SCEENPLAY ANALYSIS (FAVORIT MOVIE)

ok, so i can't help it - I LOVE BATMAN!
He's more then just a really smart guy with a black cape and a tool belt, he's one of the best super heros ever!

Reading the play was a lot different then watching the movie. I honestly liked watching and reading together, vs. reading first and watching after. Reading first was fun, and not at all confusing - but it was hard to try and see the play from the readers point of view after having already seen the movie. Little details like discriptions of what should happen with the camera, were really awesome to read. It was fun to be able to see what the author had pictured before he could actually bring it to life!

Batman Begins is so much more then just a movie in a sense; its a ledgend, and I love it!

SARAH

Every time I look at you the world just melts away
All my troubles all my fears dissolve in your affections
You've seen me at my weakest but you take me as I am
And when you fall you offer me a softer place to land

[CHORUS]

You stay the course you hold the line you keep it all together
You're the one true thing I know I can believe in

I get mad so easy but you give me room to breathe
No matter what I say or do 'cause you're to good to fight about it
Even when I have to push just to see how far you'll go
You wont stoop down to battle but you never turn to go

[CHORUS]

There are times I cant decide when i cant tell up from down
You make me feel less crazy when otherwise I'd drown
But you pick me up and brush me off and tell me I'm OK
Sometimes thats just what we need to get us through the day

[CHORUS]

Fred

what can I say...Fred is, Fred.

FOUND POEMs

1) MAKERS DIET INDEX INSPIRD
From tragedy to triumph
The worlds healthiest people,
return to the Makers Diet
Stop, Drop, and Roll,
Seven Victims Find victory
You are what you think

2) EMILY DICKINSON INSPIRED
I Dies For Beauty
Because I Could Not Stop for Death
I Cannot Live with You
Wild Nights! Wild Nights!
I Heard a Fly Buss
When I Died Safe in Their Alabaster Chambers
Just Lost When I was Saved!
A Wounded Deer Leaps Highest
Success is Counted Sweetest
The Soul Selects Her Own Society

A SOUND OF THUNDER

Ok, so I couldn't finish the story. This happens all too often with me. What I did read was interesting, the idea of prehistoric creatures and humans getting along side by side has always been a completing idea for me; hence my love of Jurassic Park. I actually got to see A Sound of Thunder on HBO. At first I wasn't sure it was the same thing, but I grabbed my story and sure enough! The way the characters were portrayed in the movie verses the story was very different - but each one had a unique angle. Just reading the story, I imagined that the hunters dressed like they were on safari, camo or tan pants and shirts, brimmed hats and the ladies wearing gloves and holding parasols like back in the old English days. In the movie they gave the girl a BIG GUN! yay! They were all dressed in futuristic armor, and the backgrounds looked almost translucent, almost like aurora borealis. Hopefully one of these days if I can slow down long enough to keep focused, I'll finish the story.

English Story

Amber has the ability to really write something awesome. She has unique ideas and put a fresh spin on some cliché ideas in her short. I wasn't sure what we might see from her, but I was honestly impressed. Her idea of a dead end coffee shop job gone murder central like something from the Bronx, turned her promotional debut was not only hilarious, but creative! I can't wait to see her name on a book in Barns and Noble one of these days, it would be a fun read!

S.O.G.

ok, so in all honesty...Gerald kind of freaks me out a little - but his writing is crazy good! He could work on the presentation of his story line, but the story itself is powerful and needs neither introduction nor explanation. "The Piano trio’s music was tuning up as I began to examine my fresh kill. Small hands roughened by the jungle. Dark almond eyes, now stilled in death that would never see another sunrise. Midnight black hair, its silken strands once long now chopped short. Poking and probing for explosives, I discovered twin mounds passing for breasts that would never nourish an infant. The violins high pitch now searing my brain," (Gerald, p. 2-3).

See....told ya.

Josh's Story

Well what can I say? This kid reminds me of Anakin Skywalker from Star Wars; a young prodigy on his way to becoming something grate - even if Anakin did end up being Darth Vader...ha-ha! Josh has a grate vocabulary, but likes to use it way too much. Some of his sentences were a little wordy, but he really commands the page with his imagination. Our first class I took Josh for being a stoner and he probably is, but I think that adds to the magic of his writing ability. Though some of his plot line needs to be worked out, being that it's a little confusing, the story itself is on it's way to being something grate if Josh so chooses to take it that far.

