This weeks blog post has two parts. First, I will be rewriting a scene of action from The Yellow Wall-Paper (Charlotte Perkins Stetson). The second part will be a scene from my past when someone close to me made a decision that had a negative impact on my life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Never once have I felt an emotion so deep, so bold, so evil, just from the looks of a color. This place has some sort of something extra to it. My husband, John, constantly nails into my head that we're only staying here temporarily. "Three more weeks darling. You must rest and ignore your thoughts" he says. He always promises he knows what’s best for me. Because he is a doctor apparently he must know what I'm feeling, and how to cure it. It sounds logical, even thought I do not fully believe he can see how bad I’m hurting inside. So I nod politely, holding back the words I wish to say, and do what my husband says. I lay still in the creaky old bed. This wallpaper. It's almost as if it is something like a novel. So much to tell, so mysterious, yet intriguing. I can't fathom being suffocated any longer. The dingy yellow walls are beginning to close in on me. My eyes hurt from staring, yet I can not stop. Oh how much I hate this wallpaper. Day in and day out, I read the walls looking for an answer to my sadness. I promise you, the paper is turning me inside out. All I want is to be free. Free from the yellow cloud that I can’t escape from. The bars on the windows make me feel trapped, and being trapped is part of my comfort zone, yet for some reason I feel I must escape to find my happiness again. I spend two sleepless nights staring endlessly. From wall, to wall, to window, back to wall. It is finally our last night at this home from hell. John is staying out tonight for work. For the amount of time I’ve spent thinking and analyzing and rationalizing the past 3 weeks, I use this time to do the opposite. I simply walk over to the window and wrap my dry, cracked fingers around the cold metal bars. I softly push on them and oh! Oh my. The bars, they came off. Just like that. I quietly swing my legs through the window and off I go. I am free again, and happy. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ As I sat in math class during my freshman year of highschool, in my own little world, I felt my stomach twisting and wrapping itself up into one of those ridiculous pretzel yoga positions. I felt like my brain had lost it's operator, like that one episode of Spongebob where all his thoughts and memories were exploding all over the place. I was trying so hard to imagine all the possible places my mom could've been that morning. It was just so unlike her. She drove me to school every morning. ZZZZ ZZZ. I felt my phone buzz in the back pocket of the sweatpants I had on the night before, because of how hectic my morning was I just ran out the door for school without changing. I excused myself from the classroom and shuffled into the hallway to check my text message. It was from my dad. “Your mom was in a motorcycle accident late last night. I don’t know if she is going to be okay.” I felt the olive color of my skin flush to white from head to toe. My stomach released from that tight yoga position and exploded throughout my entire body. My throat closed up and I could feel my eyes leaking uncontrollably. As I navigated through the humid, grey concrete hallways, all I was focused on was catching my breath. I made it to my car and attempted to gather myself before driving to the hospital. All I could think about was the argument her and I had the night before which ended in me slamming my door in her face. I replayed everything in my head. It is completely mind-blowing to me how that morning, the second I opened my eyes, I immediately had a funny feeling in my stomach. I had no clue why, but I did. Come to find out my mom had went out for a drink after our argument the previous night. She got on a motorcycle with some drunk dude bribing her with cheesesteaks in the city. Little did she know he would hit a vehicle head on, causing her to fly off the back. He ditched the Ben Franklin Parkway because some how he was not injured at all, leaving her there to be rescued by the ambulance. I truly believe she has a guardian angel watching over her.
