Another attempt at the haiku

CARDINALS

The red bird soars

crows bark and rip from grove

like autumn bleeding

Haiku?

THE VISITOR

bowing they're heads

no one looks up at the star

like fish in a net

Setting from http://www.craftofwritingsota.blogspot.com/

Setting: The natural and artificial scenery or environment in which characters in literature live and move.

Setting is the when and where your story takes place.
Apart from Character and Plot, Setting is one of the most important elements in your writing.

Setting includes:
• Artifacts or Props (the things characters use)
• Clothes (the things characters wear)
• Time of day, conditions of the weather
• Geography and location
• Trees, animals, and nature
• Inside and outside sounds, smells
• All physical and temporal objects

So that means setting refers to:
• The location (locale) or place the story is set
• The weather (including the season)
• The time
• The time period (historical period)

In short: setting refers to all the places and objects that are important in the work, whether natural or manufactured.

Types of Settings:

1. Natural
Nature shapes action and directs and redirects lives.

2. Manufactured
Manufactured things always reflect the people who made them.
Possessions often enter into character motivation and development.

3. Interior: locales INSIDE. Symbolically often refers to private/domestic issues.

4. Exterior: locales OUTSIDE. Symbolically often refers to societal issues.

What is a regional writer?
• A regional writer chooses to set all of his/her stories in one general place or time period. This place usually reflects how the author grew up.

Regional writers include:
• William Faulkner
• Stephen King
• H.P. Lovecraft
• Flannery O’Connor
• Bharakti Mukerjee
• Eudora Welty

Function of Setting:

1. Setting as Antagonist.
• Settings can cause problems/conflict for characters
2. Setting as reflection of mindset or ideology of one of your characters (often your protagonist)
3. Setting as character portrait
• Settings reflect or contrast character’s wants/desires, goals
4. Setting as quality of narrative vision
• Setting establishes trust between storyteller and audience
• Description of setting helps reader visualize the fictional world
5. Setting as reflection of theme or idea
6. Setting as reflection of conflict
7. Setting as mood or atmosphere
8. Setting as foreshadowing of plot
9. Setting as beginning and ending (establishing and closing shot…or frame)

Candi Topps- Charecter Brainstorm

Name and age?
Candi Topps, age 13
Nickname? Who gave it?
Candy Cane, is her nickname given to her by the creepy elderly man who lives next door to her. She cannot be rude to him, because her single mom will ground her if she hears her disrespect to the man. If he was a young boy, however, she would be able to tell him off.
What is most noticeable about your character’s appearance/physical presence? How does he or she feel about it?
Candi is very unique looking, she has large deer caught in headlight, like eyes, that turn upward. She is native American as well, with short hard to tame hair. Her eyes are also a green apple color, which is offset by her russet skin. She is small and delicate, vary bony because she doesn't like eating, but playing outdoors. But even though she seems very fragile and tiny, she is extremely clumsy.

Describe his or her voice, verbal ticks, pet phrases etc.
She has a loud voice, that is very dramatic. She tries to learn street lingo from the older boys, whom she always trys to hang around, because she wants "street cred." So her speech often includes, cheesy over the top lingo.
Describe a gesture your character makes.
She uses her hands to talk a lot. And the one finger salute.

Where does he or she now live? Describe the city, town or village, the house itself. Be very specific. It doesn’t have to be in Canada. Any feelings about this place? She lives in westampton NJ, on an Indian reservation.
Has s/he lived elsewhere? What does s/he remember of these places?
she has lived in other places on the reservation, like apartments, but now she lives in her first house.

What part of her home is her favourite? Least favourite? Why. Describe, using specific details. Her favorite part is the attic, because of the secret crawl spaces, old belongings from the previous owners and because she can paint on the walls and be alone. Her least favorite is the Kitchen, because it reminds her of the times her parents fought in the kitchen, and the fact that she doesn't like food, which is a repressed habit from her unhappiness associated with the eating place. What does your character’s bedroom/sleeping place look like? (lots of detail please) It has pink wall paper that peels at places, stuffed animals on the floor, unmade single bed, a stained rug and a small plastic dresser and free standing closet.
What does he or she wear to sleep in?
She sleeps in a over sized shirt her mom got her from Florida when the visited family down there

What does your character dream of at night?
a strange world and a boy named Ranks of Glory, who she roams the mysterious dream world with. She wishes it was real.

Who are/were her parents? Rest of family? What does she feel for them?
Her father is dead, from lung cancer, and her mother is a single mom that takes care of her. She loves her mother very much, she actually, surprisingly understands how much her mom sacra fices for her.
Class, ethnic group, religious background?
She is lower middle class, is native American, and is not religious at all.
Who does s/he love, or has s/he loved? Or what. Detail.
Ranks of Glory, her mom, Frankie, and Chirsty.
Who loves him or her?
Ranks of glory? Chirsty, her mom. Frankie.
Married/ in relationship/single? Give names and specifics.
in a relationship with her neighbor derrick, who she doesn't really like. She just wanted a boyfriend like Chirsty has.
How does your character feel about sex/intimacy? What sexual relationship(s) is he or she involved in?
She was raped once by a local gang, but was saved from death by the older boys and there gang, who killed the gang's leader. She has had sex once with Frankie, who loves her but he feels guilty about his feelings, so he pretends to not love her.

Exactly what does your character do to make a living (or in the case of a child, what do his/ her parents do; or in the case of independent wealth, how does he or she pass the time?)? How much does s/he earn? Feelings about work? What is the best part of the job, the worst?
Her Mom is a cleaning lady at the local hospital.
Who or what does/he fear?
She makes everyone believe she is tough as nails and is afraid of nothing. But she is actually afraid of how people perceive her.

What about his or her life would he or she change if s/he could?
All of it. If it were up to her she'd live with ranks of glory in oracle.

Does the character have a hobby? Secret passion? (Can be something ordinary like soccer playing or yoga classes or mountain biking or sewing or fixing up old trucks - or an unusual interest like some Greek poet from the third century, or collecting spiders, or walking the tightrope…
She likes knitting, music, keytar, and cheerleading.

What would be his or her favourite smell ( why)?
Chanel no.5 perfume. It was once worn by her mother, when her father bought her a bottle, her only nice thing, for mother's day. Candi wanted to smell nice, so she tried putting some on but accidentally dropped and smashed the bottle.

