Beth Grosart: Inspiration and Truth

AWP Panel: Teaching the Writer and the Text: Writers of Color in the Creative Writing Workshop

(Panelists: Elmaz Abinader, M. Evelina Galang, Faith Adele, Mat Johnson, David Mura)

As I enter the generic conference room, there is nothing generic about the sea of faces - brown, black, olive, and tan colors of varying tones. Two or three shades of white are intermixed, but fade amongst the color.  I squeeze by an Asian woman with a half buzzed hair cut; the other half of her head is covered in long, straight black strands. She smiles at me and makes room.
Settling into my seat, I study the faces around me. An Asian man sitting at the panel table, smiles at me and I can't help but wonder if it's the kind of smile that says, I recognize you as a member of my tribe. You are one of my people. Or if he's just looking around the room, being friendly. I take it as a little of both and smile back.
I hesitate to look around. I have always felt like an outsider in groups like this, groups full of a diverse crowd of minorities. I sometimes wonder if I feel like the white people interspersed through the room, but then I remember, unlike them, I can fake it. I look like the majority in this room of minorities. What they don't know, by looking at me, is that I'm adopted. I grew up with the other half. Does that make me less of one of them? That's what causes me to sit quietly, take my silent notes and soak in what's being said in front of me:

"We must take our stories outside of this room."
"Why does the what of who we are hold us back for critique and craft?"
"Culture supports story but isn't the reason for story."
Ask yourself, "What reading have you done?" "It's our role to educate ourselves as readers." Read all cannons, "read outside the white cannon."
"No one has the truth themselves...All need to join stories to have the whole story."
"All of our stories come together in a joint narrative. It's not complete without every perspective."

The panel ends and the applause shakes us all forward in our seats, wishing it to continue. After the crowd starts to exit, I walk to the front to speak to the Asian panelist, David Mura. I say thank you. I tell him I appreciate his words. They continue to ring true in my head: Asian Americans, especially, have issues with recognizing and acknowledging their own racial place and diversity.
After telling him I have the added complication (if that's the right word, I sort of think not) of being an Asian American adoptee, he recognizes, just by looking at me, that I'm Korean. He tells me he knows some Korean American adopted writers who, once they recognized their diversity, "out their diversity," they became racially aware as writers. Some, even to a higher degree than people who had always been at that place. This is me, I say. For years, in high school and college, it never occurred to me to write racially diverse characters. My lens was white- painted by my parents, friends, school, and teachers. I was almost 30 years old before I wrote MY truth, before I wrote through a truthful lens.

Leaving the conference room, I remember the moment that (to use a panel term) "outed" my diversity. At the start of my low-res, grad school career, faculty member Evelina Galang (also a panelist) asked me, "What do you write?" I tried to speak. I thought I had a good answer - short, literary fiction about characters with complicated issues that are struggling with identity. She pushed me further, "That's not an answer. What do you write?" I tried again, but again, failed. In just a few minutes, she changed me as a writer. She helped me see that it wasn't my characters struggling with identity; it was me. This small moment inspired a new writer from within to create the writer I am today.

This AWP panel, sitting amongst that group, full of color and truth, helped me remember my revelation and inspired me to never forget it.

Tom rich- final post

Throughout the week I learned a lot about how people are inspired to write. Keith Dorrington was inspired to write The Fighter because he admired the way Dickie Ecklund and Micky Ward were still working hard to train Micky to be a good fighter, despite Micky's failures in fighting and despite Dicky's drug addiction. PK Simonds was inspired to go into the screenwriting business for television because he was intrigued by comedy and wanted to further his comedic writing skills. The publishing company heads were inspired to start companies editing and publishing literary journals because they enjoy reading literary journals. Thus, during this past week I met people who were inspired to write by traits of admiration, interest, and enjoyment.

Trich on Literary Journal Publishing Companies (seminar)

I learn a lot about publishing companies for literary journals from the seminar. I met 3 people who ran these companies who seemed to be inspired simply by the fact that they enjoy reading literary journals. Each of these company owners receive thousands of literary journal submissions each month. If a company head likes a submission they will let a person know by email. If the company head knows he will be able to sell the literary journal he will buy the rights to the submission from the original writer. When he buys the submission his job is then to publish it and try to sell it to bookstores across the nation. How this works is they make calls to a book store companies headquarters and ask who their buyer is. If they are successful at getting a buyers contact information it is then their job to promote the literary journal and sell it to the book store company. This job is often hard because often times book store companies don't give out their buyers contact info and often times book stores don't even sell literary journals.  

Julia's final post

This week has helped me to gather new inspirations for my writings. Yesterday we had the chance to go to conferences and listen to writers, where they got their inspirations from. A guy called Brock Clark shared one of his books, which was written in a funny way. He writes in first person and writes in an open style. Writing with humor and not being uptight has a positive influence on the readers. The book he shared made the auditorium laugh. He said that no one should write a book about an another writer because readers would loose interest in reading.

All in all the week helped me to gather new inspirations from what I have seen and heard from different people. Knowing that everyone starts off as a small writer and grows with experience shows that everyone needs a point to start off with. The ideas grow through different actions like watching movies, traveling or art. Art is the main inspiration to start writing poems as well as books. It has been a great week!!!

Trippe Final Reflection

    Write On! was an interesting project for project week. I have always been interested in writing because I read a lot, but have never really gotten around to trying my hand at it. The first two days the group stayed in the classroom at New Hampton and learned about different writing styles. We heard the writer from the movie The Fighter speak about his motivation to write, which was very interesting. We learned about memoirs, creative writing, poetry, documentary, and receiving inspiration from artwork. On Wednesday, our group took a trip down to New Bedford to learn about the inspiration for the famous book Moby Dick. The author, Herman Melville, was inspired by his experience on a whaling voyage and used this experience in his portrayal of Ismail, the narrator of his book. He had the notion of whaling as "bad", which was a radical view in the days of whaling. Whalers believed that whales were dark, evil leviathans from the depths of the cold and terrifying sea. Melville's idea that whales were peaceful mammals definitely was not the common view. We went to Woods Hole down the Cape afterwards, and listened to Mr. McCollom's Uncle talk about writing for TV shows. This was interesting because he had a lot of information to pass on to us. He had worked with the writers for famous shows, including one of my favorites (Game of Thrones). On Thursday, we traveled to the AWP conference in Boston. There, we sat in on two conferences of our choosing to learn more about different writing inspirations. I personally did not take much from this part of the trip, but this was probably due more to my poor selection in conferences rather than the conferences themselves. That night, we attended a concert at the Berklee College of Music. This was a very impressive concert. It certainly inspired me, many of the women had incredible voices. We even saw a girl go HAM on the recorder. And there was a song with Kazoo's, which i guess was kinda cool.

All in all, this was an exciting project. I learned many things about writing that I did not know previously. I learned that when writing a memoir, using dialogue enriches the story. I learned that when writing a documentary, it is important to stick to facts but certain unimportant details can be created. Finally, I learned how art can inspire us to create. This was interesting to me in particular; art creating art.

Schwings Final Post

Projects week has come to a close as I sit here typing out my final post contemplating what do focus on. This week was meant for finding inspiration as well as studying forms of it.  This first couple of days were longhand tedious but full of knowledge and experience as we talked to published poets, writers, our own teachers, and famous names such as Keith Dorrington. The hardest challenge I faced was creating my own poetry during the first session with Chelsea Woodard. I struggled as I looked at my chosen work of art, "A Pair of Shoes" by Vincent Van Gogh as my mind convulsed too many ideas at once causing me to have what I think of as a "writers block." I chuckle now as I remember this moment because I feel much more confident when tackling the creating of poetry because I know now that poetry is meant to be unstructured and simply a result of inspiration which can come from absolutely anything. My family is full of writers and I have always had a knack for writing but now after completing this week I not only enjoy it but I appreciate it and understand the creative side of writing. 

