Reading Responses

Ch 1 -- The Sound of Your Writing

"the basic elements of language are physical: the noise we make and the rhythm of their relationships."

After the poetry segment of the semester, i've become a fan of alliteration, and according to some of the people in the class i'm fairly decent at piecing together poetry that is fun to read and say. As the first half of the semester progressed, I've become a fan of word play. I love writing something that is fun to read out loud. Putting it together so that my readers understand has been secondary and a bit of a challenge, though, because i'm still new to the art of creative writing

Ch 2 -- Punctuation

I'm guilty of being one of those writers who forgets about punctuation while i'm in the process of writing. I'm too busy trying to build on my ideas and stories so i forget any kind of punctuation that isn't a period or a comma. Since i'm new to creative writing, and writing in geral hasn't been a strong point of mine, i plan on looking into buying, or at least, googling the ideas from the book referenced in the chapter, The Elements of Style.

I also feel that i may have been one of those students in grade school that was constantly scolded about using incorrect grammar and punctuation. As a result i've become intimidated by the idea of writing. I think that that is one of the reasons why i struggle with writing creatively now because i over analyze what i write as i am writing so instead of just getting my ideas down.

random impulse

Chalrie the chicken chucker
Chucks chickens chaotically
plucking chicken feathers furiously
to save for curious chick calligraphy
plucking and chucking goes charlie
plucking chicken phalanges
picking out his favorite phalanges
to save for later tooth picking

Random Impulse : Class exercise

Chicken pluckers are good about savig.
They believe that one man's trash is another man's treasure.

Han loves recycling chicken feathers. He has a big closet full of chicken feather slippers.
It's been his habby for years.
White feathers, brown feathers... he even likes the color the feathers himself.
Han doesn't waste feathes. He loves his Chicken Slippers.

Han the chicken plucker is also responsible for plucking chicken feet.
He has rows of fishing ine in his back yard.
Each line has chicken feet tied to them.
He likes to use chiken feet for a lot of different things.
Brush handles, tooth brushes, back scrachers and even toys for his dogs.
Han doesn't like to waste

JunkYard

"We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the life that is waiting for us." -Joseph Campbell

"Life is what happens while you're busy making other plans"
-John Lennon

"... who are now on Welfare and their entire lives rotate around that one day a month when they get their welfare checks" (from the short story 1/3, 1/3, 1/3 from our book p 71)

Sounds like the story of most of our lives in some way or another... waiting on the money we dont have just to survive or fit in or something robotic and start it over again once that money is gone...

"My lips hurt from kissin' so much ass" -- My sister Anisa during a conversation we were having after she got off from work. She's a waitress. lol

"Responsible people don't normally win Darwin Awards..."-Anisa again

Student Response:

Tap. Tap.Organs coarse with emotion, fleeting, meeting angst with anger.Ink. Plank. Tap. Tap. Tap.Pouncing gravity, weight inpounds, pudge, pounds.Gropping angles, triangles.Pounds under the covers, under the sheets,under the mattress,under the bed,under the floor, poundsweighing down. Tick. Tick. Measured in ivory, in stix, in strings, in picks, in reeds, in velvet. Mopped floors, slip, slam. Cabinet doors unopened tostrangers, conceal ourdisfigured family.Slam. Tap. Tap. Anxiety is reminded through clocks and balled fists.
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i couldnt get my computer to poast this in the format it was publish on Emily Sexton's page... SORRY!

i enjoyed this. I'm guessing this is the writing exercise we did in class with word play?

First, i like the line "meeting angst with anger. ink. plank. tap.tap.tap." Makes me think of someone who is getting a tattoo?

