantic person, but I think a lot of my romanticism is expressed by actions, not words. So, my attempt my rival the original author's for "badness". Anyway, I would change the title and the first stanza to the following:
Now That You’re Gone
You always seemed to know when I needed you.
Your words, spoken and unspoken made me feel
safe, and I guess I took it for granted that
you would always be around.
Instructor Feedback
Edit. Edit. Edit. And more editing. That's how we trim our writing, how we make it concise, how we prepare it for readers. --Gary
O you who were there all the time
to show how much you truly cared,
so that I knew you'd evermore be true,
and gladden my heart like the sun-kissed clime
The main idea I got out of the reading is that the poem should not seem like a poem. It should seem more conversational. By that, I mean more like something someone would say rather than something someone might write. I'll confess it's hard for me to look at love poems (even well written ones) and not gag. I like to think of myself as a romantic person, but I think a lot of my romanticism is expressed by actions, not words. So, my attempt my rival the original author's for "badness". Anyway, I would change the title and the first stanza to the following:
Now That You’re Gone
You always seemed to know when I needed you.
Your words, spoken and unspoken made me feel
safe, and I guess I took it for granted that
you would always be around.
Instructor Feedback
Edit. Edit. Edit. And more editing. That's how we trim our writing, how we make it concise, how we prepare it for readers. --Gary
Experiment and Tradition - Let's Write a Poem
Freudian Fantasy
I see two people
I used to be friends with;
they call me to their car.
A man jumps in front of me and
shoots them both in the head.
They seem fine and continue to
beckon me.
I run away but they chase me in
the car.
I’m trapped against a wall.
I’m at a party with people I don’t know.
Why do people ignore me when I try
and talk to them?
I want to leave, but can’t;
where is the door?
The guests come at me with weapons.
I throw a chair through the window,
but the glass repairs itself.
I jump into a hole in the floor,
but it closes and traps me.
Closer they come, but never close enough
to do me harm.
I awaken to the sound of dogs barking;
not just a couple, but thousands of them.
They all stop barking and one of the dogs
tells me to throw my clothes
out the window. I grab them all
and toss them out. The dogs begin
fighting over the clothes and most
are killed.
Those left put on the clothes and leave.
A single dog knocks on my door. Where are
his clothes? I find him a pair of jeans.
The phone rings.
I answer it;
there’s no one at the other end.
The phone keeps ringing.
The handset turns into a hand and
pulls me in.
I’m in a refrigerator, and I’m smaller
than the food within.
Instructor Feedback
Great ending, Jim, and a fantastic poem: vivid and fun images throughout tell an interesting story. NIcely done. One thing: you use the work "beckon." Have you ever really used this word in a conversation?? Personally, I like to avoid language that you would hear during a day in your life. Gary
I see two people
I used to be friends with;
they call me to their car.
A man jumps in front of me and
shoots them both in the head.
They seem fine and continue to
beckon me.
I run away but they chase me in
the car.
I’m trapped against a wall.
I’m at a party with people I don’t know.
Why do people ignore me when I try
and talk to them?
I want to leave, but can’t;
where is the door?
The guests come at me with weapons.
I throw a chair through the window,
but the glass repairs itself.
I jump into a hole in the floor,
but it closes and traps me.
Closer they come, but never close enough
to do me harm.
I awaken to the sound of dogs barking;
not just a couple, but thousands of them.
They all stop barking and one of the dogs
tells me to throw my clothes
out the window. I grab them all
and toss them out. The dogs begin
fighting over the clothes and most
are killed.
Those left put on the clothes and leave.
A single dog knocks on my door. Where are
his clothes? I find him a pair of jeans.
The phone rings.
I answer it;
there’s no one at the other end.
The phone keeps ringing.
The handset turns into a hand and
pulls me in.
I’m in a refrigerator, and I’m smaller
than the food within.
Instructor Feedback
Great ending, Jim, and a fantastic poem: vivid and fun images throughout tell an interesting story. NIcely done. One thing: you use the work "beckon." Have you ever really used this word in a conversation?? Personally, I like to avoid language that you would hear during a day in your life. Gary
Experiment and Tradition - Journal Assignment - How We Keep In Touch
How We Keep in Touch
Two people from two different hemispheres,
under a single roof.
They are wrinkled and move at half speed,
but they feel healthy.
One causes pain,
The other thinks
they are a match.
The organ seems to move,
but the brain seem to be thinking differently,
as it controls judgment.
Blue and yellow flames light the way
through a maze.
It affects how each one will touch the other.
They run straight in a group.
Instructor Feedback
I think it's the "restrive" aspect of this assignment that intrigues me, Jim. No matter how many semesters I have students dig out poems from this article, everybody makes it original and uniquely theirs. My point: our poems, our writing, is as individual as our personal experiences, interests, and whims. As a poet, that's a sign of hope and relief to me.
Gary
Two people from two different hemispheres,
under a single roof.
They are wrinkled and move at half speed,
but they feel healthy.
One causes pain,
The other thinks
they are a match.
The organ seems to move,
but the brain seem to be thinking differently,
as it controls judgment.
Blue and yellow flames light the way
through a maze.
It affects how each one will touch the other.
They run straight in a group.
Instructor Feedback
I think it's the "restrive" aspect of this assignment that intrigues me, Jim. No matter how many semesters I have students dig out poems from this article, everybody makes it original and uniquely theirs. My point: our poems, our writing, is as individual as our personal experiences, interests, and whims. As a poet, that's a sign of hope and relief to me.
Gary
Experiment and Tradition - Journal Assignment - A Short Magic-Landscape Poem
The dusty book in the back of the mildew-ridden library kept screaming "Read me, read me!"
At a restaurant floating in the middle of a sea of pudding, seven football players in uniform started yelling, "Rare meat, rare meat!"
A blue rock in the middle of a group of green ostriches said, "Rapid movement, rapid movement!"
A lone tree covered in silverly leaves, but having no branches, said to a can of Dr. Pepper as it walked by, "Reinvest money, reinvest money."
Instructor Feedback
Great images. Don't change a word. But consider playing around more w/ line breaks. Oh, and a comma is missing after "screaming" in the first line b/f the dialogue.
At a restaurant floating in the middle of a sea of pudding, seven football players in uniform started yelling, "Rare meat, rare meat!"
A blue rock in the middle of a group of green ostriches said, "Rapid movement, rapid movement!"
A lone tree covered in silverly leaves, but having no branches, said to a can of Dr. Pepper as it walked by, "Reinvest money, reinvest money."
Instructor Feedback
Great images. Don't change a word. But consider playing around more w/ line breaks. Oh, and a comma is missing after "screaming" in the first line b/f the dialogue.
Experiment and Tradition - Journal Assigments - Dreams and things I've seen that would make good lines for poems
Dreams
I had a dream a couple of days ago that involved two friends I haven't thought about in years; indeed, I haven't seen them in decades. They arrived in a blue car that looked like it came from The Flintstones. They stopped and started beckoning me to come to the vehicle. As I was walking toward them, a man came up and shot them both in the head. They seemed fine and continued to beckon me. I started running away and they started chasing me in the car. I found myself trapped against a wall, they were just about to hit me when I woke up.
I was in a room full of strangers at some kind of party. Everyone seemed to know each other - I knew no one. I tried talking to a couple of people but they just ignored me. I decided to leave but couldn't find a door, I started screaming that I wanted to get out. Suddenly all the people at the party started coming at me with weapons. I threw a chair through a window to escape, but as quickly as the window broke, it repaired itself. I found a hole in the floor and jumped through it but half way down, the hole shrunk around me and I was trapped. They continued to come after me, but never got close enough to do me any harm.
I dreamed I was sleeping and was awakened by the sounds of dogs barking. I looked out the window and saw thousands of different types of dogs surrounding my house. They suddenly stopped barking and one of the dogs started talking. It told me that I needed to throw all my clothes out the window. I grabbed everything from my closet and threw it out to them. The dogs started fighting over the clothes and many dogs were killed. Finally, the remaining dogs started putting on my clothes - which amazingly fit them all very well. The dogs then left. I then heard a knock on the door and when I looked, there was one dog there, wearing no clothes. I opened the door and the dog pounced on me and began yelling that I hadn't given him any clothes. We went up to my room and found an old pair of jeans and shirt. He put them on and left.
The phone rang and I picked it up and said hello. There was no one on the other end; indeed, the phone continued to ring even after I picked it up. Part of the handset of the phone turned into a hand and pulled me into the mouthpiece. I discovered I was in a refrigerator. All of the food was bigger than me. I decided I was hungry and lifted up a huge piece of bacon and started nibbling on it. The door to the refrigerator opened and it was my now dead father. Dad was my size and had been standing on a stool to open the door. He told me he had something he had to tell me. Unfortunately, I woke up before I "heard" what he had to say.
Interesting lines I've encountered
He had already been killed before.
Don't give up, wait, I think you should give up.
I would like a peace (sic) of that lemon meringue pie.
I would love to see you with your clothes on.
Instructor Feedback
Once again, Jim, like the assignments in our last module, Music and Metaphor, poems and subjects to write about are everywhere, everything. What we need to know, though, is simply where to look. Gary
I had a dream a couple of days ago that involved two friends I haven't thought about in years; indeed, I haven't seen them in decades. They arrived in a blue car that looked like it came from The Flintstones. They stopped and started beckoning me to come to the vehicle. As I was walking toward them, a man came up and shot them both in the head. They seemed fine and continued to beckon me. I started running away and they started chasing me in the car. I found myself trapped against a wall, they were just about to hit me when I woke up.
I was in a room full of strangers at some kind of party. Everyone seemed to know each other - I knew no one. I tried talking to a couple of people but they just ignored me. I decided to leave but couldn't find a door, I started screaming that I wanted to get out. Suddenly all the people at the party started coming at me with weapons. I threw a chair through a window to escape, but as quickly as the window broke, it repaired itself. I found a hole in the floor and jumped through it but half way down, the hole shrunk around me and I was trapped. They continued to come after me, but never got close enough to do me any harm.
I dreamed I was sleeping and was awakened by the sounds of dogs barking. I looked out the window and saw thousands of different types of dogs surrounding my house. They suddenly stopped barking and one of the dogs started talking. It told me that I needed to throw all my clothes out the window. I grabbed everything from my closet and threw it out to them. The dogs started fighting over the clothes and many dogs were killed. Finally, the remaining dogs started putting on my clothes - which amazingly fit them all very well. The dogs then left. I then heard a knock on the door and when I looked, there was one dog there, wearing no clothes. I opened the door and the dog pounced on me and began yelling that I hadn't given him any clothes. We went up to my room and found an old pair of jeans and shirt. He put them on and left.
The phone rang and I picked it up and said hello. There was no one on the other end; indeed, the phone continued to ring even after I picked it up. Part of the handset of the phone turned into a hand and pulled me into the mouthpiece. I discovered I was in a refrigerator. All of the food was bigger than me. I decided I was hungry and lifted up a huge piece of bacon and started nibbling on it. The door to the refrigerator opened and it was my now dead father. Dad was my size and had been standing on a stool to open the door. He told me he had something he had to tell me. Unfortunately, I woke up before I "heard" what he had to say.
Interesting lines I've encountered
He had already been killed before.
Don't give up, wait, I think you should give up.
I would like a peace (sic) of that lemon meringue pie.
I would love to see you with your clothes on.
Instructor Feedback
Once again, Jim, like the assignments in our last module, Music and Metaphor, poems and subjects to write about are everywhere, everything. What we need to know, though, is simply where to look. Gary
Music and Metaphor - Let's Write a Poem
More Than I Thought I Got
My father, standing in front of his boat
holding a large trout, is smiling
as four of his friends look on
admiringly.
I used to be jealous of my father’s
friends, because
I could not develop the kind of relationship
he had with them.
Things he enjoyed, I was never interested in; probably because
never took the time to expose me to any of them.
Time passes and our interactions devolve into one blow-up
after another.
I move out and focus on my own life;
But I’m still bitter at all the things I felt
he never gave me. We go months without
saying a word to each other.
Gone. My anger has diminished since
his passing. My love of learning,
my passion for things I enjoy, my sense of humor.
All came from him. Thanks Dad.
Instructor Feedback
Some thoughts while reading your poem, Jim: 2nd stanza, last line: "he" is needed; your last stanza is powerful and raw!! That's how it's done!! Every word counts 100% and nothing else is needed. That said, how can you get the other stanzas to be as chiseled and perfect?? --Gary
My father, standing in front of his boat
holding a large trout, is smiling
as four of his friends look on
admiringly.
I used to be jealous of my father’s
friends, because
I could not develop the kind of relationship
he had with them.
Things he enjoyed, I was never interested in; probably because
never took the time to expose me to any of them.
Time passes and our interactions devolve into one blow-up
after another.
I move out and focus on my own life;
But I’m still bitter at all the things I felt
he never gave me. We go months without
saying a word to each other.
