Week 7, Junkyard Quote 3

Daddy, who was tall and strong and liked going to the hospital to play with their fun machines, was put in the bye-bye box at a big, white house where everyone had a party for him even though it wasn't his birthday.
From "Daddy Put In Bye-bye Box", from The Onion.

Reminded me of some infantilist poetry I read a while back. Not very clashing or provoking or anything, just a funny article about the death of loved ones.

Week 7, Junkyard Quote 2

Sarah trusted her gut, and her gut said Agent Nightingale was an asshole. He felt wrong, and it wasn't just the smell of stale booze. It was in the way he flashed his badge, pulled rank, the look in his eyes when he wanted answers.

Sami Järvi, from "Alan Wake"

The writing may be mostly simplistic, but it fits the mood it's trying to complement extremely well. This is from an excellent adventure game, that revolves around a best-selling american writer. As a whole, the game has one of the best balances between Showing and Telling that I have seen (with "Max Payne" being next to it, a noir story by the same developers and writers). It shows you most everything, yet gives you enough nibbles of tells that you can find your bearing in places where the character's intentions may not be obvious.

Week 7, Junkyard Quote 1

The snow crunched under my feet as I walked with the Chechen rebel commander away from the warmth of our safe house. When we entered a bombed-out neighborhood 15 minutes away, I put the battery in my Iridium satellite phone and waited for the glowing screen to signal that I had locked on to the satellites.

Robert Young Pelton, "Kill the Messenger", article on ForeignPolicy.com.

In an otherwise kind-of-flat piece of journalism, I found that the article was a worthwhile read, literalily, for its content, not its form. I just found out that Marie Colvin died a week ago, this article being how I now know. The experiences of Pelton, that partially mirror Colvin's, and his commentary on how some governments make the gears turn, was a nice read.

Week 7, Calisthenics 1

What I wrote in class in response to the interview exercise felt kind of uninspired, so I put together something I'm a bit happier about, although it still needs a lot of tweaking (and no, no slinkies, don't like the sound of the word).

Between a ghost town and a village,
empty streets—no tangle ups,
accross from where Augusta stood
with a smoldering cat,
both hissing at the past.

Outside all's unknown,
hidden patterns taped to ceilings
glow, not shine
like alternating pegs,
their home not jet black space
but the flesh of a child.

Week 6, Junkyard Quote 3

"[A]t their word of command many millions of brainless, besotted beasts would stretch forth their noisome talons from the slums of a thousand cities"
- H.P. Lovecraft, from The Street (short story)

For the past year, or so, I've been slowly reading through Lovecraft's complete works (it's quite the daunting task, specially when combined with the other antologies and collections it has to contend for time with). This story, one of his early ones, is a non-horror story (quite uncommon), heavily tinted by nationalism, xenophobia, and nostalgia. I liked many of the scenes conjured in the story, of stout houses and stalwart men, but the line above was specially eye-catching.

Week 6, Junkyard Quote 2

"Yet even in this pastoral land
the green is mixed with battle cries
and phantom groans. A handsome spring
it was. But, my sweet God, to me
the flowers stank of sulphur and
their blooms were flecked with human blood."
A. Hudgins, from After the Lost War.

Been rereading After the Lost War, since it fell from my shelf yesterday, and I hadn't opened it in 3 years or so. Some passages like the one above feel very vivid, and a pleasure to read.

Week 6, Junkyard Quote 1

"Fluid sugar draws bees, fluid filth draws flies, and fluid situations attract the chaotic."
- FANTASYSMITH (pseudonym), from The Dragon #30 (Oct. 1979)

I love how "fluid filth draws flies" sounds and feels.

Week 6, Free Entry 1

During Mr. Vagnini's introduction, at the start of last Thursday's class, something he said about Italian ideas jumping over to English in interesting ways made me jot down a few lines on situations like that given between the languages I know and English.

Although poems are not my strength, I decided to give it a shot at one. This is my current draft:

Given a hug without scars,
west of Ithaca,
where killing shines
like amber mead.

A cotillion of snakes
shed from a myriad gorgons
is chasing its prey,
a breeze of mugged arms.

Standing atop the barren cliff
where a prince lost his sight,
the blue sawteeth race
and the flying cats cry.

Week 5, Classmate Response 2

This is a classmate response to Morgan's Free Entry, Wk 5.

This is a small sample of the short story i have been working on about the in memory of stickers on the back of cars. It doesn't have a title yet, but i wanted to get peps input on it. Here it is:

I have learned a lot about Sally Beckerson these past 20 minutes. She was born June 18th 1986. Her favorite color was pink-all shades of it from baby power pink to sonic boom neon pink. She was a dog lover-ASPCA was written across her boobs. Her hair was dyed an off shade of blond, paired with glasses that tried to scream sexy little librarian and an overly cheesy smile. She is a young 20 year old.
Damn, this is creepy! I try to look away from Sally, but I can’t she is literally staring at me only a few feet in front of me. If I look away, it isn’t good for anyone around me.

