Free Write Week 13

The revision of a piece I've been working on.

The one room shack stood abandoned in the West Texas heat. Dust covered the furniture like rose petals being scattered on a grave. No savory scent filled the air. Nothing but beans and burnt cornbread had touched the little stove in over a year. The quiet was almost deafening. It was the soundlessness that could drive a man to do crazy things. The wind howled outside the little house, echoing a woman's scream. Storms in Texas were like a man's temper-striking fast and when it's over leaving everything it touches broken. Thunder, reminiscent of the sound a man's fist makes when striking soft flesh, crashes across the angry sky.


The rain pounded from the sky, soaking through her thin, worn clothes. Her hair hung limp around her shoulders almost completely covering her pale face. Her brown irises consumed with fear, shoulders hunched, hands covering her barely showing belly-Ava wondered how she had gotten to such a low point in her life. Alone, scared, and pregnant she trudes through the rain on the side of a backwoods road in the middle of nowhere. With every headlight and sound of tires, Ava's heart stops. She wonders if he had noticed that she was gone, if he even bothered to look for her. Yes, she thought. In his mind she belongs to him and there was no escaping his desire for her. He had said many times how he owned her, and that no matter where she went he would find her. That cold, calculating voice was not the sound she fell in love with. The first time she heard his tangy Texas drawl, she was his. She was his possesion and would be until the day she died. She could handle the beatings, the humiliation, and the nights he forced her to perform her wifely duties; however, she could not, and would not, let him hurt her baby. So she trudges down this middle-of-nowhere town, tripping over roots, slipping on the wet leaves. Each time she trips or slips she imagines stabbing him one more time. While he was at a business dinner, she had walked right out the front door. And just kept walking.
Headlights illuminated the shadows. Ava, not breathing, struggles to lay down in the ditch without squishing her belly. First she tries to bend over, then then sitting down; however, the rain has filled the ditch and the mud is up to her knees. With a cry, she slips and falls onto her back in the mud-all the while praying whoever it was had not heard her. To her horror, the vehicle stopped. Backed up. She heard the engine stop and the door open. Blood filled her mouth as she bite down on her tongue to keep from screaming.
"Anyone there?" she heard a male voice, almost completely muffled by the pouring rain, call.
She didn't think it was him, but strangers were still dangerous. So she continued to lay in the mud, not breathing, not making a sound.
"I thought I saw someone out there. I guess not." the man mumbled to himself as he turned to walk back to his truck. As he turned, the light fell on Ava's pale blond, curly hair. Her breathe caught.
"Stupid woman, what the heck are you doing out here?" he asked.
"My, uh, car broke down. But I'm waiting on someone. He will be here any minute. I just lost my footing in the mud. Thanks for the offer though." She was able to squeak out at last. The shadows hid his face and she was not about to risk a ride with what appeared to be a stranger
"Come on lady, its freezing out here. You'll get sick. Let me give you a ride to town. You can wait for him there."
"No thanks."
"Look lady, I'm not gonna argue with you. Get in the truck. I swear, women can be so hard-headed."
"No!"
"Well, then I have no choice." he hollered as he strode toward her.
Male hands grasp her arms as Ava finally looks into her would-be-rescuer's face. Cruel, brown eyes stare back at her.
"No!" she cries, as she claws at his arms. "No, I killed you!"
"Better make sure next time you try to kill someone that they're really dead. However, you did give me one hell of a headache when you smashed that pot on my head."
Ava was speechless. She couldn't believe she'd screwed up her one chance at escape. Dead. When he took her back to that shack she would be dead. The Texas land was barren enough he could bury the body and no one would ever know. As the truck door slammed shut, trapping her inside, she knew her baby's chance at life had just been severed.

Free Write Week 13

Catherine, the barista, gets ready for another day at work at the Slurp-n-Burp coffee shop. Her, poor old yellow Honda couldn't handle the snow. Without any snow-ready clothing or shoes she grads an umbrella and heads out the door. Slipping and sliding down the driveway she shoots the 'evil-eye' at the obnoxious boys next door. Realizing no power on Earth was going to make her car start, she gives up and heads back to the house.

