Presentation Outline

For the informal presentations I am going to write about Arnold Friend from the short story by Joyce Carol Oates, "Where are you going, where have you been", in regards to what makes a memorable character. Arnold Friend has stuck with me since I have read the story freshman year of high school and I think he is a perfect memorable character.

Reader Blog - visual narratives

So first this week I read the How to Write a screenplay and got scared because the thought of writing that much dialogue would not be good for me. Although, if someone read or performed a screenplay I wrote, I think it would be easier to improve on dialogue then if its stuck in a narrative.
 On to Jasper Morello. The link didn't work on my computer (boo old technology) but I did found a short film that I assume was the assignment, so I watched it. It was weird and depressing. Not really fan of the whole Steam-Punk style. I really didn't like the silhouettes. I loved the story though, and was totally captivated by it. At first I wasn't sure what this had to do with visual narratives, but then I realized it was perfect. The silhouettes really relied on visuals more. Loved this and I want to watch it again.

Project 2 draft

Enjoy! It's not done, but it will be tomorrow!

“Bavarian Biker”

The first thing you need to know about the “hills” of Bavaria is that they are steep, rocky, and the roads are barely wide enough for the small European cars to squeak past one another. They have sharp, unforgiving twists and turns created by lazy people who rather make the road follow the natural paths rather then make a road people could actually drive. Like most of Germany, the speed limit was nonexistent and seeing an Audi take a curve at 100 mph was a usual sight. 

This is something I did not appreciate until now. I was sitting on top of one of the hills with a Kawasaki motorcycle between my sweat-covered legs and a 45-degree decline in front of my eyes. Somehow I was supposed to get this stupid machine down the slope with me atop it, and not die in the process. I was highly cynical toward this possibility. I glanced at my two cousins standing next to me, with their strong, tanned arms crossed and matching looks of skepticism in their Aryan blue eyes. 

“Come on, America! Go!” Sebi quipped in a strong accent. Great, now I was representing my whole country. “Show us how much better you are!” The two boys laughed, their voices clanging like bells of the church that woke me up at six in the morning. 

“Sie konnte es nicht,” smirked Markus, shaking his head so his curls bounced like little golden slinkies. He was right, I couldn’t do this. The only thing I knew about riding a motorcycle was from hanging off the back trying not to scream as my cousins drove up this accursed path, and what little I had learned from eHow when I was pretending to use the bathroom. What had possessed me to brag that I could drive a bike better then them I do not know. Natural familial competition, I suppose. 

“Schau Mir,” I snapped. Watch me. I took a deep breath, focusing on what I knew. I was really regretting that last beer or three. I jammed my borrowed helmet on over my mass of hair, not that it would do much to prevent my brains from scrambling if I hit the pavement at any speed. I slide the mirrored visor down over my eyes, mainly so my cousins wouldn’t see the worry in my eyes or the inevitable tears. I glanced down at my uncovered tanned legs as I buttoned my uncle’s giant leather jacket clothes. Short shorts and converse sneakers were not exactly high-class safety gear. But at least I had a helmet.

My cousins watched me with silent interest as I adjusted the mirrors and squirmed around the seat. Anything to waste time until the inevitable moment. My hands wrapped around the handles on their own accord. There were buttons and gauges everywhere; this was no kid’s toy. 

I had remembered seeing my cousins’ twist the handles at some point, so I decided to give it a try. The leather was hot on my right palm as I gripped the handle and yanked it toward me. The bike roared to life and I nearly jumped off in fear of it taking off. I revved it again, this time a little less. I felt so badass, I wish this is all I had to do.

“If you don’t go now Stephanie, we miss dinner!” Sebi yelled at me. They laughed again. God, I was really starting to hate their laugh. 

“Ich gehe! Ich gehe!” I snapped back, looking back down at the bike. I flicked the kick stand up with a firm kick from my purple Chuck Taylor and quickly lost balance and almost fell over right there and then. I had to stead myself on my toes, my hamstrings straining to reach the ground. 

Taking a deep breath, I reach forward and grabbed the clutch level and pushed the gear stick down to first. Luckily I had grown up learning to drive stick. Benefit of European parents I suppose. I let go of the clutch completely and quickly throttled the engine, causing me to leap forward so fast it took all my upper body strength to keep my from not flying off the back of the bike.

