SUNNY SKIES

Sunny Skies
It's funny you and I
Were both so blue
Do you feel the things I do?
Sunny Skies
I still can see your eyes
When you said hello
I knew all too soon you'd go
When the autumn came you went away
Was our summer love a bit too hot for you to stay?
Please don't make this last forever
It's raining January through December
Please don't take away my Sunny Skies
Sunny Skies
A tear fell from my eyes
And since you went away
I've been sad, blue and grey
Sunny Skies
It's really no surprise
That I'm lost alone and I wish you just come home
When the autumn leaves came tumbling down
I looked everywhere and you could not be found
Don't make it last forever
It's raining January Through December
Please don't take away my Sunny Skies

Craig Fontenot

For the longest time I agonized over this post. Everyday day and night for seven days I sat at my computer, prepared to write, but nothing would come. This is extremely frustrating for me, because this is the exact same problem I have with the actual blog I have, of which is empty, and thereby useless.
I guess I'm stuck with the problem for now, and when I come up with an answer, on our next free blog post will give it to you all.
But for now, here are some words of wisdom from that which I've come across until I can of something better to write.
I hope you enjoy, some I rather think are entertaining.

- “Good and bad, right and wrong, are not opposite, but like hot and cold, are rather degrees on the same scale.”
- “Even lies are a part of the greater truth. After all, is it not true that lying occurs?”
- “One does not have to read the dictionary when looking up the definition of a word, but if one were to read the dictionary they would never have to look up a word again.”
- “Violence begats violence, as causation causes causes.”
“Humility garners praise.
Praise garners satisfaction,
satisfaction garners arrogance.
If true that a wise man is humble,
than there is wisdom in accepting no praise.
If life is transient, and so anything the praise is of must be as well.”
- “There is nothing that I have noticed results in more creativity than boredom.”
- ““Keep in mind your personal truth may look as ridiculous to someone else as their personal truth does to you.”
- “You are a part of everyone.
What helps everyone helps yourself, because you are a part of it.
What helps others, as a part of everyone, also helps you.
What hurts others, hurts everyone,
and as a part of everyone,
we hurt oneself.”
- “Can you read a half open book? No? Then why listen to a closed mind?”
- “Freedom of speech doesn’t necessarily mean freedom of message.”
- “It also doesn't mean freedom of social pressure, apparently."
- “Money and all the stresses it brings is such a misfortune that only rich people deserve it.”
- “If Christians really want to save me, they can start by paying my bills.”
- “Fear makes the feared stronger.”
- “A ridiculous belief, even if sincerely believed, is no less ridiculous.”
- “The truth might set you free, but it might also get you sent away.”
- “I have noticed in writing there are good days, days where everything fits together and seems easy and much is done, and there are bad days. Unfortunately there appears to be more bad than good ones, but when we have a good one, well, it’s like we just touched a piece of heaven and we recall why we have undertaken the task that we have. Even if our novels do not sell, that feeling is the reward in itself.
- “There is no try; only do's, don'ts, and dreams.”
- “True wisdom is in appreciating the reason behind something, even if you disagree with that reason.”
- “Somebody somewhere hates you for reasons beyond your control. Your skin color, your background, and the setting you grew up in. But what character chooses the play they're in? Thank goodness there's also people to love you for reasons beyond your control too.”

Fallen for the Books

I’ve fallen for the books. I was the boy in elementary school who, instead of running around the playground, found space to read a book. I was the boy who skipped lunch during the first week of middle school and went over to the library. I’m the man who was shocked upon discovering that high school libraries were meant for research, and instead of having more books to choose from I had to hunt to find one I could read.

I’m sure that the childhood me would be annoyed that I’m neither reading nor writing. I appreciate my accomplishments and growth from that lonely elementary aged boy, yes, but I had hoped to never walk away from my foray into the literary world. I was realistic, I knew it would take time for me to become a published author, but even an unknown can try to keep up his writing. I just barely manage to maintain an active blog or finish a book every couple of months.

I’m an overachieving perfectionist, I’ve accepted it, and I know that along with my desire to accomplish so much I have to sacrifice some things. Still, I’m a bit disappointed with my self.

Nevertheless, literature is my childhood friend. I’m not reading the next best thing or writing what will become a bestseller, but whenever I come back to read a book or to pen letters I feel the same sense of joy that I had as a child. I remember those dreams I had to become the next best thing and share with people the same joy that I received as child.

I wasn’t able to go to many of the Fall for the Book events. I could have made the time to go had I had a strong yearning to meet one of these authors. I’d like to remedy that by beginning to read more again so that I could at least be aware of the identity of these published writers. I could learn something from these authors. For example, Lisa Tracy’s reading gives us background on the nonfiction approach. Moreover, Tracy took a seemingly mundane part of one’s life and created a tale of those memories she grew up with.

~Nitesh Arora

Writing and Ideas and Stuff

My ideas and concepts while writing a story are almost always derivative of something. Not in the way of directly copying a work of course, but more like adapting random thoughts into something coherent. Sometimes I listen to music and become randomly inspired by some stray sound or lyric that passes through my head, and I’ll try to convey as best I can whatever thought comes into my head as a result. Other times it’s a movie or a book I read, possibly some strange personality trait of a character that stands out, or an interesting plot point or moment that my brain attaches itself on and spins into something very different from its source.

More interesting, and a bit more concerning, is the fact that I sometimes base my stories or characters on personal anecdotes and experiences. The personalities of myself and my friends, my experiences, and stories I hear and talk about sometimes end up influencing, and possibly even constituting a major part of my writing. It’s not that I’m particularly afraid or embarrassed to have people read those stories that seem a little too personal to be completely fiction. I feel though, that sometimes I rely too much on personal experience and people I meet, sometimes using it as a creative crutch as opposed to creating something truly and wholly original. I know that many authors’ visions for their stories originate from experience or personal belief but I want to be wary of using it too much. I want to write the story, not have the story written for me.

-Tomas

Why A Blog?

The last thing I want to write right now is a blog entry, but out of respect and obligation, I know I must. Blogging is a funny thing, and it is something I do not enjoy in the slightest: we sit behind screens with all the impersonal detachments technology has thrust upon us and we exchange dialogue with a keyboard and screen. This exchange and this conversation seem pointless to me. Blogging is an isolate enterprise and even if 10,000 people “hear” what you have to say, the lack of real human contact is maddening to me. I’ll give you an example of why.

I have a roommate who spends most of her time checking the internet to see what her “twitter friends” and her “livejournal friends” are saying. She constantly updates her Twitter to tell the world she had a bad day or that she is watching Glee. She told me once that she loves her live journal friends more than the ones she has in real life. This made me feel really sorry for her and it made me reflect on the nature of our generation. We really are an impersonal and passive generation. We text, we twitter, we write blogs. People say were are a generation that is always in contact, and in touch but I think this is far from the truth.

-Samantha Markey

On en-d (a consolation)

It is quite striking that, throughout our history, the idea that has boggled the mind of our species most is a notion that we developed, which we call 'End'. We obsess over the ends we encounter as we endeavor through our lives. We mourn the end of love and the end of innocence – as we become enfettered by age and enfeebled by decadence. We find ourselves enthralled by, yet in fear of, the enormous portend of our own inevitable end – unsure of whether our souls will ascend, or we will simply cease to be. Thus, many of us pray, in the hope that some charitable God might grant us transcendence.

It would seem that our fear results from our supposing we know what we mean when we use the word end. Yet, in truth, our suppositions are, more often than not, very misled. We tend to think of endings as single moments, which vary by degree of sadness. Far too few of us recognize endings for what they are, the very moments most endued with joy, most deserving of our encomiums, of our praise and prayers. Perhaps this all stems from what seems to be at the root of all fear – that is, the unknown.

It has always seemed to me curious that I only ever find the word apprehension used to describe fear or anxiety – this being as horrible a divergence of connotation as ever there was. “The boy was filled with apprehension at the prospect of jumping off of the cliff, yet, since everyone else was doing it...”

I find this usage curious because the denotation of apprehension is to understand – to comprehend. Yet, fear comes most often as the result of our not understanding – as is the case when persons of European decent fear persons of Arab decent because of their apprehension of what makes a ‘Terrorist’. Though the former may think they understand that Arab = Muslim = Terrorist, anyone who applies but a modicum of cognitive effort in evaluating this equation will see it is plainly false, incontrovertibly flawed. Perhaps, when we use apprehension to mean fear, we are alluding to the idea that one thinks they understand something when they do not. This seems most certainly the case with regard to endings.

As I said before, we most often equate endings with things that result, to some degree, in sadness: death being an extreme example, which readily comes to mind; the final paragraph of a book, very much enjoyed, being one less commonly considered. This sadness is a matter of false perception, and it is this perception that underlies the negativity we so often equate with ends – the perception of something that was once possessed, now lost. We often ignore, or remain unconscious of, the regularity of instances of joy that occur due to ends. Without end, there would be no music, only noise, as one tone continuously bled into another. Without end there would be no progression, merely constant movement. Without end there would be no gain, only the continual possession of. If we look at linguistic etymology, we may come to understand that this other, far less common way of perceiving the word, and thus the idea, is a far more sensible way of doing so.

In English, we take the prefix en- from Greek, through Latin, and use it to suggest movement. Added to a noun it can mean ‘putting into or on’, as in enrobe. Added to a noun or an adjective it can mean ‘bringing into the condition of’, as in enthrall. Added to a verb it suggests something put ‘in, into, or on,’ as in ensnare. To generalize, we use en- to describe movement from one place, instance, or condition, to another.

