Review on Stephen Corey's Experiencing

Art, Beauty, Body. Stephen Corey provides an interesting perspective on these three elements in his short piece. The vivid descriptions are noteworthy in this piece, but it is how the author ties his descriptions with his thoughts and reflections that make his message profound. In my opinion--I might be wrong--the message the author is trying to portray may be how humans are hardwired to appreciate beauty, based on his closing paragraph. That there is a natural amusement or awe within us when we see beauty, even if the beauty stems from something unknown. Corey's writing is simple and concise and well balanced in specificity to help readers generate a picture of his words. A story written by a grandfather observing what his grandchild observed. That is the beauty within his art as it comes from everyday life.

The Ricebowl Continues...

Because when one page is finished, another page unfolds...

House by Tracy Kidder (Profile Reading)

Tracy Kidder's House is a short but concise tale about the daily life and routine of a carpenter in Apple Corps, and also the ways they deal with imperfection. A noteworthy mention for this piece is Kidder's attention to detail and dialogue. Kidder selects specific details that bear meaning to his subject and uses short dialogues to make the reading more dynamic. A good example would be the cat's paw, which he writes:

Each carpenter owns a short handed crowbar with a rounded claw known as the cat's claw...

"What would a carpenter do without a cat's paw, Ned?"

"Buy one," Ned replies

None of them carries his cat's paw, but each knows where it is. If he makes a mistake, he has to get the tool

The details that Kidder emphasizes doesn't just describe the scene, but sought to tell readers a little about the people that is being mentioned in his piece--how the carpenters aren't pessimistic but still aware that errors occur. In addition, the short and well placed dialogues that Kidder employs also gives flesh to the characters. Dialogues create a sort of intimacy that makes readers feel like their reading a conversation. In this piece, Kidder includes the casual, raw dialogues of carpenters, which is ideal to get readers to feel the rhythm of the job.

This piece, in my opinion, has helped me understand how writing is about being selective of details. Everything has to play a part or make sense in the grand scheme of things. If Kidder highlighted every random description and dialogue that had no relation to the plot, readers would not have learned anything or feel the mixed-uppedness of wanting things to be perfect, but at the same time acknowledging that mistakes happen. An, I think Kidder does a great job in showing that through his descriptions and dialogue.  

 

APE Inspired Essay-My Father and I

My father is not my brother. In fact, I never had a brother before, but I imagined—if I did—he would agree that my father and I were total opposites. My father is a quiet man, I am a chatterbox.

We both have the same dark brown eyes, same round head, same black hair. I imagined that when he was younger, we looked alike. But, he is slightly taller than I am, hands more callous, and grey strands have started to appear on his head. 

He often says i’m wasting food, judging by the amount of scraps left on my plate. His plate was always clean.

My father prefers to be still, I prefer to move around. It didn’t matter if I was going to see my friends or make a quick trip to buy some food, he was always irritated when I tell him i’m leaving.

He loves to buy imitations—watches, bags, electronics—not because he was cheap, but because he thought all the real branded stuff were unnecessarily overpriced. Sometimes, I detest his behavior to buy fakes. For my 17th birthday, he gave me an analog watch as a gift—an imitation. He said the watch was just as durable as the real one, said the glass was impervious to scratches and cracks. A week later the first scratch, then a crack rooted its way through the glass three months later.

He hates waiting. He always says, “I don’t like to wait for people, and I don’t like people waiting for me,” although there have been countless times he left me waiting for an hour after school. And that’s another thing about my dad: He hates to be wrong.

I admit it hurts to be wrong, to have your values and actions scrutinized, but when you are wrong; the best you can do is to apologize, swallow your pride, and shy away. But my father hated the idea of being wrong. It showed weakness. And so, he convinced himself that he could never be subjected to error. I always sought to expose his errors.

Sometimes he sees my tears, but turns away instead of laying his arms around my shoulders. He cries too. In silence. 

We both love watching movies, especially comedies. And when my dad laughs, he emits a distinctive loud high-pitched sound, that resonates around the room. His laugh is so infectious that I find myself laughing with him even if I don’t get the joke.  

My father is not my brother. Sometimes I ask myself what does “Father and Son” mean? Would we be better off more similar than different?