What kind of shoes does he or she wear, (e.g. furry slippers or gumboot or trainers… new or old, style, what colour, fitting properly or too tight or too loose, nice and clean or old and smelly)? Describe exactly.

Nike High-tops. 

Favourite meal? Attitude to food?
HATES FOOD.

Favourite clothes?
anything bright and hip. and studded belts.
What is the worst thing that could happen to him or her right now?
That she could breakdown and cry.
What vehicles does your character use/own? (for example: bike, skateboard, truck, yacht, stroller, canoe, spaceship, battered pickup, etc.. please be as exact as possible). What are his/her feelings towards it/them. What kind of journeys does he or she make?
She owns a bike, that she rides around town.
What is his or her most treasured possession?
Her old rotary phone.
What illnesses has he or she suffered, if any?
a cold.

What’s his/her philosophy of life? For example’ You’ve got to look after Number 1’ or ‘Never say die’ or ‘Don’t ask for reasons.” What are his or her most strongly held beliefs? never forgive, never forget,or, live everyday like its your last.

What does he or she feel guilty about?
trying to fit in.
Biggest mistake ever made?
Having sex.

Best thing he/she ever did?

winning the national spelling bee. 

What, right now, does your character want most of all? His or her deepest desire – a glass of water, to get out of her marriage, a new pair of shoes, peace and quiet…

To runaway with ranks into the dream world. 

Trista

Trista lives in the house next door to us. late at night she walks through the street to the CVS at the corner of Popular street and Jefferson. I know this because the air is thin and our walls are thinner.

I part the blinds with my pointer finger and thumb. She's carrying a Jug of Lemonade some nights. other nights cigarettes, and most often a few beers. Using Her older sister's ID. I have never met Trista, but I feel like I have known her all my life. She's sixteen, and beautiful. Her long blond hair is past her shoulders and straight. She always wears eyeliner and black mascara. She has Coral lips that are as thick as her voice which has turned melancholy from her time alone. Because of her complicatedly beautiful face, she has no need to wear exquisite clothing. She cannot afford it anyway. She wears long White shirts that look like men's. And some simple tights underneath. Sometimes she dresses up for the walks to CVS and wears these fire engine red stilettos that look dangerous. I want them. She's always alone, because she left Chicago once and got married. Her husband is rarely home. He's older. maybe twenty. He works away from home, and comes home tired and mean. His work killing him. When he's home Trista never leaves. Sometimes she gets the mail, but I never see her wear red stilettos when he's home. When he goes out and comes home drunk and loud, I get scared and shut the blinds quickly. only listening to there fights. Not looking into there Kitchen which has a light on all the time. I hear screams. They crack and break at points. Dishes strewn against walls. And When he leaves, she walks to the store with a cast or bandages. Still smiling.

The shouts still linger in the hollows of my ear, "give me a child!"

When Trista's Sister visits, her stomach fat with maternal bliss, they talk about hope. They talk about dreams. About things they wish would happen.

one day while I was raking leaves i hear them talking, "I wish, that while he's out I might get a job. Maybe in a department store, at the perfume counters. I might meet someone."

Her Sister laughs loudly, "Why don't you then? You can meet anyone anywhere. But not cooked up inside a house."

then Trista sighs, "I could find some sweet guy. I wont care if he's fat or has back hair. Just that he's sweet. And he'd take me away from here. He won't care if I'm damaged goods. We'll have a big house with beautiful things in it, and two cars."

Her sister grunts at this, "If you find a man like that, make sure he has a brother."

They laugh, out of synchronization. Her sisters laugh loud and hefty like garbage bins being pulled across gravel driveways to the curb. Trista's Laugh is like the tinkling of bells, or a watering can.

When Trista's alone, she sits on the porch, lighting up a back of Newport's. She sings loudly to herself, a song which I had heard once on the radio stations that play old songs. I can't remember what song exactly, but some lyrics were, it's so easy to fall in love, oh its so easy to fall in love.

This was the time I could see her best.

She's waiting. For someone to pass by, to talk to someone other than her sister and husband. Someone to relate to?

I consider walking over there. Young dumb boys in my neighborhood, pass by there jeans hanging low, whistling at her. She smiles and waves. Sometimes they stop and she goes inside with them. They don't leave for an hour or so. But then when they come back she tells them to leave and not come back. So many,

baby I love you or

I don't want anyone else other than you

but as much as we all know she wants them to stay and shelter her, she cant let him. She knows her husband won't stop to look in their eyes when he has a gun to their head.

The last Sunday of summer, I was reading a book in my room, just relaxing like every Sunday. I heard our front door creek open and slam shut slowly. Again, I sat up and peered through the blinds.

My mother was at Trista's house. My curiosity was to strong and I hopped down the stairs onto the porch to watch at a better place. Trista was inside her car bending on her arm out the window talking to my mom. A trailer that sat, all broken down in her yard was now hitched to the back, and i could see through her kitchen window, that the house was empty. My mother must have known something was going on.

"Are you leaving Trista?"

Trista smiled her crimson lips blending into the summer sunset.

"Yeah, I'm headed to new york city. Ron has a better job down there."

Ron. That must be her husband's name. It seemed to me my mother new quite a bit more than i did about Trista.

"Well, good luck. You've been a nice neighbor."

strangely enough, my mother said it sincerely. Even though Trista and her husband were loud and boisterous, a nuisance to the neighbor hood. I suppose it wasn't her fault he hurt her. But, what else was my mother supposed to say. We weren't close neighbors, and this trashy neighbor hood, and the people living here hardly deserved those words.

"Thanks" She waved goodbye and drove off into the line of buildings, graffiti and red sky.

That neighbor, is the one i wonder about most, because, her mystery is dark and uncanny. I lay in bed imagining her in a big house with a large and happy family. The husband, looking at her face always. smiling lovingly into her face like the sun. The type my mother watches in Saturday afternoon soap operas. The type that never have existed here on my street. But the biggest reason I think about her is because, as she drove off passing by me, just as my mother walked inside the house, calling after me, to not be alone outside was, she pulled her sunglasses slightly down her nose, winked at me and said like a whisper, and like she was kissing the air,

"I'll miss you, watcher."