I stifled a scream as I flew down the hill, forgetting all I knew about braking, turning, and common sense in general. I let go of the throttle but still I sped downward

(still working on this AHHHH)

I had made it! The road had de-sloped to the point where it was basically flat and I was slowing rapidly as I approached the next curve. After a few hundred yards I came to a complete stop. I had done it.

And that’s when the car rounded the corner at 75 mph and hit me straight on. 

The first thing I registered was the pavement ripping the bare skin off my tumbling leg bones. I felt things cracking all over as I tumbled down the road, and I threw my hands out for something to grip to stop my momentum. The pain came in flashes. My arm, my rib, my toes, my arm again. 

I had been falling for hours, for days. At last I began to slow and there was no pain and too much pain at the same time. My body was cold but my legs were warm with blood, my blood. At last I came to a violet stop as my head banged into a tree, the helmet barely muting the blow. 

All went black.

I opened my eyes to Markus and Sebi staring at my imploringly. 

“Lass uns gehen!” Markus shouted. I looked down once more at the hill before me and shook the images of a gory death from my mind. I could do this. Flashing them a cocky smile that they couldn’t even see due to my trusty helmet, I grabbed the clutch, shifted, revved the engine, and took off. 

Reader Response Week (I lost count)

First of all I was one of those lucky few that had the links not working for some reason? Both on firefox and safari too. But through googling I was able to hunt down the stuff to read for this week.

So dialogue. I hate writing it. Halfway through the coversation I am always thinking it sound unrealistic and weird and then delete it all. I like internal conflict and description so much better. I guess its because dialogues you always have in your head never come out the way they should in real life. The worst part of dialogue is that when you have a short page limit and it stretches it out. If I see a lot of dialogue in a book, I usually skip it. Just not a fan. Hopefully this class will help change me mind. I like the reading on how to change dialogue up and how you can change the meaning of what is said by adding different adjectives and adverbs. I think I will use that to make my dialogue better, since it currently needs a lot of work for project 2. What I think needs to covered also is that different dialects (like southern accents versus boston) and languages would have different style rules. For example, writing realistic dialogue in my story, which has german characters, is really hard because realistically they don't speak english but the people reading my story don't speak german. I'm working on it though.

Project 2 Outline:

Project 2 Outline:

Basic outline: American girl is riding a motorcycle for the first time down a mountain.

Main Character: 

16 year old American girl visiting Germany for the first time. Doesn’t know any German. A bit of a braggart. Has been challenged to ride a motorcycle down the mountain despite not knowing how to. Been drinking. Wants to prove to her cousins that she can do it. 

Back Up Characters:

Cousins #1 and #2 (come up with name): Both German teenagers, a little older around 18. Very drunk and full of selves. Challenge main character after she pretends to know how to ride a motorcycle. 

Exposition: Starts right before she is going to ride the bike and flashes back to how she got there. Goes into how she was bragging and that she was challenged

Rising Action: She realizes how drunk she is and how high steep the mountain is. Her cousins are yelling at her to go. 

Climax: She takes off down the mountain.

Falling Action: She crashes and gets seriously injured

Ending: It’s revealed she was just fantasizing the crash. She pushes out the thoughts and takes off. Ends with her riding down the mountain with no issues. 

Publishing Reader Response

I found learning how to write a query letter very interesting because it was a lot like writing a cover letter for a job. In both cases you are trying to sell yourself in a short amount of space, so it makes sense that a lot of the rules are the same. My only question is if different genres have different rules, because it seems like there should be variation between a query letter for a creative writing piece and a query letter for a scientific piece or whatever. 

I really like the little anecdote about the man praying to win the lottery and God saying “first you need to buy a ticket.” So many people complain about not getting what they want when they haven’t even been trying. The rest of the article was pretty cliche inspiration with “practice makes perfect” and “you miss 100% of the shots you never take”, etc, etc, etc. Getting published is the same as getting a dream job or getting a perfect date, you have to keep trying and trying and eventually things will go your way. Though dealing with 250 rejections could get pretty rough. I think most people would give up by then.