The suffix -d, most often occurring in the form -ed, is used to form the past simple and past participle of regular verbs, as in called, wailed, pained. (The addition of the ‘e’ came with the advent of Modern English.) Taken this way we can see that an end is merely a movement that has passed. Another way of saying this is: an end is what allows another beginning to occur. This makes sense when we consider the primary definitions of the word, namely: the part of an area that lies at the boundary and a point that marks the extent of something.

As long as we are talking about points, let us get physically metaphorical for a moment. If you consider a point, what you are considering is a ‘one-dimensional object,’ an object that exists within time, but not within space – that is an object without the spatial dimensions of length, width, or depth. Geometrically, such an object serves two functions. First, it may serve as the ‘atomic’ structure for objects of one, two, and three spatial dimensions – as in the building of a line segment. Second, it may serve as the transition/connection between two other objects of equivalent spatial dimension – as in the joining of two line-segments to form a third unified line segment, or an angle. All of this becomes really mind-boggling when you consider that even a line segment as small as this ( - ) contains an infinite number of points.

Quantum mechanics suggests that a black hole is a ball of matter so massive, and dense, it compresses itself into a point, quite possibly punching a hole through the ‘fabric’ of space-time, very much like a needle through your shirt – we refer to this as a quantum singularity. In more common parlance, if you pass the ‘point of no return’, you have reached the ‘point’ in your journey where it would be more time-consuming to return to the beginning than to see your journey through to its end. On a theoretical bent, if there could be such a thing as a one-dimensional creature with a consciousness, it would never be aware of anything outside of itself, and without a point of reference, it is unlikely it could achieve self-awareness, which would by definition rule out consciousness. (An interesting philosophical conundrum.) A point such as this ( . ) can be considered as a circle of the smallest visible measure. A circle is an object of two spatial dimensions that straddles the point between finiteness and infiniteness, if you consider that due to the indeterminate measure of π(pi), a circle’s area can only ever be approximated. A sphere is the same object, in three spatial dimensions. As William Blake sang in Auguries of Innocence, we truly can “See the world in a grain of sand…”

The word end is formed by a prefix, and a suffix, with nothing, a nothing quite similar to a singularity, to a point, in between. I leave it to you to consider why this is?

My point is this: An ending is the termination of something, but it is, simultaneously, the beginning of something else. Often we are able to understand what that something else is. When you come to the end of this essay, you will be able to understand that its end is simultaneously the beginning of your experience as influenced by it. There will be times when we can only apprehend the ‘something else’, such as what comes after death, what comes after birth, what comes after two people kiss for the very first time? Yet, when we find ourselves full of apprehension, it may be wise to try to accept that there is always something unknowable within an ending. Perhaps then, we will come to realize that an end is but a chance to find out what follows.

And what follows is always an adventure, a gest if you will, and therefore should be celebrated as all things in life should be, including the sadness and the loss – without which there would be no joy and nothing to gain.
-dennis

Fall For the Book: Lisa Tracy

I must admit when I heard that we had to attend a fall for the book event I was not enthused. However, I learned that it was during class time so I figured that it possibly could be worth my time. After reaching the event I was expecting a different format for how the event was planned. I thought that Ms. Tracy was going to speak for a little bit and give us some advice as students and writers, I did not expect for her to read from her book to us.
Although, I was not extremely excited about what Ms. Tracy spoke, I was intrigued. I felt that she mentioned some things that stood out and caught the attention of her listeners well. She was serious about the women ancestors in her family, which I respect and acknowledge. She spoke about how strong they were, considering the time periods that they lived. One particular thing that stuck out to me was when she said, "If [my mom] was a man she would have undoubtably have been a soldier." She said this because her mother was tough, hardworking, and persistent I believe and she strived for greatness.
Another thing that stuck with me about Ms. Tracy said was how people do not want to let go of their material things. I admit that I have some clothes or other objects at home that mean something to me that I do not want to get rid of. Ms. Tracy said, "It is hard to let go of objects because they're full of stories. Stories of our family and friends." I do not have personal items that belong to someone who I have lost to death that I knew well such as Ms. Tracy with her mother. But I have items such as memorable uniforms or maybe an item that a friend or relative gave to me for a special occasion.


Jaaziah Bethea.

How do teachers grade papers?

Our goal in editing each workshop is to make readable, likable stories. I'm taking English 392, an editing class, and now I can't help but slice up a page with lots of notes and grammar fixes. It's hard to find whats likable and what should be changed when I scratch all grammatical error and despair over bad diction.

It is at the point where my criticism out-weighs my encouragements and that is unhealthy with this exercise. After watching our Fall for the Book author stand up and read her story, I saw the wealth she offered, but I also saw a boring premise (at least for me). Picking up some of these short stories and reading the first paragraph gives some pretty bad impressions as well--are people giving these stories the attention they deserve? I don't know, but I often reflect on my approach to writing my submission.

Introspectively, I know I could have given my story more time, maybe even a happier ending after reading the others, but I believed a rough draft would be healthy to submits to spare my ego. I was happy with that choice until I realized how mean I am when I edit and how indifferent I can become when the author isn't sitting next to me. Now I fear for my own work, wondering how badly I overestimated my transitions and dialogue.

Reading these stories hasn't been as fun as I thought and I'm upset about that. Many of the stories are so haphazardly edited and designed that it feels like the author doesn't think anyone is going to be reading his or her work--they just want to get the assignment over with and get their edits back. One story had three pages of preparation and doesn't describe the anticipated event! Where does that leave me then? Should I put more work into their story then they did? Yes, since my grade is at stake, but there is no more enjoyment when I approach these assignments in that way.

I am struggling to feel connection with our class during these assignments because I haven't found a story I thoroughly like. I've only done three of them though, so maybe I'm reacting too hastily. But I want a rough story that I can accept the grammar errors (mine has many and I don't mean to sound pretentious, yet still enjoy the piece and understand the characters. Four to ten pages isn't a lot of space to fit this in, but format is crucial to keeping a reader interested. Maybe that's the big lesson with our first drafts.

Should we be harsh while editing to make sure more attention is given to format and less about crafty sentences and authorial voice? I think so; otherwise, we'll just have a bunch of authors thinking out-loud to an exiting audience.

Masks

Forget the mask and drop your act, because you’re naked on stage. The crowd is watching your every move just waiting for you to mess up. Just once. They have already prepared their laughs, their pointing, and their jokes. All they need is the opportunity. All they are waiting for is one small slip.

One high pitched cackle eminates from the audience and they all know who and what you are. If you’re not smoking a cigarette, addicted to 151, and a registered p.i.m.p, you’re a nobody. You’re everybody. If you walk away from a fight you’re a coward, and if you don’t hold down you’re liquor you’re a light weight. One screw up and you’ve been categorized for life. Make it through the night without falling on your face and the crowd will cheer. If your serenade is cool, romantic, and most of all successful, your loyal fans will praise you.

Until it fails the next time.

The girls gotta keep the audience on their toes. The phone should buzz every two and half minutes, and it should be someone different every time. Shopping on the weekends, Daddy gave you another credit card to max out. Don’t forget the push-up bra and spray on tan. If you’re small for your size you better stock up on tissues.

Lipstick. Check. Mascara. Check. Perfume. Check.

Now the real you is covered behind powder and a flowery scent. No need for true love and loyal friends. Just that irresistible need to be sexy. Instead of looking at your pretty face they’ll look a few inches lower. That’s what you are now. That’s all the crowd has to look at when they can’t even see the real you.

Take off the mask and drop your act but this time let them laugh. All you’ll see is the one person smiling at your pretty naked face.
Samantha Audet

This is too much!

I've had tough semesters before but this one is taking the cake. I remember my first semester here I had class Monday, Thursday and Saturday, that was a grueling schedule. Now I'm only on campus twice a week yet it feels like every day. I suppose it doesn't help that my sister and her son have moved back in with me. I really thought it wouldn't be too bad but I find myself needing a vacation and with mid terms coming up it just doesn't seem possible. Then Christmas holiday is the end of the quarter at work, so while I won't have class I will have a lot of work to do when I should be home baking cookies or something. As it is the government’s fiscal year ends Thursday, I will likely be getting home very late tomorrow. Thursday another long evening of class, it never seems to end!

The papers I read were written very well for first drafts, you guys are like experienced writers! I am starting to feel like a fish out of water. I can’t believe I used to want to be a writer which is why I think this class can really help me. In fact I have designs on writing for the Financial Times or Wall Street Journal later in life as a 3rd career. I can see myself submitting articles via my laptop from my beachfront villa in Costa Rica or Belize. Oh yeah, I have no desire to retire in the United States. I’ll keep my townhouse here but I don’t even know if I want to purchase another property, might as well just save up for my retirement home in some tropical location. I can’t bear to be even a little bit cold, even California (except now) is too chilly for me at night. And after the snowmageddons last year, I don’t think I could ever consider the East Coast as a permanent rest stop.

