In Response to Essay Packet 2

I found this packet of essays to be somewhat different in a way I wasn’t exactly fond of. Don’t get me wrong I definitely respect the works and I find the Synthesis essays with the small remarks at the bottom divided by the lines to be more than interesting. Though there wasn’t much of a relationship I thought this was very profound and unique.

Language is extremely important in these essays because it’s what separates them from fiction and factual ideas. Essays like the ones from this packet use a combination of storytelling, ideas, imagination and fact to create the writings we see before us. Words like ‘Dream’, ‘Homonym’, ‘Maxim’ and other such words typically don’t appear in works like this, but I do find that really cool that they are separated from the rest of the essay they fall under. The word trickles down the essay and becomes the writer’s ideas (abstract for the most part) in which I believe they begin talking about themselves or a daydream they have experienced.

The essays that divulge into language use not only English but even outside of that and more, for example the essay: The Three Voices plays with Spanish (yes only using Naranjo, but still a very unique use and mesh of two languages to become one essay).

There is an odd way of confusing the reader in my opinion. To my belief there isn’t really a relationship between those poem-like writings below the lines of the synthesis essays. If there is some kind of relation it is little to none. As such in Synthesis VI where the essay speaks of a self-conscious writer (themself I believe) and in the small remarks the writer asks about where things have gone. Could this possibly refer to the writer’s mind and things they have lost?

In Response to Essay Packet

These essays are hard to read at some times, but for the most part they are pretty straight forward. I myself haven’t encountered writings like this until now, but I definitely enjoy them. I like how they begin with mostly factual sentences and statements as an essay normally would, but they have the backbone of a story, which of course follows their factual statements. They mesh together at such a great medium. Though some are on the more extreme, “pushing the envelope” kind of writing, side it is extremely intriguing to read. I found the story by Diane Ackerman, ‘Mute Dancers: How to Watch a hummingbird” to be one of these cases that I have to read it over a few time. It like most of the other essays in this packet begins with statements, descriptions of something in a factual way. In this case facts about the hummingbird. What they do, how they fly at high speeds, going from flower to flower stealing the rich nectar of blossoms, how they prefer red, trumpet-shaped flowers and so on. There of course comes in the opinion though, as she begins to explain why the humming bird apparently does not like to sing. This is interesting because there is no fact behind this, it just seems like a straight out opinion, but it flows into the story she tells next about her neighbor and how she had been needled by hummingbirds.

I like the way these are taken into account as a fictions story that happens to also be an essay or in essay form. It definitely changes the perspective of writings, and has definitely changed how I look at writing. I must say that even though I may not have noticed, it’s very much possible, and probable that I’ve read all sorts of essays but have taken them as a story where the author decided to throw in a few facts.  For the most part these essays are very forward, not hesitating to explain whatever it is the author is writing about and more, this I found in Sunday, especially with the first sentence, “White people couldn’t cook” but then again to truly write one’s thoughts and manifest into a proper writing, one must give into their thoughts to write something that comes from their mind and heart, not something society will necessarily accept right away. These essays are definitely something to be looked into more.

In Response to Maps to Anywhere By Bernard Cooper

Bernard’s characters are somewhat of a strange variety, not only does Bernard express that their names are of a great importance, especially when it comes to himself, but he delves into how their names suggest how accepted they would be in a social humanity. I found it interesting how he lingered on his own name, then going onto names he felt that were more taken with society. The stories he tells in these sections waver back and forth between typical teenage nonsense and nonsense of a more rare variety. Bernard decides not only to tell the stories but explain how the characters are to be, how they are feeling, and much about acceptance.

Bernard goes on with this name/identity crisis with stories of not being able to find a keychain with his name on it while his friends would find abundances of them.

He’s telling his memories in a way of a dream sequence. No real ending, or beginning, just the middle bulk of each story that would became a rich detail to him that he can describe to the audience

One story he tells with vivid imagery is the time he had at his niece’s baseball game where he described that she was at one time even outside her body, an extremely interesting kind of description in this book.

