Writing Assignment: You will do two writing exercises this week
Everyone does this:
Write your “chapter” of the collaborative story. Take the one line story you copied from the board in class this week. This will be the “seed” for a story of one paragraph (no more than 300 words). Craft a story around your line, making sure you have conflict, rising action, a crisis, and a resolution. Your “seed” line must appear somewhere in the story. Make and bring enough copies for everyone. Do not put your name on your story, but label it with the group name (Exposition, Crisis, etc.)
AND
Choose one:
1) Finish the repetition poem you started in class today (or write a new one). Really try to push the poem in as many directions as possible, relying on the repeated phrase to ground the poem. Try out the skills we’ve talked about in class, especially the different kinds of patterns.
CORRECTION: We didn't get to this in class today, however you can create a poem using any of the forms of patterning we talked about in class, including assonance, consonants, alliteration, rhyme, repetition, etc.
2) Write a poem, story, or monologue that follows the logic of language as in "A Mown Lawn," by Lydia Davis. Allow assonance, consonance, alliteration, and rhyme to lead the development of the piece and create the forward momentum. Surprise the reader and yourself with linguistic playfulness.
Reading for Next Week
IN READING LIKE A WRITER:
Words, pp. 13-33
IN THE COURSE READER:
Rhyming Action, Charles Baxter
Objects, Gertrude Stein, from Tender Buttons
My Papa’s Waltz, Theodore Roethke
The Dance, William Carlos Williams
Blog
1. Post an entry about any one of the readings this week. This may be a critical or creative piece of about 200-300 words. It MUST respond to your chosen reading in some way, either by identifying and discussing craft elements, themes, or techniques or by using those elements in a creative response.
2. Post comments on at least three other entries. Remember, this is not a place for critiquing each other’s work. Instead, identify something from the piece that strikes or interests you, ask a neutral question about the work, or suggest ways the author could deepen or expand it.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Response to Everything That Rises Must Converge
This piece really touched me. The characters- both the mother and son, that is-
caused me to feel genuinely torn between being irritated and angry with their short-sightedness on the one hand, and on the other hand sympathetic to the insecurities of their flaws. I agree with what most of the other classmates are saying- the son seems unnecessarily angry, and he does seem to have a pedestal complex about his education. Not only this, but the sacrifices the mother has allegedly made on behalf of her son are to be commended. I understand that her ignorance, intolerance, snobbery, and resistance to change are all negative qualities- and surely character traits which I take very personally- however, the author seems to have created this mother figure in a what I must critique as a cliche character type. She is domineering and bossy and manipulative and weak and judgmental and all of those annoying things which make the mother on "Everybody Loves Raymond" so absolutely irritating. Her having a heart attack or cardiac arrest or stroke or whatever is implied in the story does not entirely make up for her character flaws, in my opinion (though the ending did make me pause and feel a little remorseful for her fate).
caused me to feel genuinely torn between being irritated and angry with their short-sightedness on the one hand, and on the other hand sympathetic to the insecurities of their flaws. I agree with what most of the other classmates are saying- the son seems unnecessarily angry, and he does seem to have a pedestal complex about his education. Not only this, but the sacrifices the mother has allegedly made on behalf of her son are to be commended. I understand that her ignorance, intolerance, snobbery, and resistance to change are all negative qualities- and surely character traits which I take very personally- however, the author seems to have created this mother figure in a what I must critique as a cliche character type. She is domineering and bossy and manipulative and weak and judgmental and all of those annoying things which make the mother on "Everybody Loves Raymond" so absolutely irritating. Her having a heart attack or cardiac arrest or stroke or whatever is implied in the story does not entirely make up for her character flaws, in my opinion (though the ending did make me pause and feel a little remorseful for her fate).
Re: A Mown Lawn
I found this piece extremely dull. Her criticisms of "America" do not come through coherently other than to voice tedious platitudes about war and superficiality being bad. While I appreciate her idea that life is a dirty business and some things can't be smoothed over, it seems to contradict her objection to "law" and "war." The speaker seems to have a very one-dimensional concept of morality, and can therefore contribute very little to the greater discussion she seems to want to be a part of. I will say that the image of the discarded grass blades fluttering away into the wind made me feel better about commentary like this; at least it will be forgotten easily.
"My Name"
“My Name” by R. Brautigan
Brautigan’s “My Name” reminded me of a Bob Dylan song. The voice was distant with lines that one could relate to but overall meaning left to the readers/listener’s interpretation. Each description could be summarized into a few words whose words would vary amongst the observer. Leaving the observer curious to what the actual name is. I took it as the end to a relationship. The helLA journey on a freeway of emotions that leaves one abandoned. An Indian food dinner of gratefulness, regret, hatred, love, memories, and numbness. The ups and downs and ever so cliché terms we’ve all heard and read I dare not place here. Concluding in solitude with heartburn and a burning esophagus.
Lochlan
Brautigan’s “My Name” reminded me of a Bob Dylan song. The voice was distant with lines that one could relate to but overall meaning left to the readers/listener’s interpretation. Each description could be summarized into a few words whose words would vary amongst the observer. Leaving the observer curious to what the actual name is. I took it as the end to a relationship. The helLA journey on a freeway of emotions that leaves one abandoned. An Indian food dinner of gratefulness, regret, hatred, love, memories, and numbness. The ups and downs and ever so cliché terms we’ve all heard and read I dare not place here. Concluding in solitude with heartburn and a burning esophagus.
Lochlan
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Inspiration: Everything That Rises Must Converge
Outside were a mother and son; the mother holding on to her son
Giving her a chance to embrace a moment of it and for him to have
the ugliest scowl.
They walked down the hill, with the thoughts,
"Those damn shoes
She first had on heels...
Then to be sensible she put on flip flops...with heels."
She walked in the neighborhood, looking, analyzing, using
that wonderous gaze she perfected
filled with what was wrong with everything.
He hated it and got her down to the market.
Inside she bought what they needed:
Beans, rice, the type of cheese he had forgotten about
(queso fresco, the only good kind),
and chorizo for nostalgia reasons.
He hated it, but she wanted it.
She knew a little bit of English
He knew a little bit of Spanish
They walked, with words that were
Deeply distorted.
It annoyed him that she never learned
anymore English.
She was concerned he never had
enough Spanish.
It was a wall they had between them.
Everytime they hopped up to look
to see what the other had,
It was never anything they really liked.
Yet they kept hopping.
She'd stop sooner then him.
Giving her a chance to embrace a moment of it and for him to have
the ugliest scowl.
They walked down the hill, with the thoughts,
"Those damn shoes
She first had on heels...
Then to be sensible she put on flip flops...with heels."
She walked in the neighborhood, looking, analyzing, using
that wonderous gaze she perfected
filled with what was wrong with everything.
He hated it and got her down to the market.
Inside she bought what they needed:
Beans, rice, the type of cheese he had forgotten about
(queso fresco, the only good kind),
and chorizo for nostalgia reasons.
He hated it, but she wanted it.
She knew a little bit of English
He knew a little bit of Spanish
They walked, with words that were
Deeply distorted.
It annoyed him that she never learned
anymore English.
She was concerned he never had
enough Spanish.
It was a wall they had between them.
Everytime they hopped up to look
to see what the other had,
It was never anything they really liked.
Yet they kept hopping.
She'd stop sooner then him.
Translation to Margaret
After much deliberation, I decided to write my blog in response to Brautigan's "Margaret." I chose this peice because it grabbed me more than any of the other writtings. I think it's because I am often drawn to mysterious and the absurd writers. The author creates an intensley creepy setting by leaving the reader in the dark, ony leaving a small, meager trail of hints in the form of metaphor. The style in this peice is remenaiscent of Poe, in that it, gradually escalates past the exposition, building into the climax, and then stopping with an abrupt and bizarre, kind of resolution. The reader is still left puzzled, and wondering why. The author intends for the reader to feel uncomfortable at times. There is a srtanger knocking at your door, purposefully stepping on a patricuklarly squeecky floorboard, and then leaving when there is no answer, without a word. You are left unresolves, as if the aparation of margarette may come back.