Jamie's Story

Jamie's story plot was compelling; however some of the format was confusing for me. If it hadn't been for my overly persistent reading into everything, I would have been totally lost. Jamie is potentially one of the strongest writers I have read since being at JCC, purely on the basis that her writing is founded on her life. This style usually comes from painful issues (some we all face) and makes for really dynamic writing. The ending was my favorite part, being that she left a cliff hanger until the end, and put us in the shoes of her character more effectively in that part then in any other.

Whole Again

Wow! First off Carlie is my hero, second...have I mentioned Carlie is my hero!? Though her writing was a little dry for me (I have a short attention span, and have to be constantly entertained) her story plot was amazingly honest and real. She made story relevant, even if someone had never experienced anything like she did you could still relate. Her use of vocabulary and description was amazing toward the last half of the story. "Gazing into her little section of the unit, I was horrified to see a young girl, not much older then myself propped up by a mountain of pillows and a massive metal contraption eating her skull." Koodoes to Carlie!

The Untitled Gabber Story

Allen has a really great way of grabbing your attention and making you wonder what might happen next. There were some overly obvious religious undertones through out the plot of the story; it seemed as though he has a real bent about the subject - and I really wanted to ask, but I chose not to. Allen's use of character dialog made the story easy to read - I would have preferred less fill in sentences and just the dialog. Over all, the story was (while not so much an original idea) possibly a manuscript in the making. His screen play should be interesting.

Have I Erned the Cliche?

Lorrie Moore was hilarious! After reading How to become a Writer I felt a renewed inspiration to sit down and be creative. In one part of Loorie's instruction she writes, "The lines at the registrar this week are huge. Perhaps you should stick with this mistake. Perhaps your creative writing isn't all that bad. Perhaps it is fate. Perhaps this is what your dad meant when he said, "It's the age of computers, Francie, it's the age of computers," (Moore, p.2). That has a sarcastic humor - I like it!

SUDDEN FICTION

Sitting cold on the hard stone wall, Meg looked down on the little town waiting. Her hands flattened out against the rough cobble, every touch of her fingers grabbing a notch in the cracks sent a message to her brain – familiar. This was home, or at least it would be until she could find one that had walls and a roof; or big arms, warm hands and bright eyes. Standing miles above the town the tower loomed over all that Meg considered beneath her; all that she had overcome; to the east lay a parking lot no longer in use, enormous if standing right in the middle of it as she was some years ago, but now it seemed smaller and more manageable. To the west lead the roads where she would have to go before dark; the very same she hoped to leave behind, but for the moment were her only source of shelter. A wind gust threw her hair into a spinning knot as she bent her head forward to catch the breeze on her face; both her legs hung over the dangerous side of the wall, content to hang in the air suspended with no need of a safety net to catch them. Taking one last breath of fresh pine scented air, and checking the sky for any unseen miracles, Meg spun herself around her feet landing on the pavement. Strolling down the path towards her car she slowed her pace intentionally to take in the moment long awaited. Taking his hand, he reassured her, and though she was not confident, she knew everything would be ok.

Reading Up On MICRO FICTION

At first glance the Micro Fiction form seemed more attainable. Short sentences, careful choice of wording and a keen sense of what our really want to share with the reader. The true battle is being willing to edit your piece without crying - so to speak. Trying to brake down the right combination of words and structure without loosing the emotion of the thing has been my biggest challenge.


Attempt At Micro

A damp pungent smell engulfed my senses as I took my first step into a new opportunity. The tension in mom’s eyes screamed her personal fear to me as she was anxious to find the cure. Around the time I turned four, my allergies had become too severe I was literally starving to death. Restricted to five foods, I became a living experiment for doctors who thought they had so much to learn from me. Exiting the elevator, we entered a long narrow hall. Doors on either side opened revealing an incessant hollow black; flickers of light shown through them; streaks of blue, green, and bright orange. A TV show reflected off a mother playing with her little boy as he sat up in his bed watching his favorite cartoon. We continued to walk, slow and undirected; my little shoes stepping cautiously as if dancing slow on tiles made of fragile glass. I was egger to know what kind of adventure mom and I were in for this time. Normally, new places meant new people in white coats, who stuck you with all kinds of shiny nasty bee stings. I hoped with everything in me that this time I would avoid the skin venom; I didn’t like the itchy bumps it left on my arms. Due to the fact that our stay would be longer than most mom kept most of the details from me, so I was free to be as over optimistic as my fears would let me. The girl who stayed in the bed next to me was about ten years older then me making her about 14. She was so much more ill than I seemed to be, it made me wonder what I was even doing there. Dark circles under her eyes reflected weeks of long tests and disappointing diagnosis. Her flesh was a yellow color, and her ankles were flat like they had been run over by a truck; this was due to the medication she took daily at doses higher then most doctors would normally allow her bones became so hollow inside themselves they caved in and became completely crushed. On the day of our arrival she had been so happy and upbeat, mostly due to our presents in the room. Still, the girl seemed to disappear a little more every morning as the days went on; not quite herself but not completely gone either. Being young and sick left scars on everyone including my parents. When all the attention is placed on one person, whether or not they asked for it, they become the subject of scrutiny. The rules can changes overnight, and no one ever obligates themselves to warn you; but there is always hope.

