Wednesday, April 9, 2014

creative nonfiction example, summary and scene, fr Blake Bailey, Busboy

Monday, March 31, 2014

Final paper, due 5/2, 11:59 P.M. send word.doc file to gmajer@stevenson.edu

Final project: Creative Nonfiction

1500 words minimum; 3000 words maximum
Double spaced, Times New Roman 12 point font
Any research sources cited, use MLA or APA format

Using techniques of storytelling, description, and meditation/reflection, one of the following:

1. Your own autobiography/memoir focusing on people, places, things, adventures, tragedies, comedies, philosophies, visions, and anything else you find rich and interesting and maybe even intense and dramatic and scary in your life experience. Our in-class writing will help provide raw material for you to shape into this piece. In this project, you also can include related photographs, segments of poetry or lyric prose, audio or video accompaniments, drawings, maps, diagrams, and any number of other relevant and interesting objects that come from your life archive.

2. Or your own exploration of something you really love, something that has been an obsession, a main interest, a fascination, so that you will absolutely love and get into writing about it and this project will be a pleasure to create. Again, we will write some in-class material for this; and again, other media/materials can be included with your text. This one can also pull in material from research. For example, right now I'm obsessed with fountains (don't ask me why, but maybe writing will help me to find out) and via internet and talking to people and so on, I have discovered all sorts of great material that I can write about.

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Thursday, March 20, 2014

Secret Histories: Creative Nonfiction: The Outsider

Secret Histories: The Outsider

We're defining the "outsider" as any person viewed as outside the group, the norm, the "right" people, and so on. This may be someone from childhood days, someone in your family, some neighbor or fellow worker or fellow student--anybody who was marked as "different" or "not right" or "not normal" or "odd" or "strange"(Yes, it also can be a self-portrait of you in an outsider phase).

In-class writing:

Write a nonfiction (true, real-life) story about an outsider in your life.

1. 15 minutes: the person's house, car, bike, any and all objects/things that he/she uses.

2. 15 minutes: the person's behavior, things he/she typically does.

3. 10 minutes: what the person looks like--clothes, appearance, etc.

4. 15 minutes: what happened one particular time with the person--a little anecdote or story.

Thursday, March 6, 2014

Midterm due 3/20, 11:59 P.M.; send in a word.doc file to gmajer@stevenson.edu

Midterm Assignment due 3/23/14, 11:59 P.M; send in a word.doc file to gmajer@stevenson.edu

1. Revised version of Creature poem.

2. Finished version of story, minimum 1500 words.

SECOND PHASE

Expand the story to 1500 words minimum, including the following:

1. Rising story arc from opening conflict/dramatic question through 3-5 stages and then reaching

2. story crisis/climax where conflict/dramatic question reaches high point and is resolved

3. concluding with 1-2 paragraphs of story resolution where the protagonist recognizes the changed situation (in relation to opening point of conflict/dramatic question).

EXAMPLE:

OPENING CONFLICT/DRAMATIC QUESTION (About .5-1 page long; you set up characters and setting and ground situation.)

The high-school guy must deal with 3 enemies/friends in order to save his younger sister from a bad crowd she's fallen in with. Dramatic question: will the brother succeed or fail in the quest?

RISING ACTION (About 1 page each for 1 and 2; about 1.5 page for 3)

What happened with enemy 1.

What happened with enemy 2.

What happened with friend/enemy 3, the toughest because he/she was both.

STORY CRISIS/CLIMAX (About 1 page; this can use suspense--don't settle the conflict too fast. Give this part maximum sensory and motion/action detail with a sense of the ambient setting. You also can use reversals--one side almost wins, but then the other comes back stronger, and they go back and forth a couple of times before the decisive turn.)

The brother succeeds or fails in saving his younger sister.

STORY RECOGNITION/REALIZATION (About .5 page; short and sweet)

The brother recognizes that he has won and saved his sister, but he also has lost a friendship in the process.

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

Grading Rubric for Midterm assignments

English 224 Rubric for Creative Writing Assignments

Skill	A	B	C	D	F
Solving a creative-writing problem using creative and critical thinking .	Inventive and insightful handling of assignment stipulations and constraints.	Intelligent and resourceful handling of assignment stipulations and constraints.	Assignment stipulations and constraints are used to articulate the creative text but handling is lacking in rigor of creative design and concept.	Assignment stipulations and constraints are only partially addressed or are unevenly developed.	Assignment stipulations and constraints are not addressed or are addressed inaccurately.
Effective use of resources of literary voice and rhetoric.	Inventive use of technical elements such as imagery, voice, character, and structure in a way that is integral to the creative text’s design and meaning.	Intelligent and resourceful deployment of technical elements such as imagery, voice, character, and structure in a way that clearly supports and articulates the creative text’s design and meaning.	Technical elements are deployed but their fit with overall design and meaning is unclear or unevenly developed.	Technical elements are deployed only partially and sometimes inaccurately; overall design and meaning are unclear.	Technical elements are inaccurately or incorrectly used; a sense of overall design and meaning is lacking.

