The prompt: Write a 10-line poem that causes the reader to feel uncomfortable. In a paragraph, pinpoint the words/phrases/stylistic choices that arouse discomfort. (Thanks to Kate Girouard for this topic!)
walkin arownd
it soe hapenz i am sic of being a man
n it hapenz that i walk in2 tailorshopz n moovy
houzez
dried up waterprooff like a swaun maid of felt
stearring my way in a water of woomz n ashez
the smell of barbershopz makez me br8k in2 horse
sobz
the only thing i want iz 2 lie still like stonez or wool
the only thing i want iz 2 c no more storez no gardenz
no mo goodz no spectles no elvatorz
I feel an immense amount of discomfort when I view the above creation. Each time I typed a new word, I felt a part of my soul withering away. No capital letters? A travesty! Misspellings everywhere? Utter laziness! No punctuation? Blasphemy! Simple verbs? Way to buck the system, tough girl! And the worst offense: plagiarism? Get ready for the slammer, lady, because all of those angry Commie Neruda followers will surely press charges to the fullest extent of the law! The overall butchering of the English language? Time to bathe in the grammatical rules of the Almighty Writers Inc.! What could any of us find more uncomfortable than the complete deterioration of my English skills? Nothing. The loss of the skilled wordsmith would devastate us all.
Crucial sidenote: The results of the spell check I just conducted blinded me with its neon yellow mockery. So. Painful.
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Time to Go Green and Leafy
The Prompt: In the form of a paragraph, write a letter to your 11-year-old self with advice or criticism. (Thanks to Katie Widman for this topic!)
Dear Bobbie,
No matter how much you will not like what I have to tell you, I DEMAND that you follow my advice in this letter. Much of your future happiness and contentment will depend upon it. You know those fun trips to the grocery store when Mom lets you pick out two of your favorite items, and you choose Frosted Flakes and chocolate ice cream? Stop it! Now! Instead, beg her to indulge you in four items: two types of fruits and two types of vegetables. I know that you sit shaking your head, finding me foolish. Yet, I ask: would you rather become a bitter 38-year-old woman who begrudgingly stuffs vegetables down her gullet? I think not! Believe me when I say that a life of Doritos and Jab's Pizza may sound fabulous, but hours pouring over vegetable dish recipes on Pinterest (you will learn the significance of this gem in your life later) does not make you feel fabulous at all. You spend hours trying to find ways to make vegetables not taste like vegetables when you should instead spend your time working on that amazing idea you have created for a novel. You spend moments of your life you will never get back trying to figure out what flavor of kale chips you can tolerate. Don't scoff at them--they stave off cancer! While you may think that you will deal with this issue later in life and that the vegetables Mom serves will suffice, your foolishness will catch up to you. Run to the vegetable tray! Ask for salads in your lunch box! Accept only fruit salads for your treats! Not only will this make you a svelte youngster, but you will also feel so full of energy. Say good-bye to your days of snacking slothdom and hello to the mighty power of fruits and vegetables!
Love,
Bobbie
P.S. While some of this vocabulary may evade the comprehension of an 11-year-old, you and I both know you can handle it. After all, one day you will stand before a crowd of admiring people as you beam with pride as Valedictorian! However, do not use that as an excuse to relax academically. Just focus on the fruits and vegetables, and the rest will work itself out.
Dear Bobbie,
No matter how much you will not like what I have to tell you, I DEMAND that you follow my advice in this letter. Much of your future happiness and contentment will depend upon it. You know those fun trips to the grocery store when Mom lets you pick out two of your favorite items, and you choose Frosted Flakes and chocolate ice cream? Stop it! Now! Instead, beg her to indulge you in four items: two types of fruits and two types of vegetables. I know that you sit shaking your head, finding me foolish. Yet, I ask: would you rather become a bitter 38-year-old woman who begrudgingly stuffs vegetables down her gullet? I think not! Believe me when I say that a life of Doritos and Jab's Pizza may sound fabulous, but hours pouring over vegetable dish recipes on Pinterest (you will learn the significance of this gem in your life later) does not make you feel fabulous at all. You spend hours trying to find ways to make vegetables not taste like vegetables when you should instead spend your time working on that amazing idea you have created for a novel. You spend moments of your life you will never get back trying to figure out what flavor of kale chips you can tolerate. Don't scoff at them--they stave off cancer! While you may think that you will deal with this issue later in life and that the vegetables Mom serves will suffice, your foolishness will catch up to you. Run to the vegetable tray! Ask for salads in your lunch box! Accept only fruit salads for your treats! Not only will this make you a svelte youngster, but you will also feel so full of energy. Say good-bye to your days of snacking slothdom and hello to the mighty power of fruits and vegetables!
