What will I do with my writing now?
Now that I have experienced what it is to write freely about myself and my life I will definetly reevaluate the way I write anything ever again. I intend on becoming an english teacher and I know that i will use my experience in this class as a part of my life as an educator. I dont know exactly how, but i do want to incorporate writing into the lives of as many people as i can. I hope that i can find time now to work on writing stories i am still trying to figure out such as my Carter story. I would definetly like to finish writing that piece and discover what it is i learned from the experience itself and the experience of writing about it. Other than that i cant quite say where my writing will take me or who my writing will effect if anyone at all, i just hope it eventually does both.
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
Monday, April 23, 2007
Reflection again...
Reflection
The essay I had difficulty with, but felt satisfied the most with once finished was Driving with Dad. This essay was not easy for me to write because I admitted some things that I found hard to say or write. My relationship with my father is difficult and it is apparent in my story that we do not always see things the same way, but my opinions as well as sly remarks are kept to myself. The writing process for this story was as important as the trial period of the piece. After writing a few paragraphs I would read this story to my mother, for an insider’s opinion and to ensure that I am not being too dramatic with my description of my father. The other person I would read this to is my boyfriend. He has not been around my father at all, but he helped me with the amusing aspect to the story to keep my focus as important as my reader’s attention. With an insider and an outsider’s opinion I feel that I maintained a decent balance of pure truth and amusement throughout the story. Some of the decisions I had to make while writing this paper were whether to leave out certain opinions about my father in case he were ever to read this piece or to put them in because they are just as much a part of the story as the actual events taking place. I decided that my opinion is as important and included my comments where I felt necessary in the story.
Another problem I had after I finished the story was deciding what enough information was and what was too much. I omitted some paragraphs because I tried to explain what my point is without realizing that it is understood through the story itself and doesn’t need an explanation. After revising, the story was shortened in some areas and longer in others. I added the paragraph about my great grandmother’s funeral at the end of my revising to try and bring a point to my story. I wanted it to become clear that despite the situation family is there for you. As I wrote my opinions and comments throughout the story I realized that my father’s intentions throughout the entire ordeal were purely to help me and my intention was to make him out as the bad guy. At the time of the driving events I did not think that anything that my father was trying to teach me was for my own good. I never appreciated the fact that he pushed me so hard because if he hadn’t I would have given up on learning to drive a manual transmission. I began writing the story with the purpose of exposing my father as the harsh and demanding person I have always seen him as, but came out of the story with a realization that he is not trying to control all aspects of life, mostly he is just pushing me to do the best I can. I also never appreciated the time he took out of his day to ensure that I was practicing driving and to make sure I was doing it right. I also felt it was important to include details about my family life as subtly as I can so that I wouldn’t divert the point of the story too far, but I could give some insight that I am not the only one that has difficulty with my father. My brother and I are very close in age and we have gone through similar situations with our parents learning to cope with their children growing up. I feel that this story also takes a position on what it is like growing up with my parents. Our father does not do much of the moral support, but he will always back us up. My sarcastic tone throughout the story helps bring out the real me. I am very dry and my attitude toward everything is very similar to my attitude throughout the story. I am also not very ambitious, especially with learning to do new things. My story helped me realize that I was being immature with the way I handled learning to drive with my father, and I will never tell him that I have come to that realization. Much of this story has to do with my difficulty in admitting that I may have acted wrong, or I could have handled things differently. That is what makes this story hard for me to read to anyone that knows my family, myself included.
The whole story bases around the idea that I am moving from the backseat, being driven where ever it is that my parents are taking me, to learning to drive and getting myself there. The point is that I have taken on a new position as the driver of my own life and no one can steer me anywhere I don’t want to go. I changed through this event because it not only helped me acquire a new skill, but gave me insight on what it is to take on something challenging. The satisfaction of learning and mastering something is amazing and it is important that that stays relevant in my story as a major focus. I enjoyed what I learned so much that I went on to buy a new car that was stick which is actually humorous to me now that I have written my story. And, my father isn’t such a bad guy after all.
The essay I had difficulty with, but felt satisfied the most with once finished was Driving with Dad. This essay was not easy for me to write because I admitted some things that I found hard to say or write. My relationship with my father is difficult and it is apparent in my story that we do not always see things the same way, but my opinions as well as sly remarks are kept to myself. The writing process for this story was as important as the trial period of the piece. After writing a few paragraphs I would read this story to my mother, for an insider’s opinion and to ensure that I am not being too dramatic with my description of my father. The other person I would read this to is my boyfriend. He has not been around my father at all, but he helped me with the amusing aspect to the story to keep my focus as important as my reader’s attention. With an insider and an outsider’s opinion I feel that I maintained a decent balance of pure truth and amusement throughout the story. Some of the decisions I had to make while writing this paper were whether to leave out certain opinions about my father in case he were ever to read this piece or to put them in because they are just as much a part of the story as the actual events taking place. I decided that my opinion is as important and included my comments where I felt necessary in the story.
Another problem I had after I finished the story was deciding what enough information was and what was too much. I omitted some paragraphs because I tried to explain what my point is without realizing that it is understood through the story itself and doesn’t need an explanation. After revising, the story was shortened in some areas and longer in others. I added the paragraph about my great grandmother’s funeral at the end of my revising to try and bring a point to my story. I wanted it to become clear that despite the situation family is there for you. As I wrote my opinions and comments throughout the story I realized that my father’s intentions throughout the entire ordeal were purely to help me and my intention was to make him out as the bad guy. At the time of the driving events I did not think that anything that my father was trying to teach me was for my own good. I never appreciated the fact that he pushed me so hard because if he hadn’t I would have given up on learning to drive a manual transmission. I began writing the story with the purpose of exposing my father as the harsh and demanding person I have always seen him as, but came out of the story with a realization that he is not trying to control all aspects of life, mostly he is just pushing me to do the best I can. I also never appreciated the time he took out of his day to ensure that I was practicing driving and to make sure I was doing it right. I also felt it was important to include details about my family life as subtly as I can so that I wouldn’t divert the point of the story too far, but I could give some insight that I am not the only one that has difficulty with my father. My brother and I are very close in age and we have gone through similar situations with our parents learning to cope with their children growing up. I feel that this story also takes a position on what it is like growing up with my parents. Our father does not do much of the moral support, but he will always back us up. My sarcastic tone throughout the story helps bring out the real me. I am very dry and my attitude toward everything is very similar to my attitude throughout the story. I am also not very ambitious, especially with learning to do new things. My story helped me realize that I was being immature with the way I handled learning to drive with my father, and I will never tell him that I have come to that realization. Much of this story has to do with my difficulty in admitting that I may have acted wrong, or I could have handled things differently. That is what makes this story hard for me to read to anyone that knows my family, myself included.
The whole story bases around the idea that I am moving from the backseat, being driven where ever it is that my parents are taking me, to learning to drive and getting myself there. The point is that I have taken on a new position as the driver of my own life and no one can steer me anywhere I don’t want to go. I changed through this event because it not only helped me acquire a new skill, but gave me insight on what it is to take on something challenging. The satisfaction of learning and mastering something is amazing and it is important that that stays relevant in my story as a major focus. I enjoyed what I learned so much that I went on to buy a new car that was stick which is actually humorous to me now that I have written my story. And, my father isn’t such a bad guy after all.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
reflection
The essay I had difficulty with, but felt satisfied the most with once finished was Driving with Dad. This essay was not easy for me to write because I admitted some things that I found hard to say or write. My relationship with my father is difficult and it is apparent in my story that we do not always see things the same way, but my opinions as well as sly remarks are kept to myself.
The writing process for this story was as important as the trial period of the piece. After writing a few paragraphs I would read this story to my mother, for an insiders opinion and to ensure that I am not being too dramatic with my description of my father. The other person I would read this to is my boyfriend. He has not been around my father at all, but he helped me with the amusing aspect to the story to keep my focus as important as my readers attention. With an insider and an outsiders opinion I feel that I maintained a decent balance of pure truth and amusement throughout the story.
Some of the decisions I had to make while writing this paper were whether to leave out certain opinions about my father in case he were ever to read this piece or to put them in because they are just as much a part of the story as the actual events taking place. I decided that my opinion is as important and included my comments where I felt necessary in the story.
