Questions: 1. Meeting course objectives
1-What did you learn in this course?
I learned different writings techniques that I have never used before. I learned to think outside the box and that something’s may have more meaning behind it than it initially seems.
2-About the form of CNF?
I learned how write in metaphors and the art of suggestion. A lot of the writers we studied used the same technique.
3-What did you learn about how to write CNF?
I learned how to write a piece that has a certain theme, all of my writings before were just straight forward that left nothing to imagination.
4-About where to publish/find publishing venues for your creative writing?
There are many journals and thus there is something for everyone. I should research the journals and find the one that best fits my piece.
5-Did you change anything /try anything different in your writing process? Please describe.
I tried looking deeper into my essays. For instance, in the essay I wrote about all my friends moving away as I got older I actually wrote about how I felt when it happened instead of just writing what happened.
6-Which class assignments/class experiences helped you learn whatever you learned?
All of the essays and essay revisions helped me the most.
7-What do you wish the course spent more time on?
Everyone reading their own writings and having people give feedback.
Questions: 2. Structure of course/assignments Assignments
1-Right pace/schedule?
The pace was fine but sometimes hard to keep track because the calandar was a bit confusing.
2-Coherence of material?
I understood everything.
3-Workload => Too much, too little, just right? What would you change?
The workload was fine but I would recommend following the calendar better. I was lost a couple of times this semester because the calendar kept changing.
4-Cover material appropriate to course goals?
Yes. Covered a lot of things that helped me.
5-Enough feedback for grades?
Yes.
Questions: 3. Provisions for feedback/grades
1-Which form of feedback was most helpful?
The teacher conferences.
2-Which did you enjoy most?
The teacher conferences was the best cause it provided me with ideas and angles to my stories that I would have not have thought of.
3-Any which you felt was unproductive?
No.
4-What would you do more of?
reading others blog entries and leaving comments.
5-What would you do less of?
Public speaking and speaking in front of the class.
6-Did you feel the grading system was fair?
Yes.
7-Did the grades/grading system contribute to learning?
Yes.
Questions: 4. General response
1-Is there anything you could tell me that would help me teach a better/more engaging course?
When the class changed the calendar I got confused on what was the homework and when it was due. Following the calendar exactly as it was printed would have been much easier.
2-Anything you want to say about your experience of the course?
It was fun and I plan on taking more writing classes.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Blog 23: Essay 3 revision
It was the only time I have ever left America to go to a foreign country. It was a important trip that my parents still talk about to this day because it wasn't just the only time I ever been to their homeland but it was the last time they themselves have been in their homeland. At that time they had not been to their homeland in over ten years, they never meant to stay away for that long but they were side tracked with their career and the birth of my brother and I.
I remember the weeks leading up to the trip was so hectic, we had to get so much done before we could leave. My brother and I needed passports, the entire family needed to buy new clothes, we had to buy gifts for friends and family, and worst of all my brother and I needed to have all our shots taken before leaving the country. When ever I think back to the trip I always remember that day at the hospital as the beginning. I never remember crying as hard as I did that day, even as I got older and lots of memories of that trip faded, that particular day never did. I think in a strange way that day actually helped me remember the trip better, it was so traumatic that I couldn't forget it. But I was happy to finally get it over with so we could go on that trip we had been planning for so long.
Before the trip the only thing I knew about my parents country was that it was small, at the very edge of western Europe, mostly rural, and surrounded by several bigger and more powerful countries. Still it did have its own language and culture that differentiate it from the others around it. But from what little I remember from that trip twenty years ago is clouded. But to this day they still occasionally ask me if I remember certain aspects of the trip. I know its important to them that I remember something about where they are from because there is no guarantee that I will ever go back, but my memories from that far back are pretty hazy. Even the things I do think that I remember I end up questioning whether they really happened or not because of years of having my mind filled up by TV, Films, Ads, and other media.
My parents talk about leaving me their house in the old country, and I agree to take it because I know they want to keep it in the family. But I honestly don't know what I'll do with it, I know my life will be spent her in America so what will happened to the house? Going there occasionally every couple of years doesn't seem like a good use of the house, and what will happen when I hand it down to my children who probably won't care much for the house since I didn't even make it important to my life.
When I close my eyes and think about that trip 20 years ago the first thing I remember was the farm I visited. It was another first for me, I had grown up in the suburbs all my life and this was the first time at a farm. I actually liked it, I got to interact with animals I had only seen on Television. That first day was a warm summer scorcher that had everyone wanting to stay inside with the air conditioner. If you looked outside the grass was dry and yellow from the mini drought that was happening at that time. There wasn't a cloud in the sky which is normally a nice thing but it made everyone vulnerable to the suns intense and bright rays that day. The land was full of rolling hills with grass a foot high, with little smatterings of trees spread out along the land and providing shadows to escape the hot sun. There was supposed to be a creek that ran through our property, but it had dried up years before, you could see the cobble stone barricades that was supposed to contain the creek when there was a flood.
The barn was dilapidated and clearly hadn't been tended to in years. Blue paint was chipping off all around the barn, the big heavy wooden door was worped from all the rain and unable to close it. There was no floor inside, just hard dirt that would kicked up dust every time you took a step. A low hanging lamp that would dimly light the old rickety farm equipment that was covered in spider webs. In my eyes the place was a dump, but through the eyes of my parents they remember it fondly because that's how they grew up. I didn't understand it because my parents would always talk about how difficult they had it as children working on the farm, working from down to dusk, working their calicoesed hands to the point that they would bleed and shaking. But at the same time while it was a lot of work it was something their family had done to years, it was something that the family did together, and it was something that they did love. While their current job is so much more stressful and isolates them from the closeness of their family.
My brother would play outside a lot during the trip, we didn't like anything we saw on television and we had no video games to occupie or time. I remember while we were playing outside one day we got into an argument with some local kids. They were saying something about us but we couldn't understand what. It ended up both sides started throwing dirt rocks at each other, until my brother hit one of them in the eye. The kid started crying and went home to tell his parents, while me and my brother ran home and hid.
The other thing I remember about the trip was going with my family to see my mothers aunt a few towns over. I remember it because their was a huge winding road on a mountain that we had to ride through to get to their house. In fact it was so scary that it was the first thing I could remember having nightmares about. The road on that mountain was full of pot holes, no barriers on the edge of the road to protect a car from sliding off the road down the mountain, and hundreds of large loose rocks on top of the mountain that looked like they were ready to tumble down to the road with the slightest wind. It was getting dark as well, the sun was bright owange and coming down. I couldn't rest or relax until we finally got off that mountain and on to level and flat land. Each bump we hit would freak me out, but for some odd reason my dad would laugh at my horror. I have a feeling he was hitting those bumps on purpose for his entertainment.
After what seemed forever it finally did happen and we pulled up to my mothers aunts house which was much more modest than American home but still looked nice compared to the farm house we were at most of the week. It was made of brick, with red shingles on the roof of the one story home. Inside everyone was wearing the national colors of red and green while watching the national soccer team in the Euro cup or world cup, I wasn't sure but it was a huge soccer match that had everyone in the city wearing the national colors. That day itself was forgettable, the only thing I remember about it was spending the entire time in my mothers lap sleeping or shielding my face in her shoulder so I didn't have to deal with these strange people that I didn't know.
There were other kids my age there that I didn't know that were playing together, I was never comfortable just going up to people and playing with them, So I just sat there and literally did nothing. I was so bored that I just layed on the coach and slept, buit I was awaken by an old man who picked me up and hugged me. I did not know this man so I screamed like a banchi until my parents showed up. After a while they showed up but were smiling, they told me the man holding me was my grandfathers brother. My grandfather died before I was born and I had never met his brother, but once my parents told me who he was I settle down. I was happy to meet him because I always wanted to meet my grandfather. Though he isn't my grandfather I was told he was a lot like him. I never met him ever again after that day.
The last thing from the trip I actually forgot but was reminded by a photo my mom saved in a box from that trip. As soon as I saw that photo it all came back to me. It was from a a festival that I don't even know the name of, but I knew it was a catholic festival because of the religious statues and beeds they were handing out. The country is heavily catholic and you see it everywhere in the countries. That day was It was the only time I saw my mothers brother face to face who didn't come to America like all his other siblings and parents, but instead stayed closer to home and settled a 200 miles north east in Paris. That day my uncle gave my brother and I an old necklace thats been in the family for a very long time that my brother and I still have.
I remember the weeks leading up to the trip was so hectic, we had to get so much done before we could leave. My brother and I needed passports, the entire family needed to buy new clothes, we had to buy gifts for friends and family, and worst of all my brother and I needed to have all our shots taken before leaving the country. When ever I think back to the trip I always remember that day at the hospital as the beginning. I never remember crying as hard as I did that day, even as I got older and lots of memories of that trip faded, that particular day never did. I think in a strange way that day actually helped me remember the trip better, it was so traumatic that I couldn't forget it. But I was happy to finally get it over with so we could go on that trip we had been planning for so long.
Before the trip the only thing I knew about my parents country was that it was small, at the very edge of western Europe, mostly rural, and surrounded by several bigger and more powerful countries. Still it did have its own language and culture that differentiate it from the others around it. But from what little I remember from that trip twenty years ago is clouded. But to this day they still occasionally ask me if I remember certain aspects of the trip. I know its important to them that I remember something about where they are from because there is no guarantee that I will ever go back, but my memories from that far back are pretty hazy. Even the things I do think that I remember I end up questioning whether they really happened or not because of years of having my mind filled up by TV, Films, Ads, and other media.
My parents talk about leaving me their house in the old country, and I agree to take it because I know they want to keep it in the family. But I honestly don't know what I'll do with it, I know my life will be spent her in America so what will happened to the house? Going there occasionally every couple of years doesn't seem like a good use of the house, and what will happen when I hand it down to my children who probably won't care much for the house since I didn't even make it important to my life.
