Night after night, I had crawled onto the same oak branch, ate the same leaves, and sung the same song: ka-ty-did, ka-ty-did, ka-ty-did. Night after night, there had been minimal change. That one fateful night, however, shattered my entire existence. There I was, singing like nothing else mattered (and in fact, nothing else did). I slowly became aware of a huge figure below me, a human in a t-shirt and long tan pants. I paid it no mind, since people passed by my tree all the time. Suddenly I saw an arm reach up, big fingers grasping my branch and then shaking it so hard, I had no time to think. Unable to get a firmer hold, I did the only thing I knew: jump. I spread my wings, feeble as they were, and glided into a patch of grass. I felt relief. I’d just find my tree and skitter back up. Problem solved! The big fingers came without warning, wrapping around me and tossing me into a tiny confined space. I had no idea what was to come.
I think this is an awesome response. I like how halfway through the first sentence I said to myself, "Oh! This is a bug talking!" because my initial instinct was to think it was you. I also like how the bug is possessive of the tree and as the reader it was fun to experience the feelings that the bug was having as his space was invaded. I like how the arm that reaches to get the bug is personified as its own thing, as opposed to being connected to a body. I think you could even play with that a little more and emphasize that all the bug is aware of is an arm in the darkness and the origin of the arm is unknown. Overall I really like this, it's mysterious and funny and you did a good job setting up vivid imagery through your words.
Silence. It's that early morning still, just before the world lurches into motion. The grainy gray pre-sunrise light filters in beneath my shades, becoming trapped in slowly sifting spirals in my room. I close my eyes again, unable to believe it is time to get up, time to start the day. But I hate my alarm, and so I reluctantly shrug out of bed, unlock my phone, and turn it off. I walk around my bed, yawning, and open the door, where my big, white-and-gray cat greets me with a "Where have you been?" look and turns to walk down the hall toward the bathroom, knowing I'll follow. Even he, who is vocal even when it's most inappropriate (the words "It's four in the morning! Shut UP, cat!" come to mind) remains silent, leaving the early morning still unbroken save for my shuffling footsteps. In the bathroom, I lazily begin my morning routine, hoping, as always, that he won't jump u on the counter, but he, as always, ignores my silent plea, leaping up easily to parade around and rub affectionately against my stomach. I laugh quietly, pet his head — firmly, the way he likes — and whisper a soft "Good morning, Berry" before leaving the bathroom for my room to get dressed. It is, after all, a school morning, and as much as I'd like to, I can't pet him all day. I have places to be.
The world of the young girl was spinning down in a circle around her. She ran, ran as fast as she could and did not look back. Her fists tightly gripped a small object in her hand and the tears she had been holding in burst with a ferocity that scared even her. It was over, gone, and done. It seemed as though her body might collapse in on itself. Although she could not tell if that was from dehydration or the extreme exhaustion she was beginning to feel. She continued to run, each step pounding into the ground. She flew by the fallen tree that had split into 6 trunks, then the boardwalk that went over the marsh, and suddenly she tripped and the small object in her hand flew away from her, she began to scream. She sat up in her bed, her room was quiet with the still of night but she still felt like she was running.
Emmy, I really like this piece of writing. I have a recurring dream similar to this one so I was able to connect to it, especially the ending where you wake up in the “still of the night”. Speaking of the ending, I like how you continued to use the third person outside of the dream because it shows a similarity between what was happening in the dream and its connection to reality. I think if you can make a stronger tie to an element in your life that relates to what is happening during the dream it would make the piece even more personal and relatable. Your description is wonderful; I could not only see what was happening but feel the emotion as well. I like that your second to last sentence is longer than your other sentences, making the anticipation build, but, at the same time, I think you can pack it with even more description before the scream. Also, you used “flew” twice in that sentence, which you might want to change. Great job!
When we went to get a puppy I knew right away which one I wanted. I instantly buried my nose into her warm neck, my hair, the same color as her soft, yellow Labrador puppy fur, was long enough to cover the rest of her body. With big brown eyes she looked up to my mom and she could not say no to both of us. Those same brown eyes were captured for twelve years in the window as my mom took a first day of school picture. This year was the first picture where the window in the background was empty. The rest of the house is empty too. Her lively bark announced everyone’s arrival, and it became a familiar sound when I got home from school. Even a couple months later, I find myself wondering why she has not come running to greet me. On a day like today she would have barreled me over knowing that the oilman left her treats on the porch. Instead of picking them up so she would not eat too many at once, I picked up the treats and threw them away.