In the essay the wind did it within the actually story with the same name as the essay talks about Bernard’s father, he shows the idea of people cannot control paths, destinies and their overall sense of direction when it comes to life. He did this through a story where literally “the wind did it” in the case of the door closing, such a small little inquiry, but nonetheless, a strong and literal ideal that can be applied to life.

In Response to Fiction Packet 3 - Intro to Creative Writing

Fiction Packet three held writings that were extremely interesting. Starting with “When It Rains It Rains A River” it seems like the writer compares boys to boys, but not exactly. What I see is that the brothers in this story are the men, those fully grown and forced out into the world to fend for themselves. The rain symbolizing the idea that this world is crazy, there are always storms to brave through. And even though we may have imperfect minds and we always have room to grow, we are but children in this world no matter our age, playing in the mud that is life on this Earth. As the story goes on we read that the boys go to fish in the rain, make up a girl in the rain, they are muddy. I believe this to mean that the brothers, the men of the story make a living not only for sustenance, but to create a family. The world is dirty, and you have to get your hands dirty sometimes in order to create a life worth living. If not, you might as well be dead already.

“The Singing Fish”, the next writing in this packet is of course an extension of the previous pages. While the girl, the women are sound asleep and the men are out to hunt and gather, they come upon the singing fish, in other words, representation of miracles, knowledge, and confusion in this world.

As we go on to “What Our Mother Always Told Us”, the mud becomes something different. It becomes even more prominent. I believe this is where our parents, mostly our mothers try to protect us from the outside world. They wish us to be clean of this earth and its chaos, trying to do everything for us until we deny it so much they let us go out into the world. This story is interesting because not every mother would care, but ones like these make the world. Though they try to keep us clean, the human is a stubborn machine that decides upon itself to become dirty either way.

All of the stories, more so the ones beginning with “The Falling Girl” explain life in such a simplistic way from the point of view of children, mothers, teenagers and such. Talking about the beautiful and the ugly (both people and things in this world), It shows how people grow as the world grows.

Now why “Death of the Right Fielder” was cut short I could not say, it begins interesting but yet we are not given the next page by our packet. The story of a fielder in baseball, his presence not known and noticed right away, as he was face down on the ground, as there were several theories as to what killed him, but for some reason the very first the author lists is being shot…Extremely strange if you ask me.

The War

Here I am still standing after my war

One I fought with myself within myself

One that left my mind scattered, body sore

One that broke me down and shattered my shell

This war in me was over emotion

A war to control my own destiny

I do not know what words I have spoken

My mind went dead but in reality

I knew what I had done, what would happen

I knew what I would do next, take control

I knew the thing taken must be action

So I opened my eyes, released my soul

I knew from now on it was my own life

Where I made the rules, and I could end strife

Inspire Me

Every person I’ve ever met has inspired me to live
Even those who’ve brought me down, to them I can say that I forgive
Every person I’ve ever met has inspired me to have the bigger heart
Even though I might not be the nicest person I try and that’s a start
Every Person I’ve ever met has inspired me to dream
Even when life might be falling apart and tearing at the seams
Every person I’ve ever met has inspired me to trust in my God
Even those who don’t believe and those who choose to fake a façade
Every person I’ve ever met has inspired me to think
Remember who you are there’s a reason for everything
Every person I’ve ever met has inspired me in some way
Even the haters, the critics, the liars, the cheaters, and we live with them everyday
To them I say, no matter how much you bring me down I’m like a spring, I’ll end up high above the ground
And I know that what goes up must come down
But the hardships faced just tacks another up to experience and that thought is profound

Black Noise

Tick…tick…

I

A

M

N

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T

The

S

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C

K

N

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S

S

The words fly onto a page creating a devastating blow to the heart.

I look through the air, I smell food from fast food joints like Wendy’s and Subway.

These streets are carved with the name…Rachel.

My mind stops. It is no more but a fly on the tongue of a frog

I’m trapped

Scratching on the walls of my brain until my fingers bleed blue and red, and my nails are gone

I scream AH!

My…I…It is more than this

The date…What day is it?

Friday? Tuesday?

June….June 21^st

I don’t understand.

I am not the sickness