Gone. My anger has diminished since
his passing. My love of learning,
my passion for things I enjoy, my sense of humor.
All came from him. Thanks Dad.
Instructor Feedback
Some thoughts while reading your poem, Jim: 2nd stanza, last line: "he" is needed; your last stanza is powerful and raw!! That's how it's done!! Every word counts 100% and nothing else is needed. That said, how can you get the other stanzas to be as chiseled and perfect?? --Gary
Music and Metaphor - Journal Assignment - Poem for Review
(The original exercise was color-coded to distinguis between alliteration, etc. I could not figure out a way to do this with the blog)
Alliteration
Assonance
Repetition
Rich Consonance
Partial Consonance
The dusk of evening comes on. Earlier a little rain
had fallen. You open a drawer and find inside
the man's photograph, knowing he has only two years
to live. He doesn't know this, of course,
that's why he can mug for the camera.
How could he know what's taking root in his head (also knowing in line two is repetition)
at that moment? If one looks to the right
through boughs and tree trunks, there can be seen
crimson patches of the after-glow. No shadows, no
half-shadows. It is still and damp....
The man goes on mugging. I put the picture back
in its place along with the others an give
my attention instead to the after-glow along the far ridge,
light golden on the roses in the garden. (golden would also be partial consonance with garden)
Then, I can't help myself, I glance once more
at the picture. The wink, the broad smile,
the jaunty slant of the cigarette.
Instructor Feedback
Hey, James, your submission is a dazzling burst of color and music. Like I said earlier (told you I was going to repeat myself) after tinkering with words for some time, we (poets and all creative writers) develop a writerly instinct for the music embedded in language. That's the lesson, here, to know what devices help make the music and then to make our own.
Gary
Alliteration
Assonance
Repetition
Rich Consonance
Partial Consonance
The dusk of evening comes on. Earlier a little rain
had fallen. You open a drawer and find inside
the man's photograph, knowing he has only two years
to live. He doesn't know this, of course,
that's why he can mug for the camera.
How could he know what's taking root in his head (also knowing in line two is repetition)
at that moment? If one looks to the right
through boughs and tree trunks, there can be seen
crimson patches of the after-glow. No shadows, no
half-shadows. It is still and damp....
The man goes on mugging. I put the picture back
in its place along with the others an give
my attention instead to the after-glow along the far ridge,
light golden on the roses in the garden. (golden would also be partial consonance with garden)
Then, I can't help myself, I glance once more
at the picture. The wink, the broad smile,
the jaunty slant of the cigarette.
Instructor Feedback
Hey, James, your submission is a dazzling burst of color and music. Like I said earlier (told you I was going to repeat myself) after tinkering with words for some time, we (poets and all creative writers) develop a writerly instinct for the music embedded in language. That's the lesson, here, to know what devices help make the music and then to make our own.
Gary
Music and Metaphor - Chapter 8 - An Exercise in Using Figurative Language
An Exercise in Using Figurative Language
A. Creating effective similes:
1. In his rage my father would bang on the wall like a woodpecker frantically looking for food.
2. Among her new in-laws the young wife was as nervous as a potential employee sitting through an interview with a disconcerting employer.
3. I paced the room as restless as a mother waiting to find the outcome of her child’s surgery.
4. Like a soufflé during an earthquake, his smile suddenly collapsed.
5. It was the old sycamore in the front yard swaying like a couple during a slow dance.
B. Creating evocative images:
1. I loved the subtle scent of Tide, and the seeming symmetry of the wash on the line in the summer morning.
2. I was afraid of his lifeless eyes, his slurred speech, and his drunken, ungainly walk.(I really had trouble with #2; I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be trying to capture.)
3. I will not forget the quivering tentativeness of your lips, your skin’s scent of Dove soap, or the bloodshot lines in the middle of your eyes.
4. She wished to draw me deeper into the frightening, chaotic, turmoil of her life.
C. Linguistic invention
1. It desperately wanted to tell the new owners about its glorious past. How it had been a showcase for parties featuring men and women dressed in their finery, and how it had served as a temporary residence for James Madison after he left the White House. Instead, all it could do was moan as it listened to the complaints about “the sorry state of this decrepit, old mansion.”
2. It sat in the junkyard; just one of hundreds of rusting, unwanted cars. Its once gleaming chrome now dull and tarnished. It’s once soft, supple leather seats, now ripped and ruined.
3. The sun beamed brightly on the majestic potted palm. The fronds seemed to almost follow the light as it moved across the plant throughout the day. Its joyous nature belied the fact that it was desperate for water, and it wondered how much longer it would, or could, go without that vital fluid.
4. The kitchen was a cacophony of chopping and cutting. Smells, both sweet and savory, emanated from the ovens. Everyone working there was wearing white.
5. As soon as she saw the sparkling earrings, all sense of right and wrong vanished. She looked around nervously hoping to find any hidden cameras, and hoping to avoid the store detective. Her heartbeat raced as she slid the jewelry off the post and slowly put it in her pocket. At once, she moved both quickly and slowly to the exit. She finally felt herself breath as she got out the door.
Instructor Feedback
The music of language and clarity is what this assignment is all about. Nice work. --Gary
A. Creating effective similes:
1. In his rage my father would bang on the wall like a woodpecker frantically looking for food.
2. Among her new in-laws the young wife was as nervous as a potential employee sitting through an interview with a disconcerting employer.
3. I paced the room as restless as a mother waiting to find the outcome of her child’s surgery.
4. Like a soufflé during an earthquake, his smile suddenly collapsed.
5. It was the old sycamore in the front yard swaying like a couple during a slow dance.
B. Creating evocative images:
1. I loved the subtle scent of Tide, and the seeming symmetry of the wash on the line in the summer morning.
2. I was afraid of his lifeless eyes, his slurred speech, and his drunken, ungainly walk.(I really had trouble with #2; I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be trying to capture.)
3. I will not forget the quivering tentativeness of your lips, your skin’s scent of Dove soap, or the bloodshot lines in the middle of your eyes.
4. She wished to draw me deeper into the frightening, chaotic, turmoil of her life.
C. Linguistic invention
1. It desperately wanted to tell the new owners about its glorious past. How it had been a showcase for parties featuring men and women dressed in their finery, and how it had served as a temporary residence for James Madison after he left the White House. Instead, all it could do was moan as it listened to the complaints about “the sorry state of this decrepit, old mansion.”
2. It sat in the junkyard; just one of hundreds of rusting, unwanted cars. Its once gleaming chrome now dull and tarnished. It’s once soft, supple leather seats, now ripped and ruined.
3. The sun beamed brightly on the majestic potted palm. The fronds seemed to almost follow the light as it moved across the plant throughout the day. Its joyous nature belied the fact that it was desperate for water, and it wondered how much longer it would, or could, go without that vital fluid.
4. The kitchen was a cacophony of chopping and cutting. Smells, both sweet and savory, emanated from the ovens. Everyone working there was wearing white.
5. As soon as she saw the sparkling earrings, all sense of right and wrong vanished. She looked around nervously hoping to find any hidden cameras, and hoping to avoid the store detective. Her heartbeat raced as she slid the jewelry off the post and slowly put it in her pocket. At once, she moved both quickly and slowly to the exit. She finally felt herself breath as she got out the door.
Instructor Feedback
The music of language and clarity is what this assignment is all about. Nice work. --Gary
Music and Metaphor - Chapter 7 - Alliteration and Internal Rhyme Definitions
Alliteration and Internal Rhyme Definitions:
Assonance – The repetition of similar vowels in the stressed syllables of similar words.
Repetition – In “After-Glow,” it’s the repetition of the word “know” and similarly the homonym “no.”
Alliteration – Repetition of the initial consonant sound in words or syllables.
“Tooth Fairy” examples
1. In the second line there is assonance in “glitter,” “slipped,” and “in”
2. In the first/second line there is also alliteration in “glue” and “glitter.”
3. In the third line there is alliteration with the words “without” and “waking.”
4. In the fourth line there is assonance with “rows” and “gold.”
5. In the fifth line there is assonance with “footprints” and “with.”
6. In the sixth line there is assonance with “quiet” and “it.”
7. In the seventh line there is alliteration with “mother” and “must.”
8. In the seventh and eighth lines there is alliteration with “been” and “beauty,” and there is also assonance with “been” and “then.”
9. In the tenth and eleventh lines there is assonance with “her” and “curtains.”
10. In the twelfth line there is assonance with “me” and “asleep.”
11. In the fourteenth and fifteenth lines there is alliteration with “followed,” “fists,” and “floor.”
12. In the fifteenth and sixteenth lines there is assonance with “fists” and “dishes.”
13. In the sixteenth and eighteenth lines there is assonance with “chainsmoking” and “punching.”
14. In the twentieth line there is assonance with “dresses” and “checkered.”
15. In the twenty-second line there is alliteration with “knife” and “night.”
16. In the twenty-third line there is assonance with “kicked,” “sister,” and “ribs.”
17. In the twenty-fourth line there MIGHT be assonance with “alone” and “Oregon.”
18. In the twenty-fifth line there is assonance with “slowly” and “disease.”
19. In the twenty-sixth line there is assonance with “face” and “gray.”
20. In the twenty-seventh line there is assonance with “clotted” and “socks.”
21. In the thirtieth line there is alliteration with “drink” and “dark.”
22. In the thirty-fifth line there is assonance with “rocking” and “closing.”
23. In the thirty-sixth line there is assonance with “eyes” and “surprised.”
Instructor Feedback
I'm going to say this again and again this week b/c it's worth saying two or three times: After tinkering and toying with words, you'll (if you haven't already, Jim:) develop a writerly instinct for the music embedded in language. That said, let me emphasize this invaluable lesson: know what devices help make the music and then you'll make our own. B/c you mentioned how tough this assignment was for you try this even if it sounds wierd: soak in a bathtub. Submerge your head in the water so that your ears are under too--both ears. Then read poems out loud. Or the newspaper. Or just talk to yourself, but do it out loud (who cares if everybody in your house thinks you've gone crazy!!) Doing this you'll hear the sounds words make a lot differently than speaking regularly. This may help you hear the music in a new way.
Gary
Assonance – The repetition of similar vowels in the stressed syllables of similar words.
Repetition – In “After-Glow,” it’s the repetition of the word “know” and similarly the homonym “no.”
Alliteration – Repetition of the initial consonant sound in words or syllables.
“Tooth Fairy” examples
1. In the second line there is assonance in “glitter,” “slipped,” and “in”
2. In the first/second line there is also alliteration in “glue” and “glitter.”
3. In the third line there is alliteration with the words “without” and “waking.”
4. In the fourth line there is assonance with “rows” and “gold.”
5. In the fifth line there is assonance with “footprints” and “with.”
6. In the sixth line there is assonance with “quiet” and “it.”
7. In the seventh line there is alliteration with “mother” and “must.”
8. In the seventh and eighth lines there is alliteration with “been” and “beauty,” and there is also assonance with “been” and “then.”
9. In the tenth and eleventh lines there is assonance with “her” and “curtains.”
10. In the twelfth line there is assonance with “me” and “asleep.”
11. In the fourteenth and fifteenth lines there is alliteration with “followed,” “fists,” and “floor.”
12. In the fifteenth and sixteenth lines there is assonance with “fists” and “dishes.”
13. In the sixteenth and eighteenth lines there is assonance with “chainsmoking” and “punching.”
14. In the twentieth line there is assonance with “dresses” and “checkered.”
15. In the twenty-second line there is alliteration with “knife” and “night.”
16. In the twenty-third line there is assonance with “kicked,” “sister,” and “ribs.”
17. In the twenty-fourth line there MIGHT be assonance with “alone” and “Oregon.”
18. In the twenty-fifth line there is assonance with “slowly” and “disease.”
19. In the twenty-sixth line there is assonance with “face” and “gray.”
20. In the twenty-seventh line there is assonance with “clotted” and “socks.”
21. In the thirtieth line there is alliteration with “drink” and “dark.”
22. In the thirty-fifth line there is assonance with “rocking” and “closing.”
23. In the thirty-sixth line there is assonance with “eyes” and “surprised.”
Instructor Feedback
I'm going to say this again and again this week b/c it's worth saying two or three times: After tinkering and toying with words, you'll (if you haven't already, Jim:) develop a writerly instinct for the music embedded in language. That said, let me emphasize this invaluable lesson: know what devices help make the music and then you'll make our own. B/c you mentioned how tough this assignment was for you try this even if it sounds wierd: soak in a bathtub. Submerge your head in the water so that your ears are under too--both ears. Then read poems out loud. Or the newspaper. Or just talk to yourself, but do it out loud (who cares if everybody in your house thinks you've gone crazy!!) Doing this you'll hear the sounds words make a lot differently than speaking regularly. This may help you hear the music in a new way.
Gary
Music and Metaphor - Journal Assignment - Things we've seen in the past week.
The dilapidated exterior of the building belied the beehive of activity taking place inside.