That made me blush and like frozen peas, trudge up the stairs. And then like so many times, when something unusual happens to people, they think about what they should have done or said. I should have said,

"I'm here for you."

or even goodbye.

I can still see her dancing around the avenue, waving at people. Waiting for the sun to rise,for all the pearls of planets to drop onto the ground, waiting to make a car stop, waiting for her dreams to come true. Part of me think, she ran away. That she wasn't going to be with her husband in new york. I wish she might turn around her car a drive the opposite direction, if she means to be with him. Drive far, far away from my neighborhood, far from him, and just stop when she reaches an end to anything. instead of waiting for someone to take her there.

she was waiting for her life to change.

Story draft 3#

It had been years, it seemed, since the sun shone like this. The sunny weather had drawn many out of dark places, to frolic by the lake. I had been the only one who had objected. I was new here and the only thing i wanted to do was read inside. Away from the brightness and noise. But of course, my one and only friend Vanessa convinced me it was now or never to get a tan. And I really needed it. She also mentioned all the other sophomores who might be there, but i don't consider that a factor to make me want to go by the lake.
And now here i was, with my unusually bronzed skin in a borrowed swimsuit. where I'm from Swimsuits are not needed. Living In Alaska for all sixteen years of my life had drastically altered my outlook on sunny weather. I was wearing a sparkly canary yellow strapless bikini. And I was feeling a little to porn star for the beach. Vanessa wore a bright pink and black monokini with leopard print on it. We were getting many stares. Especially me, I was new, and people were used to Vanessa and here bleach blond hair, tan skin and bright colored clothes. Seeing a half Italian, half puertorican girl next to her was something new to this small town. Vanessa and i lay side by side on my coca cola Holiday towel, part of our bodies sliding off the edges. She wore large round Chanel sunglasses, while i boasted classic ray bans. A few boys who were playing Frisbee by the shore. They seemed roughly our age, maybe a year older. The all wore surf shorts, and aviators, most of them had shaggy hair and were nicly buff and the sun had tanned many on the ridges of their abbs. I noticed Vanessa staring relentlessly and slightly smirking. All of them seemed like the same to me, but out of the corner of my eye one cuaght my eye. He was slimmer than the rest had shorter black hair, and seemed slightly indifferent than the usual white boys there. He had a ciggerette dangeling from the side of his mouth and i never saw him smile. Vanessa seemed to be watching him the most, running her eyes up and down him. I swear if she were a guy, everyone would call her a perv. There Frisbee had drifted beyond there reach and landed on my flat stomach as i lay day dreaming. I blushed at the sudden attention to my body. and to me. Vanessa was pleased at the excuse for the guys to come stumbling over to interact with us. All the guys were familiar with Vanessa, but only one was remotely friends with her. I lifted the Frisbee off my stomach pulled myself up to our visitors and handed it to them, As the guys saw me closer, they exchanged glances and I heard I chorus of "woahs"
"Vanessa, who's your friend?" The obvious leader of their group asked. This boy, was grinning ear to ear. His hair was a sandy blonde. His eyes blue green almost violet colored. He was beautiful. But Vanessa was interested in the one i had looked at.
"Danny, this is Naomi. She's new here just moved here from Alaska."
Something about the way she said Alaska made me cringe, she emphasized it while smirking.
"Hey! I'm Danny! Welcome to the best place you'll ever move to."
Then he leaned in close to my ear, " 'cause I'm here."
Vanessa smiled knowingly. The other guys all gathered around us fighting over who got to sit by me. And asked me all kinds of questions. The first one was if I had a boy friend.
No I didn't have one. I had one. My serious one. Hes back in Alaska now though. Never to see me again. I had no idea how i was fitting in here, but i was. But one guy sat silently, to the side turned toward the water, preoccupied with his thoughts. I wondered if he was really so silent. Or if it was an act he put up. Eventually Vanessa got up and sat next to him. i found this puzzling. And now alone with all these guys i got a little nervous.
before I could react to this new environment, I heard a scream that gave me chills like my whole body was freezing over. It came from Vanessa.
"What is that thing!"
Vanessa was standing up now moving slowly towards our group. The boy she sat with was in front of her acting as a shield.
At the scream many children on the beach had started screaming and tripping to get away over sand castles. I looked for what they were running from, the boys had gotten in front of all the children protecting them. We were the adults here. We were the protectors. All the adults were working so it was our job to keep an eye out for our sisters brothers, and their friends.
An suddenly from the corner of my eye bare flesh glistened in the sun, slick and smooth from water. It's legs extended long, like birch trees, and two brown yellow claw like nails dug out his paws or hands, It walked on all fours its puss like body wobbling him. All this distortment made It look in pain. My eyes met his eyes. His head was round and droopy and caked around his eyes. His round seal like eyes, were canny with sorrow and anguish. This creature was unbelievably lost and confused. As he looked back into my eyes, he paused.
He looked back and with nonchalant paces bounded towards me. I didn't react. I wasn't scared. His face was expressionless. But then, he stumbled fell to the ground. He had been hit by a large stone, and was whimpering and snorting at this blow to his head. Other children rushed over with rocks and began killing him savagely. He struggled under, and whined like a puppy. My heart melted. His eyes cringed as his flash was pulled apart. His mangled body was strewn into the now threateningly dark waves. Someone grabbed my hands and led me away. I looked back, and his now dull eyes still seemed to be searching for me.