Sentence Structures and Prose Rhythm	Wide variety of sentence structures; dynamic range.	Some variety of sentence structure; some dynamic range.	Fairly utilitarian sentence structures; occasional variety and range; SS errors are usually present.	Little control of sentence structures; SS errors are considerable.	No control of sentence structure; SS errors are pervasive.
Diction	Shows great sensitivity to connotation, tone, linguistic registers; deft, precise vocabulary.	Shows some sensitivity to connotation, tone, linguistic registers; effective vocabulary.	Shows occasional sensitivity to connotation, tone, linguistic registers; serviceable vocabulary.	Shows little sensitivity to connotation, tone, linguistic registers; errors in word choice or register are considerable.	Shows little sensitivity to connotation, tone, linguistic registers; errors in word choice or register are pervasive.
Grammar, Mechanics, and Format	Few grammatical errors (perhaps 1 total).	Some grammatical errors (perhaps 1/page)	Numerous grammatical errors (perhaps 2-3 /page). Writing distracts from content.	Numerous grammatical errors (perhaps 4/page); writing style seriously impedes meaning.	A great many grammatical errors undermine piece’s readability.

story example, tombstone

story example: tombstone

Wednesday, February 26, 2014

here's a love story

Phoenix

by Stephanie Lambert

In the darkness that precedes dawn, I made my way across campus. Saint John’s Academy – your typical Catholic boarding school with strict professors, uniforms that constrict freedom of expression, and mandatory mass several times a week. Not that I’ve got a problem with teachers having certain ways they want their classroom to run. Or with wearing khakis, light blue polos, navy sweater, and a tie six days a week (they at least give us Saturday for ‘casual’ wear). And I like God as much as the next guy, but the way those priests drone on and on can get… a little old. One of the perks of going to a school like this though is that we get to go places and see things that you wouldn’t in a public school. The New York City trip was the reason for my emergence from the guys dorm building at such an early hour on a Saturday.

I headed toward the Coleman building on edge of campus. I was relieved that for this trip we were allowed to dress in casual wear, and didn’t have to wear the school uniforms. I arrived at the Coleman lobby in my navy jeans, grunge t-shirt, and a grey ski jacket.

Yawning, I made my way over to where a faculty member was checking off student names. She looked up at me and asked in a bored voice, “grade, last name, first initial?”

“11th, Davis, J.”a I replied. I watched as she ran her pen down the list, before coming to a halt midway down the first page.

“Jaiden Davis?” she asked.

“Yep, that’s me.”

“You’ll be on bus 2, which is Professor Lawlor’s group. Please go stand to the right with the group by the stairs.” After saying this she looked past me, ready to check off the next student. “Grade, last name, first initial?” she rattled off.

I moved past her and made my way over to the stairs. I saw my buddy Lucas with his girlfriend Keira. He waved to me, then snaked his arm back around her waist, pulling her closer to him. She giggled and swatted at his arm, which only encouraged him to pull her in tighter. I sighed. If this was any indication, they would be like this the whole trip. I looked around to see if there was anyone else I knew in the group. I liked Lucas, I did, but when he was with Keira there was no getting him away from her clingy clutches of love. There were a few other guys I had classes with, but no one I could see myself spending the whole day with. One girl, however, standing off to the edge by herself, caught my attention. Well, it would be hard for her NOT to.

Shoulder length jet-black hair, with streaks of vibrant red contrast. Metal-studded leather boots up to her knees. Red and black striped leggings. Black mini-skirt. Black leather jacket over top of a red tank top. Lip ring jutting out, catching the light off of the fluorescent ceiling tiles. Phoenix Kelly. She’d only been going here for a little less than a month, and I hadn’t had any classes with her. But I knew who she was. Everyone did. People talked about her. Wondered how she ended up at a prep school like this one. There were rumors that she had done time in Juvie. Others that she was a Wiccan, and practiced dark magic on nights of the full moon. One girl even told me she had pierced her lip herself. I’d never seen her in her casual wear, but it definitely seemed like something an ex-Juvie, self-piercing, possible Wiccan might wear. Or, so I imagined, not having known anyone who’d done one of those things, let alone all of them. While I’d been staring at her the faculty had finished checking off all the students and started moving them out to the buses. I brought my attention back to my group, not wanting to get left behind, or be the last one to pick a seat on the bus.

I got on the bus, and sat in the seat across from Lucas and Keira. They were already making out, so I turned and looked out the window. I always tried to make sure I had a window seat on long trips, so that even if the company was less than interesting (or nauseating, in some cases), I would still have something to occupy my attention. I was watching steaks of light start to glow on the horizon, tracking their progress as they spread across the sky, I started when someone spoke to me.