As I wrote my opinions and comments throughout the story I realized that my fathers intentions throughout the entire ordeal were purely to help me and my intention was to make him out as the bad guy. At the time of the driving events I did not think that anything that my father was trying to teach me was for my own good. I never appreciated the fact that he pushed me so hard because if he hadn’t I would have given up on learning to drive a manual transmission. I began writing the story with the purpose of exposing my father as the harsh and demanding person I have always seen him as, but came out of the story with a realization that he is not being controlling in all aspects of life, mostly he is just pushing me to do the best I can.
I also felt it was important to include details about my family life as subtly as I can so that I wouldn’t divert the point of the story too far, but I could give some insight that I am not the only one that has difficulty with my father. My brother and I are very close in age and we have gone through similar situations with our parents learning to cope with their children growing up. I feel that this story also takes a position on what it is like growing up with my parents. Our father does not do much of the moral support, but he will always back us up.
My sarcastic tone throughout the story helps bring out the real me. I am very dry and my attitude toward everything is very similar to my attitude throughout the story. I am also not very ambitious, especially with learning to do new things. My story helped me realize that I was being immature with the way I handled learning to drive with my father, and I will never tell him that I have come to that realization. Much of this story has to do with my difficulty in admitting that I may have acted wrong, or I could have handled things differently. That is what makes this story hard for me to read to anyone that knows my family, myself included.
The whole story bases around the idea that I am moving from the backseat, being driven where ever it is that my parents are taking me, to learning to drive and getting myself there. The point is that I have taken on a new position as the driver of my own life and no one can steer me anywhere I don’t want to go anymore. I changed through this event because it not only helped me acquire a new skill, but gave me insight on what it is to take on something challenging. The satisfaction of learning and mastering something is amazing and it is important that that stays relevant in my story as a major focus. I enjoyed what I learned so much that I went on to buy a new car that was stick which is actually humorous to me now that I have written my story.
The writing process for this story was as important as the trial period of the piece. After writing a few paragraphs I would read this story to my mother, for an insiders opinion and to ensure that I am not being too dramatic with my description of my father. The other person I would read this to is my boyfriend. He has not been around my father at all, but he helped me with the amusing aspect to the story to keep my focus as important as my readers attention. With an insider and an outsiders opinion I feel that I maintained a decent balance of pure truth and amusement throughout the story.
Some of the decisions I had to make while writing this paper were whether to leave out certain opinions about my father in case he were ever to read this piece or to put them in because they are just as much a part of the story as the actual events taking place. I decided that my opinion is as important and included my comments where I felt necessary in the story.
As I wrote my opinions and comments throughout the story I realized that my fathers intentions throughout the entire ordeal were purely to help me and my intention was to make him out as the bad guy. At the time of the driving events I did not think that anything that my father was trying to teach me was for my own good. I never appreciated the fact that he pushed me so hard because if he hadn’t I would have given up on learning to drive a manual transmission. I began writing the story with the purpose of exposing my father as the harsh and demanding person I have always seen him as, but came out of the story with a realization that he is not being controlling in all aspects of life, mostly he is just pushing me to do the best I can.
I also felt it was important to include details about my family life as subtly as I can so that I wouldn’t divert the point of the story too far, but I could give some insight that I am not the only one that has difficulty with my father. My brother and I are very close in age and we have gone through similar situations with our parents learning to cope with their children growing up. I feel that this story also takes a position on what it is like growing up with my parents. Our father does not do much of the moral support, but he will always back us up.
My sarcastic tone throughout the story helps bring out the real me. I am very dry and my attitude toward everything is very similar to my attitude throughout the story. I am also not very ambitious, especially with learning to do new things. My story helped me realize that I was being immature with the way I handled learning to drive with my father, and I will never tell him that I have come to that realization. Much of this story has to do with my difficulty in admitting that I may have acted wrong, or I could have handled things differently. That is what makes this story hard for me to read to anyone that knows my family, myself included.
The whole story bases around the idea that I am moving from the backseat, being driven where ever it is that my parents are taking me, to learning to drive and getting myself there. The point is that I have taken on a new position as the driver of my own life and no one can steer me anywhere I don’t want to go anymore. I changed through this event because it not only helped me acquire a new skill, but gave me insight on what it is to take on something challenging. The satisfaction of learning and mastering something is amazing and it is important that that stays relevant in my story as a major focus. I enjoyed what I learned so much that I went on to buy a new car that was stick which is actually humorous to me now that I have written my story.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
...
The essay i will write my reflective piece on is Driving with Dad. I feel that this is the story i worked the most on and feel the closest to. I guess the general point is in the fact that writing this story i realized what my relationship with my father is like from a general honest point of view as in this is how it is/was/will be. There's no made up parts, its all the truth without trying to make anyone look like someone they are not. My point is honesty to myself and admitting things despite my lack of wanting to. I dont know what i will use for an organizing principle.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
relationship/material
How did your relationship to your material affect your composing process? Describe / compare the composing processes you usedfor the revised essays.
The relationship I have to my material differs in each piece. My relationship to my Carter story is one that i am still exploring and trying to figure out what it all means to me and i dont think that i am ready to get deep enough into that at this point in my life that i would be able to create a workable piece of literature, mostly because i am far too confused about it myself to ever expect someone else to understand it. My relationship to my nature piece is also sort of confusing. I want to work on the piece because i do understand what i felt about being outside and what an experience it was for me to be on my own with my friends and nature, despite the main intention on their part being "lets party". My relationship to my driving piece is better than any other piece. I analyze my relationship with my father on a pretty much daily basis and by writing about an experience i wont soon forget i can look back and see how my relationship with him has progressed, unlike the other works their is no progression at this time that directy affects my life. My relationship with my father will affect me daily until i move out again or one of us dies, even then i will analyze every aspect of my relationship with my father because much like my experience with losing carter.. i dont fully understand it yet. But my relationship to the work about my father affected my composing process because i could see the here and now and the "what was then" parts. being able to compare today to back then helped me see what i was getting at while writing this piece and maintain an interest hopefully on a readers aspect.
The relationship I have to my material differs in each piece. My relationship to my Carter story is one that i am still exploring and trying to figure out what it all means to me and i dont think that i am ready to get deep enough into that at this point in my life that i would be able to create a workable piece of literature, mostly because i am far too confused about it myself to ever expect someone else to understand it. My relationship to my nature piece is also sort of confusing. I want to work on the piece because i do understand what i felt about being outside and what an experience it was for me to be on my own with my friends and nature, despite the main intention on their part being "lets party". My relationship to my driving piece is better than any other piece. I analyze my relationship with my father on a pretty much daily basis and by writing about an experience i wont soon forget i can look back and see how my relationship with him has progressed, unlike the other works their is no progression at this time that directy affects my life. My relationship with my father will affect me daily until i move out again or one of us dies, even then i will analyze every aspect of my relationship with my father because much like my experience with losing carter.. i dont fully understand it yet. But my relationship to the work about my father affected my composing process because i could see the here and now and the "what was then" parts. being able to compare today to back then helped me see what i was getting at while writing this piece and maintain an interest hopefully on a readers aspect.
Sunday, April 8, 2007
Composing an Essay
Composing Driving with Dad
Activities- Prewriting, rough drafts, writing and reading to my mother, getting input from my mother and an outsider for perspective on what an audience wants and what I’m getting at, writing, reading, writing more.
Focus: I chose my focus by considering what memories I would like to relive and which ones I wouldn’t. I know that I don’t want to write about something that will be dull to everyone else because there is no relation to the topic. I felt that with this story the topic was general, learning to drive parallel to my relationship with my father. I organized my essay by choosing how I would like to segment it, where I would like to start, think about what background information I would like to give and what could be left out. Once I figured out what was important to the story, I began writing. Also, as a part of composing a story, I like to read what I write to people that may have been a part or a bystander to the situation I am writing about. For this story, I reflected on how I came about buying the car and learning to drive with my father, but read to my mother as I went along to see her reaction as an audience and her input as a character that I hardly involved, but knew what happened throughout the situation. I did not use journal entries for this, I remember most of what happened very clearly without having to look back at written accounts of it. I discovered what I had to say as I went along. I realized once I started getting into dialogue that my tone was going to be dry and that my point was to sympathize with both my father and I at some point in the story. I realized that it wasn’t just me learning something, but that my father was learning how to teach something. This helped me get through the story without losing focus or being too dull.
Activities- Prewriting, rough drafts, writing and reading to my mother, getting input from my mother and an outsider for perspective on what an audience wants and what I’m getting at, writing, reading, writing more.
