Saturday, December 10, 2011

Back to Basics

     A wonderful thing happened Thursday- I could not connect my laptop to the internet. And so, my students followed the ancient tradition of taking a quiz from the chalkboard. It was great.


     In a blog post, dated February 2010, Heather Sellers said,


"I don’t want my students—who spend most of the rest of their time in the electrified digital world—to lose touch with something elemental, sacred, mysterious, and increasingly rare: the pencil paper world."
     To read the article, click here.


This week we continued our discussion on Point of View. After reading The Tell-tale Heart (click here to read the story) by Edgar Allan Poe, students were asked to write a version from the Uncle's perspective. Here are a few gems-



The Tell-Tale Heart
     from the Uncle's perspective
by Menelik Cannady

     Why? Why does he look at me this way? Does he treat me thus because of my eye. Only one, it is only one part of my body. It is unfair. It is unkind. He’s my nephew, my only nephew. It is as if he wants to kill me. Is he possessed?

     I am tense. He looks at me like an assassin. He threatens me with a knife and I cower in fear. That little scoundrel. If he ever lays a blade on me, he’ll end up in the jail, locked up forever. He intimidates me with his stare. He’s my nephew. I can take this no longer.

The Tell-Tale Heart
     from the Uncle's perspective
by William May

     I see my nephew every day and I see there is something wrong. He has been looking on edge lately, acting weird, uptight. I think it is my wretched eye. Everyone looks at me. I don't like it. He is making me uneasy.

     I hope he doesn't do anything drastic.

The Tell-Tale Heart
     from the Uncle's perspective
by Jack Radford

     I always thought my nephew was nice. He was always nice to me. He is a respectful, young man, better than others. There is one thing that worries me. I have seen the way he looks at me. He gives me an angry stare that makes me feel uneasy. I think he has come into my room when I am sleeping. It is too dark for me to see but I hear him, walking about. I pretend to sleep, so I can hear. He may be mad.  

Next, students were asked to write a narrative, using the perspective of a one dollar bill.

My Life
     as a Dollar
by Mitchell Warnkin

     A vague glimmer inhabits my mind. Cold, granite walls, bright lights from the sky-high ceiling. The sound of machinery, feverishly working, drowns the noise of the workers, touching me from station-to-station, smelling of fresh paper and heat.
     I am placed in a truck, dark and cold. The next stop is a bank. There I am happiest, in a drawer with my brothers and sisters from sunrise to sunset. The talking of people interests me; it gives a sense of meaning. It is dark and there is the smell of perfume.
     To my surprise, one day I am placed in a wallet. Warm and moving, I am squashed into someone's butt! So, from register to register I am transferred, with wallets and pockets between, crumpled and torn.
My memories are vast as I am back with the granite walls and sky-high ceiling. Intense heat surrounds me as I slowly burn, my evergreen complexion turning black. I have no regrets, no remorse. I am ready to embrace an afterlife fit for a healer.

My Life
     as a Dollar
by Justin Lemmon

     Man, it feels good to finally be in a wallet. I've dreamed of this day. My buddies have told me that the humans are trying to replace us with pieces of plastic. Yuck! Plastic doesn't mean as much. My dream is to be used to buy a puppy. Whew, Andrew, you smell! Were you spent on a septic-tank cleaning? Uh-oh, what's going on? I'm buying a soda. Now I'm stuck in a rusty drawer. Hmph! Watch what you grab, buddy! Finally, a warm wallet. No! Not the bank!!! Not the bank! If I had legs I'd run away! Nooo!


My Life
     as a Dollar
by Sara Cazorla

     I smell cigarettes. It is stinky. I am always in a dark place, every day. I hear the yelling of people, at the office. I have been spent. Alot. Stores like Target and Marshall's. Mrs. Flowers is spending me now. She is mean. She smells terrible. I have taken naps in the dark place.


     I love to be spent, to be spent on cupcakes and Chinese food. I have had a nice life as a green piece of paper. But Mrs. Flowers was mean. One day I was taken to a place where they shred. I was scared. But then...

