Blog 13: Reflection on Day of Writing

The day of writing was beautiful!  I didn't expect it to go so well. At first I was hesitant to go because I wasn't feeling so well about something and I didn't know if everyone was going to enjoy my writing; but like they say, you are your own worst critic I thought I was the first person but I was the second and it made me even more nervous after going after someone with such a great story. I went over with Marg, and when I got up there the crowd wasn't so bad considering it was just us. I read three selections; First essay draft, Entry 47, and The Day. On my first reading everyone loved how descriptive it was. They loved how I took an average scrape on the knee and turned it into something delicious and scary for little kids and music to the ears. On my second reading, Entry 47, at first everyone was a little giggly. As it went on the crowd became quiet. At the ned, everyone eyes were on me and you could here a in dropped. They were surprised at the ending of my poem. The professor was overwhelmed with joy from my writing. The last piece I read also had a good response and overall I had a great outcome. Professor Chandler said delightfully, "So, you're a writer!" This all made my day and uplifted my spirits. i was glad that I actually came. I got to hear some great stories from my peers. Especially one in particular named Click. he intertwined different things he dealt with in life that associated with different sounds of clicking. It was a brilliant piece. I was glad that I came and would not mind doing i again.

When you come to things like this, you realize how much you love writing and it brings you back to your pen and paper. I believe I found my pen and paper again.

Blog 8: Draft #1

Nothing is worse than not realizing that there is something underneath this thing called skin that looks like fresh turkey meat but it’s called tissue, but you don’t wipe your nose with it, and then some liquid coming out of it that seeps out to slow, but way too fast for comprehension, and you have to sop it up like thanksgiving bread on gravy, all in 8.5 seconds.

School was as ordinary as it was any other day. I had the same teacher that I had in the third grade that I did in the second. “How is everyone doing this morning?” That’s what Mrs. Barnett would ask us every morning. I don’t quite remember if any of the other kids responded, probably because they didn’t; but I always did. “Fine!” I would say. We would hand in the homework that we brought home the night before and begin new work. I remember the red apple sticker she would put on our papers if we did well that matched her deep burgundy nail polish on her pretty nails. Lunch time came and went and I always had my lunch brought from home while I looked over and wished I could have some of Simone’s lunch that she got to buy from school. That was usually on Friday when the school brought pizza from pizza hut. Recess came and we would run outside like there was a fire and we had to get out. We played outside like wild animals. There were no rules on the playground. Some kids hogged the swings the whole time, others played on the one set of monkey bars we had, and some kids just ran wild until the school bell rang. When it was time to come back in, we would drag like the fire we just got out of had burnt down our house and we didn’t want to return. The rest of the day went fast. Mrs. Barnett told us what our assignments were that we were to bring back the next day and then she would let us talk for the rest of the time until our parents came. By that time my mom would be getting off work to wait for me at home when I got off the bus. But this day was different. My mom had to meet up with my teacher and I was anxious to go home. The time went by slow, but finally when I saw my mom’s head pop out of the classroom, and I knew it was time to go, I dashed out the back door. The ground was to fast and big under my small feet; I missed a step and fell straight to the ground. The steps were concrete and my skin wasn’t strong enough to stay in one piece. The sun was much brighter on the right side of my face now. My eyed zoomed in microscopically at skin that wasn’t there. It looked like a clean white sheet with tiny little blocks. But it wasn’t clean anymore when this red stuff started to take over the white. It was all so slow but it seemed like the red sea was taking over my knee. I looked up at the sky and could barely seem my mom because my thoughts made my sight blurry and the sun was in my face. I cried, “Ahhhhhhhhhhh!” My mom came to my rescue and realized that I got my first cut on my body. After that my world was no longer the same. I now knew that there are things there that we can’t see. This was the start of whole new way of thinking.

 This is all too humorous now, but extremities and dramatized surprising endings seemed to be my destiny. Things like this didn’t end at the age of eight. Now that I look back at it, I can pick it apart like a scientist.

Brain Storming for Project 1

One Idea for a story comes from the Journal Entry about scars. I wrote two scar stories that had to do with physical appearance.

1.) When I was younger I missed a step on the concrete outside and fell down on the ground cutting my skin open on my knee. My knee was scraped down at least to the second or third layer. This was the first time I realized that people had more than one layer of skin and that we had cells and tissue. Of course at this age I did not know the right terminology. It was fascinating but more scary than anything. For the time I was looking at my knee, I know it was only for a few seconds before i started to cry, but now that i look back at it, it seems like I was looking at it forever because i remember exactly how the cell tissue looked and how slowly the blood started to seep out and how white my skin was underneath in contrast to the rest of my leg. When my mom came and picked me up, I walked back to the car with her help, but I walked back as if my leg wasn't just scraped but as if my leg was just amputated!
2.) I got into a car accident with my friend and her guy friend. We were driving on route 22 to go pick up my boyfriend at the time and a car hit us directly on the driver's side making a 90 degree angle and we got pushed off the side of the road into the parking lot of P.C. Richards. There was blood all over the place and none of us knew where it was coming from. Come to find out, it was coming from me. I had to get stitches and now I have a battle wound. Eleven months later, there was still a small piece of glass in my chin. I went back to the hospital and they took it out and threw it into the garbage before i could ask for it. I am going to sue.

Possible themes in these two stories are:

-fear in paranoia, humor, suspense
-inside vs. outside
-realization
-American Culture, the way we focus so much on beauty
-Blood inside coming out
-Not liking doctors

Explanation of themes

-fear in paranoia, humor, suspense- (story 1) this section is a core of the story. paranoia often leads to irrationality and I thought I was going to lose my mind when I saw my knee. It is humorous now because a scrape on the knee to someone my age is nothing, but the reaction of a scrape on the knee of an eight year old that has never seen an open cut before is quite humorous. The suspense is built as I see the different layers of my skin, and how they were white at first, and then turn red as my blood starts to seep out slowly.
-inside vs. outside- this is knowing the difference between the inside and outside.
(story 2) I don't like doctors and I don;t endure pain too well, so when this happened to be a combination I started to lose my mind, The entire time I was shaking, from the time we drove to the hospital,, to the time i got out of the car to get into my house.

-realization- (story 1) almost an epiphany, understanding that there are other parts to the human body.
(story 2) realizing that the blood was coming from me. Realizing that I had to face my fears and get stitches and that I had no other choice.

-American Culture- (story 1 ) one of the first things I did when I realized there was blood on my everywhere, was look down and notice that there was blood on my coach sneakers that I had just bought and worn for the first time with my hard earned money. Even after I realized that the blood was coming from me I was still more worried about my sneakers instead of my chin being cut open. This goes to show how in our culture we focus a lot on our outward looks and sometimes worry about it too much. Life, Death, or Looking good!

-blood inside coming out- (need more thinking)
-not liking doctors- (story 2) I don't like anyone that can give me bad news and essentially those people are doctors and dentists. That night I had to go to the hospital to see a doctor, and on top of that, he did not want to be there.

-Not liking doctors- (story 2) I do not like people who can give me bad news so I don't like doctors or dentists. That night I had to go to the hospital and on top of that he did not want to be there.