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.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Monday, August 6, 2012
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.
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
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
“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.
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.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
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!
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!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)