Here are your scores for assignment number one. I was very satisfied with these essays, and in essence they all deserve an A for content. But grammar and attention to detail does play a part, so I want you guys to strive for immaculate essays. If I sense that you wrote your essay quickly, did not reread it, did not revise it, and did not attempt to organize it to its best potential to the best of your ability, I will have to dock points.
Some of you have lived abroad and have it easier, but you still tend to make glaring errors that signal "did not reread" before posting. If and when you enter university, DON'T YOU DARE hand in an essay with a missing "the" or a lower case proper noun or a mixed verb in the first sentence.
Each essay accounts for 10% of your grade. So take them all seriously and SPELL CHECK.
I hope you enjoyed the 25 minute documentary we watched about Ray Bradbury. I found it provides a lot of valuable context for The Martian Chronicles, and it's also very interesting to note the world's population at the time it was made (it has since DOUBLED) and the "technology" Bradbury found so intriguing and potentially "horrifying." Computers have definitely changed since then, as has the phone (both combing to become one entity).
We saw the masks in Bradbury's office, which might give you a sense of the "collective unconscious" he hints at throughout the many stories. Carl Jungs ideas in relation to Bradbury may be coincidental or explicit - I'm not sure. But we can see a connection. Keep this in mind as you read.
For many reasons, I feel the film Apocalypto also bares some resemblance to what's happening on Mars. Here is the ENTIRE MOVIE on YouTube. Watch it if you are bored. It's pretty amazing actually:
The writing assignment I've given you can be a bit challenging since you aren't allowed to use the plain and simple "I". However, I think the process of writing will become more interesting, and, IF you treat it seriously, you will likely produce something you are proud of.
The YOU narrative can achieve a lot of things, and really grab your reader and put them in YOUR shoes. You might have a number of reasons for doing this. You may want to educate them, or simply make them feel what you felt as strongly as possible.
As writers, you have to make decisions to best suit what you are writing and WHAT you are writing it for. Think about it before you write. Third or Second person -- both have clear advantages in particular instances.
As I mentioned in class, I found this "Letter to an Expectant Father" in Esquire Magazine to be really well written. You may want to consider this kind of approach - writing a letter to a "soon-to-be" KMLAian.
And here is where the "You" really works effectively in a personal anecdote:
You
will occasionally fail at something very simple — probably because the
honking has given you the yips. Awake at 3:00 A.M. with nothing else to
do but watch the Concerned Mother/Crying Baby Subunit in full symbiosis,
you will, say, decide to sterilize a new pacifier and you will, say,
put the pacifier in a saucepan with some water and you will turn the
burner up to high and you will come back to the sofa and you will sit
down next to the mother and the baby, who is now feeding and thus quiet,
and you will fall asleep. And after the water has all turned to steam,
the pacifier will begin to melt and then burn in the saucepan. You will
wake to the sounds of the mother freaking out. This is bumbling.
Technically, it's a kitchen fire. But you will extinguish the flames.
The important part is: Somehow, against incredible odds, and only
because you were trying to help, you will set a pacifier on fire.
Metaphorically, at least. But you will handle the crisis. Because
there's too much at stake.
What's at stake is best contemplated
when you are alone with the baby. And being alone with the baby is best
done a few days in and very late at night — because you want to allow
the baby's mother to get some sleep. And being alone with the baby late
at night — watching it fall asleep in your arms and then wake up over
the course of two or three hours — is as unfamiliar as it gets. Heat
will radiate from its tiny body into your stomach. There will be
squirming. There will be shitting, the sluicing sound of which is louder
than you'd think. Its eyes might open a little, even while it's
sleeping. And at some point there will be staring. Having a staring
contest with a newborn is one of the weirdest things you will ever do.
And it is highly recommended. Because the baby is a stranger, and you
need to get to know it. It is a tiny stranger that has come into your
home, demanding to be fed, demanding to be cleaned, and then staring at
you for long periods of time without smiling — or blinking. You might
not feel love for this stranger at first. You might feel mostly gravity.
But the gravity begins to get replaced by love over the next few days
or weeks. And the staring seems to accelerate things. The baby becomes
more familiar.
Very early fatherhood is a kind of greatness, but
it isn't heroism. You don't have to learn as much as you think. You
don't have to do as much as you think. It's more amusing than you think
it will be. It's more absurd. And it can all be reckoned with, if only
task by task and despite your inexperience. Very early fatherhood is
aided by skills, which you will master, and instinct, which you come
equipped with, and love, which you will be engulfed by. The newborn baby
requires just a little of all of that, and you will provide.
You may know of Amy Tan. Her essay, Fish Cheeks, is a wonderful, top-notch example of a well written reflective essay. It's 503 words, and it says a lot. It's fun, it's fast, it's simple, and yet very dynamic. It's a prime example of an excellent writer doing more with less. This essay gets used over and over again to prepare students for writing College Essays.
Below is a link.
