I enjoyed Tom French's Sequencing: Text as Line and I don't know why. Before, very recently in fact, it was hard to stomach an essay on writing that dealt with structure, especially if within the essay there was some sort of bulletting, outlining, or numbering. It is a good sign, I suppose, that I now find this useful, entertaining even and that somewhere in my brain little neurons are lighting up and energetically digesting and even applying the information to something I am currently working on. For example, every time someone we read reiterates the zoom in, zoom out concept, I think about the major problem with most of my work- a lack of show, too much tell. Having a name for what I can do to remedy that problem is useful and I think about the process I took to improve my personal essay, adding details, imagining scenes, using my memories to zoom into that time in my life, using perspective to zoom out. It gives power to my writing. That is why I like it, I suppose, I feel more in control and of course we all like to feel in control.
I also enjoyed Guillermoprieto's discussion of why he uses "I" to tell the truth in his stories. He claims that it helps to push readers out of their comfort zones, to see and taste and hear just as he did. It makes it real, it makes it alive and TRUE. Along that same vein, however, I also think it is way easier to seem as if you are telling the truth if you use "I." It is hard to argue with the subject, the author, if they have been there, tasting a food you have never tasted, describing its flavor. You have to take their world on the facial expressions of the accused mass murderer and what they might mean. The use of "I" is a big responsibility--you are taking the reader into your world and shaping it, manipulating it, sometimes quite deliberately.
I thought "Memory" was a good story for examples of creating characters and setting and also for using direct quotes. Marin, did you pick this piece for Marni? I am looking forward to the discussion in class. :)
Monday, April 27, 2009
Forgot to Post Updated Personal Piece...here it is.
Outline:
Complication: Chaos numbs youth.
1. Anxiety drives world.
2. Parents disappoint me.
3. Connection restores feeling.
Resolution: Determination overrides numbness
YOUNG HEARTS RUN FREE: SELF PRESERVATION IS WHATS REALLY GOING ON TODAY
Jacqueline Rogers
It was 36 hours in, and I was kissing Ryon from the Puerto Rico delegation. It was exhilarating, hot—I felt his lips on mine and my back pressed up against a wall in a blindingly white bright stairwell, drunk on the feeling of release from the numbing of my nerves by fear, disappointment, and anxiety.
We arrived in Washington D.C. three days earlier, over one hundred high school students from the continental United States and Puerto Rico. It was September of 2002 and I had jumped at the chance to escape home for a few days by accepting a nomination to participate in the Anti-Defamation League’s National Youth Leadership Mission to the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum.
The first day I sat down in a row of empty chairs and looked around the room. I was among my peers, bright-eyed youth who were supposed to feel inspired by global violence and carry the weight of potential world peace on their shoulders. In the front of the room, survivors of the Holocaust sat quietly, hands in lap, watching a mix of hope and hormones bustle and shriek in every corner. Stern-looking Secret Service stood behind them, enveloping the room with a tension that cut through the youthful energy and excitement. Workshop leaders, practiced professionals enshrined in suits and self-importance bustled around directing groups of students here and there, their range of emotion limited to two facial expressions. The serious listening face: eyes intent, lips pursed, eyebrows squeezed down and together, and the lecture face: eyebrows up, eyes huge and dilated, forehead wrinkled, mouth open and moving incessantly.
We were to be ambassadors of peace and justice, the suits preached, a serious job description in the relatively recent arrival of the post 9/11 world. Still growing breasts and managing awkwardly long limbs, it wasn’t too soon for our parents, grandfathers, and grandmothers to pass on the burden of their mismanaged history, to capitalize on the anxious energy that the loss of more than 3000 lives on American soil had bolstered to a new height, terror level red: time to panic.
We were told how vital it is that human beings exist in an orderly world where injustice is addressed, and a sense of security radiates. Life is now less secure, less certain, they said, and we had to understand.
I was recently sixteen. I understood.
The tumultuous summer preceding dulled my expectations of the adult world and activated a mode of self-preservation that I existed in for several months. My mother and father had located each other as the fourth point on the axis of evil and decided to share their hatred and disappointment in one another with me and the rest of the world. The sight of both of them grasping for their share or more of a previously combined pool of money, resources, and dignity had made me exhausted, unreceptive, and unwilling to take the chance of relying on anyone. I’d also lost my virginity that July, just a week after my sobbing mother had parked me outside the ice cream store to tell me about my dad filing for divorce. Her head slumped forward. Big tears plopped onto the steering wheel. She was so ashamed, she said, so ashamed and so sorry. I didn’t cry when she told me and I didn’t feel anything at all towards Rob the next week, even as he hovered over me and told me he loved me. A serious emotion, a serious relationship didn’t make sense. I wondered about compassion and if I could feel it.
Two months later, there I was, the florescent lights on the white paint blinding me and warm cheeks, nose, and lips pressed on mine. I shut my eyes, parted my lips, and tried not to smile so hard I would have to stop.
It wasn’t about him, although he was certainly a tan and beautiful young man. I was bouncing back, destroying my disappointment, my bitterness, my vulnerability with a sense of purpose and some human connection; it was a direct challenge to my parents and the other adults who made a conference on humanity necessary in a world of six billion humans.
