Maggie

Squinting against the coruscating wake up call of the sun Maggie hastily pulls the deep, royal, cerulean shag of a blanket over her head, declaring profanities in a loud and large bellicose cry, yet to no avail-- the sun endured the abuse, and attempting to dispel the sleep by beating her comatose figure with streams of fervent morning light, it crept up the face of the clock-tower behind her, surreptitiously stabbing her at each and every breach in the ochre stained glass.

"THIS IS NOT THE KIND OF TOAST I LIKE IN THE MORNING!"

She squealed, and kicking the cobalt cover off her sticky skin she continued to complain, but now under her breath as though she were trying to hide her displeasure at being flogged out of her slumber by the slinking sun, which was already so hot she could hear the meat she had left on the brick balcony to the right of her bed beginning to sizzle and sputter like greased lightning.
Quickly padding over to the weapon rack haphazardly spiked to the wall she grabs her knife, bound with sanguine leather that had been stripped and dried from her fallen enemies and then carefully wrapped around the bone handle, then returns to the meat and scrupulously jabs it, flipping it over and over again on the red slabs until the meat bubbled a heavenly brown and the inside steamed a devilish pink; still reminiscent of the blood that had been pumping through the flesh, sustaining life not but hours ago.
She huddles in the shadowy corner of her adopted hovel while the timekeeping tower ticks away, and as a meditative glass look shrouds her expression, her chewing slowly synchronizes with the seconds that become more and more monotonous as her thoughts are relocated to a different time in her life. Her teeth clamp down on metal and she again spews obscenities as she tosses the hunting knife across the room, landing it with a thunk in the wooden frame of the rack from which she retrieved it.

"Another balls hot day, man...even hells minions would shy away from such heat! Outrageous! And how are we supposed to function in this? Let alone survive....Look at me! I was practically fried alive this morning!"

"I have got to take this up with the council..." she fiercely decides to herself and lickety-split she hastily clicks the tubes to her Hydrodynamic Salvage Apparatus into the apertures located on her thighs, calves, stomach, and arms. Grudgingly, she hoists the pack onto her back securing it to her body with straps, and meticulously wraps herself in a light taupe cloak, inserting her arms into the supple sleeves, and pulling her goggles over her eyes, she bounds down the stairs.

Portfolio Final

Available here.

Mud Bucket

Shift was almost up. Seven long hours amid the poorly lit aisles of a no-name market whose storage practices were questionable, at best. Having placed peas on the highest shelf he could reach without dragging in the ladder, he realized there remained an entire pallet of non-perishables on aisle eleven that would need to be stored. He wasn't quite sure what business canned goods had in a sealed room but "It is what it is" he muttered as he stepped down from the mud stained bucket upon which he had been standing unsteadily. As his foot dragged over the edge of the bucket it toppled over into a puddle that never really seemed to dry, as it was fed a constant drip from the faulty air conditioner that hung above the center of the room. "Odd placement for an A.C." Jason thought, and dismissed  his observation as a random incoherent wandering of the mind. Graveyard shift seemed a bit more exhausting than the other shifts, regardless of the physical burden. As he stepped to the door he patted his right pant pocket softly, and only once, expecting the subtle sound of small metallic jingle from within. There was none. Immediate panic took over and Jason dashed through each pocket searching for the keys he'd need to open the thick steel door that prevented the world from entering this vessel unwelcomed. Banging on such a door would produce no sound on the other side, which mattered none whatsoever considering no one occupied this market, save for Jason, a lonely soul whose current predicament would keep him from sleeping comfortably between the K Mart bedding that covered his twin mattress at home.

The night would be a long one considering it was 1AM on Sunday morning and the owner would not open the market until 3PM when he and his staff had arrived from mass. Jason's acceptance of the situation was almost immediate. "This is going to be fun" he said as he placed his back to the door, slumped against it and allowed his body to drag along it until his backside met the floor, at which point there was a faint click and the door edged open slowly. Though he had no recollection of it, Jason had left a wad of paper jammed into the locking mechanism, preventing it from locking shut. He peered up at the wad in disbelief. "Did I do that?" he whispered, bringing himself to his feet and staring in disbelief at the open door, pausing only for a moment before he quickly left the room and made a beeline for aisle eleven where his final mission for the evening awaited.

Portfolio Assignment Due by 11:59 p.m., Wednesday Aug. 8

Welcome to the new and improved instructions for your portfolio.  Please ignore the description in the syllabus as this will be quite a bit different.

Description
There are just four assignments that you were asked to do: "Epics and Fables," "Characterization/Point of View," "Style Thief," and "Theme/Setting."  For your portfolio, you will select the three assignments that you think are your best work, revise them based on our class workshopping sessions, the comments left on your post, and your own judgment.

Presentation
You will present your revised pieces in a digital portfolio, along with some visual elements that will blow the mind of your poor, simple caveman professor.  A .pdf would probably be the easiest format, but if you want to get fancy and use video or animation, just clear it with me first.

Reflection
When revising each piece, you should first revisit the assignment instructions.  As you make your revisions, think about how you can improve your work so that it more closely achieves the goals set out in the instructions.  When you are done with your revisions, write one or two paragraphs that explain how you went about satisfying the elements of the assignment, how you revised the assignment to improve it, and how you felt about your final product as well as the process of getting it to its final stage.