When I close my eyes and think about that trip 20 years ago the first thing I remember was the farm I visited. It was another first for me, I had grown up in the suburbs all my life and this was the first time at a farm. I actually liked it, I got to interact with animals I had only seen on Television. That first day was a warm summer scorcher that had everyone wanting to stay inside with the air conditioner. If you looked outside the grass was dry and yellow from the mini drought that was happening at that time. There wasn't a cloud in the sky which is normally a nice thing but it made everyone vulnerable to the suns intense and bright rays that day. The land was full of rolling hills with grass a foot high, with little smatterings of trees spread out along the land and providing shadows to escape the hot sun. There was supposed to be a creek that ran through our property, but it had dried up years before, you could see the cobble stone barricades that was supposed to contain the creek when there was a flood.
The barn was dilapidated and clearly hadn't been tended to in years. Blue paint was chipping off all around the barn, the big heavy wooden door was worped from all the rain and unable to close it. There was no floor inside, just hard dirt that would kicked up dust every time you took a step. A low hanging lamp that would dimly light the old rickety farm equipment that was covered in spider webs. In my eyes the place was a dump, but through the eyes of my parents they remember it fondly because that's how they grew up. I didn't understand it because my parents would always talk about how difficult they had it as children working on the farm, working from down to dusk, working their calicoesed hands to the point that they would bleed and shaking. But at the same time while it was a lot of work it was something their family had done to years, it was something that the family did together, and it was something that they did love. While their current job is so much more stressful and isolates them from the closeness of their family.
My brother would play outside a lot during the trip, we didn't like anything we saw on television and we had no video games to occupie or time. I remember while we were playing outside one day we got into an argument with some local kids. They were saying something about us but we couldn't understand what. It ended up both sides started throwing dirt rocks at each other, until my brother hit one of them in the eye. The kid started crying and went home to tell his parents, while me and my brother ran home and hid.
The other thing I remember about the trip was going with my family to see my mothers aunt a few towns over. I remember it because their was a huge winding road on a mountain that we had to ride through to get to their house. In fact it was so scary that it was the first thing I could remember having nightmares about. The road on that mountain was full of pot holes, no barriers on the edge of the road to protect a car from sliding off the road down the mountain, and hundreds of large loose rocks on top of the mountain that looked like they were ready to tumble down to the road with the slightest wind. It was getting dark as well, the sun was bright owange and coming down. I couldn't rest or relax until we finally got off that mountain and on to level and flat land. Each bump we hit would freak me out, but for some odd reason my dad would laugh at my horror. I have a feeling he was hitting those bumps on purpose for his entertainment.
After what seemed forever it finally did happen and we pulled up to my mothers aunts house which was much more modest than American home but still looked nice compared to the farm house we were at most of the week. It was made of brick, with red shingles on the roof of the one story home. Inside everyone was wearing the national colors of red and green while watching the national soccer team in the Euro cup or world cup, I wasn't sure but it was a huge soccer match that had everyone in the city wearing the national colors. That day itself was forgettable, the only thing I remember about it was spending the entire time in my mothers lap sleeping or shielding my face in her shoulder so I didn't have to deal with these strange people that I didn't know.
There were other kids my age there that I didn't know that were playing together, I was never comfortable just going up to people and playing with them, So I just sat there and literally did nothing. I was so bored that I just layed on the coach and slept, buit I was awaken by an old man who picked me up and hugged me. I did not know this man so I screamed like a banchi until my parents showed up. After a while they showed up but were smiling, they told me the man holding me was my grandfathers brother. My grandfather died before I was born and I had never met his brother, but once my parents told me who he was I settle down. I was happy to meet him because I always wanted to meet my grandfather. Though he isn't my grandfather I was told he was a lot like him. I never met him ever again after that day.
The last thing from the trip I actually forgot but was reminded by a photo my mom saved in a box from that trip. As soon as I saw that photo it all came back to me. It was from a a festival that I don't even know the name of, but I knew it was a catholic festival because of the religious statues and beeds they were handing out. The country is heavily catholic and you see it everywhere in the countries. That day was It was the only time I saw my mothers brother face to face who didn't come to America like all his other siblings and parents, but instead stayed closer to home and settled a 200 miles north east in Paris. That day my uncle gave my brother and I an old necklace thats been in the family for a very long time that my brother and I still have.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Blog 22
History:Mid-American Review was started in 1972 by Robert Early, a professor of creative writing at Bowling Green State University, as Itinerary, a publishing format for graduates of Bowling Green State University's noted Master of Fine Arts program. Itinerary provided early publication credits for such distinguished BG alumni as Carolyn Forche, Charles Fort, Jean Thompson, Tony Ardizzone, Dara Wier, Allen Weir, and many other fine poets, fiction writers, and essayists.
What they want: "Mid-American Review is an international literary journal dedicated to our mission of publishing the best contemporary fiction, poetry, nonfiction, and translations"
PUBLISHING RULES
-Must be 6,000 or less words
-Only one story per submission or five short stories
-Excepts fiction, non fiction, shorts, and poetry
-Takes five months to get back to you
-Takes submissions from both established and new writers
-Does not except submissions through E-mail
-Encourages both experimental and traditional writing
Audience: is all inclusive, the journal actually wants a wide variety of people submitting work to the magazine.
Submission:all submissions, either via postal mail or by using our online submission manager. MAR accepts submissions year-round.
Upcoming events:provides nine week on line workshop, the last one was October 5, 2009—December 5, 2009. There is also a The Mid-American Review Festival of Writing every November.
What they want: "Mid-American Review is an international literary journal dedicated to our mission of publishing the best contemporary fiction, poetry, nonfiction, and translations"
PUBLISHING RULES
-Must be 6,000 or less words
-Only one story per submission or five short stories
-Excepts fiction, non fiction, shorts, and poetry
-Takes five months to get back to you
-Takes submissions from both established and new writers
-Does not except submissions through E-mail
-Encourages both experimental and traditional writing
Audience: is all inclusive, the journal actually wants a wide variety of people submitting work to the magazine.
Submission:all submissions, either via postal mail or by using our online submission manager. MAR accepts submissions year-round.
Upcoming events:provides nine week on line workshop, the last one was October 5, 2009—December 5, 2009. There is also a The Mid-American Review Festival of Writing every November.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Blog 21
Of all of Theil's revisions ideas, I decided to use the idea on page 90 which wants the writer to take a piece of their writing that is crucial for setting the tone of the piece and see if you can further elaborate.
For my third essay I wrote about my parents visiting their homeland for the first time in ten years, I thought i could elaborate more on my experience in meeting some of my familys friends and family. When I met them in my parents homeland I had never met those people before and have never met them again. I was young back then but vividly remember that day, there is so much from that day that I did not write about in my original essay that I can elaborate on. I also have the ability to get more information from that day from my mother and father to fill in some of the blank spots in my memory.
I think that piece of the essay really set the tone for the rest of the piece because the entire essay was about my parents trip to their homeland, and the entire trip to their homeland was to connect with the people they had not seen in years. That event was only one day out of the week long trip, but it was the center piece of the entire trip. Theres so many things we did that day, so many people i met, and so many memories.
For my third essay I wrote about my parents visiting their homeland for the first time in ten years, I thought i could elaborate more on my experience in meeting some of my familys friends and family. When I met them in my parents homeland I had never met those people before and have never met them again. I was young back then but vividly remember that day, there is so much from that day that I did not write about in my original essay that I can elaborate on. I also have the ability to get more information from that day from my mother and father to fill in some of the blank spots in my memory.
I think that piece of the essay really set the tone for the rest of the piece because the entire essay was about my parents trip to their homeland, and the entire trip to their homeland was to connect with the people they had not seen in years. That event was only one day out of the week long trip, but it was the center piece of the entire trip. Theres so many things we did that day, so many people i met, and so many memories.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Blog 20
I plan on revising essay number three. I believe I could add much more to the story including what happened before I left the country and what happened after I came back. Also I got more information from the trip from my family that I was to young to remember. Also I think my third essay is just a whole lot more entertaining than my last essay. I think a essay about travel is just more intriguing to people, especially since most Americans are like me and do not travel very often outside of the country.
I want to add a story about me going to the hospital and having to get my shots in order to be able to travel outside the country. It was an interesting story cause I remember I never cried as hard as that day and I made such a scene that my mom still talks about it today.
I also went to add a story about what happened when I came back from the vacation and immediately had to begin school for the first time.
I want to add a story about me going to the hospital and having to get my shots in order to be able to travel outside the country. It was an interesting story cause I remember I never cried as hard as that day and I made such a scene that my mom still talks about it today.
I also went to add a story about what happened when I came back from the vacation and immediately had to begin school for the first time.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Essay 4
The only toy that has ever held my interest for an extended period of time was the first video game system I ever received, it was an 8 bit Nintendo. I got it when I was four during Christmas, all I remember was my brother going crazy when he found out what it was. Me on the other hand didn't know what it was, I was more interested in the box that the video game came in. But over the years that I had so many great memories from that simple toy.
I observed my brother playing Nintendo for several hours straight and could not believe it was able to hold his attention for that long. At that age I was so hyper and energetic that I could not imagine even siting still for more than a few minutes. But the day came when I was sick and unable to do any playing inside and out, I was tired of the Brady bunch reruns on TV and I certainly was not going to read so I decided to try out the Nintendo. As soon as I played the first game I was hooked, Mario was the first game I ever played because it came free with the system. The beauty of Mario is that you can just pick up the game and play it, it wasn't as complex as today's games. So it was easy to play yet still challenging for a four year old. Soon after I got into more Nintendo games such as Zelda, Super Tecmo Bowl, defender of the crown, contra, and others. I became absolutely obsessed with video games and beating each game I got my hands on.
As I grew older there came more and more systems like PlayStation, Super Nintendo, and Sega. I bought all the systems but none where able to hold a candle to my 8 bit Nintendo. Sure the graphics improved, the audio was better, and the games had more memory, but it didn't have the game play of the original Nintendo. All the new games were so spent so much time upgrading all the superficial aspects of the games that it ignored what made games great, the strategies and story. But nobody around seemed to agree, it was all about the new systems that recently came out and the arcades with its futuristic games. I eventually followed the crowd and focused on the newer systems, it was bound to happen anyway because Nintendo wasn't even making any new games anyway.