Opening the rusty door, I was immediately hit by both the mildewy smell
and by the sweet harmonies of a children's choir practicing down the hall.
Its eyes looking at nothing,
the deer look so peaceful.
Once you looked past the head, however,
the mangled body and
exposed entrails brought
an overwhelming sense of nausea.
The picture was over 30 years old,
yellowed and there was a
piece torn from the corner.
I was so carefree then; those days are gone,
seemingly forever.
The chainsaw ground its way
through the once mighty oak.
It used to hold my ramshackled tree house,
now it will provide warmth for many a cold winter.
Purring seems to be a cat's way of expressing content.
Why then do I have a bandage covering a gash from where
this contented cat clenched its teeth around my wrist?
I scrubbed the growing moss off
my father's tombstone.
I rubbed my fingers over his name that was
chiseled into the granite.
The sweet aroma of peaches filled the air.
The kitchen was coated in flour and it
seemed that every pot, pan, and bowl was in the sink.
In the middle of all this melee was
a beautiful golden crusted pie.
Instructor Feedback
This exercise is proof, Jim, that writer's block is only an excuse, a lame excuse not to write:) Remember that! For whenever you believe you have nothing to say or write, well, just look around because life and poetry and literature are lenses for us to see with, like prescription glasses w/out the prescription. Gary
Opening the rusty door, I was immediately hit by both the mildewy smell
and by the sweet harmonies of a children's choir practicing down the hall.
Its eyes looking at nothing,
the deer look so peaceful.
Once you looked past the head, however,
the mangled body and
exposed entrails brought
an overwhelming sense of nausea.
The picture was over 30 years old,
yellowed and there was a
piece torn from the corner.
I was so carefree then; those days are gone,
seemingly forever.
The chainsaw ground its way
through the once mighty oak.
It used to hold my ramshackled tree house,
now it will provide warmth for many a cold winter.
Purring seems to be a cat's way of expressing content.
Why then do I have a bandage covering a gash from where
this contented cat clenched its teeth around my wrist?
I scrubbed the growing moss off
my father's tombstone.
I rubbed my fingers over his name that was
chiseled into the granite.
The sweet aroma of peaches filled the air.
The kitchen was coated in flour and it
seemed that every pot, pan, and bowl was in the sink.
In the middle of all this melee was
a beautiful golden crusted pie.
Instructor Feedback
This exercise is proof, Jim, that writer's block is only an excuse, a lame excuse not to write:) Remember that! For whenever you believe you have nothing to say or write, well, just look around because life and poetry and literature are lenses for us to see with, like prescription glasses w/out the prescription. Gary
Speak Memory - Let's Write a Poem
Why I Stay Dry
Jaws terrified me as a child;
I avoided the ocean for years.
Winter break and Florida beckoned; I answered the call.
The ocean beckoned, but I did not answer.
Seagulls soared and cawed and
vacationers swam and played in the water; I
sat on the beach, enjoying the sun
and watching what others were doing.
Someone screamed shark;
and the whole beach seemed to scream at once.
People were running for the sand,
I saw a young girl get trampled.
I expected to see the ocean's blue turn to red;
it didn't happen.
Like viewing a car accident, I said I hoped everything was all right,
but secretly hoped I would see something "good."
The man beat off the shark and escaped
with his life, but
with a chunk out of his arm.
The ambulance took him away;
I saw in the paper the next day that he lost his arm.
Was this the answer to my wish to see something good?
Instructor Feedback
Very nice! I think this poem works well, reads easily down the page. What do you think? Oh, plus, there is one comma splice that needs your help. It's saying, "Help me; I don't want to be a sentence error forever!!! Please fix me!!!!" Gary
Jaws terrified me as a child;
I avoided the ocean for years.
Winter break and Florida beckoned; I answered the call.
The ocean beckoned, but I did not answer.
Seagulls soared and cawed and
vacationers swam and played in the water; I
sat on the beach, enjoying the sun
and watching what others were doing.
Someone screamed shark;
and the whole beach seemed to scream at once.
People were running for the sand,
I saw a young girl get trampled.
I expected to see the ocean's blue turn to red;
it didn't happen.
Like viewing a car accident, I said I hoped everything was all right,
but secretly hoped I would see something "good."
The man beat off the shark and escaped
with his life, but
with a chunk out of his arm.
The ambulance took him away;
I saw in the paper the next day that he lost his arm.
Was this the answer to my wish to see something good?
Instructor Feedback
Very nice! I think this poem works well, reads easily down the page. What do you think? Oh, plus, there is one comma splice that needs your help. It's saying, "Help me; I don't want to be a sentence error forever!!! Please fix me!!!!" Gary
Speak Memory - Journal Assignment - A Process For Recovering Memories
1. Pleasant time in the past - The birth of my nephew
2. Building in which you once lived - Rustic Village Apartments
3. Secret I onece had - That my best friend cheated on his SATs
4. Magical person - Substitute math teacher in 8th who singlehandedly taught me algebra.
5. Incident that filled me with dread - Having to tell my mother my father was going to die.
6. Something dangerous I did - Pulled by a car while wearing roller skates.
7. Something bad I did - Stole money repeatedly from my father's wallet.
8. Something that happened during a school vacation - I saw a man get attacked by a shark.
9. Something that happened in a classroom - My teacher slipped on the floor and broke her arm.
10. Something that happened near a body of water - A girl got badly burned falling into a bonfire.
11. First romantic infatuation - Baby sitter I had when I was 8.
12. Something funny - The first time I saw the movie "Airplane."
Poem 2 based on something that happened during school vacation
"Jaws" terrified me as a child;
I avoided the ocean for years.
Winter break and Florida beckoned; I answered the call.
The ocean beckoned, but I did not answer.
Seagulls soared and cawed and
vacationers swam and played in the water; I
sat on the beach, enjoying the sun
and watching others having fun.
Someone screamed shark;
and the whole beach seemed to scream at once.
People were running for the sand,
I saw a young girl get trampled.
I expected to see the ocean's blue turn to red;
it didn't happen.
Like viewing a car accident, I said I hoped everything was all right,
but secretly hoped I would see something "good."
The man beat off the shark and got awaywith a chunk out of his arm.
The ambulance took him away,
I saw in the paper the next day that he lost his arm.
Was this the answer to my wish to see something good?
Instructor Feedback
Nice use of line breaks; a clear message; sharp and vivid images. Nicely done, Jim. Couple of issues: title of movies are italicized or underlined, not placed inside qmarks; I'm not crazy about the two end rhymes: "sun" and "fun," for they stand out b/c you're not rhyming anywhere else (which is very good); using "away" twice seems like a bad choice of repetition--perhaps the ambulance took him for repair or to be stitched (play around w/ some changes.) Overall, excellent work. Gary
2. Building in which you once lived - Rustic Village Apartments
3. Secret I onece had - That my best friend cheated on his SATs
4. Magical person - Substitute math teacher in 8th who singlehandedly taught me algebra.
5. Incident that filled me with dread - Having to tell my mother my father was going to die.
6. Something dangerous I did - Pulled by a car while wearing roller skates.
7. Something bad I did - Stole money repeatedly from my father's wallet.
8. Something that happened during a school vacation - I saw a man get attacked by a shark.
9. Something that happened in a classroom - My teacher slipped on the floor and broke her arm.
10. Something that happened near a body of water - A girl got badly burned falling into a bonfire.
11. First romantic infatuation - Baby sitter I had when I was 8.
12. Something funny - The first time I saw the movie "Airplane."
Poem 2 based on something that happened during school vacation
"Jaws" terrified me as a child;
I avoided the ocean for years.
Winter break and Florida beckoned; I answered the call.
The ocean beckoned, but I did not answer.
Seagulls soared and cawed and
vacationers swam and played in the water; I
sat on the beach, enjoying the sun
and watching others having fun.
Someone screamed shark;
and the whole beach seemed to scream at once.
People were running for the sand,
I saw a young girl get trampled.
I expected to see the ocean's blue turn to red;
it didn't happen.
Like viewing a car accident, I said I hoped everything was all right,
but secretly hoped I would see something "good."
The man beat off the shark and got awaywith a chunk out of his arm.
The ambulance took him away,
I saw in the paper the next day that he lost his arm.
Was this the answer to my wish to see something good?
Instructor Feedback
Nice use of line breaks; a clear message; sharp and vivid images. Nicely done, Jim. Couple of issues: title of movies are italicized or underlined, not placed inside qmarks; I'm not crazy about the two end rhymes: "sun" and "fun," for they stand out b/c you're not rhyming anywhere else (which is very good); using "away" twice seems like a bad choice of repetition--perhaps the ambulance took him for repair or to be stitched (play around w/ some changes.) Overall, excellent work. Gary
Speak Memory - Journal Assignment - "Tooth Fairy" - most startling aspect
For me, the most startling aspect of the poem was the juxtaposition of a beautiful description of a child's experience with the tooth fairy mixed with the trauma and pain that same child endured. You would almost think the author combined two different poems into one. How could parents who took the time to provide such a beautfiul memory for their child also be responsible for the hurt and trauma the thrust upon their daughter as well as themselves? While not as startling as the abrupt change in tone from the first stanza, I was surprised how the author managed to effectively combine both aspects of the previous stanzas into the final one.
Instructor Feedback
None
Instructor Feedback
None
Speak Memory - Journal Assignment - "Power" - Poem vs. prose
The way I look at "Power" is that it provides you the "meat" of the story in a condensed form. As is discussed in the text, in order to get your point across in a narrative poem, you need to provide much rich description in order to engage the reader. In prose you have the ability to slowly and intricately build up to your conflict and conclusion; in a narrative poem you need to almost drop the reader right into the action at the beginning. One thing that I think is added by telling the story as poetry is that you are more likely to keep the reader engaged as, for the most part, you hit the ground running vs. the aforementioned buildup where you run the risk of losing the reader along the way.
Instructor Feedback
for me, the most significant difference here is word economy
Instructor Feedback
for me, the most significant difference here is word economy
Speak Memory - Journal Assignment - Speak From Memory - effect of repeating stanzas 1 and 5
I don't think the author repeats the stanzas 1 and 5 simply for repetition. As I read the poem, the first stanza provided the setting for the poem. It also provided a general background on what was going on. The last stanza, while saying the exact same thing, now has the added impact of the 3 stanzas before it. The discussion of the poster with Cain and Abel, the description of the teacher, and the lesson the children were reciting all combine to build on the first stanza. When it talks about students studying their lesson, you now know what they were studying, and you also have the rich text of what was going on on the other side of the windowpanes.
Instructor Feedback
think of it too like a refrain of a poem or a song's chorus: both are repetitive
Instructor Feedback
think of it too like a refrain of a poem or a song's chorus: both are repetitive
Introduction to Poetry - Let's Write a Poem
The Chicken Egg
I’ve often wondered if people who are against
abortion,
eat chicken eggs?
Do they consider it a life being
snuffed out
when they crack open the shell and
pour the contents of a future chick
into their pan?
And what of the hen who laid the egg?
At least with abortion, the mother has a choice;
what choice does the hen have?
None.
Do they consider what the hen thinks
as their future chick is ripped from beneath them?
Or, is a just a single, soulless, scrambled egg?
Instructor Feedback
OUTSTANDING POEM, Jim: Really!!! Clear, pointed, thoughtful, and stinging!! I'd like you to consider one change though: second to last line, I think it was; the word, "ripped." It simply doesn't feel like the best word there. Where I live lots of folks keep chickens, but I've never heard of anybody ripping eggs from under them. The rest of your poem is perfect, but this one inaccuracy seems to stand out. What do you think?? --Gary
I’ve often wondered if people who are against
abortion,
eat chicken eggs?
Do they consider it a life being
snuffed out
when they crack open the shell and
pour the contents of a future chick
into their pan?
And what of the hen who laid the egg?
At least with abortion, the mother has a choice;
what choice does the hen have?
None.
Do they consider what the hen thinks
as their future chick is ripped from beneath them?
Or, is a just a single, soulless, scrambled egg?
Instructor Feedback
OUTSTANDING POEM, Jim: Really!!! Clear, pointed, thoughtful, and stinging!! I'd like you to consider one change though: second to last line, I think it was; the word, "ripped." It simply doesn't feel like the best word there. Where I live lots of folks keep chickens, but I've never heard of anybody ripping eggs from under them. The rest of your poem is perfect, but this one inaccuracy seems to stand out. What do you think?? --Gary
Introduction To Poetry - Journal Assignment
Freewriting for 10 minutes
In the early 1980s, the drinking age was 19 and you didn’t have to wear seatbelts; if either of these had not been true, my life would have turned out far differently.
After taking my sister to Syracuse University, my friend Mike decided he and I should hit one of the bars. I was excited about starting school at the Eastman School of Music the following week, and figured it would be my last hurrah for a while. We left the bar around eleven with Mike just slightly less inebriated than I was. We got into Mike’s ’64 Oldsmobile (the big blue boat as we called it) on our way back home.