Classmate Response Week 13

Josh's Break-up

I love how this story is so unexpected. It starts with what you would think is cliche: text-message break-up. However, it is an amazing story. Each part of the story pulls the reader in a little more. I think a good title would be "Eskimo Kisses". That is what connects the story. The descriptions are very original. For example, "The blood from her nose is coagulated on the kitchen's Italian marble" To me, the part about the knots is a little confusing. I think the first section is really the only part that needs editing. It's a little confusing about why is she a drunk? and why does she smoke pot? Those details do not seem relevant to the rest of the story. I would suggest focusing on the quitting cigarettes and not kissing in the morning. I think those could be significant in the rest of the story. It is such an unexpected break-up story. I really enjoyed that its not at all cliche.

Junkyard Quotes Week 13

1. "Naders coming, naders coming! Gotta get in the 'fraidy hole."-Alabaman to English translation: Tornado is coming, tornado is coming. Got to get in the storm shelter.

2. "We all bleed red, all cry tears, all fall down"-my absolute favorite song

3. "You be a bowl of sugar-I'll be the bugar to melt it"

4. "It was Friday in the PM"

5. "Did you know, when I was a girl, I nailed snakes to the ground?"

Reading Response Week 13

Waving Good-bye

"the story tells itself"

I believe everyone has the ability to tell stories and write; however, it is having the patience to sit down and spend time writing. It's a talent that needs practice just like playing a sport or an instrument. Creative writing is an individual process that has no set way to go about writing. It's just each person trying to figure out what works for them. It could be sitting down and writing non-stop for an hour or it could be going for a walk in order to think of something to write. I do not think this book explained how to write. I know that its different for everyone and the book should have explained different approaches to writing prose. I think it could have started off at the beginning with a short exercise that as you read each exercise added to the last one-so at the end you have a short story and not just pieces of writing. I think it could have explained how to take a story that is in first person and turn it into third person narration. I think a chapter on how to revise a prose piece would have also been helpful. Anyone can think of a story to tell or have an idea for a story, but understanding how to tell the story so that other people can understand and see what you want them to see is difficult. I do not think the book was very helpful in understanding what details to include and how to "show and not just tell" what happens.

Classmate Response Week 12

Danita's Random Write

Pulling into the supermarket parking lot, the smell of tar combined with midsummer heat smelt like the mood I was already in. Stench amplified from the hot hot heat. Regretting the fact I left the windows down for the ride, instead of using the little bit of gas I had left for air conditioner. Upon pulling into a space near the entrance, I sat there in the heat hoping the smell would pass. The black parallel powerlines were blinding from the brightness of the sun. I stretch my fingers thru my ponytail noticing the resemblance of color. This makes me happy for reasons unexplainable to myself. I use this sudden urge of happiness like a wrecking ball swaying left to right. And shifting to the right, then suddenly to the left, I use my body weight to open the car door-which is heavy. (heavy as if its from my existential plight) which I suddenly break thru placing first my left torn up sneaker then my right onto the pavement. This is how I get through Tuesday.

The first description "the smell of tar combined with midsummer heat smelt like the mood I was already in" is my favorite. I think that is an incredible analogy. It grabs my attention right away. It is very intriguing how the character has such a difficult time getting through just one day. I like the parallel between the wrecking ball and then how the descriptions sway the same way a wrecking ball would. It is very interesting to read and completes the analogy. I would love to see this story go farther. Is she at work? Picking up her kids from school? A stay at home mom? Maybe its night and she's a prostitute? I think this story could go so many different directions. The only thing I would suggest is where it says "hot hot heat" You've already mentioned the heat right before that and in a short story I wouldn't repeat words.

Reading Response Week 12

Chapter 9

This chapter confused me. I do not understand how you can have a story without a plot. I understand descriptions are important, but they are meaningless without a plot. A story has to have a purpose. I think stories can be without dialogue, but they require a plot. The exercise was very challenging. It is hard to just describe a person or a place without actually describing that person. When she says "an action can be something as little as a letter not being sent, or a thought that goes unspoken" it helps me to understand it a little better. I don't necessarily have to say-the letter did not get sent. I could say something like at breakfast she knocked over her milk and grabbed the first thing she could, an envelope, to mop up the mess. It doesn't state that the letter was not sent it uses description to tell the reader the letter was never sent. Too much description can be a bad thing as well. There needs to be a balance between description and plot and dialogue if you include that in the story.

