Well, let's just see how it goes, it's a little too early to tell but as Adam would say, "Be brutally honest, it's good for us all."
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We're a bunch of doodlers and dreamers.
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The Red Baroness's Book of Sighs and Spies
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Tuesday, February 25, 2003
Didn't realize you were missing your car Adam. I like what you did on the side and the blue - thank you (I knew you'd know what to do with those links - I'm a moron when it comes to these things). I too am not the best with assignments or deadlines - once flunked a class I really enjoyed with my favorite professor because I couldn't manage to finish a paper. In retrospect it was a pretty stupid thing for me to do but the only choice I felt I had at the time. I hope this site encourages us to write as opposed to making it feel like some sort of chore. This is supposed to be fun and if it sparks something we can use all the better.
Adam, I know you are kind of stuck in Africa and you do write some wonderful description about it but if you ever get the chance or need a break - I really would love to see you continue with Norm. Sometimes it's hard to get away from something. You don't choose it - it chooses you and the only thing you can do is write it. Still - I can see that Norm has fabulous potential and would love to hear more from him.
I love your opening "Warm rain never came to this place" ... "In this place trees grew only by the most exacting care" I also like your image of the sun as punisher. "Step by step the sand held lessons" .... "A boy from the sand had no trust" - I love that.
"A boy from the sand had no trust. What he lived upon had little substance. He was not held fast to the earth. The sand taught these boys that nothing is certain, nothing is easy, nowhere is away from danger. Everything slips away to nothing." I think this is great and I'm looking forward to seeing it illustrated in the actions of your character.
I hope some of that was remotely helpful. I don't feel well and so I don't feel like I'm necessarily making sense/being helpful. Need to find something to eat - I'm sure all be back on this blasted machine later.
Tammy 6:42 PM
I'm really stuck on this story of warm rain and sand. It sort of came out of nowhere. This phrase "Warm rain never came to this place" brings alive a whole slew of images for me.
I have a foreigner protagonist and boy antogonist. I'm working to put them in conflict and resolve that conflict. I've described the boy's people, now I need to fully describe the foreigner by contrast and single out the boy for personal description and personal contrast against the foreigner. Somehow that makes sense to me. I've gotten these ideas of protagonist and conflict from some internet research and Beth's comment and subconscious urges or something.
And somehow the boy's designation as bad or good won't be easy. I'm going to mesh one of my best little friends Johnny #11 with a mean and subtle thief. Ambitious? Yes, why not?
I'll show you soon. I'm letting things alone to click inside my head.
Catch ya later. Hope you don't mind what I did on the side with the links. I don't know if I like that dark blue.
I want to comment on some writing here, too but my planning period is almost over and I need some tea to drink during my upcoming lecture to the kiddies.
p.s. Got my car back yesterday!
Chris 3:07 PM
Monday, February 24, 2003
Thanks Ms. Wildiris. Sorry if I sounded snippy Ms. Seagull; I am one moody son of a gun. I closed down my other site because I had some yucky, disappointing people reading it so I said screw I need one little place private to myself (for now). So it was a setting describing ONE character and the fairy tale one. I'm afraid if I start the fairie tale one it'll end up being a pornographic limeric, so I'll pass. And as for keeping up with my assignments...well, ask Peter about the English paper I stayed out of school for six days over. I never did get it finished. I have issues with assignments and deadlines.
Chris 10:29 PM
Adam,
I really like your use of language. You have a great handle on sensory detail and really give us a sense of place. Like the metaphor of sun as punisher. The writing here sounds beautiful and lyrical.
However, you don't focus on one character, and the assignment as I understood it was to reveal your main character through setting. Although you certainly reveal the character/personality of a people, you dont' single one person out enough here. Relate this harsh desert land to the protagonist in your rewrite.
~wildiris~
Beth Gallaway 10:07 PM
New Assignment:
A man has been murdered while he worked late one night. There are five suspects (you can shorten to three if you like). Explain from each suspects POV why he or she DID NOT commit the crime.
Tammy 9:32 PM
Hey Adam, can you take those links Wild Iris put on and make them links we can use - like the ones you had on the side of yours?
Tammy 9:29 PM
Iris - really enjoyed your assignment - even better than the other glimpses that I've gotten from this character. I think you really pulled it together.
Tammy 9:28 PM
Adam, I suppose that we'll let that one slide as your setting assignment even though you were berating us needlessly and didn't exactly follow the assignment. We are looking forward to what assignment you'll give.
I was disappointed to see that you shut your other site down.
Tammy 9:27 PM
I had a blind-ish date myself the other night. It wasn't bad but I worry that it's too soon or whatever. Plus I got a bonus asthma-ish attack from it. Better than a yuppie though I guess.
Tammy 9:24 PM
Setting Assignment
The paint was chipped and peeling off the side of the boat in small flakes that sailed on the water like faded blue leaves - little wisps of nothing - little dreams of better places. She lay asleep in the hull, the sun keeping her warm, wrapping her close and tight in the blanket of its heat. It hugged her close and made her sigh. The waves gently rocked her in her slumber, peaceful and soothing. Her tanned legs stretched out in front of her. Her white cotton shorts made her legs seem even darker. Her blonde streaked auburn hair covered part of her face in the only shadow to be seen for miles. And still she slept on.