My mother showed me a picture of my dad holding a baby. His arms tenderly wrapping the child’s fragile frame. My father looked calm and delighted as oppose to how stern he looks these days. That child was me. I realized he loves me because I’m his son, his flesh and blood, his imitation, but I am not sure why I love him. I wonder if he has loved me less since the day that picture was taken.

The Words of Six Work Postcards

The Selection

At first, I wondered why Taylor said "it was difficult to find a common theme within all the different stories in Short Takes," but I soon discovered some truth to what she said. Nevertheless, after some arduous searching, I've found three picks that relate to each other both thematically and structurally. These selections are Lawrence Sutin's Six Postcards, Joe Mackall's Words of My Youth, and Kim Barnes Work.   

Theme

The unifying theme that is present in all these short stories is Youth and Maturity.

Mackall's piece is a recount of a moment of his life--young and unrefined--spewing words that he innocently does not fully grasp the meaning, but says it anyways without concern for the consequences. He makes mistakes, and in one account, Mackall was punched in the face for calling the "kid-man's" girlfriend a "dyke." This was a reality check for the author, and he begins to realize the faults of his words, but  concludes that these words naturally come along just like any other typical occurrences. 

Six Postcards is a retelling of Sutin's life accounts growing up. Sutin write about his journey as a boy to fatherhood. He recalls the growing pains with his father, and the feeling of being a father himself--full circle. He talks about the things he observed such as summer girls, and the lessons he learned like the bittersweet moments of taking care a child. 

Kim Barnes talks about the work she has done from her youth to adulthood. The story also focuses on the change of perspective on gender roles. She writes about her mother and her acknowledgement that she is of the submissive sex. On the contrary, in the last section, Barnes is seen in a role reversal as she is a strong woman who chops wood to earn some income for the family.

In my opinion, an important note in nonfiction is the theme. Writing can take many forms, styles and genres; but the most important thing is the central message to the readers. "What's important in this piece and why is this important to the reader" is a question writers should always ask when writing. It provides direction, and not a regurgitation of life accounts that do not add up.

Structure

In terms of structure, all the selected pieces are memoirs of the author. A memoir is a unique form of writing that is used in nonfiction. Unlike an autobiography, a memoir only covers certain portions of the author's life. It is a has a specific focus and seeks to implicitly/explicitly shared the experience and knowledge gained that has changed the author's perspective in life. 

These pieces also incorporate paragraph breaks--either by adding sub-titles or numbers. This is to signify a transition to a different segment of the author's life, a different lesson to be told. This method also compliments the memoir style as it only focuses on the experiences that matter--as opposed to an autobiography that seeks to reveal every chronological detail. 

In nonfiction, it is important to focus on what's important. Memoirs, as mentioned earlier, is a selection of crucial life-changing events that tell something about the writer and delivers a message to readers. I sometimes find myself inclined to write as many details as possible in my stories, trying to draw the scene as vivid as possible, but not every detail mattered. That crooked nail protruding from the wall would not be of importance to a story about an abusive father beating a child unless it had a purpose. Nonfiction. There is purpose, something to be told in nonfiction.

As Sutin writes: "The names and facts of my life as names and facts are insignificant...All I know is of these things or states and how they made me feel. That would be truth in this book." 

This Too Is Life by Lu Hsun

In his last months before death, Lu Hsun, a man considered by many to be the greatest modern Chinese writer, decides to use the remainder of his life to write two essays that reflect the mortality of a dying man. One of these essays is called This Too Is Life. 

Lu Hsun's essay may not be the easiest of readings. According to the Art of the Personal Essay, the piece incorporates classical Chinese technique which means nothing is straightforward. One of the intriguing aspects of this piece, as a whole, is its formlessness. It is as if Hsun had written his essay simply based on his thoughts, without a clear direction to steer the readers, talking about many themes on life such as illness, exhaustion, comfort. But, despite the lack of coherence between ideas, the essay still manages to convey a couple of key messages to readers--one that comes from the perspective of a dying man.

I particularly enjoyed reading Hsun's odd metaphor in his first passage on tiredness and relaxation. 

"I used often to boast that I did not know what it was to be tired. In front of my desk there is a swivel-chair, and sitting there to write or read carefully was work; beside it there is a wicker reclining chair, and lying there to chat or skim through the papers was rest. I found no great difference between the two, and often boasted of the fact. Now I know my mistake. I found little difference because I was never tired, because I never did any manual labor."