e.e. Comings (Reflections)

"may i feel said he may i feel said he
(i'll squeal said she
just once said he)
it's fun said she

(may i touch said he
how much said she
a lot said he)
why not said she

(let's go said he
not too far said she
what's too far said he
where you are said she)

may i stay said he
(which way said she
like this said he
if you kiss said she

may i move said he
is it love said she)
if you're willing said he
(but you're killing said she

but it's life said he
but your wife said she
now said he)
ow said she

(tiptop said he
don't stop said she
oh no said he)
go slow said she

(cccome?said he
ummm said she)
you're divine! said he
(you are Mine said she)"

This poem inspired me. The flow of it, the movement, the fact that it's so simple. It says more in two words then most poems do in five or six. This - aside from format and form - is what poetry should be.

Screen Writing

(PART 1)

Loving movies made it easy to want to do this project. However, I didn't realize how much goes into actually making a movie. Braking it apart was the fun part, trying to keep track was the hard part. I still don't understand the horizontal line method; am I keeping track of the time, events, or both, or something else.
The two movies I have been studying are Prime and The New World. The second is somewhat boring in the beginning, but I'm going to tough it out to see if the plot is different from normal formats. Prime is just a good movie, so I thought I would use this as an excuse to watch it for the hundredth time.


(PART 2)

So in class today we tried to find the movies we want to dig deeper into. I'm bummed out because the one I wanted isn't available right now. I'm just going to go through a list of screen plays available and see which one's I own...*Wink*
We went over how to actually start writing a screen play, and holy shit was that awesome! I haven't been that excited about something for a really long time, that felt grate!

Tom Specer -The Writer's E-Zine Home (English Sonnet)

I'm finding more and more that Poems are the workings of the artistically challenged. The more reading I do, the more math pops up - it's everywhere! I feel like Charlie Brown trying to kick the foot ball and consistently being deceived by a trusted method. Reading the inner workings of the English sonnet was like watching a documentary on mucus; you had no idea something so gross had so much versatility, but in all honesty you would rather just not know. At the end of the article, Spencer gives an example using "Lost Love," a traditional sonnet.

"Most often in the fading light of day
When becalmed the lake, like glass it be
Your image deep within my soul will stay
A ghostly moon creates a dream of thee
My mind will reel in distant reveries
Of life and youth of love, indecision
Aspirations then, now but memories
Of foolish youth and grandiose visions
While in this depth of Idle thought,
I stand Clear the winter's air, sharp the bite of frost
Alone upon this fallow barren land I think of you,
reviewing what is lost Love of you,
so very deep entrenched From life,
from me, tragic death, has wrenched." -Tom Spencer

The poem reflects love and life lost through uncontrollable circumstances. This man has seen broken, he has known pain. So why make something so simply beautiful so horrifyingly complicated? If poetry is a math wiz' guide to art...then I’m in range of being disappointed with it all together.

A Recipe for Stress

You will need:
Sweat
Two Jobs
15 Credit Hours
Five Friends
Two Grandparents
Two Parents (Preferably both male and female)
One sibling
One Ex-Boyfriend
Lack of confidence

Instructions:

Take a pot and add 4-8 cups sweat, (Nerves sweat is best/gives a sticky texture)
Drop in two full time jobs and bring to a boil,
For added flavor, sprinkle some cranky co-workers and/or costumers

Take a ½ cup of rebellion in a sauce pan,
Mix with two tabs of arrogance and bring to a low temp boil,
Finely chop five friends and add to sauce pan,
Add in ¼ of any ex-boyfriend – for best results lower 1/4 preferred,

Place all five family members into a large bowl and stir rapidly,
Use a whisk to get all the lumps out, and beat them till they are frothy,
In a separate mixing bowl bring two pounds lack of confidence,
And one large credit hour to room temp then stir slowly.
Use the additional credit hours as needed to thicken the brew,

Remove sauceuse pan from stove and add contents to pot,
Do the same with the mixing bowls bring contents to a boil
Top with a lid and let simmer for about 22 years.