When I was in junior high Nintendo had been out of style for several years by than, now we had third generation video game systems that made Nintendo look like a dinosaur. These systems used CD's instead of cartridges, and were in 3d instead of 2D. It was all the rage, but at the same time a video game store called funcoland was selling old Nintendo video games for as low as one cent. Over the course of 6 months I bought at least a hundred Nintendo video games and rediscovered the system I loved. Not only me but all my friends as well, it felt like I was a kid when ten of us would gather in our basement and play video games till we had to go home and eat dinner. Of course after awhile another generation of systems comes out and people lose interest again.
But a year ago my uncle visited my house with his 4 year old son who got into my closet and found my old video game system, I hooked it up and hook him on the system. Now every time he comes over we play and have a great time like I did when I was four. He loved it so much that I decided to give it to him, and hopefully he will get as much out of it as I did. It was more than video games to me, it made me and my friends bond and share memories.
I observed my brother playing Nintendo for several hours straight and could not believe it was able to hold his attention for that long. At that age I was so hyper and energetic that I could not imagine even siting still for more than a few minutes. But the day came when I was sick and unable to do any playing inside and out, I was tired of the Brady bunch reruns on TV and I certainly was not going to read so I decided to try out the Nintendo. As soon as I played the first game I was hooked, Mario was the first game I ever played because it came free with the system. The beauty of Mario is that you can just pick up the game and play it, it wasn't as complex as today's games. So it was easy to play yet still challenging for a four year old. Soon after I got into more Nintendo games such as Zelda, Super Tecmo Bowl, defender of the crown, contra, and others. I became absolutely obsessed with video games and beating each game I got my hands on.
As I grew older there came more and more systems like PlayStation, Super Nintendo, and Sega. I bought all the systems but none where able to hold a candle to my 8 bit Nintendo. Sure the graphics improved, the audio was better, and the games had more memory, but it didn't have the game play of the original Nintendo. All the new games were so spent so much time upgrading all the superficial aspects of the games that it ignored what made games great, the strategies and story. But nobody around seemed to agree, it was all about the new systems that recently came out and the arcades with its futuristic games. I eventually followed the crowd and focused on the newer systems, it was bound to happen anyway because Nintendo wasn't even making any new games anyway.
When I was in junior high Nintendo had been out of style for several years by than, now we had third generation video game systems that made Nintendo look like a dinosaur. These systems used CD's instead of cartridges, and were in 3d instead of 2D. It was all the rage, but at the same time a video game store called funcoland was selling old Nintendo video games for as low as one cent. Over the course of 6 months I bought at least a hundred Nintendo video games and rediscovered the system I loved. Not only me but all my friends as well, it felt like I was a kid when ten of us would gather in our basement and play video games till we had to go home and eat dinner. Of course after awhile another generation of systems comes out and people lose interest again.
But a year ago my uncle visited my house with his 4 year old son who got into my closet and found my old video game system, I hooked it up and hook him on the system. Now every time he comes over we play and have a great time like I did when I was four. He loved it so much that I decided to give it to him, and hopefully he will get as much out of it as I did. It was more than video games to me, it made me and my friends bond and share memories.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Essay 4
The summer before my first semester at Kean university was the greatest summer ever, it was the first time that I had the summer off and a vacation. I was also the first time in my life that I was excited for summer to end and to begin school. Everything was going great as I had finally got my car over the summer, earned some money at a job, and ready to finally be treated as an adult. I didn't truly realize how much work it was going to be and how it would change me.
But the start of the new phase of my life didn't go as well as I planned, the very first semester for me at Kean was a disaster. It wasn't like high school where the teachers were on top of you every day making sure you do your work and punishing you if you don't. In college you had to do everything on your own, on your time, with out being looked over all the time. Not only was I struggling in school but all the money I made over the summer I had to spend fixing up my car that I dinged up on a pillar at best buy, and to top it all off my cousin who I was very close to and only three years older than me was already getting married. I was happy for him but at the same time couldn't help think about me and our friendship. He was getting married and moving a couple hours away to Monmouth county in south Jersey. And what I thought would happen did in fact happen, he moved and we grew apart.
By the time I was in my second year I felt like I was just going through the motions, I was doing the same routine day after day. I was passing my classes but I really wasn't anything but an average student, and I was in a huge rut. Every day would be the same thing with me going to the school, going home and watching TV until I fall asleep, and continuing that cycle over and over again. With my cousin having his own life than I became a hermit who lived in his own world. During that time though I took an elective class in illustration which I've always liked, it was one the only class I liked that semester and its where I met my good friend Mike. Mike was in the same position as me, he was a bit anti social himself and thats why we got along so well. We had other things in common as well such as music, movies, and sports but I think it was our similar personalities that had a bond. It also helped me forget about my cousin as well, who I said before I was close to but never really had much in common.
The years at Kean got easier because I was improving in all my classes and actually having a pretty fun social life for the first time in a long time. But like all good things they did not last, as one day mike told me he was a semester away from graduating. I on the other hand was about a year and a half because I was so lazy my first couple of years in Kean, while Mike was taking way more credits a semester. That semester went by so fast that I hardly remember much about it except the end where Mike and I had a blow up. He invited me to his graduation party and I blew it off, after wards we got into a fight and almost came to blows. We never made up and never seen each other again, and I fell back into my rut.
Senior year I actually had another cousin come to Kean, she is five years younger but still pretty close for such a significant age gap. She noticed the mood swings herself and believed that having family there at school with me would help me, and it did. This is the only year we'll be in school together as I'm a senior and she is a freshman, but its been the best year so far. No amount of friends can replace family. I've become so much more comfortable in my remaining year and hope to continue to be when I leave Kean.
But the start of the new phase of my life didn't go as well as I planned, the very first semester for me at Kean was a disaster. It wasn't like high school where the teachers were on top of you every day making sure you do your work and punishing you if you don't. In college you had to do everything on your own, on your time, with out being looked over all the time. Not only was I struggling in school but all the money I made over the summer I had to spend fixing up my car that I dinged up on a pillar at best buy, and to top it all off my cousin who I was very close to and only three years older than me was already getting married. I was happy for him but at the same time couldn't help think about me and our friendship. He was getting married and moving a couple hours away to Monmouth county in south Jersey. And what I thought would happen did in fact happen, he moved and we grew apart.
By the time I was in my second year I felt like I was just going through the motions, I was doing the same routine day after day. I was passing my classes but I really wasn't anything but an average student, and I was in a huge rut. Every day would be the same thing with me going to the school, going home and watching TV until I fall asleep, and continuing that cycle over and over again. With my cousin having his own life than I became a hermit who lived in his own world. During that time though I took an elective class in illustration which I've always liked, it was one the only class I liked that semester and its where I met my good friend Mike. Mike was in the same position as me, he was a bit anti social himself and thats why we got along so well. We had other things in common as well such as music, movies, and sports but I think it was our similar personalities that had a bond. It also helped me forget about my cousin as well, who I said before I was close to but never really had much in common.
The years at Kean got easier because I was improving in all my classes and actually having a pretty fun social life for the first time in a long time. But like all good things they did not last, as one day mike told me he was a semester away from graduating. I on the other hand was about a year and a half because I was so lazy my first couple of years in Kean, while Mike was taking way more credits a semester. That semester went by so fast that I hardly remember much about it except the end where Mike and I had a blow up. He invited me to his graduation party and I blew it off, after wards we got into a fight and almost came to blows. We never made up and never seen each other again, and I fell back into my rut.
Senior year I actually had another cousin come to Kean, she is five years younger but still pretty close for such a significant age gap. She noticed the mood swings herself and believed that having family there at school with me would help me, and it did. This is the only year we'll be in school together as I'm a senior and she is a freshman, but its been the best year so far. No amount of friends can replace family. I've become so much more comfortable in my remaining year and hope to continue to be when I leave Kean.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Blog 19
For my fourth essay I want to write about my college experience now that its almost over. I want to talk about the big events and experiences I had during that time, and how it changed me. Some of the big events I want to talk about are the marriage of my cousin who I was very close to and how it changed our relationship, I want to talk about some great friends I've met during that time period, and bad fights I had with people I used to be close with that I no longer am.
I also want to talk about some important sites during that time like the university center where I spent so much time with my friends, the office in my house I spend so much time working on school projects, the car that gave me freedom to go anywhere I wanted that I never had the opportunity to do so before, and the basketball court in the park in my hometown where I kept in touch with my old friends from high school.
I also want to talk about some important sites during that time like the university center where I spent so much time with my friends, the office in my house I spend so much time working on school projects, the car that gave me freedom to go anywhere I wanted that I never had the opportunity to do so before, and the basketball court in the park in my hometown where I kept in touch with my old friends from high school.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Blog 18
The most important place to me are my backyard, my old high school, and my own room. My favorite place of those is very clear though, its the only place I have any privacy and the only place where I have free reign to do what I want.
It was the smallest of all the bed rooms in my house, it didn't have a carpet like the other rooms, and the heating wasn't great. But since it was mine, I loved it. There was two pieces of furniture in the room but it still filled the room up and left it with little space except for the small pathway from the door. I made do with the little space I had by adding a TV, putting posters and pictures on the wall. I made it unique and did what I wanted, my parents and adults completely left me alone and let the space be completely mine. The room also only had one window but with a perfect view of the woods in the park. It was a little frightening as a child because at night the woods would look so spooky and weird noise would come from their, but during the day it was beautiful.
It was like two different worlds, one inside that room and another outside those walls.
It was the smallest of all the bed rooms in my house, it didn't have a carpet like the other rooms, and the heating wasn't great. But since it was mine, I loved it. There was two pieces of furniture in the room but it still filled the room up and left it with little space except for the small pathway from the door. I made do with the little space I had by adding a TV, putting posters and pictures on the wall. I made it unique and did what I wanted, my parents and adults completely left me alone and let the space be completely mine. The room also only had one window but with a perfect view of the woods in the park. It was a little frightening as a child because at night the woods would look so spooky and weird noise would come from their, but during the day it was beautiful.
