In this weeks blog post, I have read What is Fan Fiction -- and why is it making people nervous? (Stephen Downes) and Rewinding and Rewriting: The Alternate Universes in Our Head (Hidden Brain Podcast) to help me write my second draft of my narrative project and understand a counterfactual. Below is a vlog of me answering some questions about the revision process for my narrative project.
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After reading My Mother Gives Me a Writing Lesson by Martin Lee, I was able to understand and improve last week’s blog post Composing a Past Scene in this blog post. From the reading, I made sure to incorporate and pay more attention to sensory details and dialogue in order to enhance my scene.
As per usual, I grabbed the mail out of the gold mailbox hanging outside on the brick wall next to my front door. It was a breezy November afternoon and I had just returned home from school. I flipped through the pile of mail until a purple and gold pamphlet caught my attention. The smiling students on the pamphlet made me excited because I already knew I wanted to apply to this school early in my senior year of high school, to West Chester University. All three of my brothers attended, along with my mother and older sister. The campus was basically engraved in me, how could I not go there? With the pamphlet in my hand, I raced up the stairs to my mom’s room to discuss the possibility to my future. “Mom, look what came in the mail”, I exclaimed after opening her door. “I see, could you get your sister? I need to talk to the both of you”. My mom seemed uneasy and upset. “Okay”, I said a little confused. I ran down the steps to receive my twin sister, sitting on the top bunk of our bunk bed in our room. “Ana, mom needs us”. “Why?” She asked with an attitude. “I don’t know, let’s find out”. We walked back up the stairs to meet our mom for our little meeting. My mom was sitting on her bed, laying out various blue sheets of paper. Ana and I looked at each other, puzzled on what was happening. “Girls, sit down”, my mom finally said. She pushed back her curly hair and paused for a moment, her voice was a little shaky. “I want you to look at this graph”, she said as she held up a blue sheet with two graphs. “As you can see, there is a difference in the cost of tuition of community college compared to a four-year university.” Immediately, a wave of disappointment filled my mind. I knew where this conversation was going. Holding back tears, I was crushed. My mom continued, “Unfortunately, I am unable to send the both of you to a four-year school, I’m only able to afford to send you to community college”. I was upset and angry. Just several months ago in the summer, she had taken us to visit West Chester, her beloved school. Ana knew it was the perfect school for her because of the Early Education program. I was skeptical of the school at first only because everyone in my family went there. But after visiting the art department, I fell in love with the school. Ana and I just nodded in agreement because we knew how hard this was for her. We didn’t fight back like we usually did. Although my mom made this conclusion to send us to community college, it was made due to the financial decisions my dad had caused for my family several years ago. My parents had divorced when I was younger because of the financial decisions my dad had created for my mom. He destroyed her credit, and it caused her to become self-supportive. My family and I lived in a beautiful home, with a pool and a giant backyard. Friends and family regularly visited and we hosted many gatherings and parties. In 2012, we discovered that we had to move, and eventually we found a smaller house nearby. My dad’s choices made me depressed. I saw a therapist which made me feel a little better, but it didn’t bring back my old life. Eventually I recovered as it matured me, but I am still faced with the remnants of the financial choices my dad had produced. My dreams of attending a four-year university was ruined. I felt embarrassed and was always nervous whenever a classmate at school would ask, “What school are you going to next year?” I would pause, biting my lips and unable to answer. Everyone passing in the hallway at school was wearing a school t-shirt or sweatshirt. I felt so out of place, wearing my simple white sweater. At Strath Haven, my high school, everyone was so intellectually competitive. After years of hard work, I knew I could’ve been accepted to West Chester. “Is it a coincidence that everyone is wearing a school shirt today?” I questioned a classmate sitting next to me. “No, today is college decision day” she exclaimed, wearing an oversized red Temple hoodie. Sitting at my desk, I sank into my blue metal chair. I felt like I was a failure. I couldn’t show off the achievement of being accepted to a school I wanted to go to. I could’ve worn my favorite grey West Chester sweatshirt that was sitting in a box, in the bottom of my closet. I still love my dad but I question, “Why would he do this to us?” All of my life, I lived with my mom and we visited him several times on weekends. For some reason, I can’t help but feel resentment towards my mom. I can’t take my anger out on my dad because he isn’t around as often. I am at a loss of experiences and independence I desperately crave. In this week’s blog, I listened to Lulu Wang’s podcast What You Don't Know and have interpreted and annotated her story in order to write about a moment that had a negative impact on my life from a choice my parents made, in particular from my dad. I haven’t personally made any decisions that have a negative impact, so below is a moment I know that fits well for this week’s post.