SO, I just on looking at her and I feel like a slinky stalker as I do it. I don’t want to seem too rude so I try to think up something to say to that awkward smile.

“What dog breed do you like?”

“Labs, I had one when I was younger, they are the best dogs.”

“Sweetness, I had a lab a few years ago too. She was like a huge fat cow.”

Silence.

Awkward.

Sometimes silence isn’t golden, that damn movie screen lies. From the very silent stares from the huge next to me, he thinks I’m talking on my cell phone, so I laugh to fill the void.

I am the maker of pure awkwardness.

Sally is still there just cheesin’ away, like she has no care in the world, which is honestly true.

“I like your glasses; they have a cute librarian vibe.”

“Thanks that was the look I was going for. I’m a huge book nerd.”

“Same, though Harry Potter is my weakness.”

“Holy Moses, same here!”

Talking about Harry Potter is probably the most amazing thing on this planet besides Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia ice cream. I go on a rampage about how Snape is the most outstanding character in all of novel history, and how I cried like a person in a Hallmark commercial at the end of Deathly Hallows Part 2. As I ramble away, Sally is smiling at me like she understands everything I am saying to her, but I know she is faking it just to be nice. That bitch.

Now I feel like a bitch for calling the smiling Sally a bitch for just staring at me. I am starting to hate this girl. She needs to stop being so damn happy. 

Interesting piece, I like the character's inner voice very much, although I felt like the piece needed a more physical background (I am left wondering, where did this happen?).

Some parts feel like they could use some reworking, like:
"Sometimes silence isn’t golden, that damn movie screen lies. From the very silent stares from the huge next to me, he thinks I’m talking on my cell phone, so I laugh to fill the void."
The first line is quite good (maybe change the 'that' to 'those'?), however the 2nd line honestly confused me--I get the gist of what's happening, but the way it's written doesn't make a very clear image.

There's also some spots where I feel some commas being added, or phrases being rearanged, might improve the overall tone (the 2nd paragraph, for example).

Overall, I like where it's going, and would love to read the whole thing, please keep us updated.

Week 5, Classmate Response 1

This was a response to April's Improv 2, Week 5.

 From Instructions, by Neil Gaiman, which can be found here. Neil Gaiman is one of my favorite contemporary authors. I love the mysticism in this piece, so I'm Improving it in my own way...

Instructions

Go out from the house, child, taking 127 paces South.
If you don't know where South is, that's okay.
Just spin around until you are dizzy. Then turn right.
Shut your eyes tight and count to ten. Open them. You should see
a skinny dirt path you never noticed before. Take it.

If you see an old crooked man with saucer ears,
small, square teeth and an eye patch -
Don't look away. Instead, look into his one good eye
and smile.
He may just give you the gift of a well-told story.

Go past the barren tree that twists like a unicorn's horn
but remember, as you pass, to say a prayer.

Take a bowl and place it on your head
and take a towel too. You can wrap it around yourself
or sit on it and have a picnic, if you wish.

Pay the Great Blue Moose a visit and give him clam chowder
if you have any. Pass the farm with six red chickens
and ring the bell at the edge of the gate. If you see the farmer,
tip your bowl-hat and say "How do you do?"

When you come to the edge of the forest, stop.
Bend down and grab a fistfull of grass. Blow it out of your hand
and sing "Yasha'el Maelin Katurna!" and pick up a rock.
This will protect you from the wicked things that eat children.

Do not be afraid when it gets dark. Listen to the purple nightingale,
who sings for you alone. Step carefully along the path and
watch out for creatures littler than you. When you get tired,
call out for the thee-eyed squirrel. His name is Daniel.
He will let you sleep in his treehouse if you use kind words.

In the morning, you will find yourself in your bed, cuddled up
with your favorite pillow and blanket.
Things will look the same. But you will be different.
Under your pillow you will find your magic rock.
Carry it with you
always.

Firstly, thanks for linking to that writing by Gaiman, he's an author I greatly enjoy--hadn't stumbled accross this piece yet, and I liked it a lot.

Your piece was very vivid, and was a breeze to read. I enjoyed some of the imagery, slightly absurd yet believable.

Some wording could use work, like "old crooked man." I can't think of a better phrasing right this instant, but old and crooked feel too overlapping, like one implies the other, although not completely.

One thing I could see changed would be the stanza about the grass and the wicked things--perhaps it should mirror the next stanza, about Daniel the squirrel, a bit more? You could give the wicked things a name, perhaps a smell.

Overall, it's a good draft, and with a few tweaks could be even greater! Thanks for sharing.