Focus: I chose my focus by considering what memories I would like to relive and which ones I wouldn’t. I know that I don’t want to write about something that will be dull to everyone else because there is no relation to the topic. I felt that with this story the topic was general, learning to drive parallel to my relationship with my father. I organized my essay by choosing how I would like to segment it, where I would like to start, think about what background information I would like to give and what could be left out. Once I figured out what was important to the story, I began writing. Also, as a part of composing a story, I like to read what I write to people that may have been a part or a bystander to the situation I am writing about. For this story, I reflected on how I came about buying the car and learning to drive with my father, but read to my mother as I went along to see her reaction as an audience and her input as a character that I hardly involved, but knew what happened throughout the situation. I did not use journal entries for this, I remember most of what happened very clearly without having to look back at written accounts of it. I discovered what I had to say as I went along. I realized once I started getting into dialogue that my tone was going to be dry and that my point was to sympathize with both my father and I at some point in the story. I realized that it wasn’t just me learning something, but that my father was learning how to teach something. This helped me get through the story without losing focus or being too dull.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Literary Journalism??
Some Kind of Commitment
Commitment to me is as serious as life or death. It is the permanence in commitment that frightens me. I fear the fact that I may change my mind and it is
too late to turn back. There are many serious challenges I have yet to face in my life and what I am about to discuss is not nearly as life altering as I may make it seem.
It is purely intrigue on my part that drives me to discuss it. It is the intrigue of the commitment to the art and the work that makes me eager to learn more.
It’s 10:30 on a Monday night, I pick Brian up and we drive to his mom’s house two towns away. We’ve been there plenty of times but now we’re going with
a distinct purpose other than just stopping in to say hello. We park and run into the house, out of the rain. His mom is watching TV in the living room, his brother,
Paul, runs down the stairs to see who just walked through the door. The dogs greet us and I pet one of them and playfully squish his face with the palms of my
hands. Paul is sent back to bed because it’s a school night. Nicole comes downstairs, we all walk into the kitchen. I thank her for delaying her outing to discuss her
job with me. Nicoleand I sit at the kitchen table and Brian stands to the side so he doesn’t blow smoke in our faces. I thank her yet again for giving me her time. Nicole is a 21-year-old apprentice at a tattoo shop. She has been apprenticing for Black Work Tattoo for about a year. She begins telling me about a job
opportunity that passed her by because she is a woman. Another local shop needed help but when she applied, they declined her on the basis that she did not have
enough experience and she is obviously a female. She tells me, “The guy I work for now found me on myspace. He saw my page and contacted me about an open
position he had at his shop. I checked it out and now I have been there for a year. I really like it. He is a great boss; working under him has been a great experience.
He is very patient and great mentor.” Tattooing is not just a hobby it is a lifestyle and commitment. In most states, a person is required by law to do apprentice work before they can be
considered a professional. The aspiring artist can choose whoever they would like to be their mentor and usually pays a fee to the mentor for the training they will
receive over the period of time it may take for them to become experienced enough to do it on their own. There is no limit as to how long it may take someone to
become a professional tattoo artist. This is definitely not an overnight certification. The dedication and hard work it takes to become a professional depends on the
individuals drive and passion. It also requires sacrifice of personal time and other interests. Nicole has been drawing for years. She tells me, “I really like to draw Sacred Hearts. The best piece I have drawn so far is a sacred heart with a guitar and
music staff. I don’t have anyone to tattoo it on yet, but I would really love to do it. I draw a lot of swallows, dice, flames and pin up girls. I am working on a big piece on
this woman’s back. Its wings, but she only has half done because she can’t afford to finish it yet.” Most people do not realize it but tattoos can be expensive. With
shows like Miami Ink on television, people have false ideas on what it is like to get a tattoo. Shows like this only display the happy customers coming in with an idea
of what they would like, coming back when the work is drawn up, sharing a happy story about the meaning behind the tattoo and leaving satisfied. They don’t
portray the time and effort it takes the artist to draw up something new, or the wait there might be from other customers arriving first. The price is never shown on
television and people are always happy. In reality this is not true. “Some people really think it’s a quick process. They don’t understand that it takes time and sometimes other people got there first. People come in on their
lunch breaks and try to rush us along. It’s a long process. If you rush it the results wont be the same. People also try and argue the price of the tattoo. What they
don’t understand is that if I did it for free, I wouldn’t be making any money! People always try and get you to lower the price but it’s hard, sometimes business is slow
and you don’t make very much at all. Other times there is good days and the customers are great.” The dedication on the artists side is intense. Nicole tells me about painting. She smiles and begins talking about how much she enjoys painting. The smile
fades, “I cant paint much anymore. I really don’t have time. When you’re not at the shop you’re drawing, when you’re not drawing your tattooing. I have to keep
working at it all the time. Even if I had the time to paint it would interfere with my ability to tattoo because they are two different styles. It was hard for me at first to
grasp the difference in tattooing. But, once I caught on I realized I couldn’t try and switch between the two, it would just set me back in my progress to becoming a
professional. " I could not imagine giving up so much free time and other passions like she has. The work is hard and the rewards are not always great. An artist may work
hard at a piece only to have to customer want to change things or argue about a price. Not everyone wants a custom drawn piece though. “Sometimes people just
come in and pick something off the wall. It’s not the same as doing one of my own drawings but it’s work and it pays.” The sexism in this country is prevalent everywhere but most people don’t realize how bad it truly is. When I think of discrimination in the workforce I think
of women being passed up for jobs because they are women. I also think about the company I work for and the fact that none of the stores have female managers.
There are plenty of female assistant managers, but none of them actually run the store, coincidence or discrimination? Most people do not think of how this sexism
carries over into every job, not just huge corporate or political ones. It is also common amongst jobs like Nicole's. Despite the fact that everyone in the shop shares a
passion for tattoos and piercing, there is still tension because she is a woman and the rest of the workers are men. People are quicker to judge Nicole’s ability to
draw or tattoo because she is a woman, not based on her ability or work. She tells me about the people that come in and ask her for one of the guys that are available and an employee that started their working relationship off
bady because she is the opposite sex. "When I got the job at Black Work, one of the guys tried hitting on me. I rejected him and he took it pretty bad. We don't get
along very well now and I'm pretty sure that has a lot to do with it." Nicole tells me. Besides that particular employee, Nicole doesn't have much of a problem with
anyone else. "I get along pretty well with everyone except that particular guy. They look at me like a little sister. They will joke around and mess with me all the time.
It's the customers that have a problem with me being a woman sometimes. Some guys will try and hit on me while I am tattooing them. Other people will ask for one
of the other employees when I try to take them as a prospective customer. They'll ask if anyone else is free because they can see the rest of them are guys. A few
people do feel more comfortable though. A lot of couples come in and the boyfriend or husband is more comfortable with me tattooing his girlfriend or wife. It's really
50/50." It's understandable that in this business people must feel confident in the person tattooing them. This is a permanent piece of artwork that someone will
take with them for the rest of their life. It is unfortunate that people generally only put their faith in the male population of the tattooing business. There are many
women in the tattooing business that are just as sucessfull and talented as the males they work with. But it is a biased point of view on the customers behalf and
television has not helped this at all. Going back to Miami Ink, there is only one woman shown working in the shop. This doesn't help change people's opinion on the
matter of women being tattoo artists. When media sets up shows like this they don't seem to be taking into consideration that people are affected by it. Reality
television is obviously not completely true and that is why there are credits at the end. But, people still think that the show is true to a large extent. But I doubt that
every shop only has one female artist. There are plenty of webisites that are dedicated to only female tattoo artists. I read about one convention held for only the
female's in the industry. I think it is important for people to understand that this bias is what keeps females second to males in our nation. When people can
understand that biased opinions dont help with progression in our nation then things will finally be able to change. The public should push for broader views on
subjects, reality television can help change this. When people start becoming interested in the unknown or ideas outside the norm people like Nicole will benefit from it.
For my eighteenths birthday I wanted to get a tattoo. I chickened out. Not because I was afraid of the pain, the needles or anything like that. But I was afraid of the commitment. I change my mind about things constantly and I knew that if I got a tattoo within a couple of minutes to a couple of months I would regret it and want something different, or nothing at all. This also happened to me when I turned sixteen and my parents finally said yes to a bellybutton ring. I backed out. Again, this was not because of fear of pain or needles, but for fear of commitment. I didn’t want to have the scar on my belly if I changed my mind about the piercing. I have still not gotten any tattoos; I would like one, maybe. But I know that until I see something that I can’t live without having I should stick to nothing at all. So I will stick with my ears pierced and my empty canvas until the day comes that I can make up my mind for sure. But I will appreciate the artwork other people take with them everyday that shows through their cloths on their bodies. I will respect the time and effort that someone put into that piece and know that behind that ink is practice, emotion and commitment.