The dog curled at her feet was large. Panting under the weight of his fur, the large shephard watched over her even in sleep, ears up and alert, ready at the slightest sound to jump up and protect his mistress. His dark coat was hot from soaking up the day and he sighed in his slumber. The girl sighed too and as she slept she dreamt of far off places with days of endless rain and sunsets so powerful they took your breath away. She dreamt a vineyard with crisp fragrant grapes heavy on their vines, hanging low with their ripeness. She dreamt an army of pink elephants marched through downtown everyday at 3 p.m. and she drank high tea with Elvis, the white sequined jumpsuit she wore matched his. The fringe swayed in the breeze from a nearby fan.
The girl dreamt many things but at last began to stir. The shephard raised his head and blinked slowly. The girl would leave soon for the factory. She would come back smelling of oil, stained with what the machine spit out at her every half hour or so. This always made the bright yellow uniform seem to be such a poor choice. The girl dreamt away her hours at the machine and would just sail the peaceful river taking in the sights and sounds of a nearby carnival. The lights of the ferris wheel brightening the river with its reflection. But the girl was too old for such things as ferris wheels and cotton candy.
A gull called. It's lonely cry echoing through her soul and bringing tears to her eyes. The tears threatened to spill as the girl wrapped her arms around the shephard's neck and buried her face in his course fur and breathed in his scent. She wept then and in the distance she could hear the calliope sounds of a carnival. She could almost taste the cotton candy melting on her tongue.
Tammy 7:17 PM
*Ahem*
The server was down last night from 7PM to well past midnight. Sorry Mr. H.... where is YOUR 2nd assignment? or your NEW assignment? Slacking yourself!
The following is supposed to be setting that reveals character. Let me know where it isn't working, would ya? I thought feedback was part of the point of these exercises... will have time to comment later today.
Helpful links for critiquing:
http://www.shortstorygroup.com/critique.htm
and another showing pros and cons for new members:
http://wiwi.essortment.com/writercritique_rcoq.htm
and another a bit different:
http://otherworlds.net/otherworlds.net/critbase.htm
~wildiris
use 30 minutes to describe your main character by surroundings only. describe him/her by their environment only. no names. thyme yourself.
Who is going to play Santa for Nicholas and Katie this year? I wonder as I punch the time clock and tie on an apron before taking my place at the end of register ten. The soft blips of the scanner keep time with the Christmas music blaring over the clink of change and chatter of customers. I think every single store in America has the same classic CD on permanent loop from mid November to December thirty-first. As much as I love Christmas, I am sick of hearing Gene Autry’s Rudolph song. I mentally add in all the rude ad-libs as I begin dropping groceries into a white plastic bag.
After six months I am still on bagging; my drawer was a little off the few times the manager asked me to ring. Sometimes I get a break, if you consider chasing shopping carts around the parking lot in the rain a break. I sprint from one cart to the next; it’s a great way to work in some training. I am getting arm muscles from pushing trains of carriages. And I’m the only one the manager never has to come looking for. He knows if he sends me out, I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Most guys linger when the weather is warm, or sneak around to the side of building for a quick smoke. I guess if I got promoted to cashier I’d make a little more money, but I like being able to think while I fit cans and boxes and produce into bag (paper, or plastic?). It’s almost like putting together a puzzle, sorting out the red peppers and kiwis from the toothpaste and dishsoap, and the salsa and peanut butter from the corn chips and bread, arranging everything for maximum efficiency in the bag, yet still light enough to carry without the bag splitting open.
We have this one lady who must have had a bad bagging experience, probably got the eggs on the bottom one too many times. She puts her items on the conveyor belt in the order she wants them packed, and has a special one hundred percent cotton mesh bag for her organic spinach and apples. She watches the baggers like a hawk, and you can just tell she is itching to take over. I swear, once my friend Douglas put her dried figs in the same bag as the blue corn chips, and her eye started twitching. She always comes to my register now, I guess I passed her test when I put her raisins in with the other boxes, instead of with the fruit. That, and I knew the difference between cilantro and parsley.
The busywork of my hands frees my mind for worrying about things like making sure my Ma and brother and sister get through this first Christmas without my dad with little stress. In my psychology class we read that some big companies let their employees play with lego blocks and tinkertoys while they think. It increases productivity or something. I wish I could do that in chemistry class, it might raise my grade.
I carefully load plastic bags with cans of pie filling at the bottom and frozen crusts on the top. I was going to have to pick up similar groceries this week; there wasn’t time for homemade treats this year. One good thing I’ll say about working for a supermarket, the discount is decent, especially if you wait for double coupon day. You can always buy day-old bread and newly dented cans for short money. It almost makes up for the hideous maroon aprons and purple haired old ladies counting out their pennies for tuna fish and waiting for customers to finish up their cell phone conversations so you can say “have a nice day!” as you hand over their packages. I mean, c’mon, what do you need a cell phone at the grocery store anyway? It might come in handy going up an aisle or two, maybe if you want to call home to doublecheck what brand of cereal you were supposed to pick up, but what is so important it can’t wait forty-five minutes? Even if I could afford it, I wouldn’t want one.
Beth Gallaway 12:10 PM
Sunday, February 23, 2003
It's Sunday and everyone is slacking! You should all have your transmissions die and be sent out into the rain for a week on your bicycles from Namibia!
Chris 1:12 PM
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