Reading Response Week 12

Willi

The first time I read this story, the details drove me crazy. I could not stand the fact that there were not any breaks. No dialogue, no paragraphs it just dragged on and on. It was so frustrating. When it finally got to something other than describing the field I was relieved. I skimmed the story the first time so after the discussion in class on Wednesday I went back and re-read it. I could understand then why it was framed the way it was; however, I still feel like there are too many details in the beginning. The way the story is framed and the romantic language make the prose feel more like a poem. A long, never-ending poem. It was hard to connect this story with the time period. I know it is right before WWI and the author is probably trying to make some connection, but I just didn't get it. Some of the imagery was very detailed and grotesque. Especially with the mother and tutor. I thnk the author could have left out the incestuous thoughts by the boy. That was extremely disturbing. I did like how he described around the situations instead of saying x,y and z happened. It was much more interesting to try and figure out what was going on rather than being told this is what happened.

Free write Week 12

The one room shack stood abandoned in the West Texas heat. Dust covered the furniture, untouched by a woman's hands. No savory scent filled the air. Nothing but beans and burnt cornbread had touched the little stove in over a year. And even now that was gone. The quiet was almost defeaning. It was the soundlessness that could drive a man to do crazy things. The wind howled outside the little shack, echoing a woman's screams. Storms in Texas were like a man's temper, striking fast and devasting to anyone in its path. Thunder-reminiscent of the sound of a man's fist makes when striking soft flesh-abounds across the angry sky.

Free write Week 12

The black shadow moves. Nervous twitches rack her body as she waits. Patiently, the trainer-Deb-unfolds her hand revealing a mint. The soft mouth tickles her palm as the horse snatches the treat. Slowly, Deb slips the halter around the horses head. With a snort and a shake of her head the horse rears onto her hind legs. Deb allows some of the rope to slip through her fingers giving the horse room to run. Circling Deb, the horse runs off her anxiety. Then she stops and slowly walks to Deb displaying her trust in the trainer.
"What a good girl," Deb whispers as she hands another treat to the horse.

Junkyard Quotes Week 12

1. "Either upgrade the ring or the boyfriend."

2. "Specially for the woman-your driving that truck with the whole family in it."

3. "Never underestimate the power of a woman on a mission"

4 "Familiar as worn flannel"

5. "I wanna see you in your apron and nothing else"

Random Freewrite Week 11

From exercise in class

'An animal' her father called her. One mistake and she would be tainted forever in her father's eyes. As she lay on her bed, tears of anger running down her face, she remembered that night. It happened over a year ago, but it was seared into her memory-like the tattoo on her hip no one knew she had-forever.
They had fought that night, her father didn't understand what it was like to be a Jewish girlin an American high school. The teasing, the laughter, and the ridicule she could deal with; however, the loneliness was tiresome. It ate at her spirit like cancer, consuming and killing every 'healthy' thought in its path. She she argued with her father, frequently. A boy had finally asked her out. A date would be her chemo, her healing drug. Just one date was all she wanted and she pleaded with her father. But his firm 'no' never changed. So, she snuck out that night. Met the boy by the lake expecting an innocent picnic. She didn't know what boys expected. When he grabbed her 'there' she panicked. She didn't mean to cried, later, to her father. They were on the boat and when he grabbed instinct made her push. It wasn't her fault, she pleaded. She didn't know he couldn't swim.

Classmate Response Week 11

Surangi's Random Impulse

I could see him walking in my direction. He looked scraggy and worn out. His pointed beard made me want to run the other way, but I remembered my father’s words, “He’s a good man.” As much as I hated to agree with my father, I could see kindness in his smile. I could feel his gaze; he was looking straight at me. I could see a lonesome past through his eyes. I knew he would be different. I had been used, numerous times, as long as I can remember. I had always been a fool when it came to love, but I could sense it would be different this time. I knew he would be the fool this time around. After all, he had come to my father, the so called matchmaker, to find himself a wife. Now would anyone normal ever do that? If he wanted a wife, I’ll give him a wife. I will play him like a viola. He approached me and handed me the flowers he was carrying. As I reached out to accept them, I could feel the goose bumps on his arms. I knew I could have him under my control, but my father’s words kept playing in my mind, “He’s a good man.”