After much deliberation, I decided to write my blog in response to Brautigan's "Margaret." I chose this peice because it grabbed me more than any of the other writtings. I think it's because I am often drawn to mysterious and the absurd writers. The author creates an intensley creepy setting by leaving the reader in the dark, ony leaving a small, meager trail of hints in the form of metaphor. The style in this peice is remenaiscent of Poe, in that it, gradually escalates past the exposition, building into the climax, and then stopping with an abrupt and bizarre, kind of resolution. The reader is still left puzzled, and wondering why. The author intends for the reader to feel uncomfortable at times. There is a srtanger knocking at your door, purposefully stepping on a patricuklarly squeecky floorboard, and then leaving when there is no answer, without a word. You are left unresolves, as if the aparation of margarette may come back.
Conversation with Reading (Everything That Rises Must Converge)
Daniel: Hello Reading, If you don't mind I thought I might ask you some questions about yourself.
Reading: Go right ahead, I live for these sort of intellectual conversations. Being that I am an actual piece of writing you can imagine the appeal of literature.
Daniel: Um yeah, ........Whatever. So in the story, "Everything That Rises Must Converge", why is it that Julian is so angry with his mother?
Reading: That answer to that question has multiple components. For starters Julian is obvioulsy disillusioned and disappointed with the way his life turned out. Though he had aspirations of being a writer, he now finds himself a typewriter salesman living with his mother. The fact that he is a typewriter salesman is an example of a pathetic attempt to involve writing into his profession in some way.
Julian's mother further exacerbates the her sons disposition because he finds her personality incredibly disagreeable. His mother is a snobby racist, who considers herself to be of a higher class than those around her, despite glaring evidence to the contrary. This pomp combined with the fact that she sees no problem with her ways is a source of great agitation.
Daniel: Fascinating, one more question. Undoubtidly, the proper characterization of your characters was key for creating your effect. How was the purple hat used to characterize Julian's mother, and reinforce the theme?
Reading: The hat is described many times as a banner, a desperate plea for attention. The hat is an attempt for Julian's mother to distinguish herself; in appearence from those around her, as she distinguishes herself in her mind.
The irony of this is that further in the story an African American woman comes onto the bus wearing the same hat. This is glaring evidence that she is no different from anyone else on the bus. Additionally the image of the two women sitting across from one another, in the purple hat, provides a perfect contrast of the two characters. Though the women are total opposites in many regards, race, the age of their sons ect. They are similar, though Julian's mother could never admit it, in their socioeconomic class.
Daniel: Thanks for your time reader that was very imformative.
Daniel Uchiyama
Reading: Go right ahead, I live for these sort of intellectual conversations. Being that I am an actual piece of writing you can imagine the appeal of literature.
Daniel: Um yeah, ........Whatever. So in the story, "Everything That Rises Must Converge", why is it that Julian is so angry with his mother?
Reading: That answer to that question has multiple components. For starters Julian is obvioulsy disillusioned and disappointed with the way his life turned out. Though he had aspirations of being a writer, he now finds himself a typewriter salesman living with his mother. The fact that he is a typewriter salesman is an example of a pathetic attempt to involve writing into his profession in some way.
Julian's mother further exacerbates the her sons disposition because he finds her personality incredibly disagreeable. His mother is a snobby racist, who considers herself to be of a higher class than those around her, despite glaring evidence to the contrary. This pomp combined with the fact that she sees no problem with her ways is a source of great agitation.
Daniel: Fascinating, one more question. Undoubtidly, the proper characterization of your characters was key for creating your effect. How was the purple hat used to characterize Julian's mother, and reinforce the theme?
Reading: The hat is described many times as a banner, a desperate plea for attention. The hat is an attempt for Julian's mother to distinguish herself; in appearence from those around her, as she distinguishes herself in her mind.
The irony of this is that further in the story an African American woman comes onto the bus wearing the same hat. This is glaring evidence that she is no different from anyone else on the bus. Additionally the image of the two women sitting across from one another, in the purple hat, provides a perfect contrast of the two characters. Though the women are total opposites in many regards, race, the age of their sons ect. They are similar, though Julian's mother could never admit it, in their socioeconomic class.
Daniel: Thanks for your time reader that was very imformative.
Daniel Uchiyama
in response to; My Name- Richard Brautigan
the question has come up hundreds of times before and will probably come up hundred times more. who am I daunts me at school, at work (if I had one), before I fall asleep, even in my dreams. The answer to the question is not a simple one. After all I know I am more than a body with a complex.
That line in the song that makes your heart skip a beat-
That’s who I am.
A moment caught in semi-gloss paper.
That’s who I am.
A drawing you drew in astronomy.
That’s who I am.
That time you tripped in front of your celebrity crush.
That’s who I am.
The awkward tan lines that cover my body that I wear as a souvenir from standing all day in the sun; waiting for live music to shoot through my veins.
That’s who I am.
My dog’s hair I find in random articles of clothing when I’m rushing to class.
That’s who I am.
The gossip that travels through my family, faster than a car in a freeway-
That’s who I am.
The overly priced plane tickets to see our favorite band together in their hometown-
That’s who I am.
Random stories I would make up on the spot I sent to you through text-
That’s who I am.
Our lyrical hero doing the Ashlee Simpson dance at 1145 pm on April Fool’s Day-
That’s who I am.
Almost getting killed crossing the street, because I trusted you looked both ways-
That’s who I am.
The band t-shirt collection hanging in my closet-
That’s who I am.
The soccer game my father watches religiously-
That’s who I am.
My mother’s finger-licking-good authentic Mexican food-
That’s who I am.
The stupid fights my brother and sister have with or without me-
That’s who I am.
The dreams I have at night that seems too real-
That’s who I am.
My life motto; we only breathe for so long-
That’s who I am.
…I am nothing but my memories, experiences, and thoughts
-bethsy bobadilla
That line in the song that makes your heart skip a beat-
That’s who I am.
A moment caught in semi-gloss paper.
That’s who I am.
A drawing you drew in astronomy.
That’s who I am.
That time you tripped in front of your celebrity crush.
That’s who I am.
The awkward tan lines that cover my body that I wear as a souvenir from standing all day in the sun; waiting for live music to shoot through my veins.
That’s who I am.
My dog’s hair I find in random articles of clothing when I’m rushing to class.
That’s who I am.
The gossip that travels through my family, faster than a car in a freeway-
That’s who I am.
The overly priced plane tickets to see our favorite band together in their hometown-
That’s who I am.
Random stories I would make up on the spot I sent to you through text-
That’s who I am.
Our lyrical hero doing the Ashlee Simpson dance at 1145 pm on April Fool’s Day-
That’s who I am.
Almost getting killed crossing the street, because I trusted you looked both ways-
That’s who I am.
The band t-shirt collection hanging in my closet-
That’s who I am.
The soccer game my father watches religiously-
That’s who I am.
My mother’s finger-licking-good authentic Mexican food-
That’s who I am.
The stupid fights my brother and sister have with or without me-
That’s who I am.
The dreams I have at night that seems too real-
That’s who I am.
My life motto; we only breathe for so long-
That’s who I am.
…I am nothing but my memories, experiences, and thoughts
-bethsy bobadilla
Reading Flannery O'Connor
Reading "Everything that Rises Must Converge," by Flannery O'Connor was like reading a lesson of what religious writing should be. O'Connor is this devout catholic, and uses her writing to explore her beliefs and morals. But she does it in a way where the writing is neither preachy or pushy, but fascinating. O'Connor weaves this tale of a troubled mother-son relationship, telling a true story that without the religious symbols and metaphors, is still just as powerful. The author writes what interests her, but fuses a "moral of the story" so seamlessly, I became lost in the writing and forgot the point of the story. That is what is so great about Flannery O'Connor, her ability in a story like this to infuse her christian beliefs without being preachy or self-righteous. It is who she is, and she doesn't have to push her writing to show how much of a "good christian" she in fact was.