Aveson; Final Post

I joined this project week to find new ways to get inspiration for photography. Photography is my passion and talking to other peoples passion for writing and how they got hat inspiration taught me how to highlight everything, to make everything pop. Some artists say that language connects the world together to make one. In a way, photography has the same role. Everyone can look a picture and analyze it just like reading a book or a magazine article or even an essay.

Quote from Lawless: "It's not the violence that sets a man apart, it's the distance they are willing to go."

This quote influenced me to not give up on anything. Omitting the beginning part about violence and just focusing on "its the distance they are willing to go" drives me to go the distance. There is a limit to go but if I keep pushing past that limit in photography, my art can go places.

Trich on PK Simonds

I enjoyed talking to PK Simonds, a former screen writer and producer in LA. He was a producer and screenwriter of four TV shows that were very popular. I learn a lot from him about the process by which a TV episode is made. How it works and single person first types up an outline for an episode by himself. He hen shows his outline to people in a conference room and they give him "notes," which are ways by which the episode can be improved. When everyone in the conference room has read the outline, the writer than turns the outline into a script based on the notes. When done, the script is presented to the people in the conference room again. The people in the conference room read the script and give the writer more notes or flaws to fix. The writer then goes back to make edits to the script once again. This process continues until the writer and all members of the conference room believe they have a relatively flawless script. Simonds explained that it is very important in this process that the editors in the conference room be honest and professional about bad ideas. It is important that when bringing up a bad idea they are as constructive as possible and not rude to the writer. "Honesty is believing" said Simonds. He said that his willingness to learn about comedy was one of his inspirations to go into screen writing. He said that he learned that "people fighting is the best context for a joke." During fighting there is tension, and a joke told during fight releases the tension. He claims "the funniest jokes are a release of tension.  

Siqi Wang- Final reflection

During the week, we went to different places and met different people. From poetry to free writing. From New Hampshire to Massachusetts. Different sessions inspired me with different ideas. I learned how to connect poems to visual arts and we need to play with poems. I learned how to spread your mind and how does TV shows work. This week has been full of inspiration. With the inspiration, I created a short story in one of my session. This is a story which inspired by a fellow student's art.
It's 2030 , every family owns a robot nowadays. You can have the robot as housekeeper, maid, babysitter, tutor, personal tennis coach, or even your life-long partner (if you are creepy enough). Robert is the new Robot which the Fords' family just bought. The Fords is not wealthy at all. They can only buy a robot like Robert because Robert is a broken one. Even though it still have perfect control system, but it lost one arm as a killer in his last owner's home. He used to be a great killer. He can use knife, sword, gun, or even just a single rope to kill his target. He failed his last mission. He supposed to kill the rich man in sleep, but he stopped because the rich guy's little son was in the cradle next to him. Maybe that's why he can't be a top killer, he's too merciful. A killer can't have feeling. "Feeling will kill you." That's what his master told him. Staring at the hand he used to held gun, he stuck into his old memories.
This is just the introduction of my little story, but having the idea and being inspired more and more in the future. I am really excited to finish the story.

Awp conference- Ha Bui

The workshops I went to was a workshops for teachers on strategies to teach first grade children to write poetry and a workshop where the speakers talk about their books and read them aloud . I did not expect to go to a conference that is for teacher because the random title From hamster to sandbox has nothing to do with teaching. However , the talks was very interesting to listen to a teacher's perspective on teaching and that it is not that easy.
The second talk, one of the quote the speaker give was interesting . She said that " You should not write what you know, write what you feel "

Kenzie: This past week

This week was packed full of aspects of inspiration and different types of writing. I really enjoyed Ms. Grosart's workshop on Flash Fiction. As a new genre of literacy new doors were opened and I think that was the whole point of our project. I found new areas of inspiration, and learned from authors sharing their own sources. The conference we attended was a cool look inside the creative minds of others and how an artists work expresses themselves. Throughout the week I was inspired, not only to write but to simply express more of what I see in the world. My "inner eye" as one speaker said is unique. How I see things and experience them is different than anyone else, and I like the idea that through writing and art I have the power to share that. One of the exercises we did was for a flash fiction assignment. Each of us received different instructions of where to walk and from there to look for a source of inspiration. I walked towards Alby's, the country store I see almost everyday and found an old fountain. This was the source of my inspiration for the following little blurb.....

Clapp's Fountain
He shivered. He waited. The hard wood of the fence post dug into his back and the wind chilled his spine. He pulled the flap of his coat up and tucked his hat down further over his eyes. The outlines of the buildings behind him were strong, their brick and white accents barely visible in the clouded night. The remaining winter snow glared from the full moon. And still he waited.
From somewhere in the night a crow cawed. A creak sounded from a window in Randall, the old science building. All the students were done trick or treating and had gone back to their dorms to sleep soundly, exhausted from the night's festivities It was the witching hour, a time when all the lights were out and the spirits of Halloween in their prime. His thoughts spun out of control into a fantastical world of witches and demons, and he allowed his imagination to thrive in the tumultuous realm of haunting spirits. Still, he waited. The idea that Clapp wouldn't show up was at the back of his mind, threatening to make him leave. Yet he refused to be swayed. He needed what Clapp had and he was not going to leave his post. Before him a dark figure came out of the woods, transforming into a slim man with a fedora jauntily tilted towards his left eye. He hopped the curb and bounced to a stop. They inspected each other.
"Are you Clapp?"
"Aye, I'm here ain't I?"
"Rumford," the waiting man extended his hand, but Clapp waved it away.
"No need for that, chap. I'll just be doing my business and be on my way. It's the workings of the night, ya know. It being the witching hour and all," Clapp winked and smiled charmingly.
He placed something in the dry well of the drinking fountain, then nodded to Rumford. He skipped the curb and the last Rumford saw of Clapp was his slim form swaggering off down the road, whistling into the night.
Rumford grabbed the goods, his hand greedily feeling their form. He was delighted to finally have what he needed so desperately. His fingertips trembled at the sensation of holding it at last.
"Tomorrow," he whispered to himself, "I must wait for tomorrow. The plan will work much better that way." He cackled, his head tilting back, silhouetted against the stark landscape of the snow, and somewhere across campus a crow echoed him.

Brian Nazzaro: Final post

This week has taught me many valuable things about writing, journaling, and screen writing. This week has also taught me to search for what inspires me to right. By meeting many interesting people and hearing many interesting stories of inspiration through writing, I have learned that everyone no matter what, has something that inspires them. We talked to people who wrote famous movies such as the fighter or famous tv shows such as ghost whisperer and to hear these people influence us on chasing our dreams and telling us that they weren't born terrific story tellers or writers, that they worked towards it, inspires me. This week has not only taught me about true inspiration but about the different job opportunities that writing and story telling has to offer. I had a great week and learned many things.