Cindy Davis

Favorite Fall for the Book event

The best Fall for the Book event that I attended was with the author Simon Freuland. He is a Danish author who had his works translated into English. The translator who translated his works was also present. Even though the author spoke English as a second language, he was very well spoken, even among the other authors' events I attended.
The great thing about having the translator of the works present, was the insight into the translation process. I was surprised to find out that at least in the case of this author and a Danish to English translation, very little, if anything was lost in terms of story meaning and intentions. There was nothing lost in translation, if you will. Which I found fascinating, considering an unintended audience from a completely different culture and that speak a completely different language can still enjoy a piece of literature the way it was intended by the author.
I also found interesting was the way the Simon Freuland had written a particular short story, unsettled, and himself not knowing the meaning. I like that an author can write something, and not know the ending ahead of time. And in the case of this particular story, it works well with the ambiguous nature of the story and its conclusion, in that, it really shouldn't have just one interpretation of it.
I felt I got more out of it, than the other events I attended. The author followed expected protocol and read a short piece, and discussed the story with the audience in an engaging way. I wasn't pressured to buy anything, and I wasn't lectured to. I felt that I was able to have a genuine conversation with the author. Which made me even more interested in the author, which I believe was the point of the event in the first place.

-Phillip Cobey

We have a blog??!?!?

I've spent a lot of this year listening to people bewildered by the genesis of a new information age that people are frantically struggling to wrangle in, take control of, and predict its outcome.

In my mind, its all premature, a poke at what may or may not come. Some people cry that it will be the death of language as we know it. Others fear the social monstrosity the internet can be, destroying the lives of unwilling teenagers either through humiliation or being arrested at sixteen for the distribution of child pornography. Others just want a sweet piece of this monetary leviathan, filling dreams of wealth and prosperity.

What we have to remember, either looking at our children or watching other children deal with this mass influx of access to more information in an hour that a person 20 years ago would not have encountered in a lifetime, that everyone is lost. China is suffering from an epidemic of internet addiciton, affecting more of its citizens than there are people in the United States. What everyone is forgetting, however, is that not only is this information age in its early stages.

Regardless of age, more people than ever are exposed to the random and unforgiving etiquettes and memes of the internet. Whether they are a 14 year old girl or a 45 year old business executive, its the first time they have ever encountered a social setting completely different from what exists int heir day to day lives.

I'm twenty seven. My first time connecting to the internet was twenty years ago through prodigy. It took me and several others like me a long time to come to terms with how best to approach the social aspects and brutal honesty the internet subjects a person to. I imagine it will take society forever to fully sort out this mess, until chldren can be guided through it all by knowledgeable parents without having to discover it themselves. In the mean time, just like I always tell people who are distraught over something someone on facebook did to them. "Relax, its just the fucking internet. But if you want, I can put you in touch with a guy in Thailand who can hack the living shit out of her facebook page for you."



~Brian Walker

Think, Feel, Speak

I’ve always been interested in the way people write and how their voice differs from project to project as well as how their voice in writing differs from their voice in conversation. I have been told that the way I write does not match my personality. I have also noticed friends writing not matching up with what I know of their personalities. I speak in a fast and loose manner. I don’t really analyze what I say before I say it, and very rarely do I display strong conviction in my rhetoric. However, this is different in the way that I write. In fact, my writing is more comparable to the way that I think than the way that I speak. After having a few deep conversations with friends who also write regularly, I realized that some of them write the way that they think, like me, and some of them write the way that they feel.
Though all of this seems to be pretty common sense, and the knowledge of these differences don’t really have any effect on how I compose my story (as I am comfortable writing the way I write), it does have a very good use. When I first started writing fiction, my characters all seemed to be overly similar. They all spoke the same, acted the same, and progressed along the same lines. Even if I gave different characteristics to the characters, they still seemed alike. This made me think of my own writing as boring. Now, after having realized there were three ways to write, I write each character in a different method. Depending on what I want the character to be like, I will write them in a different way (how I think, feel, or speak). I’ve found that doing this not only makes the characters independent and interesting, but also allows greater relationship conflicts between them.

D. Ryan

nothing to say- Ashley

I really don't have that much to say. I truly get frustrated when things are so open. It's like when things are open I get a mental block and have nothing to write about and for some strange reason I have nothing that comes to mind. Most people who are creative have no problems telling stories and love free write. Most people love the opportunity to write about what ever comes up in their mind. Well not me, I freeze up with nothing to say or nothing to write about. I try to write about the fall event but my mind is blank. All I can remember from the event was that it was interesting and I was bored. I thought her story was some what interesting and I could relate to it but I most likely wont go to another book reading unless it's required. So of course I could not write a blog about that. I then thought about writing about my day, but there really is not that much to say. I work with kids and they drove me crazy today but overall the weren't that bad. So with the same old same old days and the same old same old, it was difficult to come up with something to write. I really like open blogs but usually I have a hard time coming up with something when I really don't have anything interesting going on.

Fall for the Book

I really had no interest in any of the Fall for the Book events (at first). It wasn't because the authors or books sucked, it was that I simply didn't know any of them. I love to read, but mainly works of more well known authors. Authors that a person can say "Clancy, Faulkner, Albom, Clarke, Grisham, etc." and we all know who they're talking about. Now, I know my reading expertise is limited and I'm not knocking on any of the authors GMU selected for Fall for the Book. I can only began to fathom how much it would cost to book such a well known author too. Nor am I saying that just because I don't know who an author is, the vast majority doesn't. But walking around campus and passing by the many events, I noticed not a lot of people attending them. If there were people, most were professors or other English department heads. The few students I did see, said they were there because their classes required them to attend. Of those students, about a third left halfway through the event.
Now, let's be honest. Would you have attended an event if this class hadn't required you to? Seriously think about that. If you're still saying yes, how many events did you go to this year? I actually went to 2 events, but the graphic novel event ended up being about lesbians and gays and how the author's father was having an affair with his male helper (the dad was a professor). Very awkward, especially when there were 99% females in the crowd. I'll carefully read the description next time.
I don't know about you, but I work full time, have tons of homework, and other events in my life. While the concept of Fall for the Book is great, it's still lacking something. I know it's a great place for new or less known authors to come and promote their book and for us to become well rounded readers. However, if no one attends the events, then it defeats the purpose. Even requiring a student to attend, defeats the purpose. You can't force someone to want to learn about an author or book, especially if they didn't want to be there in the first place. Remember our event with Lisa Tracy? How many students would there of been if our class didn't show up? How many times did she get interrupted when other students left her event? Believe me, I really, really enjoyed Lisa Tracy's reading and discussion about how we associate stories with objects. It was interesting, and made me aware of her and her book. But would I have attended if I knew I could get away with not attending? Would you?
I want to get across that this is not a bashing of Fall for the Book or any of its authors or the English department. This is just an insight of mine that could totally be different from yours. I did enjoy the events I went to but, as you can see, I have no real answer of making the events better for all students. I only 'bitch' if you will. Please, I would love to hear your thoughts on the matter.

lost.

I have no sense of time. The day accelerates from evening to midday. I can hardly keep myself grounded, and yet there you are, unchanging. You are the one who seems to make time pass so much faster, and without you, the minutes drag so slow that I feel as if I could catch and bottle them.

I've never felt so dependent on anyone in my life. Half the day feels like I'm floating in space; nothing seems to connect or make sense down there on Earth. The Earth is just a glittering mass of sapphire and emerald, and I'm not part of it. I'm living too much in my own mind, thinking about you and wondering why this is happening. Nothing seems to be right; nothing seems to be wrong.

I don't know where I'm going. I thought I had everything figured out, but now I have nothing. All the pieces slipped through my fingers, and now I'm struggling to find them. You've made something so easy into something so difficult; you're destroying me, or what used to be me.

I'm feeling myself fall apart. You are deconstructing me one brick at a time.

Wanted: Advice

This past week, I wrote my short story ("One Wrong Step") for the first workshop. For anyone else who did, and for anyone who is currently working on their story, I’m wondering what everyone thought of the writing process.

Personally, the hardest part for me was getting started because I had a difficult time deciding on a plot. I also struggled with coming up with a conflict/resolution. Also, once I create a conflict, I have a bad tendency to rush through the resolution out of impatience. I am more inclined to write poetry or nonfiction, and fiction is something I struggle with.

For the future, I’m wondering if anyone has any advice for getting started on writing a short story, or even a novel, perhaps. I’ve been impressed with the writings of the people in the class, and I would love some advice for approaching the writing process. What are some methods that work for you when creating a plot, and more specifically, for creating/resolving a conflict?

-Jackie

1st, 2nd, and 3rd Person

1st Person
I opened the door of my apartment, and abruptly the world went upside down. This wasn’t to be unexpected, and as I stepped toward the stairs I wobbled and tilted. For a brief second I almost fell against the wall, but with a simple push of my left arm I regained my balance. I’ve never had much trouble doing that, at least so far as I can recall.

I open the glass door of my apartment complex. The night air is cold, and in the parking lot that surrounds the building, there is not a single open space. Despite this, there is no one to see, at least not at that late hour.

After all, the last thing I want to do now, is draw attention to myself.

I continue to walk, following the rectangular curve of the sidewalk until it brings me to a large courtyard, set in-between the three buildings that compose Gainsborough Court. A part of me feels almost embarrassed at what I’m about to do, but that part of me is distant and divorced, and who ever listens to their spouse in that condition?

Nevertheless, I sigh and then take a few subtle steps forward, and before I know it I’ve suddenly taken off running. I know that from the balconies there may be a person or two perched, watching, for my neighbors have come to recognize this peculiar habit of mine.