I thnk the repetitive "He's a good man." is good aspect to this story. The details are very vivid and clear. It flows very nicely. I would suggest adding more descriptions. For example, instead of saying "scraggy and worn our" describe it-his clothes, his hair, does he have a beard, dark circles under his eyes, ect. Why does he have to be the fool? I would definatley like to see you keep going with this story its a very good start.

Reading Response Week 11

Chapter 7: Point of View and Voice


I find perspectives difficult. I tend to write about my own experiences or stories I've heard or read before. It's hard to write from a perspective of a different culture or even gender. As an American woman I do not know the difficulties women in other cultures face and I have no idea what guys think(I think that's a mystery to all women.) I wouldn't want to offend someone by making presumptions about their culture in a story. I prefer to write in omniscient because you can provide the most detail. First person and third are very limited in what you can say in the story. I find them very difficult to write in.

Reading Response Week 11

The Fat Girl by Andre Dubus

I think this short story deals with a topic that almost every girl can relate to. Weight is a major issue girls and women of all ages deal with. It seems to contaminate society and consume every aspect including media, magazines, movies, and tv shows. I think Dubus explored the protagonist's- Louise-addiction to food, struggle with weight, and her shame in a very descriptive manner. However, I did not like the ending. I would have liked Louise to deal with her addiction, but I am glad she was able to accept herself as she is.

Randome Free Write Week 11

Original:

Rain hits the glass like an artist carelessly tossing paint onto paper. The sun ran away leaving the city drowsy and bleak. The chilling the air seeps into my marrow. Unknowingly, I am contaminated with radiation from Japanese nuclear reactors.

Academic:

The contaminated water evaporates from the nuclear reactor into the atmosphere; consequently, it absorbs into the cumulus cloud. The cumulus cloud then continues its path through the atmosphere gaining mass. Finally reaching maximum capacity, it deposits the rain, infused with radiation, onto a city in Georgia. Thus, forcing a cold front across the area and causing large hail to be dropped.

1960's Hippy:

"Hey man, did you hear the news?" TJ said.

"Naw bro, been protesting all night" Buck replied after taking a puff.

"It's them Japs man. They had a freaking tsunami and earthquake! Those nuclear-radioactives are gonna explode!"

"What are we gonna do? We told them, but they didn't listen. If the government wouldn't create war and weapons of mass destruction we wouldn't need nuclear power."

"Peace, man, is the only answer."

11 year old:

"Why can't we go outside?" he whined.
"Because it's raining" his mom replied for the hundreth time.
"But mom, I wanna go outside!"
"No, Ben. You'll get sick."
"But I wanna go outside!"
"I said no"
"But why?"
"Go to your room and don't come out til supper! Now"

North Georgia Mountains:

"Them dang Japs done it now!" Doc said as he sat rocking on the porch.
"I tell ya. It's payback. Yes-sir-ee, I tell ya. Payback for Pearl Harbor." Bubba drawled "What we gonna do Pop?"
"Boy, aint no need to panic. Just go down the street and buy us some 'municion. Then we'll get out the guns and oil em down."
Bubba, grunting and huffing, stood up and started down the street. Mumbling all the way about them "dang Japs" and "dang no-good, lazy Pop."

People in the town were used to Bubba and Doc. They ignored the racist remarks and felt obligated to make polite conversation with them if they happened to see them in town. Well, on their bathing days that is, but the other 6 days a week townsfolk avoided Doc and Bubba like the plague. It was no easy task, however, to avoid the dirt-stained handshake, the yellow-unbrushed teeth, and the stench of a body that hasn't been washed in days.
But on this day, where radiation contamination panic was rampant on the news, the town wondered if Doc and Bubba were right, for once. Conversation blossomed like Spring pollen throughout the town, lightly covering every conversation with the dust of panic.

"Maybe Doc got it right, ya think?"
"Well, where them Japs gonna go? I mean it's contaminatin' the whole dang island."
"There a'gonna come here. Gonna be a freakin' invasion."
"Yea, we gotta protect ourselves and our families!"
"The gov'ment aint gonna stop them. Diddn't stop the Mexicans from coming over. Better load up on food and water and guns. Soon we're gonna be overflowin with people-Mexicans, Japs, who's next?"