Love,
Bobbie
P.S. While some of this vocabulary may evade the comprehension of an 11-year-old, you and I both know you can handle it. After all, one day you will stand before a crowd of admiring people as you beam with pride as Valedictorian! However, do not use that as an excuse to relax academically. Just focus on the fruits and vegetables, and the rest will work itself out.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
A Sudden Superpower
The topic: Write a story centralized around the phrase "the second hand." Limit your story to 300-350 words. (Thanks to Alie Medina-Fetterman for this topic!)
Cal grabbed the crumpled advertisement. Its withered state reminded him of the ever-increasing passage of time. In Cal's seventeen-year-old mind, the next four years of his life (maybe even the rest of his life!) hinged on heeding its words: "Visit Clairvoyant Eva Matrusca! Forewarned = forearmed."
Though he narrowed his college choices to two--his only two acceptances--how could he possibly make this decision himself? As time closed in, it looked like Madame Matrusca could decide for him.
So, on Saturday morning, instead of his usual visit to his ailing grandfather, Cal visited Madame Matrusca. Any guilt he felt about this disappeared when a woman's booming voice greeted him.
"Ah! Come in, young man!" The enthusiasm of Madame Matrusca took Cal aback, as did her gray, wiry hair, her multicolored moo-moo dress, and her swooping hands. What had he gotten himself into?
"Let's not waste time! Eva can see by your flustered state that the future scares you. Right hand! Now!"
Cal reluctantly turned over his sweaty palm. The moment of truth inched closer.
"Good news! You will live a long, healthy life. Oh... but... wait... it looks like someone else close to you will pass soon."
Cal's stomach sank. His grandfather. How could he have selfishly skipped seeing him?
"Tell me, young man, why did you come to see Eva today? To foretell details of your love life?"
"No, Ma'am," Cal squeaked. "I need to know what college I should attend."
"But, of course!" Madame Matrusca billowed with another swoop of her hands, nearly striking Cal on the cheek. "The road you should choose! For that, I will need to see the second hand. Life's outcomes always depend upon the second hand."
As Cal relinquished his second hand, an image of his grandfather, helpless on the kitchen floor, flashed in his mind. Cal raced away from the table and drove furiously to his grandfather's home.
"Help... please," a feeble voice begged as Cal stormed through the front door.
There, Cal found his grandfather, followed the words of Madame Matrusca, and pulled his grandfather up with his second hand.
Cal grabbed the crumpled advertisement. Its withered state reminded him of the ever-increasing passage of time. In Cal's seventeen-year-old mind, the next four years of his life (maybe even the rest of his life!) hinged on heeding its words: "Visit Clairvoyant Eva Matrusca! Forewarned = forearmed."
Though he narrowed his college choices to two--his only two acceptances--how could he possibly make this decision himself? As time closed in, it looked like Madame Matrusca could decide for him.
So, on Saturday morning, instead of his usual visit to his ailing grandfather, Cal visited Madame Matrusca. Any guilt he felt about this disappeared when a woman's booming voice greeted him.
"Ah! Come in, young man!" The enthusiasm of Madame Matrusca took Cal aback, as did her gray, wiry hair, her multicolored moo-moo dress, and her swooping hands. What had he gotten himself into?
"Let's not waste time! Eva can see by your flustered state that the future scares you. Right hand! Now!"
Cal reluctantly turned over his sweaty palm. The moment of truth inched closer.
"Good news! You will live a long, healthy life. Oh... but... wait... it looks like someone else close to you will pass soon."
Cal's stomach sank. His grandfather. How could he have selfishly skipped seeing him?
"Tell me, young man, why did you come to see Eva today? To foretell details of your love life?"
"No, Ma'am," Cal squeaked. "I need to know what college I should attend."
"But, of course!" Madame Matrusca billowed with another swoop of her hands, nearly striking Cal on the cheek. "The road you should choose! For that, I will need to see the second hand. Life's outcomes always depend upon the second hand."
As Cal relinquished his second hand, an image of his grandfather, helpless on the kitchen floor, flashed in his mind. Cal raced away from the table and drove furiously to his grandfather's home.
"Help... please," a feeble voice begged as Cal stormed through the front door.
There, Cal found his grandfather, followed the words of Madame Matrusca, and pulled his grandfather up with his second hand.
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Letting the Moves Move Me
The prompt: Take one of your everyday experiences and make it extreme. Extreme dog walking. Extreme driving. In a paragraph, thoroughly describe your experience. (Thanks to Becky Black for this topic!)