Word of the Day
(click on word to see definition)

Sunday, December 4, 2011

   "The chief happiness for a man is to be what he is."
Erasmus


This week's discussion topic was Setting, the aspect of stories that blanket the reader with sight, smell, and sound. Students were asked to write the 'setting'- Bacon Cooking, without using the word bacon.
Here are a few results:
Loud, crackling grease,
bubbling, popping
millions of times,
small steam strings
from the pan,
aroma rising
filling the room,
suddenly gone,
and I
no longer hungry
Will May

     The aroma entices me and draws me closer to the shallow, black pan. The sizzle of the grease , colliding with the intense heat, prepares me for a great dish. The thin slivers of meat are pink, like a young mouse fed to a snake. Well, I am the snake. The heat radiates from the crystal clean stovetop, causing me to step back. As the fat melts, my lips start to moisten. The anticipation is killing me.
Mitchell Warnken

     I walked into my kitchen, a tiny, yet homey kitchen which doubled as a dining room. With a small refrigerator, mini microwave, an oven and a stove, it had everything. Yet, it was tiny. As I entered the room I could hear the loud sizzling of something, like the loud praise from an audience for a magician. I smelled the pleasing scent of meat, wafting through the air. I approached my Mother. She was at the stove, like an inventor making new and innovative devices. She was cooking.
Izak Gainor



This Week's
Word of the day
(click on word for definition)

Thursday, November 24, 2011

The Aplomb of Error

"We must not say every mistake is a foolish one."

Cicero
106-43 BC

     The water that artists traverse appears calm, even serene to the untrained eye. But to the artist, the water is swift, seething with secrets that want to be found. Whitewater. The painter cries, "Canvas!", the sculptor, "Marble!" For the writer, the water is paper. Blank, white paper. Every writer needs this maxim:

"Don't be afraid of mistakes."

Sounds simple? Maybe. But, until you've stared at the white, unable to write the letter 'A', the simplicity of the maxim is not your reality. It is my joy to guide a group of young writers through the whitewater. For them, the maxim is becoming reality.


Lacking Aplomb

Time sprints by through ticking
not one's but 2's scratch
The proctor's pointed heels begin clicking
her steady gait causes fear to hatch
Lacking aplomb, frantic thoughts start sticking

Essay prompts go by in a flash
pencils skate across answers at a mad dash
Judgment turns strongly toward rash

TIME! 

Katie Metz


A Six-Word Sentence
by Izak Gainor

Love is the most prehensible subject.


Love Hole

Love is like a hole.
You don't choose it,
you fall into it.
You don't decide about love,
when you fall into the hole
The hole called love.
Sometimes you can't get out.

Jack Radford


Here is the story we read in class this week:

A Tale of Two Brothers

Genesis, Chapter Four, Verses 1-16
from The Message

     Adam slept with Eve his wife. She conceived and had Cain. She said, "I've gotten a man, with GOD's help!" Then she had another baby, Abel. Abel was a herdsman and Cain a farmer. Time passed. Cain brought an offering to GOD from the produce of his farm. Abel also brought an offering, but from the firstborn animals of his herd, choice cuts of meat. GOD liked Abel and his offering, but Cain and his offering didn't get his approval. Cain lost his temper and went into a sulk. GOD spoke to Cain: "Why this tantrum? Why the sulking?
If you do well, won't you be accepted? And if you don't do well, sin is lying in wait for you, ready to pounce; it's out to get you, you've got to master it." Cain had words with his brother. They were out in the field; Cain came at Abel his brother and killed him. GOD said to Cain, "Where is Abel your brother?" He said, "How should I know? Am I his babysitter?" GOD said, "What have you done! The voice of your brother's blood is calling to me from the ground.
From now on you'll get nothing but curses from this ground; you'll be driven from this ground that has opened its arms to receive the blood of your murdered brother. You'll farm this ground, but it will no longer give you its best. You'll be a homeless wanderer on Earth." Cain said to GOD, "My punishment is too much. I can't take it! You've thrown me off the land and I can never again face you. I'm a homeless wanderer on Earth and whoever finds me will kill me." GOD told him, "No. Anyone who kills Cain will pay for it seven times over." GOD put a mark on Cain to protect him so that no one who met him would kill him. Cain left the presence of GOD and lived in No-Man's-Land, east of Eden.

Students were asked to write character descriptions of the two brothers.
 Here is Katie Metz's-

Cain- Taller than average height, he nurtured a growing sense of self importance and entitlement. It took years to develop his keen understanding of growing produce. He views himself as a leader.

Abel- Average in all areas of life except his superb ability to read the emotions in people. Inadvertently, he caused much of the angst in Cain's life.

This week, we also discussed Ernest Hemingway's advice to writers:
          1. Use short sentences.
          2. Use short first paragraphs.
          3. Use vigorous English.
          4. Be positive, not negative.

"There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."
Ernest Hemingway


Words of the Day
(click on word for definition)

Sunday, November 13, 2011

Words

"In the beginning was the Word..."
John 1:1


The word is indeed a powerful force. Ernest Hemingway inspired a genre by writing the following words-

"For sale: baby shoes, never worn."