I turned and saw Phoenix staring intently at me. She’d obviously just said something, but I had no idea what it was. She continued to stare as I sat there trying to figure out what to do. After several long seconds I asked, “Sorry, what’d you say?”

“I said, is this seat taken?” she asked. Her voice was higher than I’d expected it to be, and had a musical quality to it. I shook my head and she sat down. Trying to be discreet, I craned my head to see if there were other open seats, and whether she had sat next to me out of choice or necessity. She saw me searching and said, “They made sure to fill all the seats on the buses. There aren’t any extras, so I’m afraid you won’t have the luxury of having this one to yourself. Even if I moved to another one, someone else would end up having to sit here. If you like, I can move.” She shifted as if to get up.

I stopped looking at the other seats and reached out a hand to stop her. “No, it’s not that I don’t want you to sit here. I had just been curious about the choice of your seat selection, since we’ve never talked or anything.”

She stared at me, and said, “We’ve never been formally introduced I don’t think. My name is Phoenix Kelly.”

I stuck out my hand automatically, “Jaiden Davis.”

She cocked an eyebrow, then reached out her own hand and shook mine. Then she faced towards the front of the bus and seemed to lose all interest in me. I turned back to the window and looked out again, surprised at the progress the sun had made in those few moments I’d been talking with Phoenix Kelly. I was still processing that concept as the bus pulled away from the Coleman building and headed out to the interstate.

“Death by drowning or death by fire?”

I started and stared at Phoenix. “Excuse me?”

“Death by drowning or death by fire?” she repeated.

“Um… well, if I had to choose one…” I deliberated, “drowning.”

“Why?”

I had to think about it a minute. “I guess because once you’ve been under long enough you go unconscious and die from there. But if you’re burned to death, you could still be conscious while parts of you are burned.”

She paused for a moment, taking that in. Then, “Cashews or peanuts?”

“Cashews” I answered promptly.

She followed this with, “ Why?”

“I don’t know, I just like the taste better.”

She continued to ask questions, did I prefer skiing or snow boarding, lakes or rivers, would I rather spend one year homeless or five years doing manual labor getting paid at minimum wage? After each question she would ask ‘Why?’

Eventually, when she had paused to think of her next random question I asked, “Phoenix? What is it we’re doing?”

“It’s a game I invented. You ask someone random questions, and at the end of it you’ll end up knowing more about them than you thought. Plus, it’s something to keep you busy on long car rides. But you can play it anywhere and anytime. That is,” she added, “as long as the person you are playing with doesn’t get fed up with it and tell you to stop bothering them. Am I bothering you?”

“No” I said. “Can the game work both ways? Or is there just one question asker and one answerer?”

She looked a little surprised. “No one has ever asked any questions back to me, but I don’t see why not.”

I pondered this a moment. Then, “Laser tag or mini-golf?”

“Laser tag” she responded.

“Why?” I asked.

We spent the remainder of the 4 hour bus ride in this manner, and I learned that she prefers purple over orange, but black over purple, she likes tangerines better than lemons, caramel frappuccinos over black coffee, and daisies over lilies, among other things. Sometimes a question would lead to a longer explanation, and bit by bit I found myself opening up and sharing stories from my past.

When Professor Lawlor announced that we would be disembarking and free to spend the next 12 hours going and doing whatever we wanted, I no longer felt like I sat next to a girl I’d never spoken to before today. As we got off the bus Lucas came up to me and said, “Hey man, so you wanna go with me and Keira?”

I looked over in Phoenix’s direction, then back at Lucas and said, “Nah, I think I’m gonna see if Phoenix wants to go with me.”

Lucas looked at me like I’d grown a second head. “Dude, just be careful alright? You never know what could happen in NYC, and especially with her.”

“I think I’ll take my chances. You should hurry, Keira’s waiting for you.” Lucas walked off shaking his head. I turned around and looked to where I’d seen Phoenix a moment ago. She wasn’t there. I started to doubt myself… I hadn’t actually asked her if she wanted to spend the day together, I’d just assumed she wasn’t going with anyone else. What if she was meeting up with a classmate from a different bus, or she had friends in NYC? Just as I was about to go after Lucas and tell him I’d changed my mind I heard, “Sky diving or bungee jumping?” I turned around and she was standing there with a questioning look in her eyes. I smiled and said “Sky diving. So, where did you wanna go?”

She said she needed something to wake her up after the long drive, and so we set out in search of a Starbucks. It wasn’t hard, there seemed to be one on every street, two on some. She got a caramel frappuccino with whipped cream, and I got an iced caffe mocha.

We took our coffees and headed down the street. I’d never been to NYC, and Phoenix admitted she had only been once before. So, we decided to head where most tourists go on their first time – Times Square.

Phoenix turned to me and asked, “Toys R Us or the Disney store?”