As always, if you have any questions, feel free to email me at andylhinds@yahoo.com

Drifting Aimlessly

“Just a few days out at sea...” was all Wilson imagined he’d have to endure.  He really had no idea how many days had passed, just many, many more than a few. Maybe it was the kidney-stabbing dehydration, or the unforgiving sun, slowly ablating his skin like a dull knife. Unable to tally a simple count of day/night cycles didn’t even upset Wilson, it just added to the exhaustion. Maybe it was just delirium taking over.

“This whole being shipwrecked business sucks.” He thought to himself. Just one day out on the open sea was worse than his family road trips across the Midwest. At least there was some variety. The blank, blanket of blue offered no relief; the endlessly cloudless blue skies didn’t help much either. The occasional flying fish was Wilson’s only entertainment. At this point he almost hoped a shark would come along to take his mind off the emptiness.


Didn't set enough time aside to form a cohesive story. The idea was to create a bland, yet extremely brutal open ocean environment for the shipwrecked character. Then riding off humanity's combined accomplishment of landing the Mars Science Laboratory last night, I wanted to highlight the theme, that we're the sum of our parts and defenseless on our own, to the point we can plunge into insanity. 

-------
Or maybe running out of the canned beets and creamed corn he managed to stow aboard his raft
Wilson’s journey had started off on the right foot. Just an easy-going cruise from Long Beach to Brisbane, carrying his favorite cargo: fine Detroit automobiles.

It had been five years since he began life anew as a merchant sailor and the relief of finding his life’s calling was comforting. And this cruise would only cement that sentiment. Long Beach to Brisbane

Small World

Assignment for Monday 7/30


Should I meet her? two years of online conversations and here she is. Here in front of me. Here at Disneyland in front of me. It has to be her. It is her, she is wearing the same jacket a she was wearing in her pictures. What if she doesn’t like me? No, she said she wants me, she wanted me so bad. I don’t know what to do, what if she doesn’t like me? I need to courage, why do I have this feeling? I wanted to meet her for such a long time and she’s here, in front of me. But what if I introduce myself and she doesn’t like me? I don’t think I could take the rejection. What do I do? She looks so good standing over there. I need to make a decision fast. Now is my only hope. What If I meet her, and I fall in love? what if she falls in love? Well that is a good thing right? I can leave the girl I am with now. I feel so despicable. Why is this so hard for me. Here I am pacing back and forth, my two friends asking me what’s wrong, telling me I am acting like I’ve seen a ghost. I’m about to give up, not wanting to be bothered with it. I’m a hopeless, unassured reject of society.

Just then a feeling of strength comes over me. What do I have to lose? What if she likes me? I will regret not introducing myself now. Now is the time. Now is my only chance. I finally have the confidence to tell my friends what is going on. They are shocked. what are the odds that she is here? Hundreds of miles away from home? The same weekend we are here. Their motivation adds to the strength I feel Inside. I walk up to her, and call her name.

“Monica!”

She turns around, along with three of her friends. She stares. Oh shit, what did I get myself into. I wish I had a shell to crawl into. her expression of squinting eyes changed to a smile,

“Chris!?”

“Yes, its me”

“Oh my God, Chris what are you doing here?”

She rushes to me and I grab her. She smells so good. Her hug feels so good. I'm happy I made my decision. She invites me over to her suite that night. Should I ? Of course.

Fame: At All Costs

Assignment for 7/22

The night was perfect, The valley had clear skies, was quiet, had a little breeze, and crickets chirping. The occasional mosquito buzzed by. Summer was very busy for the crew. There was a heightening amount of tags from Willow street, to as far north as Cypress ave, They were worried that they wouldn't be one of the top crews in the east. One of them couldnt take that scenario. He needed fame like it was a disease. He yearned for it, more than love itself. He wanted to become “shot-caller” of the crew. He wanted to walk into a house party and know that, everywhere he went, people would whisper, “thats him”, after all, the girls loved the writers with “colorful” fingernails. Dakers1 was losing sleep thinking about what day they should unleash their creative assault on the city. He figured out the day would be the sunday night before Labor day. "The weeks after Labor day", he thought, "everyone would know who was on top".

The next morning, He paged everyone in the crew, only four showed up. Luckily, the ones that did show were all the main writers. They were the ones that hit the hardest areas to reach. The freeways, the billboards, and even day shots. Damn they were good. He explained his master plan, and they all were excited. One packed a bowl of some humbolt county purple kush and turned on a CD and skipped to a song called, Hieroglyphics “you never knew”. As the days leading to that night passed, they hit a few stores in the area “racking” as many spray cans as possible. As the days drew closer to their deadline, they all felt this disease taking over inside them from within like adrenaline junkies. Many would run from anything that would cause this feeling, but not them. They loved the rush, they couldn't get enough of it, and felt comfort from the bond of the others, that felt the same. 

Labor Day Monday, they all woke up at dakers1’s house, it was noon. What a rush, and what a busy night. Their urban assault went as planned without any mishaps. they went all out, close friends sent them pages with praise, as word and news of their night spread. They were on top once again. Just then , they saw the news. There was a special report on the vandalism they created, the excitement secretly turned into fear. They felt their hearts sink and felt dizzy from the thoughts of doing time in jail. One of the detectives was offering a 30,000 dollar reward for information leading to the arrest of anyone involved with the event that happened the night before. All that dakers1 was thinking was “this is it, I’m done”. Someone surely will take the money, and lead them to him. What would he do? the damage, his family, everything. He sat in his room as if waiting for that dreadful knock on his door, but it never came. weeks passed, the majority of his shots painted over, he learned a valuble lesson, “With Fame comes Respect.” Many people knew who he was, but not one person turned him in. He was grateful. while laying on the bed, He checked his pager and grabbed his cordless house phone. He was ready to call his boys, ready to plan the next hit.