I jump, at a rate faster than I probably should, forward. I duck my head and angle my shoulder, of which crashes into the ground, sending me into a tumble that springs me back to my feet...

and again I am running. I stop and fall backward, catching myself in an even roll that again, produces me with a small amount of air back onto my feet.

Each success is like a small surprise to me, and I am filled with an exhilarating feeling. I stop and raise my arms in a warding defensive position. It is a half-style between Ba Gua and Chung Do Kwan, but were anybody else to see it they would think me trying to hug them.

I throw several kicks with my right leg, a verticle front kick, rounded off by a side-kick which stepping backward allows me the opportunity to throw another. It’s just air I’m fighting, and hopefully that’s all I’ll ever have to fight again. The world isn’t a safe place though, and I’ve already been that unlucky twice.

Without warning, even to myself, I fall backwards. The world is still slightly off-kilter, but I can ignore this; innebriated enough not to take notice of it. I rolled over my shoulder and landed on my chest. I threw myself upward, and kicking outward with my feet landed square on my back. I wasn’t hurt, but I’m sure it didn’t feel comfortable for the ground.

I kicked my legs back to my head, ready to attempt something I had never succeeded at before. I swung my legs over my head, pushing upward at the same time with my arms. I was jolted into the air by the inertia and force, and before I knew it, stood on the precipice of the balls of my feet and points of my toes. I had done a kip-up.

I stood with amazement at what I had finally done, after years and years of attempting and failing. And I knew I could do it again too, now that I had finally done it once.

I also noticed that the world had gone a haze that I was usually only familiar with in the early morning or late evening. I reached upward, feeling for the frames I knew were not there. I had lost my glasses.

2nd Person
You open the door of your apartment, and abruptly the world went upside down. This wasn’t to be entirely unexpected, and as you stepped toward the stairs you wobble and tilt. For a brief second you almost fall against the wall, but with a simple push of your left arm you regain balance. You’ve never had much trouble doing that, at least so far as you can recall.

You open the glass door of your apartment complex. The night air is cold, and in the parking lot that surrounds the building, there is not a single open space. Despite this, there is no one to be seen, at least not at that late hour.

After all, the last thing you want to do now, is draw attention to yourself.

You continue to walk, following the rectangular curve of the sidewalk until it brings me to a large courtyard, set in-between the three buildings that compose Gainsborough Court. A part of yourself feels almost embarrassed at what you’re about to do, but that part of you is distant and divorced, and who ever listens to their spouse in that condition?

Nevertheless, you sigh and then take a few subtle steps forward, and before you know it have suddenly taken off running. You know that from the balconies there may be a person or two perched, watching, for your neighbors, some of them, have come to recognize this peculiar habit of yours.

You jump, at a rate faster than you probably should, forward. You duck my head and angle your right shoulder, of which crashes into the ground, sending you into a wild, violent-feeling tumble that springs you back to your feet...

...and again you are running. You stop, despite the inertia that tries to force you forward, and fall backward, catching yourself in an even roll that takes advantage of the motion, and again, produces you with a small amount of air back onto Your feet.

Each success is like a small surprise to you, and you’re filled with an exhilarating feeling. I stop and raise my arms in a warding defensive position. It is a half-style between Ba Gua and Chung Do Kwan, but were anybody else to see it they would think you were trying to hug them.

You throw several kicks with your right leg; a verticle front kick, rounded off by a side-kick which stepping backward allows you the opportunity to throw another. It’s just air you’re fighting, and hopefully that’s all you’ll ever have to fight again. The world isn’t a safe place though, and you’ve already been that unlucky twice. The experience of each has been enough to shake you the rest of your life.

Without warning to anyone, even to yourself, you fall backwards. The world is still slightly off-kilter, but you can ignore this; inebriated enough not to take notice of it. You roll over your shoulder again and land on your chest. You throw yourself upward, and kicking outward with your feet you land square on your back. You aren’t hurt, but are certain it didn’t feel comfortable for the ground.

Lying there, the ground is suddenly more firm, more real than you realize, and the possibilities that allows, endless. You arch your legs back over your head, ready to attempt something you have never succeeded at before, but that time, that very moment tells you you must attempt now. You swing your legs over my head, and at the same time push upward with your arms. You’re jolted into the air by the inertia and force, and before you know it, stand on the precipice of the balls of your feet and points of your toes. You have done a kip-up.

You stand with amazement at what you have finally done, after years and years of attempting and failing. And you know you could do it again too, now that you had finally done it once.

You also notice that the world has gone a haze that was usually only familiar with in the early morning or late evening. You reach upward, feeling for the frames you know are not there. You have lost your glasses.

Third Person
Alex opened the door of his apartment, and abruptly the world went upside down. This wasn’t to be unexpected, and as he stepped toward the stairs Alex wobbled and tilted. For a brief second he almost fell against the wall, but with a simple push of his left arm, regained my balance. He’s never had much trouble doing that, at least so far as I can recall.

Alex opened the glass door of his apartment complex. The night air is cold, and in the parking lot that surrounds the building, there is not a single open space. Despite this, there is no one to see, at least not at that late hour.

After all, the last thing Alex want to do now, is draw attention to himself.

Alex continued to walk, following the rectangular curve of the sidewalk until it brings me to a large courtyard, set in-between the three buildings that compose Gainsborough Court. A part of him almost feels embarrassed at what he’s about to do, but that part of him is distant and divorced, and who ever listens to their spouse in that condition?

Nevertheless, Alex sighed and then take a few subtle steps forward, and before he knows it he’s suddenly taken off running. Alex knows that from the balconies there may be a person or two perched, watching, for his neighbors have come to recognize this peculiar habit of mine.

Alex jumps, at a rate faster than he probably should, forward. He ducks his head and angles his shoulder, of which crashes into the ground, sending Alex into a tumble that springs him back to his feet...

and again Alex is running. He stops and fall backward, catching myself in an even roll that again, produces him with a small amount of air back onto my feet.

Each success is like a small surprise to him, and I am filled with an exhilarating feeling. He stops and raises his arms in a warding defensive position. It is a half-style between Ba Gua and Chung Do Kwan, but were anybody else to see it they would think him trying to hug the air before him.

Alex throws several kicks with my right leg, a vertical front kick, rounded off by a side-kick which stepping backward allows him the opportunity to throw another. It’s just air he’s fighting, and hopefully that’s all he’ll ever have to fight again. The world isn’t a safe place though, and he’s already been that unlucky twice.

Without warning, even to himself, Alex fall backwards. The world is still slightly off-kilter, but Alex can ignore this; inebriated enough not to take notice of it. He rolled over his shoulder, landing on his chest. He threw himself upward, and kicking outward with his feet Alex landed square on his back.He wasn’t hurt, but more than certain it didn’t feel comfortable for the ground.

Alex kicked his legs back over his head, ready to attempt something he had never succeeded at before. He swung his legs over his head, pushing upward at the same time with his arms. Alex was jolted into the air by the inertia and force, and before he knew it, and stood on the precipice of the balls of his feet and points of his toes. Alex had done a kip-up.

He stood with amazement at what he had finally done; after years and years of attempting and failing. And Alex knew he could do it again too, now that he had finally done it once.

Alex also noticed that the world had gone a haze that he was usually only familiar with in the early morning or late evening. He reached upward, feeling for the frames he knew with an abysmal sinking in his chest that he knew were not there. He had lost his glasses.

-Alex Borschel

Coping with Senility

This week has been quite interesting for me. On Monday I over slept and missed a meeting that I was hosting at 9am. I insist on having this meeting even though the majority was against the scheduled time. The alarm clock was set for 6pm instead of 6am which caused me to be late. I then push the meeting forward two hours forcing the participants to rearrange their schedules. I did not make this scheduled time either. While rushing out the door; I grabbed the garbage for the Monday morning pickup and left my car keys on the counter. On Tuesday morning I held my car keys in one hand and a banana in my other. After eating my banana I threw the banana peel in the dumpster and walked to my car to unlock the door. This is when I discovered that the car keys that I was holding was actually the banana peel. That same afternoon I arrived to a meeting scheduled for Wednesday October 13, 2010. I am not sure what Wednesday will bring, or will I repeat the same episodes of Monday and Tuesday?

**Analysis-This was the easiest to write as I was just repeating the events as they happened. ***

This week has been quite interesting for you. On Monday you over slept, missed a meeting that you were to host at 9am. Didn’t you insist on having this meeting even though the majority was against the scheduled time? You say that alarm clock was set for 6pm instead of 6am, which caused you to be late. You then push the meeting forward two hours forcing the participants to rearrange their schedules. But then you did not make this scheduled time either. You then say while you were rushing out your door; you grabbed the garbage for the Monday morning pickup but left your car keys on the counter. You then claim that on Tuesday morning you held your car keys in one hand and a banana in the other. After eating the banana you claim that you threw the banana peel in the dumpster and walked to your car to unlock the door. This is when you discovered that the car keys that you were holding was actually the banana peel. That same afternoon you arrived to a meeting scheduled for Wednesday October 13, 2010. How can you be sure what Wednesday will bring, or will you repeat the same episodes of Monday and Tuesday?