This metaphor, in my opinion is a careful observation of life. People, in general, don't really pay much attention to the comfort level of different types of chairs. It is the privilege of the privilege. And, this opens up to a wider context that only those who have endured suffering and pain, as Hsun encounters in illness, are able to distinguish the differences between the comfort of relaxation and the fearfulness of exhaustion in life, which I think this metaphor and later passages clearly show. 

I was really intrigued when I read the third passage. Hsun had succumbed to an illness, which led him to lose desire to do anything. He writes "I did not brood over death, but neither did I feel alive. This, known as 'the absence of all desire,' is the first step towards death." This sentence is effective because it clearly explains to readers the author's state of mind through the use of contrast. It is also interesting how the second sentence contradicts the first. Although the author did not think deeply toward death, he was, in a way, headed toward death because of his lack of will.The author, in his own mortality, understood that when a person begins to lose the will to live, he starts to die, although he is physically alive.    

The main message Hsun was trying to convey was how life is about looking at things as a whole and not as individual parts. He does this by saying "we notice rare blossoms, not the branches and leaves." This metaphor is simple yet thought provoking. Through the use of clever rhetoric and literary devices, the sentence critics and questions the logic of how we view life as only highlighting the high moments and disregarding the smaller, minor moments that led to that event. We need both parts, the good and bad times in life, to define who we are as a whole.

What is also interesting is the analogy in the next paragraph, which he uses to as an example of failing to look at life as a whole. He employs the fable of the blind man and the elephant. Due to the lack of sight, the blind man mistakes the elephant's foot for a pillar, implying how misleading our lives can be if the person doesn't look at the whole. One of the features of non-fiction is to be resourceful with your stories. Interpretations aside, this paragraph displays Hsun's resourcefulness in incorporating a fable, which originated from India, to spice up his essay.  

Trains to Womanhood

(In a Hunger Games manner) If I had to choose two essays as tribute, I would choose Danielle Daugherty's Innocence to Womanhood and Paul Zimmer's The Trains. I think two essays go well with one another as both these essays tend highlight the author's struggle with certain things in their lives. Danielle, on one hand is searching for inner femininity, of being a woman, while Zimmer is trying to regain the reality he never had. Both essays make good use of simple, concise sentences; let their propel the story; and portray a lot of personal reflections tied to key events of their lives--they try to make sense of things. They're both mixed up, and within their reflections they tend to bring up questions that motivate readers to think as well

What was I thinking? Why do I sit at my writing table at a time like this? (Zimmer)
What does it mean to be a woman? (Daugherty)

The raw emotions and solemn tone-- by using simple,non-extravagant words--makes these two essays a relatable read when pondering about life and struggles.

Onions of Relatibility

What does it mean to be relatable--and why is there a red line when I type this word? Rebecca Onion's article The Awful Emptiness of Relatable poses a thought provoking questions on the nature of relatability and how the present day society(college students) was using the term "relatable" as a default to avoid deeper, more meaningful analysis toward a subject.

"Relatable" is in the eye of the beholder, but its very nature is to present itself as universal. It is shorthand that masquerades as description. Without knowing why you find something "relatable," I know nothing about you or it.

When I think about this passage, the term "empathy" comes to mind. Empathy is defined as the ability to understand and share the feelings to another. To feel "relatable" toward something, we first need to have the ability understand--we relate to something based on the similarity of experience. But even if we experience something similarly, our perspectives and outcomes that we take from that experience are different. Everyone has experienced failure, failure is relatable, but to what extent we feel failure seeping into our souls is entirely subjective.

And when we find something unrelatable, we become curious to make it "relatable." When did "relatable" begin its reign?  A curious question from the author, and I agree that the word has been used too often to silence further opinions on a matter. The phrase "Oh, yeah I find that relatable!" automatically assumes there is no need for further explanation. Shutting out all opportunities of learning something. Are we just too lazy/afraid to speak our opinions?

Although the article seeks to expose the flaw of the term "relatable," I find the article, as a whole, delightfully informative and ironically "relatable." It all depends on the usage, and even if we find something relatable, just like fingerprints, there is always a distinction, always a glint of individuality that is worth mentioning, always, because no two minds think alike. To what extent are we "relatable?"