Commitment to me is as serious as life or death. It is the permanence in commitment that frightens me. I fear the fact that I may change my mind and it is
too late to turn back. There are many serious challenges I have yet to face in my life and what I am about to discuss is not nearly as life altering as I may make it seem.
It is purely intrigue on my part that drives me to discuss it. It is the intrigue of the commitment to the art and the work that makes me eager to learn more.
It’s 10:30 on a Monday night, I pick Brian up and we drive to his mom’s house two towns away. We’ve been there plenty of times but now we’re going with
a distinct purpose other than just stopping in to say hello. We park and run into the house, out of the rain. His mom is watching TV in the living room, his brother,
Paul, runs down the stairs to see who just walked through the door. The dogs greet us and I pet one of them and playfully squish his face with the palms of my
hands. Paul is sent back to bed because it’s a school night. Nicole comes downstairs, we all walk into the kitchen. I thank her for delaying her outing to discuss her
job with me. Nicoleand I sit at the kitchen table and Brian stands to the side so he doesn’t blow smoke in our faces. I thank her yet again for giving me her time. Nicole is a 21-year-old apprentice at a tattoo shop. She has been apprenticing for Black Work Tattoo for about a year. She begins telling me about a job
opportunity that passed her by because she is a woman. Another local shop needed help but when she applied, they declined her on the basis that she did not have
enough experience and she is obviously a female. She tells me, “The guy I work for now found me on myspace. He saw my page and contacted me about an open
position he had at his shop. I checked it out and now I have been there for a year. I really like it. He is a great boss; working under him has been a great experience.
He is very patient and great mentor.” Tattooing is not just a hobby it is a lifestyle and commitment. In most states, a person is required by law to do apprentice work before they can be
considered a professional. The aspiring artist can choose whoever they would like to be their mentor and usually pays a fee to the mentor for the training they will
receive over the period of time it may take for them to become experienced enough to do it on their own. There is no limit as to how long it may take someone to
become a professional tattoo artist. This is definitely not an overnight certification. The dedication and hard work it takes to become a professional depends on the
individuals drive and passion. It also requires sacrifice of personal time and other interests. Nicole has been drawing for years. She tells me, “I really like to draw Sacred Hearts. The best piece I have drawn so far is a sacred heart with a guitar and
music staff. I don’t have anyone to tattoo it on yet, but I would really love to do it. I draw a lot of swallows, dice, flames and pin up girls. I am working on a big piece on
this woman’s back. Its wings, but she only has half done because she can’t afford to finish it yet.” Most people do not realize it but tattoos can be expensive. With
shows like Miami Ink on television, people have false ideas on what it is like to get a tattoo. Shows like this only display the happy customers coming in with an idea
of what they would like, coming back when the work is drawn up, sharing a happy story about the meaning behind the tattoo and leaving satisfied. They don’t
portray the time and effort it takes the artist to draw up something new, or the wait there might be from other customers arriving first. The price is never shown on
television and people are always happy. In reality this is not true. “Some people really think it’s a quick process. They don’t understand that it takes time and sometimes other people got there first. People come in on their
lunch breaks and try to rush us along. It’s a long process. If you rush it the results wont be the same. People also try and argue the price of the tattoo. What they
don’t understand is that if I did it for free, I wouldn’t be making any money! People always try and get you to lower the price but it’s hard, sometimes business is slow
and you don’t make very much at all. Other times there is good days and the customers are great.” The dedication on the artists side is intense. Nicole tells me about painting. She smiles and begins talking about how much she enjoys painting. The smile
fades, “I cant paint much anymore. I really don’t have time. When you’re not at the shop you’re drawing, when you’re not drawing your tattooing. I have to keep
working at it all the time. Even if I had the time to paint it would interfere with my ability to tattoo because they are two different styles. It was hard for me at first to
grasp the difference in tattooing. But, once I caught on I realized I couldn’t try and switch between the two, it would just set me back in my progress to becoming a
professional. " I could not imagine giving up so much free time and other passions like she has. The work is hard and the rewards are not always great. An artist may work
hard at a piece only to have to customer want to change things or argue about a price. Not everyone wants a custom drawn piece though. “Sometimes people just
come in and pick something off the wall. It’s not the same as doing one of my own drawings but it’s work and it pays.” The sexism in this country is prevalent everywhere but most people don’t realize how bad it truly is. When I think of discrimination in the workforce I think
of women being passed up for jobs because they are women. I also think about the company I work for and the fact that none of the stores have female managers.
There are plenty of female assistant managers, but none of them actually run the store, coincidence or discrimination? Most people do not think of how this sexism
carries over into every job, not just huge corporate or political ones. It is also common amongst jobs like Nicole's. Despite the fact that everyone in the shop shares a
passion for tattoos and piercing, there is still tension because she is a woman and the rest of the workers are men. People are quicker to judge Nicole’s ability to
draw or tattoo because she is a woman, not based on her ability or work. She tells me about the people that come in and ask her for one of the guys that are available and an employee that started their working relationship off
bady because she is the opposite sex. "When I got the job at Black Work, one of the guys tried hitting on me. I rejected him and he took it pretty bad. We don't get
along very well now and I'm pretty sure that has a lot to do with it." Nicole tells me. Besides that particular employee, Nicole doesn't have much of a problem with
anyone else. "I get along pretty well with everyone except that particular guy. They look at me like a little sister. They will joke around and mess with me all the time.
It's the customers that have a problem with me being a woman sometimes. Some guys will try and hit on me while I am tattooing them. Other people will ask for one
of the other employees when I try to take them as a prospective customer. They'll ask if anyone else is free because they can see the rest of them are guys. A few
people do feel more comfortable though. A lot of couples come in and the boyfriend or husband is more comfortable with me tattooing his girlfriend or wife. It's really
50/50." It's understandable that in this business people must feel confident in the person tattooing them. This is a permanent piece of artwork that someone will
take with them for the rest of their life. It is unfortunate that people generally only put their faith in the male population of the tattooing business. There are many
women in the tattooing business that are just as sucessfull and talented as the males they work with. But it is a biased point of view on the customers behalf and
television has not helped this at all. Going back to Miami Ink, there is only one woman shown working in the shop. This doesn't help change people's opinion on the
matter of women being tattoo artists. When media sets up shows like this they don't seem to be taking into consideration that people are affected by it. Reality
television is obviously not completely true and that is why there are credits at the end. But, people still think that the show is true to a large extent. But I doubt that
every shop only has one female artist. There are plenty of webisites that are dedicated to only female tattoo artists. I read about one convention held for only the
female's in the industry. I think it is important for people to understand that this bias is what keeps females second to males in our nation. When people can
understand that biased opinions dont help with progression in our nation then things will finally be able to change. The public should push for broader views on
subjects, reality television can help change this. When people start becoming interested in the unknown or ideas outside the norm people like Nicole will benefit from it.
For my eighteenths birthday I wanted to get a tattoo. I chickened out. Not because I was afraid of the pain, the needles or anything like that. But I was afraid of the commitment. I change my mind about things constantly and I knew that if I got a tattoo within a couple of minutes to a couple of months I would regret it and want something different, or nothing at all. This also happened to me when I turned sixteen and my parents finally said yes to a bellybutton ring. I backed out. Again, this was not because of fear of pain or needles, but for fear of commitment. I didn’t want to have the scar on my belly if I changed my mind about the piercing. I have still not gotten any tattoos; I would like one, maybe. But I know that until I see something that I can’t live without having I should stick to nothing at all. So I will stick with my ears pierced and my empty canvas until the day comes that I can make up my mind for sure. But I will appreciate the artwork other people take with them everyday that shows through their cloths on their bodies. I will respect the time and effort that someone put into that piece and know that behind that ink is practice, emotion and commitment.
Friday, March 9, 2007
Next topic...