It was like two different worlds, one inside that room and another outside those walls.
Monday, November 9, 2009
blog 17
It was the only time I have ever left America to go to a foreign country. It was a important trip that my parents still talk about to this day because it wasn't just the only time I ever been to their homeland but it was the last time they themselves have been in their homeland. Before the trip the only thing I knew about the country was that it was small and surrounded by several bigger and more powerful countries. Still it did have its own language and culture that differentiate it from the others around it. But from what little I remember from that trip twenty years ago is clouded. But to this day they still occasionally ask me if I remember certain aspects of the trip. I know its important to them that I remember something about where they are from because there is no guarantee that I will ever go back, but my memories from that far back are pretty hazy. Even the things I do think that I remember I end up questioning whether they really happened or not because of years of having my mind worped by TV, Films, Ads, and other media.
When I close my eyes and think about that trip 20 years ago the first thing I remember was the farm I visited. That day was a warm summer scorcher that had everyone wanting to stay inside with the air conditioner. If you looked outside the grass was dry and yellow from the mini drought that was happening at that time. There wasn't a cloud in the sky which is normally a nice thing but it made everyone vulnerable to the suns intense and bright rays that day. The land was full of rolling hills with grass a foot high, with little smatterings of trees spread out along the land and providing shadows to escape the hot sun. The barn was dilapidated and clearly hadn't been tended to in years. Blue paint was chipping off all around the barn, the big heavy wooden door was worped from all the rain and unable to close it. There was no floor inside, just hard dirt that would kicked up dust every time you took a step. A low hanging lamp that would dimly light the old rickety farm equipment that was covered in spider webs. In my eyes the place was a dump, but through the eyes of my parents they remember it fondly because that's how they grew up. I didn't understand it because my parents would always talk about how difficult they had it as children working on the farm, working from down to dusk, working their calicoesed hands to the point that they would bleed and shaking. But at the same time while it was a lot of work it was something their family had done to years, it was something that the family did together, and it was something that they did love. While their current job is so much more stressful and isolates them from the closeness of their family.
The other thing I remember about the trip was going with my family to see my mothers aunt a few towns over. I remember it because their was a huge winding road on a mountain that we had to ride through to get to their house. In fact it was so scary that it was the first thing I could remember having nightmares about. The road on that mountain was full of pot holes, no barriers on the edge of the road to protect a car from sliding off the road down the mountain, and hundreds of large loose rocks on top of the mountain that looked like they were ready to tumble down to the road with the slightest wind. I couldn't rest or relax until we finally got off that mountain and on to level and flat land. After what seemed forever it finally did happen and we pulled up to my mothers aunts house which was much more modest than American home but still looked nice compared to the farm house we were at. It was made of brick, with red singles on the roof of the one story home. Inside everyone was wearing the national colors of red and green while watching the national soccer team in the Euro cup or world cup, I wasn't sure but it was a huge soccer match that had everyone in the city wearing the national colors. That day itself was forgettable, the only thing I remember about it was spending the entire time in my mothers lap sleeping or shielding my face in her shoulder so I didn't have to deal with these strange people that I didn't know.
The last thing from the trip I actually forgot but was reminded by a photo my mom saved in a box from that trip. As soon as I saw that photo it all came back to me. It was from a a festival that I don't even know the name of, but I knew it was a catholic festival because of the religious statues and beeds they were handing out. The country is heavily catholic and you see it everywhere in the countries. That day was It was the only time I saw my mothers brother face to face who didn't come to America like all his other siblings and parents, but instead stayed closer to home and settled a 200 miles north east in Paris. That day my uncle gave my brother and I an old necklace thats been in the family for a very long time that my brother and I still have.
When I close my eyes and think about that trip 20 years ago the first thing I remember was the farm I visited. That day was a warm summer scorcher that had everyone wanting to stay inside with the air conditioner. If you looked outside the grass was dry and yellow from the mini drought that was happening at that time. There wasn't a cloud in the sky which is normally a nice thing but it made everyone vulnerable to the suns intense and bright rays that day. The land was full of rolling hills with grass a foot high, with little smatterings of trees spread out along the land and providing shadows to escape the hot sun. The barn was dilapidated and clearly hadn't been tended to in years. Blue paint was chipping off all around the barn, the big heavy wooden door was worped from all the rain and unable to close it. There was no floor inside, just hard dirt that would kicked up dust every time you took a step. A low hanging lamp that would dimly light the old rickety farm equipment that was covered in spider webs. In my eyes the place was a dump, but through the eyes of my parents they remember it fondly because that's how they grew up. I didn't understand it because my parents would always talk about how difficult they had it as children working on the farm, working from down to dusk, working their calicoesed hands to the point that they would bleed and shaking. But at the same time while it was a lot of work it was something their family had done to years, it was something that the family did together, and it was something that they did love. While their current job is so much more stressful and isolates them from the closeness of their family.
The other thing I remember about the trip was going with my family to see my mothers aunt a few towns over. I remember it because their was a huge winding road on a mountain that we had to ride through to get to their house. In fact it was so scary that it was the first thing I could remember having nightmares about. The road on that mountain was full of pot holes, no barriers on the edge of the road to protect a car from sliding off the road down the mountain, and hundreds of large loose rocks on top of the mountain that looked like they were ready to tumble down to the road with the slightest wind. I couldn't rest or relax until we finally got off that mountain and on to level and flat land. After what seemed forever it finally did happen and we pulled up to my mothers aunts house which was much more modest than American home but still looked nice compared to the farm house we were at. It was made of brick, with red singles on the roof of the one story home. Inside everyone was wearing the national colors of red and green while watching the national soccer team in the Euro cup or world cup, I wasn't sure but it was a huge soccer match that had everyone in the city wearing the national colors. That day itself was forgettable, the only thing I remember about it was spending the entire time in my mothers lap sleeping or shielding my face in her shoulder so I didn't have to deal with these strange people that I didn't know.
The last thing from the trip I actually forgot but was reminded by a photo my mom saved in a box from that trip. As soon as I saw that photo it all came back to me. It was from a a festival that I don't even know the name of, but I knew it was a catholic festival because of the religious statues and beeds they were handing out. The country is heavily catholic and you see it everywhere in the countries. That day was It was the only time I saw my mothers brother face to face who didn't come to America like all his other siblings and parents, but instead stayed closer to home and settled a 200 miles north east in Paris. That day my uncle gave my brother and I an old necklace thats been in the family for a very long time that my brother and I still have.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Essay 1 Daft 2
Joe Fernandes
ENG 3017*01
Dr. Chandler
Draft 2 Essay # 1
October 5, 2009
Growing up I always remembered having a ton of friends, not my own but my brothers. I would always follow my older brother around whether he liked it or not, and along with that came his friends as well. At first I was seen as a young pest that they begrudgingly accepted because of who's brother I was, but soon after we genuinely became friends. There was 9 of us total, and I was the youngest of all by at least two years. The group consisted of a kid named Joe who my brother had met in elementary school, as well as his younger brother Angelo. Through Joe and Angelo my brother and I became friends with a three kids that lived near the two brothers. Joe and Angelo also became friends with two kids that lived near me and my brother that we were friends with, including my cousin.
The group of nine was than complete when I was in fourth grade, everyone in the group had their own role. My brother and Joe were the older ones and thus the leaders that everyone would follow. Angelo was Joe's little brother and a chubby kid who was addicted to video games. Sam was the kid who lived near Joe and Angelo, he was the kid with overprotective parents who wouldn't let him play anywhere outside his block. Rick also lived near Joe and Angelo, he was the kid we let into the group because he had a pool. Vince lived across the street from Joe and Angelo, he was the kid we allowed in the group because his connections and ability in getting us fireworks and free passes to amusement parks. Mike was my brother and I's cousin that was allowed in the group because of that. Finally their was Tyler who lived by my brother and me and joined the group cause much like me he would follow the group around till they accepted him.
Since I was the youngest of the group I was never in the same classes as my other friends, rarely saw them at school, and didn't have the same mutual experiences and memories from school because of that. Even so I never felt left out because we all spent so much time together after school, talking on the phone, playing sports, and especially in the summer. We had so many great times that it didn't matter to me that others had some great times with out me. And other than not being around them in school because I was a few years younger, age never really played a part in the friendship ever. I did everything they did.
Some people like my parents always found it odd that all my friends were much older than myself, but I always enjoyed the fact that my friends were older, it made me different from the other kids my age. It made me feel more advanced than the kids my age who were really pretty boring compared to my older friends. It wasn't that I didn't get along with the kids my age or in my class, I just wasn't interested in a lot of what the kids my ages were in to. They were into power rangers while I was more interested in sports and physical activities. What kids my age were interested in actually bored me. I think it had to do with the fact that as early as I can remember I was greatly influenced by my brother who is four years older so I was always interested in things that the older crowd enjoyed. I also never saw my classmates outside of class like I did with my other friends, my brothers friends were over our house all the time, and we went over every ones house constantly as well.
Growing was a great experience, I had a large group of friends that always kept me active. We played baseball, football, Basketball, went camping, fishing, built forts, and anything else you can imagine. But with a large group of friends like I had you have to expect that things won't always be the same, there's bound to be some friends that move away or friends you just grow apart from, that's part of growing up. We were such great friends, and so close that I thought we would all be life long friends. But within a few years that large group of friends that I had grown up with dwindled all they way down to just Three. My cousin, myself and my brother.
Within five years from fourth grade to my freshman year in high school six good friends that I had since I was four were gone forever. Rick got in trouble and was sent off to military school, never to be heard from again. Tyler was kicked out of his house and never heard from again as well, he had began hanging with a wrong crowd and got kicked out by his parents. The two brothers Joe and Angelo moved away to a town in North Jersey 2 hours away. And the other friends my brother and I grew up with still lived in town, except we grew a part from them because we were only friends with them through the two brothers that had moved away. So The only ones left in town that I was friends with was my brother and cousin, which is great but all your friends can't just be family. Thats not normal.