Story day 1-october 1st 2009

It had been days, months, years since the valley had sensed her, the change, and today it had awaken to see her, and call her home.
Brooke had been staring out the window of her Uncle's sixty nine Volkswagen for a little oer ten minutes, imagining her new school, and how she could live here, in Alaska. Leaving Australia where she had lived at a boarding school, for most of her junior high life had been hard. Especially since she was leaving Sam. The boy she loved so much. It was at this end of there life together that she had realized how much she needed him. But now, she lived in America. With her Uncle.
"it was awkward enough," she thought to herself "for meeting her own uncle, on her mother's side for the first time"
She wondered if something had happened. If there were some big news about to be revealed.
It was just so random. The way he called up her school letting them know, that he'd have custody now.
According to her grandmother, who had placed her in this school, it had been her parents wish to keep her there.
That was the other thing. She had never met her parents. They died in a horrible accident when a boat sank, when she was only two. So she had very little memory of them. She remembered there faces, her mother was distinctivly beautiful, woman, hauntingly beautiful. Her eyes were a blue, and she remembered how they changed from a murky almost blue brown, or a clear tropical ocean color. He hair was brown and dripped like candle wax over her shoulders.
Her father was hideous in comparison. He was obviously plain. His mother a goddess, his father merely a servent to her.
She was starteled out of her vivid imagination by, the sound of the car going downa rocky driveway. Immediately a loud barking came from behind the house, and a mix breed, of what looked like bordercolie and german sheperd appeared, and barked dilegently tilting his head back at the car. He wagged his tail swiftly.
"wer'e here." Brooke's uncle aid lowly, looking away as he said it.
"I'll show you the place. Come on." he said sheepishly.
The house was small and had two stories. It was all brick with brown trim and a large screened in porch. Inside it was furnished mostly, with little decor on the walls. The furniture was mix-matched. The kitchen had wood paneling and many pans on the counter. It was extreemly messy. "he's lucky im living here."
Brooke thought to herself, "I'm such a neat freak."
"follow me, I'll show you your room."
They went up the creaky stairs, that were incredibly swollen and small, the house was suffocating them. They reached the hall. The wall paper peeled at the top and was tattered and white. There were darkened circles on the walls where picture frames had once been. They passed five doors in the hall and at the end they came to the one brown door in the hall, her uncle turned the knob and Brooke peered into the room, a little frightened to open it and step into it, for an odd reason. It was this escalating pain of remorse that drowned her body as she stepped into it. Even her uncle scowled as though it smelled bad. 

It was obvious, that he had made a big effort to make it modern and welcoming. It was the only room with painted walls and a new, unstained white rug. There was a large window that could be unlatched and opened so Brooke may sit on the roof. and against the wall, under it was a double bed, made up. It had two thick quilts on it and a couple fluffy fat pillows. On the walls were many photos of mexican slums, taken by her uncle the photographer. a book shelf had only two books on it. A blank worn looking book, and a dictionary. But on the bottom was a few copies of teen vogue. despite the nonchalant tone, it was really to much. 

Her uncle searched her face for a signal. A sign. An emotion. She was staring at the magazines. 

 "i got a subscription, he urged not taking his eyes of her face, still looking." 

"its like he got it because it said the word, 'teen' in it, so I must like it." she thought to herself. 

But instead of being rude, she smiled half heartedly for the effort, and said "thank you, its perfect." 

She looked around more, in the corner was a small roll top desk, with a box underneath with a typewriter leaned dramatically in it, like trash. She winced a it. 

On the desk the thing had been replaced by a dell laptop. and next to it a vase of wild flowers. 

A large over the top dresser and mirror, was in the alcove by the closet. It was alb-orate and very french looking. She walked carefully into the closet. There was remaining wall paper here..

She puled the string to turn on a single bulb, and saw tiled floor, and a few scattered wire hangers. Also in a box was a rotary phone. She looked longingly after it. There was some faint memory about it she could not figure out. This would bother her for days. 

Picture writng- 9/29/09 Diane Arbus

It is the day after Halloween. People scramble down the street, in the city, every one's rushing,Except them. They stand willingly for the snap shot. Molly smirks staring daringly at the camera, all the while Charlie looks away towards the hustle of the city. Molly only takes time to free herself.
They both wear button down wool coats, Molly's is tan like camel humps, charlies is black.
Little does Charlie know, Molly is aware of everything, every step, every floating paper in the street. Even aware of the baby growing inside her for the past couple weeks. She hasn't told Charlie yet, but on this busy morning she plans to tell him hes a father.
And they re only seventeen.
Just moments ago they were leaving Charlie's apartment on the east side, he had work this Saturday, but she planned to tell him on the way.
Molly isn't beautiful. She isn't smart. But there is this alluring coolness in her gaze. like she could do anything, and still walk out alive, smiling, and ready for whatever happens next. This undoubtedly cool attitude provides her with endless possibilities of grace.
They stand stone cold. Beatific on this somber, melancholy day. A day that seems they should celebrate death and not the beginning of a life.
Molly's Father would never let her leave his apartment. She snuck out all the time.
It was a curse to be a girl, her mother once told her, especially in this family, when your father is him. You will not speak. You will not move. Let him do what he wants. OR you'll be dead.
these guidlines were simple. She was never charlie's. only his.
To the neighbors, she ran into doors
To the grocer, she had been hit by a car,
To her girlfriends she had twisted her ankle in a gutter
It was a curse to be a girl
in this time
in his place
with that man
even seventeen years of it, had only burnt her heart partly black
after seventeen years, her brain was still secure, and only part of it was blue
she was only black and blue on the outside
Their hopes and dreams are not apparent in this ashy scene.
They dream of a home. Away from the city.
a chapel wedding.
Family and friends always visiting.
And molly dreams of family.
it couldn't change.
To run from Molly's father
the alcohol
the drugs
The diner Molly works at to save money for the cookie cut out home.
to Run from Charlie's gang.
the war
the death
But only Charlie looks away in this photograph, not sure if his legs will let him run. If hes ready to leave.
And if they were here now, they'd be running from the screaming, the bangs and scrunching of metal the screech of tires, the streams of blood, the tears and broken hearts. They'd be running from the car crash, that destroyed dreams and their baby girl.Eight months and two and a half weeks later. The curse was broken.

Notes on the types of short stories- notes from http://www.craftofwritingsota.blogspot.com/

• The Traditional Story
o The goal of the traditional story is to tell a simple story.
o Usually unsophisticated or simple, the author usually draws experience from his/her own life or similar experience.
o Traditional stories may use any genre (sci-fi, fantasy, western, romance, realism, action-adventure, horror, suspense, etc.) but, again, the focus of the story is on telling a simple story, usually to entertain.
o Usually the story is written in a realistic style.

• The subjective story
o The author has found his/her voice.
o The author discovers that his own personality can play a large part in a story.
o Usually these stories use first person POV and gets into the mind of its protagonist.
o The focus then of the subjective story is development of character.
o The story can be written in a realistic style, but may also begin to move toward a more complex subjective narration.