Six months ago tomorrow there was a heavy snow storm. Feet upon feet of snow covered streets and sidewalks and the air was so full with snowflakes it was hard to see. Six months ago tomorrow I was wheeled into the operating room on a gurney, eyes fluttering closed. Three hours later I woke up and managed to mutter five words: "Do I have an ACL?" before falling unconscious again; a smile spreading across face from the nurses nod. Six months ago tomorrow I spent most of the day unconscious and the few hours I was awake for were spent high on pain killers barely aware of where I was. But tomorrow, the air will be crisp and chilly with clear skies and a bright sun. Tomorrow, I will be fully alert as I pull on my brace over my ever so slightly swollen knee and six inch purple scar. Tomorrow, there will be no snow storm and I will see clearly.
Julianna, I love this. The description is simple yet gives such a clear picture in my head. Before the ending, which is my favorite part, I love the line that is: "a smile spreading across face from the nurses nod." I think you forget a "the" but, I got that and this line is good because it shows the nurses trying to stay nice while telling you bad news, giving us a glimpse into what others are thinking around you and does a lot for the whole image. I also like how you play with the past and present, you switched a lot every sentence but, it was not dizzying or confusing and I think you did it in a way that was very successful. Although, I think that the "five words" in the 4th line is unnecessary and you should just leave it as "mutter". You do need a comma in the 7th line after "killers". I do think that to further this paragraph, you should add on one or two more sentences at the end showing how else tomorrow will be different. It is too short, in my opinion, after all the description of what that day six months ago was like, you should have more of an explanation. What else will be different? How else have you changed?
I don't remember when Apple first announced iOS 7. It was sometime over the summer. Somehow the news popped up on my phone, I saw the pictures, and I had a minor panic attack. "Come on, I thought to myself. You aren't on your phone that much. A new design really doesn't matter. It has all these new features, too. You'll like it better, once you're used to it." But I would have to adjust to something new. It fell under the heading of Disturbing Change, and I was relieved to know I wouldn't have to face the issue until September. With that comforting thought, the issue passed out of my mind, only recalled to it last week when Apple broadcasted its impending release. School had started; I was facing plenty of change already, with a new empowered outlook. ("Change is good! You are in control of everything! You have the power to make everything work out perfectly in your life!" I am wondering how long this life mindset will last.) "Yay! iOS 7 is coming out! It will be a whole brand new look, and it will be awesome!" Such was my reaction a week ago. Today, someone said it was coming out at 1:00 PM. I downloaded it the second I could, and was put out. "The way the icons sway when I move my phone is making me motion-sick," I proclaimed. "And it's so different! I don't want to adjust!" I haven't had any time to devote to the first issue, but I know that I'll get beyond the second. I have always struggled to face change without anxiety, and in the midst of so many other changes at the start of school, this one is pretty minor. Still, it's at moments that I feel profoundly grateful that the design of books (ebooks excepted) has remained constant for the last several centuries. That would be going too far.
Anna I love this. It is funny and it sounds just like you. I like the use of quotation marks when you are talking to yourself, the addition of your internal dialogue was the connection point for me. I talk to myself like that too, and your use of it pulled me in. Toward the end you start to use the quotations for speaking out loud. I think those sentences would have fit in without the quotations. It confused me because I thought it was going to be the internal dialogue and then it ended up being out loud. Right before you do that you have a sentence in parenthesis, I like the sentence, but I don't think the parenthesis are necessary. In the 5th and 6th lines you talk about this situation falling under the heading of Disturbing Change. I like the organization it brings, but at the same time it is humorous. Finishing the entry with the segment about books not changing, and your struggle with change reminds the reader of the purpose you were trying to make. Overall, it is interesting as a narrative piece, because it jumps over so much time, and at each stop you talk and then move on. It works though, and you can still see the progression of time and events. I enjoyed it a lot, great job!
