The closest I had come to sharing my work with my peers was trading papers in english class and doing peer edits. To be honest, this was not usually beneficial for me; at most, my buddy would add unnecessary commas or cross out good words and add horrible synonyms. Sometimes they even crossed out good words and added ones that didn't actually make sense. I got really good at ignoring peer edits.
So imagine my dismay when I have to humbly present the largest piece of work I have ever written to twelve very intelligent, very good writers full of wonderful things to say. Their praises were a huge ego boost, but their critiques crushed my soul! How could they not understand that scene?? The language was beautiful!
Overall, though, the experience was rather eye-opening. I realized that one of my largest problems as a writer is taking what's in my head and putting it down on the paper. I often forget that the reader is READING the story and doesn't start with it in their head to begin with like I do. I need to explain the motives of my characters better so that their actions don't appear to come out of left field.
So, I learned some things that I probably wouldn't have figured out for myself. Here's to the power of collaboration.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Favorite Favorite Poem Project
To be honest, I don't really have a favorite one because I find the videos cheesy. However, I've found one that I don't mind as much as the other ones: "We Real Cool" by Gwendolyn Brooks, read by John Ulrich. I had studied this poem in middle school, but I always thought that some of the vibe of the poem was lost when it was read by my young, blonde, well to do english teacher with the high, feminine voice. To hear it instead from the mouth of a young man from Boston with a scratchy, low voice to boot, it made it all the more poignant. I found his family structure fascinating and cannot fathom what it must be like to grow up with seven siblings, all a year apart. I also wonder what it would be like to live at home while I go to college. On that note, I wonder what it would be like to go to art school instead of this one.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
How Compelling My Nose Can Be
The sense of smell, so often lost to me due to allergies or some sort of cold, is known to evoke memories of days long gone. Despite my hampered ability to absorb scent, this phenomenon applies to my life as well. A list:
- The scent of Ben, my adopted older brother: Ben was home schooled. As a consequence, he was more self conscious than I when it came to social situations. He made sure that his hair was pointing just the right way and that his pants lined up with his belt. One of his biggest worries was smell, though; he would always shower as close to leaving the house as possible and had spent a lot of time picking out his deodorant in his youth before he finally settled on one variety. It was so recognizable, though. Early one March afternoon, the sunlight was beginning to illuminate the buildings sideways as it set. The winter was losing its grip and grass was finally more prevalent than snow. I had pulled open the glass door that emitted only a whisper as its hinges spun and maneuvered my load into the lobby. As I signed in, the only noise was the breathing of the college student behind the desk, the rustling of her book, and my pen scratching. I picked up my drum and started across the warm linoleum, my sneakers tapping. And then a waft of scent tickled the bottom of my nose, vanished, tickled again. It was Ben. He had walked through recently. I could picture him carrying his pipes and walking the same floor I did now, climbing the same stairs, pulling open doors and greeting friends. I was right behind him. I would catch up to him soon enough.
- Ham and Cheese Breakfast Loaf: Even though my mother's side of the family is Jewish, we celebrate Christmas and Easter in my house. However, we participate in the "trees and presents" and "bunnies and candy in a basket" side of things, not so much the "Jesus was born" and "Jesus is dead." Anyway, my mother cooked brunch for our extended family every Easter and everyone would come over and we would schmooze and hunt for easter eggs in the field. And every year, my mother would make this ham and cheese breakfast loaf that she had found a recipe for in a newspaper many years ago. When we moved away from the rest of the family, my mother made brunch for a year and then decided it wasn't really worth it. The next year, she just made the ham and cheese breakfast loaf. The year after, she made the loaf again. The year after that, though, Easter was so low on the priority list that she made homemade Egg McMuffins at 9 in the morning for whomever was awake and everyone else was on their own for Easter celebrations. But despite the lack of the loaf, when she does make it now (if ever), the smell reminds me of Easter's past with grandparents and missing Easter eggs and candy.
A short list, perhaps, but my time is up...
- The scent of Ben, my adopted older brother: Ben was home schooled. As a consequence, he was more self conscious than I when it came to social situations. He made sure that his hair was pointing just the right way and that his pants lined up with his belt. One of his biggest worries was smell, though; he would always shower as close to leaving the house as possible and had spent a lot of time picking out his deodorant in his youth before he finally settled on one variety. It was so recognizable, though. Early one March afternoon, the sunlight was beginning to illuminate the buildings sideways as it set. The winter was losing its grip and grass was finally more prevalent than snow. I had pulled open the glass door that emitted only a whisper as its hinges spun and maneuvered my load into the lobby. As I signed in, the only noise was the breathing of the college student behind the desk, the rustling of her book, and my pen scratching. I picked up my drum and started across the warm linoleum, my sneakers tapping. And then a waft of scent tickled the bottom of my nose, vanished, tickled again. It was Ben. He had walked through recently. I could picture him carrying his pipes and walking the same floor I did now, climbing the same stairs, pulling open doors and greeting friends. I was right behind him. I would catch up to him soon enough.
- Ham and Cheese Breakfast Loaf: Even though my mother's side of the family is Jewish, we celebrate Christmas and Easter in my house. However, we participate in the "trees and presents" and "bunnies and candy in a basket" side of things, not so much the "Jesus was born" and "Jesus is dead." Anyway, my mother cooked brunch for our extended family every Easter and everyone would come over and we would schmooze and hunt for easter eggs in the field. And every year, my mother would make this ham and cheese breakfast loaf that she had found a recipe for in a newspaper many years ago. When we moved away from the rest of the family, my mother made brunch for a year and then decided it wasn't really worth it. The next year, she just made the ham and cheese breakfast loaf. The year after, she made the loaf again. The year after that, though, Easter was so low on the priority list that she made homemade Egg McMuffins at 9 in the morning for whomever was awake and everyone else was on their own for Easter celebrations. But despite the lack of the loaf, when she does make it now (if ever), the smell reminds me of Easter's past with grandparents and missing Easter eggs and candy.