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This weeks blog post has two parts. First, I will be rewriting a scene of action from Bullet in the Brain (Tobias Wolff). The story was about a man who walked into a crowded bank. Two robbers end up coming in and the man instigates them which leads to him getting shot in the head. I will create a different scene within that story. Then, I will be composing a scene showing action in my current life. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Flat, washed out grey clouds lay across the sky like a blanket. Thin slivers of blue are struggling to peak through. Anders dragged his cranky self to the bank just before closing. There was a line almost out the door. He let out an annoyed breath of air and stood behind some woman who seemed to be whining about something he didn’t care about. Indeed, she was. “Can you believe that bank teller closed her station with all of these customers to be taken care of? Ugh!!!” she complained. “Unforgiveable. Heaven will take note” Anders responded, sarcastically. Her face, surprised, stared at him, and them stared past him. Suddenly her skin went white. “NOBODY MOVE AND NOBODY WILL GET HURT!” Two men, drenched in black all the way to their facemasks bolted through the bank doors. The room was robbed of any noise besides their scratchy, bold voices and deep breaths from the scared victims. Anders was one cocky man. He was not even phased by these men, surprisingly, he found them to be comical. He embraced a smirk growing across his face while the two robbers screamed at the customers. “You think I’m some kind of clown? You think you can fuck with me?” The man questioned Anders. “No.” “Fuck with me again, you’re history. Capiche?” The man said. Anders bursted out with an obnoxious laugh. The mans face went from olive to beat red. He twirled his gun out from his dainty jean pocket and into the palm of his sweaty hand and darted over towards Anders, who was still rocking that smirk. “That’s it!!!!” He screamed. The man was booking it towards him. Anders did a little side-step to the right, and wrapped his arms around his neck. With all his strength, Anders threw the man into one of the marble pillars. CRACK! Everyone in the bank gasped. The man laid still on the floor as a pool of blood began creeping out from underneath. He looked up only to see the camera had already been shot at. He took a minute to stare at the mythological creatures on the ceiling he had never noticed before. The woman who was in front of him in line began vomiting. Anders, not even the slightest bit flustered, looked around for the other burglar. He was more focused on grabbing the money and getting the hell out of there. So Anders decided to do the same. He walked out of the bank and back into the grey world. “Maybe I’ll try out the other bank tomorrow” he said. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I can literally feel the vibrations of the music throughout my entire body. My heart is pounding to the beat of the beat. The man on stage is leaking sweat from head to toe. His blue and red flannel gets unbuttoned while his mullet slicks down onto the back of his neck. I’m taking a sip as I’m jamming out to Morgan Wallen’s beautiful voice, accompanied by Dewey Beach’s finest voices in the background. Yet again, the ice cold drink lands directly on my shirt. I am now desperately scoping the room for a damn straw.
“HEY!!! Where’d you get that straw?!!!” I startled this short girl who is standing in front of my best friend Dana. “In the bathroom!” She responds. I give her a look of confusion, but at this point I don’t really care. I’m on a mission. Straw!!! Dana and I walk into the bathroom, and we both are looking in awe. In a bathroom, I know. But this is not just any bathroom!! The counter top is over-crowded with everything and anything a girl might need. From candy, to perfume, hair supplies, gum, lotion, and straws!! I grab it and plop it into my drink. “Oh, just leave a tip and you can take whatever you want!” A small voice says from behind us. I turn around and see a nice lady sitting in the corner. She has a pink cloth outfit on with dainty white sandals. Her hair is permed and her face is glowing. She is wearing a necklace that seems to be very old. It’s a brass owl with yellow eyes. “My name is Keesha, by the way. I was once you two girls. I always wondered why nobody thought of this back in my day. I hope you girls found what you needed” Keesha said, “I found this necklace in here months ago and for some reason it inspired me”. “This is amazing. You are such a great person for doing this all out of your own time and money!” Dana responds, as she throws in a 20$ bill. “Oh sweetheart thank you. Have a blessed evening!” We are walking out of the bathroom with smiles on our face. She gives off a vibe of such wisdom and pureness. There are good people in this world. Before composing this blog post, I read two pieces of writing called What is Creative Nonfiction? (Lee Gutkind), and Making Scenes in Memoir (Lee Martin). The authors of these readings wrote all about putting together and creating scenes in creative nonfiction pieces. In this blog post I will be creating a scene of a moment in my present life. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It is a beautiful Sunday afternoon as I lay on a stiff rainbow of threads, slowly swinging back and forth. Back and forth my thoughts are swaying, mimicking the leaves on the plant in front of me. My eyes are wandering, gazing into the ómbre blue sky. Salty fumes flowing consistently, creeping up and into my nose. I can hear the sound of the waves crashing, as well as the click click of the grill turning on. What a wonderful combination. My family is gathered in the kitchen whipping up a seafood smorgasbord. I can feel the hidden sun rays beaming on my forehead, as if it switched my brain into gear.