My brother and I tried to stay friends with the two brothers that moved away for several years but the distance became to much. Its to much work at a young age for a kid with out car and living his own life to try and keep a friendship with friends who live so far away and live their own lives with new friends. Through the years we erratically got together and had a lot of fun, we played sports, went dirt biking, going to movies, and everything else we did when we were younger. It felt just like it did when we were kids, but that feeling three or four times a year wasn't enough to keep the friendship in tact. We tried to make to keep in contact but the communication between two sides decreased year after year till there was no contact at all.
I was always relieved that I had an older brother because I always knew that no matter what he was always going to be my best friend, my most trusted friend, and a friend who's bond will never be broken. Still I missed the entire group, in the case of friends more is definitely better. The great thing about friends is that you can always make more, but you can never replace friends that you have had since child hood. Child hood friends in a lot of cases spend more time with you than your own family members, they know your history and secrets, and in a way help shape the person you will become because they have an influence on you at a small and impressionable age.
Since than my brother has made new friends, and I have made new friends. I'm not sure how my brother feels about his friends but while I like my new friends I'm not sure I can call them anything other than acquaintances. Sure we have a good time when we are around but would I be able to count on him if ever needed? Could I ever trust him with information I need to be kept secret? Does he even really know me all that well? I'm not sure you can call some one your friend unless you are completely comfortable around them and I certainly am not. I find myself holding back my opinions on certain subjects so as not to offend or hurt my new friends. I find my self struggling to make conversation which I never had to do with my old friends because we had so much in common that we could go on for hours. But than again maybe my lack of close friends is my fault, my brother has made quite a few close friends since we grown apart from our old friends and I'm sure my old friends have moved on as well. Why I'm I still clinging to old friends that I haven't seen in several years when others have easily moved on. I was the youngest of the group and I'm sure it has a lot to do with it, I never had to make friends because I always remembered having them. Its possible that I'm just not that out going, I'm more reserved and quite with people I'm not familiar with. I've always hated change as it never really worked out for me, but I really think its time to embrace it. I 'm not happy with my current situation so why would I want to stay the same? Obviously change would not only be necessary but a nice change of pace.
ENG 3017*01
Dr. Chandler
Draft 2 Essay # 1
October 5, 2009
Growing up I always remembered having a ton of friends, not my own but my brothers. I would always follow my older brother around whether he liked it or not, and along with that came his friends as well. At first I was seen as a young pest that they begrudgingly accepted because of who's brother I was, but soon after we genuinely became friends. There was 9 of us total, and I was the youngest of all by at least two years. The group consisted of a kid named Joe who my brother had met in elementary school, as well as his younger brother Angelo. Through Joe and Angelo my brother and I became friends with a three kids that lived near the two brothers. Joe and Angelo also became friends with two kids that lived near me and my brother that we were friends with, including my cousin.
The group of nine was than complete when I was in fourth grade, everyone in the group had their own role. My brother and Joe were the older ones and thus the leaders that everyone would follow. Angelo was Joe's little brother and a chubby kid who was addicted to video games. Sam was the kid who lived near Joe and Angelo, he was the kid with overprotective parents who wouldn't let him play anywhere outside his block. Rick also lived near Joe and Angelo, he was the kid we let into the group because he had a pool. Vince lived across the street from Joe and Angelo, he was the kid we allowed in the group because his connections and ability in getting us fireworks and free passes to amusement parks. Mike was my brother and I's cousin that was allowed in the group because of that. Finally their was Tyler who lived by my brother and me and joined the group cause much like me he would follow the group around till they accepted him.
Since I was the youngest of the group I was never in the same classes as my other friends, rarely saw them at school, and didn't have the same mutual experiences and memories from school because of that. Even so I never felt left out because we all spent so much time together after school, talking on the phone, playing sports, and especially in the summer. We had so many great times that it didn't matter to me that others had some great times with out me. And other than not being around them in school because I was a few years younger, age never really played a part in the friendship ever. I did everything they did.
Some people like my parents always found it odd that all my friends were much older than myself, but I always enjoyed the fact that my friends were older, it made me different from the other kids my age. It made me feel more advanced than the kids my age who were really pretty boring compared to my older friends. It wasn't that I didn't get along with the kids my age or in my class, I just wasn't interested in a lot of what the kids my ages were in to. They were into power rangers while I was more interested in sports and physical activities. What kids my age were interested in actually bored me. I think it had to do with the fact that as early as I can remember I was greatly influenced by my brother who is four years older so I was always interested in things that the older crowd enjoyed. I also never saw my classmates outside of class like I did with my other friends, my brothers friends were over our house all the time, and we went over every ones house constantly as well.
Growing was a great experience, I had a large group of friends that always kept me active. We played baseball, football, Basketball, went camping, fishing, built forts, and anything else you can imagine. But with a large group of friends like I had you have to expect that things won't always be the same, there's bound to be some friends that move away or friends you just grow apart from, that's part of growing up. We were such great friends, and so close that I thought we would all be life long friends. But within a few years that large group of friends that I had grown up with dwindled all they way down to just Three. My cousin, myself and my brother.
Within five years from fourth grade to my freshman year in high school six good friends that I had since I was four were gone forever. Rick got in trouble and was sent off to military school, never to be heard from again. Tyler was kicked out of his house and never heard from again as well, he had began hanging with a wrong crowd and got kicked out by his parents. The two brothers Joe and Angelo moved away to a town in North Jersey 2 hours away. And the other friends my brother and I grew up with still lived in town, except we grew a part from them because we were only friends with them through the two brothers that had moved away. So The only ones left in town that I was friends with was my brother and cousin, which is great but all your friends can't just be family. Thats not normal.
My brother and I tried to stay friends with the two brothers that moved away for several years but the distance became to much. Its to much work at a young age for a kid with out car and living his own life to try and keep a friendship with friends who live so far away and live their own lives with new friends. Through the years we erratically got together and had a lot of fun, we played sports, went dirt biking, going to movies, and everything else we did when we were younger. It felt just like it did when we were kids, but that feeling three or four times a year wasn't enough to keep the friendship in tact. We tried to make to keep in contact but the communication between two sides decreased year after year till there was no contact at all.
I was always relieved that I had an older brother because I always knew that no matter what he was always going to be my best friend, my most trusted friend, and a friend who's bond will never be broken. Still I missed the entire group, in the case of friends more is definitely better. The great thing about friends is that you can always make more, but you can never replace friends that you have had since child hood. Child hood friends in a lot of cases spend more time with you than your own family members, they know your history and secrets, and in a way help shape the person you will become because they have an influence on you at a small and impressionable age.
Since than my brother has made new friends, and I have made new friends. I'm not sure how my brother feels about his friends but while I like my new friends I'm not sure I can call them anything other than acquaintances. Sure we have a good time when we are around but would I be able to count on him if ever needed? Could I ever trust him with information I need to be kept secret? Does he even really know me all that well? I'm not sure you can call some one your friend unless you are completely comfortable around them and I certainly am not. I find myself holding back my opinions on certain subjects so as not to offend or hurt my new friends. I find my self struggling to make conversation which I never had to do with my old friends because we had so much in common that we could go on for hours. But than again maybe my lack of close friends is my fault, my brother has made quite a few close friends since we grown apart from our old friends and I'm sure my old friends have moved on as well. Why I'm I still clinging to old friends that I haven't seen in several years when others have easily moved on. I was the youngest of the group and I'm sure it has a lot to do with it, I never had to make friends because I always remembered having them. Its possible that I'm just not that out going, I'm more reserved and quite with people I'm not familiar with. I've always hated change as it never really worked out for me, but I really think its time to embrace it. I 'm not happy with my current situation so why would I want to stay the same? Obviously change would not only be necessary but a nice change of pace.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Blog 14
I have a black and white close up photo of myself that I had to take for my art class. In this photo my head is slightly tilted and shadow is covering half of my face. I like this photo because I like black and white photos and movies, it makes everything seem older.
Blog 13
In one of the boxes my mom has stored in the attic was a box full of my old toys that she stored up there when I started going to middle school and stopped playing with my toys. My favorite toy was hungry hungry hippos that my friends and I would spend hours playing. Most of the marbles from the game had gone missing because most of the times the game games would finish and every body would grab a handful of marbles and have a marble fight.
One time in particular I remember it started a fist fight between brothers. What happened was that a group of my friends and I were planning on going to the batting cages except these two brothers only had enough money for one to go. So after fighting about it for awhile the decided to play hungry hungry hippos for it. One game winner takes all.
During the game the two were evened up, but as the game was winding down the younger brothers hippo got stuck and the older brother didn't stop and in fact won the game. The younger brother protested but everyone agreed those were the breaks and his brother won. The younger brother refused to give up his half of the money and that started a fight between the two. The older brother beat the younger brother up pretty good, than took his money and went to the batting cages with us. Although when the older brother got home he got grounded for an entire week.
One time in particular I remember it started a fist fight between brothers. What happened was that a group of my friends and I were planning on going to the batting cages except these two brothers only had enough money for one to go. So after fighting about it for awhile the decided to play hungry hungry hippos for it. One game winner takes all.
During the game the two were evened up, but as the game was winding down the younger brothers hippo got stuck and the older brother didn't stop and in fact won the game. The younger brother protested but everyone agreed those were the breaks and his brother won. The younger brother refused to give up his half of the money and that started a fight between the two. The older brother beat the younger brother up pretty good, than took his money and went to the batting cages with us. Although when the older brother got home he got grounded for an entire week.
Blog 12
I plan on revising my first essay on losing all my child hood friends as I got older. I think that my first essay was just more relate able to people, while my second essay wasn't as relate able or understandable because somethings that were integral to the story I could not write about because it was private family matters. I liked my first essay more because it seems all my previous writings in class have been about friends and early childhood, its a big topic for me for what ever reason and much easier to write about because of that.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Essay 2
I can remember as a kid hating Christmas,this seems odd to say and probably even more odd to hear. Everyone loves Christmas, especially kids. But for me I always dreaded Christmas day because it was one of the few times a year I had to see my fathers side of the family. Every Christmas Eve my mother, father, brother, and I would spend Christmas at our house with my moms side of the family which I loved. I'm extremely close to my mothers side of the family because I see them very often, they have always been apart of my life since I was a small child. They were at my baseball games, football games, graduation, and every major event in my life. Even if it wasn't a major holiday or an important event they would still stop by the house just to talk to the family like friends do. We are an extremely close family that always helped each other, worked together, celebrated together, looked out for each other, and took care of each other.