“Toys R Us” I replied. As we were making our way through the crowded streets, she stopped to stare at something. I didn’t notice until I’d bumped into her, knocking her elbow and sending her coffee flying – right onto my mostly-white tee-shirt. I stared down at the spreading stain, and Phoenix burst out laughing. I looked at her and raise one eyebrow, then lifted my own coffee menacingly. Her eyes widened and she stopped laughing, still smiling. She smirked at me, then glanced around at all the people.

“If you dared, you’d be sure to hit someone else.” She said.

I sighed, ‘cuz she was right darn it. “Fine, let’s just go to the store then. Maybe I can find a new shirt.” As we walked, I noticed how pretty Phoenix was when she smiled. How her eyes got this sparkle in them when she was laughing at you, which somehow managed to be cute and annoying at the same time. I started noticing things about her, the way her hair fell partly over one eye, the way she swung her arms when she walked. I was interrupted from my reverie as she opened the door and stepped inside. And then, we were entering into one of the biggest toy stores I’d ever been inside of in my life.

A giant ferris wheel. A dinosaur that roars. Lifesize Barbie house. Lego creations that were bigger than me. Giant Wonka candy. This was any kid’s dream. Toys everywhere, around you, above you, and below. I saw children running around, one shrieking shrilly, another whining. A kid’s dream, but a parent’s nightmare. As people swarmed by us, I unthinkingly grabbed Phoenix’s hand and pulled her out of the stream of traffic. After we were in an area surrounded by fuzzy bears of all kinds, I realized I was still holding it. I looked down at her hand in mine, then dropped it as if I’d been holding a hot coal. “Sorry,” I said, trying to think of a way to avoid an awkward conversation. My mind racing, I asked, “Teddy bear or baby blanket?”

She stared at me for a moment, and I felt like the dork I’m sure I sounded like. She then responded with a smile, saying, “Neither, I had a raggedy, blue stuffed dog that I carried around with me for the first five years of my life.”

I was relieved she hadn’t said anything about my grabbing her hand, but I felt a little embarrassed asking a personal question like that. However, Phoenix seemed to of moved on. Literally and figuratively. I had to run to catch up to her. “Yu-Gi-Oh or Pokemon?” she asked as I caught up.

I inspected the larger-than-life Yu-Gi-Oh figure standing in front of me and said “ Pokemon. My mom wouldn’t let me watch Yu-Gi-Oh, said it was too violent. I guess violence is more acceptable coming from a cute, cuddly-looking Eevee than from a ferocious looking dragon.”

“Nobody really cared what I watched growing up, but I preferred Pokemon anyway.” She said with a pensive look on her face.

“Your mom wasn’t overprotective like mine, huh?” I asked.

Phoenix’s face clouded, and she said in a low voice, “My mom left when I was three. I never really knew her.” She took a deep breath and continued, “My da was always drinking and hollering. Not sure if he was like that before she left, or because she left. But when I was six, he got into some trouble one night after he’d been drinking. The cops came, took him away first, then they took me. I haven’t seen him since, I don’t really know what happened. A lady told me he was going to be put away for a while, and that I would be living with a different family.” She started walking again, moving past Lego figures of Jack Sparrow, the Statue of Liberty, and some Star Wars guy I forget the name of. I followed her, not really sure what to say. She kept talking, not specifically to me anymore it seemed, but to the air. “After that I got passed around from foster family to foster family. The longest I ever stayed in one place was only a year, up until I ended up with the Jarratts. They’re who I’m with now,” she said as she glanced back towards me.

“I’m, uh, sorry to hear that. I had no idea…” my voice faded away.

“It’s fine” she said cheerily. It seemed a little forced to me, but I didn’t want to say anything to make it worse.

We came to a split, and so I asked her, “Barbie dollhouse or Candyland?”

“Candyland” she said with a grin. As we browsed through the aisles overflowing with giant candy she started playing the question game again. “Blue M&Ms or Red skittles?”

“Red skittles. Candycorn or candy buttons?”

“Candy buttons! Because they’re different.” She said confidently. She stopped in front of the giant box of Nerds. The thing had to be at least a foot tall. “ Nerds are my most favorite ever! When I was with the Cooks we came here, and Mrs. Cook said that if we all behaved ourselves she would buy us each one thing. But, with seven kids, four of them foster kids, that didn’t have a very good chance of happening,” she sighed.

Wow, I thought. What would it be like to of grown up that way? Getting passed around, just another number in the system. Living with someone who already had three foster kids, why would they add another? Money probably. I gave her hand a squeeze as she turned away. She smiled at me, then said she needed to use the restroom and to meet her by the Jurassic Park exhibit.

While she went in search of one, I bought one of the giant boxes of Nerds. How could I not, after hearing her gush about them and the sad story her past was? I put it in my backpack, then I went to wait for her by the towering tyrannosaurus rex. The thing sure did seem pretty lifelike, and a little creepy when it moved its head and roared like that…

Phoenix showed up and we headed out. We were both pretty hungry by now so we found a pizzeria. Greasy New York pizza for only $5 a slice, mmmm. Welcome to NYC. While we were eating, she asked me what my family was like. I told her about how my dad was a lawyer, and he worked a lot. How my mom spent most of her time redesigning our kitchen, the lawn, the dining room, etc. And my younger sister who was into the whole popular thing, so she had to have this designer brand clothing, that type of makeup. I guess I must have sounded like I was griping a little, because Phoenix stopped eating and frowned at me. “What?” I asked.