I am thinking about writing about seeing bands play at small venues and what goes on for the setting up, or with the band before the show actually takes place. I want to tie it in with how I appreciate the show more knowing that there is a lot of effort taking place behind the scenes, and a lot of nervousness, tension, excitement and so on that the band goes through to make sure their audience is satisfied enough to come back and see them again. I can interview a number of people from my town because we are like Band Town, USA. or i can interview some people at the venues about what its like to work for places like that and what goes on that people never really know about...
For my nature piece I want to write about going to West Hudson Park in my town and how it has changed over the years and the ducks that occupy the pond during the summer and the wild animals that occupy it during the nights and cold winters... at least this is what i'm thinking for now.
For my nature piece I want to write about going to West Hudson Park in my town and how it has changed over the years and the ducks that occupy the pond during the summer and the wild animals that occupy it during the nights and cold winters... at least this is what i'm thinking for now.
Driving with Dad
My head is spinning and my stomach is turning. “Can you lower the window, please?” I shout to the front of the car from the back of the Mazda minivan. Motion sickness is not fun, especially from the back seat of a van with three other screaming kids and an angry father. I put my head in my hands and try not to throw up. Life from the backseat is not a life lived, it’s a life tortured.
It’s the summer before my freshman year of college and I just got my license. School starts in 2 months and I still don’t have a car to get there. Public transportation conflicts with my motion sickness, busses, trains, planes, everything makes me want to puke.
Two blocks from my house there is a little red car with a for sale sign in the window. My father notices it and takes down the number and information. He liked the car, I personally could care less. At that time I didn’t think I would ever care what the car I drive in looks like, I just want to have that freedom to drive- period.
“The car is for sale, the guy wants $800 for it but I could probably talk him down to 7.” My father thinks he’s a master bargainer. “Its red, it’s a 1994, or is it 95? I don’t know. Mazda, they’re good cars. It’s in good condition. The guy said it has new tires, I think. There’s 139,000 miles on it. But for that price it will just get you from A to B.” I stare at my father as he continues talking about some piece of crap around the corner that I have still yet to see. “Oh! It’s also stick shift so I’ll teach you to drive it.” I look at him blankly. He walks away I mumble a sarcastic “wonderful” and he turns around. “Let me know if you want to buy it so I can call the guy.”
I had money left over from my graduation party a few weeks prior. I could just about afford the car with some extra cash in the bank to maintain a decent balance. If I bought the car I wouldn’t need to make monthly payments and the insurance estimated to be $600 a year. The car and the insurance were both pathetic.
We test drove the car. We meaning my father. I sat in the backseat. He wanted to make sure the car could handle some sharp turns and a little rough driving. I wanted to puke. The guy selling the car was really nice. The car was in pretty good condition for the age. There wasn’t a CD player but then again I don’t have very many CD’s and tapes are cheaper anyway. I went for the bumpy ride squished in the backseat of a two door Mazda MX3. I liked the car, but I didn’t want to learn to drive it. Not with my father at least.
My father has never had much patience. He was never good at helping with homework or listening to any of us tell a pointless story. If you can’t hit the highlight of a story in under three minutes, you lost him. My brother Ryan has always been a story teller, I think that’s why my father can’t stand him. He would start a story, tell you the whole background, the names of everyone involved including pointless characters and then proceed to include what each person had on their feet before he got to the conclusion, if their even was one. “Not right now” is something Ryan heard often.
When I was 6 my father took Ryan and me horseback riding. Ryan was 4. The man said not to put both of us on the horse at the same time. The saddle could only hold one child at a time. My dad knows more than the horse handler, so he put us both on. When the horse got irritated enough, he threw me off the back. I cried. My dad said, “What do you do when you get thrown off a horse?” I said “cry?” He said, “No. You get back on and keep riding.” I didn’t want to keep riding. I wanted to keep crying, but he knew what was best, so the horseback riding continued until our time was up.
“So you want to go for your first driving lesson?” My dad asks as I sit in front of the computer. I personally would rather continue chatting with my friends and looking up song lyrics than go driving anywhere with him. “Sure Dad. Let’s go.” I reply, trying to seem interested so I don’t get in trouble.
He jumps in the drivers seat and I in the passenger seat. This is the only time in my life I would rather be in the back trying not to throw up. Instead I’m in the front trying not to cry because I know what will happen when I don’t catch on quickly.
I never closely watched someone drive a stick shift before, never mind thought about driving one. Now I have to learn- and fast. He shows me how to start the car. “Press the clutch down, turn the key. Check to make sure the gears are in neutral. Then let go of the clutch to let the car warm up.” He’s talking and I’m trying to listen. Gears? Neutral? What is he talking about? I thought you turned the key and drove away. Now there’s changing and pressing different pedals and gears. Why are there three pedals? Stop, go and what? I begin to panic, but quietly. I cannot show my fear! Not to my father at least. If I can hold in the crying until I’m with Mom, I’m safe. Mom will never yell at you for crying. Only dad’s do that.
So my driving lesson from the passenger seat continues. He drives, I look out the window. My father glances over at me, “What are you looking out the window for?! Watch my feet! You can’t learn if you don’t watch!” So I divert my attention back to his feet. Press this one, let go to press that one on and on. He catches me looking out the window again. This time he pulls over and says, “Go ahead, you drive now.” I think great, now I’m in trouble. Maybe if his shoes were nicer it would have been easier to watch, but they weren’t so I just couldn’t pay attention.
He turned the car off and we switch seats. I only learned how to drive a few months ago and didn’t have much practice on an automatic, this was going to be impossible. I sit in the seat and adjust it to what I think feels right. He grows impatient. I look over at him and he’s fidgeting. “Ok. So how do I do this?” I ask.
“Well ya know if you were paying attention instead of looking out the damn window you would know!” he tells me. My throat tenses and I know that from this point on, things only get harder. I try not to cry yet. There really is no reason to cry except that I’d rather be sitting at the computer doing nothing than here with him. He tells me again how to start the car. My first lesson left me dizzy and nauseous. I stalled out more than I drove. I couldn’t believe how hard it was to drive stick. I also couldn’t figure out why anyone in their right mind would want to do all that work when there’s automatic cars in the world!
The next few lessons didn’t end as well. I usually came in from driving crying, and sometimes even left for the driving lesson crying. Once I finally got the hang of stop and go we moved on to harder things like hills. How hard could a hill really be? Well, much harder than I thought. I had no idea that a stick shift car would continue to roll backwards if you didn’t catch the first gear right. So backwards I rolled.
When I was finally good enough to drive on my own I took my car to work. I was still a little shaky on hills but never really drove anywhere that had serious hills. So I took my car to work, the other side of town, downhill. I left work, nervous because I knew that I would have to go up hills to get home. Well, I was definitely right to be nervous because I got stuck on the first hill I turned up. I called my dad crying. “I’m stuck on this hill and the stupid car stalled and I don’t know how I’m going to get home, I turned it on and it started rolling back! The E break isn’t even helping! Dad, where are you?!”
My dad came to get me. He pulled up in a truck behind my car and stayed on the phone with me. “Start the car, put it in first.” He began to coach me. “Stay calm, stop your crying! Just put it in first and gas it.” I did what he said and redlined the car all the way up the hill in first. I didn’t drive up that hill again for a very long time.
I kept the Mazda for over a year and then was given some money from a family member. I used it to put a down payment on a new car. I bought a Scion TC. It is a stick shift. I love the car, and I love knowing how to drive a stick. Despite how hard the lessons were with my father I still enjoy driving stick since I actually figured it out. Now I’ve been driving for a while and Ryan is soon to get his license. I asked him if he wanted to learn how to drive a stick shift. He said, “Yeah, can you teach me?” I laughed because I knew exactly what he was thinking. I had been there just two years ago. I felt the same dread of driving with Dad as he does now. I told him I would but I know my father will ultimately be the one to teach him. I don’t have much patience anyway.
The freedom I have from getting my license alone is beyond rewarding. Being able to drive a stick is even better. A lot of my friends have asked me to teach them, but secretly I don’t think I ever will because I like having a skill that they don’t, even if it’s one that was painfully acquired and dreaded at first.
I am glad that I no longer have to sit in the back seat and yell to the person driving to roll the windows down so I don’t puke. I am glad that my father took the time to teach me how to drive. I just wish that it could have been a more pleasant experience. But then again, maybe if he didn’t push me to do it, I never would have even learned. But I will never tell him that I appreciate it, I am far too stubborn for that.
It’s the summer before my freshman year of college and I just got my license. School starts in 2 months and I still don’t have a car to get there. Public transportation conflicts with my motion sickness, busses, trains, planes, everything makes me want to puke.