The area around S.U. is known for its one-way streets as well as it being very hilly. Mike decided that if would be fun to go really fast over the top of one of the hills; we both liked that feeling you would get in the pit of your stomach once you went over the top. As we hit the top of the hill going 75 in a 30 zone, the sensation of excitement was quickly replaced with horror as I realized we were going the wrong way and a truck was heading right for us. I can still remember that “Eye Of The Tiger” by Survivor was on the radio as swerved to miss the truck and ran head-on into a tree. It almost seemed like slow motion as I felt myself flying right through the windshield.
If we hadn’t crashed almost across the street from a hospital, I would have died from loss of blood. My recovery from multiple broken bones and a huge head laceration took weeks. My scalp was stapled from my forehead all the way to my neck. I looked like Frankenstein’s Monster. I was so depressed and so angry, that even though Eastman told me they would admit me the following year, I couldn’t do it. I was already uncomfortable with the way I looked before the accident, and now there was no way I would ever go out in public and perform looking like the freak that I had become.
Poem created from freewriting
Comments/suggestions/corrections from instructor in italics
Fear of Flying
The early 80s [for me] omit meant freedom.
Being able to drink at only 19 and cruising
without a seatbelt.
I took a trip to Syracuse University
to drop my sister off.
One more week and I would be singing
as a student at the Eastman School of Music;
But tonight,
My friend and I were ready for some of that legal booze.
Once we left the bar,
we drove off in his big blue boat, an Oldsmobile, __________.what kind of car though?
We flew up a hill;
it was fun how your stomach felt when you did that.
We were going the wrong way.
"Eye of the Tiger," by Survivor blared on the radio you're making me feel old:) thanks!!
I wondered if I would survive as we swerved to miss
the truck
and ran head on into
a tree.
I felt like I was slowly flying,
as I went through the windshield; there was
blood everywhere.
My head is stapled from front to back;
Frankenstein's monster has nothing on me. funny
I was depressed and angry for months while my body healed.
I could never go to Eastman looking like a freak;
my music career was over before it had begun.
Instructor Feedback
Jim, for the poetry section I'll be providing lots of in-text commentary and I'll be making lots of suggestions for you to consider. Your job is to have an open mind and to decide what it's going to take to make your poems be their best. I'm not asking you to regurgitate my suggestions. I only want you to review them objectively.
Gary
In the early 1980s, the drinking age was 19 and you didn’t have to wear seatbelts; if either of these had not been true, my life would have turned out far differently.
After taking my sister to Syracuse University, my friend Mike decided he and I should hit one of the bars. I was excited about starting school at the Eastman School of Music the following week, and figured it would be my last hurrah for a while. We left the bar around eleven with Mike just slightly less inebriated than I was. We got into Mike’s ’64 Oldsmobile (the big blue boat as we called it) on our way back home.
The area around S.U. is known for its one-way streets as well as it being very hilly. Mike decided that if would be fun to go really fast over the top of one of the hills; we both liked that feeling you would get in the pit of your stomach once you went over the top. As we hit the top of the hill going 75 in a 30 zone, the sensation of excitement was quickly replaced with horror as I realized we were going the wrong way and a truck was heading right for us. I can still remember that “Eye Of The Tiger” by Survivor was on the radio as swerved to miss the truck and ran head-on into a tree. It almost seemed like slow motion as I felt myself flying right through the windshield.
If we hadn’t crashed almost across the street from a hospital, I would have died from loss of blood. My recovery from multiple broken bones and a huge head laceration took weeks. My scalp was stapled from my forehead all the way to my neck. I looked like Frankenstein’s Monster. I was so depressed and so angry, that even though Eastman told me they would admit me the following year, I couldn’t do it. I was already uncomfortable with the way I looked before the accident, and now there was no way I would ever go out in public and perform looking like the freak that I had become.
Poem created from freewriting
Comments/suggestions/corrections from instructor in italics
Fear of Flying
The early 80s [for me] omit meant freedom.
Being able to drink at only 19 and cruising
without a seatbelt.
I took a trip to Syracuse University
to drop my sister off.
One more week and I would be singing
as a student at the Eastman School of Music;
But tonight,
My friend and I were ready for some of that legal booze.
Once we left the bar,
we drove off in his big blue boat, an Oldsmobile, __________.what kind of car though?
We flew up a hill;
it was fun how your stomach felt when you did that.
We were going the wrong way.
"Eye of the Tiger," by Survivor blared on the radio you're making me feel old:) thanks!!
I wondered if I would survive as we swerved to miss
the truck
and ran head on into
a tree.
I felt like I was slowly flying,
as I went through the windshield; there was
blood everywhere.
My head is stapled from front to back;
Frankenstein's monster has nothing on me. funny
I was depressed and angry for months while my body healed.
I could never go to Eastman looking like a freak;
my music career was over before it had begun.
Instructor Feedback
Jim, for the poetry section I'll be providing lots of in-text commentary and I'll be making lots of suggestions for you to consider. Your job is to have an open mind and to decide what it's going to take to make your poems be their best. I'm not asking you to regurgitate my suggestions. I only want you to review them objectively.
Gary
Writing a Short Short Short - Journal Assignment - Exchange of dialogue
“I’m so glad you finally accepted my dinner invitation Alice; I was beginning to think you didn’t want to go out with me.”
“Well, you get bonus points for persistence Robert; though I will say the singing telegram at my office was a bit much.”
“I thought that was a stroke of genius; how could you say no after that?”
“Believe me; what I wanted to say when I realized that telegram was for me was not something you would have wanted to hear.”
“Fair enough, let’s just say that tonight is the first night of the rest of our lives!”
“Do we have to?”
“I’ve got plans for us this Saturday. I thought we would go to the park; I’ll pack a lunch for us. Did I tell you I make a mean potato salad?”
“What the hell are you talking about! I agreed to go out to dinner with you; that’s it.”
“But don’t you think things are going well so far?”
“So far? Robert, we’ve been here ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes, an eternity, who can tell the difference?”
“Apparently everyone but you. I thought this might not be a good idea, and I was clearly right. I think I’m going to leave.”
“No, come on Alice, you promised you’d have dinner with me and we haven’t even ordered yet.”
“Fine, where’s the waiter.”
“I’m sure he’ll be here soon. So have you given much thought to how many children you’d like to have?”
“That’s it; I’m out of here.”
“What time should I pick you up on Saturday?”
Instructor Feedback
Purposeful exchange of dialogue, Jim. Try to develop taglines, though. They add further dimension and realness to a story driven by dialogue. And it's a good, subtle way to develop setting and characters. Plus, it helps readers to keep track of speakers, which is very important. Gary
“Well, you get bonus points for persistence Robert; though I will say the singing telegram at my office was a bit much.”
“I thought that was a stroke of genius; how could you say no after that?”
“Believe me; what I wanted to say when I realized that telegram was for me was not something you would have wanted to hear.”
“Fair enough, let’s just say that tonight is the first night of the rest of our lives!”
“Do we have to?”
“I’ve got plans for us this Saturday. I thought we would go to the park; I’ll pack a lunch for us. Did I tell you I make a mean potato salad?”
“What the hell are you talking about! I agreed to go out to dinner with you; that’s it.”
“But don’t you think things are going well so far?”
“So far? Robert, we’ve been here ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes, an eternity, who can tell the difference?”
“Apparently everyone but you. I thought this might not be a good idea, and I was clearly right. I think I’m going to leave.”
“No, come on Alice, you promised you’d have dinner with me and we haven’t even ordered yet.”
“Fine, where’s the waiter.”
“I’m sure he’ll be here soon. So have you given much thought to how many children you’d like to have?”
“That’s it; I’m out of here.”
“What time should I pick you up on Saturday?”
Instructor Feedback
Purposeful exchange of dialogue, Jim. Try to develop taglines, though. They add further dimension and realness to a story driven by dialogue. And it's a good, subtle way to develop setting and characters. Plus, it helps readers to keep track of speakers, which is very important. Gary
Writing a Short Short Short - Journal Assignment - Working with the Other Side of Your Brain
I didn't get the lead in our high school musical. I knew I was great and deserved the part, but instead it went to the "ken doll" of my class. I got the comedic sidekick role; which I knew was perfect for me, but I wanted the lead. It turned out the comedic sidekick was the real star of the play. After every performance people came up and told me how great I was. Still, I kept wondering why I really wanted the lead and I found out the hard way. I overheard the director say that I didn't get the part because I looked like a geek, not a "ken doll." I then realized why I so desperately wanted the lead; I wanted confirmation that I was good-looking enough for a lead role. What should have been the happiest night of my young life, turned into the saddest night, and affected me in negative ways for years to come.
Instructor Feedback
I have no way of knowing yet I'm always curious: Did you write this w/ the opposite hand, the hand you do not use? Did it affect how you think at all??
Instructor Feedback
I have no way of knowing yet I'm always curious: Did you write this w/ the opposite hand, the hand you do not use? Did it affect how you think at all??
Writing a Short Short Short - Journal Assignment - Uncovering Traumatic Memories
I really wanted the lead in our high school production of "The Pajama Game," but didn't get for a reason I, thankfully, found out only after the production was over. Instead, I was offered the comedic second lead; a role that, I was told, ultimately made the play one of the most memorable the school had ever put on. At the cast party, after the final performance, as I was basking in the glow of everyone telling me how great I was, I heard the director mention that I hadn't gotten the lead because he said I "looked like a geek and wouldn't be believable as a romantic lead"; I went from euphoria to sadness and humiliation in one second.
Instructor Feedback
Nice job working w/ concrete details; also try to weave in abstract ones, especially since we're moving into poetry now. Metaphor is a great device for doing this . . .
Instructor Feedback
Nice job working w/ concrete details; also try to weave in abstract ones, especially since we're moving into poetry now. Metaphor is a great device for doing this . . .
Writing a Short Short Short - Journal Assignment - Practice writing good clean prose
Odg
Jack knew it was the dog for him as soon as he saw it at the pound. Its breed on the card read “mutt”. The dog barked a lot, but that was all right; there was no one at home but Jack. He paid the fee and put the dog in the car. “I think I’ll call you Odg; dog is too plain and god is just wrong.” Odg just looked down at the floor and barked. When they got home, Odg ran right up to the front door of Jack’s house, as if he knew this was where he should be. The man let him in the house and Odg sniffed each room. The man put out some food for the dog and Odg ate it fast. “Don’t eat so fast, you’ll get sick,” the man said as he pulled the bowl from his new pet.
At ten that night, there was a knock on the door. Jack thought it might be his friend Rich, but it turned out to be a man with a gun.
“What do you want,” Jack yelled.
“Shut up”, the man said as he pushed Jack back in the house.
“Please don’t hurt me,” Jack begged. The man did not say a word but put the end of the gun right in Jack’s face.
Odg then jumped on the man with the gun. He bit the man on both his arms and his face. By the time Odg pulled back, the man had much blood on him and did not move.
Jack cried, “Oh, thank you Odg. If it weren’t for you I would be dead. I guess I should call you god, since you saved my life; it’s a mir…” He did not get the rest of the word out as the man with the gun blew Jack’s head off.
Instructor Feedback
Control is the key factor in this exercise (some of your past tense verbs have more than one syllable).Poetry is equally about the words, their sounds, and the message and/or situation you are trying to create/convey. This exercise forces you to test and weigh the possibilities of each and every word. That is why I write. Every word is a masterpiece, and I love to tinker and labor with combinations of words until I create perfect sounds that also perfectly represent my thoughts--or as close to perfect as humanly possible:)
Jack knew it was the dog for him as soon as he saw it at the pound. Its breed on the card read “mutt”. The dog barked a lot, but that was all right; there was no one at home but Jack. He paid the fee and put the dog in the car. “I think I’ll call you Odg; dog is too plain and god is just wrong.” Odg just looked down at the floor and barked. When they got home, Odg ran right up to the front door of Jack’s house, as if he knew this was where he should be. The man let him in the house and Odg sniffed each room. The man put out some food for the dog and Odg ate it fast. “Don’t eat so fast, you’ll get sick,” the man said as he pulled the bowl from his new pet.
At ten that night, there was a knock on the door. Jack thought it might be his friend Rich, but it turned out to be a man with a gun.
“What do you want,” Jack yelled.
“Shut up”, the man said as he pushed Jack back in the house.
“Please don’t hurt me,” Jack begged. The man did not say a word but put the end of the gun right in Jack’s face.
Odg then jumped on the man with the gun. He bit the man on both his arms and his face. By the time Odg pulled back, the man had much blood on him and did not move.
Jack cried, “Oh, thank you Odg. If it weren’t for you I would be dead. I guess I should call you god, since you saved my life; it’s a mir…” He did not get the rest of the word out as the man with the gun blew Jack’s head off.
