Blog Reader Comments

Comments left for Mallory:

1. Hey, Mallory! I completely relate to needing a comfortable place to read. Nothing beats a good spot that you can just lounge back and free yourself from distractions. 
2. I liked your indepth outlook on jewelry and the different significance that can be paired with what I would normally view as a simple accessory. I can feel a lot of passion in your writing. Keep it up!
3. In just a few short lines you managed to tell a story with strong emotion. Hemingway would be proud! Keep it up.
4. I thought that it was a brave approach for you to use both the beginning and ending lines in the same story. I can tell that it took a lot of creativity to get from point A to Z in such a short story. Job well done!
5. I love how positive your quotes are. They seem to capture the "silver lining" some of us forget to look for in bad situations. I also think that your blog customization is adorable. The multi color font choice looks great on your blog. Keep it up!

Comments left for Kat:

1. I feel so much sympathy for these six words. It's unbelievable. I also love how open ended it is. There's no direct guidance, so it's free for the audience to interpret and link to their own tragedy. 
2. I'm a big fan of macabre writing. A quick scroll through my blog reveals that instantly. I can tell you definitely got into this piece. I'm impressed by the descriptions, the formatting, and definitely the length of this story. I'd love to read more from you in this style!
3. I like the mixture of positive and realist quotes in this post! It definitely reveals a lot about your outlook on life. Keep up the good work!
4. The flow of this poem reminds me a lot of some of my black out poetry and recent posts. I've been focusing a lot on mental illness in my writing, so the rantish, repetitive wording of this piece is definitely appealing to me. Keep it up!
5. I agree with your thinking on answer #12. I also think that describing a reader as someone with a more polished vocabulary is clever. I wish I'd thought of that! 

6 word Memoir

Blackout

Lapse in Faith

(A/N This is a self interpretative piece I pulled from a torn book page. A few common themes identified within it are: corruption, religion, cult worship, and doubt.)

"Ready for bed,

Repeat what she had said,

Devoted to the old religion,

The headstrong nature,

Stubbornness, resentful, and ill tales there would be.

Three of the four were too young,

Two of the boys were more likely to run,

Lord Strange, Mary, the king, the cadre of five older boys,

She tried to be comfortable,

She wondered."

Lost?

(A/N This short poem is inspired by memory loss and the tragic feelings that can accompany it.)

"His brain,

Backing into the night,

Shriveled,

You worry,

Memory so bad.

Lost?

Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad."

Famous Lines: Make Them Yours

“If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.” 
That's what I spit at the therapist when she tried to pull some answers out of me. Shrinks all wanted the same thing - they wanted you to spill your guts - to be vulnerable. All so that they could hook onto your insecurities, make you trust them when they tell you that you need to swallow a happy pill everyday. They don't really care about fixing you. They need you to stay just broken enough to be grateful for the temporary relief they provide. Every anxiety attack for you is a pay bonus for them. 
I'd managed to stay apathetic during my treatment. I never gave them the hooks to disembowel me. Even when they stuck me and dripped acid into my veins I never shed a tear. I remember the day their masks started to melt. Latex, or maybe silicon, dripping off their heads like steaming tar. Their wigs fried to a crisp under the fluorescent lights of my hospital suite. Their real faces were revealed to me; ugly, furrowed, wrinkly, saggy - monstrous - with teeth like bulldogs (I'm still not sure how they hid them under the dentures). 
I hadn't seen a human face in months. That is, until you came to visit today. These demons are cruel. They cut my arms while I'm sleeping. You have to get me out of here. You have to-
...Wait.
No, something isn't right about this. They never let me say this much. They always knock me out before I can. Why can I talk to you? Who are you? Something isn't right about you.
...Your face.
...Your face is melting. 

(A/N Using the lines we selected from the last post to start and end, we now have been prompted to write our own creative short stories in Creative Writing. This first short story is about a man being treated in a mental institution. At the expedition, the reader naturally roots for the narrator as he seems collected, rebellious, and relatable. However, as the story goes on and the narrator begins to trail off into creepy detail of his hallucinations, the reader is forced to the realization that the narrator is in treatment for good reason.)

I woke up that morning at 7 o'clock.
I drug myself out of my bed, and stretched my arms high above my head, before arriving at myself in the bathroom mirror to tackle my morning routine. 
I made a cup of coffee in my Keurig, and added way too much sugar and cream to it. 
I microwaved a egg and cheese biscuit - leftover from the morning before.
While I ate, I watched the morning cartoons. I swear they get keep getting worse.
My cat, Prisky, greeted me with a needy meow. She stretched the sleep out of her spine while I filled her food bowl. 
We finished our breakfasts together, before I tied my hair back and washed my coffee cup.
I scooped Prisky's litterbox before I pulled on my tennis shoes.
My day really began when I locked the door to my apartment. 
I headed down the many flights of stairs, and finally arrived onto the busy streets of Chitown.
I unchained my bike, and rode it to the university.
Illustration class had a plus size nude model that day.
Lunch was bland. I only had $10 in my wallet, so I went to a sandwich shop and got a six inch. I wish they'd put more cheese on those things.
After lunch I needed to go to work, so I caught a bus to the other side of town. 
People weren't especially nice that night. I didn't make many tips at the restaurant. 
I dropped a tray of glasses. 
I cut my hand cleaning up the mess. 
I finally clocked off at 11:30 - an hour and a half later than I was scheduled.
My feet ached as I walked to the subway.
I caught a train back to the University, and retrieved my bike to finish my journey home.
However, I stopped at the corner store for a bag of powdered donuts and a cheap bottle of wine.
I made sure the cashier double bagged it so it wouldn't fall during the ride.
The flights of stairs back up to my apartment felt like a 90 degree hike. 
Frisky greeted me when I finally forced myself through the door. She was just waking up from her nap.
Cats have such hard lives.
I took off my shoes, and sat on my couch. I watched MTV while I ate my donuts and sipped my wine straight from the bottle.
Exhaustion pulled me in and out of consciousness for some time.
I finally forced myself up, knowing I had things to get done.
Dizziness caused by the wine convinced me that taking a shower the next morning would be better.
I stumbled out of the apartment, and climbed one more flight of stairs. 
The landlord always left the door to the roof open, and I often found myself admiring the skyline from it.
It was the happy place that my mind wandered to when work got too busy.
The sky was introduced to my eyes, and I couldn't help but compare it to a Van Gogh painting. 
Maybe it was my drunkenness that made the stars spin like that.
I sighed contently and took one more sip.
"I closed my eyes, head drooping, like a person drunk for so long she no longer realizes she's drunk, and then, drunk, awoke to the world which lay before me."