I'm new to panic attacks

"I can't breathe!" she manages to choke out as her throat shuts. She furiously claws little red welts down her neck and her eyeballs tumble around and around in her head. Tiny whistles of air reach her desperate lungs, feeding and fortifying them for a moment longer.

She sees the room with her tumbling eyeballs, rolling around, while her tears cut through makeup and freckles and the only thought in her head is "AIR!".  Suffocating, her chest abruptly rises and falls, eerily silent. Blinking through the tears, she sees the walls around her being eaten by shadow. Debilitated by the enclosing space tightening around her neck and vision, her legs buckle and with her eyeballs she tumbles to the ground.

The hallway seemed to endlessly extend before her; the putty colored linen cabinet at the end shrinking until it was only a cabinet simply because she knew it to be so. Milky, blotchy, bargain-buy tile beneath her naked, outstretched legs sticks to her skin as she sweats profusely from the garroting grapple.

The sweltering heat didn't help either. An instantaneous blaze of abhorrence for his frugal mother rocked her core.

A silent gloom crawls  from every corner and crease around her. Deep from within the pockets, sleeves, hood, and bowels of a jacket drooped over the coat rack, a shade ascends, veiling all in a pitch. Like molasses, it creeps, covering everything it touches in a penumbra -- death eclipsing life.

The shoes beneath the canopy of jackets, sweaters, pull-overs, sweatshirts, and coats vomit forth a black and shadowy bile. Spreading like slick oil and dragging all hope below the surface, the shadows snuff it out. Reflections fall dull and her tormented expression becomes unrecognizable in the now muddy sheen of various materials. The glass gut of the grandfather clock to her left ticks at seemingly infinite intervals. Hissing each second with ruthless malice and mockery.

Her fingers are grappled in a crooked clutch around her maw, practically piercing porcelain flesh with mouth agape, while her nervous system spits out signals making her body twitch. "In through your nose, out through your mouth..." a quiet whisper rings in the back of her mind like the gentle tinkle of bells. Clamping her mouth and eyes shut, she desperately tries to suck air in.

Assignment for Mon, 8/6: Setting and Theme

Sorry for posting this later than I had promised.  I've been in planes and airports with dodgy internet service all day long. 

This past week, we talked about the elements of setting and theme in the stories "Harrison Bergeron," "To Build a Fire," and "The Things They Carried."

For your writing activity, I would like you to write a story, vignette, sketch, passage, fragment--whatever you want to call it--that focuses on one or both of these elements.  Think about how the fanciful story of "Harrison Bergeron" served as a cautionary tale, almost a fable, to warn us (in a comic way) against the deadly combination of idealism and unfettered governmental power.  Think not only about the icy desolation portrayed in "To Build a Fire," but also its themes concerning prideful overconfidence, self-reliance, underestimating the forces of nature, and ambition.  Consider "The Things They Carried" for its strong themes of disaffection, emotional burdens, the brutal irony and ironic brutality of war; but also for its masterful use of setting: the descriptions of the things that the soldiers carried can be considered part of the setting of the story.  They are also a device used effectively to get at some of the complex themes explored.  If you're feeling ambitious, you might try employing a device or "motif" of your own to hint at the themes or main ideas of your piece.

Happy writing, and have a great weekend!

At What Cost

Michael sat at the east end of Wade Park. The sun had set hours ago but because of its location at the center of the city, this park was usually well lit. Tonight it was especially dark. Mist rose and hung above the earth, untouched by any wind or movement. Despite the unusually low temperature for this time of year, sweat sat upon his brow, blinking at the faint traces of city light, shimmering brighter than the reflection upon his eyes, which seemed blacker than the shadow that had engulfed most of wood that surrounded the park at this time of night. He sat alone but felt the presence of someone else at his side, a presence that has grown stronger and much harder to ignore with each passing day, bringing with it a growing uneasiness that became much more difficult to ignore. A presence that he noticed the moment he set eyes upon Adam Braun, the boy who's very existence has ignited a rage within Michael, sparking cruel thoughts of revenge, but revenge for what? Why did Michael have such bitter hatred for this young man he had never met before? He stood and thought for a moment about going back home, to where his parents were most assuredly in a panic over his absence. Before taking a single step through the moist grass, before embarking on a journey, painful only because it would not end in the end of his mortal enemy, Michael paused, familiar with Adam's neighborhood and how easily he could sneak in and out of that home unnoticed, covering his trail and vanishing into the night before anyone was aware of what he had done. The Guardian realized he was quickly losing influence and may soon have to resort to the extreme in order to keep Michael from becoming what his grandparents fled from decades ago, from murdering in the name of hatred.

Trillionaire Aspirations

Mitt was your typical trillionaire, bad boy, false prophet. Convenient, since being first gave him carte blanche over the precedence of what’s deemed typical. Mitt’s inheritance of decadence gave him a blasé indifference to common folk, that only a lifetime spent as a plutocrat could foster. Fortunately for a man like Mitt, a good public image can be bought and sold like a commodity. The strength of his perceived propriety only empowered his multinational conglomerate empire. The gossip bombs from his heavy hand with hired women and careless affairs with narcotics, were easily defused with a strategic bribe.