Emotionally, intellectually, and physically my 16-year-old nerves, mind, and lips were jolted to a point of bursting. I want to feel this awake my entire life, I thought, I’m going to fight for this feeling.
Eight years later and eight years deeper in the politics of fear, I find myself having to fight harder than ever not to slip back into numbness.
I am not too much older now than I was then but already I feel that ability to live in the moment, to bounce back from fear with hope and energy, dripping from my trembling fully-grown fingers and swirling down into the numbingly anxious busyness of adult life. We graduate from college, or we get jobs, or we graduate and go back to school, leave the country or move back home, and never escape a world where self-preservation and the regulation of passion, of emotion, is required.
My generation, the generation who remembers vividly snipers and 9/11, Columbine and Katrina, the generation that can look around their classrooms and see so many of their peers on depression, anxiety, focus, or hyperactivity medications, is a generation that understands what it is to be both emotionally full and empty.
We were watching. We watched the destruction as we learned to assimilate, as wide-eyed kids, pre-teens, adolescents, and young adults, staring at the television, learning to distrust the world, to withdraw and self-preserve as keepers of our own fragile hearts, minds, souls.
We are overloading our brain and from an early age—the zombification of our youth. And we will only heal the world as we heal ourselves, by waking up and reaching out to connect and find the substance amidst the chaos.
I am counting on my peers, as we transition into adulthood, to remember their moments, their passion, and their reasons to fight.
I’ll be fighting. But I already know I’ll be alright. Bright white stairwells still turn me on.
Complication: Chaos numbs youth.
1. Anxiety drives world.
2. Parents disappoint me.
3. Connection restores feeling.
Resolution: Determination overrides numbness
YOUNG HEARTS RUN FREE: SELF PRESERVATION IS WHATS REALLY GOING ON TODAY
Jacqueline Rogers
It was 36 hours in, and I was kissing Ryon from the Puerto Rico delegation. It was exhilarating, hot—I felt his lips on mine and my back pressed up against a wall in a blindingly white bright stairwell, drunk on the feeling of release from the numbing of my nerves by fear, disappointment, and anxiety.
We arrived in Washington D.C. three days earlier, over one hundred high school students from the continental United States and Puerto Rico. It was September of 2002 and I had jumped at the chance to escape home for a few days by accepting a nomination to participate in the Anti-Defamation League’s National Youth Leadership Mission to the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum.
The first day I sat down in a row of empty chairs and looked around the room. I was among my peers, bright-eyed youth who were supposed to feel inspired by global violence and carry the weight of potential world peace on their shoulders. In the front of the room, survivors of the Holocaust sat quietly, hands in lap, watching a mix of hope and hormones bustle and shriek in every corner. Stern-looking Secret Service stood behind them, enveloping the room with a tension that cut through the youthful energy and excitement. Workshop leaders, practiced professionals enshrined in suits and self-importance bustled around directing groups of students here and there, their range of emotion limited to two facial expressions. The serious listening face: eyes intent, lips pursed, eyebrows squeezed down and together, and the lecture face: eyebrows up, eyes huge and dilated, forehead wrinkled, mouth open and moving incessantly.
We were to be ambassadors of peace and justice, the suits preached, a serious job description in the relatively recent arrival of the post 9/11 world. Still growing breasts and managing awkwardly long limbs, it wasn’t too soon for our parents, grandfathers, and grandmothers to pass on the burden of their mismanaged history, to capitalize on the anxious energy that the loss of more than 3000 lives on American soil had bolstered to a new height, terror level red: time to panic.
We were told how vital it is that human beings exist in an orderly world where injustice is addressed, and a sense of security radiates. Life is now less secure, less certain, they said, and we had to understand.
I was recently sixteen. I understood.
The tumultuous summer preceding dulled my expectations of the adult world and activated a mode of self-preservation that I existed in for several months. My mother and father had located each other as the fourth point on the axis of evil and decided to share their hatred and disappointment in one another with me and the rest of the world. The sight of both of them grasping for their share or more of a previously combined pool of money, resources, and dignity had made me exhausted, unreceptive, and unwilling to take the chance of relying on anyone. I’d also lost my virginity that July, just a week after my sobbing mother had parked me outside the ice cream store to tell me about my dad filing for divorce. Her head slumped forward. Big tears plopped onto the steering wheel. She was so ashamed, she said, so ashamed and so sorry. I didn’t cry when she told me and I didn’t feel anything at all towards Rob the next week, even as he hovered over me and told me he loved me. A serious emotion, a serious relationship didn’t make sense. I wondered about compassion and if I could feel it.
Two months later, there I was, the florescent lights on the white paint blinding me and warm cheeks, nose, and lips pressed on mine. I shut my eyes, parted my lips, and tried not to smile so hard I would have to stop.
It wasn’t about him, although he was certainly a tan and beautiful young man. I was bouncing back, destroying my disappointment, my bitterness, my vulnerability with a sense of purpose and some human connection; it was a direct challenge to my parents and the other adults who made a conference on humanity necessary in a world of six billion humans.
Emotionally, intellectually, and physically my 16-year-old nerves, mind, and lips were jolted to a point of bursting. I want to feel this awake my entire life, I thought, I’m going to fight for this feeling.