“You’ve got a family, you’v e got a nice place to stay, you’ve probably got whatever you want. Why aren’t you thankful for that?” She asked exasperatedly.

I thought about it for a minute. She was right. So I decided to tell her the good things about my family. How my dad used to play soccer with me, and come to all my games. How my mom would take my sister and me to the zoo, the park, to nature centers. Even how my kid sister and I used to take all the sheets and blankets off our beds to make a fort in the living room. It used to drive my mom nuts. I was smiling by the end of it, and Phoenix was now too, albeit a little sadly. I asked her to tell me what it was like with the Jarratts. And she did.

She told me about how Mr. Jarratt would work night shifts, but he always made sure to spend time with his family at dinner before he headed to work, to hear about their day and what they were up to. How Mrs. Jarratt was pretty much a nonstop blur around the household, cooking and cleaning and taking care of everyone. They had four children of their own, and Phoenix was the oldest. She helped out with the kids a lot, but she didn’t mind it. They were pretty sweet for the most part, and all of them adored her. She sounded pretty content when she talked about them, but she didn’t sound as if she thought of them as her family. Yeah she lived with them, but this was just another stop on her journey. I wanted to feel sorry for her, but I knew she wasn’t looking for sympathy. She told the facts as they were, and accepted them at face value. Whereas others might complain, she looked at the positive.

When she finished, she looked at me seriously, leaned a little closer and said, “Mac or PC?”

I chuckled and said “Mac.”

She grinned, and we were off to find the Apple store. When we got there we went down the see-through elevator into a land of incredibly high-priced, top-of-the-line technology. The latest iPad, the newest iPhone, and some really nice computers. We got onto some of the ones on display, and immediately both checked our Facebooks. She sent me a friend request, and I accepted it. We started chatting online, while sitting right next to each other. I know, suuuuuper cool, right? She continued the question game, asking if I preferred Math or English? If I’d rather be a writer or an architect? I retaliated, asking if she’d liked classical rock or pop? Taylor Swift or Carrie Underwood? Sometimes she would laugh at my questions or responses, and as I was watching I thought again how pretty she was. How, despite the mask she seemed to wear at school, genuine she was. Maybe though, she wasn’t the one wearing a mask. It was put there by other people, who didn’t want to take the time to get to know her. I started to type “I think ur pret—“ when I felt someone grab my shoulder.

“Jaiden! How’s your day going, man?” asked Lucas loudly. Lucas didn’t exactly have what you’ d call an inside voice, so he said everything loudly. I didn’t have to look far for Keira, there she was attached to his other hand.

“It’s going pretty good. Have you two been having fun?” I asked, quickly backspacing my comment before anyone had a chance to see it. Keira started gushing about all they’d seen and done that day, talking a mile per minute. Phoenix was listening politely with a semi-vacant look on her face. I typed to Phoenix, “sorry.” She looked down as she saw her Facebook beep, read my message, and grinned. She typed back, “it’s cool

”. Lucas suggested we all go check out this park he and Keira had passed a little while back. I shot a questioning look at Phoenix, who nodded her head at me. So off we went to find this park. It took Lucas a couple tries to get there, but when we did it was surprisingly better than I’d been expecting. Keira dragged him off to look at some ducks, and Phoenix and I strolled around the edges of the pond.

“Have you been having a fun time?” I asked her.

She smiled at me and said, “ Y’know, surprisingly yes. When I first was in the lobby this morning waiting to head out, I was starting to regret my decision to go. But after spending the day with you, I’m glad I came.” She picked up my hand and gave it a squeeze.

She started to pull her hand away, but mine tightened. She looked up at me questioningly. My heart started beating a little fast. My mouth got dry. And Phoenix gazed at me, with those hazel-brown eyes of hers, framed by long, dark eyelashes. I started to drift a little closer to her, inch by inch. Then I was startled by a high-pitched shrieking, and turned to see Keira running towards us with Lucas not far behind. There was a hissing goose behind them that they had somehow ticked off. I jerked away from Phoenix, dropping her hand in the process.

Lucas and Keira said they knew where a bunch of the other kids from school were all getting dinner at, and so the four of us headed there. Phoenix watched me uncertainly, not sure what I would do next. I tried to walk casually, and return things to normal. I tried to start the question game with her, but she responded with a lack of enthusiasm to my questions. At dinner she sat next to a girl she had class with, while I sat next to Lucas and another of my guy friends. All throughout dinner I watched her. The way she tossed her hair. How graceful the curve of her neck was. The way she tilted her head when someone spoke to her. How was it I could be suddenly so fascinated by someone I’d hardly given a moment’s notice to this past month? And yet there was no denying my infatuation with her. Suddenly she looked up at me, her alluring eyes penetrating my mind it seemed. She glanced quickly away and focused her attention elsewhere. But I could not. What was it about this girl, just some foster child who dressed in mostly black and had a lip ring, that intrigued me so?