EVERYTHING THAT RISES MUST CONVERGE
I was reading this story, at least halfway trying to come up with something relevant and useful and smart-sounding to say about the story besides: It's awesome. I got to thinking about the writers relationship to (her) characters. My favorite scene (and what I feel might be the most instructive or stealable one for a creative writing class): Julian's whole interaction with the 'well dressed negro.' Throughout the sequence of Julian sitting next to the man, bumming a smoke, and ultimately failing to accomplish what he wanted to do, we are given a subtle opening up of his character. He becomes vulnerable, and from that vulnerability, something extremely human and relatable emerges. O'Connor likes to make characters who, at the surface, are jerks and idiots. She mocks them, but gently, lovingly. Julian is a prototypical jerk. He went out and got an education and has put himself on a pedestal. He is easy to dislike: a smug, pretentious kid who wants to teach his mother a lesson, but in that one vulnerable moment on the bus, the author has set us up to have no other feeling but empathy for his "entry into the world of guilt and shame."
She does this in at least one way I can identify, and enthusiastically hope to steal one day: she makes us, as readers, become judgmental, and then shows us that not only our specific judgments were wrong, but having judgments is wrong as well. And then--that same self-referendum--that is the same process Julian goes through.
She does this in at least one way I can identify, and enthusiastically hope to steal one day: she makes us, as readers, become judgmental, and then shows us that not only our specific judgments were wrong, but having judgments is wrong as well. And then--that same self-referendum--that is the same process Julian goes through.
Reading like a Writer...
Every time someone recommends a book on writing to me I cringe a little inside. I know they often mean well, my mom, a friend, a teacher, they all want to help me with my writing aspirations. Yet, more often then not books on writing make me feel like I a) have no idea what I am doing and b) that I haven't read a single important influential book. I start to wonder to myself... will I ever be a good writer if I don't like Tolstoy or Jane Austen (two authors who, honestly, I've never been able to finish one of their books)? So far I am on the fence about Prose's book. I like her style, her writing is clear and it's not too preachy or feel good. She is direct and to the point without being touchy-feely. I also like that she actually quotes the books she is talking about, giving concrete examples to convey her point, helps me see what she is talking about and doesn't make me feel immediately guilty that I've read next to nothing by Chekov.
On the flip side, reading the quote from Kafka's Metamorphosis reminded me of why I love reading. The details really are what make a story and what make a writer worth reading. So... if I haven't read all the classics that's okay because reading isn't about checking off books on a list it's about finding inspiration for my own writing and for the pure pleasure of picking up a book and escaping into a different world for just a little while.
-Allison Lee
Conversation Response to "Everything That Rises Must Converge"
Flannery O’Connor’s Everything That Rises Must Converge reads like a case study for a familiar dynamic: The resentful child and the martyred mother. As the daughter of a single mother myself, I have a sharp recollection of how it feels being continually reminded of the sacrifices that were made on your behalf, and the dichotomous feelings of guilt and gratitude that accompany them. This made me identify with Julian at the beginning of the story, despite his contemptuous disposition. I found it interesting the way that O’Connor used the implications of this dynamic as a segue into the issues of racial tensions and generational differences that are present in the story.
Both Julian and his mother are products of their time - Mrs. Chestny firmly remaining in her world of former family splendor and slavery, while her son attempts to bring her into his world, of progress and realism and integration. Neither one is willing to compromise, as both feel they have the moral high ground. Julian’s frustrations with his mother come to an apex when she tries to hand the young black boy a penny, which she views as a charitable, kind act, but Julian believes is condescending and humiliating. He identifies with the anger at this act, and feels vindicated when his mother receives the “lesson” that he wishes he could teach her. Of course, this feeling (as it often is) is short-lived, and I finished the story with a sense of moral ambiguity and sadness.
Both Julian and his mother are products of their time - Mrs. Chestny firmly remaining in her world of former family splendor and slavery, while her son attempts to bring her into his world, of progress and realism and integration. Neither one is willing to compromise, as both feel they have the moral high ground. Julian’s frustrations with his mother come to an apex when she tries to hand the young black boy a penny, which she views as a charitable, kind act, but Julian believes is condescending and humiliating. He identifies with the anger at this act, and feels vindicated when his mother receives the “lesson” that he wishes he could teach her. Of course, this feeling (as it often is) is short-lived, and I finished the story with a sense of moral ambiguity and sadness.
Response to: My Name
My name? My name is Margaret. Although I don’t like to think of myself as her, technically, I am her. At least I was told I am. Why do I question it? Well because, what is a name? It doesn’t make me an individual, it doesn’t make me feel special, it doesn’t make me feel whole. Actually it makes me fall apart. I mean, there are plenty of Margaret’s in this world, and whose to say that by being a Margaret it makes us better than all of the Cynthias or Lauras or Billys or John’s, well it doesn’t. Besides, once it had been acknowledged that other Margeret’s exist, I realized this is not my name. It is not something personal, it is not something divine, it just is, something.
And I? I am a constantly changing wind,
my patterns are unpredictable,
My spirit,
It can not be caught.
No one is like me,
No one should care to be, please
Release Me?
This Margaret, she won’t go away.
&I know it isn’t me,
This Margaret, she won’t go away,
&With her I’ll never be free.
Response to "Margaret"
After reading Margaret by Richard Brautigan, it occurred to me how sentence structure affects the piece. By using short sentences and incorporating imagery through the use of concise descriptions (ie "...and now they stood outside my door, knocking.") actions and events become less explicit and more open to the reader.
This is my attempt at breaking up the sentence structure of the story. As you can tell, it's very deliberate, but it gets the point across-- less can very easily be more.
Margaret
There was a sound at the door.
I could tell precisely who it was by the subtle, yet persistent knock—seemingly amplified through the semi-solid oak door hanging triumphantly in the middle of the deteriorating plaster crust of the living room wall.
The pictures fell to the ground.
Approaching, she stepped of course, on the only board on the bridge that made any noise at all—that which creaked and bled beneath only her weight—save the time the neighbors dog happened to cross into the yard, tracking the scent of our haggard old lab that is slowly but surely becoming fertilizer in the back yard, yet still finds ways to seduce any nearby mutt in need of a quickie—that board was never treaded upon.
I did not answer the door.
When at last she lost interest, time seemed to return to its normal course: a slow circle in the midst of a euphoric dreamland, filled with pink clouds and fuzzy things in generous portions—teddy bears and cuddly kittens.
Margaret was not a kitten.
-McCoy McDill-Gurmin-
This is my attempt at breaking up the sentence structure of the story. As you can tell, it's very deliberate, but it gets the point across-- less can very easily be more.
Margaret
There was a sound at the door.
I could tell precisely who it was by the subtle, yet persistent knock—seemingly amplified through the semi-solid oak door hanging triumphantly in the middle of the deteriorating plaster crust of the living room wall.
The pictures fell to the ground.
Approaching, she stepped of course, on the only board on the bridge that made any noise at all—that which creaked and bled beneath only her weight—save the time the neighbors dog happened to cross into the yard, tracking the scent of our haggard old lab that is slowly but surely becoming fertilizer in the back yard, yet still finds ways to seduce any nearby mutt in need of a quickie—that board was never treaded upon.
I did not answer the door.
When at last she lost interest, time seemed to return to its normal course: a slow circle in the midst of a euphoric dreamland, filled with pink clouds and fuzzy things in generous portions—teddy bears and cuddly kittens.
Margaret was not a kitten.
-McCoy McDill-Gurmin-
My Home
So this is a little imitation of Brautigan's "My Name"
I have been home many times, even though they say that it's impossible. People often shake their heads and disagree. To them, I say:
Have you ever walked a sun-warmed street in bare feet?
That is my home.
Maybe you woke one morning to the smell of french toast, burning slightly in the pan.
That is my home.
Or you put on a sweater from the dryer and remained inside for a few extra moments just to enjoy the warmth, like a jack still in the box.
That is my home.
Sometimes when it's raining, I turn off the TV and sit by the open window, breathing in the scent of clean, fresh earth.
That it my home.
Better still, there have been times when I've caught a glimpse of someone's face and smiled.
They are my home.
And there are more just waiting to be found.
I have been home many times, even though they say that it's impossible. People often shake their heads and disagree. To them, I say:
Have you ever walked a sun-warmed street in bare feet?
That is my home.
Maybe you woke one morning to the smell of french toast, burning slightly in the pan.
That is my home.
Or you put on a sweater from the dryer and remained inside for a few extra moments just to enjoy the warmth, like a jack still in the box.