He said it was the best story he ever wrote. Thus was born the six-word sentence story. Here are a few examples from the Creative Writing class:

"Oh no, she didn't do that!"
Zach Cassady

"That mushroom tasted kind of funny."
Eric Loytty

Ticking clock, does it know all?
Mitchell Warnken

To love is also to cry.
Megan Bennett

As I watched, she wept softly.
Izak Gainor

The experience changed my life completely.
Brian Hady

Everyone has the ability to dream.
Menelik Cannady

BEWARE OF BROKEN GLASS SLIPPERS, Cinderella.
Rachel Levi

My example (below), unfortunately, did not have the desired effect because my students had never heard the reference. I suddenly feel old.

"The other shoe- News at Eleven!"
m r carter

Send me your six-word sentence story and I will publish the best-
mcarter@trinityprep.com

Saturday, October 15, 2011

An Interview with Laura L. Barkat

"Readers like symmetry.
Sometimes life has no symmetry."
L.L. Barkat
Rumors of Water


     One of my goals in Trinity's Creative Writing class is to eliminate the mystery of the writing process and give the students practical, real-life methodology.
  
     This week I had the opportunity to ask author Laura L. Barkat a few questions. You will be blessed by what she had to say.



1. What was your favorite subject in High School?


     I always loved the things that had nothing to do with who I was going to 'be' when I grew up. Not that I knew I'd be a writer, see. But I never liked English class much. And my life has nothing to do with science now, but I always loved the details of biology and, earlier, earth science.
     Okay, so maybe this really has to do with who I am now. Because writers need to be interested in details, down to 'picky details'. This is what sets one writer apart from the next; what he notices about color, texture, sound and so forth, and which of those details he chooses to highlight to create a sense of place and context.

2. At what point did you realize you wanted to be a writer?

     Never wanted to be a writer. But others wanted it from me, would ask me to be their voice for celebrations, or in times of mourning. So it was something I grew into, came to understand as the particular gift I needed to share with the world. And that worked out okay, because now I very much want to be a writer. It enchants me with its challenges and possibilities.

3. What/who inspires you?

     Tea- black, green, or red, but never with cinnamon. The French language. Piano, though I never had the chance to learn it (am learning it, slowly, now). Poetry, oh that makes me a better writer all around and it teaches me to listen and see. Suspension bridges, fountains, canyons, ledges. I guess it comes down to things with design, texture, mystery, challenge.

4. What/who do you read?

     I'm not genre-specific. I'm art specific. In other words, is it good? Is it artful? I'll read it. Doesn't matter if it's about business, science, architecture or auto mechanics. One of my favorite writers is Alain de Botton. He can (and did) make the description of a satellite something to behold. Similarly, Tim O'Brien's war book The Things They Carried is so graphic in an artful way that I felt like I wanted to take the book into my very soul. Rory Stewart too: his hike across Afghanistan.

     It goes back to that thing about details and context-setting. I want to be taken to specific places. Really take me, I'll go. Even if it's around a bizarre universe, like in the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

5. What is your methodology (journal, handwritten notes vs. 'thinking' on a keyboard)?

     I do what I want when I want. I have no one way of working. I let a work guide me, and it does. Some things want to be poured out at breakneck speed on a keyboard. Other things want to be held and turned over in doodles and script.

6. What does a typical workday look like?

     Chaos? :)
I have a lot of disparate responsibilities: manage a household, home educate my teens, work online as a Managing Editor with a staff that lives around the nation and the world. I've got different time zones, different emotional zones, different skill zones I've always got to be moving between.
     So, I've learned to think on my feet, be flexible. None of my four books were written in the same way. One had the luxury of dedicated Saturday mornings. Another was born through hit-or-miss evenings. The last, my goodness, I wrote daily for three weeks straight until I was finished, getting up at 4:30 a.m, working until 8 in the morning, and then going back to bed for an hour before I needed to meet my day.

7. What is one of your goals, as a writer?

     I heard this recently from an acclaimed film teacher. When she said it, I wrote it down, because it feels like one of my goals:

create a launching pad for another person to be set free”

     Okay, so now I'm Buzz Lightyear or something, which sounds a little silly. But I like the idea of bringing people to the edge of something and helping them jump off (or rise up) into possibility. You know, infinity and beyond and all that.