After dinner was over, I managed to end up next to Phoenix. She seemed a little more relaxed than she had when dinner started, and I didn’t want to scare her off again. We continued with our questions as we moved with the group towards where we were to meet the bus. Did she prefer Chinese food or Mexican? Which did I like better, Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings? Would she rather go to college at Harvard or Yale? That last question got us started talking about the future. I would be going to college somewhere, wasn’t sure for what yet. My dad wanted me to look into becoming a lawyer like him, but I didn’t know. She wasn’t sure if she would be able to go to college, or even what she would do when she turned 18. She’d like to travel, see the world. But who knows.

As we made our way onto the bus, I reflected how much you could learn about someone in just one day. It seemed like I’d known Phoenix for so much longer than that. She had the window seat this time, and yawned as the bus pulled out. I didn’t want to lose this last amount of time I had with her, or lose the magic of this day.

I asked, “Would you rather be blind or deaf?”

Somewhat sleepily she responded, “Deaf. If I was blind, I couldn’t see the stars.”

I was confused. “Why are the stars so important?”

She looked out the window and up at the shining sky as she answered my question. “No matter where you are in the world, there are stars. They might be different ones, but they’re still there. And somehow, they just remind me that the world is bigger than me and my problems. Yeah, I might not have a real family. But I have a place to stay, people who care about me, the opportunity for an education. Other people looking up at these same stars, might not have it so good. I don’t know, something about the stars just make me think that there’s got to be something bigger than us out there. That we’re here for a purpose, and things happen for a reason.” She lowered her gaze from the heavens and looked at me. “I could be crazy, but that’s why I like the stars.”

I was silent, taking in all that she’d said. I heard her yawn and stretch, and then felt her lean her head on my shoulder. “Thanks for a great day, Jaiden.” She said sleepily. “Thanks for being a friend. I don’t really have very many of them.” She yawned again, and adjusted her head.

“You’re welcome,” I said softly. “I had a really good time with you too. I’d like to get to know you even more, maybe we could hang out some time? Go to a movie or something…” I looked down to see her eyes closed and hear her even breathing. I pressed my cheek against the top of her head and said, “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Phoenix.”

I dozed off not long after Phoenix did. I awoke with a start to find we were still driving, and Phoenix’s head was not on my shoulder. I looked over to see her watching me. “What is it?” I asked in a low voice.

“Nothing, I guess.” She whispered. “You look really peaceful when you sleep. Your expression softens, and… it’s kind of cute.”

I was definitely starting to wake up now. “You have beautiful eyes. And the way you tilt your head when you’re listening to someone is adorable.”

She blinked at me, then blushed a little. I leaned closer. “Phoenix, I know we’ve only just met today. But already I am fascinated by you. I want to get to know you more. To spend more time with you. The way you look at life is just so different than what I’m used to. You’re fun, and quirky.” She arched an eyebrow at that. “C’mon, who else have you ever met that one of the first things they ask someone is which way they’d prefer to die, followed by their nut preference?”
She laughed quietly at that, and smiled up at me. “I think I’d like to spend time getting to know you better as well, Jaiden Davis.”

I reached over and held her hand, and she didn’t pull away. We were sitting there smiling at each other, and I started to think that maybe Lucas wasn’t such a doofus after all if this is what it feels like to… to be in…

I then remembered I had something for her. I pulled my hand away, reached down, unzipped my backpack, and pulled out the box of Nerds. She stared at it a moment, shocked. Then laughed and turned to me. She gave me a side hug, then put the box of Nerds to the side and leaned her head against my shoulder again. I put my arm around her, ready to sleep for the rest of the bus ride home. My mind was reflecting on the events of the past 24 hours. Before today, I hadn’t even been friends with Phoenix Kelly. And now, well. We were a little something more. I smiled and closed my eyes, surrendering to oblivion, looking forward to what another day would hold.

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

Story assignment due 3/6

Creature Story Draft

Due Thursday, 3/6 posted in Blackboard by 3:05 P.M.

Required:

*Generous and well-focused concrete sensory detail focusing on action/motion.
*Clear story structure consistently focused on main dramatic question and story arc to climax.

CHOOSE ONE OPTION:

Option 1

This story is about a human creature, a “creature” because he or she is an outsider, in some way not normal, not proper, not fully formed. Maybe a child, a teenager, somebody young who doesn’t know yet what he or she is or wants to be. Or somebody else, young or old or in between, who is outside the mainstream of things, a creature on the outside looking in. Someone who doesn’t seem to understand the “normal” world or doesn’t want to be a part of it.