Two blocks from my house there is a little red car with a for sale sign in the window. My father notices it and takes down the number and information. He liked the car, I personally could care less. At that time I didn’t think I would ever care what the car I drive in looks like, I just want to have that freedom to drive- period.
“The car is for sale, the guy wants $800 for it but I could probably talk him down to 7.” My father thinks he’s a master bargainer. “Its red, it’s a 1994, or is it 95? I don’t know. Mazda, they’re good cars. It’s in good condition. The guy said it has new tires, I think. There’s 139,000 miles on it. But for that price it will just get you from A to B.” I stare at my father as he continues talking about some piece of crap around the corner that I have still yet to see. “Oh! It’s also stick shift so I’ll teach you to drive it.” I look at him blankly. He walks away I mumble a sarcastic “wonderful” and he turns around. “Let me know if you want to buy it so I can call the guy.”
I had money left over from my graduation party a few weeks prior. I could just about afford the car with some extra cash in the bank to maintain a decent balance. If I bought the car I wouldn’t need to make monthly payments and the insurance estimated to be $600 a year. The car and the insurance were both pathetic.
We test drove the car. We meaning my father. I sat in the backseat. He wanted to make sure the car could handle some sharp turns and a little rough driving. I wanted to puke. The guy selling the car was really nice. The car was in pretty good condition for the age. There wasn’t a CD player but then again I don’t have very many CD’s and tapes are cheaper anyway. I went for the bumpy ride squished in the backseat of a two door Mazda MX3. I liked the car, but I didn’t want to learn to drive it. Not with my father at least.
My father has never had much patience. He was never good at helping with homework or listening to any of us tell a pointless story. If you can’t hit the highlight of a story in under three minutes, you lost him. My brother Ryan has always been a story teller, I think that’s why my father can’t stand him. He would start a story, tell you the whole background, the names of everyone involved including pointless characters and then proceed to include what each person had on their feet before he got to the conclusion, if their even was one. “Not right now” is something Ryan heard often.
When I was 6 my father took Ryan and me horseback riding. Ryan was 4. The man said not to put both of us on the horse at the same time. The saddle could only hold one child at a time. My dad knows more than the horse handler, so he put us both on. When the horse got irritated enough, he threw me off the back. I cried. My dad said, “What do you do when you get thrown off a horse?” I said “cry?” He said, “No. You get back on and keep riding.” I didn’t want to keep riding. I wanted to keep crying, but he knew what was best, so the horseback riding continued until our time was up.
“So you want to go for your first driving lesson?” My dad asks as I sit in front of the computer. I personally would rather continue chatting with my friends and looking up song lyrics than go driving anywhere with him. “Sure Dad. Let’s go.” I reply, trying to seem interested so I don’t get in trouble.
He jumps in the drivers seat and I in the passenger seat. This is the only time in my life I would rather be in the back trying not to throw up. Instead I’m in the front trying not to cry because I know what will happen when I don’t catch on quickly.
I never closely watched someone drive a stick shift before, never mind thought about driving one. Now I have to learn- and fast. He shows me how to start the car. “Press the clutch down, turn the key. Check to make sure the gears are in neutral. Then let go of the clutch to let the car warm up.” He’s talking and I’m trying to listen. Gears? Neutral? What is he talking about? I thought you turned the key and drove away. Now there’s changing and pressing different pedals and gears. Why are there three pedals? Stop, go and what? I begin to panic, but quietly. I cannot show my fear! Not to my father at least. If I can hold in the crying until I’m with Mom, I’m safe. Mom will never yell at you for crying. Only dad’s do that.
So my driving lesson from the passenger seat continues. He drives, I look out the window. My father glances over at me, “What are you looking out the window for?! Watch my feet! You can’t learn if you don’t watch!” So I divert my attention back to his feet. Press this one, let go to press that one on and on. He catches me looking out the window again. This time he pulls over and says, “Go ahead, you drive now.” I think great, now I’m in trouble. Maybe if his shoes were nicer it would have been easier to watch, but they weren’t so I just couldn’t pay attention.
He turned the car off and we switch seats. I only learned how to drive a few months ago and didn’t have much practice on an automatic, this was going to be impossible. I sit in the seat and adjust it to what I think feels right. He grows impatient. I look over at him and he’s fidgeting. “Ok. So how do I do this?” I ask.
“Well ya know if you were paying attention instead of looking out the damn window you would know!” he tells me. My throat tenses and I know that from this point on, things only get harder. I try not to cry yet. There really is no reason to cry except that I’d rather be sitting at the computer doing nothing than here with him. He tells me again how to start the car. My first lesson left me dizzy and nauseous. I stalled out more than I drove. I couldn’t believe how hard it was to drive stick. I also couldn’t figure out why anyone in their right mind would want to do all that work when there’s automatic cars in the world!
The next few lessons didn’t end as well. I usually came in from driving crying, and sometimes even left for the driving lesson crying. Once I finally got the hang of stop and go we moved on to harder things like hills. How hard could a hill really be? Well, much harder than I thought. I had no idea that a stick shift car would continue to roll backwards if you didn’t catch the first gear right. So backwards I rolled.
When I was finally good enough to drive on my own I took my car to work. I was still a little shaky on hills but never really drove anywhere that had serious hills. So I took my car to work, the other side of town, downhill. I left work, nervous because I knew that I would have to go up hills to get home. Well, I was definitely right to be nervous because I got stuck on the first hill I turned up. I called my dad crying. “I’m stuck on this hill and the stupid car stalled and I don’t know how I’m going to get home, I turned it on and it started rolling back! The E break isn’t even helping! Dad, where are you?!”
My dad came to get me. He pulled up in a truck behind my car and stayed on the phone with me. “Start the car, put it in first.” He began to coach me. “Stay calm, stop your crying! Just put it in first and gas it.” I did what he said and redlined the car all the way up the hill in first. I didn’t drive up that hill again for a very long time.
I kept the Mazda for over a year and then was given some money from a family member. I used it to put a down payment on a new car. I bought a Scion TC. It is a stick shift. I love the car, and I love knowing how to drive a stick. Despite how hard the lessons were with my father I still enjoy driving stick since I actually figured it out. Now I’ve been driving for a while and Ryan is soon to get his license. I asked him if he wanted to learn how to drive a stick shift. He said, “Yeah, can you teach me?” I laughed because I knew exactly what he was thinking. I had been there just two years ago. I felt the same dread of driving with Dad as he does now. I told him I would but I know my father will ultimately be the one to teach him. I don’t have much patience anyway.
The freedom I have from getting my license alone is beyond rewarding. Being able to drive a stick is even better. A lot of my friends have asked me to teach them, but secretly I don’t think I ever will because I like having a skill that they don’t, even if it’s one that was painfully acquired and dreaded at first.
I am glad that I no longer have to sit in the back seat and yell to the person driving to roll the windows down so I don’t puke. I am glad that my father took the time to teach me how to drive. I just wish that it could have been a more pleasant experience. But then again, maybe if he didn’t push me to do it, I never would have even learned. But I will never tell him that I appreciate it, I am far too stubborn for that.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Resonse to discussion of Frey
I feel that Frey wrote his story for the pure purpose of having it published and to make some money. It is unfortunate that Frey published his work as non fiction instead of the fiction story it really is. An author should take into consideration that readers are affected by what they are taking in. Frey talked about certain topics that could really give vulnerable readers the wrong ideas on being an alcoholic or drug addict and not needing any real help to kick the habit. He also gives readers a false idea of what it is like to be in prison, a breezy three months of reading that goes by like free time. Authors have the responsibility to take readers and their real lives into consideration. Someone reading this story may be severely affected by what they take out of it and it could give them false hope for similar situations that may be happening in their life.
"Truth" can be something that actually happened, or the way you honestly remember something happening. Truth is not something you know is far from the reality of a situation. Since people have different perspectives it is hard for an author to determine how someone reading the work will take it in. An author cannot account for EVERYones perspective, some topics just wont appeal to some people and that’s fine. Crossing lines is difficult in writing, because there aren’t many boundaries. To me, a writer crossing a boundary would be something along the lines of a rapist trying to write to a female based audience with a sympathetic tone. Other than that, writing should not have a lot of limitations. I also don’t think that the category of the story really matters to everyone, mostly just very easily influenced readers. If a story is good and it keeps the reader turning pages then it has served its purpose to entertain and intrigue people, unless it’s specifically written as a do it yourself or self help book.