• The objective story
o The author is able to suppress his/her own feeling and view of things for the sake of a more objective presentation of his/her story and characters.
o The author’s personality or life is not found consciously in the story.

• Experimental and symbolic story
o These stories fool around with the structure of fiction.
o They are often experimental or symbolic, pushing the boundaries of what “fiction” is.
o These stories are often less obvious, more subtle in their meaning, characters, plot, etc.
o These forms play around with fiction convention, they often break the “4th wall”, may use multiple subjective narration, tell a story backwards, break fiction convention rules, etc.

• Complex story
o The author utilizes techniques from the first four groups here: (traditional, subjective, objective, experimental), combining the best techniques from all these forms.

• Universal story
o The skilled author hits upon certain human truths.
o The universal story form is similar to the complex story, except that it transcends the form to become “classic” short fiction.
o The universal story is often found in novel; many authors at this stage find novels more to their liking.

Working With Beginnings Draft 1

There's a woman lying on the ground, shaking, and five pedestrians have gathered around her.She tosses and turns relentlessly, while only the street lights spot her sorrow. Her hair is whipping at the feet of strangers, its black wisps coiling around their toes. They are watching her, not releasing their heavy gazes. Each stare weighs her down to fight harder, compose herself. Because although she is dying, she is beyond humiliation, as wet spots bleed through her clothes. One stranger, an middle aged Latino woman knows the young woman's face, she drops her groceries and while her arms shake, tries to find her cell phone, in the mess of a purse she carries, her shaking in sync with the woman's, flailing limbs. Another person, a small boy, starts crying, unsure of what else to do, runs to a small house on the corner, where a woman, his mother most likely, spots him through the screen door and slams it behind her to grasp him and check for bruises or scratches, but then she realizes the person she should check is the other woman rolling in the street. And yet another person, drops to his knees, trying to think of what to do with his ripped, callused, mechanic hands, wiping them on his dirtier jeans. He leans in and attempts to stop her hysterics. Only one person seems Reaction less. Motionless. Her deep brown eyes stare blankly. Frozen. only thinking to breathe.Forgetting about whats happening. Forgetting about the shift at the bar shes already late for. And the last person, has his cell phone out as well, but instead of calling nine one one, he is filming it with his video camera application. Eventually, the woman late for work drags herself away from it. Checking her watch, but instead of cursing at the hour, she just looks from her watch to the scene. The Man with the video camera also leaves. Only the elderly Latino woman stays, waiting for an ambulance. And the Mechanic stays. Hes worried about the woman. Shes dying, and shes young. She reminds him of his daughter, long black hair. He lifts her in his arms. And when the ambulance arrives, he lifts her with the paramedics, onto a bed. The Latino woman, remembers her now. She had seen her many times before actually, It was the waitress from the diner, she so often went to. She secretly wished she had said something, made a effort to know her. The young woman would have appreciated this very much. She was new to the city, starting over, she had no friends and was incredibly lonely. And that day after leaving work, she was especially lonely, going home to her apartment, thinking about putting up an ad for a roommate. She hated roommates, but she was so desperate for someone in her life. She suffered from Leukemia her whole life. It slowly killed her, she slowly fought it. And I believe that this woman just gave up. Stopped fighting, because she wanted something. something to happen, to change. Doctors, later that night will say it finally got her. But what she knows is that she let it get her, and as she died, She knew five people. Had five people in her life, because they all had seen her die. The Latino Woman, the small boy, The mechanic father, the lost bartender, and the man who was filming. She left knowing someone cared.

Writing Excercise sept.21.09

  Faye awoke to the slamming of her mailbox. it frightened her, and she had forgotten where she was sleeping. She was so bored. Unbelievably so. But she was much happier here on the couch, with afternoon opera and infomercials, then in class. because the mailbox woke her so abruptly, she had sent the Cheetos, that were on her raising and falling stomach sailing to the floor. 

"ugh."                                                                                                                                                                 she groaned. She then realized, it might be him. It might be her pen pal! the mail man must have dropped off a letter! She was so happy she picked today to fake a stomach ache. She had been sneaking out of soccer practice early every day for the past year, ever since her and her pen pal had gotten serious, their letters had gotten well, romantic, deep and insanely passionate. And if she had gotten home at the regular time, after her mother was home, her mom would see the letter and read it. what else was her bored mom supposed to do with her life other than get into her business? She got up from the couch stretched and bended until the sleep left her body, tiptoed over the spilled Cheetos, and opened the door.

Inside the mailbox were five envelopes. One was her mother's master card bill,That was a fat one, her own Verizon bill, that one was fatter, a party invitation addressed to her brother Richie, a envelope to her father from Ruth who lives on the other side of town, which when Faye held it up was filled with money, it must have been payment from her father and her taking care of her garden while she visited her younger sister in the Florida nursing home. And the last, was in a thick very large white envelope. It was addressed to her. But had no return address. Maybe, she thought, her pen pal, Jon, from France, was trying to be all sexy and mysterious. She opened it, and pulled out, not a letter, but something long and white, with lace on the end, and pearls sewn into it. She spread it out on the coffee table. It was a veil. 

"could it be?"...she thought to herself "was Jon this serious?" 

They had talked about how great it would be if they were together forever, married. something heavy was also still in the envelope. She pulled out a small velveteen box, she was blown away. Inside was a beautiful diamond ring. In the center was a Heart cut diamond, surrounded by small pearls. Faye's breathing pace increased unsure of what else to do, she immediately ran to her desk and logged into Aim, hoping her pen pal would be on, so she could tell him how much she loved him for this. 

Faye: I love you. We need to talk this over... im just... in shock. 

faye tapped her fingers hastily waiting for a response. No response. He was on... why wasn't he responding. 

Faye: hahaha I'm sorry, I almost forgot! its a yes!! <3

All of a sudden he responded, and the little ding on the computer pleasantly startled Faye. 

Jon: Sorry Faye? Im not  exactly understanding... I Love you 2 tho!!!! 

Faye: Lmao. dont play dumb babe, I just got it! 

Jon: Faye seriously... i hav no idea... What did you get sweetie? 

Faye: Jon. Please dont do this... Im scared now. Tell me now if you didn't send me the package with no return address, with a veil and the ring inside???