Junkyard Quotes Week 11

1. Talking to her husband: "What's your problem? Oh, paying bills-your time of the month." 2. Never underestimate the power of a woman on a mission 3. A poem is never finished, only abandoned. 4. Always be a poet even in prose. 5. You can't write poetry on the computer.

Classmate Response Week 10

Yeeva Cheng's Random Impulse 1 of Week 10 First of all what grabbed my attention was the name Calliope. It is so unique and refreshing. Some names have become so cliche that it is really good to use a new and unique name. The "so unpredictably predictable weather" is an eye-catching phrase. It describes Georgia perfectly. It's a very unpredictable story which is good. Every detailed flowed to the next and the story had an amazing rhythm to it. the only section I didn't understand was "she had been mourning all her life." It's hard to understand why if he's only been dead a year, she's been mourning all her life? Maybe I just missed something or didn't understand. The drama in the story is very subtle which works well in a short story. It was a really good story.

Reading Response Week 10

Chapter 6 The limited third person confused me. Once I read it a second time it made a little more sense. I understand how if its third person you can't describe or say certain things, but I am sure how to keep from doing that. I enjoy writing in third person more than first because first person seems so limited in view points. And it can sometimes get repetitive. I'm still not really positive I understand what passive voice is. We are told in English classes to alwasy write in present tense; however, tense and voice are completely different. Passive voice seems to me like saying "She played volleyball" and acive voice would be "She spiked the ball across the net." I would think it would be better to use active-that it would be more interesting.

Reading Response Week 10

Chapter 5 This chapter was helpful in avoiding using cliche words. In poetry we talked about being cliche with images and topics, but I never thought about being cliche with certain words in short stories. I realize that I use many of the words that she mentioned. For example, just and suddenly are overused. It is confusing when I write to be thinking about all of this stuff in my head and try to write the story. I think these tips are more for revision process than for when your writing the first draft.

Junkyard Quotes Week 10

1. Adjutate your noun 2. How complex simplicity can be 3. A marriage is like a musuem filled with priceless wonders 4. The price of crude oil has gone past crude to obscene 5. She started dying the day she was born

Free Write Week 10

Exercise from the book-Using only nouns, verbs, pronouns, and articles (This exercise was very difficult!) The hail pounded the roof. It cracked the car windshield. It sliced the petals from the plants. Animals retreated into holes. Trees crashed into the power line causing a power outage. Within minutes the the hail stopped, leaving only silence in its wake. The damage devasted the town. Buses were destroyed. Schools closed due to damage. Citizens scampered to the grocery store to buy food. Children whined about staying inside. Dads worried about money and how they would pay for the damage. Moms hid their anxiety and fear behind masks of cheerfulness.

Free Write Week 10

Part One The rain pounded from the sky, soaking through her thin, worn clothes. Her hair hung limp around her shoulders almost completely covering her pale face. Her brown irises consumed with fear, shoulders hunched, hands covering her barely showing belly-Ava wondered how she had gotten to such a low point in her life. Alone, scared, and pregnant she trudes through the rain on the side of a backwoods road in the middle of nowhere. With every headlight and sound of tires, Ava's heart stopped. She wondered if he had noticed she was gone, if he even bothered to look for her. Yes, she thought. In his mind she belonged to him and there was no escaping his desire for her. Not real desire, mere ownership. She was his possesion and would be until the day she died. She could handle the beatings, the humiliation, and the nights he forced her to perform her wifely duties; however, she could not, and would not, let him hurt her baby. So she had left. While he was at a business dinner, she had walked right out the front door. And kept walking. And continued to walk; for her baby, for her freedom, for her future. Headlights illuminated the shadows. Ava, not breathing, quickly layed down in the ditch praying whoever it was had not seen her. To her horror, the vehicle stopped. Backed up. She heard the engine stop and the door open. Blood filled her mouth as she bite down on her tongue to keep from screaming. "Anyone there?" she heard a male voice call. She didn't think it was him, but all men were the same. So she continued to lay in the mud, not breathing, not making a sound. "I thought I saw someone out there. I guess not." the man mumbled to himself as he turned to walk back to his truck. As he turned, the light fell on Ava's pale blond curly hair. Her breathe caught. "Who are you? I promise I won't hurt you. Don't you know there's a storm brewing?" he asked. "Go away. I am waiting on someone. He will be here any minute. Thanks for the offer though." She was squeak out at last. "Come on lady, its freezing out here. You'll get sick. Let me give you a ride to town. You can wait for him there." "No thanks." "Look lady, I'm not gonna aruge with you. Get in the truck. I swear, women can be so hard-headed." "No!" "Well, then I have no choice." he hollered as he strode toward her. Male hands grasping her arm was the last thing Ava saw. Then everything went black.