Trippe Blogpost Day 4

     Today at the AWP conference, I sat through a session about publishing a literary journal. I listened to 4 different authors of literary magazines talk about many things. Some of the topics touched upon were how to receive funding, how to acquire submissions, and how to get the word out about their literature. 3 of the speakers appeared to know what they were talking about, while the fourth seemed to be a total space cadet. He didn't really know what to say, or even that much about his topic. Though to be fair to him, it was not the most interesting thing to sit through. I probably would have chosen a different conference if I had known. It had important information pertaining to starting a literary journal, but I do not have any plans to do so anytime soon.

Veronika Reichert - Final Post

  I wrote this paragraph for exercise about getting inspiration from famous pictures. This famous photograph taken by Will Counts of Elizabeth Eckford attempting to enter Little Rock School on 4th September, 1957. The girl shouting in the background is Hazel Massery.  

  Elizabeth Eckford is on her way to school for the first time. She holds a notebook in her hand and wears sunglasses to cover her eyes. In the back we can see people screaming and yelling at her. It's the first day that a colored girl like her, can go to school and she does. With her white flowing dress she continues her way to school without caring about the people behind her.

Mariza's Last Post On Inspiration

This week has taught be a lot about inspiration for my personal writing and art. I found out what inspires me to help with my any future art or writing I may create. I find inspiration in other writing, my family, nature, art, and music. I found out that all writers, creative writers and screen writers, find inspiration with their own personal experiences.
At the whaling museum, I learned a lot about Melville's writing style and where he found inspiration for Moby Dick, a book that I didn't like very much. I find the book very interesting now because of where he got his inspiration from. He got inspiration from his own whaling experience and his childhood. He was also inspired by Hawthorne. This made me realize that it is okay to be inspired by other writers and their books.
This week taught me a lot about what genre of writing I like writing in and about what inspires me daily.

Brian Nazzaro: writing conference

In the my first seminar about editors I found many things that inspired me. The most inspirational thing was to see where these editors and journalist started out. These people are just a average people who had goals and worked hard in what they loved to do. That inspires me to not give up on my goals.

Trippe's Blogpost Day 3

Today we toured the whaling museum in New Bedford. It was truly incredible to see all the history that was present in this town! Our group learned many different, interesting facts. One of these facts was that whales have eyes on the side of their head. Another was that a whale is the only animal that "creates it's own demise". The sailors would use the dried, brittle, unusable pieces of blubber from the oil creating process to use as fuel in the fire...which would be used in the oil creating process. We learned that the most valuable material from a Sperm Whale was the Spermaceti contained in it's head cavity. This material, a sort of goop, was used to facilitate their eco-location. It amplified the noises sent out by the Sperm Whale, in order to better locate giant squid on the bottom of the ocean. This picture is of the skeleton of the Sperm Whale. Seeing this skeleton truly inspired me. Its immense size was incredible.

Aveson; Whaling Museum Inspiration

The rope from the Waling Museum inspired me. It showed me that you can take something so simple like a piece of rope and create something so complex, like the different types of knots. I learned that turning something simple into complex can be expressed through different types of art.

Schwing AWP Conference

Yesterday, we attended the AWP Conference in Boston, Massachusetts. It was quite a change from the calm and laid back atmosphere in Woods Hole and New Hampton. We walked in and were overwhelmed by the amount of people, the noise, the large spaces, and realized how long we have been separated from reality. I remember in one moment I found myself standing still in the middle of a large walkway with traffic coming both ways. I stayed still and just took everything around me in, especially the fact that I was surrounded by thousands of brilliant writers. Our goal this week was to find inspiration and study authors and their inspirations and I couldn't pick a better moment than that to have seen inspiration head on. 

Looking back at the week

During this project week, Write On, I learned that inspiration can come from anything and everything. My favorite part of the week was when we went to the music concert at the Berklee College of Music. It was amazing to see such a diverse group of students performing such a wide range of music. I loved listening to the girl from Israel sing and play a kazoo! 

Brian Nazzaro: Whale museum

It was inspirational to see the bed's the whalers slept in and the tretourous voyages these people embarked on. Most voyages lasted 4 years, and consisted  of harmful and cramped living. These men set out, left home and family for sometimes no reward. What it took to be a whaler really inspired me and when I think I have it hard the whaleing museum showed me that it could be a lot worse.

Jule: Fiction about creative artists and writing

Lat summer of the world- by Emily Mitchell

• Fiction about photography
• World War One 
• Very descriptive narration
• creativity is often representative 
• Time travel device/flashback
• Each photograph tells a story 
•  Tried to undermine the meaning of portrait 
• Tried to focus on style and material as if someone would observe a photograph

Second session

Facts about writing

• Writing education is for everyone
• Writing is a democratic tool
• Writing outside of classroom environments requires that everyone learn. Constantly
• All writers-all coaches and clients-can learn from inventive process of community
• Money tree- navigate system, to be comfortable 
• Flexibility (feminist)
• Live in the Wild West
• Draw from models that exist
• Draw boundaries by defining your mission
• Enlist support 

Siqi Wang From the Hamster Wheel to the sandbox

The session " From the Hamster wheel to sandbox: Dreams and Free Association, New Media, and playfulness in the writing classroom is actually a session for teachers. But I didn't know about that before I walked in, so I gained another experience  of seeing poetry and free writing from another sight- teachdr's sight. One of the speaker really gave me another idea of poetry. He talked about how playfulness is involved in poems. He said there is a great difference between first year graders' ideas and college students' ideas. First graders have loose mind, their mind is not stucked in a sepcific range. They spread their mind everywhere. But college students' work is usually damaged. Because they are only thinking of how can they make their poem the best, or this is a poem, it has to be good. They don't know how to play with poems anymore. This is the time that I notice that poem isn't something must to be fascinating. Just loose my mind then I can create a good poem too.

Aveson; AWP Conference

At the AWP Conference in Boston, Massachusetts, I attended a seminar called Friction About Creative Writing. Writers talked about how they got their inspiration on artist in dance, photography, acting performance art and writing. Each artist expanded their thoughts in how language connects the world which I found very interesting. One writer, Emily Mitchell, wrote novels based n photographs. She looks at an image and creates that story from what comes to mind when she looks at it.

Little AWP Conference- Fiction About Creative Artists

Attending this seminar was really interesting. Every writer was inspired by different aspects of other artists. Some wrote biographically about photographers, or dancers and their struggles after their careers. Others wrote about the inspiration of music and how the beauty of instruments and sound has inspired their own fictitious writing. One man wrote books about writers and how they influenced peoples lives. Every author had different interpretations of how to represent an artist in their writing. Using an artist's work to get inside their head was a reoccurring theme and they all added a little tweak to the definition of ekphrasis. My favorite was that it is a way to address the conflict between the realms of images and linguistics. I learned a lot about the processor writing and inspiration from them, and many truths were revealed. A book is made up of things that are hard to believe and the characters within all have different ways of being born.

Mariza---Fiction About Creative Artists

Brock Clark is a writer that talked about his creative process and what he likes writing about. In this talk/lecture Brock talked about his book arsonists guide to new England homes. He talked about how writing about writers sounds narcissistic, and he loathes reading those books and writing about them because they seem immodest. Brock is a funny guy, who books seem equally as funny.

Harvard man

At the conference on literary journalism I found it hard to invest any interest in the speakers. They weren't great public speakers. But, I did meet a guy named Joe who is currently attending Harvard Graduate School. He is a sociology major and came to the convention as part of his major studies. He was quite knowledgable and welcoming!