Listen:

               In my opinion, the segment that best portrays Rebecca Solnit's concept of intertwined lives, and how we are defined by of others around us, is best described in the first Ice chapter. In this section, the story of Frankenstein and the abomination he created is retold, but instead of just retelling a story, Solnit performs surgery and dissects the author's life to show readers how different consequences are embedded in creating this horror/psychological classic. Just like how the monster's self was a consequence of Frankenstein's rejection and irresponsibility, the author, Mary Shelley, and her defined 'self'' is a consequence of others in her live--her father, her mother, her husband, her dead children.  

Mary was often called as "cold" because she was reserve, and she even said so herself. But, Solnit shows us a different way of "telling" the story: Mary was the mother of dead children, Mary was the wife of a pleasure-loving husband, Mary was the cast-off of her father, Mary was the death of her mother. Who she was, was influenced  by the people around her, and the people around those people. And, out of all that came the inspiration for the novel Frankenstein and the monster. A monster, the embodiment of Mary's loneliness,her father's irresponsibility, her dead children, and husband's neglect. There are other ways of telling.     

Argh!!

Let the arrow of ye compass point true North, lad; and the oars roll forward, leaving behind the "what may" and "what if." For what is an adventure without a hurdle or two? And what is a tale if there be not a sea monster, whose claws were as sharp as obsidian, face as putrid as a corpse on Monday, or a flesh-eating teeth that would shiver yer spine. Ya might come home scarred, without a limb, running to your mama's fanny, or you might be a legend, which stories would entail, making the man part of the myth. But yer be changed either ways. Yer be changed for good.  

About Mandy

Mandy On Being Mandy

Sometimes my students would look at me and wonder if I'm really their teacher

--Mandy Calvert

Mandy is probably the one of the few people in the United States I can see "eye-to-eye." She is about 5 feet 4 inches, slim, and rosy around the cheeks. Her oval shaped head would be cascaded by a stream of blond hair with one side abnormally wavy, while the other was fine and straight. This probably due to the many transitional phases--long, short, straight, curly, feathered. And when she smiled, you could always see her perfect set of teeth under her pink lips--though stained with a light shade of yellow . The dense lashes above her eyes would crinkle amusement so plain that it was impossible to miss her radiance. Her eyes were painted with the color of the Caribbean sea, and would emit a sparkle of clarity every time the sun shone on her face. Small feet. Straight posture. She is 29 years old, but she does not look her skin still blooms of youth--absent of the wrinkles of aging and a compliment to her vibrant personality. When she talks, her voice sometimes runs a pitch higher, sounding like a child, pre-puberty, which adds to my perplexity that she is approaching her thirties. But, the dark ring below her eyes tells a tale of maturity as well. Her hands were soft and delicate, a credit to her kind and nurturing character. The clean, polished ring on her fourth finger, still untarnished, marks a fresh marriage and a life journey that has only begun.      

,,,,,Chameleeeeooon Response by David Grann

David Grann's article The Chameleon is a bittersweet story about the intricate life of Frederic Bourdin, a con artist, who adopts so many identities he ironically cons himself in the process. Aside from the bizarre content itseld, I find this piece interesting and well developed as Grann employs a journalistic inverted pyramid style of writing with artistic essences. The begins with a summary of a recent event on Bourdin, kind of a journalistic lede, and continues to dissect his life through accounts and interviews, leading to rich dialogues and perspectives. This, as a result, makes the story particularly effective in engaging with readers. Grann is sure to include some abstract notions in his writing as a fine contrast to how monotonous journalistic style can sound. In one of his descriptions, he writes: For once, he seemed unmistakably an adult, with a faint five-o’clock shadow.  

A feature I particularly like about this piece is the evident 'I' that Grann employs. The author sometimes makes himself known, though not disruptively, to readers. This gives a sense of existence that tells people that the story is being narrated from someone's voice, which might generate some intimacy? (I'm still researching on this haha!)
The repetition of Nicholas' is used extensively in the writing that it creates a confusion among readers, in which the readers, after some time, are confuse who is the main character of story anymore.

As an added emphasis on the "chameleon" idea. Grann uses repetition(anaphora) when it comes to the names Bourdin adopts in his cons.