“A penny for your thoughts?” My aunt approaches me with her gentle yet strong voice. I snap out of my daydream. I didn’t even get a chance to think before responding. This is how I knew it's time to acknowledge my daydream. “It’s time. I need to begin a new chapter of my life. I can’t stop thinking about it.” I respond. My aunt waits for the right moment to slide on the hammock with me. She wraps her sun-kissed arms around me. “You have to do what’s best for you” she assures me. I can feel the heat of her skin seeping through her white t-shirt. “I know I do. But I know you know how terrible I am with handling change. I am so used to my routine. Working at that daycare for the past 3 years has brought so much joy to my life. I don’t want to abandon my babies.” I felt myself choking up. “All good things must come to an end in order for even better things to grow” my aunt responds as she swings off the hammock, leaving me to rock back and forth some more. She always knows how to get me to believe in myself. I wait for the swinging to slowly come to a stop. I lay still and imagine all 50 ways the conversation of me giving my notice would go. I know I can't work there forever. I also know I can not truly excel in college while taking care of 12 babies when I should be studying. I am at a point in my life where I should be thriving. Learning. I don’t want to feel so incredibly drained anymore. I love taking care of those children. However the toll it takes on me mentally and emotionally can not be justified. I sit up and place my bare feet onto the cool, smooth deck. I look out into the dunes, and let out a sigh of relief. I can finally clearly see a glimpse of the future ahead of me. The smell of the freshly steamed seafood and the vegetables on the grill is lingering over towards me. I get up and make my way back into the kitchen, feeling the love of the room smack me back into reality. I can do this. For this post, I have chosen inspirational quotes that stuck out to me regarding an author’s writing process. The three readings the quotes are from are Teach Writing as a Process Not a Product (Don Murray), Against Vanity: In Praise of Revision (Mary Karr) , and Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life (Anne Lamott). I have also created three of my own quotes which relate to my personal writing process. This blog post will be composed as a writers’ round table.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Drip. Drop. BOOM. Drip. BOOM. Tap. Tap tap. Tap tap tap tap tap. I have been sitting through this dreary, dark Sunday trying incredibly hard to concentrate. It’s to the point where I’m focusing in on each drip drop. Counting the seconds between the booms. And contributing to the noise with a consistent smack of the backspace key. Hours go by and I have yet to written a complete paragraph. Burnt bean juice has raided my nostrils, and my ears throb from analyzing nearly every boring small talk convo in this place. I buried my head in my arms and proceeded to pretend I knew how to gather my thoughts. Just as I was finishing up my mental breakdown, I lifted my head only to see a beaming light from God bursting through each opening of the revolving door. The sun. The storm was over. I sat up straight and decided to get the heck out of that place. Still admiring the silence of the light, I see three sophisticated-looking adults follow eachother in and make their way over to the table besides me. Just like that, three shots of expresso make their way to the table as well. Wow. They must be legit, I thought to myself. They glance over at the reading on my table, The Daily Writing Routines of Great Writers (Maria Popova), and their faces light up like the beaming ray of sunshine that took me out of my funk. They introduce themselves to me and tell me how amazing it is to see someone else here that can contribute to their conversation. I let out a nervous laugh as I had no idea who they were. They told me who they were; Anne Lamott, Don Murray, and Mary Karr, and what exactly they were there to have a nice chat about. You know what it was? The Writing Process. Hallelujah!!! Anne, Don, and Mary asked me to start off by sharing a piece from Maria Popova’s reading that stuck out to me. I reply with, “A writer who waits for ideal conditions under which to work will die without putting a word on paper” (E.B. White). Anne nodded immediately agreeing with that statement. “You don’t have to see where you’re going, you don’t have to see your destination or everything you will pass along the way. You just have to see two or three feet ahead of you.” (1) The same went for Don. He stated, “Writing is primarily not a matter of talent, of dedication, of vision, of vocabulary, of style, but simply a matter of sitting. The writer is a person who writes.” (2)“There is always magic in this for me, and wonder because I do not know what I am going to say until it is said. The writer within is always a stranger, with a grin, a top hat and long, quick fingers which produce what was not there before. I shall never know this magic man well, although he has been within me for sixty years. He entices me with his capacity to surprise.” (3) “Hmmm. Very motivational” I felt my eyebrow creeping up as I tried to think about his response in a deeper way. “What about you, Mary?” She cleared her throat. “I find generative me harder to get going. But through sheer hardheadedness, even I grant myself permission to run