Jon: Faye, you mean the world to me love, but.. we r, seventeen. Im definitely not ready 4 that yet...but thts pretty creepy. Jeez faye! now im like rlly worried! wtf is this????!!

(faye has signed off) 

Jon:Faye???

Jon:seriously Faye i'm not jk! But babe, come on, Im sure you will b ohkay... \

Jon: I'll always love you faye. 

(Jon has signed off) 

The one-minute writer daily prompt 9/9/09

Monday- Mrongbay
Tuesday- Terachecbay
Wedenesday- Wubkebay
Thursday- Thrudiekbay
Friday- Fremoubay
Saturday- Sacermbay
Sunday- Sulfmonbay

hahahahaha! Interesting.

Hate Letter to The critic btw (not a real person tis is only a prompt)

Critic,
(notice how I did not add "Dear" in front of critic. That's because you are not dear, and do not deserve it in front of your name)

Who do you think you are?????
stumbling over all your words, like "this writing is annoying" or "this writing is boring, its lame, its stupid, its horrible, its gross." but you know what? your the one who is a sucky writer, you can keep my writing all you want, go ahead read it when your lonely. Because with that attitude I assume you have no friends and all your family never stops by to see you. You can go ahead and be miserable, and spread your unhappiness to everyone! but keep my writing. So on your next birthday when there is no one wishing you a happy birthday, go ahead and read my poem about birthdays and take it from me to actually imagine what a real birthday with people who care about you is like. All these writers, are under your pressure, your big foot in the door. Your just a jackass critic with nothing better to do than be an asshole. Because unlike all of us writers, we have a passion, we have a a calling. And sorry but, I really don't think being a jerk is a talent, a passion. But i guess it is a way for you to get attention. You know what? you critics, and I mean the ones who write in the newspapers, you aren't real writers. And I bet the only fucking reason you are so horrible to everyone,is because you are jealous that you cant write like us. So just keep my writing and read it til your head falls off rolls onto the ground, trips your legs, makes you fall into the street, and as your laying in the street choking on punctured lungs from getting run over your whole family walks on you, steps on you and squishes you. To bystanders, they might think your family doesn't know who you are. But in fact they do. in fact they remark about how ugly you still are, how you look better in the street all disgusting. And i say all this because I HATE YOU. I hate your crooked teeth, your runny nose, your yellow eyes, your balding head, your big bright green suit and your cheap alligator shoes. I HATE YOUR GUTS. you know what else you can keep critic? you can keep all the rest of those people, who are hardly people but a different breed of asshole, keep them who try and convince everyone that nothing is good enough and we are all failures. People tell me when i scream about how much i hate you, that hate is a strong word. But no. for you its not. Because i absolutely positively hate everything about you. i don't think anyone has eve loved you. You don't even have a face a mother could love. So go where you belong, into the gutters, in the rains, where the homeless and the lowest of the low go. But your even worse then them, so leave them, who are way better, alone and crawl around in the trash with the cockroaches. And I honestly hope you never ever die Just live on and endure all the pain of hate surfacing in a horizon called your mind. Because if you die, you obviously would never touch heaven, but not even hell would take the likes of you. I HATE YOU. tomorrow ill be at your house with my bat going to push you with the bat into the sewer, where we established you ll be spending the rest of your days. you wont even have imaginary friends. your own imagination wont grant you that! then I'm throwing the bat out o i never have to catch or think, your hate disease that follows you around. good bye. Catch you later shit head.

- Yours truly

the death of Sanity Prologue 2

Harold was bored in London. He walked down the street past, McCarthy's book store, the same as any day. The bricks still told the same story. Brick after brick of melancholy red. It breathed out the same grey notes of fog. There really was no story here, only the same stifling memories of familiarity. He passed Mrs. Smith's hat shop where his wife, Nell bought sunday bonnets for her Lucy and Anne. Even the hats matched the grey sorrow. London once thrived, but now anguish, death and sorrow plagued the city. It once stood tall and bright with the successful but just since a few months it has turned to ashes. On this morning the message boy from the London law enforcement, had called for him. He was working as an officer and now was on his way to investigate a crime scene he had needed to be seen, apparently it was pretty bloody, by the reactions made by his fellow officers. This may be one of his once yearly excitements. He had been directed by the page boy, although he had not needed to he knew the neighborhood very well, it was the wealthier part of town. Many rich families settled there for it's closeness to the fancy shops and quality and beauty of the houses there. When his family had went on carriage rides, through the park just a block away, they marveled at the homes. The girls would say which one was their favorite, or which to buy. This had always made his wife laugh and make him angry. They were to drunk in the bliss of childhood to realize that someday they would live in society and understand what adults must go through. You can't just say "i want to live there." and have the money to do it.  By the time he was on the street he began noticing larger amounts of people. He reached the house where the crime had been done. People and neighbors fringed out on the outsides of the gate. officers heavily kept watch on all sides. Harold pushed through the people, excusing himself, until h reached the gate. He revealed his badge and walked legs quivering at the feeling of mystery as he walked to the front steps. 

Prologue for my story the Death of Sanity

one man, alike all the others in london that day, in his dignity 

He begins his story when all odds are against him 

Fiance taken 

friendship betrayed 

loneliness takes hold 

from old past life brings familiar memories 

when time is time reused 

from these folds of story comes one lonely man and one woman questionable of her existence 

give their lives up 

to no longer feel the intensity, grief, pain, suffering, grudges and memories of every day life 

all is the same now in love men of insanity love her

without their choosing she comes

through portals and drownings deaths and dreams 

in the never ending cycle of life that leaves our minds unwillingly confused in the labyrinth she rules 

their blood leaves the white clean of life destroyed and in anguish 

one woman of beauty and imagination, she is the future the past the present 

one man of wealth and prestige, he is the innocent, the confused, and the martyr 

in the end you must lend us your ears so this will not happen again

can someone find a love that is nonexistent , or one that died years ago 

through rage, envy and lust in your mind we over throw 

to solve the story, the mystery of true love, is up to you. 