But that was all misdemeanor ultra-wealth delinquency. Like his investment portfolio, Mitt was never one to settle for middle of the road performance. He had something more sinister in mind.
“Global domination.” Mitt smirked as he swiveled to face his panel of yes men.
“Through incremental easing of lending rates through our reser...”
“This isn’t a feedback session, Nerdgeek #4.” Mitt interjected, not knowing if he even got the Mittname of the guy he never bothered to learn, correct.
“Only a handful of people in this room have been made aware of Starfish Prime. Specifically, because all the mouth-breathers outside these walls would call it diabolical.” He elaborated with his innately condescending tone.

The members in the boardroom shared dampened looks of indifference and annoyance. This wouldn’t be the first time one of Mitt’s grand plans was forced upon them, complete with hyperbole and epic consequences, the board members knew to just agree and sit it through. The pay was good.

Mitt shouted over the quiet murmur amongst his staff: “As I figured, the words to explain to you gentiles, what’s on the agenda, simply don’t exist in english. You’re gonna need pictures. Roll that beautiful bean footage, A/V club.”

The boardroom windows flashed to opaque and sprung up the Conglomo corporate logo. “Enjoy.” Mitt blurted, as he openly directed his tablet to RedTube with the indifference of a honey badger.

“Conglomo: Innovators at life.” the video opened with a sterile female voice.

“Fast forward through my bio, get to the goodies.” Mitt demanded.

“Following a visit with the Supreme Leader of the Empire of Korea, Kim Jong Un, Mr. Mitt had realized a fantastic vision. Seeing the promise of the Korean Warrior Clone program and...”

“Fast forward again.” He again, interrupted.

“Starfish Prime will allow Conglomo to dictate its destiny. 16 years ago, Mr. Mitt enlisted 998,000 well-reimbursed mothers to act as surrogates through in-vitro fertilization. Through chromosome therapy and high-efficiency disposal measures, Conglomo was able to achieve a staggering, 93% male birth rate. The children were secured and brought to Conglomo Island 8, our largest and most secluded.

For the past 16 years, these children have been raised under the tutelage of former German Army General, Friedrich von Jäger. Following a strict regimen of diet, education and military training in a controlled, Spartan-esque environment, Conglomo has grown, of our own resources, the largest private military organization in history.”

(work in progress)

Guarding Michael

Michael is a good kid, a rare quality that has made my job easy, so far. Though he remains completely unaware of my presence in his life, I've been with him since the beginning. I've been charged with protecting the young man from birth until burial. As his Guardian, it is my duty to keep him from harm's way. People often assume everything is within God's plan but the painful truth is that the Creator has pretty much left everything up to us. He's assigned us our lamb and it's our duty to protect it from slaughter. Though Michael's protection has been a simple task thus far, guarding Michael will soon take on a dark new path. A path that may mean the end of us both. 


Michael has been a gentle natured boy since birth. His first smile, though mistaken for gas, was of sincere happiness. As a young boy, Michael had expressed appreciation for every creature he has encountered, whether animal or man. Michael's bright outlook on life endures, despite his family's dark past. Though he and his parents were born and raised in New York, Michael's grandparents were immigrants to this great nation. Having narrowly escaped Auschwitz in 1944, they fled to Switzerland with a small group of refugees. There they provided details of the concentration camp from which they fled and were offered safe relocation to the United States. It was at this point that their family had the chance to start fresh and leave the gruesome details of their past behind them. This was their intention but the door they closed behind them would not remain shut forever.


Michael, now in his senior year, looked forward to his final year at Iredell High, though it had only just begun. He had maintained the kind of grades to land him a scholarship at the University of his choosing and he looked forward to the opportunity to show his parents that he was able to make it on his own, as if they doubted that at all. Looking over his schedule he realized that if he didn't hurry, he was going to be late to his first class. Having barely made it through the door before the bell rang, he noticed every seat had been taken but one; back row, in the corner, next to a blonde, blue eyed young man who he would later learn to be Adam Braun. Adam's upbringing was similar to Michael's. His parents relocated from Poland to the United States in search of a new beginning, but for different reasons. When Adam and Michael's eyes met, there was a strange sense that they had met before. It was at this point that I came into contact with Adam's Guardian and our fates were forever changed.

Style Theif: Assignment for Monday, 7/30

Last week we read stories by the great American writers Ernest Hemingway, William Faulkner, and Flannery O'Connor.

Your assignment for this week is to write a piece in the style of one of these authors.  Your piece should be of the usual length and can be a re-imagining or continuation of something you've already written, or it can be completely new.

In order to successfully imitate the style of one of these authors, you need to first analyze what makes their respective styles unique.  We did some of this in class, as you will recall.  Here's a refresher on some of the traits we talked about in each of the stories.  Remember to go back to these stories to figure out more about what makes these authors' voices some of the most distinctive in literature.

Hemingway:

• Simple, straightforward, economical language
• Frequent use of short sentences
• Naturalistic dialogue--characters often speak in short phrases
• Repetition for emphasis
• Characters tend not to reveal much about themselves, seem almost reluctant to speak

Faulkner:

• Long, winding sentences with somewhat elevated diction
• Use of almost microscopic detail to describe certain actions or sensations that have particular significance to the story or the main character
• Partially omniscient narrator that has access to the deepest recesses of one or more characters' psyches.  
• Regional dialect in the dialogue contrasts more formal language in narration.