Eight years later and eight years deeper in the politics of fear, I find myself having to fight harder than ever not to slip back into numbness.
I am not too much older now than I was then but already I feel that ability to live in the moment, to bounce back from fear with hope and energy, dripping from my trembling fully-grown fingers and swirling down into the numbingly anxious busyness of adult life. We graduate from college, or we get jobs, or we graduate and go back to school, leave the country or move back home, and never escape a world where self-preservation and the regulation of passion, of emotion, is required.
My generation, the generation who remembers vividly snipers and 9/11, Columbine and Katrina, the generation that can look around their classrooms and see so many of their peers on depression, anxiety, focus, or hyperactivity medications, is a generation that understands what it is to be both emotionally full and empty.
We were watching. We watched the destruction as we learned to assimilate, as wide-eyed kids, pre-teens, adolescents, and young adults, staring at the television, learning to distrust the world, to withdraw and self-preserve as keepers of our own fragile hearts, minds, souls.
We are overloading our brain and from an early age—the zombification of our youth. And we will only heal the world as we heal ourselves, by waking up and reaching out to connect and find the substance amidst the chaos.
I am counting on my peers, as we transition into adulthood, to remember their moments, their passion, and their reasons to fight.
I’ll be fighting. But I already know I’ll be alright. Bright white stairwells still turn me on.
PROFILE....feedback please?
So....Here is what has been going on. Pretty sure the computer place doesn't exist anymore, if it ever did, big bummer. I think instead I am going to profile the student health center with a focus on reproductive health and the politics that have changed the price and availability of different products over the last administration. I have an interview with Lisa who I know personally fought to have changes made for students to lower the price when it skyrocketed. This is where I will go into the interview from but I am hoping more info/conflict will come out of it. Anyone have anything specific they'd like to see/ask? Think this is a good idea?
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Response to classmates pieces
Austin's:
It is a morbid piece but it is really interesting and would be hard to write about without falling into traps. Specifically, I liked the interviews with the kids who were friends with the people who had killed themselves and also the progression of time in the piece. If it had been as long without the progression of time, it would have been a bust. It made me want to know more, which is good for the author but I almost was frustrated at the end that I didn't get a better idea of the total social, political, and economic scene in that part of the world. Of course, he does do some of that, and he had to find a balance between the sensational details of the suicides, the interviews, and the whole picture in limited words. Overall, good piece and I enjoyed reading it.
Emily's:
What a great example of a profile! It makes me wonder how I am ever going to write one of my own, it seems you really have to spend time, a lot of time, and have a clear vision of the conflict before you start. From there, you can move around and give background to fill everything out and make it about LIFE not just the conflict. This is so perfect for what your general writing theme/interest has been too, emily, nice find.
Lindsey:
This was a nice piece because it was clearly relevant and political but still a profile of a place at a specific point in time. It was helpful to read because it was a length that we will probably be writing our pieces and had a narrow focus.
It is a morbid piece but it is really interesting and would be hard to write about without falling into traps. Specifically, I liked the interviews with the kids who were friends with the people who had killed themselves and also the progression of time in the piece. If it had been as long without the progression of time, it would have been a bust. It made me want to know more, which is good for the author but I almost was frustrated at the end that I didn't get a better idea of the total social, political, and economic scene in that part of the world. Of course, he does do some of that, and he had to find a balance between the sensational details of the suicides, the interviews, and the whole picture in limited words. Overall, good piece and I enjoyed reading it.
Emily's:
What a great example of a profile! It makes me wonder how I am ever going to write one of my own, it seems you really have to spend time, a lot of time, and have a clear vision of the conflict before you start. From there, you can move around and give background to fill everything out and make it about LIFE not just the conflict. This is so perfect for what your general writing theme/interest has been too, emily, nice find.
Lindsey:
This was a nice piece because it was clearly relevant and political but still a profile of a place at a specific point in time. It was helpful to read because it was a length that we will probably be writing our pieces and had a narrow focus.
Reading Response
I was so completely absorbed in this weeks readings from Literary Journalism book. They were two completely different reads, two completely different moods and structures, but both incredibly interesting and moving and very well-written. The first, "American Male Age 10," made me think about changing the way I approach our next piece. Which, given my ongoing anxiety with deciding what the hell to write about, did not help my decisiveness, but excited me about the profile in a way I hadn't been before. It was a way of doing a profile that is a lot more appealing to me then some of the pieces we've read. I don't know why but profiling a place or a making a more general statement (i.e. about American Males Age 10) is a lot more appealing, or probably just way less intimidating, then profiling a specific person. Even though A.M. Age 10 was about a specific little boy, it was also about gender, about broader issues that are relevant. I loved that.
Secondly, the story of Trina was very interesting and uniquely structured. The author put herself into it in a way that I would have really not supported if I had heard a pitch for the story. I think it was necessary to put "I" into it but I was worried through the whole thing that it would end up becoming about the author and not about Trina. I am interested to hear what others think about this.
