Two page Backward Paper

She turned her head and died.
“Don't be afraid for me. I can see them and this place seems beautiful!”, she said with excitement despite her breath coming in breaks. A look came into her eyes and it was clear to David that Ruth was passing quickly. He held her hand so that she would have a hold on the physical all the way through to the end. David felt helpless in a way he never had, he had always been able to protect her when necessary, but not today he couldn't and probably never again.
Turning the corner into the small hospital room he could see Ruth's withering image in its deepest weakness. Then the stopped at a door and the nurse pointed, “In there,” she said and then when she saw he hesitation added, “Its alright, give her someone to be with. The nurse led David through the hallway past dozens of rooms that held their own personages who were somewhere important to someone. He started to walk behind her as she slipped down the hall. David's heart pounded with the knowledge of what he was here to accomplish.
“Follow me,” a nurse with the name tag “Ellen” directed him with a kind, understanding smile.
He looked around anxiously at every face at the hospital desk, clearly unsure who to beg for assistance in completing his quest.
“I need help finding Ruth...Jensen...” he trailed off.
Seeing the desk with three nurses in the middle of the hallway he rushed up to it. Clearing the sliding doors that seemed to be moving especially slow tonight David entered. It was clear that the hospital was small and not used to much action. He sprinted across the small parking lot toward the brown-red brick building that held the object of his affection. David pulled into one of the parking stalls and screeched the breaks to a stop while opening the door and releasing the keys from the ignition.
What would he discover when he got there and how would it change him. The sign he passed indicated that the hospital was going to be the next right turn. David's palms were sweaty on the wheel of the Land Rover and though he drove his mind was on what he considered entirely more crucial. What did it all mean? He had never felt so much worry and stress. Would it even still be called home? How would the meaning of life change if Ruth never enter their home again? It wasn't life that passed before his eyes, it was only Ruth.
He ripped onto the state highway going south. All of their excitement had now changed to tragedy, all of his dreams to nightmares. It had been a beautiful day then and they had felt like the world was theirs with nothing to slow them down. Sitting in the swinging seat they had held each other close while overlooking the still lake. They had discussed all their plans for the future, none of them involving what he was now feeling. That summer became clear like a crystal ball. David's mind focused on a solid thought of his sweetheart and memories flooded his vision so that they became quite distinct. It was unreal, it didn't even make sense.
In a jerked u-turn David spun the car around heading away from home.
“O..Ok,” David forced out as he put the phone down without realizing what he was doing.
“I'm sorry, these might be her last moments and we wanted you to have the opportunity to be with her,” spoke an intangible voice on the phone.
“What are you saying?,” said David, understanding, but not wanting to.
The voice came again,“There have been complications and it looks like she might not live much longer.”
“What?,” David whispered.
“Ruth is not doing well, and we believe that she is dying despite all we can do,” explained the cruel reality on the other end of the line.

3.8 Stock Characters

Evangelist/Rich Wido
"Maam, 'cuse me but it seems the Lawd has been good to ya!"
"Maybe I should thank the LAWD for my husband who has been dead for nine years. It was such an immense blessing."
"We'll ya see Ma'am the Lawd giveth and he taketh away. Idn't that true?"
"My husband worked for all I have, I don't think the Lord gave him anything."
"We'll den, he gave yo husban' da health to do all the this work."
"The health to be dead!"
"Now Ma'am I understand that the Lawd done bless you with an aweful lot of monetary blessin'."
"Not the Lord sir."
"We'll thats as may be, but I think you know bout all deem orphans and po'. Why I was wonderin' if you wouldn't wanta put some food on der plates wit some of yo' extreme blessings Ma'am."
"No I wouldn't."
"But Ma'am beggin' yo' pardon Ma'am, some day yous a gonna die and den where will all dose money be? I know da Lawd gonna bless you if you go an' help dese po' folks."
"No he won't."
"Now how you know dat Ma'am?"
"Because my husband donated to your cause 2 days before he died!"
"Oh."