(A/N I wanted to connect this second story more to myself. I didn't want it to seem as serious as some of my other pieces. The story follows the events of the narrator's day. I can never remember my own days, so I thought it would be fun to try and recollect a fictional person's day in a convincing manner.)

Famous First and Last Lines

(A/N We selected random, famous first and last lines of novels in my Creative Writing class. We then had to research their origin, some about the author of the novel, and then write a short explanation of the plot and why or why not we'd be interested in reading the novel.)

Famous First Line:

“If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.”
-JD Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

JD Salinger was born January 1, 1919 in Manhattan. He lived a reclusive lifestyle, produced his first work in 1965 and gave his last public interview in 1980.

The story is recounted by Holden Caulfield and the events of his trip to New York following his expulsion from school and a fight with his roommate. He interacts with many interesting characters, from nuns to ladies of the night, as he deals with his own internal struggles of growing up and mourning. 

Based on the synopsis of this book, I would be very interested in reading it. It has a lot of dark, yet realistic themes, that intrigue me. 

Famous Last Line:
"I closed my eyes, head drooping, like a person drunk for so long she no longer realizes she's drunk, and then, drunk, awoke to the world which lay before me."
-Kathy Acker, Don Quixote, which was a dream

American novelist Kathy Acker was born in New York City in 1947. She identified herself as a playwright, experimental novelist, punk poet, and a sex-positive feminist writer. She gave credit to the influences of French critical theory, philosophy, and pornography. She died in Tijuana, Mexico in 1997.

A twist on the folklore classic, whereas Don Quixote is portrayed as a woman on the quest to be knighted all the while fighting the enchanters of Modern America. 

I'd be interested in reading this book, because the edgy personality of the author really draws me in. I'm interested to see what she had to say. 

Quotes

“If there's a bright center to the universe, you're on the planet that it's farthest from.” - Luke Skywalker in Star Wars A New Hope.

"Everything works in Circles" - Darby Crash in What We Do is Secret

Writers as Readers Response

When you read, what do you need to be comfortable (environment, snacks, lighting)?

When I read I like to be relaxed. Relaxed to me means to be lounged out on my bed or a couch, in loose fitting clothes, with my Spotify playing at a low volume in the background noise. I like having a drink to sip on and a snack. I also love to read in the evening more than any other time of day, because that is the time that I feel I can relax with the least guilt on my productivity. 

What genres (types of writing) interest you? What specifically about this genre interests you? 

Historical fiction, fantasy/nonfiction, and sci-fi has always interested me in literature genres. Historical fiction draws me in, because I love the feeling of being transported to another time. Fantasy has a similar impact on me, as it not only can change the time, but also the rules of the universe we live in. I think there is a true art in being able to bend the rules of reality in a way that still makes sense to an audience. 

Who was your first reading teacher? Why do you remember her/him?  Was it a “teacher” or someone else (a family member?) who “taught” you?

I don't recall a specific person necessarily teaching me how to read, but if I were to credit anyone I think it would have to be my older brother. I would sit in his room when we were kids, watching him play video games, and usually he'd put on funny voices to narrate the texts as they popped up on the screen. However, sometimes he just wouldn't be in the mood to put on the act, and he'd zoom through the dialogue without so much as muttering it out loud. Not always being able to follow the story frustrated me so much that I think it forced me to begin decoding the meaning of the words, and before I knew it I was able to understand what street signs said and of course the stories that books held in those tiny, inked letters. 

When you write, do you continually envision the “reader” of your piece?  Who do you think would be interested in reading your work?  Does having a reader in mind affect how you choose your words, themes, ideas?  What’s different if you just write for yourself knowing no one else will ever read what you come up with?

I think it is incredibly important to envision the reader while writing. Doing so helps you decide exactly what you need to say and with how much detail. You never want to drown someone in descriptions of something that they can already clearly envision on their own. Likewise, it is never a great hook to mention something that has never been discussed, and not offer an explanation for it (Imagine if you were to tell an inside joke to a stranger).

Do you think that someone who reads a lot might become a stronger writer?  Do you think we pick up vocabulary, sentence structures, themes, etc. from the books we read that come out directly or indirectly in our own writing?

I believe that writing can certainly help a writer grow. Much like a scholar who absorbs information from textbooks, authors can broaden their vocabulary and grammatical structure by studying the styles of other writers. We should not be ashamed of being influenced. Inspired by is not the same as plagiarized. Just make sure that while you're writing, your ideas are unique enough for you to sleep well at night if you were to publish them with your name on the cover.