Classmate Response Week 9

Josh's Addict

First person works really well for this story. It would have the same depth if it was written in third person. Its worded to follow the train of thought and addict would have and that helps the story to flow. I think the story flows very well. The brevity of the story works well with the first person narration. It doesn't drag on or omit too many details. It's short and to the point. It makes the reader wonder what happens next. Does he ever overcome the drug addiction? Maybe write a second part or a series that are like journal entries. Or maybe he's looking back on the past and he is now no longer an addict. He could have a good job and family, but is reflecting on how is life used to be. Or it could be a journal entry that's part of a larger story-maybe his wife or child found the journal and is reading it?

Free Write Week 9

Another poem-I like writing them more than short stories

Cindermanly

Fix the sink, cut the grass, feed the dogs

Honey do this, sweetie do that

No going out to the bar tonight there are still chores to be done

When did I become Cinderella?

No ball for me, no mice, no pumpkins, no prince

All I want is a night out with the boys, Fairy godmother

Bring your magic wand, bring your furry friends

Do all my chores, but don’t tell my wife

No bows, no dresses, no singing critters please

I am a man after all

When the clock strikes midnight I won’t be home

I’m going out tonight, Fairy godmother

No evil magic on me

No curfew for me, because

I am a man and not Cinderella

I don’t want Prince Charming or a castle by the sea

My happily-ever after takes me to a faraway land

A land where a man can be a man

A place where I belong

Where I can smoke, drink, and best of all

No chores in Never, Never land

No wife, no kids, no job

Just a man being a man doing manly things

Please Fairy godmother

Make an exception tonight and help Prince Charming escape from the Ball (and chain)

Free Write Week 9

Not sure if this sounds more like a poem. I am really struggling with writing short stories.

First Day of Spring

Spring flowers blossom. Bees buzz through the air. Honeysuckle scent consumes the air. Rushing water cascades over the waterfall. Chirping birds fly from branch to branch. Budding flowers bestow their beauty on Spring. Slimy snakes slither searching for shelter. The serenity of Spring sounds a new beginning. Flowers awaken from their winter sleep to bloom color on what was recently pure white.

Campers destroy the beauty of nature. With their portable homes and satellite TV, they engulf the songs of birds and squeals of frogs. In the murky night, campers’ shriek consumed within their drunken stupors. With their intoxicated songs resonate through the wilderness, the frightened animals scurry to their midnight hiding places. The campers disregard the true opportunity of camping: to sleep under the stars and discover the peace and serenity which can only be found in nature, the insignificant moments that require peace and patience to discover, and acquiring an invigorating sip of water from a babbling brook.

These campers are on Spring Break; college students who have too much time on their hands and no aspirations past today. The sons and daughters of the rich whose parents give them all the money they desire, but not one moment of regard. These are the kids who learn about life from television shows. The ones who drive the fast cars and party on the weekend. The ones who destroy Spring. The next generation of people who will overlook nature and perpetuate its destruction, consequently, they will be the generation which will discover the cost of indifference.

Reading Response Week 9

Chapter 4

I like the idea of incorp0rating repetition into a story. I do not think it would be appropriate to constantly repeat yourself; however, using foreshadowing in places is a good use of repetition. I definitely think a variety of words should be used. A reader does not want to constantly hear the same words over and over again. Variation can be a good thing in writing. I think the type of repeptition used in the "Thunder Badger" is more reserved for poetry. Short stories do not usually have a rhythmic quality to them. But I believe a repetition of certain signs-colors, animals, numbers, ect-can be useful if the author wanted to discreetly state an opinion. Hidden rhmes and rhythms can be useful in creating a short story that flows.