Instructor Feedback
Control is the key factor in this exercise (some of your past tense verbs have more than one syllable).Poetry is equally about the words, their sounds, and the message and/or situation you are trying to create/convey. This exercise forces you to test and weigh the possibilities of each and every word. That is why I write. Every word is a masterpiece, and I love to tinker and labor with combinations of words until I create perfect sounds that also perfectly represent my thoughts--or as close to perfect as humanly possible:)
Plot, Perspective and Point of View - Writing a Short Story
A Clean Getaway
Instructor comments/suggestions/corrections in italics.
Shelaton great name! screamed with anguish when she realized that her daughter Calamaine had been kidnapped. She knew Calamaine had been abducted by the ogre Marlong; his distinctive odor in their hovel led her to that unmistakable conclusion. interesting With no one around to help her, she set out to find the ogre and be reunited with her daughter.
She had a general idea of where Marlong’s lair was, and after walking for an hour, she came to a large swamp and began to ponder how she would get across it.
“Do you wish to cross my swamp?”
Shelaton looked over to see who was talking to her and saw it was a grunwich, a small elf-like creature. “Yes,” she said, “I’m trying to get to Marlong’s lair; he’s kidnapped my daughter.”
The grunwich nodded his head, “I’ve got a pair of shoes that you can borrow; they will allow you to walk safely across the swamp. nice What payment do you have for me for the temporary use of my shoes?”
“I have nothing to offer,” Shelaton said sadly. “Wait, your hovel is a mess; once I free my daughter, we will take as much time as necessary to make your home spotless.”
“Fair enough; I will trust that you are a woman of your word. Put these shoes on over your own shoes and you will be able to cross my swamp safely.”
Shelaton thanked the grunwich, donned the shoes, and crossed the swamp. Once she got to the other side, she noticed a smell that told her she was going the right way-what you need here is a dash, not a hyphen Marlong’s distinctive odor began to fill her nose. She eventually came to a clearing in the woods and saw Marlong’s cave. She heard crying and knew it was Calamaine. She tiptoed up to the opening and peeked inside. She saw Marlong sitting in a chair and Calamaine sweeping garbage into a pile.
“Release my daughter, Marlong,” Shelaton yelled firmly.
Her daughter squealed with delight and ran to her mother. “Oh mother, thank goodness you found me!”
Marlong walked over to where Shelaton and her daughter were standing, and blocked their exit. “I will not release your daughter. I am far stronger than both of you combined and she now belongs to me.”
Calamaine started crying again and Shelaton wondered what to do. Suddenly, she remembered a piece of advice her mother had given about how to fend off the advances of men much bigger than her. She quickly lifted her left foot, and with all the strength she could muster, she kicked the ogre in the crotch. a time tested and ancient defense:) As Marlong doubled over in pain, Shelaton yelled, “Run, Calamaine, quickly.”
Shelaton knew that Marlong would try and kidnap her daughter again, so while he was still moaning in pain, she took a nearby shovel and began to beat him. After several blows to his head, she was confident that Marlong was dead.
She then ran into the woods yelling for Calamaine. Once they were reunited, they began the trek back to their house. “Thank goodness you rescued me mother, Marlong was going to make me cook and clean for him forever. comma splice I hope I never have to clean anyplace that filthy again.”
Shelaton decided not to tell Calamaine about her agreement with the grunwich until later. perfect/funny ending
Instructor Feedback
Okay, Jim, you just made my day. Great story: creative, fun, writen w/ purpose and skill (except for that comma splice, but I will turn the other way--this time). Shelation is clearly on a quest and you're telling her story through dialogue and action. Right on target. --Gary
Instructor comments/suggestions/corrections in italics.
Shelaton great name! screamed with anguish when she realized that her daughter Calamaine had been kidnapped. She knew Calamaine had been abducted by the ogre Marlong; his distinctive odor in their hovel led her to that unmistakable conclusion. interesting With no one around to help her, she set out to find the ogre and be reunited with her daughter.
She had a general idea of where Marlong’s lair was, and after walking for an hour, she came to a large swamp and began to ponder how she would get across it.
“Do you wish to cross my swamp?”
Shelaton looked over to see who was talking to her and saw it was a grunwich, a small elf-like creature. “Yes,” she said, “I’m trying to get to Marlong’s lair; he’s kidnapped my daughter.”
The grunwich nodded his head, “I’ve got a pair of shoes that you can borrow; they will allow you to walk safely across the swamp. nice What payment do you have for me for the temporary use of my shoes?”
“I have nothing to offer,” Shelaton said sadly. “Wait, your hovel is a mess; once I free my daughter, we will take as much time as necessary to make your home spotless.”
“Fair enough; I will trust that you are a woman of your word. Put these shoes on over your own shoes and you will be able to cross my swamp safely.”
Shelaton thanked the grunwich, donned the shoes, and crossed the swamp. Once she got to the other side, she noticed a smell that told her she was going the right way-what you need here is a dash, not a hyphen Marlong’s distinctive odor began to fill her nose. She eventually came to a clearing in the woods and saw Marlong’s cave. She heard crying and knew it was Calamaine. She tiptoed up to the opening and peeked inside. She saw Marlong sitting in a chair and Calamaine sweeping garbage into a pile.
“Release my daughter, Marlong,” Shelaton yelled firmly.
Her daughter squealed with delight and ran to her mother. “Oh mother, thank goodness you found me!”
Marlong walked over to where Shelaton and her daughter were standing, and blocked their exit. “I will not release your daughter. I am far stronger than both of you combined and she now belongs to me.”
Calamaine started crying again and Shelaton wondered what to do. Suddenly, she remembered a piece of advice her mother had given about how to fend off the advances of men much bigger than her. She quickly lifted her left foot, and with all the strength she could muster, she kicked the ogre in the crotch. a time tested and ancient defense:) As Marlong doubled over in pain, Shelaton yelled, “Run, Calamaine, quickly.”
Shelaton knew that Marlong would try and kidnap her daughter again, so while he was still moaning in pain, she took a nearby shovel and began to beat him. After several blows to his head, she was confident that Marlong was dead.
She then ran into the woods yelling for Calamaine. Once they were reunited, they began the trek back to their house. “Thank goodness you rescued me mother, Marlong was going to make me cook and clean for him forever. comma splice I hope I never have to clean anyplace that filthy again.”
Shelaton decided not to tell Calamaine about her agreement with the grunwich until later. perfect/funny ending
Instructor Feedback
Okay, Jim, you just made my day. Great story: creative, fun, writen w/ purpose and skill (except for that comma splice, but I will turn the other way--this time). Shelation is clearly on a quest and you're telling her story through dialogue and action. Right on target. --Gary
Plot, Perspective and Point of View - Journal Assignment - Additional Distance Exercise
The sixteen year old pulled open the rusting door of the nursing home. It was the middle of winter and he had grabbed the wrong coat on his way out the door; subsequently, he was cold and in a foul mood. Kevin walked up to the front desk and asked what room Rita Sampson was in. Once he got that information he slowly made his way to her room. He tried to ignore the old people sitting in wheelchairs doing absolutely nothing, but he had to stick his head in the door when he heard a woman continually asking for tapioca pudding. Realizing she was fine, he went to the next room. “Hi, Aunt Rita, it’s Kevin.”
“Kevin,” his aunt said, “please come in, it’s so nice of you to come and visit me. I’m just finishing up my dinner, could I offer you some tapioca pudding?”
“I guess I’ll have some, it seems to be very popular.” Kevin took a spoonful and despite having his mouthful said, “Wow, this is delicious, though I’m sure you’d rather not have had to break your hip to enjoy it.”
“Unfortunately, the pudding is one of the only pleasures I have here.”
Instructor Feedback
Distance is a bit off here, Jim, but from my feedback above and studying pg. 91 I think you can correct it. And remember, these concepts (plus, the one's from our last module) should be on your mind as you write and rewrite your current story. Moreover, the concepts we learn this semester are tools to plant and weed memorable story-gardens. Gary
“Kevin,” his aunt said, “please come in, it’s so nice of you to come and visit me. I’m just finishing up my dinner, could I offer you some tapioca pudding?”
“I guess I’ll have some, it seems to be very popular.” Kevin took a spoonful and despite having his mouthful said, “Wow, this is delicious, though I’m sure you’d rather not have had to break your hip to enjoy it.”
“Unfortunately, the pudding is one of the only pleasures I have here.”
Instructor Feedback
Distance is a bit off here, Jim, but from my feedback above and studying pg. 91 I think you can correct it. And remember, these concepts (plus, the one's from our last module) should be on your mind as you write and rewrite your current story. Moreover, the concepts we learn this semester are tools to plant and weed memorable story-gardens. Gary
Plot, Perspective and Point of View - Journal Assignment - Exercise page 91 (Distance exercise)
Distance 1
On a quiet September night, an effeminate, elderly man, open his front door to the sounds of barking from dogs and dinging from a clock.
Instructor feedback
No names at this distance or pronouns. Study the example on pg 91 / simply replace "his" w/ "the"
Distance 2
Walter Richardson, a 75 year old transvestite, unlocked his front door and was greeted by his beloved cocker spaniels. The seven muted clangs from the clock on his roof told him that he was late getting home.
Instructor feedback
no pronouns yet.
Distance 3
Walter had always loved cocker spaniels and had won many awards raising them. His dogs were always happy to see him, unlike the neighbors who found the idea of 75 year old transvestite repulsive.
Instructor feedback
still no pronouns.
Distance 4
The barking and licking from the cocker spaniels combined with the familiar clanging of the clock on the roof, told Walter he was home. It was his sanctuary from the world outside, where those who hated him would just as soon he took his queer lifestyle and moved to San Francisco where he'd be with his "own kind."
Instructor feedback
on target
Distance 5
"Oh how happy I am to see you," Walter said as he petted and kissed his beloved cocker spaniels. "You don't care that I'm a transvestite, you only care that I love you and feed you." As the large clock outside clanged that it was 7:00, he realized that it was past time for his precious friends to be fed.
Instructor feedback
No names here or he / she pronouns. Use you/your/me/mine/my . . . Something like this but I can't work w/ the first part of your example: You petted and kissed your beloved . . .
On a quiet September night, an effeminate, elderly man, open his front door to the sounds of barking from dogs and dinging from a clock.
Instructor feedback
No names at this distance or pronouns. Study the example on pg 91 / simply replace "his" w/ "the"
Distance 2
Walter Richardson, a 75 year old transvestite, unlocked his front door and was greeted by his beloved cocker spaniels. The seven muted clangs from the clock on his roof told him that he was late getting home.
Instructor feedback
no pronouns yet.
Distance 3
Walter had always loved cocker spaniels and had won many awards raising them. His dogs were always happy to see him, unlike the neighbors who found the idea of 75 year old transvestite repulsive.
Instructor feedback
still no pronouns.
Distance 4
The barking and licking from the cocker spaniels combined with the familiar clanging of the clock on the roof, told Walter he was home. It was his sanctuary from the world outside, where those who hated him would just as soon he took his queer lifestyle and moved to San Francisco where he'd be with his "own kind."
Instructor feedback
on target
Distance 5
"Oh how happy I am to see you," Walter said as he petted and kissed his beloved cocker spaniels. "You don't care that I'm a transvestite, you only care that I love you and feed you." As the large clock outside clanged that it was 7:00, he realized that it was past time for his precious friends to be fed.
Instructor feedback
No names here or he / she pronouns. Use you/your/me/mine/my . . . Something like this but I can't work w/ the first part of your example: You petted and kissed your beloved . . .
Plot, Perspective and Point of View - Journal Assignment - Exercise page 156 (Mini stories)
Mini story 1
John thought he would wait for another elevator since this one was so crowded, but decided that he would squeeze in. Everyone was going to the lobby so he didn’t even bother to try and push the “L” button. He hoped that he wouldn’t be late for his first real date with Chelsea. He’d met her online (“a sure sign of a pathetic existence,” he told himself) but, they really seemed to have a lot in common, and he had sent he a real picture of himself so he wasn’t worried she’d be surprised with his appearance. She had a dog, which John was real excited about since he couldn’t have pets in his apartment. He was even more excited when she said it was an Irish Setter; he had a stereotypical view that a single middle-aged woman would have some “yip” dog-one of those poodles with little bows in their fur. He looked at his watch and cursed to himself that he was going to be late. A quick jolt and a sudden stop of the elevator told him that was indeed going to be the case.
Mini story 2
Karen cringed as she saw yet another man try to squeeze onto the elevator. They were already packed in like a subway car, why didn’t he just wait for the next one? She then refocused on the lousy day she had just had. Mr. Randolph, her boss, had asked (aka told) her to work on Saturday to help with the monthly close. This was her weekend with her son and that last thing she wanted to do was give her ex-husband an extra weekend with him. The department had already been through yet another round of layoffs, and she couldn’t afford not to be a team player. She thought about what would happen when she told her son that he was going to spend an extra weekend with his father; he would scream with excitement about being able to spend an extra weekend playing video games, while she pretended not to be disappointed about his excitement. She had wanted to get him a WII for Christmas, but she just couldn’t get the money. Karen was working diligently convincing herself that was the only reason her son wanted to spend extra time with his father, when she felt a quick jolt and the elevator stopped dead.