Veronika Reichert - Conference&Bookfair Boston 2013

   Emily Mitchell who talked in the "Fiction about to creative writing", is about to publish her second novel. She tried herself on writing fiction about photography where she also got a little experience in photographing. From another writer who presented his book could I learn that I should never write about writers. The next presenter had the opinion that writing is the loneliest form of art and art had played always a huge part in his life so he decided to continue that. He likes about writing that what is written can take any form or shape and can also include everything you want. For the writing he read he got inspired by music.

   The next session we went to was about a project to coach and help young writers to publish even if they don't live in a city. She first interviewed some people for that and published some community votes. Her goal was to give all people the chance for education in writing.

McCollom: The Silent History

Check out this new form of "novel," The Silent History.

http://thesilenthistory.com/

It's an ipad/iphone app/story that involves author-generated content about a spooky generation of children born without the ability to use language, but it also involves readers continually offering their own fictional "testimonials" (short stories) that get published after passing through their editor. Even that doesn't do it justice, though. It's basically a real-life video game book.

McCollom: PK Simonds

Very happy to sit down with family on Wednesday. P.K. spoke about his experiences in the TV industry with enthusiasm and candor. Our group seems to have a particular interest in TV (not necessarily in the lazy, couch-sitting, frightening Amrican obesity kind of way, but in the drawn to story lines and characters kind of way), and many were happy to share their favorites (Why don't the survivors in Walking Dead just get on a boat!?). We learned about the infamous Hollywood networking process, and the value of patience/stubbornness/passion in any career, and one in writing in particular. I was struck by how thick-skinned a TV writer needs to be thanks to such a high rate of failure. Reminded me of baseball in that sense. "Failure" is part of the job and a chance to learn, not the end of the road. But of course, one still feels that pressure and anxiety with every new creation.

I was also interested in hearring about the effect Netflix and Hulu and similar sites have had on the TV writer's life, expecting the news to be negative. In fact, while those services have been tough on networks, the impact on writers is more neutral, or even positive.

Lastly, after hearing about Melville's solitary existence creating Moby Dick in the Berkshires, the collaborative process of TV writing struck me as quite a contrast. I wonder about the battles for creative control that must emerge...

McCollom: on tortured existences and whales

While  the experience of whalers in the mid-1800s isn't something I had previously spent a lot of time thinking about, I actually came out of the New Bedford whaling museum and the discussions of Moby Dick with a lot of questions:
1. Is someone who creates one work of transcendent brilliance in a life otherwise characterized by struggles, pressures, failures, depression, half-completed whaling expeditions,  etc. more fulfilled when it's all over than an "ordinary" man who climbs his modest professional ladder, supports a family, goes on vacation, builds a deck, etc, and passes anonymously into history? To have the best of both lives is of course ideal, but to hear about the process of creation of Moby Dick and Melville's life experiences makes it seem like an isolated and less than satisfying existence. Tortured artist and all that.

2. Why doesn't the whale just dive straight down when the harpoon hits? Someone needs to coach those whales up.

3. How do you sign up for a whaling mission when you can't swim? Consider the level of desperation for employment, freedom, adventure, or life fulfillment necessary to step aboard a ship that will travel entire oceans for YEARS without being able to survive if you fall in, an event that is nearly assured to happen in one of those flimsy little boats that actually harpooned the whale. It seems like a mindset modernity can no longer account for, at least not in prep school New England.

4. A whale's life seems like another of God's jokes. An enormous and majestic creature designed entirely to live underwater but has to emerge to the surface to breath air, thus exposing itself to harpoons and boat propellers, and forcing the whale to only achieve half-sleep at any time? Sounds like a Kafka character...

Schwing: Whaling Inspiration

Yesterday we all had the opportunity to visit the New Bedford Whaling Museum in Massachusetts. We were able to learn about the inspiration for Moby Dick and how all the different influences helped form this classic story. Mrs Grosart informed us about how Melville's inspiration for Moby Dick stemmed from Shakespeare, the Bible, his fathers early death, and Nathaniel Hawthorne. The detailed writing that is in Moby Dick is obvious and impressive because of the complex process of whaling. I was inspired by this knowledge and hope to find my own in order to create such a classic novel.

 

Talk with P.K Simond Ha Bui

I found this talk to be interesting and inspiring . I know that writing scipts for tv shows are not easy but never expect it to be so complicated

Siqi Wang Talk to P.K. Simonds

The back of TV shows is a lot more than I thought it was. I love watching both comedies and dramas. This is the first time that I know how different they were made. Comedies are made of different ideas that different people randomly thought of. Like Big Bang theories. A writer thinks of a crazy idea of Sheldon. Then other writers give jokes and details of how Lenoard and Penny will react or thoughts of how to let the crazy idea make more sense and how can the episode continues. Comedies are about release the intense. Different from comedies, dramas are created another way. Lots of dramas have a big story line which will be discussed before the start of the first season. Hearing about how TV shows are made is a new and fun experience for me.

Kenzie Little- New Bedford Inspiration

Visiting the whaling museum in New Bedford, Massachusetts was a different experience. It's like any other museum, with art, artifacts and big whale skeletons hanging from the ceilings. It's hard to imagine what the seaman experienced, the oily mess of killing and processing a whale. I was intrigued by the lives of the people at home, living in wait for the return of their men. What did they think about as storms raged out on sea? After years of not seeing them, what was their long awaiting return like? The town was run by the women, but what was their experience like?

P.K. Simonds

Today we met with  P.K. Simonds who is a retired screenwriter in the tv industry. He wrote and produced numerous tv shows in Los Angeles for twenty years before retiring. He retired because the writing job is so stressful and tiring. It was really interesting for me to hear about the process. The creation and production of a tv show is a very long one. The money is good, but in the end you can't hold the job while you have a family. Now he is able to do what he loves, write, but now in book form and he is back in New England where the rest of his family resides. To be in the tv business you really must live in Los Angeles. I also learned that actors don't have say in the script and if they attempt to change it they are frowned upon.  I'm really glad I was able to learn so much from him today.

Veronika Reichert- Whale Museum

Juliaaas picture..la goda/new Bedford

Beth Grosart: New Idea: Don't steal it!

My new series or movie idea, inspired by listening to the President's speech from "Independence Day" (an amazing movie-president speech- "We will not go quietly into the night!" etc etc).

Idea: This speech is actually the speech of a football coach to his team before the big game. However, it's not just any speech or any game. They live in a world where football decides survival. Each team plays, not just for the glory of a win but for their own lives as well as their towns'. You win, you go on. You lose, you and your town are destroyed (a new dystopian form of population control).

Ha Bui - Flash writing

It was a rainy night , everyone seemed to be hiding int heir cozy home. Don't you know that when it rains really hard, you will sleep very well? Indeed, nobody was up at that moment , except for a young man, standing in front of a house, hungry and homeless. He made a stupid decision of breaking into that house to steal . He does not know that this particular house that he picked has lots of dogs and they all go after this poor man. The noises from the dog woke up the house owner, and the owner called the police.

The man ran several miles straight till he suddenly fell into the river. The police could not find the man and eventually gave up. Escaped from the hunting of the police, the man took off his shirt and scream with happiness and relief

Trich

One time a guy name george and this girl named laura were having a romantic evening. They first had a picnic and then went on a canoe ride. Whenever they went on a date they always brought each other tons of food. The whole time they would just be eating the food and they would hardly even converse with each other. In fact they barely even acknowledged each others presence. The only thing on there mind was eating the plentiful amount of food they had brought each other. Basically the whole dynamic of their relationship is eating food. They don't even know each others names.