O'Connor

• Accessible language, casual diction, simple sentence structure
• Somewhat cynical tone--narrator doesn't necessarily sympathize with the characters
• Macabre subject matter
• Dark humor--even mixes slapstick, visual humor with violence
• Plot twists hinting at the random turns life and death can take
• Use of simple, yet striking similes ("Face as broad and innocent as a cabbage")
• Regional dialect

There's so much more to the style of each author, even based only on the stories that we read.  So make sure you get your noses back in the book before you start writing.

Have a great weekend, and have fun with this writing assignment!

Livindedgirl

Dismounting from my dragon I cast a spell, and in the blink of an eye I'm standing before a group of battle-hardened soldiers of Death, in every way. I quietly eye a large Tauren as it excitedly jumps around a giant seafood feast on the floor.

My gear in comparison is substandard, and lacking in everything needed to perform adequately as a member of the raid. I awkwardly try to ignore the other people's gear and sneakily flick my eyes over each detail.

Studying the moiety of members in front of me I gently, silently weave a refreshment table, the portal manifesting in a cool, electric-blue egg.While I sit inside my head and consider how to introduce myself, guild members come over to activate the portal, syncing their spirits with mine, to summon a magic table capable of supplying cupcakes that revitalize ones intellect and fortitude.

The magic fades from my bony finger tips and I let my hands fall to the table. As I straighten I gingerly munch on a miniature mana cake. "Oh Thrall's balls I hope this goes ok . . ." I sigh inwardly. As the others chat away amongst themselves, I'm left alone with my own thoughts.

Turning my head to look at the twinkling lights glaring off this paladin's golden garb, I find myself face to face with the cold and tranquil face of an undead. She stares at me. I slowly back up, heart pounding, and hastily contemplate her intentions. She slowly blinks and hands me her leather flackett of Highland Spring water.

Red Dawn Pt. II, POV

It had been four years since Walt had seen home. Ever since the invasion of London, his life became an unpredictable maelstrom of change. He longed for the simpler days in Calgary. Teaching high school physics was not a particular hobby of his, but being able to spark inspiration in a few of his otherwise belligerent students was worth the effort. From wielding Bunsen burners and demerits to proton cannons and human heads, Walt's last few years had indeed seen some change.

“I should really start acting like I’ve got some survival instinct.” Walt muttered to himself, snapping out of his reflective haze. He peeked his head out from the safety of a shipping container he had found refuge in. The ruins of the fuel depot around him fit his mental image of what a battlefield would like. The smell of diesel in the air was intoxicating and the fiery heat, almost unbearable. Canadians were not built for hot climates. Struggling to form a plan, Walt knew this was no time to gripe about comfort.

Walt flew out of hiding, the thrusters in his suit let off a crack like thunder. He blasted the last remaining fuel tank and perched himself on top of the base’s gymnasium. He had made his intentions clear. Walt intended to make a stand.

A bright reaction of lights followed by faint warmth danced across Walt's face, as artillery rounds blossomed to life in front of him. "They weren't trained in lobbing artillery at a man-sized target." Walt gleaned to himself as their fire for effect, had none. "Ugh, and I've never trained to fight off an entire infantry battalion on my own."

With just a matter of time before the artillery batteries could bracket Walt in for an easy kill, he made a dash for the treeline just behind his lab. He noticed his brown Escort sitting unscathed in the employee parking lot, almost upset even World War III couldn't get rid of it. With a more important task at hand, Walt regains focus. He has a hunch the Russians placed their command and control assets behind the safety of the mountain wilderness behind Black Mesa. Owing most of his military strategy knowledge to a few Sun Tzu quotes and a childhood playing Civilization, it was the logical choice. If he could convince the guy in charge of the whole invasion this was a bad move, he'd have victory in his hands.

Reaching the summit of a glaciated peak, Walt got to savor the rare joy of being right. In the valley below him, lay dozens of satellite dishes, tents and vehicles, all strewn about in haste like Burning Man. He surmises the "big one in the middle" is where the head man lives, if only he had he means to get down there. Their little makeshift city was surprisingly well fortified for time they had to establish. He knew if he made too grand of an entrance, Russian aircraft or even satellites might be able to relay his position.

....

Assignment for 7/22: Point of View/Characterization

In class, we talked about the strong voices of the characters who narrate "The Tell-Tale Heart" and "A&P."  For your assignment, I would like you to write a passage of 400 words or more, that shows a living breathing human behind the story.

Don't worry too much about plot, just create a narrator with a distinctive voice.  Try to avoid exposition.  Don't *tell* us who the narrator is with phrases like, "I was born in Albany New York to a family of hairbrush salesmen..."; *show* us who he/she is with his/her thoughts, observations, actions, and dialogue.

Epic Fail

"I am now leaving!" She called as she exited her domicile, stepping daintily
over the abyssal gaps between each plank of wood on her deck.
She warily eyes the uneven ground, steadying herself for the odyssey ahead,
and then takes the first step forward on her treacherous trek.

Wading through uprooted nails and scattered shoes she pursues level ground.
While evading and contemplating the merciless onslaught
from a plastic bag, the sun appears and casts blinding light from around the corner.
In defense she thrusts her hand to the sky, eyes ignited.