Reading Response Week 9

Chapter 3

In a poetry it is easy to write that line or phrase that captures the meaning of the poem and helps it to flow. I struggle with setting up a scene and dialogue in prose. I enjoy writing poetry; however, prose is a struggle for me. I know describing the setting, characters, and dialogue is crucial in a short story, but I do not describe them very well. I don't think this chapter really explains how to set up a scene or how to write dialogue. I think this is more important than length of sentences. If she would tell the reader how to set up the scene and incorporate characters, I feel that it would prevent short, choppy sentences. I did not find this chapter as helpful as I did the first two.

Junkyard Quotes Week 9

These came from the Soup Kitchen Reading

1. "Familiar as worn flannel"

2. "I wanna see you in your apron and nothing else"

3. "Voice unravels"

4. "When the sheriff drank, and t hat was often"

5. "It's amazing how Paula Dean can rhyme bachelor and spatular"

Classmate Response Week 8

Surangi's short story

I found this story very interesting. I think the beginning is a little cliche with the singing birds and blossoming flowers. Maybe try some different images or comparisons. The way the memories are described are very effective. The tone works very well. I definatley would like to see more. Makes me wonder what happened to her that upset her? Is it an illness, or death in the family, heartbreak, or pregnancy? This story could many different directions and I would love to see where it ends up.

Reading Response Week 8

The chapter on punctuation is very helpful. I am horrible at punctuation which is why I am taking a grammar class. Writing a story without using punctuation was very difficult. It's difficult to read and hard to know where the thoughts end. I naturally add punctuation when I am writing and if there are any errors I correct them in the revision process.

Free Write Week 8

Spring Sounds

Spring flowers blossom. Bees buzz through the air. Honeysuckle scent consumes the air. Rushing water cascades over the waterfall. Chirping birds fly from branch to branch. Budding flowers bestow their beauty on Spring. Slimy snakes slither searching for shelter. The serenity of Spring sounds a new beginning. Flowers awaken from their winter sleep to bloom color on what was recently pure white.

Black Friday (No punctuation exercise)

There women stood shoulder to shoulder waiting for the store to open having survived the last 12 hours in line estrogen was bursting from the group of women the minutes ticked by until only one was left before the store opened the manager got out his key and faced the door soaked with sweat he attempted once twice and on the third try he was able to get the key in the lock 3 2 1 the doors opened to the stampede of women trampling through the door luckily the manager was able to leap on top of a display case within seconds fights were breaking out as women devoured the sales rack in the dark corner of a janitor's closet with eyes closed and rocking back and forth the manager hid the ripping of fabric and stomping of angry muffled the whimpers erupting from the manager

Free Write Week 8

The Story of Hans the Chicken Plucker

First Person:
My friends are looking at me strangely, and I realize I am humming an old country song. I am not usually in a good mood at work. Plucking chickens is not anyone's dream job. I pluck my last chicken, rinse it off, and toss it into the pile of naked chickens. Still humming those old country love songs because I have a date tonight. Wonder if I should shower? Nah.

Second Person:
Gossip flies through the factory like the feathers the workers pluck. No one can believe Hans has a date. The one with the beer belly and the tobacco dribble running down his chin. "Do you hear him humming? Sounds like a pig dying over there." Hey man, did you see Hans leave? Going on his date tonight. Poor ole gal, he didn't even wash his hands when he left. Look at him-picking flowers out of that poor old lady's yard.

Third Person:
Hans, with tobacco juice dribbling down his chin, stands over the pile of naked chickens . From her father's office, Layla can't take her eyes off of him. In her mind, Hans is the Prince Plucker who has come to rescue her. Deciding to finally make her dream come true she calls, "Hans-catch me!" With a glance over his shoulder, Hans sees Layla leap off the second story floor.

Junkyard Quotes Week 8

1. Many people have sighed for the 'good old days' and regretted the 'passing of the horse,' but today, when only those who like horses own them, it is a far better time for horses. ~C.W. Anderson

2. A lovely horse is always an experience.... It is an emotional experience of the kind that is spoiled by words. ~Beryl Markham


3. In riding a horse we borrow freedom. ~Helen Thomson

4. Horses lend us the wings we lack. ~Author Unknown

5. A woman needs two animals - the horse of her dreams and a jackass to pay for it. ~Author Unknown

Reading Response Week 8

Chapter One

I like that this book starts with sound. I read a lot of children's stories at work and I enjoy the sound of the stories more than the actual narration of it. Reading my written work out loud helps keep it from being choppy. I've noticed that as I write at home I tend to speak out loud. Because in the end, most stories and poetry are meant to be read aloud. The stories in this chapter are great examples of sound of writing. My favorite is the Mark Twain. I have always enjoyed how he writes in dialect. It makes the reading much more interesting. She also makes a good point when she talks about the importance of names. In short stories and novels, names are very important. They give you the context of the story and location even if it is not mentioned. They also help the story to flow and make sense. The exercise is also helpful. I like that this book allows the reader to practice techniques as we read.

