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...
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