**Analysis- I thought this would have been the easiest to write, but as it turns out, I actually had to change verb tenses and even though I was just repeating the events as they happened, I was writing them from a more judgmental/accusatory position. ***

He had quite interesting week. On Monday he over slept and missed a meeting that he was going to host at 9am. He insisted on having this meeting even though the majority was against the scheduled time? His alarm clock was set for 6pm instead of 6am, which caused him to be late. He then pushed the meeting forward two hours forcing the participants to rearrange their schedules. He did not make this scheduled time either. While he was rushing out the door; he grabbed the garbage for the Monday morning pickup but left his car keys on the counter. On Tuesday morning he held your car keys in one hand and a banana in the other. After eating the banana he threw the banana peel in the dumpster and walked to his car to unlock the door. This is when he discovered that the car keys that he was holding was actually the banana peel. That same afternoon he arrived to a meeting scheduled for Wednesday October 13, 2010. He is not sure what Wednesday will bring or is he confident that he will not repeat the same episodes of Monday and Tuesday?

**Analysis- I thought this would have been the hardest to write, but as it turns out, I actually had to change certain aspects of the sentence structures and speak from a story book prospective. This version was closest to first person.***

Craig Fontenot

Literal Translations

Last night, after I stood in the dining room waiting on my last table (the one that invariably refuses to pay their check, much less vacate the premises, even though the restaurant has been closed for over an hour, and either doesn’t grasp, or just doesn’t care that you might have a life outside of serving them their meal of saturated fat and sodium, because every chef’s secret ingredients are butter and salt), after I paced back and forth, painfully aware of the clock ticking off the seconds of my uncompleted-blog-post-deadline’s fast approach, after I sat down in a booth out of frustration, wondering how I was going to write about something interesting that had happened to me, when the current circumstances of my life pretty much guarantee that nothing interesting ever happens to me, and after I had counted the pittance that made up my tips for the evening, considering apprehensively if I was going to be able to pay my rent on time this month, something happened: I let go. I decided it wasn’t worth worrying about missing the deadline, because there was nothing I could do about it. I decided that I wasn’t going to worry about the fact that nothing interesting ever happens to me, because at least I wasn’t stupid enough to think that the banalities of my life were somehow interesting. I decided not to care so much about making the rent on time, because I wasn’t likely to be evicted. And with this decision to stop caring, I found release. Babies don’t sleep this good.

The night before, after you stood in the dining room waiting on your last table (the one that invariably refuses to pay their check, much less vacate the premises, even though the restaurant has been closed for over an hour, and either doesn’t grasp, or just doesn’t care that you might have a life outside of serving them their meal of saturated fat and sodium, because every chef’s secret ingredients are butter and salt), after you paced back and forth, painfully aware of the clock ticking off the seconds of your uncompleted-blog-post-deadline’s fast approach, after you sat down in a booth out of frustration, wondering how you were going to write about something interesting that had happened to you, when the current circumstances of your life pretty much guaranteed that nothing interesting ever happened to you, and after you counted the pittance that made up your tips for the evening, becoming apprehensive of whether or not you were going to be able to pay your rent on time this month, something happened: you let go. You decided it wasn’t worth worrying about the deadline, because there was nothing you could do about it. You decided that you weren’t going to worry about the fact that nothing interesting ever happens to you, because at least you aren’t stupid enough to think that the banalities of your life are somehow interesting. You decided not to care so much about making the rent on time, because you weren’t likely to be evicted. And with this decision to stop caring, you found release. Not even babies sleep that well.

That night, after he had stood in the dining room waiting on his last table (the one that invariably refuses to pay their check, much less vacate the premises, even though the restaurant has been closed for over an hour, and either doesn’t grasp, or just doesn’t care that you might have a life outside of serving them their meal of saturated fat and sodium, because every chef’s secret ingredients are butter and salt), after he paced back and forth, painfully aware of the clock ticking off the seconds of his uncompleted-blog-post-deadline’s fast approach, after he sat down in a booth out of frustration, wondering how he was going to write about something interesting that had happened to him, when the current circumstances of his life pretty much guaranteed that nothing interesting ever happened to him, and after he counted the pittance that made up his tips for the evening, becoming apprehensive of whether or not he was going to be able to pay his rent on time this month, something happened: he let go. He decided it wasn’t worth worrying about missing the deadline, because there was nothing he could do about it. He decided that he wasn’t going to worry about the fact that nothing interesting ever happened to him, because at least he wasn’t stupid enough to think that the banalities of his life were somehow interesting. He decided not to care so much about making the rent on time, because it wasn’t likely he would be evicted. And with the decision to stop caring, he found release. Babies don’t sleep that good.

In my pieces I don’t really notice much of a difference in tone, or meaning, though there were obvious differences in language usage. But, having read a few of the other post’s, I wonder if I may have taken the assignment a little to literally.
-Dennis

Another boring weekend: Triple Take.

Normal students would go to the grocery store on the weekend and bring back any supplies they needed for their dorm room in the bus or a friend’s car. Instead, I waited for my family to arrive from four hours away and bring another cartload of things I needed. My parents were coming this way for a friend’s and they decided to haul my brother along. I awoke the next morning, usually my lazy Saturday, ready to do anything that I could t0 make sure that my brother’s trip hadn’t been a waste. We went around the campus before finally deciding that going to the city for the hour before our parents had to leave would be fun. While I was trying to entertain my brother I hadn’t given proper credit to the amount of time it takes to experience the art of using public transportation. Of course, when we finally make it from the bus to the metro my brother has no idea where he would like to go, I pick the center of town and when we get out of the train my brother decides that he’d like to see something different. Thus, my brother and I ended up getting back onto the metro and out at a semi-random stop and find ourselves, as fate would have it, end up walking at least a dozen blocks through the city and find ourselves facing the monuments. Again.
Normal students would go to the grocery store on the weekend and bring back any supplies they needed for their dorm room in the bus or a friend’s car. Instead, you waited for your family to arrive from four hours away and bring another cartload of things you needed. Your parents were coming this way for a friend’s party and they decided to haul your brother along. You awoke the next morning, usually my lazy Saturday, ready to do anything that you could t0 make sure that your brother’s trip hadn’t been a waste. You two went around the campus before finally deciding that going to the city for the hour before your parents had to leave would be fun. While you were trying to entertain your brother you hadn’t given proper credit to the amount of time it takes to experience the art of using public transportation. Of course, when you two finally make it from the bus to the metro your brother has no idea where he would like to go, you pick the center of town and when you both get out of the train your brother decides that he’d like to see something different. Thus, you and your brother ended up getting back onto the metro and out at a semi-random stop and find ourselves, as fate would have it, end up walking at least a dozen blocks through the city and find yourselves facing the monuments. Again.
Normal students would go to the grocery store on the weekend and bring back any supplies they needed for their dorm room in the bus or a friend’s car. Instead, he waited for his family to arrive from four hours away and bring another cartload of things he needed. His parents were coming this way for a friend’s party and they decided to haul his brother along. He awoke the next morning, usually his lazy Saturday, ready to do anything that he could t0 make sure that his brother’s trip hadn’t been a waste. They went around the campus before finally deciding that going to the city for the hour before their parents had to leave would be fun. While he was trying to entertain my brother he hadn’t given proper credit to the amount of time it takes to experience the art of using public transportation. Of course, when they finally make it from the bus to the metro his brother has no idea where he would like to go, so the older brother picks the center of town and when they get out of the train his brother decides that he’d like to see something different. Thus, they ended up getting back onto the metro and out at a semi-random stop and find ourselves, as fate would have it, end up walking at least a dozen blocks through the city and find themselves facing the monuments. Again.
While the first paragraph, in first person, seems to have bits of sarcasm and humor the latter two paragraphs lack. I tried not to change the latter two paragraphs much, the resulting words reading as something not as sympathetic. In order to have paragraphs in different points of view read well, the overall structure and diction of the piece should be edited rather than just replacing the pronouns.

~Nitesh Arora

Baptism vs. The Mini-Skirt

First Point of View:

I attended a Baptism I was invited to this week but in reality went reluctantly- the parents were not best friends of mine, and I had suspicions to believe that I was invited mostly out of courtesy. So I showed up to the small church, suit, business shirt but no tie, as I wanted to look elegant to show respect, but did not feel that I needed to go the extra mile. As I said hello to the late comers, I begun to notice that not everyone shared the same enthusiasm for fashion as I did, but most of all, I noticed that some had a different vision of how one should approach a Baptism. I had gone to church, many times, and I can tell you that it is sometimes hard to focus on what the priest is saying: there are kids crying, I may not relate to the message, I could be busy criticizing the priest. However, skirts, in particular, extremely short mini-skirts, kind of distract you in a different manner. Now I am not thinking about the Baptism or even church at all, I am thinking… many other distracting things. It becomes a battle of will, focus, and of forehead muscle strength: how long can I look serious and stare straight at the short, displeasing looking priest while ignoring ‘tailored-fit’ mini-skirts….? A couple of this lady say hello, I, continue to be respectful and also greet them.

2nd person:

You reach for the closest suit you can put your hands, grab a shirt that matches, also nearby, and shut the closet door. You finish getting ready, take a deep breath and say to yourself ‘and, why am I going again?’ You drive the speed limit, there is no rush or penalty for being late, the objective is to show respect by being present since you were so ‘cordially’ invited. As you walk in, you greet the people that you recognize and are approached with smiles by some and indifference by others. As you attempt to focus on what the pries is saying in this very small church space, you notice that there are several late comers, additionally, you notice that some lack a standard sense of fashion, to say the least. You continue to look cool, you don’t make faces, you try to focus on the Baptism taking place. However, without warning, you see legs, moving fast, some moving slowly, all wrapped in a fashionable design called the mini-skirt. The battle is on, you try your best not to focus on this fashion statement, in fact, and you muster a certain amount of skill and discipline in order to keep looking straight at a displeasing looking priest, keeping your eyebrows semi-frowned, attempting to ignore ‘tailored-fit’ mini-skirts. You are started once again, as 2 of this ladies say hello. You are respectful, and say hello as well.