Ceasing her journey to regain her bearings, she judges the terrain before her.
With enemies stalking her every move her desperation rises.
"Onward!" She cries out, raising her head confidently. Though inside unsure
of her precises chances of survival, she charges forward.

A canyon opens up before her, resolved she steps down firmly and plants her
heel on the tail of a sleeping rug. Panicked it struggles
to pull free; obscuring the rugged terrain beneath even further. As she lifts
her other foot to step, the rug lashes out, swallowing her heel,
and stealing the ground from beneath her her, she falls.

To be continued.

(I've had way too much fun with this already, and if I continue it may not end for a while)

Lessons in life

There was once a little frog named Gus. He was a good little frog, always paying attention to his surroundings, since his mother always told him to be careful of dangers in the pond. He had a friend named Lucifer, who was another little frog who would always get into trouble. Lucifer didn’t care about rules, he felt he knew everything and always called the other little frogs, “WOGS” !!! Because they always jumped into the pond when danger was near.

Once evening when all the frogs were out singing and croaking, a group of humans were in a shallow fishing boat paddling through the lilies with a frog gig. Gus and all the others were warned about bright lights at night from the elders but Lucifer didn’t listen. He felt like he was untouchable to the world's dangers and felt the odds anything bad would happen to him were very slim to none.

As the light came near to the lilys where the little frogs were singing, they all jumped into the water except for Lucifer. “Where did everyone go?”, “awww you guys are a bunch of “WOGS”. At that moment, Lucifer was by himself and wanted to impress the Frogs who were hiding under the water, away from harm. He croaked with all his might, as if he wanted to prove everyone wrong around him. Just before he inhaled another deep breath, his eyes brightened the pond like the morning sun.

The flashlight the humans had, met Lucifer's eyes, causing his location to be found because of the reflection. At that moment, Gus and the others watched in horror as the pitch fork was thrust forward and soaked into Lucifer’s chest, causing his limp body to rip through the lilly he was sitting on. They heard his bones crack as the barbed hooks met their target. As soon as the attack started, it was over. the frog gig was lifted out of the pond, accompanied by cheers of excitement from the humans. The Light from the boat had faded away as the shallow boat was quietly paddled along.

The little frogs slowly reached the surface of the water, being careful to avoid the bloody water that was slowly blending with the surrounding water. Gus swam home to tell his mother what had happened. “I told you little Gus, Listen to your elders and learn from our mistakes”.”It could save your life”

Frog Gigging Explained

Red Dawn Pt. II

They were here. The Russians had sterilized the base of any resistance within an hours time. They were emboldened by their accomplishment and now the deuterium core research facility was their reward. The only thing preventing a strategic Allied defeat was 18 inches of steel reinforced concrete. The Russians brought explosives.

“Well, if I die today, and at least, delay their advance, I’ll probably have a high school named after me.” Walt consoled himself as he tried to structure a plan of attack in his head. The exosuit was powered to beyond critical. Walt knew he’d need every last watt of electricity to even entertain the possibility of surviving. And with a loud crack, the Russians had broken through.

“‘Sup guys? I’m the official Spetznaz welcoming party.” Walt taunted over his suit’s loudspeaker. The Russians replied with a flurry of machine gun fire. Knowing the constraints of his armor, Walt knew he couldn’t play the role of bullet sponge for much longer. He ran towards the advancing line, snagging a forklift in each hand and made a gory scene, too macabre for even Poe to put into words. He meleed his way to ground level expecting better news. Instead of a small special forces operation--the type the lab had at least considered a contingency plan for--was a full on invasion force.

Walt knew if the Axis powers were able to secure the fusion cores and retrieve the Allied research, the war would be over. He couldn’t let that rest on his shoulders. He sprang towards the base fuel depot and left off a lightning bolt from his suit’s reactor. Walt had successfully announced his presence.

To be continued...

Delilah's Revelation

As a child, Delilah was taught that the Lord ruled all. God was infallible and to doubt his grace was to bring shame upon your family, yourself, and to suffer eternal damnation. Despite what she had been taught to believe, Delilah’s faith faded over time. She longed to feel His presence or to be graced with proof of His existence but, no matter how much she wished for this, it did not come to pass.

As she matured, Delilah had adopted the belief that God did not exist and that she was free to live life as she pleased, without fear of damnation’s hellfire. But Delilah was kind in heart. She did not require fear of punishment to enforce her actions. She treated all before her with compassion and endearment. When she confessed to her family that she no longer accepted their belief in any God, she was cast out from their home, forbidden from returning. Having been disowned and left out on her own, Delilah vowed never to allow another person’s beliefs to affect her opinion of them. She influenced others to do the same. “Let ye be judged by thine actions, not by the faiths you possess.” Words that rang true in the monastery of compassion and acceptance she built as a safe haven for those who were cast from their homes, just as she was. What started as a small gathering of lost souls seeking acceptance grew into an entire community of gentle people with different faiths, but a similar belief that an individual is to be judged by the quality of their character, not by the God unto which they kneel.

Delilah had lived a full life in the company of those she loved, those who loved her and viewed her almost like their own mother. Delilah looked out upon her people with love and respect for their bravery, living among others whose own countries have waged war upon each other for their religious dissimilarities. This in itself was her life’s achievement and her greatest contribution to the world she knew.