I looked down at the purple and gold pamphlet, the students on the cover smiled at me. I became excited because I already knew I wanted to apply to this school early in my senior year of high school, to West Chester University. All three of my brothers attended, along with my older sister and my mom. The campus was basically engraved in me, how could I not go there? I walked up the stairs to show my mom the possibility to my future. As I opened the door, my mom already knew what I wanted to discuss. She sat on her bed with blue papers laid out in front of her. She told me to get my twin sister Ana so we could discuss our college plans. It seemed difficult for her to express, but she eventually explained that she was unable to send the both of us to a four-year university. My sister and I were crushed; she wanted to attend West Chester for Early Education and I for Studio Arts. Of course, we didn’t plan on liking the same school, but we assumed it would be affordable for our mom. In my mom’s hand, she held a paper with a graph of the cost of community college compared to a four-year college. There was a drastic difference, but I didn’t want to say anything. My mom described that in order for her to afford to send us to college, we would have to attend community college. Ana and I sat there in silence. We didn’t fight back as we usually did because we didn’t want to hurt her feelings. We nodded and agreed to this decision. Although my mom made the conclusion to send my sister and I to community college, it was made due to the financial impact my dad had caused for my family. The financial decisions my father had caused for me and my family had made a huge negative impact on my life. He destroyed my mom's credit. I still love him, but this decision had affected my future. My family and I lived in a beautiful home, with a pool and backyard. Friends and family regularly visited and we hosted many gatherings and parties. In 2012, we discovered that we had to move and my mom was forced to become self-supportive. We eventually found a small house, and I began to feel as though life was moving too fast. My dad’s choices caused me to become depressed. I saw a psychologist which made me feel a little better, but it didn’t bring back my old life. Eventually I recovered, but I am still faced with the remnants of the choices my dad had produced. My dream of attending my first college choice was ruined. Even though I am receiving a great education from community college at a lower price, I am at a loss of experiences and independence I desperately crave. After reading and annotating the text Hills Like White Elephants by Ernest Hemingway, I have written a moment in my current life, including dialogue and symbolic details. Below, is a scene of how my Monday morning went, and how I was able to fix my class schedule for this fall semester.
Sitting in my Uber, I twiddle my fingers as I stare at the time— 9:00 a.m. I’m supposed to be there at 9. I feel anxiety building up in me as I tell myself, “I’m going to be late for my appointment with Professor Gutman”. As I am thinking this to myself, my Uber driver asks, “do you have a 9:30 class?” I shake my head no and explain, “no, I’m having a professor review my AP studio art portfolio”. We pull up to the Academic Building at the Delaware County Community College Marple campus where I am getting dropped off. I grab by big black art portfolio case and the car door handle to leave when my driver exclaims, “good luck on your portfolio review!” “Thank you, have a nice day!” I reply back. I race to the Academic Building, staring at my phone to look for the room number. I finally find it and see a woman typing away at her computer. “You must be Christina, my 9 o'clock appointment”. I shake my head to confirm and she continues to tell me, “hold on one second, I have to finish this email”. I patiently sit next to her in a cluttered office. “I have been waiting to meet with you, I must review your portfolio in order to reward you the correct classes based on your AP score. You can set out all of your pieces on this table over here”. She points to an unused office table, “you received a five out of five for your score correct?” I respond, “ yes”, as I’m finishing laying out my images. “What high school did you go to?” She’s asks. “Strath Haven” I answer. “Oh you must have been in the art exhibit earlier this year”. “Yea and I actually had this image in that show”, I point to the watercolor painting of a burger and sweet potato fries. Professor Gutman replies, “I think I remember seeing that and it making me hungry” she