Mini story 3
Richard wondered when the guy that was pressed up next to him in the overcrowded elevator had last bathed. The stench was overpowering, at least to Richard, and he couldn’t wait to get off the elevator. He had always had claustrophobia, but thanks to his therapist, it seemed to be under control. He really didn’t have any choice, since the location of Merkel, Winters, and Salton, where he had just started working two months ago, was on the thirty-fifth floor. His therapist told him to take deep breaths and imagine himself in a very calm location. That seemed to be working, although right now he wished he could crack open an imaginary window. As he felt the sudden jolt and then realized that the elevator had stopped, all those therapeutic notions became moot as a sense of fear and dread overcame him and he embarrassingly found himself screaming and trying desperately to get out of the elevator.
Mini story 4
Jerry and Stephen couldn’t believe they were going to get away with it. All they had to do was get off this elevator, take a cab to the airport and catch their flight to Mexico and they would be home free with nearly two million dollars. They had been planning this caper (Jerry loved that word and used it often, much to Stephen’s chagrin) for months. No one at the armored car company where they worked knew they were lovers. Several employees thought it was odd that they spent so much time together outside of work, but they both talked often about their girlfriends so that no one would think anything was going on between them. They had just collected about one hundred thousand dollars from a gold exchange company on the forty-fourth floor and were barely able to contain their excitement on the elevator ride down, when they felt a sudden jolt and saw that the elevator had stopped dead.
Mini story 5
Jim was annoyed, as he felt his little shopping bag containing all his personal items from his ten years at Flagstaff Industries, being crushed against his thigh by yet another person squeezing into the elevator. He couldn’t understand how he had gotten laid off. He always got good performance reviews and he had even gotten a raise six months earlier. When Jackson called him into his office, he actually thought he was going to be promoted to management. As soon as he heard the word “rightsizing,” Flagstaff’s term of the month for “fired,” he knew it was all over. What was he going to tell his wife? They had just bought a new SUV and tuition at their kid’s private school was coming due. He wondered where, in this economy, he would get another job. Would they have to move? His wife was a nurse so she could get a job anywhere. The main reason he didn’t want to move was because he would have to leave Sara behind. Both Sara and Jim were married to other people, but that had prevented them from having a three-year affair. He was hoping that he could see Sara tonight, under the auspices of a night with the boys to drown his sorrows, when he felt a sudden jolt and realized that the elevator had stopped dead.
Instructor feedback
Again nice job building skyscrapers of plot. These 5 mini stories alone, if you were seriously invested in the subject matter and characters have the fuel to fire compelling short stories. . .
John thought he would wait for another elevator since this one was so crowded, but decided that he would squeeze in. Everyone was going to the lobby so he didn’t even bother to try and push the “L” button. He hoped that he wouldn’t be late for his first real date with Chelsea. He’d met her online (“a sure sign of a pathetic existence,” he told himself) but, they really seemed to have a lot in common, and he had sent he a real picture of himself so he wasn’t worried she’d be surprised with his appearance. She had a dog, which John was real excited about since he couldn’t have pets in his apartment. He was even more excited when she said it was an Irish Setter; he had a stereotypical view that a single middle-aged woman would have some “yip” dog-one of those poodles with little bows in their fur. He looked at his watch and cursed to himself that he was going to be late. A quick jolt and a sudden stop of the elevator told him that was indeed going to be the case.
Mini story 2
Karen cringed as she saw yet another man try to squeeze onto the elevator. They were already packed in like a subway car, why didn’t he just wait for the next one? She then refocused on the lousy day she had just had. Mr. Randolph, her boss, had asked (aka told) her to work on Saturday to help with the monthly close. This was her weekend with her son and that last thing she wanted to do was give her ex-husband an extra weekend with him. The department had already been through yet another round of layoffs, and she couldn’t afford not to be a team player. She thought about what would happen when she told her son that he was going to spend an extra weekend with his father; he would scream with excitement about being able to spend an extra weekend playing video games, while she pretended not to be disappointed about his excitement. She had wanted to get him a WII for Christmas, but she just couldn’t get the money. Karen was working diligently convincing herself that was the only reason her son wanted to spend extra time with his father, when she felt a quick jolt and the elevator stopped dead.
Mini story 3
Richard wondered when the guy that was pressed up next to him in the overcrowded elevator had last bathed. The stench was overpowering, at least to Richard, and he couldn’t wait to get off the elevator. He had always had claustrophobia, but thanks to his therapist, it seemed to be under control. He really didn’t have any choice, since the location of Merkel, Winters, and Salton, where he had just started working two months ago, was on the thirty-fifth floor. His therapist told him to take deep breaths and imagine himself in a very calm location. That seemed to be working, although right now he wished he could crack open an imaginary window. As he felt the sudden jolt and then realized that the elevator had stopped, all those therapeutic notions became moot as a sense of fear and dread overcame him and he embarrassingly found himself screaming and trying desperately to get out of the elevator.
Mini story 4
Jerry and Stephen couldn’t believe they were going to get away with it. All they had to do was get off this elevator, take a cab to the airport and catch their flight to Mexico and they would be home free with nearly two million dollars. They had been planning this caper (Jerry loved that word and used it often, much to Stephen’s chagrin) for months. No one at the armored car company where they worked knew they were lovers. Several employees thought it was odd that they spent so much time together outside of work, but they both talked often about their girlfriends so that no one would think anything was going on between them. They had just collected about one hundred thousand dollars from a gold exchange company on the forty-fourth floor and were barely able to contain their excitement on the elevator ride down, when they felt a sudden jolt and saw that the elevator had stopped dead.
Mini story 5
Jim was annoyed, as he felt his little shopping bag containing all his personal items from his ten years at Flagstaff Industries, being crushed against his thigh by yet another person squeezing into the elevator. He couldn’t understand how he had gotten laid off. He always got good performance reviews and he had even gotten a raise six months earlier. When Jackson called him into his office, he actually thought he was going to be promoted to management. As soon as he heard the word “rightsizing,” Flagstaff’s term of the month for “fired,” he knew it was all over. What was he going to tell his wife? They had just bought a new SUV and tuition at their kid’s private school was coming due. He wondered where, in this economy, he would get another job. Would they have to move? His wife was a nurse so she could get a job anywhere. The main reason he didn’t want to move was because he would have to leave Sara behind. Both Sara and Jim were married to other people, but that had prevented them from having a three-year affair. He was hoping that he could see Sara tonight, under the auspices of a night with the boys to drown his sorrows, when he felt a sudden jolt and realized that the elevator had stopped dead.
Instructor feedback
Again nice job building skyscrapers of plot. These 5 mini stories alone, if you were seriously invested in the subject matter and characters have the fuel to fire compelling short stories. . .
Plot, Perspective and Point of View - Journal Assignment - Exercise page 145
David was one of six boys, out of a total of fifteen in his 5th-grade class, whose fathers were in prison. He hated that he could only see his father once a week; but he hated it more that the only way he could get there was via his mother. His mother constantly badmouthed his father. “I told that good for nothing bastard he was going to get caught dealing,” David’s mother reminded him often, “but he thought he could get away with anything.”
David followed the, by now, familiar path to the visiting room. His mother sat out in the lobby; she had never once visited David’s father (his parents had never married) and she had no intention of ever doing so. David sat in his usual chair; he liked it because one of the legs was shorter than the others, and if the conversation with his dad dragged, he could rock back and forth. Many of the prisoners had to see their families in a room with glass between them; David was grateful that he could at least hug his dad, even if there was a guard with them the whole time.
For the next half-hour, David and his father talked about what had been going on since their last visit: David had gotten an “A” on his math test, he’d broken a neighbor’s window playing ball, and he’d had to give up his Gameboy for a week because he’d mouthed off to his mother’s latest boyfriend. David’s dad told him that he needed to show his mother more respect. “Why,” David questioned, “she sure doesn’t show you any respect.”
“You let me deal with your mother’s attitude towards me; we’re talking about your attitude towards your mother.”
David promised his dad he would try to be more respectful, though he suspected it was an empty promise. He hugged his dad goodbye and went out to the lobby to meet his mother. “Dad said hi,” David lied.
“I think you met to say your Dad was high,” his mother chuckled.
“Quit ragging on him, he’s a way better father than the assholes you’ve been sleeping with since he went to jail.”
David’s mother put her hand back to slap his face, but didn’t follow through. “Let’s go, we’re having dinner at KFC with Jordan.”
Off all the men David’s mom had been with in the year since his father went to jail, he hated Jordan the most. Jordan always tried hard to be a father to David; but David always reminded him that he had a father and sure didn’t want anyone like Jordan taking his father’s place.
After they got their food, they sat down at a booth in the corner. “David,” his mother said, “Jordan got a job in Pittsburgh and the three of us are going to be moving there in a month.”
“The hell I am,” David yelled, “you will do anything to get me away from Dad. I’ll stay with Grandma, but there is no way you’re getting me to move to Pittsburgh.
Creating my own sets of details involving character and situation:
1. A clown fired from the circus.
2. A man contemplating a sex-change operation.
3. A woman considering giving a kidney to her estranged sister.
4. A doctor who just dropped a heart he was transplanting on the floor.
5. A taxi driver who finds a briefcase with ten thousand dollars in the back of his cab.
6. A teacher who has only eaten Twinkies for lunch for the past twenty years.
7. A young boy sneaks into a tiger's cage at the zoo.
8. A family wakes up to find their house has been overrun by bats.
9. An employer has to tell his best friend that he's been fired.
10. A fortune teller finds she's suddenly making correct predictions all the time.
Instructor Feedback
Nice job playing around w/ plot, character, opposing forces, conflict, and choices. These elements, more often than not, get readers flipping pages. It's up to us as writers to motivate readers, to make them want to continue reading, to continue flipping pages. Plot, the novelist Kurt Vonnegut has taught me, is one of the best tools to do this. Typically a weak plot or slow plot without much action or details will distract readers and keep them from. . . yes, turning the page. . . which we must avoid at all costs.
David followed the, by now, familiar path to the visiting room. His mother sat out in the lobby; she had never once visited David’s father (his parents had never married) and she had no intention of ever doing so. David sat in his usual chair; he liked it because one of the legs was shorter than the others, and if the conversation with his dad dragged, he could rock back and forth. Many of the prisoners had to see their families in a room with glass between them; David was grateful that he could at least hug his dad, even if there was a guard with them the whole time.
For the next half-hour, David and his father talked about what had been going on since their last visit: David had gotten an “A” on his math test, he’d broken a neighbor’s window playing ball, and he’d had to give up his Gameboy for a week because he’d mouthed off to his mother’s latest boyfriend. David’s dad told him that he needed to show his mother more respect. “Why,” David questioned, “she sure doesn’t show you any respect.”
“You let me deal with your mother’s attitude towards me; we’re talking about your attitude towards your mother.”
David promised his dad he would try to be more respectful, though he suspected it was an empty promise. He hugged his dad goodbye and went out to the lobby to meet his mother. “Dad said hi,” David lied.
“I think you met to say your Dad was high,” his mother chuckled.
“Quit ragging on him, he’s a way better father than the assholes you’ve been sleeping with since he went to jail.”
David’s mother put her hand back to slap his face, but didn’t follow through. “Let’s go, we’re having dinner at KFC with Jordan.”
Off all the men David’s mom had been with in the year since his father went to jail, he hated Jordan the most. Jordan always tried hard to be a father to David; but David always reminded him that he had a father and sure didn’t want anyone like Jordan taking his father’s place.
After they got their food, they sat down at a booth in the corner. “David,” his mother said, “Jordan got a job in Pittsburgh and the three of us are going to be moving there in a month.”
“The hell I am,” David yelled, “you will do anything to get me away from Dad. I’ll stay with Grandma, but there is no way you’re getting me to move to Pittsburgh.
Creating my own sets of details involving character and situation:
1. A clown fired from the circus.
2. A man contemplating a sex-change operation.
3. A woman considering giving a kidney to her estranged sister.
4. A doctor who just dropped a heart he was transplanting on the floor.
5. A taxi driver who finds a briefcase with ten thousand dollars in the back of his cab.
6. A teacher who has only eaten Twinkies for lunch for the past twenty years.
7. A young boy sneaks into a tiger's cage at the zoo.
8. A family wakes up to find their house has been overrun by bats.
9. An employer has to tell his best friend that he's been fired.
10. A fortune teller finds she's suddenly making correct predictions all the time.
Instructor Feedback
Nice job playing around w/ plot, character, opposing forces, conflict, and choices. These elements, more often than not, get readers flipping pages. It's up to us as writers to motivate readers, to make them want to continue reading, to continue flipping pages. Plot, the novelist Kurt Vonnegut has taught me, is one of the best tools to do this. Typically a weak plot or slow plot without much action or details will distract readers and keep them from. . . yes, turning the page. . . which we must avoid at all costs.