Every day I am subject to the inevitable social hierarchy of high school. It is a reality that everyone must face. Freshman year we were confined to the student center, as if we were zoo animals being held in captivity. As I walked down the halls, I fielded various clusters of giant people whose judgmental eyes pierced through me from my face to my feet and then back again. Or at least that's how it felt. I was overcome with relief each time I reached my destination and slipped into the safety of my desk. Then came sophomore year. This was the awkward transitional year when I always felt slightly out of place. The superiority complex set in quickly and the freshmen were all annoying and I felt certain that I had never been that annoying. At the same time, I still took the long way to class if it meant I didn't have to walk by the seniors who lined the halls like police officers. Junior year is the year when a small shift in the tectonic plates of high school takes place. Being an underclassman brought with it the ability to walk through the halls with my shoulders back and my eyes opened, without shielding my face in a book or my phone to avoid the violent stares of the seniors. I didn't feel as confined by the social restrictions of being a freshman or sophomore. Now it is senior year. I have yet to figure out what this means, but I know that I will not be lining any halls with daggers in my eyes.
You know, I kind of liked the student center. You upperclassmen, even the sophomores, always scared — scare — me, and I liked knowing that there was a freshmen-only area. It felt safe. That said, I totally get where you're coming from, and I love how you narrated this. You described the seniors in the beginning as "giant people," and I love that, because when you are a freshman they really do seem huge. I also really like the progression of this piece, as you move from one year of high school to the next. My favorite part is how you circled back to the seniors lining the halls at the end. It gave the piece a sense of form and made your point very clear. One thing I do want to know is what you mean by "small tectonic shifts." In your next sentence, you start to show what it means to you, but I still want to know more about it. What lets you know that things are changing? Is it an internal sense? Or are there outside forces, like the seniors, treating you differently and letting you know that a change is happening? That's all I would change/add.
The subway moves steadily. A slight rocking from side to side jostles me in my seat but, overall, the ride is smooth. A whole group of us takes up a small part of the car but, with the way we talk to each other, it seems as if we fill up the whole place. With one ear bud in, I watch everyone, my head leaning against a friends shoulder so the conversation seems a slight murmur. I catch only small bits and pieces but, every now and then, a laugh will boom so loud that I just have to laugh too. But then my hands begin to clench as a feeling of sorrow starts to rise up in my chest, filling me with a distant blue as the thought bounces around my head: One more week.
It is hard to appreciate the better things in life, when you wake up one day and find yourself dreading the simplest of actions. This morning I awoke and found myself wishing that the act of brushing ones teeth would cease to exist. Brushing your teeth should not be that complicated, if you really think about it. Walk to the bathroom, open the medicine cabinet, take out your toothbrush, apply toothpaste, and brush vigorously for one to two minutes. This morning, instead of feeling like I was picking up my toothbrush, it felt as though I was lifting a lead pipe. Instead of feeling like I was applying toothpaste, it felt as though I was squeezing cement out of a bendy straw. But I went through the motions of brushing my teeth as I do every morning. Starting on the bottom left side of my mouth, over to the bottom right, up to the top left, over to the top right, and back down. I mindlessly repeated these dull actions over again. Start on the bottom left side of my mouth, over to the bottom right, up to the top left, over to the top right, and back down...
When I first read this, it immediately transported me to my own morning, where I sometimes feel the exact same way about brushing my teeth. This is a great example of an experience we can all relate to, but might think is pretty silly, as you put into words perfectly when you say, "Brushing your teeth should not be that complicated, if you really think about it". I like the way you start off generally, talking about dreading uncomplicated actions, then move into the more specific part of the piece; perhaps you could have more slowly gotten into the specifics, since it felt a little abrupt. It weaves together the narrative with the description quite well, and the metaphors of the lead pipe and the cement really hit home. At first I thought that the repetition of the motions of brushing your teeth were unnecessary, but now that I look at it again, it puts me right in the moment. Very well done. If this were ever to be developed further as a story, I think I'd like to see more expansion on the first sentence, especially the "...better things in life..." part.