Secondly, the story of Trina was very interesting and uniquely structured. The author put herself into it in a way that I would have really not supported if I had heard a pitch for the story. I think it was necessary to put "I" into it but I was worried through the whole thing that it would end up becoming about the author and not about Trina. I am interested to hear what others think about this.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Profile Pitch NOT
I am stressing out about this assignment. I have a list of places but I don't know how to pick because I can't even imagine how I would start and I don't know if there is a real story. I though this was interesting though. What do you all think?
http://www.mlive.com/kalamabrew/index.ssf/2009/04/the_muskegon_brewing_and_disti.html
Maybe I could do something closer to home with Bell's, but I don't think they are having trouble, even with the economy. I think there might be a more interesting story in there but its lost on me now.
http://www.mlive.com/kalamabrew/index.ssf/2009/04/the_muskegon_brewing_and_disti.html
Maybe I could do something closer to home with Bell's, but I don't think they are having trouble, even with the economy. I think there might be a more interesting story in there but its lost on me now.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Reading Response
I really love Jon Franklin's book, especially the structure and outline chapters, which is amazing considering I have strongly resisted any previous direction on either of those subjects. His approach made a lot of sense--the whole book was so practical and I had no choice but to respect it. The piece that struck fear into my heart the most was on page 92, "For it is here, in the coldly logical prefrontal realm of the mind and not in the heart, that the secrets of the masters are kept," AHHHH logic and order are not my friend! However, Franklin made it simple, gave me a process that was almost underwhelming, and allowed me to look at the pieces I was reading (trying to find one to share with you all) in a new light. It made me ask different questions, about both my writing and the writing of others. This, I think Franklin would agree, is going to make me a better more thoughtful writer overall.
Monday, April 13, 2009
For Wednesday- "Of Rajas and Rollers" by A.A. Gill
http://www.vanityfair.com/culture/features/2008/11/rajasthan200811?currentPage=1
This piece is about 5 months old but I hope you enjoy it. For the past several days I've been reading and saving stories I like, the past few hours on Vanity Fair's website bookmarking one after another. This was the third piece I read by this author A.A. Gill and really enjoyed. While we seem to have similar interests (I was always drawn in my the title and only later noticed the author) which undoubtedly pulled me in to his work, I also found his writing captured my attention from the lede and I continued without much effort or pause until the nicely circular, or at least reflective/satisfying ending.
If you have time, read and comment before class so I can focus on what more intrigues you about the piece. I personally enjoyed it because I am interested in how US/European writers write about India, having studied abroad there.
I hope you enjoy it.
ps. i'll figure out how to put links in, but for now copy/paste it? thanks.
This piece is about 5 months old but I hope you enjoy it. For the past several days I've been reading and saving stories I like, the past few hours on Vanity Fair's website bookmarking one after another. This was the third piece I read by this author A.A. Gill and really enjoyed. While we seem to have similar interests (I was always drawn in my the title and only later noticed the author) which undoubtedly pulled me in to his work, I also found his writing captured my attention from the lede and I continued without much effort or pause until the nicely circular, or at least reflective/satisfying ending.
If you have time, read and comment before class so I can focus on what more intrigues you about the piece. I personally enjoyed it because I am interested in how US/European writers write about India, having studied abroad there.
I hope you enjoy it.
ps. i'll figure out how to put links in, but for now copy/paste it? thanks.
Before I post what you have to read...
I am going to post some others that I also thought were very interesting or really well-written or both... Some were too long to make you all read for Wednesday, some were too similar to things I read/was interested in in Arts Journalism and I wanted to push myself into something different. They are still all good and I wanted to offer up some good reading I found after searching the internet for good narratives for wayyyy too long.
Here you go:
1. long but super interesting- Alex Shoumatoff sneaks into the the most elite good ol' boys club you can imagine to investigate reports of the likes of the Bushies, Rockefellers, and Basses cutting down the Redwoods in California: http://www.vanityfair.com/style/features/2009/05/bohemian-grove200905
2. not the newest story idea but good use of quotes and very entertaining- Melanie Berliet visits 3 plastic surgeons to see what surgeries they try to sell to her 5'9 120 pound frame
http://www.vanityfair.com/style/features/2009/02/plastic-surgery200902?currentPage=2
3. another way of approaching a story, take on a piece of it yourself- Rich Cohen grows facial hair to become part of the story, and to better tell the story of Hitler's infamous mustache
http://www.vanityfair.com/culture/features/2007/11/cohen200711?printable=true¤tPage=all
4. quick read, disgusted author, lots of attitude- tourists take a sex and the city bus with A.A. Gill there to judge them
http://www.vanityfair.com/magazine/2009/01/sex_and_the_city200901?currentPage=2
All these are from vanity fair, although there are a lot of other good places to find stories. I decided to stick to VF for fear of being overwhelmed. Enjoy!
(My post/link to read for class to come...)