That is my home.
Sometimes when it's raining, I turn off the TV and sit by the open window, breathing in the scent of clean, fresh earth.
That it my home.
Better still, there have been times when I've caught a glimpse of someone's face and smiled.
They are my home.
And there are more just waiting to be found.
A Mown Lawn, Lydia Davis
I thought the piece was really fun to read. Almost like a little puzzle that's been pieced together for you but its fun all the same. The character herself reminds me of a lonely woman who doesn't really have a lot of or anyone close to her and so every little thing annoys her. I wrote a piece about the person who came to mind as a read the story.
Red hair forced behind elongated ears
with skinny fingers and red nails
reveals piercing green eyes
dash across the room hoping to land on a lad
but only meets Moey the red eyed cat
Her red stained lips separate
not much
only slightly, enough to hint at desperation
Most often she's mean
But that's only when its spring
Seemingly not glancing
but always screening
the never smiling
'ol lady RED.
Red hair forced behind elongated ears
with skinny fingers and red nails
reveals piercing green eyes
dash across the room hoping to land on a lad
but only meets Moey the red eyed cat
Her red stained lips separate
not much
only slightly, enough to hint at desperation
Most often she's mean
But that's only when its spring
Seemingly not glancing
but always screening
the never smiling
'ol lady RED.
A Mown Lawn response
Since no one else has responded to this yet, I guess I'll give it a shot.
Only problem is this whole story solicited little more than one long yawn from me.
Just kidding. I actually liked it a lot. It made me think of the neatly trimmed grass that takes turns with thick, pure snow at coating the endless expanse of northern Michigan.
Where my idiot family is from. Lawmen, every one of them. (Republicans, I mean, not sheriffs.)
Anyway, a poem(?):
mown lawn
mow, wom
mown lawn
long moan
mown lawn
long moan
Lawn
man?
man, Nam
raw war
Lawn, law
lawn, lawman
lawman mow lawn
Law and order
lawn order
More lawn
lawn mower
lawn mower
more lawn
More lawn
more lawmen
more lawn
more lawmen
more lawn, more Nam?
More mown lawn
more long moan
lawn mourn
more mown lawn
long mown lawn
lawn
mown
long, long lawn
mole
lawman
mown lawn
moron
lawn moron
I had to do it! Sure am tired of the sound of southern drawl, though.
Only problem is this whole story solicited little more than one long yawn from me.
Just kidding. I actually liked it a lot. It made me think of the neatly trimmed grass that takes turns with thick, pure snow at coating the endless expanse of northern Michigan.
Where my idiot family is from. Lawmen, every one of them. (Republicans, I mean, not sheriffs.)
Anyway, a poem(?):
mown lawn
mow, wom
mown lawn
long moan
mown lawn
long moan
Lawn
man?
man, Nam
raw war
Lawn, law
lawn, lawman
lawman mow lawn
Law and order
lawn order
More lawn
lawn mower
lawn mower
more lawn
More lawn
more lawmen
more lawn
more lawmen
more lawn, more Nam?
More mown lawn
more long moan
lawn mourn
more mown lawn
long mown lawn
lawn
mown
long, long lawn
mole
lawman
mown lawn
moron
lawn moron
I had to do it! Sure am tired of the sound of southern drawl, though.
Translation Response to Margaret
I took some creative license with the replacing of nouns in Richard Brautigan's Margaret.
This toe jam there was a choad at the biscuit . I could tell who it was by the way they pooped, and I heard them coming across the sloppy joe.
They stepped on the only fat man that makes any fromunda cheese. They always step on it. I have never been able to figure this out. I have thought a great deal about why they always step on that same fat man, how they cannot miss it, and now they stood outside my biscuit, pooping.
I did not acknowledge their pooping because I just wasn't interested. I did not want to see them. I knew what they would be about and did not care for it.
Finally they stopped and went back across the sloppy joe and they, of course, stepped on the same fat man: a long fat man with the chins not lined up right, built years ago and no way to fix it, and then they were gone, and the fat man was silent.
I can walk across the sloppy joe hundreds of times without stepping on the fat man, but Margaret always steps on it.
-Sarah Cook
This toe jam there was a choad at the biscuit . I could tell who it was by the way they pooped, and I heard them coming across the sloppy joe.
They stepped on the only fat man that makes any fromunda cheese. They always step on it. I have never been able to figure this out. I have thought a great deal about why they always step on that same fat man, how they cannot miss it, and now they stood outside my biscuit, pooping.
I did not acknowledge their pooping because I just wasn't interested. I did not want to see them. I knew what they would be about and did not care for it.
Finally they stopped and went back across the sloppy joe and they, of course, stepped on the same fat man: a long fat man with the chins not lined up right, built years ago and no way to fix it, and then they were gone, and the fat man was silent.
I can walk across the sloppy joe hundreds of times without stepping on the fat man, but Margaret always steps on it.
-Sarah Cook
Flannery O'Connor
Before my college experience, if someone would have asked about Flannery O'Connor, I probably would have responded with, "is that a beer?" However, fast-forwarding to the present, I can say with certainty that she is one of my favorite authors. The way she pulls you through her stories is stunning. It's like you are being dragged by a rope behind a 4-wheeler. By the end of the tug you are dirty and ragged, but it was a hell of a ride! Sometimes you never know where you are going to end up, and that is the beauty of her writing.
Regarding "Everything That Rises Must Converge," there is an absolute theme of integration. Through the experience of reading this short story, we can depict the characters’ past experiences. There are two incompatible personalities in the passage, Mrs. Chestney, the mother, which represents the transition from the old South, and Julian, the son, who represents the transition of the new South.
I loved the line, "meet yourself coming and going." Mrs. Chestney isbasically implicating her kind as the party responsible for the tension between black and whites. In fact, what she really means is that, "we dominated this race of people," and feels threatened by it.
Regarding "Everything That Rises Must Converge," there is an absolute theme of integration. Through the experience of reading this short story, we can depict the characters’ past experiences. There are two incompatible personalities in the passage, Mrs. Chestney, the mother, which represents the transition from the old South, and Julian, the son, who represents the transition of the new South.
I loved the line, "meet yourself coming and going." Mrs. Chestney isbasically implicating her kind as the party responsible for the tension between black and whites. In fact, what she really means is that, "we dominated this race of people," and feels threatened by it.
Response to “Details” in Reading Like a Writer by Francine Prose
Response to “Details” in Reading Like a Writer by Francine Prose
Details, baby, details!
It is the color of her hair
In the moonlight in the air
In the murder of his glare
A truth that makes the lie slip by
---or brings comfort
God is truth
Truth may be God
---That which is in the details
So, details, baby, details!
--
Okay, first of all I hope the format comes out okay, since I've been having problems with that today. Also, this originally was a two paragraph response to "Details," but it ultimately got condensed into this. Go figure.
- K. De Melo.
Details, baby, details!
It is the color of her hair
In the moonlight in the air
In the murder of his glare
A truth that makes the lie slip by
---or brings comfort
God is truth
Truth may be God
---That which is in the details
So, details, baby, details!
--
Okay, first of all I hope the format comes out okay, since I've been having problems with that today. Also, this originally was a two paragraph response to "Details," but it ultimately got condensed into this. Go figure.
- K. De Melo.
Everything that rises
Flannery O'Connor is a wonderful author: her sentences feel like reading water; they flow perfectly and her word choice is beautiful. While I was reading this work, it struck me that I already knew how it was going to end. I really hate endings like this. I don’t understand how or why writers get off by writing stories that end like that. They’re not in your face sad, they’re not written to make you cry, but they destroy you.
The entire time I’m reading this story I’m siding with Julian, who believes he’s so righteous by being deliberately colorblind it turns out he’s almost as bad as his mother, who’s suffocating in her prejudice. Now, while Julian’s bleakness is depressing it’s starkly contrasted by the mothers adoration and love, which toys with me throughout the entire story- which I’m sure O’Connor set out to do.
It’s a classic tale of the ungrateful child. His mother is wrong to make rude comments and ruder gestures, and in the privacy of a canceled environment it would be appropriate to have these things brought to her attention. But the way he so callously tries to “teach her a lesson” is in so many ways much more wrong than any crime his mother committed.