chuckles. She continues to look at each piece and asks, “so are all of these pen drawings?” “Some are in pen, but I also have images done in watercolor and acrylic.” She nods and moves closer to my black and white pen drawing. “I see you have some black and white observational drawings. What was your score again? Oh yeah five that is excellent. Since you aren’t taking any art classes, I will award you credit for ART 130 Drawing I so you can start taking Two Dimensional Design”. A smile grows on my face in the bright colorful office and I reply, “ thank you!” We walk over to her computer and Professor Gutman tells me, “let me write a few emails so we can get you started in this art course”. I silently nod and wait as she taps away on her keyboard. “Is it okay if I put you in the Wednesday’s Two Dimensional class? It is from 5-10 pm.” “Yes that will fit into my schedule”, I add. She responds, “okay this is great. You will have to work your ass off because I am placing you in so late in this class, but I can clearly see from your portfolio that you will do fine. See me in two weeks to tell me how you’re doing!” “Thank you so much, I really appreciate it! Does that mean I still have to go to my Western Civilization II class?” I question. “No you’re good, you no longer need to take that class, you can go do whatever until your next class!” she suggest, waving her hands at me. I say with a feeling of relief, “okay thanks again!” I am so glad that my schedule is fixed and am now able to take art classes this semester! For this week's blog post, I have read What is Creative Nonfiction? By Lee Gutkind, Making Scenes in Memoir by Lee Martin, and My Name is Margaret by Maya Angelou in order to understand and write a scene that shows a moment in my life. Below is a scene describing time well spent with my two dogs!
Sitting on a heather grey couch in my living room, I look down at my phone, swiping through my emails for the day. Moments pass by when suddenly I hear a little low-pitched growl and a wagging white tail in the corner of my eye. I look up and see my jack russell; Clark, pleading for me to give him attention with his big brown eyes. In a high-pitched voice I exclaim, “hi Clark!”. Immediately, he rolls over on his back, expecting me to pet him. I scratch his side up and down, watching his white hair fall to the side of the couch cushion. I hear the footsteps of my brother coming up from the basement and he calls, “Clark”. Clarks ears raise to the sound of his voice, and he excitedly jumps off of the grey couch, leaving the living room. To the right of me, I see my dog Ella laying at the end of the couch. I call for here, “puppy!” She doesn’t flinch, so I snap my fingers a few times, hoping she will react. Eventually, she turns her head and looks at me upside down, exposing her small crooked teeth. I begin to stroke her soft feather-like black and white hair, closing her eyes after each stroke. Wiggling her nose, she lifts up her head to sniff me, and then rolls back to her original position. In the distance, I can hear both my brother and mom vocalizing, almost giving me a headache because of its consistency. Over the vocalizing, the rain outside of the window behind me taps to a beat. I can feel the humidity of the air. Again, I look over and see an overly excited havanese staring at me, wagging her long white tail. As I move closer to her, she falls back to her side, and paws her arms at me. I tease her by pretending to pick her up by grabbing her sides. Instantly, she wiggles her head to the left of her body, attempting to bite my hand. Ella widens her mouth and I can smell her hot breath as she pants in my face. Breaking away from my grasp, she turns around and begins to quickly dig into the couch. Before I can say anything, she leaps off of the couch and sprints into my bedroom. I follow her, and find her laying on her stomach with her legs sprawled out like a frog. “What are you doing fluffy?” I question. In a silent response, Ella moves her head, biting the air and exposes her pink tongue. She inches towards me by crawling, jingling her name tag. Unfortunately, I begin to feel the vibration of my phone, alarming me at 5:30 p.m. that it is time to leave for work. I rub Ella’s small head, and begin to stand up. “Ella, I have to leave”, I tell her. I give her one last pat on her white back, and leave for work. |
Chrissie FackenthallI will use this blog to write and post weekly assignments for my English Composition I course at Delaware County Community College Archives
December 2018
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