As for the other side of the family, I could never stand my fathers side of the family. I never told this to anyone except my brother cause it sounds like a mean thing to say, and it probably is even though its the truth. For some reason in my family you are automatically expected to love everyone else in the family even if you barely ever seen them or know anything about them. I just don't think that way, yes they are family but I probably never interacted with them more than 50 times my entire life. How can I realistically love anyone I know so little about and spend such few time with. It really cheapens the word love in my opinion which should be reserved for something you have true feelings about.
Its not that I hate my fathers side of the family, its just that I always felt my family was out of the loop and treated as second class citizens by them. Never knew why that was but we weren't apart of their group, I had a suspicion it had to do do with my mom but that's most likely because she would act phony and kiss up to them like other people do. Its not that I've been tormented by this and let it affect my life, in fact I never think about except a few days before I know I have to actually go see them. But those few days a year I do have to see them are horrible, and Christmas day was the ground zero.
Christmas was the one day of the year I knew my family was definitely going to see that side of the family. All the other times it was for a wedding, communion, baptism, or some other event like that, although sometimes none of those events would happen in a given year. But Christmas was every year and there was no doubt about it I had to see them for Christmas. So every year while other kids were counting down the days to Christmas, I was the opposite always wondering how Christmas always comes up so fast. Now it isn't all bad, as like I said Christmas Eve with my moms side is always great with the presents, the food, good cheer, and everything else that comes with the holidays. But its hard to enjoy when you know in just a few hours you have to go somewhere you hate, to celebrate a holiday you should love with people you don't really care for.
Normally the Christmas day celebration with my fathers side of the family starts off horribly with the entire family having to get up from our are warm beds to get dressed and head out to my uncles house in Massachusetts. This ride in the cold and infuriating traffic takes us several hours till we finally get to my uncles house were the entire family has already began to eat dinner. Apparently they can't wait a few minutes for people who made the long trip by car, they have to eat at exactly twelve. Dinner is no better as the entire family reminisce and talks about subjects that my family isn't involved in, making my family at the end of the table quietly talk to our selves. Then its time to open presents, with the living room full gifts my brother and I have to wait and watch all the other kids receive multiple gifts and envelops of money until with finally get our one crummy gift and envelop that usually only ten bucks and no even in cash but a check. After a few more hours of having to listen to my relatives go on and on about themselves and pat themselves on the back its finally time for my family to leave, and we do it with out much attention or being wished a happy holiday by any of them. Then my family gets back into the car and we take another long, cold, cramped ride back to our home. But its a sweet ride home because I know I have 364 days till I know I have to see them again.
Now I'm not sure if they are trying to act rudely on purpose, but I know you can definitely do a better job making someone feel at home and being a good host. But this is a big reason I can't really say that I care for my fathers side of the family, I just don't know them at all and to me they are either rude or oblivious to the fact that they are rude, neither one a good quality. I have no idea how they got this way cause my dad turned out fine, but I do know that I don't care that they are my family, I just don't care for them. It was something I used to feel guilty about when ever I would felt that way but not anymore, that was a feeling that my mom and dad pressed upon me, not my own. I mean how can I pretend to care for that side of the family when I don't even know most of their last names, phone numbers, or where they even live. I have no problem saying that I was closer and cared more about my friends than I did about my family because I'm loyal and care more about character than blood.
Now some may say that maybe I should try to reach out, make an effort to learn about them, and that I'm not being fair. I'm I being judgmental? Should I offer and olive branch? Of course not! This treatment has been going on since I can remember, truthfully they aren't the type of people I want to associate with anyway. If they weren't my family I would never spend a minute with these people, they are just unlikable. Its the type of relationship that I know once I get older and have my own family that I will never see them again so whats the point in in thinking about them and this any more. Some may thing I may be missing out on being close to half the family but I'm really not, my moms side of the family is more than enough.
As for the other side of the family, I could never stand my fathers side of the family. I never told this to anyone except my brother cause it sounds like a mean thing to say, and it probably is even though its the truth. For some reason in my family you are automatically expected to love everyone else in the family even if you barely ever seen them or know anything about them. I just don't think that way, yes they are family but I probably never interacted with them more than 50 times my entire life. How can I realistically love anyone I know so little about and spend such few time with. It really cheapens the word love in my opinion which should be reserved for something you have true feelings about.
Its not that I hate my fathers side of the family, its just that I always felt my family was out of the loop and treated as second class citizens by them. Never knew why that was but we weren't apart of their group, I had a suspicion it had to do do with my mom but that's most likely because she would act phony and kiss up to them like other people do. Its not that I've been tormented by this and let it affect my life, in fact I never think about except a few days before I know I have to actually go see them. But those few days a year I do have to see them are horrible, and Christmas day was the ground zero.
Christmas was the one day of the year I knew my family was definitely going to see that side of the family. All the other times it was for a wedding, communion, baptism, or some other event like that, although sometimes none of those events would happen in a given year. But Christmas was every year and there was no doubt about it I had to see them for Christmas. So every year while other kids were counting down the days to Christmas, I was the opposite always wondering how Christmas always comes up so fast. Now it isn't all bad, as like I said Christmas Eve with my moms side is always great with the presents, the food, good cheer, and everything else that comes with the holidays. But its hard to enjoy when you know in just a few hours you have to go somewhere you hate, to celebrate a holiday you should love with people you don't really care for.
Normally the Christmas day celebration with my fathers side of the family starts off horribly with the entire family having to get up from our are warm beds to get dressed and head out to my uncles house in Massachusetts. This ride in the cold and infuriating traffic takes us several hours till we finally get to my uncles house were the entire family has already began to eat dinner. Apparently they can't wait a few minutes for people who made the long trip by car, they have to eat at exactly twelve. Dinner is no better as the entire family reminisce and talks about subjects that my family isn't involved in, making my family at the end of the table quietly talk to our selves. Then its time to open presents, with the living room full gifts my brother and I have to wait and watch all the other kids receive multiple gifts and envelops of money until with finally get our one crummy gift and envelop that usually only ten bucks and no even in cash but a check. After a few more hours of having to listen to my relatives go on and on about themselves and pat themselves on the back its finally time for my family to leave, and we do it with out much attention or being wished a happy holiday by any of them. Then my family gets back into the car and we take another long, cold, cramped ride back to our home. But its a sweet ride home because I know I have 364 days till I know I have to see them again.
Now I'm not sure if they are trying to act rudely on purpose, but I know you can definitely do a better job making someone feel at home and being a good host. But this is a big reason I can't really say that I care for my fathers side of the family, I just don't know them at all and to me they are either rude or oblivious to the fact that they are rude, neither one a good quality. I have no idea how they got this way cause my dad turned out fine, but I do know that I don't care that they are my family, I just don't care for them. It was something I used to feel guilty about when ever I would felt that way but not anymore, that was a feeling that my mom and dad pressed upon me, not my own. I mean how can I pretend to care for that side of the family when I don't even know most of their last names, phone numbers, or where they even live. I have no problem saying that I was closer and cared more about my friends than I did about my family because I'm loyal and care more about character than blood.
Now some may say that maybe I should try to reach out, make an effort to learn about them, and that I'm not being fair. I'm I being judgmental? Should I offer and olive branch? Of course not! This treatment has been going on since I can remember, truthfully they aren't the type of people I want to associate with anyway. If they weren't my family I would never spend a minute with these people, they are just unlikable. Its the type of relationship that I know once I get older and have my own family that I will never see them again so whats the point in in thinking about them and this any more. Some may thing I may be missing out on being close to half the family but I'm really not, my moms side of the family is more than enough.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Blog 10
I want to write my second essay on how I mistrust most people and am skeptical of most explanations I get. I believe its because from an early age my mom would lie to me in order to get me do behave. My mom isn’t a bad person, she just did because I would listen to reason and it was the only way to make me do the right thing when I was a little kid. Also that’s the way she was raised as well, and possibly what she did was the right thing because I never got in to serious trouble. But what happened is I also became mistrusting of people and skeptical of explanations I receive as well.
I want to talk about how it effected my relationship with people negatively and even positively in some cases.
Also I want to talk about if I plan on changing or not in the future. If I would or wouldn't use the same strategy on my kids if I ever have them. Also how I think I would be a different person if my up bring would have been different.
I want to talk about how it effected my relationship with people negatively and even positively in some cases.
Also I want to talk about if I plan on changing or not in the future. If I would or wouldn't use the same strategy on my kids if I ever have them. Also how I think I would be a different person if my up bring would have been different.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Blog 9
I think I was able to make my essay clear even though it involved a lot of people and wasn't a single event but a something that gradually happened through the years. Also I think my first essay is one that all people can relate too because I don't know a single person who hasn't lost contact with a friend who they think wish they hadn't.
What I want to do differently in my second draft is expand on my first draft, my first draft was to short and not enough details. Maybe go into detail about how I met each one of my friends, and provide a time line of when I lost track with all my fiends. Also I didn't go into much detail on why I lost track with my friends, for a few friends I said I just grown a part from but theres more to it that I should have elaborated on.
Also I noticed I never commented much on what I've done since losing track of my old friends. Its been years since than and a lot has happened hat I can share.
What I want to do differently in my second draft is expand on my first draft, my first draft was to short and not enough details. Maybe go into detail about how I met each one of my friends, and provide a time line of when I lost track with all my fiends. Also I didn't go into much detail on why I lost track with my friends, for a few friends I said I just grown a part from but theres more to it that I should have elaborated on.