I think that rounding corners is necessary to keep a story interesting. Just because all the events led up to the ultimate outcome doesn’t mean that they will carry the reader through the story easily. Sometimes exaggerating or making things up helps for the entertainment purposes. Changing names is necessary in some cases also because it is not up to the author to decide what people will know about real characters and what they won’t know. Since writing is biased on the authors’ part, depicting a real life person in a story will be unfair even if they are portrayed as a saint. Changing names just helps keep the characters real lives private. Sometimes making composite characters can be a good thing depending on the part they play. As long as the writer isn’t combining two different people or events to create the main part of the story, then small alterations are pretty harmless.
"Truth" can be something that actually happened, or the way you honestly remember something happening. Truth is not something you know is far from the reality of a situation. Since people have different perspectives it is hard for an author to determine how someone reading the work will take it in. An author cannot account for EVERYones perspective, some topics just wont appeal to some people and that’s fine. Crossing lines is difficult in writing, because there aren’t many boundaries. To me, a writer crossing a boundary would be something along the lines of a rapist trying to write to a female based audience with a sympathetic tone. Other than that, writing should not have a lot of limitations. I also don’t think that the category of the story really matters to everyone, mostly just very easily influenced readers. If a story is good and it keeps the reader turning pages then it has served its purpose to entertain and intrigue people, unless it’s specifically written as a do it yourself or self help book.
I think that rounding corners is necessary to keep a story interesting. Just because all the events led up to the ultimate outcome doesn’t mean that they will carry the reader through the story easily. Sometimes exaggerating or making things up helps for the entertainment purposes. Changing names is necessary in some cases also because it is not up to the author to decide what people will know about real characters and what they won’t know. Since writing is biased on the authors’ part, depicting a real life person in a story will be unfair even if they are portrayed as a saint. Changing names just helps keep the characters real lives private. Sometimes making composite characters can be a good thing depending on the part they play. As long as the writer isn’t combining two different people or events to create the main part of the story, then small alterations are pretty harmless.
Monday, February 5, 2007
unfinished draft...
Losing Carter
It's early in the morning, well, 9:00 am, as early as I'll ever be up and outside my house. I jump in my car. I push down on the clutch and turn the key. I check to make sure the gears are in neutral. I wait for the car to warm up and channel through the stations. Nothing good on; so I will stick with one station and wait it out. I hope that something good comes on soon.
I pull away leaving my rarity of a good parking spot open for someone else to acquire for the next few minutes, hours, days, whatever. Finally, a song comes on that I love. I crank the radio up. I push the gas a little harder. Nothing can touch me now; there is nothing else but me, the car, the song, the road. I drive faster, I turn quicker, my heart beats with the song and everything is perfect. At that moment, nothing else matters. Where I'm going, where I'm coming from, who I will see when I get there, what I will hear or say are all not important to me at this time. Just me, the car, the song, the road. That is what matters right now. I pull up to my destination. Park. The song ends, I get out of the car. Music no longer fills my car, my heart, or my mind. The sounds of real life and its everyday movement come back to me and I lose all feeling of carelessness, invincibility and genuine happiness.
To me, that is a realization. Life is not always your favorite song blasting out of your car stereo. Life is stepping out of the car into the real world and letting go of the feelings inside you wish you could have all day- everyday; feelings that no one will hurt you, nothing can bother you, life is good.
In high school my best friend, Julie, and I would rush to her house after school. Plop our books on the floor and pick out a CD that best fit our mood. No matter what kind of day we had, there was always a CD to make it better. Family problems? Pantera will fix that. Boyfriend problems? How about Faith No More. Want to feel depressed? Type O Negative is the answer. Want to be goofy? How about some oldies. We danced when we wanted to be happy, we moped when we wanted to be lazy, we laid with our feet at opposite ends of each others bodies when we wanted to stair at the ceiling and ponder life's questions like; why are my parents so annoying? If a concert were coming up, we would listen to that band for weeks prior to the show. This was life. These were important things to us. Death only existed in the movies. Real problems were having to be home by 11 when everyone else could stay out past 12. Watching another best friend go through the hardest thing a person could possibly ever do was not in my plans, anywhere for the rest of my life.
It's July 20, 2006. It's warm, not hot. I bought a white button-up shirt and black dress pants. I cannot remember what I wore on my feet. I am nervous. I do not know what to expect. I have never been to a funeral like this before. The only funeral I had ever been to was actually 5 months before and that was for my great grandmother. We knew she was dying. There was no way around it. That is what happens. People grow old, get sick, suffer a little, and die. This was unreal. This was not an old person. This was not someone who had lived a fulfilling life with family and friends that cared. Only 6 out of 30 people at the funeral had actually met the deceased. I was not one of those six.
My best friend Alicia is nervous. She plays with her hair, pulls on her hands, walks around talking to people in front of the church, watching the cars drive by, pull up, park. She tries to socialize with her family and her husband's family. I watch her. I watch the cars. I watch the two families mingle with each other knowing that most of them had never heard of each other never mind spoken to each other before this day. I wait. She introduces me to her mother. She is not what I had pictured. She is an extraordinarily short woman, thin legs, slightly heavier on the top, but not overweight. She smokes like a chimney. Her boney fingers keep reaching into her pack and lighting up a new, long cigarette. Her teeth are paying for her habit, as is her hair, nails and skin. However, I am not here to criticize my best friends mother. Despite the fact that this woman, and practically everyone but those six specific people and myself, had not been a steady part of Alicia¡¯s life until 18 days ago, I am not here to criticize. I am here for moral support. I am here to learn about reality and I do not realize it yet.
The funeral directors black Chrysler pulls up. Everyone gets quiet. In the back seat is the casket, about 2 and half, 3 feet long. Tiny. Caskets should not be that small, life is so much bigger than that. Alicia's uncle opens the back door, reaches in and pulls the casket out. One person lifting a casket? That is not the way a funeral is supposed to go. A hearse should have arrived. The back should have been opened and it should have taken four people to carry the casket out because inside lies a grown person, old enough to die, old enough to have lived, not an infant. This is not the way things are supposed to happen.
I remember when Alicia told me that something was wrong. The doctors realized in an ultrasound that a valve in the baby's heart was not developed. She cried, I listened. Babies do not die, she should not worry. When he is born, they will know what to do and he will be ok. That is how I thought life was supposed to be. Instead, Carter was born on July 2, 2006, the same day my then boyfriend and I decided to buy a puppy that would lead to great financial problems and a whole lot of aggravation. I could not tell you how much he weighed or how long he was. I asked, I knew, but I do not know anymore. I do not remember. Carter went through four surgeries on his heart. From the time he was born until the time he died, there was nothing but sad phone calls and waiting. I was in New Jersey , they were in Virginia being pregnant, worrying and going into labor. I was in New Jersey ; they were heading to Washington D.C. where a specialist would work on Carter. I was in New Jersey , they were on their way to New Jersey to plan a funeral. All this in 18 short days. Eighteen days is not enough time to make any serious life altering decisions such as what do I want do for the rest of my life? Should I ask my girlfriend or boyfriend to marry me? Do I want to have kids? Should I ever get married? Life altering questions with life altering answers that vary from person to person. These questions take a LIFEtime to be answered. In eighteen days, my life, and the lives of everyone that was involved would be changed directly or indirectly.
The mass was in a church five blocks from my house. I was baptized, made my communion and confirmation there. My parents got married there. I am not religious. I do not know where I stand in religion. I have struggle with this for years, nothing has changed and I am still at a standstill on the subject. This occurrence did not push me closer to God, if He exists, that is for damn sure.
It's early in the morning, well, 9:00 am, as early as I'll ever be up and outside my house. I jump in my car. I push down on the clutch and turn the key. I check to make sure the gears are in neutral. I wait for the car to warm up and channel through the stations. Nothing good on; so I will stick with one station and wait it out. I hope that something good comes on soon.
I pull away leaving my rarity of a good parking spot open for someone else to acquire for the next few minutes, hours, days, whatever. Finally, a song comes on that I love. I crank the radio up. I push the gas a little harder. Nothing can touch me now; there is nothing else but me, the car, the song, the road. I drive faster, I turn quicker, my heart beats with the song and everything is perfect. At that moment, nothing else matters. Where I'm going, where I'm coming from, who I will see when I get there, what I will hear or say are all not important to me at this time. Just me, the car, the song, the road. That is what matters right now. I pull up to my destination. Park. The song ends, I get out of the car. Music no longer fills my car, my heart, or my mind. The sounds of real life and its everyday movement come back to me and I lose all feeling of carelessness, invincibility and genuine happiness.