buck-wild down the page with sentences dumb as stumps and few glimpses of anything pretty. The idea is to get some scenes down. Let your mind roam down some alleys that may land in dead ends---that’s the nature of the process.” (4) “That’s how I like to think of it. Something I always tell myself is sometimes you know what you want to write, just now how to write it. Just write it. Then figure out how you want it to be written. Anne, What are your thoughts on drafts?” I was loving the intellectual conversation here. “The first draft is the child’s draft, where you let it all pour out and then let it romp all over the place, knowing that no one is going to see it and that you can shape it later. You just let this childlike part of you channel whatever voices and visions come through and onto the page.” “Just get it all down on paper, because there may be something great in those six crazy pages that you would never have gotten to by more rational grown-up means. There may be something in the very last line of the very last paragraph on page six that you just love that is so beautiful or wild that you now know what you’re supposed to be writing about, more or less, or in what direction you might go---but there was no way to get to this without first getting through the first five and a half pages.” (5) I was fascinated with that response. “I never thought about it like that. When I am trying to sit down and write, I like to take a shot of expresso, get comfortable, stare at the wall for a little while and just let my fingers go. What do you do if you get stuck?” Anne quickly replied with, “I would pick up my one-inch picture frame stare into it as if for the answer, and every time the answer would come: all I had to do was to write a really shitty first draft of, say, the opening paragraph. And no one was going to see it.” (6) Don chimed in, “Don’t look back. Yes, the draft needs fixing. But first it needs writing.” (7) I glanced over at Mary as she has been pretty quiet during this conversation. I asked her if she had any advice from her own writing process. She zoned back into reality. “In the beginning, when there are zero pages, you have to cheer yourself into cranking stuff out, even if it later lands on the cutting room floor. Each page takes you somewhere you need to travel before you can land in the next spot.” (8) “The point is to have more curiosity about possible forms the work could take than sense of self-protection for your ego.”(9) “You have no idea how helpful you guys have been. It has been fascinating listening to such intelligent writers come together and give their different approaches on writing processes. I have learned that if you try and force yourself to stay on track, you get stuck thinking about random things like the reason you’re not on track, which causes you to really lose track of what you were almost about to write.” I looked outside and let out a sigh of relief. Now it was really time to get out of there. “I’m going home to compose a nice shitty draft.” (1)- Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life (Anne Lamott) (2)-Teach Writing as a Process not a Product (Don Murray) (3)-Teach Writing as a Process not a Product (Don Murray) (4)-Against Vanity: In Praise of Revision (Mary Karr) (5)- Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life (Anne Lamott) (6)-Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life (Anne Lamott) (7)-Teach Writing as a Process not a Product (Don Murray) (8)-Against Vanity: In Praise of Revision (Mary Karr) (9)-Against Vanity: In Praise of Revision (Mary Karr) The Proust Questionnaire is a series of personal questions that are intended to give others insight on ones personality. Below I have responded to each of these questions so you can get to know me, and what goes on in my brain a little better.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ __1.__What is your idea of perfect happiness? I am not entirely sure what the “perfect happiness” is supposed to feel like. What I do know, is that I am genuinely happy when my family and closest friends are healthy and happy. Having and being surrounded by peaceful, positive energy is something that is important to me as well. __2.__What is your greatest fear? My greatest fear, besides losing the people that I love, is losing myself. Sometimes I get lost in my anxious world and begin to question myself and my decisions. __3.__What is the trait you most deplore in yourself? When I truly care about something, whether its a loved one, a friend, a job, an idea, I tend to care more about that than anything that has to do with my own life. I focus all of my time and energy on making sure other people are satisfied and happy, while I ignore my own issues. __4.__What is the trait you most deplore in others? Arrogance. There is no reason why certain people should feel that they are “better” than other people. There is also no reason why those certain people feel they have any right to make other people feel “less” than they are. __5.__Which living person do you most admire? My grandfather is the person I admire most in my life. Not only does he have the best sense of humor for an old man, he has the most inspirational, motivating stories to share each time I talk to him. He came to America with nothing when he was young and worked extremely hard for every penny he earned. __6.__What is your greatest extravagance? My greatest extravagance is shoes, specifically sneakers. I love to treat myself more often than I probably should! __7.