November 16-22: Process Post
I realized while doing the readings this week that point of view in a story is actually a lot more inportant than I ever relized that it was. Choosing first, second or third point of view can change the whole concept or purpose of you story. For example when looking at the two different childhood memories in different points of view, they were so different. They almost seemed like they could be two completely different stories. While I was reading, I also realized that point of view can change who your audience or who the story is being told to. For example, the story may not even be being told to you. The story could be being told to other characters in the story and we might just be evesdropping on what is happening. When reading a story like this, it is much more complex and more difficult for the reader to know if they are getting all of the information or if there are secrets that haven’t been told to them yet. Another way that a story can be told is through an interior monologue. These points of view are very intimate because the reader knows all of the thoughts that the narator and character has throughout the entire story. Interior monologues tend to be written in a diary format. You know everything that is going on with that character. Their thoughts, feelings, everything. When reading these types of point of views, it can almost seem like you actually are that person going throughout the story because you become so close.
November 16-22: In Class Activity
When I was five years old I was on a bridge with many other kids my age. Everybody was taking turns jumping off and getting eaten by the alligators. After they were eaten, the other children would squirt water guns in the alligator’s mouth, and the alligator would spit the child back up safe and sound. When I was asked to do it, of course I said yes. It looked like such a fun and exciting adventure. I had never been inside and alligator and was looking forward to it because I would be spit back up safely. So, I jumped off and the alligator chomped me down. The other children immediately started squirting water guns in the alligators mouth, but nothing happened. He wouldn’t spit me back up. He swam away and I was his hearty meal to soon be digested.
Sweating, I shot up out of bed. I realized that I was not alligator food at all, but a little girl in her nighty safe and sound in her bed. It had not been expected. The dream had been so real. My mom came in the room.
“Sara, Honey. Are you okay?”
“Yes. I think so. I think I was having a scary and weird dream.”
“Well, everything is okay now. You don’t have to worry. What was the dream about, sweetie?” So, I proceeded to tell her that I had been an alligator’s meal. She crawled in bed with me. She tickled my back and comforted me until I fell into a safe and sound sleep.
Week of November 16-22: Memoir Post
Growing up in a Christian, church-going family, religion was taught to me at an early age. The type of person my parents strived for me to be was based off of Jesus Christ and the church. I was always taught that I am saved by grace and that I should always do my best to do God’s will and to trust in him. As a child, this seemed a lot easier than when I got older. Children see things in such a perfect light. Children are not skeptics. Even in the Bible, God tells us to see as children. He tells us to believe as they do.
As I started high school, I became exposed to many new ideals and my faith began to dwindle. How could these radical stories be true? Even though I didn’t stray from the morals of Christianity, I lost faith.
Even beginning college, I was unsure about what higher power there was, if any. My freshman year of college was filled with a lot of stress and pain and there was nobody to go to. I went though a lot of changes that year and finally realized the summer before my sophomore year what was missing and what I needed. It took a lot of pain and suffering for me to understand that I do not have all the answers, but faith and trust in God is all I need. Even though I’ve been sick through this last semester, I have faith and trust in God that everything will turn out okay. As long as I try my hardest, He will help me get through it all. I know little, but I do know that faith is all I need.
Week of November 2-8: Process Post
The in class activity this week was a lot different than what I expected. I never thought about so many different things that could go into creating a character for a story. The more things you come up with to describe this character and the more “real” they are, the better your story can be. You can base your character off of somebody you know of be completely creative and come up with somebody that has never existed at all. Creating every minor detail of this character made me feel like I knew him. It made me feel that I knew what he was thinking and how he would react in any situation I could possibly put him in, in a story. Writing the story is so much easier when your character is already created. The biggest part left is to just add a situation and the story is is much easier and less stressful to write.
Being sick and trying to keep up with class is very stressful. All I want to do is sleep all the time because my body is struggling to fight off the illness. If I didn’t force myself to be up for a certain amount of hours, it seems that I could sleep for days straight. Coffee helps a little, but is not sufficient. I’m hoping to be better soon. There is nothing that I can do except get plenty of rest and try my best to keep up with everything going on in life.
Week of November 2-8: In Class Activity
Character Creation
Name: Josh
Date of Birth: September 18, 1990
Place of Birth: Hastings, Minnesota
Height: 6’1″
Weight: 187
Hair Color: Sandy Brown
Eye Color: Blue
Distinctive Physical Gestures, Habbits or Tics: Cracks knuckles when nervous. Wrinkles nose when feeling uncomfortable.
Clothes: Argyle sweaters, jeans. Usually blues and greys.
Current living space: College Dorm Room
Friends: Many followers because he is very manipulative. No friends that he does not use for his own benefit.
Use of English: Gramatically correct
Views on money: Spends as much on things he wants.
Sense for future: Become and actor.
Leisure time: Very random activities.
Sex: With his girlfriend
Religion: His father is a pastor, but he doesn’t truly believe.
Alcohol/Drugs: Sometimes alcohol, but no other illegal substances.
Emotional: Distant, unreal with anyone. Very manipulative.
Skills: Theatre, manipulation.
Employment: Nothing while in school.
Class conciousness: Relevant
Ethnicity: White
Political beliefs: Liberal
Parents: Let him do what he pleases.
Fears: Loss of control of people
Want from life: Control and Power
Description of Bedroom: Random items such as swords. Tons of pictures and items with memorty. Decently tidy.