And the fact that he gets the last word makes me almost hate this story.
The entire time I’m reading this story I’m siding with Julian, who believes he’s so righteous by being deliberately colorblind it turns out he’s almost as bad as his mother, who’s suffocating in her prejudice. Now, while Julian’s bleakness is depressing it’s starkly contrasted by the mothers adoration and love, which toys with me throughout the entire story- which I’m sure O’Connor set out to do.
It’s a classic tale of the ungrateful child. His mother is wrong to make rude comments and ruder gestures, and in the privacy of a canceled environment it would be appropriate to have these things brought to her attention. But the way he so callously tries to “teach her a lesson” is in so many ways much more wrong than any crime his mother committed.
And the fact that he gets the last word makes me almost hate this story.
response to my name
i have been a long time brautigan fan, and i remember reading "my name" a few years back. i simultaneously like and dislike this piece. what i initially like, and what has made this work very memorable for me are the one line descriptions that instantly give the reader a familiar, sweet, and almost nostalgic reaction. these feelings even build up as they go along, from "perhaps it was raining very hard" which might deliver a slightly less emotional response than: "perhaps you stared into a river. there was somebody near you who loved you. they were about to touch you. you could feel this before it happened. then it happened" which is only a few lines down. it almost feels like brautigan knows who we (as the reader) are, the small intimate things that we like, and is able to connect us to him by directly saying that those things are his "name". To me, it felt incredibly enjoyable to read all braugtigan's different "names", but it was almost in vanity or something. greediness, i guess. i wanted braugtigan to feed me more and more of the warm cozy feelings that i love.
but after the chapter in this story was over, i was somehow disappointed with the work. first off, and i know how un-intellectual this may sound, i kinda wanted a name. actually, i didn't need a name, but i wanted to be able to identify this character with a specific something so that i could connect with him in some way or another. the idea that he was, or his name was "whatever is in [my] mind" irked me a little bit. not too much, just a little bit.
secondly, i thought the way the chapter ended pretty weak. i had fallen into the pattern, like was seen in "the school" and the pay off here didn't quite do it for me. i was becoming more pleased and curious, pleased and curious every time the pattern repeated itself, but then he ends with "and i wish margaret would leave me alone" and i feel a little let down. i feel like that sentence itself speaks poorly of the character. i think i might have liked it better if he ended it revealing something more concrete about his character, or even just omitting the final line all together.
Eight: Details
God in the details.
I wonder what God feels like to those who know him.
Perhaps the reason why it continues to intrigue me is that I have never completely understood it.
And if God is truth-
then how long does it take to get to heaven or hell?
(When other galaxies we know of are a gazillion light years away).
Details are what persuade us that someone is telling the truth.
What truth have you
in perfect detail, at once surprising, unexpected, inventive, unpredictable, but not enitrely plausible?
What well chosen detail can tell us more about the character of God?
His grace? His judgement? His guiding hand?
If we live in detail, but think in generalities,
where does that place God within us?
We might want to pay attention to how and what we remember.
Although, sometimes,
I'm appalled by the details
and after I scream and scream I feel much better.
I wonder what God feels like to those who know him.
Perhaps the reason why it continues to intrigue me is that I have never completely understood it.
And if God is truth-
then how long does it take to get to heaven or hell?
(When other galaxies we know of are a gazillion light years away).
Details are what persuade us that someone is telling the truth.
What truth have you
in perfect detail, at once surprising, unexpected, inventive, unpredictable, but not enitrely plausible?
What well chosen detail can tell us more about the character of God?
His grace? His judgement? His guiding hand?
If we live in detail, but think in generalities,
where does that place God within us?
We might want to pay attention to how and what we remember.
Although, sometimes,
I'm appalled by the details
and after I scream and scream I feel much better.
Response to Richard Brautigan’s “Margaret”
“At least you can still have a barbeque!”
Samuel Burns: manager of Americana Explosives
Unfortunately, if we knew what the weather or not was like next Tuesday or tomorrow for that matter, we might not get out of bed. What is it about the weather or not that can leave one paralyzed in the face of so many decisions and possibilities? And why is it unfortunate that knowing the weather or not could have any negative effect? It is unfortunate because of anticipation. Anticipation is a strange creature, which fulfills and denies simultaneously. It curls into itself awaiting the satisfaction of its demand like an embarrassed John getting it from a trick for the first time. It pouts in a corner when expectations go unfulfilled. Does this satisfy any elements of anticipation noting all the stylistic and contextual methods of response outlined in Guidelines For Posting Reading Responses To The Blog? I have been anticipating something brilliant to come of my finger tips but we may both be disappointed. I have noticed that we are discussing some type of devise utilized by manipulators of all types and I anticipate that many will use it I the future, what a genius. So Brautigan’s character doesn’t have to answer the door, the board made a noise and he knows what Margaret wants, do you? She probably doesn’t know that the board is a give away and it is the cousin of her misery, the music of her identity. Some one is usually in the dark it just depends in this case if its you or me.
Response: Everything That Rises Must Converge
First and foremost, I gotta say regardless of how unorthodox or inappropriate someone may read this... after reading this piece by Flannery O'Connor, I was laughing my ass off and wrote in big pink bold highlighter, "FUCK YEAH!". This piece resonated with me a great deal, mainly because of the immediate connection I discovered with "Julian" the son. There's a lot of racists in my family and me being caucasian and asking an african american girl to marry me didn't go over to well with them last christmas. I'm babbling, but for those of you who read and wrote about this piece you will most undoubtedly see why I liked Julian.
Now, all of this pretense aside, I guess the only option that makes sense now out of our "guidelines for posting reading responses to the blog" is conversation. My first question, and I don't really know if there is an answer is this, what does it mean on pg 440 of the handout when Julian's mother states, "with that hat, you won't meet yourself coming or going"? Now, I know what it means to not know if one's self is coming or going... I'm pretty sure it means you've lost your mind, gone crazy. Therefore, why would Julian's mother, a staunch christian conservative from her dialogue and demeanor; why would this women buy this outrageous hat if the woman who suggested it to her said it looked crazy on her or made her look crazy? The obvious irony comes out later when the "Negro" woman on the bus is wearing the same hat... once again I'm stating the obvious.
Another question that I always ask myself when reading short stories like this is, how much truth is in this story? Not just metaphorical truth, but did Flannery O'Connor go through something like this with her mother? There seem to be a lot of one liners from "Julian's mother" that seem to have been pilfered from actual experience. Lines like, "Selling typewriters is close to writing. He can go right from one to the other." It's often hard for me to separate the writer from the story, the dance from the dance, the pen from the paper. I don't know if the question is worth asking here, but whatever... moving on.
The reason I find this story so frackin' awesome is because of the ending. Not only is it a great ending, with a great moral, but the description of Julian's mother having a stroke because she (perhaps) sees there really is no difference between her and the "Negro" woman with the little boy on the bus. It was also pretty awesome to visualize the "Negro" woman punching this older white southern aristocrat in the face for trying to give her little boy a penny.
Now, I'd like to think, or hope, only because I'm pretty sick with cynicism; I'd like to think that every racist who had a realization like Julian's mother did at the end of the story... I can't help it, I'd like to see them have a stroke or a heart attack. I guess that this is because I bigot racists... the irony. But then again, the last lines of story, "The tide of darkness seemed to sweep him back to her, postponing from moment to moment his entry into the world of guilt and sorrow." This last line seems to suggest that Flannery O'Connor is telling Julian that he'll be sorry and feel guilty for the rest of his life because he was so hard on his mom. But, was Julian really responsible for his mother's death. Of course there's only two options: yes or no. I tend to swing towards the no end of the answer spectrum because I believe it was Julian's mother herself, her reaction to realizing how stupid and powerless and awful she was inside; this is what I think caused her stroke. She caused her blood pressure to rise, it was her mind that caused her mind to crack. It was the way she digested the experience. Whereas she could have reacted to the experience in a positive way, she decided it was too much for her to handle. She turned a medicine into a poison.
All in all, great read. I'll be looking for more to read by Flannery O'Connor.
laters-
matt phibbs.