__What is your current state of mind? I would have to describe my current state of mind as determined. Trying to juggle a full time job, school, and down time for myself, is definitely overwhelming. However I am determined to remain determined! __8.__What do you consider the most overrated virtue? Who in this world is truly "pure"? I don't believe purity has any relevance to the type of human being that you are. __9.__On what occasion do you lie? I do not believe lying is necessary in any situation. It never turns out well in the long run. __10.__What do you most dislike about your appearance? I dislike my pale skin during the winter. I wish I could stay tan all year round. __11.__Which living person do you most despise? There is no one person that I despise in the world. I can say I despise the cruel people of the world who hurt other people. __12.__What is the quality you most like in a man? Loyalty, and a sense of humor. __13.__What is the quality you most like in a woman? Respect. I think it’s very important, especially in the world we live in today, for women to have respect for each other and for themselves. __14.__Which words or phrases do you most overuse? I tend to say "really?" way too much. Anytime someone tells me a story or basically anything, "really" just comes out even though I know exactly what they're talking about. __15.__What or who is the greatest love of your life? The greatest love of my life is traveling. I feel very thankful to have been out of the country multiple times. Traveling is a life changing experience that just fills my whole heart. __16.__When and where were you happiest? I was happiest back in elementary school. When I lived in the house I grew up in, with my parents as a family, my first group of friends, and when I knew nothing about the real world. __17.__Which talent would you most like to have? I honestly wish I was a talented reader/writer. English was never my strong subject in school but after taking Professor Mangini's class last semester I felt I grew a lot as a writer. I look forward to learning more about composing this semester. __18.__If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? I would change the fact that I overthink every situation in my life. It’s pretty draining. __19.__What do you consider your greatest achievement? My greatest achievement is beginning college. I disliked high school, for multiple reasons, and told myself I could just try to be successful without ever going. After a few years I came to realize college is a good thing, and learning is a great thing. I am looking forward to continuing this chapter of my life. __20.__If you were to die and come back as a person or a thing, what would it be? I’m curious what it would be like to be a man, but only for a day or two. __21.__Where would you most like to live? I would love to live in Greece. Although the economy isn’t well, and the language is hard to learn, it is my favorite place in the world. It is one of my goals to live there at some point in my life. __22.__What is your most treasured possession? My most treasured possession is my car. Even though it eats all my money, I am happy I’m at least investing it into something I get to call my own. __23.__What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery? Experiencing somebody you love pass away. __24.__What is your favorite occupation? I have always loved photography, even since flip phone days. I was a photo major in high school and really enjoyed it. My dream job is to travel the world working for National Geographic. __25.__What is your most marked characteristic? I'm a very caring, generous, down to earth person. __26.__What do you most value in your friends? I have two best friends whom I’ve had since 5th grade. I value how loyal and supportive they have always been to me. We know each other better than we know ourselves, and we will forever be family. __27.__Who are your favorite writers? The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein. __28.__Who is your hero of fiction? Simba, from The Lion King. He is the perfect example of a well-respected, sincere leader. That is an important trait of a hero. __29.__Which historical figure do you most identify with? Honestly, I feel that historical figures are typically known for either doing something really great, or something really terrible. I find it difficult to compare myself to anyone of the past. I hope to be greater. __30.__Who are your heroes in real life? My heroes are my parents, and my godmother. They have molded me into the person I am today and for that I am forever grateful. __31.__What are your favorite names? I love the name Eleni, for a girl. Brayden and Vincent are some of my favorite boy names. __32.__What is it that you most dislike? Spiders. I dislike spiders very much. I also dislike miserable people, strangers having a bad day, who feel the need to make other people feel miserable and have a bad day. There's a lot of those. __33.__What is your greatest regret? Growing up my mother and I did not get along very well. I regret not treating her with more respect as a child. __34.__How would you like to die? I saw a movie where someone died in space just floating above earth and it was beautiful and peaceful. I think that would be a pretty cool way to go. __35.__What is your motto? Grow through what you go through. |
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