8. What are your thoughts on e-books (and, do you believe they will replace printed books)?

     The numbers speak. Just a few years ago I sold less than a quarter of my books on e-book. Now it hovers between a quarter and a third of all sales. I think there may always be paper-book-lovers like my teenaged daughter. But they will sit elbow to elbow with people who own a hundred books packed into an 8x5 space or smaller. It is a good question as to what will eventually prevail: economics (in terms of money, space and geography) or art. I suppose that the day the two are joined in an e-reader, the question will be answered once and for all.

9. What advice would you give to a High School student who told you, “I want to be a writer”?

     It is not about getting a degree in writing or literature, although reading great stuff should be part of your own self-education and exploring ways to write can be helpful too; try it all...fiction, poetry, reviews, and so forth, but commit yourself to mastering something too. Mastering the small stuff first will translate into the ability to master larger works.

     Like I said, it is not about getting a degree in writing. Instead, find something (or things) to love. Love attends. It looks beyond 'pretty' to 'she's got brown hair that turns amber in the sun'. It doesn't just say, 'Dude, check out this new song'. It says, 'The drums, the voice that sounds like it's trekking across a gold-dying desert, the unexpected chime in the spaces between'.

     Know that even if you love a song, you will not love it in the same way anyone else loves it. You will go to the drums maybe, and the way they remind you of your brother's way of dealing with the world. Someone else will go to the voice, and the way it speaks of losing a parent. You know?

     Then you write, and you write, and you write. For years you write. Like anything else. Like a swimmer training for Olympic gold, or a guitarist seeking a regular gig. You write for any audience who will listen, and you make your way. And if you become good, someday someone else will make your way. Because they will believe they couldn't let the world go without your voice, your drums.

Thank you, Laura!


Laura L. Barkat is a Managing Editor for The High Calling, a Staff Writer for International Arts Movement's The Curator and the author of four books, most recently, Rumors of Water. She also home-schools her children. You can follow her blog at seedlingsinstone.blogspot.com.  

Saturday, October 8, 2011

Ghazals, Similes and Metaphors

"All writing is communication; creative writing is communication through revelation- it is the Self escaping into the open. No writer long remains incognito."
E.B. White
The Elements of Style


This week we studied an ancient form of poetry known as Ghazal, consisting of five to fifteen couplets. At the end of alternate lines the last two words are repeated. Here are a few examples:


Jack Radford

Too many of us fight.
Loud and horrid, fighting for peace

for us and the world.
Long and droning, waiting for peace

to come to all.
Praying and begging for peace,

hoping it will spare us.
A need and want for peace

to bind us in love.
Fighting, waiting, and begging for peace

to spare us all from sin.
Exacting forgiveness for peace

to spread across the world.
Spending lives for peace

to create new life.
Hoping lives will pay for peace

to begin a golden age,
an age people want for peace.


Teddy Bilbao
You didn't understand him
he had no purpose, no peace

You tried to be nice
he misinterpreted your efforts with no peace

You tried to be his friend
he didn't requite, no peace

You let him do what he wanted
it brought him no peace

He respected you for it
it brought you no peace

You let him leave and be free
it gave all no peace

He tried to be happy on his own
he brought no peace

He gave up
he was tired of no peace

He gave up and trusted you
he was tired of no peace


Menelik Cannady
The key of C, red as a rose
King of keys in the musical rainbow

The key of C#, blue as the sky
The triumphant key in the musical rainbow

The key of D, emerald at its finest
The glorious key in the musical rainbow

The key of Eb, turquoise, exotic
The bashful one in the musical rainbow

The key of E, maroon as scarlet
The arousing key in the musical rainbow

The key of F, yellow as the bright sun
The wake-up key in the musical rainbow

The key of F#, shiney as the blue sea
The joyous key in the musical rainbow

The key of G, nature green in its glory
The brilliant key in the musical rainbow

The key of Ab, indigo as the night sky
The relaxing key in the musical rainbow

The key of A, purple as violets
The mysterious key in the musical rainbow

The key of Bb, pink as a flamingo
The graceful key in the musical rainbow

The key of B, orange as the rising sun
The victorious key in the musical rainbow

All colors, hand in hand
Perfect harmony in the musical rainbow


Megan Bennett
What are you doing? What is happening?
Is this really starting my disappearance?

I'm falling into the dark
It is the motion of my disappearance.

My programming crashes, like a computer,
is my days because of my disappearance.

I don't want to go down!
Please, stop my disappearance!

My materials are leaving.
It must be caused by my disappearance.

I hit ground, finally.
I must stop my disappearance.

I might be gone for good soon.
Will anyone notice my disappearance?