This man is talking to a bunch of military troops who are about to get involved in an air battle with planes trying to kill each other. He is getting his troops pumped up for a battle. In his pump up speech he talks about the fighting within the army and how all that nonsense needs to stop. He also talked about the great sacrifice they have made so far and how if they don't prevail today and that hard work, sacrifice and time away from family will go to waste.

One night there was a huge party and a big house by the river. The cops came and everybody ran. James had had a few too many beers and for some reason thought his life depended on escaping the party without getting arrested. He jumped off a bridge into the river. And swam a mile down the river. At that point he took his shirt off and yelled "yeeeeaaahhh." He was pumped that he got away from those cops.

There was a random store on a random store in new Hampshire. The name of the store was Back Road Boutique. They sold winter clothing and boots. They also sold ski related equipment. It is a small business owned by a family. One day a girl came in and bought a two pocket cardigan jacket there. The girl was a local new Hampshire girl. Because the store was on a sketchy back road, it was mostly just locals who visited the place. Despite the stores randomness they still encourage you to like them on facebook on there tag. They only have three likes on their facebook page

Eric McCollom: story fragment

This multicolored spool of thread in my palm belongs to my grandmother. Well, now I suppose I have to say it used to belong to her. Funny how, in a blink, present tense becomes past. She used those strands of thread, the very same ones currently in my palm, to fix lost buttons and attach patches to torn knees. Grandmother's house always smelled of cinnamon, and I imagine I smell the spice on the spool now. Or maybe it's my imagination.

Grandmother insisted we call her, "Grandmother"; she was never "Grandma," "Granny," or "Nana" like my friends' grandparents. She was Grandmother. I never knew why she insisted on such formality. I always assumed it be rude to ask, and so I did not. In hindsight, there was a lot I never asked Grandmother about.  

She was a warm, loving woman, who doted in my sister and me. Her house was always stocked with root beer and twizzlers, and she begged us to to tell he about school, friends, sports, our lives. And the weird thing is, we did. We told her. We told her things we never told our parents. We told her about Mr. Crowley's impossible exams, and how half the class cheated on the last one. We told her how Mr. Walton fell asleep during class, and how Mr. Thompson always had bad breath, and how creepy the janitor was when he lingered outside the bathrooms. And she never judged us. She would quietly listen, and nod, as if she had heard this one before.

Mostly, she loved when we asked her questions. What were cars like when you were little, Grandmother? No cell phones at all, Grandmother? Why don't our cousins look like us, Grandmother? She would smile at each of them, pause to collect her thoughts, before releasing a flowing answer as if in a single exhale. There was just one thing we were not allowed to ask her: whatever happened to Grandpa.

Grandmother lived alone, and she drank heavily, but never around us. A rack of knives hung over the dish washer in the kitchen, and she could often be seen sharpening them despite the fact she never cooked for us.

Julia's picture description

This is Paul, who is really excited because he wants to do the Harlem Shake. Paul is getting ready to do the Harlem shake, for which he invites his friends to his house. It's like christmas because they are receiving gifts. What they didn't know is, that their costumes for the Harlem shake were in there. When the base started to drop all of his friends jumped in front of the camera, dressed up as Teddy's and did the Harlem shake

Brian Nazzaro : observation

As I sit and observe, I see a kid like many others, struggling with home sickness. The once outgoing and fun to be around kid, has been effect by the thoughts of home and family. When I spoke to him he said " I just need break, I am getting sick of this place." With the hockey season over and the cold weather still present boredom seems to be the problem. Having known him for a long time it is accurate to predict this issue being temporary. With the spring and warm weather approaching and golf season in view I am confident that he will be back to his old self. The outgoing and fun self. He said " I just need summer." and soon enough summer will be here.

Siqi Wang The speech

It’s another day of Frank to get drunk. He got his dole money today and he staightly went to the bar he always go to. “Frank, hey what’s up! Usual?” The bartender asked.
“Make it two, I got my money today.” Frank sat in his old seat and started drinking, one after one, more and more shots went into his mouth. After the last call, Frank went back home, with a beer in his hand and seriously drunk. He had no idea what is he doing right now. He stared yelling and gave a speech. “It’s the independence day!” The shoe hit his face woke him up. “ Shut up!” It’s Frank’s wife, “ It’s freaking 2 o’clock in the morning. Go to bed and shut your damn mouth.”

Mariza's Story

I was told to walk out of the room, walk up the green carpeted steps. Who was telling me this? I forget her name. Or maybe it wasn’t told. I came up blank. I tried to jogged the memory, but it seems like it was slipping from my mind, slowly. I was forgetting everything.

The instructions! Right, walk up the steps. One, two, three, four....twenty-two steps. My foot hit the top. I looked around. The carpet ended in one more step. There was wooden floors, and slightly on the walls. The wood was a chestnut, actually a lighter shade of chestnut. I took one step forward. Wait! What’s the next instruction...right five steps forward. I took one step back and started again. One, the floor creaked. Two, the floor made another whiny sound. Three. No sound this time. Four. The floor creaked again. Five, the floor was so loud. Next! What was the next set of instructions! I keep forgetting, everything is slipping from my mind. Why can’t I remember.

I looked around for some clue! What was the instruction! Think, think, think! What is it? I looked around. Theres a door to the left with a glowing red exit sign on top. Do I got there? I looked to the right, a window...it was dark, but you could still see the snow outside. It looked cold. Do I go out the window.
I hear the conversation to the far left. Look another door. I tried to be quiet but the floor kept making noises. The voices stopped. I stopped. Time seemed to even stop. I held my breath and closed my eyes. Maybe if I don’t seem them, they won’t be able to see me.
The door screeches open. I cringe. Stay still, I reprimand myself.
A voice said, “look what we have here,” it was a deep voice, laced with amusement. “Looks like someone lost the game...” He kept going.
My eyes flew open at the contact of his hand on my chin. What game! My mind screamed.

I saw a tall, dark, man with even darker eyes. He wasn’t dark skinned though, he was pale, like he stayed inside all day long. His hair was dark, personality was also dark. Everything was dark!

“Little one don’t be scared,” he soothed in a mocking tone. I ripped my face out of his hand stumbling back, falling on the floor. “You don’t remember, do you?” He stared down at my body on the floor.

I crawled back, not letting him near me. “Remember what?” My voice shook, just telling him how scared I really am. And just like that, the tears came, and I waited for the truth to come and ruin my life.

I need to know though. What am I suppose to do? Who am I? And why am I here?

“You don’t remember?” He gazed down at me like I was a science project. “Well little one, you're in the hospital, where the doctors will get you all better...”

Veronika Reichert Interview

  Marcy Weinstein is a 18 year old girl who is a member of the New Hampton
School community. She wanted to leave home and move into a better environment, so she decided to go to boarding school in New Hampshire. Although that was the best choice for her, she would like to be closer to home.
 The last summer, she wrote for the hamlet hub, a online newspaper, after her sister came up with this idea.That seemed like a good way for her to experience what she wants to do. Although she didn't get any money for it, she achieved her goal and gained experience in writing. She realized that writing about new stores, which the project was, she was working on, is not what she really want to write about in the future.

Take a walk; Aveson

It's cold, standing in one place for so long can make goosebumps grow an inch per minute. But the land isn't bothered at all. The clouds are moving at their normal pace, with bits of blue shining when they detach near the tip of the mountains. They cover most of the sky and its peaceful to watch nature move at its natural pace. The sun is shinning right through the clouds, burning my eyes. The snow has stuck to the ground and doesn't move from the breeze. There is a slight murmur from the cars on the highway but it feels like I am alone. Nobody is outside. They are all inside is the warmth and I am standing, shivering and turning blue at the fingers wondering why I am here

Schwing's Observation......