Night after night, I had crawled onto the same oak branch, ate the same leaves, and sung the same song: ka-ty-did, ka-ty-did, ka-ty-did. Night after night, there had been minimal change. That one fateful night, however, shattered my entire existence. There I was, singing like nothing else mattered (and in fact, nothing else did). I slowly became aware of a huge figure below me, a human in a t-shirt and long tan pants. I paid it no mind, since people passed by my tree all the time. Suddenly I saw an arm reach up, big fingers grasping my branch and then shaking it so hard, I had no time to think. Unable to get a firmer hold, I did the only thing I knew: jump. I spread my wings, feeble as they were, and glided into a patch of grass. I felt relief. I’d just find my tree and skitter back up. Problem solved! The big fingers came without warning, wrapping around me and tossing me into a tiny confined space. I had no idea what was to come.
ReplyDeleteI think this is an awesome response. I like how halfway through the first sentence I said to myself, "Oh! This is a bug talking!" because my initial instinct was to think it was you. I also like how the bug is possessive of the tree and as the reader it was fun to experience the feelings that the bug was having as his space was invaded. I like how the arm that reaches to get the bug is personified as its own thing, as opposed to being connected to a body. I think you could even play with that a little more and emphasize that all the bug is aware of is an arm in the darkness and the origin of the arm is unknown. Overall I really like this, it's mysterious and funny and you did a good job setting up vivid imagery through your words.
DeleteSilence. It's that early morning still, just before the world lurches into motion. The grainy gray pre-sunrise light filters in beneath my shades, becoming trapped in slowly sifting spirals in my room. I close my eyes again, unable to believe it is time to get up, time to start the day. But I hate my alarm, and so I reluctantly shrug out of bed, unlock my phone, and turn it off. I walk around my bed, yawning, and open the door, where my big, white-and-gray cat greets me with a "Where have you been?" look and turns to walk down the hall toward the bathroom, knowing I'll follow. Even he, who is vocal even when it's most inappropriate (the words "It's four in the morning! Shut UP, cat!" come to mind) remains silent, leaving the early morning still unbroken save for my shuffling footsteps. In the bathroom, I lazily begin my morning routine, hoping, as always, that he won't jump u on the counter, but he, as always, ignores my silent plea, leaping up easily to parade around and rub affectionately against my stomach. I laugh quietly, pet his head — firmly, the way he likes — and whisper a soft "Good morning, Berry" before leaving the bathroom for my room to get dressed. It is, after all, a school morning, and as much as I'd like to, I can't pet him all day. I have places to be.
ReplyDeleteThe world of the young girl was spinning down in a circle around her. She ran, ran as fast as she could and did not look back. Her fists tightly gripped a small object in her hand and the tears she had been holding in burst with a ferocity that scared even her. It was over, gone, and done. It seemed as though her body might collapse in on itself. Although she could not tell if that was from dehydration or the extreme exhaustion she was beginning to feel. She continued to run, each step pounding into the ground. She flew by the fallen tree that had split into 6 trunks, then the boardwalk that went over the marsh, and suddenly she tripped and the small object in her hand flew away from her, she began to scream. She sat up in her bed, her room was quiet with the still of night but she still felt like she was running.
ReplyDeleteEmmy, I really like this piece of writing. I have a recurring dream similar to this one so I was able to connect to it, especially the ending where you wake up in the “still of the night”. Speaking of the ending, I like how you continued to use the third person outside of the dream because it shows a similarity between what was happening in the dream and its connection to reality. I think if you can make a stronger tie to an element in your life that relates to what is happening during the dream it would make the piece even more personal and relatable. Your description is wonderful; I could not only see what was happening but feel the emotion as well. I like that your second to last sentence is longer than your other sentences, making the anticipation build, but, at the same time, I think you can pack it with even more description before the scream. Also, you used “flew” twice in that sentence, which you might want to change. Great job!
DeleteWhen we went to get a puppy I knew right away which one I wanted. I instantly buried my nose into her warm neck, my hair, the same color as her soft, yellow Labrador puppy fur, was long enough to cover the rest of her body. With big brown eyes she looked up to my mom and she could not say no to both of us. Those same brown eyes were captured for twelve years in the window as my mom took a first day of school picture. This year was the first picture where the window in the background was empty. The rest of the house is empty too. Her lively bark announced everyone’s arrival, and it became a familiar sound when I got home from school. Even a couple months later, I find myself wondering why she has not come running to greet me. On a day like today she would have barreled me over knowing that the oilman left her treats on the porch. Instead of picking them up so she would not eat too many at once, I picked up the treats and threw them away.