Good bye and Good luck

You left me no Time to regret
the mistakes I have made
you left your mind blank for me
the tears stay dry just rims around my eyes thinking of how
I can live
You went back to how it was, so far from the truth
so far removed from yesterday
my luck is gone and for you I go back
to what you changed me from
We never said goodbye the same as our hello
it was possible for me
to die
and come back to how I was before
Now I find it hard
to really rememeber
how we felt
Time wearing us away
we find it eases the pain
to forget

Monologue

I started ballet when I was Seven and my father left. people Think your a homosexual if your a boy and you dance. It's a stereotype of the people who have never once, done a piriot, releve, or Pleiet. Dancers are the muslims of a southern baptist church. For sure. one night I was doing a routine from the nutcracker at a half time for foot ball, when an older player leaves the dug out. I was doing the dance of the sugar plums and he walks right by the marshals, and coaches and parents, comes up to me- he was wearing a big gold ring, i can still see it. Walks close to my face and just as I bend for the leap, he trips me just as i jump so i fall into the girl ahead of me in the sugar plum fairy costume. That's the only time i have ever not landed the leap of the nut cracker. Fell in front of fifty thousand people. Then he smiles like he knows all of what is occurring in my head. He says something. Something I want to scream back at him. The other two boys in the ballet are gay. He screamed "faggot." right in my ear, in front of half of South Carolina. It was like my dignity being pulled from me.  There is one dance, you people don't see.  The last day of Lent, we go to the clearing in the forest that God brought us to. Jesus Dancers come. Well the ones who just have started point. They come and put on the point shoes. Without bandages and dance in the rain, until their feet bleed. Our Dancing Virginity lost, and bled into the sewer grates. Our sacrifice. Our Crucifixion. The Red water washes away God's Face from the pavement. I dont think you could believe.  dont think you could believe how beautiful it is. I started dancing when I was seven, but i never really knew it until my father left. But in truth, my father is up there. And I wash away the fright of him on the pavement with our dancer's blood. And i know my father. I will leave the slippers here. the one's that I bled into. right here. As if i had never danced. And when they leave,  you can pick it up, so as not to be called a faggot. It can be yours. Your weight of burden. It is the key to the gate of heaven. I leave it. 

Who's afraid of Virgina Woolf?

Dearest, Your crooked nose makes you look wise. When you look into her eye you can see what she would do to herself Going out like Hamlet's Ophelia hair spread loosely shoes gone rocks resting in her pockets I dont think two people could have been happier than we have been. Who's Afraid of Virgina Woolf? I am afraid of Virginia Woolf. Of her ghosts that keep her prisoner. I feel certain That Iam going mad again. V

The year I am Ageless

Again another year,                                                                                                                                      The wind whistles decadent with winter like an old man snoring.                                                            When the sun puts another day to rest,                                                                                                           I watched for the moment  right before the sun bids a due                                                                     I remember all of what happened one year, two years, one thousand years ago.                                   Until the first birthday when the wind whistled decadent like an ending. 

Nicole Nabor's inspiring visit to SOTA

When I first heard Nicole speak, the first thing I noticed were her eyes. When you look at someone's eyes you can easily see the pain and struggle someone has been through. Although Nicole presented a vibrant, lively smile, I saw the sorrow she had once been through. Nicole made us luagh, she made us smile. But most Importantly she made us think. She made me think about my personal choices, and my goals. When you make choices, as simple as spending the night at your cousins home, you change your life. It made me think more and more about my relationships with others as well. Although Nicole was handicapped from her incident, Nothing has stopped her from her own future. With writing, as she once was a creative writing student at SOTA, In phycology and Theology, And in others futures as well. To me she is a hero. To the young people, and there growth, to women, and to anyone who has once given up hope. you make your own decisions, you and only you. Your heroes, like Nicole, or your parents help you along the way. People who listened to her speak, may have been a sister or brother, cousin aunt uncle, Everyone is a son or daugter. your parents and your other heros look out for you and are there. SO step up and speak out. I truley Believe Nicole Nabors has changed us all for life.

Journal entry of the day

I had quite a boring weekend but I'm still going to document it. on Friday night my parents were out, so i spent the night at my friends so I spent the night at my friends house. We first walked down to a pretty cool nail salon, but they had appointments all day so are "walk-in" was not welcome, we went home and planned for our joint birthday party. The theme will be "spring time in Paris" we then went to Micheal's craft store for some invitations to the party. Afterwords we went to blockbuster, and got the movies "The house bunny" and "The duchess" we planned for the party some more and watched the movies, gossiped til' one in the AM and went to bed. In the morning I ate a very nice breakfast and went home. I then went to the market with my mom and step dad, we were very disappointed to find out that rich port bakery was closed. It is usually open and has been a favorite of ours for years. so instead we went next door to the place where the family who used to work for the bakery that was closed Saturday, and bought Mexican breakfast tacos. we went to blockbuster and picked up "freedom writers" which was very good. I then went to bed. In the morning I woke up at 12:00. We had a breakfast, bacon,eggs,a mini bagel and some OJ. Then did my Homework and did nothing until seven. We stopped at Wegman's for some Dial basics soap, Clorox bleach, pet baking soda cleaner, and some laundry detergent, then we went to KC noodles and bought taro bubble tea which I love very much.Then I just came home ated soup and went on my blog.

Fashion forcast for spring

Here are some looks for this spring, hot off the runways from New york fashion week. For a more Edgy look (for those of us who ignore the flowery pastels.) -Black belts worn on the waist (I would not recommend this for bigger women) -Animal prints (another style I recommend for skinner women, prints can make bigger women look bulky) - Deep wine purples (look good on everyone or Universally flattering) -Mesh -leather -subtle chains Softer spring looks (speaks for it's self) -Smokey Grey and black florals (embroidered flowers not prints) -Mauve's and tans (look for gowns and "sailor pants") -Soft pastels (anything in this look is good, but do not match it with your entire outfit, try a pastel top and grey pants) -Chiffon gowns in champagne
-knit sweaters in greys, smoky greens and deep soft blues -Skirts gathered to one side ( they are like bustles in the front showing off a bit of one leg) -Romantic style (fluttery, boho chic looks) Earth looks -harem pants(Hot and happening) -wide leg brown "sak" pants -Safari looks (simple black and white floral's, Tan and brown short sundresses) Bright and Bold - platinum Dresses (think deep golds, silvers,browns,whites and even very light blues) -Patterns (Indian, subtle. Never mix two patterns) - Fedoras(still hot) -NEON(hot!Hot!Hot! especially in the teen scene) -Sequins(not bright, unless yellow or sea green) -Mixed colors(to an extent, like pink and tangerine but not Red and pink)

Happy Valentine's Day!