Between now and when you write your essay, do a lot of thinking and writing inside your brain. How can you relate to Tan's experience? Remember, your task is not to embrace the same kind of feeling and delivery.
Comparing the above essay to this next essay is a valuable endeavor, so look for patterns and similarities. Covering the 5 W's in a stylistic way that addresses an "issue" or a "problem" and comes to a concluded "resolution" is something both writers achieve - and these go beyond similar themes of culture.
The following essay by Maya Angelou is an excerpt from her book "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings," which is an autobiography about Angelou's experiences growing up as a black American during racist times. She also wrote a poem of the same name, which I've included after the essay. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what the caged bird represents, and what the singing alludes to - slave songs sung by those African Americans forced to work as captives before the American Civil War.
You will notice a lot of imagery (descriptive detail) that makes this writing engaging to read. Seek to include a bit of that. She also knows how to begin and conclude her essay with a strong hook and strong last line. Amy Tan also achieves this in "Fish Cheeks."
“Champion
of the World,”
by Maya Angelou
(from) I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
“Champion of the World” is the nineteenth
chapter in I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings; the title is a phrase taken from
the chapter.Remembering her own
childhood, the writer tells us how she and her older brother, Bailey, grew up
in a town in Arkansas.The center of
their lives was Grandmother and Uncle Willie’s store, a gathering place for the
black community.On the night when this
story takes place, Joe Louis, the “Brown Bomber” and the hero of his people,
defends his heavyweight boxing title against a white contender.Angelou’s telling of the event both
entertains us and explains what it was like to be African American in a certain
time and place.
The last inch
of space was filled, yet people continued to wedge themselves along the walls
of the Store.Uncle Willie had turned
the radio up to its last notch so that youngsters on the porch wouldn’t miss a
word.Women sat on kitchen chairs,
dining-room chairs, stools, and upturned wooden boxes.Small children and babies perched on every
lap available and men leaned on the shelves or on each other.
The
apprehensive mood was shot through with shafts of gaiety, as a black sky is
streaked with lightning.
“I
ain’t worried ‘bout this fight.Joe’s
gonna whip that cracker like it’s open season.”
“He
gone whip him till that white boy call him Momma.”
At
last the talking finished and the string-along songs about razor blades were
over and the fight began.
“A
quick jab to the head.” In the Store the crowd grunted.“A left to the head and a right and another
left.”One of the listeners cackled like
a hen and was quieted.
“They’re
in a clinch, Louis is trying to fight his way out.”
Some
bitter comedian on the porch said, “That white man don’t mind hugging that
n_____ now, I betcha.”
“The
referee is moving in to break them up, but Louis finally pushed the contender
away and it’s an uppercut to the chin.The contender is hanging on, now he’s backing away.Louis catches him with a short left to the
jaw.”
A
tide of murmuring assent poured out the door and into the yard.
“Another
left and another left.Louis is saving
that mighty right . . .”The mutter in
the store had grown into a baby roar and it was pierced by the clang of a bell
and the announcer’s “That’s the bell for round three, ladies and gentlemen.”
As
I pushed my way into the Store I wondered if the announcer gave any thought to
the fact that he was addressing as “ladies and gentlemen” all the Negroes
around the world who sat sweating and praying, glued to their “Master’s voice.”1
There
were only a few calls for RC Colas, Dr Peppers, and Hires root beer.The real festivities would begin after the
fight.Then even the old Christian
ladies who taught their children and tried themselves to practice turning the other
cheek would buy soft drinks, and if the Brown Bomber’s victory was a
particularly bloody one they would order peanut patties and Baby Ruths also.
Bailey
and I laid the coins on top of the cash register.Uncle Willie didn’t allow us to ring up sales
during a fight.It was too noisy and
might shake up the atmosphere.When the
gong rang for the next round we pushed through the near-sacred quiet to the
herd of children outside.
“He’s
got Louis against the ropes and now it’s a left to the body and a right to the
ribs.Another right to the body, it
looks like it was low . . .Yes, ladies
and gentlemen, the referee is signaling but the contender keeps raining the
blows on Louis.It’s another to the
body, and it looks like Louis is going down.”
My
race groaned.It was our people
falling.It was another lynching, yet
another Black man hanging on a tree.One
more woman ambushed and raped.A Black
boy whipped and maimed.It was hounds on
the trail of a man running through slimy swamps.It was a white woman slapping her maid for
being forgetful.
The
men in the Store stood away form the walls and at attention.Women greedily clutched the babes on their
laps while on the porch the shufflings and smiles, flirtings and pinchings of a
few minutes before were gone.This might
be the end of the world.If Joe lost we
were back in slavery and beyond help.It
would all be true; the accusations that we were lower types of human
beings.Only a little higher than apes.True that we were stupid and ugly and lazy
and dirty and unlucky and worst of all, that God himself hated us and ordained
us to be hewers of wood and drawers of water, forever and ever, world
without end.