To me, that is a realization. Life is not always your favorite song blasting out of your car stereo. Life is stepping out of the car into the real world and letting go of the feelings inside you wish you could have all day- everyday; feelings that no one will hurt you, nothing can bother you, life is good.
In high school my best friend, Julie, and I would rush to her house after school. Plop our books on the floor and pick out a CD that best fit our mood. No matter what kind of day we had, there was always a CD to make it better. Family problems? Pantera will fix that. Boyfriend problems? How about Faith No More. Want to feel depressed? Type O Negative is the answer. Want to be goofy? How about some oldies. We danced when we wanted to be happy, we moped when we wanted to be lazy, we laid with our feet at opposite ends of each others bodies when we wanted to stair at the ceiling and ponder life's questions like; why are my parents so annoying? If a concert were coming up, we would listen to that band for weeks prior to the show. This was life. These were important things to us. Death only existed in the movies. Real problems were having to be home by 11 when everyone else could stay out past 12. Watching another best friend go through the hardest thing a person could possibly ever do was not in my plans, anywhere for the rest of my life.
It's July 20, 2006. It's warm, not hot. I bought a white button-up shirt and black dress pants. I cannot remember what I wore on my feet. I am nervous. I do not know what to expect. I have never been to a funeral like this before. The only funeral I had ever been to was actually 5 months before and that was for my great grandmother. We knew she was dying. There was no way around it. That is what happens. People grow old, get sick, suffer a little, and die. This was unreal. This was not an old person. This was not someone who had lived a fulfilling life with family and friends that cared. Only 6 out of 30 people at the funeral had actually met the deceased. I was not one of those six.
My best friend Alicia is nervous. She plays with her hair, pulls on her hands, walks around talking to people in front of the church, watching the cars drive by, pull up, park. She tries to socialize with her family and her husband's family. I watch her. I watch the cars. I watch the two families mingle with each other knowing that most of them had never heard of each other never mind spoken to each other before this day. I wait. She introduces me to her mother. She is not what I had pictured. She is an extraordinarily short woman, thin legs, slightly heavier on the top, but not overweight. She smokes like a chimney. Her boney fingers keep reaching into her pack and lighting up a new, long cigarette. Her teeth are paying for her habit, as is her hair, nails and skin. However, I am not here to criticize my best friends mother. Despite the fact that this woman, and practically everyone but those six specific people and myself, had not been a steady part of Alicia¡¯s life until 18 days ago, I am not here to criticize. I am here for moral support. I am here to learn about reality and I do not realize it yet.
The funeral directors black Chrysler pulls up. Everyone gets quiet. In the back seat is the casket, about 2 and half, 3 feet long. Tiny. Caskets should not be that small, life is so much bigger than that. Alicia's uncle opens the back door, reaches in and pulls the casket out. One person lifting a casket? That is not the way a funeral is supposed to go. A hearse should have arrived. The back should have been opened and it should have taken four people to carry the casket out because inside lies a grown person, old enough to die, old enough to have lived, not an infant. This is not the way things are supposed to happen.
I remember when Alicia told me that something was wrong. The doctors realized in an ultrasound that a valve in the baby's heart was not developed. She cried, I listened. Babies do not die, she should not worry. When he is born, they will know what to do and he will be ok. That is how I thought life was supposed to be. Instead, Carter was born on July 2, 2006, the same day my then boyfriend and I decided to buy a puppy that would lead to great financial problems and a whole lot of aggravation. I could not tell you how much he weighed or how long he was. I asked, I knew, but I do not know anymore. I do not remember. Carter went through four surgeries on his heart. From the time he was born until the time he died, there was nothing but sad phone calls and waiting. I was in New Jersey , they were in Virginia being pregnant, worrying and going into labor. I was in New Jersey ; they were heading to Washington D.C. where a specialist would work on Carter. I was in New Jersey , they were on their way to New Jersey to plan a funeral. All this in 18 short days. Eighteen days is not enough time to make any serious life altering decisions such as what do I want do for the rest of my life? Should I ask my girlfriend or boyfriend to marry me? Do I want to have kids? Should I ever get married? Life altering questions with life altering answers that vary from person to person. These questions take a LIFEtime to be answered. In eighteen days, my life, and the lives of everyone that was involved would be changed directly or indirectly.
The mass was in a church five blocks from my house. I was baptized, made my communion and confirmation there. My parents got married there. I am not religious. I do not know where I stand in religion. I have struggle with this for years, nothing has changed and I am still at a standstill on the subject. This occurrence did not push me closer to God, if He exists, that is for damn sure.
Sunday, February 4, 2007
Personal Essay-Memoir
Personal Essay- A story or paper on a topic that means something to you, not necessarily something life altering or dramatic, just something that has a personal meaning that you may have come to fully understand or are still trying to figure out. A story about your life, your past, your present, your thoughts on something meaningful to you.
Memoir- A memory, what you felt when it happened, how you feel now, what it has to do with your life now, what it had to do with your life then, comparison to other times in life or situations in life. The past.
Memoir- A memory, what you felt when it happened, how you feel now, what it has to do with your life now, what it had to do with your life then, comparison to other times in life or situations in life. The past.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Brainstorming
Listing, free writing, clustering for personal essay. What do I have to say? How should I say it?
Something Personal I May Want to Write About...
Topics- Getting a license, learning to drive a stick shift, my first relationship and the dramatic ending, moving out of my parents house, moving back into my parents house, buying a puppy, living with my boyfriend and our hyper puppy, starting college, commuting out of town for the first time, losing Carter.
Losing Carter/ losing faith- what do I have to say?
Hardest part of life is death.
Reality is unfortunate.
Questions that will never be answered are painful but necessary.
Death becomes a reality check for life.
I don’t think I could have made it through had he been mine.
Does Death help Life to eliminate the weak from the strong?
How to discuss Carter?
Start with the funeral. Move back to Alicia in HS. Come back to the casket being pulled out of the car. Move back to the abortion, the miscarriage, the pregnancy that lasted, the phone call that things aren’t good, the crying, the pain, the fear, the excitement, the loss. Questions with no answers. Question God, Question Life, Question Everything. Cry. Try to move on. Haven’t got there yet. Sad because it happened or sad because that is the biggest part of life? -DEATH.
Loving Lola-what do I have to say?
Excitement can deceive the responsibility of taking on a puppy.
Give up or work harder? When she jumped should we have given up or tried to help her?
Test of patience.
Test of time.
Financial situations.
Driving with Dad- What do I have to say?
Should I learn how to teach from how my parents have taught me?
Patience has been severely limited in my life with my father.
Learning out of interest would have been easier than learning out of fear.
Pressure makes a difference.
What started as a chore became an interest, thanks to Dad? No.
Something Personal I May Want to Write About...
Topics- Getting a license, learning to drive a stick shift, my first relationship and the dramatic ending, moving out of my parents house, moving back into my parents house, buying a puppy, living with my boyfriend and our hyper puppy, starting college, commuting out of town for the first time, losing Carter.
Losing Carter/ losing faith- what do I have to say?
Hardest part of life is death.
Reality is unfortunate.
Questions that will never be answered are painful but necessary.
Death becomes a reality check for life.
I don’t think I could have made it through had he been mine.
Does Death help Life to eliminate the weak from the strong?
How to discuss Carter?
Start with the funeral. Move back to Alicia in HS. Come back to the casket being pulled out of the car. Move back to the abortion, the miscarriage, the pregnancy that lasted, the phone call that things aren’t good, the crying, the pain, the fear, the excitement, the loss. Questions with no answers. Question God, Question Life, Question Everything. Cry. Try to move on. Haven’t got there yet. Sad because it happened or sad because that is the biggest part of life? -DEATH.
Loving Lola-what do I have to say?
Excitement can deceive the responsibility of taking on a puppy.
Give up or work harder? When she jumped should we have given up or tried to help her?
Test of patience.
Test of time.
Financial situations.
Driving with Dad- What do I have to say?
Should I learn how to teach from how my parents have taught me?
Patience has been severely limited in my life with my father.
Learning out of interest would have been easier than learning out of fear.
Pressure makes a difference.
What started as a chore became an interest, thanks to Dad? No.
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