Story in Calender form

Emily: Just to let you know I don't have your blog site, I thought I did but I dont so I'm just gonna give it a go and do my best.

Two thousand and one, the year of Luanne. January I met Luanne who was clearly the most amazing girl I've ever dated. She had that something else that just can't be explained. Between personality, talent, attraction and who I felt like when I was around her I was in love.
In February we were together nearly everyday. My schedule changed from focus on myself to making time for book clubs, dancing and even racket ball tourneys which she was better at than I was, but that never seemed to matter.
March is where I started to see real Luanne. I found out that like me she was not perfect, but her "bad habits" and mistakes didn't seem to bother me. In fact I thought they were cute. When her weaknesses made her more beautiful I realized I was hooked.
I took Luanne to meet my parents in April. My mother was the first to say, "Don't let this one go." When Mom gives the go ahead that's when you know that your seeing the real deal and not something that your mind just makes up. Her family turned out to be just as great as her and I felt like a member though I technically wasn't.
The new job that Luanne took in May had her moving out to Buffalo for two months, but it only happened at the end of the month. We treasured each moment together and firmed our promises that we would meet often and phone daily. I even secretly discovered her ring size.
Our talks on the phone were the highlight of everyday in June. I know I tired out family and roommates with my recounts of our hours on the line, but they were patient and we were still as in love as ever. We were planning our meeting the next month and I would be flying out to spend a week with Luanne, which is when I was planning on popping the question.
Her work picked up in July and her late nights working kept our phone conversations to a minimum, but the feeling was still the same. A new work load made the planned trip impossible so I held off for when she would soon be home. We could plan our future then.
August. She decided to stay in Buffalo. The work opportunity is too good. Our conversations came far apart. By the end of the month Luanne was dating other bloks and I was thinking about their dates.
We broke up September 16th and I went home to spend sometime with family. I still wanted to take a trip to Buffalo, just to see the sights, but I couldn't get up the energy to go. Besides Luanne wouldn't return the calls that I gave her to know where to tour while I was in town.
I don't really remember much about October and November except that I watched a lot of movies and was working too much to think about many other things.
December came around and friends wanted to set me up, but I was just to happy being single. Christmas was great with the family and I got a lot of things done during the month. I wasn't too excited about the new year, so I planned the trip to Buffalo that I had been planning to take for months.

Free Write-Literature and new literature

This is rather random, but I've been thinking about literature and what we think of when we write new literature. I've been thinking that nothing is really new. It's like saying that "I am completely my own person" without looking at who you were raised by and where your bloodline comes from. Sorry genetic history and examples around you matter. So when we write whose to say the are not subconsciously using other sources, other literature read, influence our own styles and subjects. In fact the majority of the writers that are considered the greats were very well read. So where am I going with this? We'll I feel like there is this idea that you have to be completely your own, but first of all it is unobtainable and second unnessesary. We will all be effected by what we read even if it doesn't seem like we are so why act like were self made writers. Besides isn't there value in using others as our examples and having something to compare to and to learn from? Its rather like geneology. When we look at what we have read it is like the family line as we start to create our own works, there is a little something from everywhere. So I say we embrace our heritage and acknowledge that, yes, we are all creative, but we are absolutely not self made. Our own styles are ours but only after we see what else is out there and make different parts our own.

Random Fiction Write-Free Write

Saying a forest is wild seems like the most obvious statement in the world. How can it be a forest if it is not a far expanse of trees, bushes, logs, creatures and other uncultivated living and dead. A tame forest makes sense only for those who were raised in cities and think the difference in an orchard and natures foliage are minuet. If land is covered by trees that man did not plant it therefore must be a forest and is most clearly wild. That is why in most cases putting the two words in the same sentence is unnessesary most of the time, except in the case of Locklearna. No, with Locklearna the forest is wild. Wild enough that it must be called thus.