Be cautious when lifting the lid after simmering, contents might explode,
Let cool, garnish with leaves of ignorance, sprinkle some frustration to taste. Serve when most inconvenience...

Poetry Reflections

Writing Exercise Poetry:

As much fun as this assignment was supposed to be, I hated it.
There is only so much a human mind can take
when trying to process the inner workings of a poem.
I had no idea that people actually get paid to sit around and count lines,
syllables. I hate to admit it, but little if nothing about this was enjoyable for me;
it felt like a chore.With the exception of Gross-blank (12 by 12 stanza) form,
I was completely lost. Couplets was way too confusing for me to fully grasp, as was Acrostic.

Going through ten different types of poems was impossibly frustrating.
All I really wanted to do was tell these so called experts to go screw themselves.
If a poem has to be that complicated, it’s not worth it.
I’m sure there would be some who would think me lazy…I’m not, just board.
If generations have been thinking up different ways to write their thoughts, and these forms are all we have to show for it, don’t I have the write to be a little disappointed? They took something I love – Poetry – and turned it into something I hate - math!

It’s taken me almost nine years to even begin to like written words,
or even pay attention to my form and technique, and now I’m tempted to walk away from it.
At the book store the other night I found a book called Blue Like Jazz – the author’s opening chapter blew me away. Now sitting here reading over my own work,
I wonder if it’s even worth it to keep going.

The one question I have never asked myself while trying to learn English,
is the one question I’m now forced too – am I good enough, do I measure up?
It pisses me off that something so elementary would cause me such moderate agony.
God help me, I’m lost.

So Maybe I'm wrong - But So What?!

We talked about the war in class today, and not just the war we currently fight in vain, but every other war we have stuck out noses into for the sake of proving to the world (once again) that we are the ultimate super power. *SILENT SCREAM* I can't take it anymore - the whole subject makes me sick to my stomach. We are supposed to be thankful, joyful, understanding! Holy shit! I'm tired of it. I'm tired of war being glorified and glamorized through movies, TV, video games, and every other venue we can come up with. We shouldn't be over there, we shouldn't have anything to do with issues we don't and refuse to understand. We are a mindless people right now - naive and power hungry. I just spoke with a co-worker about how we both feel like with most Americans, we have to dumb ourselves down for their sake. The real issues are put under the rug because those in the "real world" don't have the guts to face the truth about what's really going on.

...more to come

SHORT STORY

Reflections:

Reading other peoples work, and having to comment on it was really difficult for me. I didn't mind sharing my opinion about it, but being objective was hard. Some of the Short Stories we looked at were of a really personal nature, and while I know my short has come from years of healing and I am now able to talk about it without repercussions, I felt like there were some people who have a story to tell but weren't ready to tell it. Yet somehow they felt compelled to share it, as some of us just need to get it out - for whatever reason, we are motivated beyond pain to share our truth; no matter how horrific it might seem at the time to do so.

I remember being in that place, and it was different being able to speak freely about myself and my reality without feeling hindered by anger, pain, or regret. The tactical part of the stories seemed to all resemble each other, most of us really struggled with tense, tone, voice, and flow...but I was proud that we all put such an awesome effort into the stories we had to tell. What gave the project punch was feeling like I couldn't be good enough; I didn't have to be, that was a new feeling for me. There was really no right or wrong (other then grammatical error). It was liberating to know I could write and it didn't matter what came out, as long as it was honest and real - those were the only stipulations I gave myself about the story. Chad gave me permission to lie in the story, but I couldn't do it only because I am a terrible liar; that is not to say I haven't lied. The story I hope to complete has to be raw and truthful above all else, or it won't be mine - I'm glad I stayed true to that.

PS: I really liked hearing nice things about my writing - that was a welcome rarity.

Finding Space

The inspiration has begun again, and for that I'm really thankful. I didn't think I was going to come up with anything but so far the story is growing. Happiness.

the war

I've never been afraid of a blank page...until today. Sitting in the Dr's office waiting for my mom, I tried writing and nothing came. Reading over the pages from class didn't help; they just reminded me that I'm not sure where the heck my story is going. I think I'm going to start over. I have an idea but I'm not sure how it's going to play out...I've been playing with all kinds of ideas, but it's time to find a solution.

Something in me is hibernating - I wish I could just pull myself ahead in time to bring a pre-mature spring just for the sake of a story; any story that actually means something.

I’m tired of going back and forth with myself on how to write the right thing, how to portray the characters best. How do I pull out of myself what I truly want to say, what has the most meaning?