Classmate Response Week 7

Response to Stephanie's Random Impulse

Everyone experiences that moment, the one where the thing you hold closets to your heart is ripped right out of your hands… and spilt at your feet for everyone else to step on. I couldn’t help but release a heavy sigh as my innocent ice cubes where kicked all over the room by all those carelessly passing by. My once full glass now laid baron and cracked on the floor. The sight was more depressing than watching an ASPCA commercial right after running over your neighbor’s cat. Okay, so maybe I’m being a little over dramatic about my knocked over glass of Jim Beam but sometimes you just have to put your foot down. If you don’t have respect, you don’t even have the clothes on your back…. Well, considering the fact that my shift just ended and I made my way to the bar, instead of the dressing room, after my little dance I wasn’t wearing any clothes…not in legal terms anyway… So I instantly forgot about what little respect I had left, gave up on my vendetta and ordered a double. This time, I’d use both hands.

I think this is a really good prose piece. It drastically changes from what the reader is expecting. It keeps them on their toes and interested in the story. I think the short length works really well with this story. It reminds me of "Popular Mechanics" that we read in class; except, this one is in first person. The first person characterization works well with the storyline. It would be kind of hard to follow in a third person narration.

Free Write Week 7

No safe place
bars on the windows downstairs
is not enough
locked doors are breakable,
2nd story windows are climbable.
Your brother can't protect you
you can hide, but they'll find you
The projects bursting with criminals
No one is safe

The poem we did in class. Just wrapping up my poetry.

Free Write Week 7

(Insert Title here)

We kept waiting to hear the shattering of glass and the laughter of a ball
but none of these ghosts came
the silence that followed surrounded us like a tomb
crashing across the velvet sky,
a shooting star brought a promise
chaos everywhere from the seducing winds
that crept in through the night
death was a promise kept in a world filled with humans

Junkyard Quotes Week 7

1. Growing up Southern is a privilege, really. It's more than where you're born, it's an idea and state of mind that seems imparted at birth. It's more than loving fried chicken, sweet tea, football, and country music. it's being hospitable, devoted to front porches, magnolias, moon pies and coca-cola... and each other. We don't become Southern - we're born that way.

2. When life hands you lemons... squeeze them into some sweet iced tea and thank God you were born a southern girl!

3. Southerner never uses one word when ten or twenty will do

4. The South--where roots, place, family, and tradition are the essence of identity.

5. A southern girl is a girl who knows full and well that she can open a door for herself but prefers for the gentleman to do it because it demonstrates a sense of respect. After all, every girl wants to be treated like a princess. We know how to make sweet tea and grits while telling you everything about any football team in the SEC. We pick our battles and fight with the heart of a pit bull while still maintaining grace and elegance. Our mystique is that of a soft-spoken, mild-mannered southern bell who could direct an army, loves her momma and will always be daddy's little girl.

Classmate Response Week 6

Jamie Lynn's Night Crawlers

I think the line "reveals too much of his angel haired spaghetti arms" is awesome imagery. It is defeinatly not something you hear. I think the first line "as black as shadow lurking" is a little cliche. But most of the imagery is very interesting. Specially at the end where it talks abou Freddy moving off of Elm Street. I think that could be expanded a little bit.

Free Write Week 6

This is a poem I wrote for mother's day a long time ago. I would defiantly like to revise it. Not sure if any of it works or if I should just start over?

Mom

You mean the world to me
You healed my hurts when I was little
And loved me unconditionally
You sacrificed so much for me

With you open arms and loving heart
You've given me love, guidance, and strength
You support me in everything I do
And allow me to persevere
With your strength I can conquer all

You have shown me how to love unselfishly
You are the example by which I live my life
I hope someday I can be half as amazing
As the mother you are to me