As an old woman, no longer able to stand, she spent her final moments in a bed facing the setting sun, enjoying its warmth upon her weary skin. She had constant visits from friends, loved ones, disciples and visitors from afar who came to express their appreciation for what she has given to them and their families, but those she wanted to see most did not come. The family that cast her out remained steadfast in their decision to remove her from their lives. Her life was full, but their absence created a void that would forever remain empty.

On the final night of her life, Delilah knew she was within moments of the end. She was prepared for it and was grateful for the opportunities to do everything she had done. To experience things others would never know. To bring happiness and peace to so many people whose lives had, up until that moment, been filled with torment and fear. Delilah looked through the open door and was met with a cool breeze gently blowing aside the cloth draped over the doorway. She felt a sudden warmth upon her hand and looked over to see a man standing over her. Despite the setting sun, an apparent glow seemed to fill the room bringing with it a peaceful warmth that surrounded and comforted her. She gazed into the eyes of the man and was filled with the overwhelming sense that she knew this man, possibly from when she was but a child. He spoke. “Delilah, you may not believe in any god, but your actions have not gone unnoticed. You have brought peace and happiness to so many who have, in turn, adopted your kindness and will carry on your gentle nature throughout their lives and the lives of others. Your days in this place will cease to be, but this is not the end for you. Rest, my dear, for soon you will be home.” Delilah’s eyes remained fixated on the man until she realized he was gone. Her weary eyes could remain open no longer and Delilah was able to enjoy what she had been instructed to do by the friendly visitor, rest.  Graced with the presence of what she felt she had been missing her entire life, Delilah was now at peace.

Assignment due 7/16: Epics and Fables

This week in class we read and discussed the narrative forms of epic poetry and fables.  


Your assignment for Monday (due before class starts) is to write a story, or a piece of a story, in the style of the epic or the fable.  Your story may be about any topic, deal with any theme, and take place in any era.  All I'm looking for is a demonstration of your understanding of some of the characteristics and conventions of the two genres we have been discussing.

For inspiration and information about epic poetry, re-read the passages from Beowulf and The Iliad that were included in the handouts I provided for you.  Also, refer to your notes regarding the characteristics of epic poetry and the heroes that populate it.

And to refresh your memory regarding fables, turn to pages 5-16 in your reader, where you'll find examples of fables as well as excellent analysis by the editor.

Have a great weekend, and have fun writing your epics and fables!

Time to "skate" at work a little...

Here I am in the office, mini fan on,computer screens with 100 windows open, phone ringing, wrapping up these small fires before they burn out of control. It was a rough morning today. In the process of reorganizing my guest room, I misplaced my car key, and could not find my wallet. I rushed out of the house with my comb in hand, late to work, but it didn't bug me, since the majority of the time I am 30 minutes early. Thankfully, It's like a small family here in the IT dept., With all the comp time I put in for these guys and never claim, I would be rich. I am what you call a "category five" procrastinator in my personal life, it's biggest flaw that I have, although Im not like that when I'm working.  If you evaluated my work on a daily basis, you would think otherwise.

I have always had two passions in life since I was a kid. Technology and Art. I loved train sets and Legos. They were my favorite toys as a young child. I would always bug my mom to buy me more train tracks for my Brio wooden trains so that I could make my setup bigger and badder each time. As far as Legos go,I was pretty creative when making things up. I was the kid that broke things purposely in order to figure out how it worked. Art branched off this creativity I had. I would draw so often that my dad would get angry at me for using up so much paper. Crayons, markers, pencils, were always near me at that time. I would draw characters that were on kid shows that I liked at the time and pretty much anything my teachers wanted me to do.

Later in high school I was introduced to electronics when I took a magnet engineering course. I was instantly addicted to to concept of routing current through a circuit board, using Ohm's law to find values like power, resistance and voltage then verifying my findings. After high school I went to community college for a year then joined the Navy for 9 years as a telecom technician. Three years ago I jumped into civilian life and am thankful and fortunate that I was hired here in San Diego soon after .Working in the IT field, usually demands experience on the systems worked on and certifications and work takes care of that. a college degree doesn't mean crap now a days in the IT field.  I was 28 years old and figured to go to school for Art to do freelance work, I've always wanted to own my own business and this was an opportunity to make money doing something I enjoy on the side of my Career. School in general, I tend to procrastinate on lots of the work handed to me. I have never been big on trying to get the best grades in class or prove myself to anyone. as long as I pass the class, I'm good. You put something in front of me I enjoy, and It usually brings out the best in me. Coming to Platt for webdesign has been great for me so far. When I am focused on a project, I tend to block out everything around me and finish the task to completion. This is how I am at work, and at home.

This class should be interesting. I have never been in a class so small in my life, but I am looking forward to the experience.

Announcements 6/26: Play, Blog Comments, etc.

Hi all--

Here is the link for the play that we're going to on Wednesday, June 27.

Just show up at the theater a little before 8:00 p.m. on Wednesday, with five bucks in hand to pay the deeply discounted admission price.

Also, please remember to comment on at least two (2) of your classmates' posts on our blog by Wednesday.

This has been a bit of an odd week, what with the curriculum consisting only of watching movies and plays.  For next week, be prepared to read, talk, and write!

See you in class tonight--

Andy

Re: labor standards

Weekends are too short. My revolutionary chant rang exceptionally clear this morning as I ran down my pre-flight checklist to become societally acceptable; all while in an ethanol-induced haze. Beginning the workday at the usual 45 minutes late, only further irritated my angst. I fully understand the old 9 to 5, was closer to 5 to 9, just a generation ago, but we’re in the 21st century now, by all some accounts Skynet was supposed to make life easier by now.