Characters, Dialogue and Setting - Writing a Short Story
Giving and Receiving
“How can people live with this stench?” Kevin thought to himself as he walked into the lobby of the Xavier Springs Nursing Facility. strong opening line He couldn’t identify the source of the smell, but the feeling of nausea was overpowering. Despite being twenty-three, he’d never been in a place like this before. In addition to the odor, which he finally decided smelled like a combination of turnips and Lysol, he also was uncomfortable with the way so many of the patients just seemed to be sitting in wheelchairs doing nothing. He went to the front desk and asked what room his Aunt Rita was in. While his she was his favorite aunt, Kevin couldn’t wait to get out of this place.
As he walked down the long corridor of towards his aunt’s room, he heard someone asking for tapioca pudding. The odd thing was she kept asking for it over and over again. He looked in the room where the sound was coming from and saw there was no one in there but a small woman in a big bed. “Just ignore her,” said a girl who looked much younger than Kevin. “That’s all she says all day long.” “Wow, that must be annoying.” “Well, you get used to it after a while.” Finally, he got to his aunt’s room and knocked on the door. A very weak voice beckoned him to come in. Despite the low volume of the voice, he recognized it and walked in. He was immediately struck by how sad she looked. Rita had tried really hard to stay in her apartment, but after a fall her niece Carol (Rita had never married and had no immediate family) had decided that she couldn’t take care of herself anymore and the only place she could afford was this facility. As soon as he came toward her, she started to cry. “Please get me out here Kevin, I hate this place.” comma splice Kevin immediately wished he’d never come. What was he going to say? She went on to tell him that while everyone was very nice to her she felt like she was in prison. He could certainly see what she meant. The cinder block walls were barren, and the room was very dark, even with the lights on. People had come to visit her, but she wondered how long that would last. “People have their own lives; they don’t want to come see a decrepit old woman.” Kevin asked where all the stuff from her apartment was. “Carol put it in storage for me.” “Well, maybe it might be more like your apartment if you had some of your things in here.” Rita agreed and gave him a list of things she’d like to have in her room. Kevin promised to return the following week with the items.
Week after week Kevin came; he even began to tolerate the smell, though he never got used to the “tapioca woman”. place period inside the qmarks One time he was asking Rita about her life when she was little. He found himself fascinated by things that happened when she and her brother (Kevin’s father who had died a few years earlier) were growing up. He’d never been particularly close to his father, and was both sad that he didn’t know much of what she told him, but happy to finally be getting so much insight into his father’s life when he was little. Kevin continued his periodic visits to see his aunt until she contracted pneumonia and died after three days. [ later. omit] At Rita’s funeral, his cousin Carol handed him a package. She told him that she had found it in a drawer at the nursing home. He opened the package and saw that it was pages that she had taken out of one of the photo albums he had brought her from storage. They were all pictures of his father growing up. In addition, she had included several pages of reflections on each of the pictures. It appeared that she had been working on it for some time, but hadn’t finished it before she got sick. Paper clipped to the first page was a note that said, “Kevin, I know you miss your father. Hopefully these pictures and my ramblings about them will bring you a little happiness. Goodness knows your visits have brought me more joy than you can imagine. Think fondly of me whenever you have tapioca pudding! Love, Aunt Rita.” funny and perfect last line!
Instructor Feedback
Hi Jim: Your Kevin's certainly an ordinary character in a very ordinary setting (though I'd like to see the setting be a bit more symbolic of what he discovers or learns) who finds something extraordinary that changes his life in a small but very significant way. Your story has a strong sense of plot, characters, and setting. Overall, strong work. But review how to handle / format dialogue. Notice models in our text. See how each exchange of dialogue typically gets its own line. Dialogue is handled as though it's a new paragraph, which means line breaks. Contact me if you need help. The revision module is activated so that you can start thinking about how you'd like to re-see this piece for your portfolio / blog. Oh, and about the two page limit: well, that's to make sure students don't ramble and say a lot of nothing:) Two pages means you really have to think about what goes into your story and what doesn't belong. Word economy and purpose are very important. W/out them your readers may get the sense you're wasting their time. Make sense? --Gary
“How can people live with this stench?” Kevin thought to himself as he walked into the lobby of the Xavier Springs Nursing Facility. strong opening line He couldn’t identify the source of the smell, but the feeling of nausea was overpowering. Despite being twenty-three, he’d never been in a place like this before. In addition to the odor, which he finally decided smelled like a combination of turnips and Lysol, he also was uncomfortable with the way so many of the patients just seemed to be sitting in wheelchairs doing nothing. He went to the front desk and asked what room his Aunt Rita was in. While his she was his favorite aunt, Kevin couldn’t wait to get out of this place.
As he walked down the long corridor of towards his aunt’s room, he heard someone asking for tapioca pudding. The odd thing was she kept asking for it over and over again. He looked in the room where the sound was coming from and saw there was no one in there but a small woman in a big bed. “Just ignore her,” said a girl who looked much younger than Kevin. “That’s all she says all day long.” “Wow, that must be annoying.” “Well, you get used to it after a while.” Finally, he got to his aunt’s room and knocked on the door. A very weak voice beckoned him to come in. Despite the low volume of the voice, he recognized it and walked in. He was immediately struck by how sad she looked. Rita had tried really hard to stay in her apartment, but after a fall her niece Carol (Rita had never married and had no immediate family) had decided that she couldn’t take care of herself anymore and the only place she could afford was this facility. As soon as he came toward her, she started to cry. “Please get me out here Kevin, I hate this place.” comma splice Kevin immediately wished he’d never come. What was he going to say? She went on to tell him that while everyone was very nice to her she felt like she was in prison. He could certainly see what she meant. The cinder block walls were barren, and the room was very dark, even with the lights on. People had come to visit her, but she wondered how long that would last. “People have their own lives; they don’t want to come see a decrepit old woman.” Kevin asked where all the stuff from her apartment was. “Carol put it in storage for me.” “Well, maybe it might be more like your apartment if you had some of your things in here.” Rita agreed and gave him a list of things she’d like to have in her room. Kevin promised to return the following week with the items.
Week after week Kevin came; he even began to tolerate the smell, though he never got used to the “tapioca woman”. place period inside the qmarks One time he was asking Rita about her life when she was little. He found himself fascinated by things that happened when she and her brother (Kevin’s father who had died a few years earlier) were growing up. He’d never been particularly close to his father, and was both sad that he didn’t know much of what she told him, but happy to finally be getting so much insight into his father’s life when he was little. Kevin continued his periodic visits to see his aunt until she contracted pneumonia and died after three days. [ later. omit] At Rita’s funeral, his cousin Carol handed him a package. She told him that she had found it in a drawer at the nursing home. He opened the package and saw that it was pages that she had taken out of one of the photo albums he had brought her from storage. They were all pictures of his father growing up. In addition, she had included several pages of reflections on each of the pictures. It appeared that she had been working on it for some time, but hadn’t finished it before she got sick. Paper clipped to the first page was a note that said, “Kevin, I know you miss your father. Hopefully these pictures and my ramblings about them will bring you a little happiness. Goodness knows your visits have brought me more joy than you can imagine. Think fondly of me whenever you have tapioca pudding! Love, Aunt Rita.” funny and perfect last line!
Instructor Feedback
Hi Jim: Your Kevin's certainly an ordinary character in a very ordinary setting (though I'd like to see the setting be a bit more symbolic of what he discovers or learns) who finds something extraordinary that changes his life in a small but very significant way. Your story has a strong sense of plot, characters, and setting. Overall, strong work. But review how to handle / format dialogue. Notice models in our text. See how each exchange of dialogue typically gets its own line. Dialogue is handled as though it's a new paragraph, which means line breaks. Contact me if you need help. The revision module is activated so that you can start thinking about how you'd like to re-see this piece for your portfolio / blog. Oh, and about the two page limit: well, that's to make sure students don't ramble and say a lot of nothing:) Two pages means you really have to think about what goes into your story and what doesn't belong. Word economy and purpose are very important. W/out them your readers may get the sense you're wasting their time. Make sense? --Gary
Characters, Dialogue and Setting - Journal Assignment Exercise page 115
"Karen, there is no way your mother is staying here for two weeks. Every time she comes here I'm expected to put up with her condescending tone about how your brother makes so much money as a lawyer and why can't I get a better job to support you in the way you were accustomed."
"Bob, we go through this every year. You know Mom looks forward to these visits. Since my dad died Mom is all alone."
"Of course she's alone, who would want to be around her? I still think your dad died just to get away from her!"
"You are such an ass. They were married for 37 years. If he could put up with her for that long, you can put up with her for two weeks a year."
"Do you hear yourself? Put up with her. Karen, no one should have to put up with anybody, regardless of whether they are family or not. How about this, I'll compromise and she can stay here for a week. I'll promise to be on my best behavior and ignore 90% of her putdowns."
"What about the other 10%?"
"For those, all bets are off."
"How can we tell her she can only stay a week? Are you going to tell her?"
"Well, since I would have no problem telling her she can't come at all, I can certainly tell her that she can only stay a week."
"What reason are you going to give her? I don't want her to come her feeling like we don't want her all."
"How about this, I'll tell her that we forgot about a fishing trip we had planned. We can't get our deposit back, but I'll tell her we'd be more than happy to have her come with us."
"Oh yeah, like she would really want to go on a fishing trip? Oh wait, I get it. But what if she wants to come a week earlier to get her two weeks in? I know, we can tell her we've got plans during that week. Oh my God, I'm getting as devious as you!"
"See that, despite what your mother says I HAVE influenced you positively!"
"All right, we'll do this. But let me call her. I can broach the subject tactfully."
"As opposed to my tactless approach?"
"You said it and I agree with it. Let's look at the calendar and make sure we've got this all figured out. Knowing mom, she'll be asking questions about this mysterious fishing trip and the last thing I want is for her to find out I'm lying."
Instructor Feedback
Excellent writing throughout, Jim. Remember, description is the fuel which makes a story move for readers. Little fuel and the reader doesn't go too far; lots of fuel and the reader is taken on a trip around the world and back. . . as long as gas prices don't go much higher, of course!!! Gary
"Bob, we go through this every year. You know Mom looks forward to these visits. Since my dad died Mom is all alone."
"Of course she's alone, who would want to be around her? I still think your dad died just to get away from her!"
"You are such an ass. They were married for 37 years. If he could put up with her for that long, you can put up with her for two weeks a year."
"Do you hear yourself? Put up with her. Karen, no one should have to put up with anybody, regardless of whether they are family or not. How about this, I'll compromise and she can stay here for a week. I'll promise to be on my best behavior and ignore 90% of her putdowns."
"What about the other 10%?"
"For those, all bets are off."
"How can we tell her she can only stay a week? Are you going to tell her?"
"Well, since I would have no problem telling her she can't come at all, I can certainly tell her that she can only stay a week."
"What reason are you going to give her? I don't want her to come her feeling like we don't want her all."
"How about this, I'll tell her that we forgot about a fishing trip we had planned. We can't get our deposit back, but I'll tell her we'd be more than happy to have her come with us."
"Oh yeah, like she would really want to go on a fishing trip? Oh wait, I get it. But what if she wants to come a week earlier to get her two weeks in? I know, we can tell her we've got plans during that week. Oh my God, I'm getting as devious as you!"
"See that, despite what your mother says I HAVE influenced you positively!"
"All right, we'll do this. But let me call her. I can broach the subject tactfully."
"As opposed to my tactless approach?"
"You said it and I agree with it. Let's look at the calendar and make sure we've got this all figured out. Knowing mom, she'll be asking questions about this mysterious fishing trip and the last thing I want is for her to find out I'm lying."
Instructor Feedback
Excellent writing throughout, Jim. Remember, description is the fuel which makes a story move for readers. Little fuel and the reader doesn't go too far; lots of fuel and the reader is taken on a trip around the world and back. . . as long as gas prices don't go much higher, of course!!! Gary
Characters, Dialogue and Setting - Journal Assignment Exercise page 114
Mary had just returned from the store with all of the ingredients to make her famous carrot cake. When Janet had asked her to make one for the PTA bake sale she said she would be happy to do it. That happiness turned to annoyance when she found out it had to be finished by the next day. She began combining the dry ingredients when the phone rang. Mary looked at the caller id and saw it was Janet. At first she didn't want to answer. "Is she going to ask me to make something else in addition to the carrot cake?" she thought. Finally she answered the phone. "Mary, could you please, please, please make two cakes instead of one?" Janet implored. "Two people backed out at the last minute and everyone knows we can sell as many cakes as you can make." "Can the snowjob," Mary said to herself. To Janet she said "Sure, I've got enough ingredients so let me get started." As she hung up the phone and went back to her mixing bowl, she realized she had no idea what ingredients she had added to the bowl. Everything was white. She knew she added the flour and she could see sugar crystals, but what about baking soda and baking powder. She could make this recipe in her sleep, but she had no idea what was, or wasn't in the mix. She decided to scrap the whole thing and start over again. This time, she pre-measured everything to make sure this wouldn't happen again. Finally, the cakes were in the oven. As she got ready to make the icing, she could hear her daughter Catherine playing with her friend Courtney. Suddenly there was a loud wail and Mary ran to find what was going on. "Courtney hit me!" "Catherine hit me first!" "If you girls can't play together, I'm afraid, Courtney, you're going to have to go home." "No, we'll be good, please don't make her go home." Mary retreated to the general calm of the kitchen and began preparing the icing. After finishing it she noticed something odd. There was no smell of cinnamon in the air. She went to the stove and looked through the window. The batter still lay lifeless in the pans. "Oh no, the oven is dead! Oh wait," she said as she looked at the oven dial set on "off", "it's not my oven that's dead, it's my brain."