Second: Pouncing gravity, weight impounds, Pudge pounds, grouping angles, triangles. While i was reading i was thinking about a lot of the commericals on the TV and Radio and ads in magazines that talk about weight loss as if it were soem game with a time limit. 'Grouping angles' makes me think that you're talking about super models and someone who is over weight who is grouping for the chance to have a body like the girls in magazines but never achieves. and maybe pouncing gravity means "bouncing/pouncing'' back and forth between desired weight?

i like it. interesting :D

Student Response:

2. "We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the life that is waiting for us." -Joseph Campbell (Stolen from Emily Sexton's page)

When i read this it reminded me of John Lennon's quote: "Life is what happens when we're busy making other plans" I almost forgot about that quote...

i think i may add these two to my junkyard quotes... :]

Student Response:

“Just throw her in the bed of the truck and cover her body up with the tarp!” someone yelled.
My stomach curled at the smell of the vomit blowing through the wind. The full moon hanging in the sky glared and made it apparent it was everywhere—on my clothes, in the dirt, on the truck, in the grass. And the smell of blood mixed with the array of multi-colored chunks strewn across the hay field didn’t settle well either. How did we end up to this point? Was I going to be considered a murderer?
Everything was replaying through my head. We were just driving, singing along to George Strait, and drinking. Then the accident happened. It happened so fast.
“Come on, Whit, lighten up! It’ll be fine.” My friend Brandon was trying to cheer me up. Of course he was okay. Out of the 12-pack of Coors Light we had bought, he had consumed the majority. Three was my-not-so-lucky number. Two in a kuzy and one through funnel was just enough to make me mad. I thought a weekend at the lake with my friends would be a refreshing change from the college and sorority bull I put myself through every week. Instead, I end up in the middle of no where Alabama with throw up on my new shirt and a rip in my bathing suit underneath.
I examined my ex-boyfriend’s little sister, Kim, lying limp in the bed of the ole Chevy. Her eyes were dark and her skin had goose bumps. It was pretty chilly outside.
I walked over to my group of guy friends who were pacing back and forth making bald spots in the hay. Brandon was off to the side talking to the promiscuous, ugly, and used acquaintance he had brought with us on our ride down the asphalt. She was always in the way—her voice, her laughter… Everything was annoying and my entire group of guy friends was falling for her. I thought of it more as they were falling for her trap to catch an STD. I would have talked to her with my fist if she hadn’t been such an asset to sober driving. Brandon’s hands wrapped around her skinny waist as she giggled into the chilly night air. How could they be doing that at a time like this? My stomach became even more knotted. If it wasn’t for her, then we wouldn’t be standing here in confusion with a half-dead girl on our hands.
I was practically the only sober one for the time being besides the tramp over there. I couldn’t drive at a time like this anyways. The guys wouldn’t let me in case any other incident occurred along the way back to the lake house. I envisioned all my best friends back at the house having a great time without a care in the world, not realizing their friends who had gone to McDonalds were in a hay field with a practically dead girl lying in the back of the truck.
“This is like the funniest thing ever. She is going to want to see this.” The tramp was taking pictures of her best friend lying in the bed of the truck, “I hope she isn’t dead.” And she kicked the body with her foot. “It’ll be fine.”
We climbed in the truck with Brandon at the wheel. It didn’t seem like the best idea, but at the time, it didn’t seem like the worst either. One mile was all we had to drive. The truck cranked and we pulled out onto the road. The moon reflected on the hood of the truck in a distorted way as we cruised down the old back road. It was much quieter than before—everyone was silent and the music was playing at a low hum. As I stared at the moon on the hood of the truck, blue lights caught my attention up ahead.
“Damnit. A road block. What the hell are we going to do now? We can’t drive through this!” Brandon said, concerned about the situation.
My heart pounded as we drove closer. My eyes were fixated on the motion of the lights until I realized we were turning left. I freaked out, “What the hell are you doing we can’t avoid a road block. They’ll come find us! Turn around! Go back!”
“I’m going to drive down here and hide in this loadin’ dock and they’ll never see us. Whit, they ain’t never gunna find us down here. We can’t go through a road block with Kim in the back of the truck like that. So stop worryin’.” Of course Brandon had to be the clever one—the one who was drunk and driving. And call me clever too, because I was riding with him.
.... To Be Continued....



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This story gave me the creeps and chills! It reminds me of a horror movie. Nicely done. I could smell the vomit the whole time i was reading... creepy lol