Now, all of this pretense aside, I guess the only option that makes sense now out of our "guidelines for posting reading responses to the blog" is conversation. My first question, and I don't really know if there is an answer is this, what does it mean on pg 440 of the handout when Julian's mother states, "with that hat, you won't meet yourself coming or going"? Now, I know what it means to not know if one's self is coming or going... I'm pretty sure it means you've lost your mind, gone crazy. Therefore, why would Julian's mother, a staunch christian conservative from her dialogue and demeanor; why would this women buy this outrageous hat if the woman who suggested it to her said it looked crazy on her or made her look crazy? The obvious irony comes out later when the "Negro" woman on the bus is wearing the same hat... once again I'm stating the obvious.
Another question that I always ask myself when reading short stories like this is, how much truth is in this story? Not just metaphorical truth, but did Flannery O'Connor go through something like this with her mother? There seem to be a lot of one liners from "Julian's mother" that seem to have been pilfered from actual experience. Lines like, "Selling typewriters is close to writing. He can go right from one to the other." It's often hard for me to separate the writer from the story, the dance from the dance, the pen from the paper. I don't know if the question is worth asking here, but whatever... moving on.
The reason I find this story so frackin' awesome is because of the ending. Not only is it a great ending, with a great moral, but the description of Julian's mother having a stroke because she (perhaps) sees there really is no difference between her and the "Negro" woman with the little boy on the bus. It was also pretty awesome to visualize the "Negro" woman punching this older white southern aristocrat in the face for trying to give her little boy a penny.
Now, I'd like to think, or hope, only because I'm pretty sick with cynicism; I'd like to think that every racist who had a realization like Julian's mother did at the end of the story... I can't help it, I'd like to see them have a stroke or a heart attack. I guess that this is because I bigot racists... the irony. But then again, the last lines of story, "The tide of darkness seemed to sweep him back to her, postponing from moment to moment his entry into the world of guilt and sorrow." This last line seems to suggest that Flannery O'Connor is telling Julian that he'll be sorry and feel guilty for the rest of his life because he was so hard on his mom. But, was Julian really responsible for his mother's death. Of course there's only two options: yes or no. I tend to swing towards the no end of the answer spectrum because I believe it was Julian's mother herself, her reaction to realizing how stupid and powerless and awful she was inside; this is what I think caused her stroke. She caused her blood pressure to rise, it was her mind that caused her mind to crack. It was the way she digested the experience. Whereas she could have reacted to the experience in a positive way, she decided it was too much for her to handle. She turned a medicine into a poison.
All in all, great read. I'll be looking for more to read by Flannery O'Connor.
laters-
matt phibbs.
Sydney
I wait at home lying on the felt tipped couch,
Perched ears trying to pick up the signal
Of her coming home. A car whizzes by,
My body snaps into full attention.
But no, no one is home, and I plop my head
Into the bubbled cushion with the sheets
Covered in scary dinosaurs,
Causing me to drop my eyelids into the sand.
And I dream of bones in another land.
-Brandon Cusak
Reading Like A Writer - "Details"
In the chapter “Details,” Prose examines the impact of minor details on the entire story. I found this piece very insightful, as it opened attention to the aspects of a work which are often the most captivating, although their importance is often overlooked. The chapter opens with a few paragraphs describing the intense power of storytelling, and the importance of details to the impact of the story. When describing a story told by a woman who lost her leg to disease and then made up a very believable alternative story about her loss, Prose says that her friend told her “that the whole reason the class believed the woman’s story – a gothic tall tale about a gangrenous cat bite – was entirely because of the detail about the father’s love for steak and the mother’s passion for tofu.” This idea rings true that it is the smallest, most human, most relatable details that define characters and create depth to a story. This chapter has inspired me to make an effort to notice these details in the stories I read, and to watch for opportunities for details in the stories that I write.
"Margaret"
I might borrow Brautigan’s idea of using the same character‘s name in my stories. I think it’s a good way to build up the character for use in future stories.
In “Margaret,” I like the way the author sounds so natural, but I think a normal person would tell Margret to leave him alone. I liked, “My Name,” and the same natural sound he had, but then it got weird the way he uses that same voice that claims not to care, but he does. Maybe he’s just expressing annoyance…..or, is he somehow fond of Margret, does he like her or something? It’s hard to tell, and the story just leaves you guessing. (So much confusion in two short little stories!). …Oh yeah, who is talking anyway? I just assumed it was a he. Were they supposed to be read together and is he talking about the same Margret? I couldn't help analyzing the two stories together.
In “Margaret,” I like the way the author sounds so natural, but I think a normal person would tell Margret to leave him alone. I liked, “My Name,” and the same natural sound he had, but then it got weird the way he uses that same voice that claims not to care, but he does. Maybe he’s just expressing annoyance…..or, is he somehow fond of Margret, does he like her or something? It’s hard to tell, and the story just leaves you guessing. (So much confusion in two short little stories!). …Oh yeah, who is talking anyway? I just assumed it was a he. Were they supposed to be read together and is he talking about the same Margret? I couldn't help analyzing the two stories together.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Response to "Margaret"
The short story "Margaret," although extremely short (ha) inspired me to write. In the five short paragraphs, I got a sense that the narrator, although annoyed with Margaret for a reason we do not know, is very fond of her. I feel that he even loves her. I love that he knows who it is just by the creak of the board on the bridge. I love that Richard Brautigan makes it so the narrator comes across as being annoyed at this habbit of Margaret's, but at the same time still manages to sound sentimental. He calls Margaret "they" throughout the whole story except for at the end, even though he knows right from the beginning who it is at the door. I feel that the narrator is mad at Margaret, maybe even hurt by her. But he still loves her. You can feel this. And that is what has inspired me to write, the fondness that the narrator holds for Margaret, despite unpleasant circumstances, whatever they may be.
Reading Response
Response to: Reading Like A Writer, Pages 193-207
I found this chapter about details really interesting and relevant to how I write. Far too often I throw in details to get myself started writing or to create a setting. Whether it is helpful to get started, and I should just cut out the unnecessary parts when editing, or I should just try and keep it simple from the beginning, I now better understand I need to create simpler stories. This is explained more eloquently in one of the last paragraphs on page 201, in Chekov’s letters:
You understand it at once when I say, “The man sat on the grass.” You understand it because it is clear and makes no demands on the attention . . . it is not easily understood if I write, “A tall, narrow-chested, middle-sized man, with a red beard, sat on the green grass, already trampled by pedestrians, sat silently, shyly, and timidly looked about him.” That is not immediately grasped by the mind, whereas good writing should be grasped at once - in a second.
Another part of this chapter confused me however. When talking about how her son could only remember the details of a certain story and not the events or title, Prose said “One mark of the highly skilled and competent but less than first-rate writer is that we may vividly remember one detail from a novel but not the rest of the book, or even its title.” (Page 204) Why does this make a “less than first-rate writer”? I do think that it is important to remember the title and events of the story, but I can’t help but feel I am missing something. What exactly is Prose saying we, as writers, should grasp from what we read?
-Beth Bauler
I found this chapter about details really interesting and relevant to how I write. Far too often I throw in details to get myself started writing or to create a setting. Whether it is helpful to get started, and I should just cut out the unnecessary parts when editing, or I should just try and keep it simple from the beginning, I now better understand I need to create simpler stories. This is explained more eloquently in one of the last paragraphs on page 201, in Chekov’s letters:
You understand it at once when I say, “The man sat on the grass.” You understand it because it is clear and makes no demands on the attention . . . it is not easily understood if I write, “A tall, narrow-chested, middle-sized man, with a red beard, sat on the green grass, already trampled by pedestrians, sat silently, shyly, and timidly looked about him.” That is not immediately grasped by the mind, whereas good writing should be grasped at once - in a second.
Another part of this chapter confused me however. When talking about how her son could only remember the details of a certain story and not the events or title, Prose said “One mark of the highly skilled and competent but less than first-rate writer is that we may vividly remember one detail from a novel but not the rest of the book, or even its title.” (Page 204) Why does this make a “less than first-rate writer”? I do think that it is important to remember the title and events of the story, but I can’t help but feel I am missing something. What exactly is Prose saying we, as writers, should grasp from what we read?