A short list, perhaps, but my time is up...
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Eggs
As of late, I have become quite the fan of eggs for breakfast. Reader, you may be underwhelmed by this statement. After all, many people eat eggs for breakfast every day. What makes it so special all of a sudden. First, I didn't even eat breakfast for an entire year. My first revelation was rediscovering the meal in general. Unfortunately, this reacquaintance consisted largely of my eating cereal or break in the morning before dashing off to my first task. Nothing special food wise. And then one humble Sunday afternoon, I stumbled into the dining hall and investigated my food prospects through bleary eyes. Everything seemed a little bland. I thought I would embark on a grand adventure and order my first omelet. I slouched at the counter until a hand (whose attached face was blocked by a decorative corn arrangement) passed me a ceramic plate bearing my cooked egg and then I trudged to the table near the windows, grabbing a fork on the way. Collapsing in the chair, I arranged my single piece of silverware to the left of my plate and stared at the steaming mass piled in front of me. It was a pleasant shade of yellow with happy little ham cubes sprinkled throughout. I picked up my fork, turned it around, passed it to my other hand, and cut in with conviction. Slowly, eyes nearly closed in the bright sunlight streaming through the windows, I raised the utensil to my mouth and delivered its cargo. Deliciousness exploded on my taste buds. I now rather enjoy eggs for breakfast.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Lost in Translation: More Thoughts
The shower scene, while brief, was truly ridiculous. The obvious aim of the shot was to emphasize the size difference between Bill Murray and the average inhabitant of Tokyo, but there could be underlying ideas. For example, the shower head was obviously adjustable to a height that would result in the stream being above his head, but for some reason he does not raise it to this height. He was only a foot away! How much effort does it take to lift his arms a little higher, especially in the name of a more comfortable shower? This could provide some insight into his character; perhaps he is lazy to the point of being counterproductive. Perhaps he is afraid of what he could accomplish if he put forth his full effort. Is he afraid of his own capabilities? This little issue with the shower head could also indicate that he likes being uncomfortable. Maybe he prefers being uncomfortable because it provides a concrete emotion; without it, he would just be lost and wandering in the ambiguous world of "feelings."
Or perhaps something just went wrong during the filming and Bill Murray accidentally didn't lift the showerhead as high as he was supposed to but the director decided he liked it and wanted to keep it in the movie. Some things are accidental like that.
Or perhaps something just went wrong during the filming and Bill Murray accidentally didn't lift the showerhead as high as he was supposed to but the director decided he liked it and wanted to keep it in the movie. Some things are accidental like that.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
The World is Flat
In the days of my youth, I truly believed that the world was round. However, I thought "round" meant that the sky was the top half of a sphere and dirt was the bottom half and the ground upon which I walked and my house sat was a flat plane cutting the sphere in half. Here's to the human brain and its capability of knowing what it wants to know and seeing what it wants to see.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Thoughts Regarding Little Dieter
First and foremost, I cannot for the life of me even fathom what would bring Dieter to relive his experience. After so many horrors, why would Dieter allow his hands to once again be bound behind his back while he was forced through the jungle? Personally, I would rather leave my terrible memories in the past and consider them only as sources of life lessons, not as movie fodder requiring reenactment.
To continue, I found a strange sort of irony in the fact that Dieter's childhood dream resulted in such an ordeal. All he wanted to do was fly; perhaps, to be free of the earth. The dream of liberation ended in extreme confinement under conditions too horrible for a suburbanite like myself to imagine. The closest I've encountered to a locked door is a store being closed or my sister hogging the bathroom. Dieter has had an entire life kept from him behind a locked door, and all because he went after his dream. Not so encouraging to pursue my own passions.
As a sidenote, I found the insertion of the American safety video to be highly humorous, both because of the content of the video and because of its position within the entire documentary. Dieter pointed out the ridiculousness of the video in a flat, sarcastic tone, which lent to the content of the little film immensely.
Perhaps most striking to me about his story, though, is that this German man would endure so much in the name of a different country. While he made it immensely clear that he was fulfilling his dream, it cannot be denied that he flew for the United States and fought for the aims of the United States military. How far is a man willing to go to satisfy his personal aims?
To continue, I found a strange sort of irony in the fact that Dieter's childhood dream resulted in such an ordeal. All he wanted to do was fly; perhaps, to be free of the earth. The dream of liberation ended in extreme confinement under conditions too horrible for a suburbanite like myself to imagine. The closest I've encountered to a locked door is a store being closed or my sister hogging the bathroom. Dieter has had an entire life kept from him behind a locked door, and all because he went after his dream. Not so encouraging to pursue my own passions.
As a sidenote, I found the insertion of the American safety video to be highly humorous, both because of the content of the video and because of its position within the entire documentary. Dieter pointed out the ridiculousness of the video in a flat, sarcastic tone, which lent to the content of the little film immensely.
Perhaps most striking to me about his story, though, is that this German man would endure so much in the name of a different country. While he made it immensely clear that he was fulfilling his dream, it cannot be denied that he flew for the United States and fought for the aims of the United States military. How far is a man willing to go to satisfy his personal aims?
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