Here you go:
1. long but super interesting- Alex Shoumatoff sneaks into the the most elite good ol' boys club you can imagine to investigate reports of the likes of the Bushies, Rockefellers, and Basses cutting down the Redwoods in California: http://www.vanityfair.com/style/features/2009/05/bohemian-grove200905
2. not the newest story idea but good use of quotes and very entertaining- Melanie Berliet visits 3 plastic surgeons to see what surgeries they try to sell to her 5'9 120 pound frame
http://www.vanityfair.com/style/features/2009/02/plastic-surgery200902?currentPage=2
3. another way of approaching a story, take on a piece of it yourself- Rich Cohen grows facial hair to become part of the story, and to better tell the story of Hitler's infamous mustache
http://www.vanityfair.com/culture/features/2007/11/cohen200711?printable=true¤tPage=all
4. quick read, disgusted author, lots of attitude- tourists take a sex and the city bus with A.A. Gill there to judge them
http://www.vanityfair.com/magazine/2009/01/sex_and_the_city200901?currentPage=2
All these are from vanity fair, although there are a lot of other good places to find stories. I decided to stick to VF for fear of being overwhelmed. Enjoy!
(My post/link to read for class to come...)
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Response to Reading/Writing Process
It was hard to pick a story, MY story, for this assignment. The memories I have about events in my life is very, dare I say, sacred in their existence as they are in my head, in the context of my life. I knew this but I would never have described it this way before going on a little trip down memory lane for this assignment. I struggled writing about anything that seemed important enough to try simply because writing boxes the memory in, each word and sentence represents my memory and it never seems quite right, quite complete. This made me so uncomfortable. My memories include such a rush of feeling that I don't think I have the talent with words to convey and it scares me to put a beginning, middle and end to the complexity of the experience.
The reading for this week were intimidating. This is, of course, partially why I was having anxiety about writing our first piece. First of all, writing about ourselves is scary. In Arts Journalism, we wrote about an expression of culture and our opinion of that expression was in the piece but not our whole selves. The use of "I" as Phillip Lopate points out, is important but difficult. My fear was normal, Lopate pointed out, and I'm quite the coward--I need to push myself. At the same time, there is a certain boundary that can't be crossed if a writer doesn't want to be narcissistic, self-indulgent, and irrelevant. I was criticized many-a-times by my journalism-degreed mother (I just found out that was her major in college, so weird I didn't know that) for being melodramatic. I can't decide if I had such a hard time writing about myself because I was afraid of judgment or if I really struggle with self-expression. It is so HARD to put feeling into words, especially since examples don't come naturally to me. Concrete thinking is not my strength.
Also, a piece that was inspiring but I didn't use much for the writing of this first narrative was Gay Talese's, Delving into Private Lives. Her description of what journalism should be about is very romantic and I love it. It makes me renew my dream of travel-writing, of finding stories in places that are unfamiliar (even in the US) to us not just physically but because we have fallen into a pattern of reporting and writing, a pre-designated idea of what is interesting. I thought Talese was awesome and dreamy.
The reading for this week were intimidating. This is, of course, partially why I was having anxiety about writing our first piece. First of all, writing about ourselves is scary. In Arts Journalism, we wrote about an expression of culture and our opinion of that expression was in the piece but not our whole selves. The use of "I" as Phillip Lopate points out, is important but difficult. My fear was normal, Lopate pointed out, and I'm quite the coward--I need to push myself. At the same time, there is a certain boundary that can't be crossed if a writer doesn't want to be narcissistic, self-indulgent, and irrelevant. I was criticized many-a-times by my journalism-degreed mother (I just found out that was her major in college, so weird I didn't know that) for being melodramatic. I can't decide if I had such a hard time writing about myself because I was afraid of judgment or if I really struggle with self-expression. It is so HARD to put feeling into words, especially since examples don't come naturally to me. Concrete thinking is not my strength.
Also, a piece that was inspiring but I didn't use much for the writing of this first narrative was Gay Talese's, Delving into Private Lives. Her description of what journalism should be about is very romantic and I love it. It makes me renew my dream of travel-writing, of finding stories in places that are unfamiliar (even in the US) to us not just physically but because we have fallen into a pattern of reporting and writing, a pre-designated idea of what is interesting. I thought Talese was awesome and dreamy.
My Comments for My Group Members
Elizabeth
Really interesting piece, Elizabeth. It was relevant even though I myself am not engaged, I get the feeling of the bigger struggle here. I do think that it could be clarified, if you look at the notes on your piece. Is this really about generational difference, or political ideology, the death (or maintenance despite lots of change) of a powerful institution, or a conflict between feminism, the idea of what it is to be an educated woman, and marriage as the alternative way of being a woman. I think you can do more than one of these themes in this piece but it needs one of them to stronger, or maybe one of them to be the one the reader is sure that YOU are most concerned about. Style-wise, I really love when you get into descriptive passages and more quotes/examples would really fill the piece out, give it more authority. I’m sure more examples will come out when you decide on the central theme. Overall, I can’t wait to read it again in a few weeks! Really great.
Martin
Strong writing as always Martin, especially near the end. I really felt something emotionally coming out of the piece that hit me with a lot of oomph. Your examples are also beautiful, very smooth scenes that you transition in and out of very naturally. This is a lot to give, to feel, to experience in one piece and it seems as if it could have been hard to write at times, but that is what makes it easy to connect to and appreciate. Do you think you could give this piece more of a definite scene or theme? The hospital, as an almost happy place for you, could be explored more in contrast with pain, of both you and your mother. Pain, your pain that you feel now for being more aware of your mother’s, or in contrast with your mother’s (physical struggle v. purely emotional struggle), could be something to go deeper into if you feel comfortable. This is strong stuff, Martin. Bravo.
