The Cemetery of Forgotten Books

I really liked the chapter "The Cemetery of Forgotten Books." I think it's a good opening to a story and a good stand-alone chapter as well. I liked the idea of this mysterious place where books go to be saved from death, and as an avid reader the descriptions given to the books and how they make you feel was perfect. I really did want to believe this place existed, but something about it just wouldn't let me. I didn't like the fact that it was some big secret. If they wanted these forgotten books to be remembered and loved, then why isn't he allowed to tell anyone they exist? Seemed like backward logic. The chapter was intriguing enough to keep reading, but I think this book would end up being more fantastical then realistic based on this first chapter.

The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest

Okay, I took a stab at this. Bad writing is surprisingly hard to pull off. 

Looking at the birthday cake all I could think of is how the amylase in my saliva would break down most of the carbohydrates, my stomach acids would dissolve everything else, and then bile salts in my gut would take care of the rest and all of those calories would clog my arteries with glorious amounts of cholesterol, but I took a slice anyway. 

When she walked into the bar he noticed her immediately because of her hair that has a streak of shocking purple against a brunette background and it reminded him of the mold on that loaf of bread he should have thrown out about a week ago. 

The woman I had been eying across the bar introduced herself to me immediately, saying her name was Coco, and all I could think about was how civil warfare in the African Coast was costing my small chocolate company thousands of dollars. 

Reading week 7

This week's story was "The Lottery" and I really liked it until the end. First of all, it reminded me a lot of the Hunger Games, which makes me wonder if it inspired the opening to choosing ceremony in the book. I half expected Bill to volunteer as tribute in the end.  I liked that it didn't outright say what the lottery was for in the beginning, because that would have ruined everything. The only thing that kept me going through the story was that I wanted to know what would happen if you got picked in the lottery. The story was actually a little infuriating in the beginning because I was like "shut up and get to the point!!!!" but that's the reason the story was interesting. The only thing that really bothered me is it never explained why they were stoning people to death based on a lottery. I guess it's tradition, but that doesn't seem like a good enough reason. Also, they are a little too excited about it, with the children gathering stones and everyone coming out it. But, like the hunger games, I guess it's all based on the excitement that it's not you, not your family that is suffering.

How I changed my story

My basic concept remained the same throughout the process, and wasn't really changed by the peer reviews. The main thing that changed was dialogue, and at the request of my peers I made it more confrontational and less internal conflict. I love writing about internal conflict, so it was difficult to get away from. I also worked hard to make my dialogue seem more natural, which was hard because this is not a usual situation that has expected responses. The final thing I changed from what I started with was to add an unexpected ending, which I don't think I executed as well as I could of because it was a last minute change. In the future I need to make more believable characters, which is something I struggle with because I like the idea of the fantastic and absurd.

Project 1 Draft

This is most of my first draft, I've kind of hit a wall but I wanted to get this part posted! It needs a lot of work. I'll clean it up for tomorrow's class. Any suggestions, let me know!

I couldn’t help but glancing at the girl next to me every few seconds, to which she seemed blissfully unaware. I wasn’t the type of person who talked to people I didn’t know, let alone pick up hitchhikers on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, Pennsylvania. But this young woman was so innocent looking, with her big blue eyes and dirty blonde hair in twin French braids that I had to stop my car for her as she flagged me down in the middle of route 322 and asked for a ride because her car broke down. Still, I was concerned I have may have picked up an axe-wielding serial killer. You never know with people these days. 

“So what’s your name?” She suddenly burst out, pulling her eyes away from the window to stare at me as I drove. “I feel bad that I didn’t ask you immediately.” 

“Oh! Yeah. My name is Judy.” I stammered out.

“Is that short for something?”

“No...”

“Oh. Well, my name is Perri, which is short for Peregrine. Like a falcon. But I’ve never seen a falcon, which is weird.” She paused for a breath and looked at me expectantly. 

“That’s an unusual name,” I offered up. Small talk was not my strong suit. 

“Really? I don’t think so.” She paused, entranced by something outside the window. After a moment her head whipped back to face me. “So, why are you going to Ohio?”