Flashback flash forward handout exercise

Michael flew down the Old Tillery road on his well used ten speed. Looking desperately for Jenna he turned, tearing up a small alley that led to the Matthews Elementary School. He had to have her home before everyone was waiting for her to show to her surprise birthday party. Coming around the bend that faced the schools playground he saw her. "Jenna! I've been looking for you," he spoke quickly, ineffectively trying to cover up his fast paced breath. She sat on one of the aged and somewhat rusty swings, barely rocking. "Mom said she would push me on this swing even if I were a teenager." Jenna words came out as if she hadn't realized she were no longer alone, looking intently at the brown worn walls of Matthews. "Well, I'm a teenager and Mom won't push me," Jenna stated with only a slight quiver of emotion on the word "won't." Michael let the surprise party slip from his mind as his mothers smile came back to him. The smile was the only thing that still seemed real from the faded face that had been changed and buried more than two years ago. In the silence Michael heard a song begin far off in the distance. He didn't recognize it, but the first two notes were the same as those of a song that mother used to sing. Not often. Just when the world was all peace and she had been tucking her children into bed with the tranquil hours before dawn.

Free-write

Some of the most fun memories are those of first encounters. However I believe that we often over look some of our most important first encounters. We often consider them to be a new person that we meet. These experiences lead to funny memories of those we saw as prideful or kind only to find out that the person was completely opposite of what they seemed. How come we don't see a new event or a new place as a first encounter? How are these different from people? Often we come to see these events in a different light then we did originally. Experience changes our perception. The first time I went snow boarding I looked at steep slopes as insurmountable obsticles and yet now, to my changed eye, I see fun and hills that often seem no challenge at all. Funny how experience and time changes these first run-ins that we have to something else entirely.

Ekphrastic Poem-Fallen Monarchs

Fallen Monarchs-William Bliss Baker

Brilliant light illuminates
Kings of the Glen,
though some lay dormant
their lower subjects garnishing them in green.

Once their royal shroud
now their epic demise.

Amidst them
a sad lone youth of no color
no future.

So close to
cool gloomy liquid.

Strange that this be nourishment,
though it seems the season,
demands respect from all pilgrims.

Cut from a life of promise
through weapons that can't leave it be.

Did the creator see himself?
Did he know he would never be a Lord?
His fall coming before other royalty.
Himself he might have seen,
cohabitant with all at vibrant twenty-seven.

Juxtaposition Poem

1. New version

Others in safety from danger
On a shore of smooth caressing wind and cool sun
Food delightfully in abundance
Life good, life hard, life worthwhile,
Steady shade from strong roots help it stand for a century
They never come home the same
all is satisfaction
family for who not what
A dark person yet
Lively and passionate, religious friend

2. Original

Lively and passionate, religious friend
I bravely lead others to safety from danger
A dark and painfully familiar person
Relaxing on a shore to smooth caressing wind and cool sun
My family loves me for who I am not what I do
Food is delightful
but all I want is satisfaction
life is good, life is hard, life is worthwhile
They say you can never come home
Steadily gives shade from strong roots that will help it stand for a century, green and rough

Using Kincaid's Essay for my own

When I joined the Kahuku football team I was a senior in High School I went from fan to family. The Kahuku I knew smashed oppenents by fifty points and walked through the Hawaii leagues with a special swagger, the king in its class. It was fascinating because I was a well know, some would say crazy fan before that season. Decked in Red and white paint with a visable "K" on my bare chest I would cheer our boys to victory while entertaining a faithful crowd who loved good fanhood. My school pride was even richly rewarded with many class office titles and even an adorning of the coveted "most spirited" award. Still, I had never worn the sports jersey through school, all day on the fridays before the game and walked with the knowledge that I would be facing another team on the field of battle in a few hours. While I had pride in my school I had never had to preserve the pride of my school. In joining with these other warriors my understanding of it was bound to change forever.