Also I noticed I never commented much on what I've done since losing track of my old friends. Its been years since than and a lot has happened hat I can share.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Blog 8
Joe Fernandes
ENG 3017*01
Dr. Chandler
Draft Essay # 1
Growing up I always remembered having a ton of friends, I would always follow my older brother around whether he liked it or not, and along with that came his friends as well. At first I was seen as young pest that they begrudgingly accepted because of who's brother I was, but soon after we genuinely became friends. There was 9 of us total, and I was the youngest of all by at least two years. I was never in the same classes, rarely saw them at school, and didn't have the same mutual experiences and memories because of that. Even so I never felt left out because we all spent so much time together after school, talking on the phone, and especially in the summer.
I always enjoyed the fact that my friends were older, it made me different from the other kids my age and made me feel more advanced than the kids my age. It wasn't that I didn't get along with the kids my age or in my class, I just wasn't interested in a lot of what the kids my ages were in to. I think it had to do with the fact that as early as I can remember I was greatly influenced by my brother who is four years older so I was always interested in things that the older crowd enjoyed. I also never saw my classmates outside of class like I did with my other friends, my brothers friends were over our house all the time, and we went over every ones house constantly as well.
Growing was a great experience, I had a large group of friends that always kept me active. We played baseball, football, Basketball, went camping, fishing, built forts, and anything else you can imagine. But with a large group of friends like I had you have to expect that things won't always be the same, there's bound to be some friends that move away or friends you just grow apart from, that's part of growing up. But within a few years that large group of friends that I had grown up with dwindled all they way down to just two, myself and my brother.
Within five years from fourth grade to my freshman year in high school all seven good friends that I had since I was four were gone. One got in trouble and was sent off to military school, another was kicked out of his house and never heard from again, two brothers moved away, and the other three my brother and I grew a part from because we were only friends with them through the two brothers that had moved away. My brother and I stayed friends with the two brothers that moved away for several years but the distance became to much. Its to much work at a young age to try and keep a friendship with friends who live so far away and live their own lives with new friends. We tried to make to keep in contact but the communication between two sides decreased year after year till there was no contact at all.
I was always relieved that I had an older brother because I always knew that no matter what he was always going to be my best friend, my most trusted friend, and a friend who's bond will never be broken. Still I missed the entire group, in the case of friends more is definitely better. The great thing about friends is that you can always make more, but you can never replace friends that you have had since child hood. Child hood friends in a lot of cases spend more time with you than your own family members, they know your history and secrets, and in a way help shape the person you will become because they have an influence on you at a small and impressionable age.
Since than my brother has made new friends, and I have made new friends. I'm not sure how my brother feels about his friends but while I like my new friends I'm not sure I can call them anything other than acquaintances. Sure we have a good time when we are around but would I be able to count on him if ever needed? Could I ever trust him with information I need to be kept secret? Does he even really know me all that well? I'm not sure you can call some one your friend unless you are completely comfortable around them and I certainly am not. I find myself holding back my opinions on certain subjects so as not to offend or hurt my new friends. I find my self struggling to make conversation which I never had to do with my old friends because we had so much in common that we could go on for hours. But than again maybe my lack of close friends is my fault, my brother has made quite a few close friends since we grown apart from our old friends and I'm sure my old friends have moved on as well. Why I'm I still clinging to old friends that I haven't seen in several years when others have easily moved on. I was the youngest of the group and I'm sure it has a lot to do with it, I never had to make friends because I always remembered having them. Its possible that I'm just not that out going, I'm more reserved and quite with people I'm not familiar with. I've always hated change as it never really worked out for me, but I really think its time to embrace it.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Blog 7
O'Brien's story "how to tell true war story" is written like a guide for readers on the ins and outs of war. This piece was oddly written in the sense that it wasn't a single story but a collection of stories with little bits of commentary thrown in every so often. I think the truth O'Brien was trying to illustrate with these stories was that as he said in his commentary "A true war story never has a moral".
The narrator tells stories of Vietnam and the brutality and violence of that war, but also that the blurred truth from the war. I think what O'Brien is trying to say is that many war stories are exaggerated or spiced up for the benefit of the audience to get the overall point of the authors across to the reader. Most people who have never been to war can not imagine the horrors of it, yes everyone knows its terrible but you can never get the entire picture unless your there. I think O'Brien exaggerating the war stories to make the impact of the war hit home with those who have never been to war perfectly reasonable. If the stories would not have been as graphic or detailed I doubt the reader would remember a single thing about that piece 10 minutes after he read it. But because it was so graphic and detailed it is almost assured that the reader will retain a lot of what he just read. Now the question is if it is truthful or not.
Personally I don't think its deceitful or lying at all, if the overall point is still truthful I have no problem with the author being creative in getting his desired emotion out of the reader.
The narrator tells stories of Vietnam and the brutality and violence of that war, but also that the blurred truth from the war. I think what O'Brien is trying to say is that many war stories are exaggerated or spiced up for the benefit of the audience to get the overall point of the authors across to the reader. Most people who have never been to war can not imagine the horrors of it, yes everyone knows its terrible but you can never get the entire picture unless your there. I think O'Brien exaggerating the war stories to make the impact of the war hit home with those who have never been to war perfectly reasonable. If the stories would not have been as graphic or detailed I doubt the reader would remember a single thing about that piece 10 minutes after he read it. But because it was so graphic and detailed it is almost assured that the reader will retain a lot of what he just read. Now the question is if it is truthful or not.
Personally I don't think its deceitful or lying at all, if the overall point is still truthful I have no problem with the author being creative in getting his desired emotion out of the reader.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Blog 6
I plan on pattering my writing on Orwell, my piece will be about a incident that happened when I was younger that seemed ordinary to the outside world but was a major deal for myself.
My piece will be about how I got older through the years I kept losing more and more friends. Most people didn't know I cared so much because I never talked about it or made a big deal about it but I did feel bad for a long time inside. Especially when I passed their house or areas where we played, i would immediately wonder what they were doing. I made friends later in life but I never considered them good friends like the ones I made as a child.
My piece will be about how I got older through the years I kept losing more and more friends. Most people didn't know I cared so much because I never talked about it or made a big deal about it but I did feel bad for a long time inside. Especially when I passed their house or areas where we played, i would immediately wonder what they were doing. I made friends later in life but I never considered them good friends like the ones I made as a child.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
blog 5
The main point of "Alive" by Laurie Lynn Drummond is no matter what the main character does she will always be vulnerable or feel vulnerable. She can be alert, smart, and act quick but even that may not be enough to save herself sometimes. She spent the entire story panicking because there was a man she though was following her or evil, it was an irrational feeling and she even knew it earlier but could not help it. If she was in the same position two years earlier she herself said she wouldn't be afraid at all, the difference now is that she is no longer a police officer but a mere civilian. I think the story shows how her confidence has deteriorating and effected her actions and feelings in a negative way.
"Westbury place" by Edwidge Danticat is a story about a women reflecting back to the time she left her apartment. The girl was watching soap operas on television when a fire broke out the next apartment, forcing the building to evacuate. The fire was started by a young boy whos mother left him and his young brother alone. While alone one of the boys started playing with matches and started the fire in the building. The point of this story is much like the first one, to constantly be aware, smart, and take the proper precautions to keep yourself safe. The author in the story mentioned the her mother always warned her about playing with matches, if those two boys had been told the same than maybe the fire would not have started and they would still be alive.
I think these two stories are very similar as it deals with peoples fears and reactions to traumatic events. Each handled their situation in the correct manner and came away from these events physically unscathed. I think these two stories are more guidelines of what to do in an event than anything, even though both were entertaining. These stories seem like something your parents would tell you to scare you away from playing with matches or going to creppy towns.
"Westbury place" by Edwidge Danticat is a story about a women reflecting back to the time she left her apartment. The girl was watching soap operas on television when a fire broke out the next apartment, forcing the building to evacuate. The fire was started by a young boy whos mother left him and his young brother alone. While alone one of the boys started playing with matches and started the fire in the building. The point of this story is much like the first one, to constantly be aware, smart, and take the proper precautions to keep yourself safe. The author in the story mentioned the her mother always warned her about playing with matches, if those two boys had been told the same than maybe the fire would not have started and they would still be alive.
I think these two stories are very similar as it deals with peoples fears and reactions to traumatic events. Each handled their situation in the correct manner and came away from these events physically unscathed. I think these two stories are more guidelines of what to do in an event than anything, even though both were entertaining. These stories seem like something your parents would tell you to scare you away from playing with matches or going to creppy towns.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Blog 4
The focuse of Schwartz essay is how many people fear change and are more comfortable and happy with what they are familiar with than something different. In this story Schwartz is a young modern Americanized women with an old school Jewish father who grew up in a town in Germany called Rinheim that he loved. But dring world war 2 the Nazi's drove him out of Rinheim to a Forrest Hills New York where he settled and had a family. He misses his home town greatly and won't give his adopted home a chance, he would rather stay the same than blend in and Americanize himself like his children have. During the story you see Mimi and her father gradually having finding some common ground and realizing that niether was knew were the other was coming from originally. Mimi found out the importance of her families history and why they are the way the are, and her father fond out that grass isn't always greener on the other side, his memories of how his how town was was different with how it actually was when he went back.
The first section was when Mimi was 13 and her father was showing her Rindheim, it was the first time back since the end of the war and her father wanted to show Mimi how great Rindheim was compared to Forrest Hills. But oce they got there they noticed Rindheim was not like it was once before, the synagogues were no longer there, all the jews had left to Israel or America, and the town was now multi-cultural like Forrest Hills was.
The second section was Mimi learning some of the history and traditions that she never understood such as how Jewish life was destroyed in Germany, and how Christians and Jew worked together to rebuild after the war. How her father knew the family had to leave Germany as soon as Hitler took power when nobody else knew they were in danger. And how her family had to gather as much money as possible so that America would even take her family. I think in this section she began to realize every thing her father went through, I think here she stopped being ashamed of her father and started being more appreciative.
The first section was when Mimi was 13 and her father was showing her Rindheim, it was the first time back since the end of the war and her father wanted to show Mimi how great Rindheim was compared to Forrest Hills. But oce they got there they noticed Rindheim was not like it was once before, the synagogues were no longer there, all the jews had left to Israel or America, and the town was now multi-cultural like Forrest Hills was.