3rd person:

After some thought, he decides to pick the suit and shirt that is closest to his reach and shuts the closet door. He was dressing slower than usual since he was attending a Baptism which he really didn’t want to go to- he wasn’t good friends with the parents of the soon to be Baptized baby, but, he was invited to attend anyways. So his decision to wear that particular suit, shirt and avoid the tie revolved along the lines of attempting to be respectful, but not necessarily feeling that he had to go the extra mile. After finally getting ready, he takes a long sigh, and walks out of the door. As he enters the small church, he makes sure to be polite and say hello to everyone that he recognized, even if some of them did not necessarily jump up when they saw him. He was not concerned too much about that, his mission was to be respectful, not to have a good time or enjoy this in any way. As the late comers walked in, he began to see a pattern which alerted him a bit, some people did not share the same ‘fashion-values’ as he did, in fact somewhere really just terribly dressed. Attempting not to be distracted by this, he continues to listen to the priest. However, just as soon as he begins to intake the first 2 or 3 sentences from the mouth of the priest, he is totally caught off guard by a significant amount of ladies that just walked in. Without saying any words what so ever, other than a polite hello, they are saying: “watch out people, here comes my beautiful legs”. He attempts to ignore this fashion statement, to say the least, but he is distracted never the less. Summoning inner strength and courage, he takes a deep breath, and looks straight forward again at the displeasing looking priest. As he frowns a bit, attempting to focus on the Baptism and show respect, he is once again distracted as a couple of these ladies say hello to him. He recognized them and promptly says hi to them as well, respectfully so.

____________________

My impression of how the tone of voice changes was that as I wrote in 2nd person, I found it very easy to be playful and wrote that paragraph very fast. When I wrote in 3rd person, I felt that I had to give more detail for some reason, and pay attention not only as to what the character was doing but also ‘why’ he was doing it. First person was also kind of easy since it was something that I was remembering. Nothing else really stands out as far as point of view at this moment.

Late Night Entrance into New York

It’s 9:30 pm and I’m sitting in the back seat of my brother Mike’s SUV, my younger brother Rich is in the front seat. As we exit the Lincoln Tunnel, the lights of the city come into view. Off in the distance I notice the tallest building in New York, the Empire State Building. The area near the tunnel is under construction so the traffic is a mess; but here the traffic is always bad. The road was so beaten up that the car shook and bounced as we made our way away from the tunnel. As we make our way through and down the streets, the city begins to glow brighter and brighter. We finally arrive in Time Square. Our hotel, The Double Tree Guest Suites, is on the corner of 47th and Broadway; right in the middle of Time Square. I was able to locate the building from about only a block away. All the lights made me a little disorienting. Mike pulls up to the curb and we all hop out. We grab our bags and the valet takes the car to the garage around the corner. Looking up at all the lights and signs, I knew that this was going to be a weekend I was not easily going to forget.

Look over at the clock, its flashing “9:30” on the dashboard of the car. Look out the window to notice the lights of the tunnel flashing as the car rides through. Turn again to see if the two of them in the front have reacted. Look back out the window, the car is leaving the tunnel. Pan the skyline; look for the tallest building in the city. Lock on to it. Think to yourself, “is that it?” It has to be it. It is the Empire State Building. The construction on the road causes the truck to bounce and shake on the asphalt. Look out the window; continue to look up at the buildings and the lights. They get brighter. Turn to the other window on the passenger side of the car; notice the tall tower like building with nothing but neon lights and signs on it. The car enters Time Square. The car pulls over to the curb in front of large structure that looks like stadiums seats. Exit the car, go around to the trunk and pull out your two bags. Turn to the door; look up at the hotel sign that reads “Double Tree Guest Suites.” Watch as the valet takes the car down the street and around the corner. Turn to face your travel companions and walk towards the hotel front door.

The SUV is riding through the Lincoln Tunnel on the way towards New York City. David, Mike and Rich are traveling to meet others for a weekend away. As the car exits the tunnel, Rich and Dave search the skyline to locate the Empire State Building. It takes a few moments longer to locate being that it is 9:30 pm. They locate the building as they begin to enter the city. The city is under construction causing the car to shake and bounce on the road, the guys defiantly notice the change in the road. Rich and Dave look out the windows at all the buildings and the lights. They seem to go on forever. As they drive closer and closer toward the center of New York, the lights seem to get brighter and brighter. The guys enter Time Square. The lights are so bright; Rich makes a comment on how they seem as bright as daylight. Mike, the driver, brings the car into the middle of Time Square up to the curb of their hotel, the Double Tree Guest Suites. Mike pulls right up to the curb, turns off the car, opens the door and gets out. He leaves the keys in the car for the valet. Rich and Dave hop out of the car as well. The three head to the truck and pull all their bags out and place them on the sidewalk. Mike tips the valet as he hops in the car and pull away from the curb. The guys picked up their bags and headed to the front door, not realizing how memorable the coming weekend would be.

I have to say that writing each of these paragraphs was challenging, each in their own way. I knew what I wanted to talk about in each paragraph, but each had its own set of details and ways to portray them. The second paragraph, the one in “second person” was by far the most difficult. Trying to write about entering New York City this way was super hard because I don’t normally think in “direction” form and it was the longest to write. It was most challenging trying to convey every motion and emotion in second person. Tone and language wise, each paragraph came out different. The first seemed mostly neutral, javascript:void(0)the second seemed somewhat darker, and the third seemed a little lighter. I’m not sure exactly why, but as I read them back, it’s how they seemed to me.

- David James Scalea

Perspectives and Whatnot

I was watching “2001: A Space Odyssey,” for some unknown reason expecting a conventional science fiction stories. Right at the beginning, I was just completely confused. I asked myself “Why the hell are there a bunch of apes? Why are they freaking out about that black tower thing? What does this have to do with space?!” I didn’t think it was a bad movie at all; I mean it was actually pretty engrossing after the weird gorilla tribe intro, but it definitely wasn’t what I was expecting at first. I also thought that star gate scene was extraordinarily trippy. In a good way, of course.

You were watching “2001: A Space Odyssey,” for some unknown reason expecting a conventional science fiction stories. Right at the beginning, you were just completely confused. You asked yourself “Why the hell are there a bunch of apes? Why are they freaking out about that black tower thing? What does this have to do with space?!” You didn’t think it was a bad movie at all; you thought it was actually pretty engrossing after the weird gorilla tribe intro, but it definitely wasn’t what you were expecting at first. You also found that star gate scene was extraordinarily trippy. In a good way, of course.

He was watching “2001: A Space Odyssey,” for some unknown reason expecting a conventional science fiction stories. Right at the beginning, He was just completely confused. He asked himself “Why the hell are there a bunch of apes? Why are they freaking out about that black tower thing? What does this have to do with space?!” He didn’t think it was a bad movie at all; he thought it was actually pretty engrossing after the weird gorilla tribe intro, but it definitely wasn’t what he was expecting at first. He also found that star gate scene was extraordinarily trippy. In a good way, of course.

The first person form comes off as more conversational, as if the character is discussing the personal story with the reader. The second person meanwhile actually seems more first person than a first person perspective itself, involving the person reading directly as opposed to an external character speaking and relaying the story in "I's," possibly addressing the reaction readers may have to that event. The third person view meanwhile comes across as more of a story as opposed to a dialogue, portraying the events from an outside, more impersonal perspective to the reader.

-Tomas

EDIT: Forgot to put up my name. Oops, herp derp, etc.

1st, 2nd, and 3rd person

First Person:
I went to a surprise birthday party last Saturday night in D.C. I went with my 2 friends, who indecently, were the only people I knew there. I did not know anyone else, not even the birthday boy himself. But that didn't stop me from having a good time. If anything, it encouraged me, to help myself and those strangers around me, to a very good time. Consequently I am out a few bucks, and are now friends with some very interesting characters. But one thing has been bothering me, how did I manage to spend 40 dollars at a house party?

Second Person:
You went to a surprise birthday party last Saturday night in D.C. You went with your 2 friends, who indecently, were the only people you knew there. You did not know anyone else, not even the birthday boy himself. But that didn't stop you from having a good time. If anything, it encouraged you, to help yourself and those strangers around you, to a very good time. Consequently you are out a few bucks, and are now friends with some very interesting characters. But one thing has been bothering me, how did you manage to spend 40 dollars at a house party?

Third Person:
He went to a surprise birthday party last Saturday night in D.C. He went with his 2 friends, who indecently, were the only people he knew there. He did not know anyone else, not even the birthday boy himself. But that didn't stop him from having a good time. If anything, it encouraged him, to help himself and those strangers around him, to a very good time. Consequently he is out a few bucks, and is now friends with some very interesting characters. But one thing has been bothering him, how did he manage to spend 40 dollars at a house party?

Analysis:
I noticed drastic changes in tone of voice. I attempted to be only informative and self analyzing. But as I wrote as I changed the point of view, the tone change dramatically. In the instance of the 2nd person change, the tone went from a slightly humorous self analyzing tone to a negative interrogative tone. Interestingly the meaning was enhanced a little, and stayed slightly humorous with a darker tone. There is definitely a noticeable change in the story with the change in point of view.