This story has one main dramatic question that drives it through 4 or more stages of development. It works on a simple quest pattern:

Will the protagonist get to the place or gain the object (X) that she/he desires?

(And what will the protagonist realize once he/she gets it/there?)

(For an example of the pattern, see our O. Henry Awards 2013 book, “The Visitor” (p. 190). Here, the mother wants to know what happened to her son in the war; that’s her “quest.” The story builds up through the encounter with “the visitor.”)

Think about what the outsider might want. To find a safe place, a refuge from an unsympathetic or unhappy world? To find out why the world doesn’t make sense, to get at the truth of it? To find a way into the “normal” world because being an outsider is scary, lonely, impossible to keep up?

Or maybe something else. To find a friend? To find a love? To find a new vision of things?

See the Post "Here's a love story" for an example of the love story pattern.

Here's another example that's a combination of sorts--the "outsider"-type protagonist (her boyfriend is a robber) takes on the identity of a creature (the bull) on her crazy quest for being real: the bull, aimee bender

Option 2

This story is about a nonhuman creature, in the real world or in a world of the imagination. Check out the Proseworks magazine for examples—there are stories about mermaids, and one about a Phoenix.

Link here for The Maidens, Imogene, both mermaid stories: see imogene

Get your creature on a main storyline via the quest pattern—the creature or another character with 4 or more stages of action that lead to the story climax, attaining or failing to attain the object of the quest.

Some quest patterns:

It may be a creature that is exposed to dangers and that is on a quest to survive.

It may be a creature imprisoned on a quest to escape to freedom.
It may be a creature lost and exiled on a quest to return to its home.
It may be a creature that is lonely and on a quest for a friend or a love.
It may be a creature in search of new knowledge, a new vision.

FIRST PHASE

Aim for 500+ words on this draft. Set up your protagonist and signal the main conflict/dramatic question. Suggestions: use a quest plot or a love-story plot.

QUEST: The protagonist wants to obtain something, someone, or to reach someplace, and the story will track the stages of the protagonist's struggle to do so and at the climax succeeding or failing.

LOVE STORY: The protagonist falls in love, and the story will track the stages of the protagonist's moving toward making the love real and at the climax succeeding or failing.

SECOND PHASE

Expand the story to 1500 words minimum, including the following:

1. Rising story arc from opening conflict/dramatic questions through 3-5 stages and then reaching

2. story crisis/climax where conflict/dramatic question reaches high point and is resolved

3. concluding with 1-2 paragraphs of story resolution where the protagonist recognizes the changed situation (in relation to opening point of conflict/dramatic question).

Wednesday, February 5, 2014

William James Beholds a Roman Fountain (example of free-verse couplets)

William James Beholds a Roman Fountain

I’m writing this poem about a creature, my thought is perched

I am contemplating the beast, some kind of thought claw in my eyes

I am contemplating the beast there is a river I swim alongside

some kind of flesh some kind of color I was hoping for the golden one

I am contemplating instead the one with humble colors a little tan

a little blue some mottles but blended in so it looks like a pale web

it looks like fur brushed backwards and little expiring sparks from it

it flies and lands seeing a forest from high on a mountainside at dawn

I am contemplating the possibility of flight for the creature or my thinking about it

here I go the creature is me and doesn’t want to show much of itself to words

here I go the creature is itself and wants to fly from my gaze how it fades

itself now with such clarity going to the matte the flat the ebbed opaque

here I go lifting on almost boneless wings it’s so easy I stop I go

with cats and owls, monkeys and platypuses, dodos and leghorns

all over them with my ofs and my buts and my rushing further

and thus my feathers ruffled, ruffling, stop, what waters are these.

Thursday, January 23, 2014

Address: the Archaeans, One Cell Creatures, Pattiann Rogers

Address: the Archaeans, One Cell Creatures

BY PATTIANN ROGERS

Although most are totally naked

and too scant for even the slightest

color and although they have no voice

that I’ve ever heard for cry or song, they are,

nevertheless, more than mirage, more

than hallucination, more than falsehood.

They have confronted sulfuric

boiling black sea bottoms and stayed,

held on under ten tons of polar ice,

established themselves in dense salts

and acids, survived eating metal ions.

They are more committed than oblivion,

more prolific than stars.

Far too ancient for scripture, each

one bears in its one cell one text—

the first whit of alpha, the first

jot of bearing, beneath the riling

sun the first nourishing of self.

Too lavish for saints, too trifling

for baptism, they have existed

throughout never gaining girth enough

to hold a firm hope of salvation.

Too meager in heart for compassion,

too lean for tears, less in substance

than sacrifice, not one has ever

carried a cross anywhere.

And not one of their trillions

has ever been given a tombstone.

I’ve never noticed a lessening

of light in the ceasing of any one

of them. They are more mutable

than mere breathing and vanishing,

more mysterious than resurrection,

too minimal for death.

Source: Poetry (September 2005).