He sat back relaxed without a care in the world  this showed not only in the way he was sitting but how he dressed: full sweatsuit, headband across his head, and left over ketchup on the side of his mouth.  He cracked a few jokes, looked at his phone, cracked a few jokes, repeat. His menacing smile stretched across the room as he asked his buddy to take up his plate of half eaten chicken nuggets. He returned back to his original state adjusted his hood on his sweatshirt and leaned back putting his head back on the chair. He stated humming a song, his lips popped together and his fingers strummed one after the other on the table. His foot tapped but all I could focus on was his lossy tied sneakers. 

Interviewing Veronika

Before our interview, I had never really talked to Veronika Reichert. All I knew was that she was an international student from Germany. Preparing for the interview, I had multiple questions for Veronika. 

Veronika is 17 years old and a sophomore here at the New Hampton School. Veronika learned of New Hampton through a friend in Germany, Max Brudler, who attended New Hampton school two years ago. Veronika came to NHS in hopes of improving her English and gaining an American experience. Veronika is happy with her experience here so far. 

I worked hard to try and get Veronika to open up, but had no luck. Veronika is a shy girl and seems to keep to herself. After sharing with me that yes, she did have a sibling, an older sister, I asked if she missed her sister and parents. She answered with "yes". I asked if she gets sad or homesick often and she said "no". She misses them but knows she will be home soon enough. Veronika did rock climbing in the fall, skiing in the winter and is trying tennis for the first time this spring. I asked her what she loves to do most and she wasn't sure. She says she likes these activities  but doesn't love them and that their is nothing she really loves to do or is passionate about. Veronika seems to have a few close friends who she is always seen around campus with laughing. She is a beautiful girl who looks like she could be a contestant on "Top Model".

Kenzie Little Interviews Trippe Reineman

"He's a gentleman," I thought as he shook my hand, with the customary nice-to-meet-you greeting. Considering we have been friends since he came to school, this was a spontaneous role play, and I decided to go with it and observed him as a stranger. I was actually interested to have the chance to get to learn more about this tall, Ken-doll like man. And learn I did.
Trippe Reineman is a born and bred Massachusetts boy. From a large family, he grew up surrounded by cousins, aunts, and uncles, playing football, soccer and skiing. But he says his real passion is being on the water. In ninth grade he built a kayak, and when he described the experience to me you could see the light in his bright blue eyes. He says he loves to create things with his hands, and it's obvious that he will for the rest of his life. It isn't his only interest though and the more I talked with him the more I realized he is a well-rounded young man. He has had his share of hardships, between his parents separation his freshman year and a serious concussion from his senior football season that impeded his college process. Determined to show a year of hard work to colleges he came to New Hampton, looking for a way to express himself to those reading a college application.
Trippe is looking into colleges with the idea of going into economics and business, interested in the psychology behind the way people act in the economic market. His passion for learning and creating, as well as his amiable manner will take him far in life, and his goals will drive him to success.

Moby Dick Plot Summary

MOBY DICK PLOT SUMMARY- an FYI for tomorrow

The narrator, Ishmael, is an observant young man setting out from Manhattan who has experience in the merchant marine but has recently decided his next voyage will be on a whaling ship. On a cold, gloomy night in December, he arrives at the Spouter-Inn in New Bedford, Massachusetts, and agrees to share a bed with a then-absent stranger. When his bunk mate, a heavily tattooed Polynesian harpooner named Queequeg, returns very late and discovers Ishmael beneath his covers, both men are alarmed, but the two quickly become close friends and decide to sail together from Nantucket, Massachusetts on a whaling voyage.
In Nantucket, the pair signs on with the Pequod, a whaling ship that is soon to leave port. The ship’s captain, Ahab, is nowhere to be seen; nevertheless, they are told of him — a "grand, ungodly, godlike man,"^[27] who has "been in colleges as well as 'mong the cannibals," according to one of the owners. The two friends encounter a mysterious man named Elijah on the dock after they sign their papers and he hints at troubles to come with Ahab. The mystery grows on Christmas morning when Ishmael spots dark figures in the mist, apparently boarding the Pequod shortly before it sets sail that day.
The ship’s officers direct the early voyage while Ahab stays in his cabin. The chief mate is Starbuck, a serious, sincere Quaker and fine leader; second mate is Stubb, happy-go-lucky and cheerful and always smoking his pipe; the third mate is Flask, short and stout but thoroughly reliable. Each mate is responsible for a whaling boat, and each whaling boat of the Pequod has its own pagan harpooneer assigned to it. Some time after sailing, Ahab finally appears on the quarter-deck one morning, an imposing, frightening figure whose haunted visage sends shivers over the narrator. One of his legs is missing from the knee down and has been replaced by a prosthesis fashioned from a sperm whale's jawbone.

He looked like a man cut away from the stake, when the fire has overrunningly wasted all the limbs without consuming them, or taking away one particle from their compacted aged robustness... Threading its way out from among his grey hairs, and continuing right down one side of his tawny scorched face and neck, till it disappeared in his clothing, you saw a slender rod-like mark, lividly whitish. It resembled that perpendicular seam sometimes made in the straight, lofty trunk of a great tree, when the upper lightning tearingly darts down it, and without wrenching a single twig, peels and grooves out the bark from top to bottom ere running off into the soil, leaving the tree still greenly alive, but branded.

—Moby-Dick, Ch. 28

Soon gathering the crewmen together, with a rousing speech Ahab secures their support for his single, secret purpose for this voyage: hunting down and killing Moby Dick, an old, very large sperm whale, with a snow-white hump and mottled skin, that crippled Ahab on his last whaling voyage. Only Starbuck shows any sign of resistance to the charismatic but monomaniacal captain. The first mate argues repeatedly that the ship’s purpose should be to hunt whales for their oil, with luck returning home profitably, safely, and quickly, but not to seek out and kill Moby Dick in particular — and especially not for revenge. Eventually even Starbuck acquiesces to Ahab's will, though harboring misgivings.
The mystery of the dark figures seen before the Pequod set sail is explained during the voyage's first lowering for whales. Ahab has secretly brought along his own boat crew, including a mysterious harpooneer named Fedallah (also referred to as 'the Parsee'), an inscrutable figure with a sinister influence over Ahab. Later, while watching one night over a captured whale carcass, Fedallah gives dark prophecies to Ahab regarding their twin deaths.