Sure we can (and should) thank Upton Sinclair for authoring The Jungle, which is often attributed for catalyzing early 20th century labor reforms, but it seems we’re regressing back upon all our leaps and bounds in troop welfare. We have factories which can almost stamp out a nearly ready-for-the-sales-floor automobile with minimal human interaction. Yet still, an overwhelming majority of us first world-ers are forced to maneuver our physical forms, from our personal, on the grid building many miles, over a terribly dangerous asphalt and concrete battlefield at a raged pace, to sit in another on the grid building, while wearing silly clothes and sharing air with folks you likely have nothing in common with, other than a common disdain for one another.

It’s a silly set of motions we force upon ourselves. Silly enough, I’ve grown to really appreciate Timothy Ferriss’ work, most notably The 4-Hour Workweek. Even with Ferriss’ acute case of self-obsessed narcissism and a cabal of dubious friends, I like to imagine his books may hold a life altering tip or two. I enjoy holding out for hope. Maybe one day I’ll find the time to actually read them, but I always find myself back at square one: weekends are too short.

I've got the moxie!

Ever since class on Wednesday I've done nothing but recall parts of  the interview that we watched of Ray Bradbury! In particular, his theory on doing what you love and loving what you do really spoke to me. It's actually the reason I am where I am now. I can't say I LIKE where I am right now, but I where I'm headed and I know that this too shall pass.

Back in North Carolina, I didn't know where I was going. I was 18 and felt as though everyone was leaving for college with life goals set, plans for the future, and all the strength in the world needed in order to get through it. I was weak and alone, and I was going to a college, but I didn't know what I was going to do when I go there. School was never easy for me, so the last thing I wanted to do was spend ANOTHER 4 endless years, NOT paying attention to something I didn't care about. I went to Appalachian State University because my boyfriend at the time was going there. That was just about the worst decision of my life! However, I came away from that situation with a new found understanding and respect for myself. I knew that I had to do something I loved. I had to have a career, not a job. I wanted it for myself.

I deserved it! My brother is in jail right now for 1st degree murder, and 1st degree kidnapping. This all happened my first year of college at App, and it was one of the reasons I dropped out. The healing process that should have happened, didn't, and I went back to Chapel Hill to get a job, but soon I realized that the further I was away from my hometown, the better. So I moved. I was dating a guy I had known for almost 3 years on (yeah laugh it up!) World of Warcraft, which is created by Blizzard Entertainment; my dream job! He lived in California, and that's just about as far away from North Carolina as I could get without leaving the country. We've been living together for 3 years now (and are still madly in love), and the growth I've seen in myself since leaving home is astounding. I'll be 23 in October, and I can't believe that I was 19 when I moved out here! It feels like yesterday I was driving across the country with everything from my bedroom in the trunk!

So, after taking the same road twice, but for a different reason, I found out about Platt from current boyfriend, who is an Alumni of PSD. Like I said in class, I want video games to be a part of my daily life. There was something I loved, that I could do, right underneath my nose.

It's funny; something I used to turn to in order to escape the world has actually opened up the world to me in return.

FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE I'M ACTUALLY EXCITED ABOUT WHERE I'M GOING!!!!

Artistic Computer Nerd

   I used to sketch a lot when I was younger. I'd spend class time illustrating when I should have been paying attention. The range of things I could draw was not wide, though. Mushrooms, skulls, and comic book characters were my bread and butter. Over the years I've lost touch with that part of me. As it turns out, being an adult is time consuming. Who knew? Because of my time in the Army, I get paid to go to school and what better way is there to regain touch with my artistic side than to attend a graphic design school?


   Despite my lack of artistic range, I had gone pretty much my entire life believing I had a strong level of creativity. That is, until I attended Platt College. What I have learned in the past year at this school is that my level of artistic skill is intermediate, at best. I haven't allowed the direct exposure to numerous artists who are infinitely more skilled than I to discourage, though. I'm as determined to finish with my degree and continue to hone my skills now as I was on day one. Possibly more so. Although my funding for school will end in November, I feel I've gained a solid foundation upon which I can continue to build after I've received my degree. I'm not sure where these skills will lead me but I already feel as though my career in graphic arts will be much more interesting and fulfilling than anything I've done in IT. I'm a tech nerd for life, but supporting people who know nothing about the machines they use all day long is a frustrating way to spend your day and I need an outlet. Here's to hoping that the graphic arts will show me the way.

Assignment for Monday, June 25

Hi, all--

I hope you have figured out how to get yourself logged in as an author on our group blog, and how to write a post.  (It's pretty simple: click "New Post," write in the box, and click "Publish"--or "Save" if you're not quite ready to publish.)  "Teacher Man" is my (Andy's) user name, if that wasn't obvious enough.  If you are having any problems logging in or posting, please email me at andylhinds@yahoo.com.

Your first assignment is basically a test run to make sure everyone has figured out how to use the blog, and a bit of a writing sample for my edification.  Please write a couple paragraphs either a) recapping what we talked about in class regarding who you are and what your relationship to reading and writing is like; or, b) anything else you feel like writing about: an ode to your hamster, a rant about traffic, a fictional account of a home-surgery disaster, a lyrical poem about yeast, whatever.

Please make this first post at least 200 words long, and include whatever visual, audio, or other elements you want.  Just don't break the internet, please.


Mystery link