Austin
I know you so I can hear your voice in my head perfectly. And even if someone didn’t know you, if you read it aloud, they would certainly get your tone, attitude. I am wondering how clear it would be, however, if this was published and read by someone that isn’t our peer and doesn’t have our high level of proficiency in sarcasm and dry ass humor. Not that this piece is supposed to be humorous in its entirety but it rests on (I think, correct me if I’m wrong) knowing that there is a tension, for you, between being gay (loving men) and being homosexual (either fitting a stereotype of what it means to love men by coincidence, that’s who you are, or intention, that’s who you think you’re supposed to be)…. Is that what you want this piece to be about? Or is it about you setting a standard for others you want to date that is really for yourself? Or both? Style-wise, I love how you write. I love especially your description of the perfect man. You always blend description and tone (voice?) to perfection—I know exactly what attitude you have and I’m feeling it with you as I read the piece.
Brittany
This sounds so incredibly rough. I think being physically injured can put a huge stress on your mental state and that is well described here. I do want to know why you put that much pressure on yourself. Of course there are many high schoolers who are ambitious and feel pressure/stress, but yours seems very extreme, especially given your physical condition. What was your relationship with your physical injury, with your body at the time? Was there a level of frustration that operated from the fact that your physical injury was affecting you the strongest mentally? Put another way, I want more examples showing me how you felt, not just telling. I want to get it more, I want to see the internal conflict, the body/mind conflict, and I want to be able to relate to it more. Your flow is nice, it was easy to read, very clear.
Regis
Very entertaining stories, and you are close to a unifying theme-it just needs to be obvious earlier and run its course throughout the whole piece. The story should be proof of your assertion, your theme, a feeling, lesson, etc.—the story isn’t the whole piece, it doesn’t quite speak for itself. I really wanted more details about Panama life, especially Panama politics. What were you doing there? How differently did you look? DESCRIBE/SHOW contrasts between you and your American/Gringoisms and life in Panama. That will be really interesting—what year was this/what age are you? What did your parents do when the car was stolen, was it a culture shock thing for them too—did they have a hard time dealing with beaurocracy b/c they were Americans, or was it easier? I can’t wait to hear more details, get a fuller picture of this time in your life.
Mae
Take that last paragraph and run with it. This piece is super relevant and can me even more so with a little restructuring and some more attention to answering that “why” question at the end. Maybe put that why questions close to the beginning and use the examples for your mom/sis/you to help answer. Think about the examples you use- they are about physical and emotional triggers-- panicking from something physical (dirty hands, pen on your neck) and panicking because of worry about disappointing or being a bad mother. What does this mean to you? What does being on medication mean to you? Is your mom/sis on medication? Do you know any men with the same problem and is this relevant to you?
Toni
Doing it all, controlling your body and your busy schedule—women get this. I think your writing is clear as day, your examples smooth and well-placed, your use of quotes mostly flawless and always useful. I knew how you felt, you really SHOWED it to me, and I could relate on some level almost everytime you described/explained the scenes. Do you want this piece to be about control, about food, about womanhood and perfectionism? Do you want it to be about how a general culture shift in how we look at food is manifesting itself in a troubling way in your own life, macro/micro universe style? I think all you need is to know how you want to end, the point you want to make. I think this is incredible writing Toni and with some tweaking can be very relevant and poignant.
Really interesting piece, Elizabeth. It was relevant even though I myself am not engaged, I get the feeling of the bigger struggle here. I do think that it could be clarified, if you look at the notes on your piece. Is this really about generational difference, or political ideology, the death (or maintenance despite lots of change) of a powerful institution, or a conflict between feminism, the idea of what it is to be an educated woman, and marriage as the alternative way of being a woman. I think you can do more than one of these themes in this piece but it needs one of them to stronger, or maybe one of them to be the one the reader is sure that YOU are most concerned about. Style-wise, I really love when you get into descriptive passages and more quotes/examples would really fill the piece out, give it more authority. I’m sure more examples will come out when you decide on the central theme. Overall, I can’t wait to read it again in a few weeks! Really great.
Martin
Strong writing as always Martin, especially near the end. I really felt something emotionally coming out of the piece that hit me with a lot of oomph. Your examples are also beautiful, very smooth scenes that you transition in and out of very naturally. This is a lot to give, to feel, to experience in one piece and it seems as if it could have been hard to write at times, but that is what makes it easy to connect to and appreciate. Do you think you could give this piece more of a definite scene or theme? The hospital, as an almost happy place for you, could be explored more in contrast with pain, of both you and your mother. Pain, your pain that you feel now for being more aware of your mother’s, or in contrast with your mother’s (physical struggle v. purely emotional struggle), could be something to go deeper into if you feel comfortable. This is strong stuff, Martin. Bravo.
Austin
I know you so I can hear your voice in my head perfectly. And even if someone didn’t know you, if you read it aloud, they would certainly get your tone, attitude. I am wondering how clear it would be, however, if this was published and read by someone that isn’t our peer and doesn’t have our high level of proficiency in sarcasm and dry ass humor. Not that this piece is supposed to be humorous in its entirety but it rests on (I think, correct me if I’m wrong) knowing that there is a tension, for you, between being gay (loving men) and being homosexual (either fitting a stereotype of what it means to love men by coincidence, that’s who you are, or intention, that’s who you think you’re supposed to be)…. Is that what you want this piece to be about? Or is it about you setting a standard for others you want to date that is really for yourself? Or both? Style-wise, I love how you write. I love especially your description of the perfect man. You always blend description and tone (voice?) to perfection—I know exactly what attitude you have and I’m feeling it with you as I read the piece.
