Tuesday, December 20, 2016

Final Reflection

1. An analysis of my work throughout the class:
  • I am poem: this was our first assignment, and our first piece of writing that we shared as a class. I've always found that writing I do about my personal life is some my weakest work. This was no exception. When my writing starts to jar my emotions, it begins to derail itself. My sentences transform themselves into ranting run-ons and in the process lose their power.
  • Undercurrent: This object inspired piece was our second post to blogger, but the first that I felt my writing voice really emerged. I picked a shell as my object-of-choice, but rather than writing about cliches like a mermaid or sea life, I chose to write a loosely related and tragic story. 
  • Welcome Home:  While working with writing inspired by colors, we were challenged to write a story in which each paragraph alluded to a different color. Originally, this story was going to be similar to Undercurrent with its dark tone. However, I recall being very entertained by the shocked comments on this piece and its sudden, cheerful ending. 
  • Family Tradition: While working with dream inspired writing, we all were instructed to write out the details of a dream we've had. Afterwards we had to select one sentence that stood out from our recollection. Afterwards, each student chose two of those sentences - one to begin their story with and another to end it - and wrote a creative piece of writing to connect the two. Mine, of course, took a dark turn. This story alluded heavily to 70's slasher films, which has always been one of my greatest creative inspirations. However, the story ends with a twist, as the reader discovers the narrator is actually a member of the murderous family that lives within the house.
2. Classmate's work Analysis:
  • Child's Play by Echo: Because I know Echo, I know that some of the events in this story are true. However, I think its interesting that without knowing the author, it would be difficult to determine whether or not this childhood recollection, and brief self reflection, were works of fiction or not.
  • Poem of Peace by Haley: We were assigned a project in which we had to write a post inspired by one a famous photo from this millennium. In the picture that Haley chose, you can see the joy that can come from sticking up for what you believe in. I think her poem is incredibly applicable to modern culture and youth rebellion and empowerment. 
3. Having a blog has allowed me to collect my thoughts in a formal manner. Most writers thrive with notebooks, but being a writer who despises my own handwriting, having a blog where I could just comfortably type out my work was incredibly handy. The name Charli Bit Me for my blog came from an old viral video, in which a baby bites his older brother's finger and the boy starts to cry out over dramatically "Charlie bit me! and it really hurt!". I don't know if anyone besides the required commentators read my work, but that's alright. I still had fun making them. I don't know if I would continue using this blog, only because it feels more class-related than personal now, but I would consider starting up a new blog in the future. I would continue to post my jarring, often horrific stories to my personal blog.

4. Journaling has always been a difficult task for me, considering I despise hand writing my work. I much prefer typing my stories. It is because of this that most of my full-length stories were not drafted or included in my journal throughout this class. I tended to stick to putting in more artistic writing pieces in my journal, like our blackout poetry and collage inspired work. 


5. Put on your rouge. "We'll be late if you don't hurry!" His sister's persistent pestering never ceased to unnerve him. Yet something within her words churned his mind. He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. His pale, lanky body stared unimpressively back at him. A shiver ran up his spine. His mother was gorgeous. She'd had three husbands and sucked each of their bank accounts dry before moving onto the next unlucky bachelor. His sister was a prodigy in the same skills. She only dated sports stars with sports cars. He was so unalike the women he shared his blood with. He didn't want to be alone. He wanted to be wanted. 




6.I suck in a sharp breath, as my lips curl into a smirk. "See, Nosferatu and all these classic movies all have their unique twists, but they all share one similar assumed inaccuracy..." I lean in closer to her and whisper into her ear, "We don't feed through our heads."
At that moment, the giant mouth on my stomach opened up and ripped a chunk out of Jennifer's torso with its rough, sharp teeth. 


7. I hope that in the future I'll have more free time to devote to working on comics and graphic novels. I also have an idea for a fantasy story that I really would like to eventually put into words. Writing creatively is almost therapeutic for me. I often use it as an escape from reality when I'm overworked or emotionally drained.

8. Even though this class is ending, that doesn't mean your creativity has to end with it. Even if not all of the topics we wrote about really interested you, I promise from just reading your work throughout the semester that you've grown as writer (probably without even realizing it). Everyone in this class has the potential to do something great with their writing. Wherever you go in life, just remember to bring your creativity with you!




Tuesday, December 13, 2016

FOOD for thought

Carrots

Fresh or boiled it doesn't matter,
They still make me gag,
The only acceptable way to consume them,
Is masked in a cake,
Or a glass of V8.

Carrots are dirty, bulbous roots,
Rabbit food, 
I've never liked them never will,
No wonder my eyesight is so awful. 

I pick them out of my Chinese food,
and leave them on the side of the plate. 
Even a nibble is enough to send the putrid taste across my tongue. 
So I carefully remove any slivers left over. 

Please believe me when I say I'm not a picky eater,
Every once in a while I give carrots another try,
In hopes that my tongue will have changed its mind,
but no avail. 

Tell me a Story / Children's story Draft

Arby the Luchador

In Mexico City there lives an extraordinary girl named Arby.

Arby loves birds, climbing trees, eating grilled cheese sandwiches, but most of all Arby loves...

Lucha libre!

Arby dreams of being a pro luchador when she's older,

but for now she's still trying to prove herself to the boys from the neighborhood.

"Girls can't wrestle!"
"You're too soft!"
"Go back to playing with your dolls!"

Arby didn't feel like playing anymore.

Eventually, the boys grew tired of wrestling each other.

They knew all of their moves. Every fight was the same...

...And they missed their friend, Arby.

So they decided to go visit her and invite her to wrestle with them!

Little did they know, Arby had been quite busy.

She'd organized an entire wrestling league with the girls from the neighborhood.

"Hey, boys! You wanna play?"