Free Write-On memories

The other day in the quite backyard of a friend who live close by I just sat, by myself and enjoyed nature for a few minutes. There is something inherently right about doing that sometimes. There was no one in sight and sitting on the rough broken cement furnace in the old yard I had just a little deja vu. It strange, you'll be walking out of the house on your way somewhere and all of a sudden the breeze carries a light flowery fragrance through the warm air and its like for a moment your somewhere in your past. I always leave those experiences trying to remember what it was for or why the occurance happened. It always feels like there has to be a reason for such nastolgia to occur or else why would we feel such a strange sensation. For me in most cases it is a sense of contentment, like a peice of perfection from my youth. I often wonder if my soul is trying to remind me of something.

Free Write-Poetry's accessability

So heres the deal, I'm probably breaking your heart when I say this but I don't get Jorie Graham or others like her. Genius probably, but benefit. Alright admittedly that's a little harsh. I have read an entire book of her poetry, then reread it, then reread another part of it. Keep in mind that one reading involved reading what she wrote many times. I didn't understand anything until I had discussed the readings of her in the class I was in. In order to understand her you have to now the subject she is talking about and the entire history of her life. I think that she is brilliant and I don't mean to say that her writing isn't interesting from a scholarly perspective, but thats just it. Literature seems like something that everyone should be able to appreciate and Graham's type of poetry, seems to me, a poetry written for the few and the priviledged. I am realitively educated and have read a lot of literature, yet I still don't understand these complexities in Graham. Imagine, then that the majority of the world has an education far below my own. If those who can comprehend literature still can't comprehend certain kinds of poetry its almost like its written for the intellectual and educational elite. I'm not saying its wrong, but for someone who makes their living being a poet, what is the end goal or is there one?

Camel, spiral and windmill

America's broke they say
It's broke on so-called needs

This habit a cash crop
Mostly 'cause you spend it

It runs the day
like a vent to windmill for addiction

We call it camel
We see a cowboy

All it really is:
cancer

And a downward spiral

The prize of the catch

I'm not sure if I am supposed to post the picture or not. In this picture with outstretched arms I am holding aloft two dead octopus with a tough look on my face. They are both about five pounds and hang limp for around three feet. Before that day my friend Jeremy Keys and I had already been fully integrated in the spearfishing world minus one thing, we hadn't speared any octopus. I had asked many a talented fisher how I was to recognize one and I had always been told to look for their eyes in the hole and no more. This Saturday morning we had decided to spend all day spearing and we tried both sides of the bay where we were living. Jeremy didn't know it, but I wasn't even looking for fish (not to say that I didn't shoot at some), because I was so concentrated on trying to find an octopus. After two hours in the water on the south side of the bay we ran into a couple of my old high school friends who said they were looking for tako (what Hawaiians call octopus-though its actually a Japanese word) however they had been unable to find any. So, we returned to the north side of the bay. As soon as we were on our way out, maybe twenty feet from shore, I spotted an octopus moving out from some rocks and shot it. It was pitifully small and rather than deprive the squid of its life I decided to let it go. Octopus heal easily so I wasn't worried about it dying. The way it scrambled away let me know that it was okay. So the hunt went on and two hours later we had no octopus but we did have a few fish. However I had learned to recognize the type of hole that the small octopus had come out of earlier and I was hoping that it would help me identify other holes where my prey might be dwelling. I was finally rewarded when I could see the large eye of what was obviously a much larger Octopus. It was a thing of beauty and so was the fight to get it out of there. It took about five minutes but it was worth the wait. I ran it up to the house whooping and yelling enough to get Jeremy's attention. I dropped it in a bucket and jumped back into the sea with my skills now honed. In less than two minutes I was fighting my second octopus with glee. By this time Jeremy was not only impressed but jealous. After dropping off my second prize I returned to show him how to find them and we were both soon catching octopus with ease. In the end I had 3 and Jeremy collected two. We knew that we would never eat all of them so we took pictures and then let the three smallest go. Then, after beating them to death, we took pictures with the largest two while smiling and laughing about the shear joys of the day. We were finally baptised spear fishermen