Week of November 2-8: Memoir Prompt
In early elementary school, it seemed easy to get along with most people. Of course I had my best friend, Melissa. We did everything together. We especially both loved playing Barbies. Creating creativity with houses, relationships and events was always a blast. Although there seemed to be no drama in elementary school, there was one girl I definitely did not like. She was the oldest in the class and by far the smartest. Not only did the teacher know, but she did too. I never liked Callie. She always knew how to make one feel inferior I and enjoyed every minute of it. I kept the same best friend all through elementary school, and the same enemy. When middle school came, I drifted from both Melissa and Callie. We all had different classes and teachers and it was very difficult to stay in touch. I became best friends with Shauna in eighth grade. We were sitting at a basketball game and responded with “just a weee bit” in synch. It was just a defining moment. In high school I basically forgot about Callie altogether because I was so busy with Theatre and working. Shauna and I were inseperable. I started dating my boyfriend and my best friend, Brock this past summer. He had dated Callie for three and a half years before dating me. He loved her at one point in his life. I’ve always hated her. My enemy has returned in my life fifteen years later.
Week of October 25-November 1: Free Post
Mono is not something simple to get over. Even after the cold symptoms are gone, the fatigue lingers. The end seems much to far to reach and the illness seems much to impossible to overcome. There was a kid in my high school that had and still has mono since he was a seventh grader. It is impossible for his body to overcome the illness and I’m frightened that this will also happen to me. I can’t need to sleep twenty hours a day for the rest of my life. I won’t have a life. It’s been extremely frustrating and stressful to have to balance sleep with both school, homework and work. If I wasn’t tired like I am, I would have absolutely no problem getting everything done. Everything would be so much more simiple and life would be so much less stressful. I suppose this is just an obsticle that I am going to have to get through in life. I wish that I could get all of my work done in somebody else’s body while I caught up on sleep all day and could feel a lot better. I know that’s not possible and could never be possible, but I can wish it, right? All I know is that I have a lot of work to do the rest of the semester and I am still not feeling up to it. I need to do well in my classes. Need to. I’m praying that I get less tired the next couple of weeks so that I can get all my work done without having to worry about not getting enough sleep in order to get better.
Week of October 25-November 1: Process Post
Transitioning from poetry to fiction writing has been somewhat of a change. I learned a lot throughout the poetry portion of the class and was able to open my mind up to many new ideas, writing styles and opinions. There are many different ways to write poetry. Writing poetry is quite different than writing fiction. There are different things and ideas that you need to get across in both forms of writing. I can’t remember the last time, if ever, that I was forced to sit down and write a poem. It was all a very new idea to me. I was scared out of my mind. After trying for the first time, it really wasn’t quite as scary as I thought it would be. Having different promts made the process of brainstorming ideas much easier. This allowed me to focus more on what I was writing, rather than just having to come up with an idea. A poem doesn’t have to be on specific topics. Poems don’t even need to be deep. Some poems can be so simple and just written about a basic object that no one tends to even look at or think about as art. I am somewhat looking forward to the fiction writing portion of the class, just because that is what I am framilier with and used to when it comes to writing. I tend to stress out about the idea of having to write a story in comparison to having to write a poem. I am a bit nervous for the length that the story for our portfolio has to be in the end, but we’ll see.
Week of October 25-November 1: In Class Exercise
Cars surrounding me, I’m at a dead stop with a green light up ahead. If I were in a hurry I would be cursing every car in front of me to death. But because I left unusually early this particular morning, I was able to take in the scenery and enjoy myself. The blonde, spastic mother in the minivan next to me is chatting nonstop on her cell phone. I assume she is probably talking about plans for bringing treats to the soccer game later this week, or planning what meal she is going to make for dinner. She seems like she has a very hectic, busy and stressful week ahead. I let her cut in.
I look to my left and notice a silver Pris. The woman inside looks to be in her late twentys. She seems very calm. Too calm. She seems to be taking in the morning stress free. She has incense brewing on her dashboard and is dressed for Woodstock. I imagine she will be holding a protest trying to save the animals later that day.
Behind me is a wealthy man dressed in a suit. He is driving a BMW, is talking on his cell phone and rummaging through his briefcase. He seems to be a very important business man, preparing for a handful of meetings later that day. Luckily, he has the trophy family to come home to for dinner.
A blonde teenager races past me and cuts me off in her shiny, new, red Corvette that Daddy bought her. She has no cares in the world other than what to wear and who is dating who. She will always have things easy, but won’t think it or know it. If it isn’t her way, life is over.
I pass a car moving like death. Inside, is an old man. I can never tell the age of old people, so I’m not even going to guess. He is retired and has all day to get to where he needs to go. In the passenger seat is his petite, frail wife. They are on their way to the nearest Fryn Pan to have their morning coffee with their friends.
In the car to my left is a woman in her late thirty’s. She is average looking, clumsy and reminds me slightly of Liz Lemon off of 30 Rock. She obviously doesn’t have her life together, but at the same time it’s okay. It works for her.
October 19-25: Memoir Post
For Easter every year my parents would buy my sisters and me one big gift, instead of buying us a bunch of candy that would eventually rot our teeth. This Easter, my parents decided to purchase our family a basketball hoop. I had never really play basketball, especially on a big hoop because I couldn’t have been more than five years old. I remember the first basket I tried to shoot, didn’t even get near the rim. It was a complete “air ball.” Although crushing my spirits a bit, I was determined to make a shot. I was going to eventually turn into a WNBA star. All I had to do was work at it, and I would succeed. Shooting a basketball was nothing like what I saw at the Augie games. They all made it look so simple. No matter what, I was going to become just as good as any of those college players my family watched every week. They might have some height and age on me, but they also have plenty of years of practice on me as well. I could practice more than them and be better than them. It just needed to start with making this one shot. Taking turns shooting, both of my sisters made a basket before me. I needed to make at least one shot that night. I needed to prove that there was a future ahead of me. After dark and several shots later, one ball finally slipped through the net. And although I didn’t turn out into a WNBA player, that one basket made me feel like I had acomplished something.