Moby Dick

The novel describes numerous "gams," social meetings of two ships on the open sea. Crews normally visit each other during a gam, captains on one vessel and chief mates on the other. Mail may be exchanged and the men talk of whale sightings or other news. For Ahab, however, there is but one relevant question to ask of another ship: “Hast seen the White Whale?” After meeting several other whaling ships, which have their own peculiar stories, the Pequod enters the Pacific Ocean. Queequeg becomes deathly ill and requests that a coffin be built for him by the ship’s carpenter. Just as everyone has given up hope, Queequeg changes his mind, deciding to live after all, and recovers quickly. His coffin becomes his sea chest, and is later caulked and pitched to replace the Pequod's life buoy.
Soon word is heard from other whalers of Moby Dick. The jolly Captain Boomer of the Samuel Enderby has lost an arm to the whale, and is stunned at Ahab's burning need for revenge. Next they meet the Rachel, which has seen Moby Dick very recently. As a result of the encounter, one of its boats is missing; the captain’s youngest son had been aboard. The Rachel's captain begs Ahab to aid in the search for the missing boat, but Ahab is resolute; the Pequod is very near the White Whale now and will not stop to help. Finally the Delight is met, even as its captain buries a sailor who had been killed by Moby Dick. Starbuck begs Ahab one final time to reconsider his thirst for vengeance, but to no avail.
The next day, the Pequod meets Moby Dick. For two days, the Pequod's crew pursues the whale, which wreaks widespread destruction, including the disappearance of Fedallah. On the third day, Moby Dick rises up to reveal Fedallah's corpse tied to him by harpoon ropes. Even after the initial battle on the third day, it is clear that while Ahab is a vengeful whale-hunter, Moby Dick, while dangerous and fearless, is not motivated to hunt humans. As he swims away from the Pequod, Starbuck exhorts Ahab one last time to desist, observing that:

"Moby Dick seeks thee not. It is thou, thou, that madly seekest him!".

—Moby-Dick, Ch. 135

Ahab ignores this voice of reason and continues with his ill-fated chase. As the three boats sail out to hunt him, Moby Dick damages two of them, forcing them to go back to the ship and leaving only Ahab's vessel intact. Ahab harpoons the whale, but the harpoon-line breaks. Moby Dick then rams the Pequod itself, which begins to sink. As Ahab harpoons the whale again, the unfolding harpoon-line catches him around his neck and he is dragged into the depths of the sea by the diving Moby Dick. The boat is caught up in the whirlpool of the sinking ship, which takes almost all the crew to their deaths. Only Ishmael survives, clinging to Queequeg’s coffin-turned-life buoy for an entire day and night before the Rachel rescues him.

Wikipedia - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moby-Dick#Plot

Keith Dorrington discusses his film "The Fighter" with our group

What a great day! Students had a talk about inspiration with Keith Dorrington, writer and producer on the award-winning movie, "The Fighter". Followed by a great creative non-fiction workshop with writer and teacher, Kassie Rubico.

Brian Nazzaro

Loved ones dying.
Thousands of miles away battle and war.
Two nations with tension and unrest about ro begin a game that will go down in history.
Nothing else matters but a victory.

Dressed in a jersey representing a nation.
A nation at war, a nation representing freedom.
After the most important victory the world has ever seen.
As thousands if people cheer and a team of brothers celebrate.... One stands alone.
Wrapper in the American flag he stands at the blue line.
Wearing his nations colors he leans on his stick, glaring into the crowd.

He stands alone not waiting for a reward.
Not waiting for an interview.
He stands alone searching.
With an intense stare he locates the one who is more important to him than victory, than anything.
He stands eagerly, not for a trophy...
To smile at his father.

http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&site=imghp&tbm=isch&source=hp&q=jim+craig&oq=jim+craig&gs_l=img.3..0l7j0i24l3.2211.6061.0.6943.11.9.1.1.1.0.397.1425.0j5j2j1.8.0...0.0...1ac.1.5.img.sIJ7EvN9W4E&biw=768&bih=928&sei=Mv41UZ-tL4PT0wGD4oG4Dw#biv=i%7C14%3Bd%7CfLrwiC4P2Nt75M%3A

Poem Ha Bui

 


When the night falls down
There's a starry sky , and no sound
Each star in the sky
Shining like diamonds
They sure seem ordinary
Ordinary, just as each of us
But , the beauty of it
Seen differently amongst us
Sometimes shining like snow flakes
Sometimes raging fire,
If you like pretty stars
Better say no to alcohol
Cause one day, you may regret

Abby Schwing

I looked up quickly and reacted just in time to return the volleyball back over the net. My mind was in another place as I realized it was my turn to serve. I remember my nerves taking over my body and I could sense the pressure I felt from the spectators, their eyes burned through me. All I wanted was for the game to end because it was October, 26th, it was Alumni Weekend at Mercerburg Academy. As I stepped up to the line I lined my body up so that my hips pointed at the opposing team. My coach from the sideline yelled, "Abby hit the back left corner!" I lifted my left arm up, ball in hand and with one swift movement I threw it up and like clockwork my right arm hit it right in the spot I was aiming for. The opposing team was not ready for my placement, the back left corner scurried to the ball but failed, the sound of the whistle hummed in my ear and the ref called an ace. I bent down to adjust my tight kneepads so that they sat perfectly on my sticky knees and then came up to catch the falling droplet of sweat rolling off my forehead.

Tommy Rich

I learned a lot about inspiration from listening to what inspired Keith Dorrington. Hearing him talk about seeing Micky punching a bag in snowy weather and Dicky training him as a ex-drug addict. Keith said that the hard work Micky and Dicky displayed that day in the snow was what inspired him to write. He was also inspired by the strength and will-power of Dicky to over come his drug addiction.  It seemed to me that Keith was very proud of the brothers for uniting and trying to make a comeback after all they had been through as far as fighting with their family and Dicky struggling with addiction. I think this feeling of proudness was what inspired Keith to write.

Beth Grosart: "In Royal Oak, Michigan"

In Royal Oak, Michigan                                                                                   

She crosses the threshold

The bundle strapped tightly against her chest.

Mom, Dad, Sadie, her favorite cousin,

A few neighbors Mom approves of,

And her best friend Jenny,

Await this arrival.

They coo and touch.

They reach out, thinking, incorrectly,

She will let go.

Not yet.

The longer she’s there, the more tightly

Bound the wrap feels around them, encircling them.

            My insides feel empty.

            My stomach growls. The girl

            Across from me in the quiet study

            Looks up.

            Hungry? Her eyes say.

            No. Empty.

            The stitches have healed

            On the outside. Not inside.

            I hear that cry when I try

            To sleep. So, I stay awake.

            The bags under my eyes feel heavy,

            At least they feel.

The bundle, unwrapped, fits perfectly

In her arms –

Facing her, against her stomach,

Balanced on her knee.

A small cry, not a whimper, more a satisfied song.

She hopes to hear that song every day.

The tiny hand clutches at hers.

She notices the purity of the skin – 

Soft, tan, but clear of any blemish.

The little mouth makes kissing sounds

At her chest –

A small sadness comes and passes –

The little mouth wants something she cannot give. 

Inspired by this image- Click Here

Some reading opportunities for Tuesday

Hi all,
Tomorrow I'll be speaking about journalism and writing profiles. If you have a moment, here are some famous and/or recent profiles that might be useful for tomorrow's exercises. Feel free to look over, skim, or read in their entirety. We'll discuss them briefly tomorrow as introductions to a couple exercises. By coincidence, many have to do with sport.

