Displacement

This is the second draft of “Rainy Days.” It was selected for “publication” in one of the student-group “magazines” in ENC 4311.

Great Northern Houses

This is the second story I revised for my advanced-fiction workshop. The first one was “Shadows,” neither draft of which was posted here—though I might post the second draft today or tomorrow. The world I created for “Great Northern Houses” intrigued me so much—it grabbed me and wouldn’t let go, and so I had to come back to it, and soon. I agonized over how to revise it, though. The voice was pretty much spot-on, and the dialog was strong overall. At some point I realized that Jerry’s convincing of Tradd in the first draft was too contrived, and so I changed it.

Sugar Cane Fire

I started this essay a day before it was due, and as I wracked my brain for something to write an old faded memory cropped up in my mind.

Meanttobe

I wrote this while sitting in ENC 4311.

Pick up the pen put it right back down and yawn you’re so—tired. Don’t hunch… over. Eyes heavy. Yawn again and I’m awake again and I feel I could punch out a bear or five and they’re talking about an essay “the solace of open spaces” about Wyoming and now I’m thinking about No country for Old men based on Cormac and I need to read blood Meridian for am. Lit. and I could go forever but… I need sleep. First. But Ican’tsleep because I’m going smallgolfing with HollyandMegan and oh Megan, I lovedandthenlost you—and I don’t. Care. Togetyoubackbecause if it’s meanttobe itllhappen right? Probably not because God smiles slowly uponme.

29 October 2009.

I wanted to write something but couldn’t write anything “traditional.” Most of the time when I’m in class I have to write quickly and jumbled.

There’s a paragraph after this but I didn’t include because it has a strongly different feel from this paragraph.

And “I don’t. Care” isn’t true. I do care about Megan (and Kaylee and Sam), but it’s a care for our friendship. None of them invite me to do anything anymore, and knowing how close we were—all of us and each of us—it’s almost unbearably painful to see how badly things have degraded. Ma quella è la vita, certo?

GoToM

For the last six years I’ve had an idea for an animated TV series with a film-noir feel to it. It’s gone through several changes, but oddly enough the main character’s name has stayed the same. That’s not the point.

Overall the series has been basically unaltered since I wrote an introduction to it three years ago while listening to Stereotype Be. Wonderful inspiring music. I’ve worked on it on and off for the past few years, and by that I mean every once in a while I write out a fragment or explanation.

Thinking back to the spring 09 semester, I had to write a treatment for Goodwill Toward Men (GoToM, GTM), both the series as a whole and an episode, including main character descriptions. Because of my lovely animation professor I was put on the path to finishing the series. Somehow. I gave myself an actual foundation to build on.

The point of this is that I won’t be doing any creative writing outside of my classes (not that I have been doing that anyway), so I’ll be scrambling to find old mediocre-at-best material to throw up here. I still have one more short-short draft and one more short-essay draft to write, and then revisions to post, so not everything will be ancient.

Peace.

Men Like Me

We had to go to the Museum of Florida History and use something we learned in our story. I didn’t go, but fortunately for me they have the text of at least some of their exhibits online. I stumbled across their World War II page, and when I looked at the impact on Florida, they said that German POWs were held at two camps in Florida: Camp Blanding, near Starke in northern Central Florida; and Camp Gordon Johnston, near Carrabelle on the northern Gulf Coast.

Verse-Chorus-Verse

I avoided writing about my father for the first essay for my class, but I know the professor wanted me to explore my relationship with my father in the course, and I want him to know that I’ve changed since I wrote “Quattordici agosto duemila.”

From Megan to Sylvia

We had to write a love story and utilize both flashbacks and flashforwards. I hate flashforwards. They come across as telling, not showing, at least the ones I’ve been exposed to, and so I end up telling far too much instead of showing it.

Rainy Days

For my first essay for my advanced-essay course I decided I didn’t want to write about my father, which I know I’ll have to do in my next essay. I ended up running with the “Rainy days” fragment I wrote last year, and didn’t change the title.

Great Northern Houses

I had quite a bit of fun writing this story. The prompt for this one was, “Write a tabloid story.” I was going to write about a teller in a bank who had a box of grenades, but (1) that seemed to be more shocking than tabloidesque, and (2) that was too close to the no-guns/no-deaths rule. I scrambled for something else to write before RUF’s Fall Conference, as I knew I wouldn’t write anything at the conference and wasn’t sure there’d be wireless internet anyway. As I looked at the apartment building in the wee hours of October 2nd, the notion struck me that I should write about buildings that could move.