Birdsong, face it, some male machine, Marianne Boruch

Birdsong, face it, some male machine

BY MARIANNE BORUCH

Birdsong, face it, some male machine

gone addled—repeat, repeat—the damage

keeps doing, the world ending then starting,

the first word the last, etc. It's that

etcetera. How to love. Is a wire

just loose? Build an ear for that. Fewer, they say.

So many fewer, by far. He's showing off

to call her back. Or claiming the tree.

Or a complaint—the food around here,

the ants, the moths, the berries. She's making

the nest, or both are. In feathers, in hair or twigs,

in rootlets and tin foil. Shiny bits seen

from a distance, a mistake. But fate

has reasons to dress up. Stupid

and dazzling have a place, a place, a place

though never. She can't sing it.

Source: Poetry (June 2008).

Song of the Andoumboulou 55, Nat Mackey

Song of the Andoumboulou: 55

BY NATHANIEL MACKEY

—orphic fragment—

Carnival morning they

were Greeks in Brazil,

Africans in Greek

disguise. Said of herself

she

was born in a house in

heaven. He said he was

born in the house next

door... They were in hell.

In Brazil they were

lovebait.

To abide by hearing was

what love was... To

love was to hear without

looking. Sound was the

beloved’s

mummy cloth... All to say,

said the exegete, love in

hell was a voice, to be spoken

to from behind, not be able

to turn and look... It

wasn’t Greece where they

were,

nor was it Benin... Carnival

morning in made-up hell, bodies

bathed in loquat light, would-be

song’s all the more would-be

title, “Sound and Cerement,”

voice

wound in bandages

raveling

lapse

Up all night, slept well

past noon. Awoke restless

having dreamt she awoke on

Lone Coast, wondering

afterwards what it came

to,

glimpsed interstice,

crevice,

crack... Saw her

dead mother and brother

pull up in a car, her brother

at the wheel not having driven

while alive, newly taught

death it appeared. A fancy car,

bigger

than any her mother had had while

alive, she too better off it

appeared... A wishful read, “it

appeared” notwithstanding, the

exegete impossibly benign. Dreamt

a dream

of dream’s end, anxious, unannounced,

Eronel’s nevermore namesake, Monk’s

anagrammatic Lenore... That the

dead return in luxury cars made

weep, pathetic its tin elegance,

pitiable,

sweet read misread,

would-be

sweet

The Mermaid, Caitrona O'Reilly

II. The Mermaid (from The Sea Cabinet)

BY CAITRIONA O'REILLY

Between the imaginary iceberg and the skeletal whale

is the stuffed and mounted mermaid in her case,

the crudely-stitched seam between skin and scale

so unlike Herbert Draper’s siren dreams, loose

on the swelling tide, part virgin and part harpy.

Her post-mortem hair and her terrible face

look more like P.T. Barnum’s Freak of Feejee,

piscene and wordless, trapped in the net of a stare.

She has the head and shrivelled tits of a monkey,

the green glass eyes of a porcelain doll, a pair

of praying-mantis hands, and fishy lips

open to reveal her sea-caved mouth, her rare

ivory mermaid-teeth. Children breathe and rap

on the glass to make her move. In her fixity

she’s as far as can be from the selkie who slips

her wet pelt on the beaches of Orkney

and walks as a woman, pupils widened in light,

discarding the stuffed sack of her body.

Without hearing, or touch, or taste, or smell, or sight

she echoes the numb roll of the whale

in a sea congealed with cold, when it was thought

no beast could be a nerveless as the whale.

Crows in a Strong Wind, Cornelius Eady

Crows in a Strong Wind

BY CORNELIUS EADY

Off go the crows from the roof.

The crows can’t hold on.

They might as well

Be perched on an oil slick.

Such an awkward dance,

These gentlemen

In their spottled-black coats.

Such a tipsy dance,

As if they didn’t know where they were.

Such a humorous dance,

As they try to set things right,

As the wind reduces them.

Such a sorrowful dance.

How embarrassing is love

When it goes wrong

In front of everyone.

Cornelius Eady, “Crows in a Strong Wind” from Victims of the Latest Dance Craze (Pittsburgh: Carnegie Mellon University Press, 1997). Copyright © 1985 by Cornelius Eady. Used with the permission of the author.

Minnows 2, Ray Amorisi

Minnows 2

BY RAY AMOROSI

Whatever the cost I pay up at the minnow pools.

I don’t know anything of the misery of these trapped fish,

or the failure of the marsh I’m so hidden.

Up above is the island with its few houses facing

the ocean God walks with anyone there. I often

slosh through the low tide to a sister

unattached to causeways.

It’s where deer mate then lead their young

by my house to fields, again up above me.

Pray for me. Like myself be lost.

An amulet under your chest, a green sign of the first

rose you ever saw, the first shore.

Then I wash my horse, dogs, me behind the barn.

Only the narrow way leads home.

Source: Poetry (November 2011).