-Beth Bauler
Week 1 Writing Assignment
I'm sorry that some people didn't get the email with the assignments last week. For those of you who did not receive the email, I will accept Week One writing assignment this week and next week. I will also offer an extra credit assignment toward the end of the semester.
Writing Assignment
Choose One:
1) This week, make a habit of noticing everything around you. Choose two or three concrete, specific, images or details that seem particularly telling about a character or a situation. Using those images, write a poem of no longer than ten lines, or a story of no more than one paragraph. Remember – be brief. Let your images do the work!
2) Take an abstract word used to describe someone, (for example, ugly, stupid, pretty, funny, kind, crazy, heroic etc.). Writing no more than a page, use concrete images and details to convey the quality you choose, without ever using that word. For instance, if you choose ugly, make the reader know that your character is ugly without ever sayings so.
Writing Assignment
Choose One:
1) This week, make a habit of noticing everything around you. Choose two or three concrete, specific, images or details that seem particularly telling about a character or a situation. Using those images, write a poem of no longer than ten lines, or a story of no more than one paragraph. Remember – be brief. Let your images do the work!
2) Take an abstract word used to describe someone, (for example, ugly, stupid, pretty, funny, kind, crazy, heroic etc.). Writing no more than a page, use concrete images and details to convey the quality you choose, without ever using that word. For instance, if you choose ugly, make the reader know that your character is ugly without ever sayings so.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Guidelines for Comments
GUIDELINES FOR RESPONDING TO BLOG POSTS
By midnight on Wednesday of each week, respond to 3 of your fellow classmates' blog entries by posting comments to the entries. This is not a place for evaluative responses (“I liked,” “I didn’t like”) or editorial suggestions (“cut the second paragraph”). We will be posting rough and often fragmentary, work and exploring our own reactions to the reading at hand. With that in mind, please respond in one or more of the following ways:
1) State what was meaningful, evocative, interesting, exciting, and/or striking in the piece (i.e. “the image of the little girl playing with the cigarette butts stuck with me all week.”)
2) Respond in analytic mode. Name an element or elements and describe its/their function.
For example: “ I noticed that the stanzas you posted had an aba bab cbc rhyme scheme, while the poem you were responding to did not use end rhyme at all. It’s interesting how both poems have a feeling of extension and forward momentum even though the two forms are different.”
3) Ask at least two neutral questions about the work, without voicing opinion. “I wondered why you made the mother so unlikeable” is an opinion disguised as a question. Instead you might ask: “what is the mother’s role in this piece?” or “how to do you hope audiences will react to the mother?”
4) Suggest an exercise for further development. This could be as simple as suggesting a way to explore a secondary character (i.e. “make a list of everything John’s sister has in her purse”), or as complicated as suggesting a way to re-envision the whole piece (i.e. “You’ve written a scene in which Anne loves her parents and wishes she had known them better before they died. Now try writing the scene so that Anne hates her parents and cannot forgive them for dying when she was so young.”)
By midnight on Wednesday of each week, respond to 3 of your fellow classmates' blog entries by posting comments to the entries. This is not a place for evaluative responses (“I liked,” “I didn’t like”) or editorial suggestions (“cut the second paragraph”). We will be posting rough and often fragmentary, work and exploring our own reactions to the reading at hand. With that in mind, please respond in one or more of the following ways:
1) State what was meaningful, evocative, interesting, exciting, and/or striking in the piece (i.e. “the image of the little girl playing with the cigarette butts stuck with me all week.”)
2) Respond in analytic mode. Name an element or elements and describe its/their function.
For example: “ I noticed that the stanzas you posted had an aba bab cbc rhyme scheme, while the poem you were responding to did not use end rhyme at all. It’s interesting how both poems have a feeling of extension and forward momentum even though the two forms are different.”
3) Ask at least two neutral questions about the work, without voicing opinion. “I wondered why you made the mother so unlikeable” is an opinion disguised as a question. Instead you might ask: “what is the mother’s role in this piece?” or “how to do you hope audiences will react to the mother?”
4) Suggest an exercise for further development. This could be as simple as suggesting a way to explore a secondary character (i.e. “make a list of everything John’s sister has in her purse”), or as complicated as suggesting a way to re-envision the whole piece (i.e. “You’ve written a scene in which Anne loves her parents and wishes she had known them better before they died. Now try writing the scene so that Anne hates her parents and cannot forgive them for dying when she was so young.”)
Posting Guidelines
GUIDELINES FOR POSTING READING RESPONSES TO THE BLOG
By midnight on Wednesday of each week, post a blog entry responding to one of the readings for the week. You are responsible for everything assigned for the week, but you will only respond to one of the readings on the blog. Posts should be between 100 and 300 words, and they may be creative or analytical. Always specify the reading you are responding to.
Here are some ways of responding to the text in either creative or analytical mode:
Appearance
Comment on the visual aspects of the piece or write a creative response that emulates the visual form. Notice how a text looks on the page, how it is structured, what strikes you about the way it looks, and how the visual aspects complement the content (or don’t).
Imitation
Write a creative piece that imitates the text you are responding to. Pay special attention to stylistic or structural elements that will work to create a text with a similar sound or feel.
Parody
Write a creative response that pokes fun at the original text. Look out for elements of the work that can be exaggerated for critical or comic effect.
Translation
Translate the work from English to English. This could mean changing the diction from “high” diction to “low” diction, or to the language of the street, or into a regional dialect. Or you could go through the text and replace each noun with the one that follows it in the dictionary. Or you could try to re-state the piece in one paragraph, or turn a poem into a story or a story into a poem. The possibilities are endless!
Conversation
Write an analytical response that enters into a dialogue with the reading. What questions do you have? What does the piece remind you of? What themes or ideas might you want to explore further? What rings true or doesn’t? You could also write a creative piece that poses or answers questions related to the text.
Inspiration
Explore the themes, phrases, details of craft, characters and ideas that strike you, stir you up, make you want to sit down and write. Respond with a creative or analytic piece.
Instruction
Write a critical response that investigates the mechanics of the text. How does the author handle time, space, sound, rhythm, silence, texture, color, movement, shape, weight? What can be learned from the author’s methods? What could the author have done better?
Introduction
Did you encounter vocabulary, concepts, or theories you aren’t familiar with? What writers does the author refer to again and again that you would like to explore? Note these in a brief analytic response.
By midnight on Wednesday of each week, post a blog entry responding to one of the readings for the week. You are responsible for everything assigned for the week, but you will only respond to one of the readings on the blog. Posts should be between 100 and 300 words, and they may be creative or analytical. Always specify the reading you are responding to.
Here are some ways of responding to the text in either creative or analytical mode:
Appearance
Comment on the visual aspects of the piece or write a creative response that emulates the visual form. Notice how a text looks on the page, how it is structured, what strikes you about the way it looks, and how the visual aspects complement the content (or don’t).
Imitation
Write a creative piece that imitates the text you are responding to. Pay special attention to stylistic or structural elements that will work to create a text with a similar sound or feel.
Parody
Write a creative response that pokes fun at the original text. Look out for elements of the work that can be exaggerated for critical or comic effect.
Translation
Translate the work from English to English. This could mean changing the diction from “high” diction to “low” diction, or to the language of the street, or into a regional dialect. Or you could go through the text and replace each noun with the one that follows it in the dictionary. Or you could try to re-state the piece in one paragraph, or turn a poem into a story or a story into a poem. The possibilities are endless!
Conversation
Write an analytical response that enters into a dialogue with the reading. What questions do you have? What does the piece remind you of? What themes or ideas might you want to explore further? What rings true or doesn’t? You could also write a creative piece that poses or answers questions related to the text.
Inspiration
Explore the themes, phrases, details of craft, characters and ideas that strike you, stir you up, make you want to sit down and write. Respond with a creative or analytic piece.
Instruction
Write a critical response that investigates the mechanics of the text. How does the author handle time, space, sound, rhythm, silence, texture, color, movement, shape, weight? What can be learned from the author’s methods? What could the author have done better?
Introduction
Did you encounter vocabulary, concepts, or theories you aren’t familiar with? What writers does the author refer to again and again that you would like to explore? Note these in a brief analytic response.