ReplyDeleteSix months ago tomorrow there was a heavy snow storm. Feet upon feet of snow covered streets and sidewalks and the air was so full with snowflakes it was hard to see. Six months ago tomorrow I was wheeled into the operating room on a gurney, eyes fluttering closed. Three hours later I woke up and managed to mutter five words: "Do I have an ACL?" before falling unconscious again; a smile spreading across face from the nurses nod. Six months ago tomorrow I spent most of the day unconscious and the few hours I was awake for were spent high on pain killers barely aware of where I was. But tomorrow, the air will be crisp and chilly with clear skies and a bright sun. Tomorrow, I will be fully alert as I pull on my brace over my ever so slightly swollen knee and six inch purple scar. Tomorrow, there will be no snow storm and I will see clearly.
ReplyDeleteJulianna, I love this. The description is simple yet gives such a clear picture in my head. Before the ending, which is my favorite part, I love the line that is: "a smile spreading across face from the nurses nod." I think you forget a "the" but, I got that and this line is good because it shows the nurses trying to stay nice while telling you bad news, giving us a glimpse into what others are thinking around you and does a lot for the whole image. I also like how you play with the past and present, you switched a lot every sentence but, it was not dizzying or confusing and I think you did it in a way that was very successful. Although, I think that the "five words" in the 4th line is unnecessary and you should just leave it as "mutter". You do need a comma in the 7th line after "killers". I do think that to further this paragraph, you should add on one or two more sentences at the end showing how else tomorrow will be different. It is too short, in my opinion, after all the description of what that day six months ago was like, you should have more of an explanation. What else will be different? How else have you changed?
DeleteI don't remember when Apple first announced iOS 7. It was sometime over the summer. Somehow the news popped up on my phone, I saw the pictures, and I had a minor panic attack. "Come on, I thought to myself. You aren't on your phone that much. A new design really doesn't matter. It has all these new features, too. You'll like it better, once you're used to it." But I would have to adjust to something new. It fell under the heading of Disturbing Change, and I was relieved to know I wouldn't have to face the issue until September. With that comforting thought, the issue passed out of my mind, only recalled to it last week when Apple broadcasted its impending release. School had started; I was facing plenty of change already, with a new empowered outlook. ("Change is good! You are in control of everything! You have the power to make everything work out perfectly in your life!" I am wondering how long this life mindset will last.) "Yay! iOS 7 is coming out! It will be a whole brand new look, and it will be awesome!" Such was my reaction a week ago. Today, someone said it was coming out at 1:00 PM. I downloaded it the second I could, and was put out. "The way the icons sway when I move my phone is making me motion-sick," I proclaimed. "And it's so different! I don't want to adjust!" I haven't had any time to devote to the first issue, but I know that I'll get beyond the second. I have always struggled to face change without anxiety, and in the midst of so many other changes at the start of school, this one is pretty minor. Still, it's at moments that I feel profoundly grateful that the design of books (ebooks excepted) has remained constant for the last several centuries. That would be going too far.
ReplyDeleteAnna I love this. It is funny and it sounds just like you. I like the use of quotation marks when you are talking to yourself, the addition of your internal dialogue was the connection point for me. I talk to myself like that too, and your use of it pulled me in. Toward the end you start to use the quotations for speaking out loud. I think those sentences would have fit in without the quotations. It confused me because I thought it was going to be the internal dialogue and then it ended up being out loud. Right before you do that you have a sentence in parenthesis, I like the sentence, but I don't think the parenthesis are necessary. In the 5th and 6th lines you talk about this situation falling under the heading of Disturbing Change. I like the organization it brings, but at the same time it is humorous. Finishing the entry with the segment about books not changing, and your struggle with change reminds the reader of the purpose you were trying to make. Overall, it is interesting as a narrative piece, because it jumps over so much time, and at each stop you talk and then move on. It works though, and you can still see the progression of time and events. I enjoyed it a lot, great job!