-Phillip Cobey

My many personalities.

I went up to Boston this weekend to pay a friend a much needed visit. I decided to drive for some nice scenery, and so that I could stick it to those bastards at Delta Airlines for all the indecencies they had treated me to. On the way up, I couldn't help but feel like every aspect of Massachusetts was designed with pissing me off in mind. The street signs seemed to be run by some sort of volunteer organization that deemed it unnecessary to label 90% of the streets in Brookline. When I arrived, we centered around the TV in his living room, me with my beer and him with his club soda, we caught up on small talk. I was happy to see him but was also uneasy. The original label on my bottle was frayed and tattered while my hands disposed of the nervous energy I had building up with each passing exchange. I didn't want to ignore the elephant in the room, but I wanted my friend to know that it was his old friend had come to visit and not his new therapist.

You visit your friend in Boston. Counter intuitively, you decide renting a car is the cheapest option since your brother works at enterprise and your friend can't provide any transportation on his own. When you arrive, greet your friend as if you saw him yesterday. Accept the beer he offers you in spite of knowing that he abstains from drinking. Ignore the grim context of your visit. Make sure he knows that you are not there simply due to recent events, but also to see a friend that enjoys his company. Hope that he will it up on his own, when he is ready to talk about it.

Thanks to his connections with a rental company, Brian decided it would be best to drive up to Boston to see his friend. When he finally arrived, Brian and his friend exchanged greetings and took up positions in the living room. He opted not to refuse his friends offer of a beer, hoping for it to serve as a symbol that recent events had not redefined anything between his friend and him. They both sported a melancholy chagrin as they exchanged updates, sorting through an index of memories they both knew the other would have found entertaining. As the conversation progressed, Brian felt the humming of the TV in the background encroaching on his words, drowning them as he struggled to sustain the small talk. His visit was routine in timing, but recent events necessitated an awkward shift in their conversation.

***
While I could have mockingly kept the bulk of my paragraphs the same, simply replacing only the pronouns and nouns applicable to perspective, I felt that doing so would not make the samples realistic ones. In the first person, I feel more inclined to focus on abstract and cognitive details. I feel the first person lends the ability to note internal thoughts that rarely surface in spoken or written language. The second person was the most difficult for me, as I feel the perspective is reserved for "For Dummies" books and choose your own adventure novels. As I saw in last weeks short story, it can be used to set a specific tone and personality for the narrator, which had a lot of affect on the paragraph. The third person requires the most detail in my opinion. Its frame of reference seems to hold more distance between the reader and narrator. This change in the frame of reference is what I feel defines the changes in perspective. While the context is the same it changes the viewpoint that the reader approaches the reading from. With this, the author must adjust his delivery method accordingly.

Edit:
-Brian Walker

1st 2nd 3rd

It was Sunday night. I was balled up in my bean bag chair and watching the latest episode of my favorite TV show. My allergies had been playing whack-a-mole with different parts of my body, so I had taken some Benadryl to relieve the symptoms. So, I was relaxed. Not normally relaxed, but pharmaceutically relaxed. It was comparable to smoking a pound of pot and listening to Jeff Bridges read a microwave oven instruction manual. I dozed off for a split second. Then, suddenly, I felt uneasy. My chest itched. I looked down and crawling up to my neck was a centipede. I was doped up, tired, and lying in my favorite spot. Then, all of a sudden, an ungodly creature began portraying the 1st Infantry division storming the beaches of Normandy (played by my chin). I freaked out like a 10 year old girl at a Justin Bieber concert. It wasn’t exactly my finest moment. Worst part of it is, the damn thing got away.
It was Sunday night. You were balled up in your bean bag chair and watching your favorite TV show. Allergies were playing havoc on your body, so you took some Benadryl to relieve the symptoms. You were relaxed. Not normally relaxed, but pharmaceutically relaxed. It was comparable to a Tuesday night in a Turkish bath in ’92 with Kurt Cobain. You rested your eyes for a split second. Then, suddenly, you felt uneasy. Your chest itched. You looked down and crawling up to your neck was a centipede. You were out of your element, and the centipede was advancing like an unstoppable rebel force. You spazzed out like a five year old meeting Barney. You looked foolish. Worst part is, in the frenzied flailing of arms, hair, and a hundred tiny legs, the thing got away.
It was Sunday night. He was balled up in his bean bag chair, watching his favorite TV show. His allergies were wreaking Havoc on his body, so he took some Benadryl to relieve the symptoms. He was relaxed. Not normally relaxed, but pharmaceutically relaxed. It was comparable to a Wednesday afternoon at Charlie Sheen’s house. He closed his eyes for a split second. Suddenly, he felt uneasy. Something seemed to be moving on his chest. He looked down to notice a centipede climbing up his body. He was vulnerable, and the centipede acting the part of invading conquistador. It might as well have been passing out blankets to the indigenous population, it seemed so dangerous to him. He jerked his body about in much the same way he envisions how Christians act when he’s not around. After all the commotion was through, and he had convinced himself the creature wasn’t in his hair, he realized it had gotten away.
Strangely, some statements don’t “feel” right between points of view. In third person, it feels more natural to leave out feelings and stick more to the meat of the story. At the same time, it feels as though there needs to be more meat in the story for it to be effective. It is also more “voyeuristic,” so I felt the need to exaggerate the situation that was in my mind. Second person seems more passive and hypothetical, making me feel like I can get away with more obscure references and strange statements. First person is the way I usually write and so it just seems more normal to me.

D. Ryan

Oh Sister Dear!

I can't believe this has happened again, older sister to the rescue! I pride myself on being responsible, I mean who wouldn't be at this age? It didn't come easy for me though as some might think, I've had a hard road with many bumps, twists and turns, but I made it! Why can't I just stop caring and let the chips fall? I know why. Because Daddy raised me to be the tough one, the one who could withstand anything and still come out on top. That's why everyone relies on me to continuously have it together even in a recession. So, here I am waiting to extend another rescue effort for my baby sister. I know it will take a lot of humble pie for me not to fuss like I want to but I will try my best to be calm. I will welcome her and her son with open arms but this time we play it my way. That's right, my way or the highway!

Do you really want to go through this again? You remodeled your house and now you have 2 new boarders coming on the scene. You are responsible, hardworking and have come a long way baby! How could she be so careless to put this on your shoulders, she has to know you have your own responsibilities and teenagers to tend to for crying out loud! Yes, you will extend the arm of love and help her out again. I think this time, however you should play it your way. Do not give her any room to have options and other avenues, you need to take control. If you do, the likelihood of having to go through this again will dwindle, afterall you have it all together, right? Teach her to do the same, so she can stand on her own two feet and stop running to you for the rescue.

She didn't want to have to face this again, not now at this juncture in time. Her sister is coming back again, after a failed attempt to start over in another part of the country. She was so relieved when her sister left a few months ago, glad to be out of the game of coming to the rescue of baby sister. She thought maybe now she could be someone else's problem, but that in itself IS the problem. Baby sister needs to learn to take care of herself and big sister needs to stop coddling her. She needs to really put her foot down and make sure she knows how to do this and do it right this time, no more half stepping.

I think it was interesting to go from first, second to third person. Each change made me feel like I had to add more context and background so the reader would know what I'm talking about. In first person I could just talk and feel like the reader could follow me. Second person was almost as easy, third person I grappled with the right way to get my point across and still don't know if it came across as I would have liked.

Cindy Davis

Corpus Christi

First Person:
I got up just after dawn to take a walk around campus. This is not something I usually do and, more often then not, when dawn breaks I’m usually just getting to bed. I picked up my copy of Middle English Lyric and tucked it into my bag as Professor Rutledge’s lectures echoed in the back of my mind. Lyric seems to mean more when I’m in a natural setting. The nearly empty campus was kinda of eerie to me, and as I wandered around with only the early morning sound of birds and the clink of keys in my bag, I felt a little more conscious of where I was going. I didn’t really know where I was going until I stopped to sit at a bench near what I thought was Thompson. I pulled out my book and started reading the Corpus Christi carol. As I neared the end of the lyric, a crow alighted from one of the trees. It was only a foot away and it stayed there for longer than it should have. I shut my book and blinked at it and wondered, “When’s the last time I went to Church?”

Second Person:
You got up just after dawn to take a walk around campus. This is not something you usually do and, more often then not, when dawn breaks you’re usually just getting to bed. You picked up your copy of Middle English Lyric and tucked it into your bag as Professor Rutledge’s lectures echoed in the back of your mind. Lyric seems to mean more when you’re in a natural setting. The nearly empty campus was kinda of eerie to you, and as you wandered around with only the early morning sound of birds and the clink of keys in your bag, you felt a little more conscious of where you were going. You didn’t really know where you were going until you stopped to sit at a bench near what you thought was Thompson. You pulled out your book and started reading the Corpus Christi carol. As you neared the end of the lyric, a crow alighted from one of the trees. It was only a foot away and it stayed there for longer than it should have. You shut your book and blinked at it and wondered, “When’s the last time I went to Church?”