The second section was Mimi learning some of the history and traditions that she never understood such as how Jewish life was destroyed in Germany, and how Christians and Jew worked together to rebuild after the war. How her father knew the family had to leave Germany as soon as Hitler took power when nobody else knew they were in danger. And how her family had to gather as much money as possible so that America would even take her family. I think in this section she began to realize every thing her father went through, I think here she stopped being ashamed of her father and started being more appreciative.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Blog 3
Reading Montaige's "That men should not judge" and Orwell's "Shooting an elephant" I saw some clear similarities between those two pieces and some other pieces we've read earlier in class. I thought "Shooting an elephant" was similar to Jamaica Kincaid's "biography of a dress", although different from all other pieces. I also thought "That men should not judge" was most similar to Lott's "Toward a definition of creative nonfiction,", although different from all other pieces we've read in class.
What I found similar between "Shooting an elephant" and "biography of a dress" for one was the fact that it was a story abot themselves, some of the pieces earlier like Lott's and Montaige was not like that. Both stories was presented as one thing but in reality was a about something more important. For Jamaica Kincaid's story it was presented as a story about her second birth day and the days leading up to it, but in the backrond was the more important story of the relationship with her mother and how she was abused and hurt that her mother was ashamed of her. Like wise Orwell's piece wasn't just about him killing a crazy elephant but the backround of colonialism and treament of native people by a huge empire. Although I thought bother pieces were very similar I did notice one big difference between the two. I noticed Jamaica Kincaid's story she would alternate between the thoughts and perspectives of her as a 2 year old old and her as a older wiser women looking back and offering a different perspective on the same events. While Orwell's story only had one perspective, his at that exact moment he was a military officer in Bruma. So with Orwell's story you don't get the pespspective and changed view points like in Jamaica Kincaids story.
The other piece I thought were similar was Montaiges piece, and Lott's piece. It should come as no suprise since Lott specifically mentions Montaige being the pioneer of creative non-fiction in his own piece. I think what was so similar is that neither piece was written about themselves like the other pieces we've read. Instead both were about answering the question "what is creative non-fiction". Both talked about being truthful, looking back at a persons entire life before making a judgement, speaking about life expierences with outing preaching or grand standing. Neither writers piece was a creative non-fiction piece, but instead a piece about creative non-fiction and how a writer writes it.
What I found similar between "Shooting an elephant" and "biography of a dress" for one was the fact that it was a story abot themselves, some of the pieces earlier like Lott's and Montaige was not like that. Both stories was presented as one thing but in reality was a about something more important. For Jamaica Kincaid's story it was presented as a story about her second birth day and the days leading up to it, but in the backrond was the more important story of the relationship with her mother and how she was abused and hurt that her mother was ashamed of her. Like wise Orwell's piece wasn't just about him killing a crazy elephant but the backround of colonialism and treament of native people by a huge empire. Although I thought bother pieces were very similar I did notice one big difference between the two. I noticed Jamaica Kincaid's story she would alternate between the thoughts and perspectives of her as a 2 year old old and her as a older wiser women looking back and offering a different perspective on the same events. While Orwell's story only had one perspective, his at that exact moment he was a military officer in Bruma. So with Orwell's story you don't get the pespspective and changed view points like in Jamaica Kincaids story.
The other piece I thought were similar was Montaiges piece, and Lott's piece. It should come as no suprise since Lott specifically mentions Montaige being the pioneer of creative non-fiction in his own piece. I think what was so similar is that neither piece was written about themselves like the other pieces we've read. Instead both were about answering the question "what is creative non-fiction". Both talked about being truthful, looking back at a persons entire life before making a judgement, speaking about life expierences with outing preaching or grand standing. Neither writers piece was a creative non-fiction piece, but instead a piece about creative non-fiction and how a writer writes it.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Blog 2
I think Jamaica Kincaid's story "biography of a dress" show cases many aspects of creative non-fiction writing that was not seen in the other three stories we have read. What I thought she brought to the table that was missing in those other stories was the extraordinary amount of detail and perspective she provided in her story, both physically and emotionally.
The story was alternating between the perspective of 2 year old Jamaica Kincaid who was actually going through the experience being written about, and the older Jamaica Kincaid chiming in from time to time with her perspective as a much older women looking back and providing information and detail that a two year old wasn't able to provide at such an early stage in life. It really helped the story because there were several times in the story where two year old Jamaica Kincaid was not able to emotionally understand something but was articulated for the reader by a older and more mature Kincaid. What you get from the comments from the older Jamaica Kincaid is the emotions, such as the shame she felt that her mother was trying to turn Jamaica into a small white child she saw on a soap advertisement. The hurt she felt because she thought that her mother never really wanted her to begin with and when Jamaica was born she just tried to make the best out of the situation that she didn't want to be in to begin with. She was able to provide detailed emotions so that the audience knew where she was coming from.
While the the two year old Jamaica Kincaid was able to vividly describe the physical pain that she suffered and the improvised upbringing she lived at that early age. She gave the audience the visual picture to go along with the emotional description that the older Jamaica Kincaid provided. I thought this story was far superior to the first three we read because it actually induced emotion like creative non-fiction is supposed too, while the other three stories you just read them and never thought about it again.
As for Lott's discussion on creative non-fiction, it was the opposite of what I believed to be creative non-fiction was supposed to be. But looking back at Lott's premise it does make sense in the fact that creative non-fiction seems to be pretty abstract. Everybody seems to have a different opinion on what it is so chances are that it is different for everybody. Lott's believes people must look inside themselves to find out what creative non-fiction is and why people write it.
Although I agree with many of lott's points I also feel he contradicted himself a bit in his writing by trying to pigeon hole and put rules on what creative non-fiction is after earlier in his writings suggesting that there really wasn't a right or wrong anser to the question "what is creative non-fiction"? By him saying in creative non fiction the author must not grandstand, be self serving, and laying out a restrictive guideline that in my opinion lessens the ability of the author to be creative in a genera of writing that should be creative. I believe my opinion of creative non-fiction was much looser and allowed for much more freedom for the author. I believe the rule athuors must follow in cretive non fiction is that it must be truthful, period. I think that is a point Mr. Lott in I agree on, but with in that I also realize that creative non-fiction is entertainment and thus the author may use writing techniques that enhance the entertainment value of the written piece with in the frame work of truth and reality. That is a point where Mr. Lott and I disagree, I believe in creative non-fiction it is OK to embellish, grand stand, and spin things to get a reaction out of the reader while Mr. Lott believes thats not truthful.
Mr. Lott's criteria for creative non-fiction is to rigirous in my opinion and goes against the very name of the genera. I beleive in sticking with the original idea that creative non-fiction will always be defined differently by people.
The story was alternating between the perspective of 2 year old Jamaica Kincaid who was actually going through the experience being written about, and the older Jamaica Kincaid chiming in from time to time with her perspective as a much older women looking back and providing information and detail that a two year old wasn't able to provide at such an early stage in life. It really helped the story because there were several times in the story where two year old Jamaica Kincaid was not able to emotionally understand something but was articulated for the reader by a older and more mature Kincaid. What you get from the comments from the older Jamaica Kincaid is the emotions, such as the shame she felt that her mother was trying to turn Jamaica into a small white child she saw on a soap advertisement. The hurt she felt because she thought that her mother never really wanted her to begin with and when Jamaica was born she just tried to make the best out of the situation that she didn't want to be in to begin with. She was able to provide detailed emotions so that the audience knew where she was coming from.
While the the two year old Jamaica Kincaid was able to vividly describe the physical pain that she suffered and the improvised upbringing she lived at that early age. She gave the audience the visual picture to go along with the emotional description that the older Jamaica Kincaid provided. I thought this story was far superior to the first three we read because it actually induced emotion like creative non-fiction is supposed too, while the other three stories you just read them and never thought about it again.
As for Lott's discussion on creative non-fiction, it was the opposite of what I believed to be creative non-fiction was supposed to be. But looking back at Lott's premise it does make sense in the fact that creative non-fiction seems to be pretty abstract. Everybody seems to have a different opinion on what it is so chances are that it is different for everybody. Lott's believes people must look inside themselves to find out what creative non-fiction is and why people write it.
Although I agree with many of lott's points I also feel he contradicted himself a bit in his writing by trying to pigeon hole and put rules on what creative non-fiction is after earlier in his writings suggesting that there really wasn't a right or wrong anser to the question "what is creative non-fiction"? By him saying in creative non fiction the author must not grandstand, be self serving, and laying out a restrictive guideline that in my opinion lessens the ability of the author to be creative in a genera of writing that should be creative. I believe my opinion of creative non-fiction was much looser and allowed for much more freedom for the author. I believe the rule athuors must follow in cretive non fiction is that it must be truthful, period. I think that is a point Mr. Lott in I agree on, but with in that I also realize that creative non-fiction is entertainment and thus the author may use writing techniques that enhance the entertainment value of the written piece with in the frame work of truth and reality. That is a point where Mr. Lott and I disagree, I believe in creative non-fiction it is OK to embellish, grand stand, and spin things to get a reaction out of the reader while Mr. Lott believes thats not truthful.
Mr. Lott's criteria for creative non-fiction is to rigirous in my opinion and goes against the very name of the genera. I beleive in sticking with the original idea that creative non-fiction will always be defined differently by people.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
What is creative non fiction?
To me creative non-fiction is writing a story based on truth but using creative methods to make it more interesting to the reader. Usually it involves the writer talking about their life, observations, and experiences to their audience. But that definition alone sounds more like a autobiography than creative non fiction so their has to be more to it. In my opinion creative non fiction requires a bit of embellishing on the part of the writer, yes overall it has to be truthful but at the end of the day it is entertainment. So to be entertaining the writer has creative leeway to try and create a scenario that is the most appealing to the audience.
I think the the main point of creative non-fiction is for the author to induce emotion in the reader whether its suspense, horror, comedy, or any thing else.
I think the the main point of creative non-fiction is for the author to induce emotion in the reader whether its suspense, horror, comedy, or any thing else.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
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