DeleteEvery day I am subject to the inevitable social hierarchy of high school. It is a reality that everyone must face. Freshman year we were confined to the student center, as if we were zoo animals being held in captivity. As I walked down the halls, I fielded various clusters of giant people whose judgmental eyes pierced through me from my face to my feet and then back again. Or at least that's how it felt. I was overcome with relief each time I reached my destination and slipped into the safety of my desk. Then came sophomore year. This was the awkward transitional year when I always felt slightly out of place. The superiority complex set in quickly and the freshmen were all annoying and I felt certain that I had never been that annoying. At the same time, I still took the long way to class if it meant I didn't have to walk by the seniors who lined the halls like police officers. Junior year is the year when a small shift in the tectonic plates of high school takes place. Being an underclassman brought with it the ability to walk through the halls with my shoulders back and my eyes opened, without shielding my face in a book or my phone to avoid the violent stares of the seniors. I didn't feel as confined by the social restrictions of being a freshman or sophomore. Now it is senior year. I have yet to figure out what this means, but I know that I will not be lining any halls with daggers in my eyes.
ReplyDeleteYou know, I kind of liked the student center. You upperclassmen, even the sophomores, always scared — scare — me, and I liked knowing that there was a freshmen-only area. It felt safe. That said, I totally get where you're coming from, and I love how you narrated this. You described the seniors in the beginning as "giant people," and I love that, because when you are a freshman they really do seem huge. I also really like the progression of this piece, as you move from one year of high school to the next. My favorite part is how you circled back to the seniors lining the halls at the end. It gave the piece a sense of form and made your point very clear. One thing I do want to know is what you mean by "small tectonic shifts." In your next sentence, you start to show what it means to you, but I still want to know more about it. What lets you know that things are changing? Is it an internal sense? Or are there outside forces, like the seniors, treating you differently and letting you know that a change is happening? That's all I would change/add.
DeleteThe subway moves steadily. A slight rocking from side to side jostles me in my seat but, overall, the ride is smooth. A whole group of us takes up a small part of the car but, with the way we talk to each other, it seems as if we fill up the whole place. With one ear bud in, I watch everyone, my head leaning against a friends shoulder so the conversation seems a slight murmur. I catch only small bits and pieces but, every now and then, a laugh will boom so loud that I just have to laugh too. But then my hands begin to clench as a feeling of sorrow starts to rise up in my chest, filling me with a distant blue as the thought bounces around my head: One more week.
ReplyDeleteIt is hard to appreciate the better things in life, when you wake up one day and find yourself dreading the simplest of actions. This morning I awoke and found myself wishing that the act of brushing ones teeth would cease to exist. Brushing your teeth should not be that complicated, if you really think about it. Walk to the bathroom, open the medicine cabinet, take out your toothbrush, apply toothpaste, and brush vigorously for one to two minutes. This morning, instead of feeling like I was picking up my toothbrush, it felt as though I was lifting a lead pipe. Instead of feeling like I was applying toothpaste, it felt as though I was squeezing cement out of a bendy straw. But I went through the motions of brushing my teeth as I do every morning. Starting on the bottom left side of my mouth, over to the bottom right, up to the top left, over to the top right, and back down. I mindlessly repeated these dull actions over again. Start on the bottom left side of my mouth, over to the bottom right, up to the top left, over to the top right, and back down...
ReplyDeleteWhen I first read this, it immediately transported me to my own morning, where I sometimes feel the exact same way about brushing my teeth. This is a great example of an experience we can all relate to, but might think is pretty silly, as you put into words perfectly when you say, "Brushing your teeth should not be that complicated, if you really think about it". I like the way you start off generally, talking about dreading uncomplicated actions, then move into the more specific part of the piece; perhaps you could have more slowly gotten into the specifics, since it felt a little abrupt. It weaves together the narrative with the description quite well, and the metaphors of the lead pipe and the cement really hit home. At first I thought that the repetition of the motions of brushing your teeth were unnecessary, but now that I look at it again, it puts me right in the moment. Very well done. If this were ever to be developed further as a story, I think I'd like to see more expansion on the first sentence, especially the "...better things in life..." part.
Delete