I can't find my way back.
I guess this is my disappearance.

I am Hatsune Miku.
Please remember my disappearance.




We also discussed the difference between metaphors and similes. Here are a couple of poetic endeavors with metaphors and similes:

Rachel Levi
His hair is a curtain,
I can't see through
His brow is sharp,
arched and true
His eyes are daggers,
they pierce my heart
His lips are smirking,
malicious dark
His chin looks royal,
his jaw is a mace
His neck is regal,
he speaks with grace
His words are poison,
they shake me still
His arms are muskets
aimed to kill
His wrists are wiry,
sometimes they are see-through
His fists are clubs,
they beat me black and blue


Eric Loytty
My bunny is like snow
I play with my bunny
My bunny is awesome
He is super bunny
My bunny is delicious
I made bunny pot pie


Words of the Day
click on word to read definition


bellwether
inculcate
aplomb
gammon
facade





Saturday, October 1, 2011

Villanelles

Villenelle (noun)- 

a verse form of French origin consisting of 19 lines arranged in five tercets and a quatrain. The first and third lines of the first tercet recur alternately at the end of each subsequent tercet and both together at the end of the quatrain.



Katie Metz


Beware the rapidly increasing roar
Of the bristly beast with violent intents true
Stay wary of the glittering eyes of the boar


Its lonely steel pen was dug at and each mark was succeeded by another score
Until the clever animal formed an idea that grew
Beware the rapidly increasing boar


Tusks ripped apart the flimsy metal floor
A mattering of fresh scratches add to its reddish hue
Stay wary of the glittering eyes of the boar


Full of rage it shoved through its newly torn door
Beady eyes followed your distant shadow like glue
Beware the rapidly increasing roar


Porcine thoughts turn to trampling and gore
Away from the cage the mature pig flew
Stay wary of the glittering eyes of the boar


Unless a nonexistent tree is climbed your chances are poor
But still the danger has not yet occurred to you
Beware the rapidly increasing roar
Stay wary of the glittering eyes of the boar





Teddy Bilbao

Don't give up on tomorrow
A day will come when it shines
Tomorrow will have less sorrow

Some people may be narrow
You also struggle with this
Don't give up on tomorrow

The truth will always be so
Make friends and be happy
Tomorrow will have less sorrow

You're not on death row
You're going to be fine
Don't give up on tomorrow

Let yourself grow
Become free and happy
Tomorrow will have less sorrow

Look to tomorrow
You'll become happy
Don't give up on tomorrow
Tomorrow will have less sorrow


Menelik Cannady

Sirens wail as black clouds hover
Over the jovial New Orleans
The beast has risen, everyone takes cover

As the monster moves in with dark cover
people panic and run
sirens wail as black clouds hover

Its long arms stretch and hover
No mercy, wreckless in actions
The beast has risen, everyone take cover

Annihilating everything, unfolds all cover
Houses like cardboard stand no chance
Sirens wail as black clouds hover

A mighty roar wipes all that hovers
Without a care the beast rages on
The beast has risen, everyone take cover

Almost nothing remains, no shelter, no cover
Lost loved ones, mourning and lament
Sirens wail as black clouds hover
The beast has risen, everyone take cover


Nicholas Cohen

Into the night I stray
A lone soldier in the depths
Of the coming day

Through the blackness I flow away
To reach my place
Into the night I stray

I walk, I run through the way
Through the "depths' of the age of night
Of the coming day

I stumble, I sway to and fro away
But I always recover
Into the night I stray

I see across the way
A light of radiance
Into the night I stray
To see the return
Of the coming day


Megan Bennett

So what, I'm not cute
Why say I'm not pretty
You just can't compute

That doesn't set root
Your remarks are just witty
So what, I'm not cute

It doesn't suit
Why such a nitty
You just can't compute

Stay mute
I find your words gritty
So what, I'm not cute

I'm sweet as a kitty
And you're fitty
You just can't compute

Don't make me shoot
More words that are silly
So what, I'm not cute
You just can't compute


Mitchell Warnken

Oh waterfall take me away
Lure me to sleep
How I wish I could stay

Sing softly if you may
While I count sheep
Oh waterfall take me away

Night is where you lead me astray
Sheets huddled in a heep
How I wish I could stay

You prepare for the day
Your secrets I will keep
Oh waterfall take me away

I lay, oh how I lay
No noise, not even a peep
How I wish I could stay

You tell me not to fray
You tell me not to weep
Oh waterfall take me away
How I wish I could stay








Words of the Day
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