Week 2 Assignments
Writing Assignment: You will do two writing exercises this week
Everyone does this:
Write three one-line stories or poems using a strong image as a metaphor that encapsulates a moment or situation, just as we did in class. Try to tell the whole story with a single metaphor.
AND
Choose One:
1) Construct a story or poem of no more than 2 pages in which you introduce a pattern that creates the rising action of the piece. Then find an unexpected way to resolve the situation (as in The School).
2) Write a story in which a main character is defined by a particular fear or obsession. Let
that obsession lead to the story’s crisis.
3) Two characters meet. The first wants a book back from the second, but the second doesn’t want to give it. What are the specific desires of each character? What is the conflict for each of them? Write the scene in fiction or play form (don’t worry about manuscript format for now).
Reading for Next Week
IN READING LIKE A WRITER:
Details, pp. 193-207
Close Reading (optional) pp. 1-12
HANDOUTS
“Everything that Rises Must Converge,” Flannery O’Connor
IN THE COURSE READER:
My Name, Richard Brautigan from In Watermelon Sugar
Margaret, Richard Brautigan from In Watermelon Sugar
A Mown Lawn, Lydia Davis
Blog
1. Post an entry about any one of the readings this week. This may be a critical or creative piece of about 100-300 words. It MUST dialogue with your chosen reading in some way, either by identifying and discussing craft elements, themes, or techniques or by using those elements in a creative response.
2. Post comments on at least three other entries. Remember, this is not a place for critiquing each other’s work. Instead, identify something from the piece that strikes or interests you, ask a neutral question about the work, or suggest ways the author could deepen or expand it.
Everyone does this:
Write three one-line stories or poems using a strong image as a metaphor that encapsulates a moment or situation, just as we did in class. Try to tell the whole story with a single metaphor.
AND
Choose One:
1) Construct a story or poem of no more than 2 pages in which you introduce a pattern that creates the rising action of the piece. Then find an unexpected way to resolve the situation (as in The School).
2) Write a story in which a main character is defined by a particular fear or obsession. Let
that obsession lead to the story’s crisis.
3) Two characters meet. The first wants a book back from the second, but the second doesn’t want to give it. What are the specific desires of each character? What is the conflict for each of them? Write the scene in fiction or play form (don’t worry about manuscript format for now).
Reading for Next Week
IN READING LIKE A WRITER:
Details, pp. 193-207
Close Reading (optional) pp. 1-12
HANDOUTS
“Everything that Rises Must Converge,” Flannery O’Connor
IN THE COURSE READER:
My Name, Richard Brautigan from In Watermelon Sugar
Margaret, Richard Brautigan from In Watermelon Sugar
A Mown Lawn, Lydia Davis
Blog
1. Post an entry about any one of the readings this week. This may be a critical or creative piece of about 100-300 words. It MUST dialogue with your chosen reading in some way, either by identifying and discussing craft elements, themes, or techniques or by using those elements in a creative response.
2. Post comments on at least three other entries. Remember, this is not a place for critiquing each other’s work. Instead, identify something from the piece that strikes or interests you, ask a neutral question about the work, or suggest ways the author could deepen or expand it.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
If any of you are interested in authors from all over the world....
Here's a link to the BBC World Book Club: http://www.bbc.co.uk/podcasts/series/wbc/
It's a really awesome podcast that you can listen to anywhere at anytime for free. Each month, the World Book Club picks an author that has written a piece of literature that has garnered fame, notoriety, and a strong following.
One of them I strongly recommend you check out is Nawaal El Sadwaawi. She's an Egyptian author known for her work Woman at Point Zero about a prostitute who is put to her death by the government after she murders a pimp who threatens her life.
It's a really awesome podcast that you can listen to anywhere at anytime for free. Each month, the World Book Club picks an author that has written a piece of literature that has garnered fame, notoriety, and a strong following.
One of them I strongly recommend you check out is Nawaal El Sadwaawi. She's an Egyptian author known for her work Woman at Point Zero about a prostitute who is put to her death by the government after she murders a pimp who threatens her life.
Written in blog
This is my first blogging experience as it is for some of you, and I'm feeling a little in the nude but I suppose it won't hurt too much. I don't visit many blogs so I'm not sure what constitutes a better format than others but so far it feels right. I might suggest an audio player that people could upload songs containing lyrics they find substantial (for a creative writing/reading course) or audio recordings of their favorite poets reading. The chestnut-brown margins do it for me!
Speaking of audio files of poets reading their work, you can check out the Poetry Archive to find out if anyone you enjoy is available for listening (you need Realplayer).
Link: www.poetryarchive.org/
zeotrope.com
I just heard about this site in another class of mine, haven't really had much of a chance to check it out. Seems like writing contest links and other stuff like that mostly...
Hello everyone! So far, the layout of the blog feels very intuitive and user-friendly, even though I am new to blogging (like someone else posted previously, I find it harder to write indoors at my computer), but it all appears well-organized and easy to navigate. The only suggestion I have is that it would be interesting to have more color involved in places, although the sepia tones do add a sense of nostalgia to an online forum.
See you all in class today!
-Erica
See you all in class today!
-Erica
About the suggestions...
I really like the blog and agree with all of the previous suggestions. I can't really think of any suggestions of my own. Way to go, guys.
As far as a link suggestion goes, however, I do want to post the San Francisco Public Library site. It may be totally obvious and most everyone probably already knows it, but hey, I always tend to forget the exact address. And they make it really easy to reserve books online.
The link is: http://sfpl.lib.ca.us/
Cheers!
Anna
As far as a link suggestion goes, however, I do want to post the San Francisco Public Library site. It may be totally obvious and most everyone probably already knows it, but hey, I always tend to forget the exact address. And they make it really easy to reserve books online.
The link is: http://sfpl.lib.ca.us/
Cheers!
Anna
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Dictionary.com
While some might use websites dedicated to inspiring, teaching & guiding writers, I can't help but credit Dictionary/Thesaurus.com as a vital necessity for progressive writers. Either site will lead you to the other, and this massive resource has the unprecedented power to help you stay with the flow while you write, especially since most of our writing today takes place at our computers with online resources. That said, I have a suggestion for my fellow classmates to bookmark these sites at the top of your screen, as this has made my writing life entirely more fun and efficient. There is always that time when you feel compelled to clarify the meaning of a word, and now it's just a click away. And a Thesaurus online? It's never been so satisfying...click! :)
Andi
suggestion...
the blog is fine as it is, but if i had to make a change i think i'd change the font, if its possible. i only say this because we are surrounded with times new roman within school, and since this is somewhat informal we can break out of routine...
just a thought :)
-bethsy
just a thought :)
-bethsy
Submit Your Work to Transfer Magazine
Because of the SFSU furlough day this Friday, the Transfer Magazine submission deadline is tomorrow - this THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 3rd.
Submission forms are available in the Creative Writing Office, (HUM 380), or here is a link to the Submission form online: http://www.sfsu.edu/~transfer/TransferSubmissionCover.pdf
You will need to submit four copies of each piece you submit. Take a look at the submission form for more info.
If you have work that is polished and ready for publication, I encourage you to submit it!
You will need to submit four copies of each piece you submit. Take a look at the submission form for more info.
If you have work that is polished and ready for publication, I encourage you to submit it!
Hello, this is Beth...
This is a link to a website I learned about my senior year in high school. I know it says the website is intended for high school students, but the poems on it are still interesting and well written. The idea behind it is that there is a poem a day, for each day of the school year. I know it won't quite match up since we are in college and go by semesters, but I still enjoy looking through this website:
http://www.loc.gov/poetry/180/
-Beth Bauler
http://www.loc.gov/poetry/180/
-Beth Bauler
Ciao!
This blog thing is a first for me. I'm usually outdoors, so it takes conscious effort to boot up the computer and only in necessity. The site seems fairly easy to navigate (and cyberspace doesn't conceptualize well for me); however, I can't manage to look at the computer screen for long without getting a headache. Enjoy the weather outside!
Really great speech:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nkREt4ZB-ck&feature=email
-Rachel Chan
Really great speech:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nkREt4ZB-ck&feature=email
-Rachel Chan
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