Brittany
This sounds so incredibly rough. I think being physically injured can put a huge stress on your mental state and that is well described here. I do want to know why you put that much pressure on yourself. Of course there are many high schoolers who are ambitious and feel pressure/stress, but yours seems very extreme, especially given your physical condition. What was your relationship with your physical injury, with your body at the time? Was there a level of frustration that operated from the fact that your physical injury was affecting you the strongest mentally? Put another way, I want more examples showing me how you felt, not just telling. I want to get it more, I want to see the internal conflict, the body/mind conflict, and I want to be able to relate to it more. Your flow is nice, it was easy to read, very clear.
Regis
Very entertaining stories, and you are close to a unifying theme-it just needs to be obvious earlier and run its course throughout the whole piece. The story should be proof of your assertion, your theme, a feeling, lesson, etc.—the story isn’t the whole piece, it doesn’t quite speak for itself. I really wanted more details about Panama life, especially Panama politics. What were you doing there? How differently did you look? DESCRIBE/SHOW contrasts between you and your American/Gringoisms and life in Panama. That will be really interesting—what year was this/what age are you? What did your parents do when the car was stolen, was it a culture shock thing for them too—did they have a hard time dealing with beaurocracy b/c they were Americans, or was it easier? I can’t wait to hear more details, get a fuller picture of this time in your life.
Mae
Take that last paragraph and run with it. This piece is super relevant and can me even more so with a little restructuring and some more attention to answering that “why” question at the end. Maybe put that why questions close to the beginning and use the examples for your mom/sis/you to help answer. Think about the examples you use- they are about physical and emotional triggers-- panicking from something physical (dirty hands, pen on your neck) and panicking because of worry about disappointing or being a bad mother. What does this mean to you? What does being on medication mean to you? Is your mom/sis on medication? Do you know any men with the same problem and is this relevant to you?
Toni
Doing it all, controlling your body and your busy schedule—women get this. I think your writing is clear as day, your examples smooth and well-placed, your use of quotes mostly flawless and always useful. I knew how you felt, you really SHOWED it to me, and I could relate on some level almost everytime you described/explained the scenes. Do you want this piece to be about control, about food, about womanhood and perfectionism? Do you want it to be about how a general culture shift in how we look at food is manifesting itself in a troubling way in your own life, macro/micro universe style? I think all you need is to know how you want to end, the point you want to make. I think this is incredible writing Toni and with some tweaking can be very relevant and poignant.
Monday, April 6, 2009
YOUNG HEARTS RUN FREE: SELF PRESERVATION IS WHATS REALLY GOING ON TODAY
VERY UNFINISHED
We had arrived in Washington D.C., ten of us from each of the major cities around the country, totaling just over one hundred high school students from the continental united states and Puerto Rico. It was September of 2002 and I had accepted a nomination to participate in the Anti-Defamation League’s National Youth Leadership Mission to the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum.
I remember the Secret Service swarming and encircling the area at the first stops, the hotel and Pennsylvania Avenue, at once exciting and alarming. We chatted with each other and stared at our six ancient companions, survivors of the Holocaust, delighting in our new sense of self-importance but fearing the reality—the infamous sniper was still picking people off at gas stations around D.C.
We were to be ambassadors of peace and justice, a serious job description in the relatively recent arrival of the post 9/11 world. I was among my peers, bright-eyed youth who are supposed to feel inspired by global violence and carry the weight of potential world peace on their shoulders. Still growing breasts and managing awkwardly long limbs, it wasn’t too soon for our grandfathers and grandmothers to pass on the burden of their mismanaged history, to capitalize on the anxious energy that only the loss of more than 3000 lives on American soil had produced.
The mission of the 96 hours was to learn about the Holocaust and to apply these lessons to modern-day issues of bigotry and intolerance in America. The programs leaders and Holocaust survivors led us in 18-hour days filled with workshops on the importance of fueling frustrations into a dialogue that emphasizes diversity, action, and open communication.
We were told how vital it is that human beings exist in an orderly world where injustice is addressed, and a sense of security radiates. Life is now less secure, less certain, they said, and we had to understand.
I understood.
The tumultuous summer preceding had dulled my expectations of people and activated a mode of self-preservation that I existed in for several months. My mother and father had located each other as the fourth point on the axis of evil and had decided to share their hatred and disappointment in one another with me and the rest of the world. The sight of both of them grasping for their share or more of a previously combined pool of money, resources, and dignity had made me exhausted, unreceptive, and unwilling to take the chance of relying on anyone else to take care of me. I’d also lost my virginity that July, just a week after my sobbing mother had parked me outside the ice cream store to tell me about my dad filing for divorce. She was so ashamed, she said, so ashamed and so sorry. I didn’t cry when she told me and I didn’t feel anything at all towards Rob the next week. I wondered about my ability to feel compassion.