We
didn’t breathe.We didn’t hope.We waited.
“He’s
off the ropes, ladies and gentlemen.He’s moving towards the corner of the ring.”There was no time to be relieved.The worst might still happen.
“And
now it looks like Joe is mad.He’s
caught Carnera with a left hook to the head and a right to the head.It’s a left jab to the body and another left
to the head.There’s a left cross and a
right to the head.The contender’s right
eye is bleeding and he can’t seem to keep his block up.Louis is penetrating every block.The referee is moving in, but Louis sends a
left to the body and it’s an uppercut to the chin and the contender is
dropping.He’s on the canvas, ladies and
gentlemen.”
Babies
slid to the floor as women stood up and men leaned toward the radio.
1”His
master’s voice,” accompanied by a picture of a little dog listening to a
phonograph, was a familiar advertising slogan.(The picture still appears on some RCA recordings.)
“Here’s the referee.He’s counting.One, two, three, four, five, six, seven . .
.Is the contender trying to get up
again?”
All
the men in the store shouted, “NO.”
“—eight,
nine, ten.”There were a few sounds from
the audience, but they seemed to be holding themselves in against tremendous
pressure.
“The
fight is all over, ladies and gentlemen.Let’s get the microphone over to the referee . . .Here he is.He’s got the Brown Bomber’s hand, he’s holding it up . . . Here he is .
. .”
Then
the voice, husky and familiar, came to wash over uss—“The winnah, and still
heavyweight champeen of the world . . . Joe Louis.”
Champion
of the world.A Black boy.Some Black mother’s son.He was the strongest man in the worldPeople drank Coca-Colas like ambrosia and ate
candy bars like Christmas.Some of the
men went behind the Store and poured white lightning in their soft-drink
bottles, and a few of the bigger boys followed them.Those who were not chased away came back
blowing their breath in front of of themselves like proud smokers.
It
would take an hour or more before the people would leave the Store and head for
home.Those who lived too far had made
arrangements to stay in town.It
wouldn’t be fit for a Black man and his family to be caught on a lonely country
road on a night when Joe Louis had proved that we were the strongest people in
the world.
Kennedy, X.L. and Dorothy M. Kennedy.The
Bedford Reader, Tenth Edition.Boston: Bedford/St.
Martin’s, 2003. 93-97.
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
The free bird leaps
on the back of the win
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.
But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and is tune is heard
on the distant hillfor the caged bird
sings of freedom
The free bird thinks of another breeze
an the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.
Indeed, so much of American music - be it pop, blues, or rock - owes a huge debt to what Black Americans created to escape some of their suffering. Here is an example of a song she might be alluding to:
Hello again to my former Freshmen now returned as Juniors (almost Seniors!),
As discussed in class, we will be using the Blog system exactly as we did in Freshman year, so please re-engage your blogs and reply below this post with your address. If you want to start a new one, that is fine, but I suggest continuing on with your original.
Some things to be aware of before this semester starts:
Participation within class will make up a lot of your score, and what ends up on your blog at the end of the semester speaks for itself. Write anything and everything you want to write when the mood strikes, and make it good.
Class Discussion will be weighed heavily, and I will reward you with a higher performance score if you do the following:
Engage in discussion with each other and myself.
Refrain from using your laptop.
Meet Deadlines: points will be docked if you are continually late with your work.
Your To Do List:
Purchase a copy of "The Martian Chronicles" by Ray Bradbury. We will spend a lot of time with this book, and you will be expected to respond to selected stories on your blog (the more the better).
Read the first section by next Friday. You likely won't have a copy of the book by then, so here is a link to the PDF:
Come to class ready to discuss, draw comparisons, and share your favorite quotes etc.
Assignment #1
"As you play in the sand box, you hear the joyous sound of the ice cream truck approaching. All your friends shout 'ice cream!' in unison, and soon enough a collective horde of 7-year-olds are charging across the playground towards the ultimate reward of a hot summer day. But as you take your place in line, already imagining the sweet soft taste of cold vanilla, you discover that the coins your mother gave you that morning are missing from your Hello Kitty change purse! You immediately burst into wretched tears, and the happy circus-like music of the ice cream truck sounds like poison in your eardrums. No ice cream for you."
Write a creative narrative in the 2nd Person, which reflects on a childhood experience and/or "trauma" that you can clearly remember. Incident should occur before the age of 13, and have taught you something. It doesn't have to be serious.
There aren't many rules with this bit of writing, but I will expect to see how effectively and engagingly you can use the 2nd Person narrative. You have many choices with this one, and will have to decide a strategy towards achieving the best mode for your particular anecdote. Past tense or present tense? From the point of view of your current or former/younger self? Heavy on internal dialogue and light on imagery, or the opposite?
This is a creative writing exercise, so dig deep and have fun.
Minimum of 500 words, due next Friday, September 7th. (Note: due dates that are further away will raise the bar concerning quality and attention to detail).