Third Person:
He got up just after dawn to take a walk around campus. This is not something he usually did and, more often then not, when dawn breaks he was usually just getting to bed. He picked up his copy of Middle English Lyric and tucked it into his bag as Professor Rutledge’s lectures echoed in the back of his mind. Lyric seems to mean more when he’s in a natural setting. The nearly empty campus was kinda of eerie to him, and as he wandered around with only the early morning sound of birds and the clink of keys in his bag, he felt a little more conscious of where he were going. He didn’t really know where he were going until he stopped to sit at a bench near what he thought was Thompson. He pulled out his book and started reading the Corpus Christi carol. As he neared the end of the lyric, a crow alighted from one of the trees. It was only a foot away and it stayed there for longer than it should have. He shut his book and blinked at it and wondered, “When’s the last time I went to Church?”

The tone of the three paragraphs feels very similar. First person is more personal and third person seems more distant. I think the third person and the gendered “he” creates another layer of depth that “I” and “You” seem to lack. As a reader, I am more detached from the third person point of view than any of the others; I am not a participant or an active voice in the narrative but rather an observer, and this is far more interesting to me.

While first person denotes a personal account, second person acts as instruction. Both second and third person relay an observation of a completely separate entity, so there appear to be two: the narrator and the character. First person lacks this divide.

-Samantha Markey

Road Trip!!!! Kinda....

First person:
Friday I decided to visit my mother back in McLean, my dad was out of town on a business trip and I figured we could have some quality girl time. When I first arrived in McLean, my friend Evin got in touch with me and wanted to see if I wanted to get coffee. Of course I agreed and we met at Greenberry’s, our favorite local coffee shop, there he told me about his plans to visit JMU that weekend and the idea was seductive enough to convince me to join him last minute. So I hurriedly packed my things, clothes, shampoo & a pair of running shoes and we drove 2 hours to JMU to visit our high school friends. Upon our arrival, the “oh I haven’t seen you in sooo long” and “wow, your hair has grown so much” were exchanged. Evin & I soon realized that plans had been made well before our arrival. There we attended a play put on by many of the Theater majors at James Madison and in keeping with the stereotype, we college kids stayed up late watching movies and playing video games. Eventually we found ourselves famished in the middle of the night. Luckily there are several establishments open until 4 in the morning, thank god for Harrisonburg being a college town. Essentially the weekend was a rinse and repeat until Evin & I had to drive home Sunday morning.

Second Person:
Things to do for the weekend: You go back home and visit your mother, your dad is out of town and she needs some quality girl time. Once there, you get a call from Evin, he wants to meet you at your favorite Greenberry’s to hang out. Meet at Greenberry’s and listen as he tells you about his tempting plan to visit JMU and visit all of your old high school friends. Evin invites you to join him in his ambitious endeavor and you agree to accompany him. Head home and pack your clothes, don’t forget your running shoes. You take turns driving until you arrive in Harrisonburg. Your friends at JMU have already created an itinerary for you, and after you exchange your welcomes and hellos, you attend a play put on by the finest JMU actors. After the play, indulge yourself in good company, movies and video games. It’s 2 am, acknowledge your grumbling stomach and venture out to a fine college town establishment and satisfy your hunger. Rinse and repeat the weekend until finally you have to take the long and arduous 2-hour trip home. Don’t forget to sleep soundly!

Third person:
It’s a Friday when Samantha decides it’s that time of the week again. That time to go butter up her mother. Her bank account had gotten quite low and mother was always a good middleman between her and the money. Daddy couldn’t ignore two sets of eyelashes. That was the expected plan for the weekend. Go home. Hang out with mom. Do some homework, maybe even wash the car. It was going to be a pretty relaxed weekend. Of course this isn’t what happened. When she arrived in Mclean her friend, Evin, contacted her. He wanted to get coffee before he headed off to JMU for the weekend. Of course he was going to rope her into going with him, he always did. He was probably the most silver-tongued friend she had. She tried to make excuses, she had too much homework, her car was dirty, her mother needed quality daughter time. No good. So about and hour and a half later Sam found herself driving her and Evin the 2 hours down to JMU to see many of their long-time friends from high school.
The ride was comfortable and especially since Evin agreed to drive after they got off 66 and jumped onto 81. When they arrived, their friends greeted them warmly, exchanging pleasantries. Soon Sam and Evin were whisked off to a play put on by the Theatre majors of the universities. Most of their friends were theatre majors or at least used to be. The rest of the night consisted of video games, inside jokes, and quality (and by quality we mean not so quality) films. This was until Sam and her party found themselves in need of fuel. No need to worry, Harrisonburg is a college town and college towns know college kids. So at 2 am the recharged at one of the many food establishments open long into the night.
The rest of the trip consisted of more movies, more laughs, and more late night runs for food. It wasn’t about itineraries or preconceived plans. It was just about good company and old memories. Sunday eventually reared its head, which meant that Sam and Evin had to say goodbye. No it wasn’t the tear filled ones. Just the simple “I’ll be back soon. You owe me $5 for that pizza.”

Each different point of view/narrative gave the story a different life, a different direction. The first paragraph was more personal…obviously…it was me talking. The tone was more like a monologue of the events, with more mannerisms and tendencies of the character explaining the story. Second person felt more like a to-do list, or a set of instructions. Instead of insight into the character we get more insight into the story without all the fluffy detail. Just what you need to know about the events taking place and the character. Lastly third person feels like a story. The narrator is connected to the main character as well as the sub characters. He/she/it can get inside the heart of the entire group, or just one character, and depict the event as it is experienced in the story. The characters are described to us instead of the character depicting himself or herself first hand to the reader. All three points of view have distinct different languages that convey the story and give life to its characters.

Samantha Audet

Too much wine = Bad day! Ashley S

I had a terrible awful bad day on Saturday. Saturday started like any other Saturday, I woke up and was craving pancakes and sausage. Everything would have been fine but I kept burning everything, so I had to eat plain old cereal. I was really excited to go to the wine festival and had a good time, until I had way to much to drink. I couldn't walk very well. As I was leaving I tripped and fell on the hard gravel. I ended up getting cuts all over my arm and got blood all over my white shirt. I got so drunk I don't remember leaving and I ended up fighting with my boyfriend for no apparent reason. When I woke up the next morning with a hang over I was like what happened yesterday? I couldn't find my belly button ring, my camera is now forever missing and when I looked outside my shoes were at the door and my bloody shirt was in the drive way, not to mention my body hurt like hell from my fall. That was such a bad day with bad outcomes. I will never drink that much wine again!

You had a terrible awful bad day on Saturday. Saturday started like any other Saturday, you woke up and was craving pancakes and sausage. Everything would have been fine but you kept burning everything, so you had to eat plain old cereal. You was really excited to go to the wine festival and had a good time, until you had way to much to drink. you couldn't walk very well. As you was leaving you tripped and fell on the hard gravel. you ended up getting cuts all over your arm and got blood all over your white shirt. You got so drunk you don't remember leaving and you ended up fighting with your boyfriend for no apparent reason. When you woke up the next morning with a hang over you was like what happened yesterday? You couldn't find your belly button ring, your camera is now forever missing and when you looked outside your shoes were at the door and your bloody shirt was in the drive way, not to mention your body hurt like hell from your fall. That was such a bad day with bad outcomes. you will never drink that much wine again!

she had a terrible awful bad day on Saturday. Saturday started like any other Saturday, she woke up and was craving pancakes and sausage. Everything would have been fine but she kept burning everything, so she had to eat plain old cereal. she was really excited to go to the wine festival and had a good time, until she had way to much to drink. She couldn't walk very well. As she was leaving she tripped and fell on the hard gravel. She ended up getting cuts all over her arm and got blood all over her white shirt. She got so drunk She don't remember leaving and She ended up fighting with her boyfriend for no apparent reason. When She woke up the next morning with a hang over She was like what happened yesterday? She couldn't find her belly button ring, her camera is now forever missing and when she looked outside her shoes were at the door and her bloody shirt was in the drive way, not to mention her body hurt like hell from her fall. That was such a bad day with bad outcomes. She will never drink that much wine again!


I thought this was a very interesting exercise. It really is amazing how the story changes when you use different point of views. When saying I it was like I am the character and I am telling you my story. When you use you it is as if you are directing the person what to do, and they don't have an option in changing it. Like, "you will never drink that much wine again." When you use she/he it is as if you are gossiping. Its more of a did you hear what she did. I think this was a good exercise in how to tell a story and how using different point of views really does change a story.

Reading

I went into work today feeling tired and sick. As I walked into the bathroom to change into my uniform, I noticed my fellow employees felt the same. I don't know what it is about Mondays, but everything seems to slow down and drag out. I hope that I don't get any annoying guests that stay forever or give lousy tips. God, I hate Mondays.

You went into work today feeling tired and sick. As you walked into the bathroom to change into your uniform, you noticed your fellow employees felt the same. You don't know what it is about Mondays, but everything seems to slow down and drag out. You hope that you don't get any annoying guests that stay forever or give lousy tips. God, you hate Mondays.

He went into work today feeling tired and sick. As he walked into the bathroom to change into my uniform, he noticed my fellow employees felt the same. He doesn't know what it is about Mondays, but everything seems to slow down and drag out. He hopes that he doesn't get any annoying guests that stay forever or give lousy tips. God, he hates Mondays.

For the first person, I can relate to it more with the word 'I'. It feels like I am the person actually doing the actions. The second person view point with 'you' feels more like a narrative unfolding or a play being presented. The third person changes view points by the word 'he.' It reads like a book or story and is less personal. The view points seem to get less personal as it changes from 1st, to 2nd, to 3rd person narratives. Also, in third person, I had to change some of the words (don't to doesn't). It's like you are an outside person looking in whereas the first two, you are more a part of.

Jae Khoury