But I found passion again. I recovered feeling in my body and mind that September in D.C..
It was 36 hours in, and I was kissing Ryon from the Puerto Rico delegation. It was exhilarating—in between the most fascinating and intellectually stimulating conversations of my life, I feeling his lips on mine and my back pressed up against a wall in a white bright stairwell, drunk on the feeling of release from the numbing of my nerves by fear, disappointment, and anxiety.
It wasn’t about him, although he was certainly a tan and beautiful young man. I was bouncing back, destroying my disappointment, my bitterness, my vulnerability with a sense of purpose and some human connection.
Emotionally, intellectually, and physically my 16-year-old nerves, mind, and lips were jolted to a point of bursting. I want to feel this awake my entire life, I thought, I’m going to fight for this feeling.
Eight years later and eight years deeper in the politics of fear, I find myself having to fight harder than ever not to slip back into numbness.
My generation, the generation who remembers vividly snipers and 9/11, Columbine and Katrina, the generation that can look around their classrooms and see so many of their peers on depression, anxiety, focus, or hyperactivity medications, is a generation that understands what it is to be both emotionally full and empty.
( I am not too much older now than I was then but already I feel that ability to live in the moment, to bounce back from fear with hope and energy, dripping from my trembling fingers and swirling down into the numbingly anxious busyness of adult life. We graduate from college, or we get jobs, or we graduate and go back to school, leave the country or move back home, and never escape a world where self-preservation and the regulation of passion, of emotion, is required. ) ?
.
We had arrived in Washington D.C., ten of us from each of the major cities around the country, totaling just over one hundred high school students from the continental united states and Puerto Rico. It was September of 2002 and I had accepted a nomination to participate in the Anti-Defamation League’s National Youth Leadership Mission to the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum.
I remember the Secret Service swarming and encircling the area at the first stops, the hotel and Pennsylvania Avenue, at once exciting and alarming. We chatted with each other and stared at our six ancient companions, survivors of the Holocaust, delighting in our new sense of self-importance but fearing the reality—the infamous sniper was still picking people off at gas stations around D.C.
We were to be ambassadors of peace and justice, a serious job description in the relatively recent arrival of the post 9/11 world. I was among my peers, bright-eyed youth who are supposed to feel inspired by global violence and carry the weight of potential world peace on their shoulders. Still growing breasts and managing awkwardly long limbs, it wasn’t too soon for our grandfathers and grandmothers to pass on the burden of their mismanaged history, to capitalize on the anxious energy that only the loss of more than 3000 lives on American soil had produced.
The mission of the 96 hours was to learn about the Holocaust and to apply these lessons to modern-day issues of bigotry and intolerance in America. The programs leaders and Holocaust survivors led us in 18-hour days filled with workshops on the importance of fueling frustrations into a dialogue that emphasizes diversity, action, and open communication.
We were told how vital it is that human beings exist in an orderly world where injustice is addressed, and a sense of security radiates. Life is now less secure, less certain, they said, and we had to understand.
I understood.
The tumultuous summer preceding had dulled my expectations of people and activated a mode of self-preservation that I existed in for several months. My mother and father had located each other as the fourth point on the axis of evil and had decided to share their hatred and disappointment in one another with me and the rest of the world. The sight of both of them grasping for their share or more of a previously combined pool of money, resources, and dignity had made me exhausted, unreceptive, and unwilling to take the chance of relying on anyone else to take care of me. I’d also lost my virginity that July, just a week after my sobbing mother had parked me outside the ice cream store to tell me about my dad filing for divorce. She was so ashamed, she said, so ashamed and so sorry. I didn’t cry when she told me and I didn’t feel anything at all towards Rob the next week. I wondered about my ability to feel compassion.
But I found passion again. I recovered feeling in my body and mind that September in D.C..
It was 36 hours in, and I was kissing Ryon from the Puerto Rico delegation. It was exhilarating—in between the most fascinating and intellectually stimulating conversations of my life, I feeling his lips on mine and my back pressed up against a wall in a white bright stairwell, drunk on the feeling of release from the numbing of my nerves by fear, disappointment, and anxiety.
It wasn’t about him, although he was certainly a tan and beautiful young man. I was bouncing back, destroying my disappointment, my bitterness, my vulnerability with a sense of purpose and some human connection.
Emotionally, intellectually, and physically my 16-year-old nerves, mind, and lips were jolted to a point of bursting. I want to feel this awake my entire life, I thought, I’m going to fight for this feeling.
Eight years later and eight years deeper in the politics of fear, I find myself having to fight harder than ever not to slip back into numbness.
My generation, the generation who remembers vividly snipers and 9/11, Columbine and Katrina, the generation that can look around their classrooms and see so many of their peers on depression, anxiety, focus, or hyperactivity medications, is a generation that understands what it is to be both emotionally full and empty.
( I am not too much older now than I was then but already I feel that ability to live in the moment, to bounce back from fear with hope and energy, dripping from my trembling fingers and swirling down into the numbingly anxious busyness of adult life. We graduate from college, or we get jobs, or we graduate and go back to school, leave the country or move back home, and never escape a world where self-preservation and the regulation of passion, of emotion, is required. ) ?
.
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