Instructor Feedback
another success: good scene where a character's mind and body are engaged!!
Instructor Feedback
another success: good scene where a character's mind and body are engaged!!
Characters, Dialogue and Setting - Journal Assignment Exercise pg. 75
I was very surprised when Jason asked me to water his plants and feed his fish while he was gone for a week visiting his parents. We really weren't very close and neither of us had ever even been in the other's apartment. Nonetheless, when he asked me to do it, I told him I'd be happy to. I'll confess part of the reason was to satiate my voyeuristic tendancies. I knew he was a painter and was interested to see what an "artist's studio" looked like. On his way to exhibits he'd often ask me what I thought of a particular painting. I always hated them; to me, they looked like a bad Picasso, but I always told him they were very interesting.
He dropped off the key Tuesday morning, and as soon as his bus pulled away, I made a beeline to his apartment. The first thing I noticed when I walked in was the smell. It was a weird combination of turpentine and garlic. I could rationalize the source of the turpentine smell; the garlic source was answered by several not so empty pizza boxes scattered throughout the room. Paints, palettes, brushes and blank canvases were in one corner of the room. The majority of the apartment, however, was filled with completed paintings. Many of them had little Post-Its on the back. As I lifted them, it became apparent that Jason was marking down his paintings in an attempt to sell them. One that I looked at had a price of $100 on it. As I lifted the yellow square, I saw $200, then $300. Nearly every painting had this collection on the back of it. It was as if Jason was trying to keep track of what he had originally tried to sell it for before starting the markdown. On the kitchen table I saw a stack of bills. It was as if he wanted me to snoop! Seemingly every utility was represented, many of the bills had second, third, and final notice written on them. Near the bills, were a couple of documents from various studios thanking Jason for submitting his work, but that "unfortunately, they didn't feel his work was appropriate for their studio." I felt bad because not only had I betrayed his confidence by prying into his personal effects, but also because he seemed to ignore the tell-tale signs that he wasn't a very good artist.
Instructor Feedback
Outstanding job revealing Jason by the contents of his studio: very dimensional b/c you're using many of your senses, not just your eyes.
He dropped off the key Tuesday morning, and as soon as his bus pulled away, I made a beeline to his apartment. The first thing I noticed when I walked in was the smell. It was a weird combination of turpentine and garlic. I could rationalize the source of the turpentine smell; the garlic source was answered by several not so empty pizza boxes scattered throughout the room. Paints, palettes, brushes and blank canvases were in one corner of the room. The majority of the apartment, however, was filled with completed paintings. Many of them had little Post-Its on the back. As I lifted them, it became apparent that Jason was marking down his paintings in an attempt to sell them. One that I looked at had a price of $100 on it. As I lifted the yellow square, I saw $200, then $300. Nearly every painting had this collection on the back of it. It was as if Jason was trying to keep track of what he had originally tried to sell it for before starting the markdown. On the kitchen table I saw a stack of bills. It was as if he wanted me to snoop! Seemingly every utility was represented, many of the bills had second, third, and final notice written on them. Near the bills, were a couple of documents from various studios thanking Jason for submitting his work, but that "unfortunately, they didn't feel his work was appropriate for their studio." I felt bad because not only had I betrayed his confidence by prying into his personal effects, but also because he seemed to ignore the tell-tale signs that he wasn't a very good artist.
Instructor Feedback
Outstanding job revealing Jason by the contents of his studio: very dimensional b/c you're using many of your senses, not just your eyes.
Characters, Dialogue and Setting - Journal Assignment (Five Potential Characters)
I can distinctly remember several "characters" whose idiosyncracies have stuck with me for decades.
One of our neighbors was a woman who felt that every square inch of her rather large yard had to have a piece of junk on it. She must have had thirty or forty garden gnomes, dozens of plastic animals (none of which would be native to the area-these included tigers, gorillas, even a blue giraffe,)and innumerable pots of plastic flowers. My father could not have been more meticulous with the care of our yard, so the "Mason mess" as he called it caused him no end of annoyance. Mowing the lawn, which was done maybe two or three times a year, was a huge undertaking. The lawn was broken into quadrants, and each item in the quadrant was moved to a temporary location. That section of lawn was then mowed, and the items were then replaced. I was always amazed that she seemed to remember what went where.
Another character from my youth, was one whose eccentricities ultimately caused a two alarm fire. This woman absolutely hated the house they lived in. Yes it was old and in need of repair, but she would constantly scream at her husband about how awful the house was and question why he couldn't get a better job so they could "move out of this dump!" Finally, she'd had enough. I can remember coming home from school one day, but not being able to get on our street. I saw numerous fire trucks and was immediately scared that our house was on fire, and that something had happened to my parents (or more upsetting to an 8-year old, my dog.) It turned out the the women decided the only way to get out of the house was to burn it down. She took old rags, doused them with gasoline, lit them, and then sat on the front stoop waiting for the house to burn down. While the house didn't burn down, she did get her wish-they were out of there by the end of the week.
My father was the town veterinarian, and one of the houses that was just around the corner from us, provided my father with much business. The reason, they had over 20 cats. The reason they were so memorable, the cats had full run of the house. In fact, the elderly couple didn't even live in the house, they lived in a barn behind the house. Granted, the barn was refurbished and was actually quite nice, but it was still a barn. We had a farm near our house and between it and the cat house, there were warm summer days when you did not want to be down wind under any condition!
When I moved into my first house, the first Saturday I was there, I was awakened at 6:30 a.m. by the neighbor across the street mowing his lawn. I thought, "all right, I don't want to make a bad first impression, so I won't immediately question why he is mowing at the crack of dawn." Unfortunately, Sunday rolled around and he mowed the lawn AGAIN. This time he waited until the far more tolerable time of 7 a.m. The following Monday I asked one of my neighbors how they put up with this and was informed this happened every other weekend. When the neighbors had asked the guy to wait until later in the morning, they were told that it's best to mow before the dew has evaporated from the grass. None of the neighbors seemed to question the logic in mowing the lawn two days in a row so I finally had to ask him why myself. The response was that he wanted the grass to stay short as long as possible, and since he didn't mow it during the week, he decided to mow it twice on weekends-I literally laughed in his face; I thought he was kidding. I lived there for 3 years and he never talked to me again.
The house I moved to next had several young couples who seemingly didn't have enough money for things. One couple had a unique way of saving on draperies. Every night, they would tape pieces of construction paper over the windows. Each window had different colored paper and it was very colorful. One time I actually went in their house. I was expecting to find a mess of construction paper all over the place, but instead next to each window was a neat pile of construction paper and a roll of tape. They had lived their about two years before I moved there, and when I moved out two years later, they were still using the "construction paper curtains."
Instructor Feedback
Characters: be sure to identify when you're generalizing or summarizing because those are sections where description can be developed
One of our neighbors was a woman who felt that every square inch of her rather large yard had to have a piece of junk on it. She must have had thirty or forty garden gnomes, dozens of plastic animals (none of which would be native to the area-these included tigers, gorillas, even a blue giraffe,)and innumerable pots of plastic flowers. My father could not have been more meticulous with the care of our yard, so the "Mason mess" as he called it caused him no end of annoyance. Mowing the lawn, which was done maybe two or three times a year, was a huge undertaking. The lawn was broken into quadrants, and each item in the quadrant was moved to a temporary location. That section of lawn was then mowed, and the items were then replaced. I was always amazed that she seemed to remember what went where.
Another character from my youth, was one whose eccentricities ultimately caused a two alarm fire. This woman absolutely hated the house they lived in. Yes it was old and in need of repair, but she would constantly scream at her husband about how awful the house was and question why he couldn't get a better job so they could "move out of this dump!" Finally, she'd had enough. I can remember coming home from school one day, but not being able to get on our street. I saw numerous fire trucks and was immediately scared that our house was on fire, and that something had happened to my parents (or more upsetting to an 8-year old, my dog.) It turned out the the women decided the only way to get out of the house was to burn it down. She took old rags, doused them with gasoline, lit them, and then sat on the front stoop waiting for the house to burn down. While the house didn't burn down, she did get her wish-they were out of there by the end of the week.
My father was the town veterinarian, and one of the houses that was just around the corner from us, provided my father with much business. The reason, they had over 20 cats. The reason they were so memorable, the cats had full run of the house. In fact, the elderly couple didn't even live in the house, they lived in a barn behind the house. Granted, the barn was refurbished and was actually quite nice, but it was still a barn. We had a farm near our house and between it and the cat house, there were warm summer days when you did not want to be down wind under any condition!
When I moved into my first house, the first Saturday I was there, I was awakened at 6:30 a.m. by the neighbor across the street mowing his lawn. I thought, "all right, I don't want to make a bad first impression, so I won't immediately question why he is mowing at the crack of dawn." Unfortunately, Sunday rolled around and he mowed the lawn AGAIN. This time he waited until the far more tolerable time of 7 a.m. The following Monday I asked one of my neighbors how they put up with this and was informed this happened every other weekend. When the neighbors had asked the guy to wait until later in the morning, they were told that it's best to mow before the dew has evaporated from the grass. None of the neighbors seemed to question the logic in mowing the lawn two days in a row so I finally had to ask him why myself. The response was that he wanted the grass to stay short as long as possible, and since he didn't mow it during the week, he decided to mow it twice on weekends-I literally laughed in his face; I thought he was kidding. I lived there for 3 years and he never talked to me again.
The house I moved to next had several young couples who seemingly didn't have enough money for things. One couple had a unique way of saving on draperies. Every night, they would tape pieces of construction paper over the windows. Each window had different colored paper and it was very colorful. One time I actually went in their house. I was expecting to find a mess of construction paper all over the place, but instead next to each window was a neat pile of construction paper and a roll of tape. They had lived their about two years before I moved there, and when I moved out two years later, they were still using the "construction paper curtains."
Instructor Feedback
Characters: be sure to identify when you're generalizing or summarizing because those are sections where description can be developed
Introduction To Fiction - Journal Assignment ("What Word Comes Next") with instructor feedback
First Sentence
"Only forty seven dollars in tips," Karen muttered to herself, "at this rate, I can't possibly replace Charlie's aquarium by the time he gets back from Cleveland."
Second Sentence
Her relationship with Charlie was just starting to flourish, and she blew it by knocking over the aquarium; the result-two fish saved, six dead, and her hopes for long-term relationship seemingly dashed.
Third Sentence
Waitressing had never been her long-term goal, but until this aquarium incident, she never felt like she wasn't making enough to live on.
Fourth Sentence
"Waitress," a man at table four yelled, interrupting her thoughts, "we've decided on the fish."
Fifth Sentence
After she took the order, Karen knew what she had to do: she would "borrow" two hundred dollars from the till, replace the fish, and hope that she was able to replace the money before she became an ex-waitress and a future ex-con.
Instructor Feedback
It's about creativity and how our creative energies don't always have a plan. That's what makes us artists. That's the logic behind this exercise, all the exercises we'll be exploring this semester. We must be willing to ride bolts of lightning, get burned, and create life with our pens or keyboards!!! Excellent work, James. Your effort and talent are exemplified in your writing. Gary
"Only forty seven dollars in tips," Karen muttered to herself, "at this rate, I can't possibly replace Charlie's aquarium by the time he gets back from Cleveland."
Second Sentence
Her relationship with Charlie was just starting to flourish, and she blew it by knocking over the aquarium; the result-two fish saved, six dead, and her hopes for long-term relationship seemingly dashed.
Third Sentence
Waitressing had never been her long-term goal, but until this aquarium incident, she never felt like she wasn't making enough to live on.
Fourth Sentence
"Waitress," a man at table four yelled, interrupting her thoughts, "we've decided on the fish."
Fifth Sentence
After she took the order, Karen knew what she had to do: she would "borrow" two hundred dollars from the till, replace the fish, and hope that she was able to replace the money before she became an ex-waitress and a future ex-con.
Instructor Feedback
It's about creativity and how our creative energies don't always have a plan. That's what makes us artists. That's the logic behind this exercise, all the exercises we'll be exploring this semester. We must be willing to ride bolts of lightning, get burned, and create life with our pens or keyboards!!! Excellent work, James. Your effort and talent are exemplified in your writing. Gary
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