5:40 a.m. "READY TO PARTY YOURSELF INTO SHAPE?!" The sounds of Zumba songs blare from my iPhone. I reach for my bright yellow headband, and I place it around my head. Now the day can begin! I remove the covers in quick, rhythmic kicks to the sounds of my newest Zumba playlist: I have over 50 saved! The Salsa Travel move gets me around the apartment in preparation for the day. Even while eating my breakfast, I can accomplish the Merengue March. Driving proves tricky, but luckily I have downloaded all the Zumba greats into my iPhone, such as "Dance, Dance, Dance," "This Is Tha Song," and "Zumba Waka Waka." With each new song, I visualize my flawless routines. I see myself on the aerobics floor, stomping, swaying, belly dancing, and overall just getting really funky with each song. Every woman behind me envies my rhythm, my style, and my grace. My arrival at work, though, breaks my dream-like vision. I pop in my headphones and Samba Lunge into the building. While keeping my lunges in correct form does prove difficult up the stairs, I, of course, perform marvelously. In fact, I feel so confident that I decide to do the Cumbia Candle Step all the way down the third floor hallway; after all, few people arrive by this time. Once into my classroom, I can get more serious. Here, I have space to Booty Circle as I prepare the handouts for the day. Here, I can Diamond Step my way over to the hole puncher, and use the Salsa Back move to return to my original place behind my desk. Here, I have a huge dance floor, a captive audience, and a place in the spotlight . Each day, my audience willingly surrounds me in a circle, snapping and clapping in response to each of my routines--especially my clever segues. To mix up my routine as I leave work, I wait until most of the staff exits, so that I can Belly Dance Hip Shimmy my way out to the parking lot. This helps me to loosen up as the time for the official Zumba class at the gym draws nearer. Upon arriving home, I have about one and a half hours to stretch and warm up before heading to the gym. I hook up the iPhone to my Bose stereo, which really gives me the chance to rock out. To warm up, I prepare for anything the evening's instructor might throw at the class. I make sure to cover Cuban Salsa, Cumbia Funk, Basic Reggaeton, Basic Samba, Basic Quebradita, and Basic Calypso. In an enthusiastically energized state, I head to the gym to secure my place in the front row. After all, someone with my level of intensity cannot afford to allow anyone in front of me to ruin my flow.
Feeling especially proud of myself not only for exercising after a long day, but also for flawless dancing, I Sabor Step out to the car. Even though my energy begins to wane, my enthusiasm for Zumba does not. Once home, I pop in the new set of Zumba DVDs I just bought! Memorizing the routines as I intensely focus on the screen will prepare me for tomorrow, when I start all over again.
5:40 a.m. "READY TO PARTY YOURSELF INTO SHAPE?!" The sounds of Zumba songs blare from my iPhone. I reach for my bright yellow headband, and I place it around my head. Now the day can begin! I remove the covers in quick, rhythmic kicks to the sounds of my newest Zumba playlist: I have over 50 saved! The Salsa Travel move gets me around the apartment in preparation for the day. Even while eating my breakfast, I can accomplish the Merengue March. Driving proves tricky, but luckily I have downloaded all the Zumba greats into my iPhone, such as "Dance, Dance, Dance," "This Is Tha Song," and "Zumba Waka Waka." With each new song, I visualize my flawless routines. I see myself on the aerobics floor, stomping, swaying, belly dancing, and overall just getting really funky with each song. Every woman behind me envies my rhythm, my style, and my grace. My arrival at work, though, breaks my dream-like vision. I pop in my headphones and Samba Lunge into the building. While keeping my lunges in correct form does prove difficult up the stairs, I, of course, perform marvelously. In fact, I feel so confident that I decide to do the Cumbia Candle Step all the way down the third floor hallway; after all, few people arrive by this time. Once into my classroom, I can get more serious. Here, I have space to Booty Circle as I prepare the handouts for the day. Here, I can Diamond Step my way over to the hole puncher, and use the Salsa Back move to return to my original place behind my desk. Here, I have a huge dance floor, a captive audience, and a place in the spotlight . Each day, my audience willingly surrounds me in a circle, snapping and clapping in response to each of my routines--especially my clever segues. To mix up my routine as I leave work, I wait until most of the staff exits, so that I can Belly Dance Hip Shimmy my way out to the parking lot. This helps me to loosen up as the time for the official Zumba class at the gym draws nearer. Upon arriving home, I have about one and a half hours to stretch and warm up before heading to the gym. I hook up the iPhone to my Bose stereo, which really gives me the chance to rock out. To warm up, I prepare for anything the evening's instructor might throw at the class. I make sure to cover Cuban Salsa, Cumbia Funk, Basic Reggaeton, Basic Samba, Basic Quebradita, and Basic Calypso. In an enthusiastically energized state, I head to the gym to secure my place in the front row. After all, someone with my level of intensity cannot afford to allow anyone in front of me to ruin my flow.
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| Front and center, purple shirt, gray pants, headband. Picture from the gym's website. |
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