Free Write-Mother and snakes

I thought that I would honor mothers as sunday was mother's day. I was priviledged to be with my mother yesterday. From the back yard my little 8 year old brother came running back with a good sized garter snake. He was characteristically holding it by the tail. "Don't hold it by the tail," my mother said, "you might hurt it." Then without any fear she reached out and took it from him so that he could adjust his hold on the serpent.
I was impressed since I know few women that would hold a snake and fewer still that will do so without showing fear. I said as much and my mother just laughed. "With you guys I had to learn how to hold snakes, " Mom said. As young rascals my younger brother Jon and I would hunt for hours to find the biggest and the greatest number of the long slithery reptiles. We still pride ourselves as having caught 17 in 3 hours. The neighbors remember having snakes all over their yard for weeks after we let all 17 go in their yard. Well, Mom said let them go she didn't say where.
"I remember the day that I lost all fear for garter snakes, "Mom told me. "The two of you were at school and I was walking around in the Parkers backyard (neighbor friends) and I saw three of them. I knew I had to catch them because you two would love them so much." She recounted how she desperately ran around gathering our treasures and by the end had decided that they weren't that bad after all.
There is no story off the top of my head that would better show my mothers love for her children. I her the unsavory task of capturing garters was not nearly as unfortunate as the chance that her boys might miss natures blessing in these animals. On Sunday her steady hand again held the snake for my youngest brother and it might sound strange, but it seemed a sign of her motherhood.

Exercise 7.1

My senior year of high school I took a class from one of my favorite teachers, Mrs. Palmer. It was a class that I had always wanted to take since I Knew Mrs. Palmer and thought her an excellent teacher. We read many books that year that had never even considered reading before. This was an experience that helped me to grow and develop a deeper level of evaluating literature. I will however never forget reading the Heart of Darkness and writing the essay that was due at the end of it.
The Heart of Darkness is quite confusing especially to me. In our class discussions, for better or worse, I would always put in my opinion about what I thought the text meant. I soon discovered that Mrs. Palmer was not opened to other interpretation of the novel. Class discussions were not so much discussions as they were question asking. I am, however, stubborn and was significantly more interested in my own thoughts than I was in hers. When the final essay rolled around I decided pointedly that I would travel my own road and display the Heart of Darkness as I saw it, with all necessary evidence to back it up.
I wasn't excited about the essay, but I was excited about proving my point and with all the energy I could muster I went through the entire book again looking for any sliver of evidence that would prove my point. I found a lot and wrote my paper with the assurance that I, with my non-conformist attitude would show Mrs. Palmer that my own interpretation was legitimate. It was with confidence that I laid my rebel paper down on her desk a few days later.
When everyone got their essays back a week later I had the lowest grade in the class. How was this possible! The next entire week was spent with a half hour after class fighting my case before my lone judge, Mrs. Palmer. I would show her how I had proved this idea or that concept, but it always came back to one thing: "I told you that your idea was wrong in our class discussions", Mrs. Palmer would say, "you shouldn't have continued with that topic."
Well, I might have got a D on that paper and that did reflect in my overall grade, however I still got into college. I still interpret books with my own thoughts and I wouldn't have had it any other way. It's funny how right or wrong you can justify anything to yourself. I was right, by the way.

Goals for Class and as a Writer

I hope to discover more of a flow for my writing abilities. Part of this involves increasing my vocabulary and discovering a use for words that makes my writing more interesting. I also want to identify better with my readers by linking the subject of my writing with some universal message that others can understand and relate to. As a writer I want to write stories for family and memory. I think that knowing how to write in this way will increase my ability to connect with others especially those closest to me.

My First Memory

When I was very young we lived in Las Vegas. Especially when I was little anything with animals and bugs fascinated me. I couldn't have been older than 2 or 3, but I remember playing with a couple of cicadas (insects that make a super loud buzzing noise) while my mother worked in the garden. They were different colors and I pretended that one was a man and the other a woman and that they were married. In talking to my mother I found out that this memory actually did happen and was more than just my imagination.