As Bourdin came to inhabit the life of Nicholas, he was struck by what he considered to be uncanny similarities between them. Nicholas had been reported missing on Bourdin’s birthday. Both came from poor, broken families; Nicholas had almost no relationship with his father, who for a long time didn’t know that Nicholas was his son. Nicholas was a sweet, lonely, combustible kid who craved attention and was often in trouble at school. 

Rosemary Mahoney's "from Whoredom to Kimmage" Response

The one thing I find delightful is Mahoney's attention to non-verbal gestures, signs, and body movements, which the author coats with emotions and personal reflections.

She listened with her mouth open and her head tilted to one side, as though hearing the miracle of speech for the first time "But I thought you knew these people." she said.

This is also a great combination with the colorful dialogues the author puts in her piece. Dialogues, which gives a sense of intimacy, together with the non-verbal gestures effectively convey the emotions of the characters, and thus makes them more lively. I also admire how she adds contrast into her scenes such as the young couple coming out of a basement restaurant (pg.382).

"The woman's movement, so graceful, that it was like watching a ballet or a dance occurring underwater."

While the actual scene was a lady throwing fits at her companion, Mahoney's perspective is the complete opposite of the actual aggressive nature.This provokes thought in readers that nothing is always as it seems and may hold a different perspective.

Gary Smith's "Birth of a Nation" Response

Gray Smith's Birth of a Nation is a excellent piece that tells a tale of a boy who is trying to break loose form the repetitive cycle of monotony while trying to avoid being the victim. It is not only a profile of Takes Enemy and his journey but also a profile of the Indian community as well .The one thing I find delightful about this piece was the rich context Smith provides to readers. Realizing that the conflict spurs not only from the individual but also from the community, he is able to zoom in and out in a sociological perspective by focusing not only on Takes Enemy's but the people in his community as well. He focuses on their festivals and traditions, which adds insight to Takes Enemy's double-consciousness--pursuing success and preserving heritage. Smith's elaboration on past and future during the initial bus scene creates a mixed-up tone as he places questions such as Weeping. Did you hear it? or But Takes Enemy -- he would be the one who escaped. wouldn't he? These line make reader's question as to whether Takes Enemy would end up in the alcoholic short-lived spiral that looms over his teammates. It also serves as a good foreshadowing of the events that follow.

Night Trucks Response

Kent Meyers' Night Trucks is a coming-of-age story, which is told through the author's experience of selling cattle. One of the admirable aspects of this piece is the author's intelligent writing style in descriptions.

Shadows of crooked branches slid over the wall above my bed, over the ceiling, over my sleeping brothers, over the model cars and airplanes we had built and placed on our shelves, over the chifforobe where we each had a drawer to store thing. (pg 124)

In this sentence, readers are not only given a description of the scene through the use of a shadow, but the repetition of the word 'over' also gives a moving image of a shadow elongating its reach. Aside from that, I think Meyers does a good job addressing conflicts and contrast in this piece, which creates a unity between reader and writer. 

There was always a feeling of loss in selling. At the same time we knew it was necessary, like so many other necessary things. (pg 126)

Not everyone knows how cattle selling is done, but feelings of excitement/sadness in giving away things that one has spent a considerable amount of time for other gains is a universal feeling when transitioning into adulthood. This relatable conflict, additionally, creates intimacy with readers as well.   

Classmate/APE Response: The Death of Fleeting Curiosity

First thing that struck me? Well, it has to be how both authors give a vivid picture of their surroundings but successfully include some abstract notions as well. The imaginative style that Woolf employs to describe rooks and Prater's description of the hallway, captures the interest of the reader, curious to know more.  This works especially well in building a suspense, which is particularly effective in Braden's piece of hide-n-seek. In addition, both authors were able to give perspective to their characters in their writing. This not only gives us different layers to explore but also multiple angles to interpret the piece.

"Whatever the scenario, he seemed to always know exactly how long to stay out of view and when specifically to make a noise, such as a knock on a wall, as not to fully give away his location but provide us with a proper hint" (Prater, pg 2)

"The moth having righted himself now lay most decently and uncomplainingly composed. O yes, he seemed to say, death is stronger than I am." (Woolf, pg. 268)

Dear Blue Swallow

How I envy this blue swallow that perches on my balcony. She chirps the same song every day. A song about how nature provides for her, how she never has to worry about tomorrow. Her friends—blue, red, brown—flock around her to sing in harmony, and they depart home before sunset, only to repeat again tomorrow. But, how I pity this swallow. She will never taste disappointment, and the joys of success. She will never know her true friends in absence of discord. Dear blue swallow, you will never know what today really means until you worry about tomorrow.