New journalism
Hunter S. Thompson's "The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved" (this particular article has the essay itself and some contextual info too)
http://www.grantland.com/story/_/id/7887639/looking-back-hunter-s-thompson-classic-story-kentucky-derby

Profiles
"The White Album"
http://www.grantland.com/story/_/id/8890734/chuck-klosterman-royce-white

"Michael Jordan Has Not Left the Building"
http://espn.go.com/espn/story/_/page/Michael-Jordan/michael-jordan-not-left-building

Frank Sinatra Has a Cold (very famous, but long profile. Feel free to just look over)
http://www.esquire.com/features/ESQ1003-OCT_SINATRA_rev_

Eric McCollom: "Flayed Rabbit at The Barnes"

"Flayed Rabbit at The Barnes"

I stumble around these small hallways in a haze, bombarded by vaguely familiar names from Art History classes long since past,
Jostled by art buffs squinting thoughtfully at the hardened brush strokes laid down by Monet
100 years ago,
The room is silent save a few whispers. No one speaks to each other; Most wear the same museum-distributed headsets, listening to the same calming narration about each famous work, hearing the same tidbits about the history, the cultural context, the style and technique, the weirdly transparent celebrations of Mr. Barnes himself, and

As is often the case, I'm caught between a genuine desire to understand the high-minded conversation in my ears, to douse my ignorance with dates and names of movements and ironic titles from abstract expressionists, to understand influences and make connections and draw a clear line of lineage from that Van Gogh of the postman and to understand "culture" and

The snarky sarcasm that seeps in like an unwanted virus or a growing mold... Sculptures with comically enormous ears, overweight nudes, onlookers with silly beards, dayglow color pallets and lazy natives from Gaigain, a friend who squats to inspect a small sculpture of a bird and looks for all the world, from my vantage point, to be investigating the nearby exit sign and

Then, just before a doorway, there is this: There is violence in this figure. There is this casual act of brutality, there is this small evidence, an unknowable backstory
 and blood.
There is flesh torn open to the world, vulnerable
A pallet of reds, small body prone, a visible rib cage and groin, a pig-like head atop a body with little scale to tell its size,
 Dead and open and

For this, I stop. And I stare. And I wonder. And I feel the temperature of the room drop.

And I don't listen to the audio.

Siqi Wang Introduction for story

It was December 24th, 2008, Christmas Eve. I was sitting and chatting with my roommates in our dorm, the telephone rang. I picked it up, it was mom. She sounded she was about to cry, she told me that my grandpa had another heart attack and he is in the hospital now. My dad already flew back to hometown and we're leaving this afternoon. Then she hang up. It was not the first time already. Two years ago, Grandpa had a heart attack which lead to a huge surgery. I don't know how bad is it this time. I am scared and have no idea what to do. My hands became cold and I sat back beside my table silently.

Veronika Reichert Poem

The others are joking around
I can not do this right now
The pictures are kept in my mind
I can not forget what I saw

The others did not see what I saw
I can not talk about it
They did not expierience how I feel right now
I can not judge them for it

Maybe it is just a question if time
Until I can talk about it
I hope he is willing to talk about it
Because he was with me,
he knows what I am talking about.

Kenzie Little- Poem from Art

The Girl With the Pearl Earring

Where do you look?
Upon whom do you gaze?
With your innocent eyes
You hold secrets, a maze.

So much you don't know,
Yet so much you have found.
He who captures your stare
Is it to he you are bound?

You are illuminated beauty
Of a young girl,
Captured forever within
The sheen of one pearl.

What flutters your heart?
Unique the effect.
Who entrances your mind, makes
You feel weak in your chest?

Deep in your soul lies
The pair of the pearl.
A pure and white orb,
Safe from passion's allure.

Keep the light from the pearl,
Know what's in your heart.
Look towards the light,
But know your back's to the dark.

Julia's Poeeem...

Guernica

Can you hear that?
Bombs, bombs are exploding on the streets
Screaming people, running through the streets,
A woman, holding her dead child in her arms
What to do? What to do?

The feeling of loneliness and darkness is overcoming my thoughts
Fire, fire everywhere
Another bomb exploding, two streets down from my house
Run, Run...are people shouting
But at the end,
Am I going to survive

Mariza's Poem

A normal day walking in the city
As usual people rushing to get to work on time
Coffee in hand, papers in bag,
Just as usual, rushing to get to work

A yell for help
Oh, someone else will help that person,
Oh, someone else will do something about it
Keep walking, you know someone else will help

Nobody notices as they walk by
The girl calling for help
Stuck in the sidewalk crying and yelling
Oh, someone else will help her
You are late as it is,
Someone else will help her

Oh, it's too late
The sidewalk has covered her up,
No more yelling and crying in the middle of the street
From the girl who was stuck in the sidewalk
At least now we will be on time to work
No more distractions from the girl crying and yelling for help
Because no one was there to help her

Lizzie Aveson: Kindergarten Life: Essay

When? At recess during kindergarten

Where? Light and Life Christian School playground,  Azusa, California

Why? I went to school there for preschool and kindergarten

Who is there? Ciana, my best friend, and all the kids that want to challenge me at jump roping

Noises? I hear people chanting my name and hearing the rope smack against the pavement



Right when the recess bell rings it's time. All the kids know that. They always go home and practice how to beat me but that never matters. I am the best, and everybody knows it. I always have been. This one specific girl tried so hard to have the fame I did. Being the jump roping queen of the playground was a big role and when I got that title I never looked back. But one day was different. That same girl challenged me on the darkest day of the year, in the middle of fall right after lunch, right before nap time. I was exhausted from the day but I couldn't back down, it would have made me look weak. So I accepted her challenge. The usual races consisted of two people jump roping down the long pavement, about 25 feet, and come back. Whoever was the fastest got the title of King or Queen of the Playground. It was a big deal, you were the most popular kid in school and this girl wanted that fame. My best friend Ciana was always the referee. She asked if we were ready. Right when we both nodded she said "On your mark, get set, GO!" And we were off. I had a pretty good lead on her when we made the turn and I slacked off. Everybody was chanting "Go Lizzie!!", all I could do was smile. Right when I passed the finish line I fell straight to the floor. She passed me, at the last second! Nobody had expected it and we were all in shock. My title was stripped from me, I was no long the Queen, Nicole was.

Trippe Reineman Day 1 Poem

Interpretation of Salvadore Dali's painting, "The Persistence of Memory" (that famous droopy clock painting)


"What are dreams made of?" we wonder.
Is it sleep; restful, peaceful and deep?
Perhaps it is just an exhausted mind that needs to slumber.
Or maybe, just maybe, dreams are our other blanket
That we like to hide under.

What are dreams if not escape from reality?
Where else can we go to run from our father,
A father who reminds us of our own brevity.

Father time, alive but never truly living;
A selfish man, always taking and never giving.
So what are dreams if not a respite?
Shades to pull down over our plight?

Our chance to defy all that we know,
a chance to relinquish all that we owe.
The laws of nature seem to split at the seam,
for who is our master once in a dream?
A sea extends into nothingness, fading into the sky
And the concept of time itself is left hung out to dry.

Marci's Poem from day one

Creamy skin as one

Together.

Interlocking: lips, mouths, arms, legs

Bodies.

Nothing but the scent of love,

In the air.

Eyes closed, free of worry,

Untamed hair.

The warm embrace, the lack of judgement.

Real love, true love.

Passion felt through every aspect of the body.

Nothing but their love to ponder,

Nothing but their love to wonder. 

Excited about...

1. Meeting the man behind the movie, "The Fighter".
2. Having friends, Chelsea Woodard and Kassie Rubico, here today to inspire and work with our students.
3. Being inspired myself!
4. Traveling with this lovely group!
5. Going to AWP!

Link to The Figher facts

Found this last night. I have no idea if the site is completely accurate, but considering the challenge of condensing real-life events into a 2-hour Hollywood movie, I think it's interesting to see what actually happened and what they fudged a bit.

http://www.chasingthefrog.com/reelfaces/thefighter.php

I am very excited to meet Keith Dorrington. I look forward to asking him about how he took the nonfictional story as it actually happened, and changed it into a movie for the whole country. It will be interesting to see what he left out and which parts of the movie actually happened.