I want to wish Everyone a happy Valentine's Day. Althoughthis is posted Before Valentine's, I won't be able to post anything tomorrow And yes I'm Aware that it is Friday the thirteenth. So Happy Friday the thirteenth as well. Below is a poem It is by Vladimir Nabokav, It is the poem from Lolita, Despite the stroy this poem is beautiful.and is good for Valentine's Day: Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita, Chapter 25 Wanted, wanted: Dolores Haze.
Hair: brown. Lips: scarlet.
Age: five thousand three hundred days.
Profession: none, or "starlet"
Where are you hiding, Dolores Haze?
Why are you hiding, darling?
(I Talk in a daze, I walk in a maze
I cannot get out, said the starling).
Where are you riding, Dolores Haze?
What make is the magic carpet?
Is a Cream Cougar the present craze?
And where are you parked, my car pet?
Who is your hero, Dolores Haze?
Still one of those blue-capped star-men?
Oh the balmy days and the palmy bays,
And the cars, and the bars, my Carmen!
Oh Dolores, that juke-box hurts!
Are you still dancin', darlin'?
(Both in worn levis, both in torn T-shirts,
And I, in my corner, snarlin').
Happy, happy is gnarled McFate
Touring the States with a child wife,
Plowing his Molly in every State
Among the protected wild life.
My Dolly, my folly! Her eyes were vair,
And never closed when I kissed her.
Know an old perfume called Soliel Vert?
Are you from Paris, mister?
L'autre soir un air froid d'opera m'alita;
Son fele -- bien fol est qui s'y fie!
Il neige, le decor s'ecroule, Lolita!
Lolita, qu'ai-je fait de ta vie?
Dying, dying, Lolita Haze,
Of hate and remorse, I'm dying.
And again my hairy fist I raise,
And again I hear you crying.
Officer, officer, there they go--
In the rain, where that lighted store is!
And her socks are white, and I love her so,
And her name is Haze, Dolores.
Officer, officer, there they are--
Dolores Haze and her lover!
Whip out your gun and follow that car.
Now tumble out and take cover.
Wanted, wanted: Dolores Haze.
Her dream-gray gaze never flinches.
Ninety pounds is all she weighs
With a height of sixty inches.
My car is limping, Dolores Haze,
And the last long lap is the hardest,
And I shall be dumped where the weed decays,
And the rest is rust and stardust.

Qoute of the week

“I want to grow old without facelifts... I want to have the courage to be loyal to the face I've made. Sometimes I think it would be easier to avoid old age, to die young, but then you'd never complete your life, would you? You'd never wholly know you”
Marilyn Monroe quote

Celebirty News

The beautiful couple Rhianna and Chris Brown, were supposed to light up the stage of the Grammys Sunday night, but the once happy couple, were booked on criminal threat charges against brown, 19, who possessed a 50,000 bail, after wards turning himself in to the LAPD on Sunday at six thirty eight. -
To the director's behind, Milk, and the real activists potrayed in the oscar nominated film, the film serves us all as a reminder of how americans miss the gay polotician. - The off again on again, couple, Kate Hudson and Owen wilson are once again On. They spent all of sunday together at wilson's malibu home, along with Hudson's 5 year old son Ryder. -another hot topic is Jessica Simpson's outfit choice. Mom jeans. they speak for themselves. They Make you look ten times bigger. Although I dont Believe She looked "FAT" she looke normal. I'm glad she looked bigger it just goes to show that America is starting to understand celebirties are just like us. That day she looked real. last Thursday Jessica, sported short shorts and fluanted her great figure once again. She remarked to fans that it had been "a rough week."

News of the week: The Grammys

Popular English Rock Band, Cold play, has won two awards out of there three nominations for the hit song and Album, Viva la Vida. Including Album of the year and best song. Other winners include Alison kruass and Lil' Wayne.

News: The Arts

New York Street Artist, Shepard Fairey, has filed lawsuit against The Associated Press, asking a federal judge to decree that he is safe from copyright infringement, claims in his use of a news photograph as the basis for a campaign poster image of President Barack Obama

News of the week: Stimulous plan $838 billion

The Senate has advanced the 838 billion plan for a final vote on Tuesday.

News of the week: Our Econmy

-Nissan cuts 20,000 jobs. -Congress is mapping talk of the stimulous plan. -Investor's say "keep buying"

News of the week: Stimulous plan

The President Barack Obama will travel this week to build support for his new economic stimulus plan.

New's of the Week

1. officials say the new bailout is likely to rely on private investors to purchase the assets that wiped out the capital of banks.

Star Girl reading Response 2/9/09

What is intriguing you about the characters? The intreguing aspect of star girl is her personality. She is a good and well balenced person, but she is also very differnt which is a good thing. She is unlike any one at Mica. it's cool that she does random acts of kindness as well as learning in a way that is kind of like stalking but it is more like spying on people. Leo is also interesting but he gets annoying becuase he doesnt go after the things he wants in life. What is intriguing you about the plot or setting? The setting of Arizona and it's deserts are described beautifuly in this book. It speaks of the sunsets and the sandy deserts. It makes me want to live in Arizona. What is stopping you from reading? Noyhing is stopping me from reading . I got so wrappe din the story that I fineshed the whole book saturday. What is going on in the narration/POV/voice that either grabs your attention or has NOT grabbed your attention? Leo as the narrarator grabs my attention because, It is easier to understand his feelings about what is happening, when he is telling the story.

After reading star girl response

1.a adolescent girl's struggle with tolerance and Highschool, and even romance. 2.I think i will throughly enjoy the book it looks very interesting. A. What questions do you have about the book, story, a character, etc. "Why does Star girl act abnormal." B. What did you notice about the writing style? How does the book open and grab your attention? C. What are the strengths or weaknesses of the book so far? D. Does the book, setting, character, etc. remind you of your own experiences? If so, which ones?E. This book reminds me of... F. This character (name the character) is... G. I really liked... H. I think the next thing that will happen in the story is...