Still Motion

Play. Stop. Repeat.

Cool, this part looks great! This is going to be awesome.

Pause. Trim. Play.

Perfect! I even got her good angle. The lighting might be too bright though. Might need to edit that later.

Play. Stop. Delete.

What is that?! Who is that creep behind her?! Is he…ugh!   

Delete! Delete! Delete!

Alright, now to add the music

Play. Pause. Play.

Hmm, this song is catchy. I wonder who sang this…Cher Lloyd?! Let’s see how her music video looks like…

Play .STOP. CANCEL!

Ugh! The music isn’t syncing with her lips! Where’s the other clip?! I thought I’ve saved it! AHHH!!!!

Play. Stop. Play.

It’s almost 3 AM. Would anyone really appreciate this? 

Render. Render. Render.

JOSH! YOU’RE AN IDIOT! YOU MISSED THE POOL SCENE!

Save. Export. Render.

It's done...It''s finally done!

Play... Repeat... Pause.....

*sigh* Someday I won’t remember the searing pain from climbing down metal ladders under the scorching sun; or the sweat I dripped trying to capture the perfect scene; or even the meal of instant noodles while I sat soaked with laughter...Memories like all other memories will fade.  But, I want to preserve these moments -- the quirky smiles, the stream-like moves, the people. 
I want to remember.  

And when my memory becomes hazy, and the frames begin to fast-forward; I hope this treasury of clips will make time stand still. 
Just for a second.     
End.

Classmate/Short Take Response: Small But Mighty Winter

*Drum roll* *Mic descends* *Contenders strut forward*

On the Short Takes corner, spanning 7 pages long, story about a father and his outdoor furnace, let's hear it for Larry Woiwode's Winter! *crowd cheers*

And on the classmate essay corner, checking in with 4,304 characters, of siblings and might, give it up for Small and Mighty by Samantha Caulfield!! *enthusiastic chants*

***********

Thing thing I find similar with the two stories are their concise and simple writing style. Both authors project simple complete sentences, devoid from complicated abstract notions that occasionally "turns off" the readers interest, which generates an intimacy with the readers--as if the author is your friend and is speaking directly to tell you a story. Related to that, both Woiwode and Caulfield employ dialogues in their writing to give a real life representation of the characters and the moments they experience and further establishes a connection with reader.

The thing I enjoy most about the two pieces are how both are able to present a meaningful message through trivial-everyday-routines.Woiwode's perspective on life's short span, stemming from a broken furnace, and Caulfield's discovery of sisterhood through a racing sport, shows readers how their minds work and challenges our own thoughts about family bonds.

Elle Ai Elle

Spring

I couldn’t tell if this season would be different from the rest, but you wore a yellow shirt. Daisies. Your lips were the first thing I noticed. Red, luscious, tender. First day of knowing you: a debate erupts, shared our first giggle, and slap to the arm. . I was only 13. Too young to start holding roses. The thorns would prick wounds deeper than the flesh. To me, you were that rose. A blossoming infatuation.  

Summer

I was wondering how far we could travel before we arrived at a journey’s end—France? The AC in the bus was out. You gently leaned your head on my shoulder, exhausted from the heat wave circulating in the interior. Your hair cascading the like a waterfall. A different kind of warmth. You breached my safety perimeter--an undisclosed side where outsiders were prohibited. But, you didn't seem to care. It was just the two of us, in a pool of strangers. I got my answer.

Autumn

September called for breathing space. Someone else had set his sight on you--my best friend. And I found a dark corner by the edge of eyes. One filled with tears.The leaves of our friendship, withering: slowly.  I gripped the rose, and the thorns pierced and blood oozed.  

Winter

“Come back, okay?” she said faintly. Words that echoed a chill up my spine. But, not a word breezed through my mouth. Uncertain promises are always better left unsaid. Snowflake tears. We held on to each other—both seeking solace on a winter’s night. Like conspirators of the night, we exchanged a moment only shared between the two of us. Your hands around my back only serve as reminder of what we could have been. I’m 20. Still holding on to that rose.