I am going to live there. I just got my first job in Cleveland.” That had to start up a conversation. I found that people loved talking to me about work lately. As I said it, she seemed to perk up and finally turned away from looking out the window. 

“Oh, are you excited? Is it your dream job?” I hesitated, not expected that random question. Normally people asked me what company I was going to work for, or what I would be doing. My knuckles tightening around the leather of the steering wheel as I tried to formulate a response. 

“No, it’s just a desk job. But it has good pay, reasonable healthcare plans,” and I continued to rattle off everything I learned from the new hire brochure. It’s the kind of people were impressed with when you talk about your new job. 

“So, why are you going?” She interrupted. 

“What?”

“If you don’t want to go, why are you going?” She was staring at me with wide, unblinking blue eyes.

“What makes you think I don’t want to go?” 

“You just said you weren’t excited about it. I wouldn’t be excited either, I heard Ohio is boring. But that’s why I want to go, to see if it is boring. I bet it is.” She spoke so matter-of-factly I found it rather off-putting. 

“Well, I have to go that’s where I got my job.”

“I mean, you could just keep driving.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Just drive past the exit for Cleveland. And the exit after that. And the exit after that. And keep driving until you drive right into the Pacific Ocean!” She shouted, flailing her lanky ams a bit. I laughed. 

“That’s crazy, they are expecting me in at work on Tuesday. I can’t just keep driving.” 

“Why not? You don’t want to go. So don’t. Let’s go where ever you want to go!” 

“What, together? Just drive off into the country with a complete stranger? Right that sounds normal.” I laughed again. What a joke. But she wasn’t laughing. 

“Sure, I am up for an adventure. And traveling with someone is better then traveling alone. Think of all the things you rather do on Tuesday then sit at a desk in front of a computer.” For a moment I let my mind wander. Hiking through the mountains. Wake-boarding in the middle of a lake. Skydiving. Bungee jumping. All the things I wanted to do this summer. I quickly shook my head.

“No, no, no. That’s too crazy. I have responsibilities. I didn’t go to college for four years so I could give up a good moneymaking opportunity to roam around the country doing whatever I want to do.”

“So basically, you want money over happiness?”

“No, I am...”

“What if money wasn’t an object? What would you do?” The images started flooding into my head again. All the things I would do if money didn’t exist. Scuba diving in the clear waters of the Caribbean. The rush of zip-lining in the snowy Alps. The thrill of climbing the towering trees of the rainforest. Again I fought down the fantasy. 

“Money is always an object,” I laughed, “And I am broke.” She immediately dove into the front pocket of her hiking bag, plopping a bag of goldfish and a flashlight on the dash as she hunted for something. Finally she pulled out a beaten-up old wallet. She flicked it open and pulled out something. It was a black Amex card, which I had only seen in movies but knew what it meant. Money. And a lot of it. I nearly stopped the car as she held it up for me to see. Somehow, I had picked up a hitchhiking millionaire. 

“What if money wasn’t an object?” She repeated. “Would you drive away from your new job to travel with me?” I sucked in my breath, the new leather of my car stinging my nostrils.

“This is some kind of joke. Am I being punked?”

“I am not kidding.” Her face was deadpan. “Come with me.”

“Why me? You don’t even know me.” 

“Because you picked up a hitchhiker and you clearly want to do something more exciting with your life. And because I hate traveling alone.” 

Reading Response: The Man from the South

Okay, first of all this story was pretty messed up for the guy who wrote Charlie and Chocolate Factory and Matilda. Was not expecting that.

I did not get this story at all. It was interesting, but what was the point? Why was this old man playing this crazy betting game with people's fingers and cars? There was no reasoning behind it I could see, other then he is crazy. Next the woman confused me. Why was she with the guy that was clearly cutting off her fingers and making these bets? Why is she taking care of him? Basically all I kept saying the whole story was WHY WHY WHY? I did not understand the motivation of any of the characters and I felt like I was missing the message of the story the whole time, unless the message was don't make bets with people in bars.