The Weather is Full of Promise

I could instantly relate to this piece, because the narrator is talking about Iowa weather and considering I've always lived in Iowa I understand the different types of weather. This chapter reminded me of "The Weather Shifts" by Arthur Sze because both pieces discuss how weather can have an impact on your mood. It also discusses how much age changes the way you see weather and it is very true. When I was younger I saw snow and got excited, I saw sleds, snowmen, and snow days. Now I see driving extra slow, extra dirty restaurant floor, and days added to the end of the year. I believe weather can have a huge impact on how someone is feeling or sees a certain place. I really enjoyed reading this piece.

Homing In Passages

1. She sold real estate, and our family would help maintain the national average by moving every two or three years, but not very far. One time into the green-shuttered house next door on Orchard Street, then two blocks over to Keef Avenue. (51)
RESPONSE: This passage really grabbed my attention, because to me it means there was never a set "home" in the narrators life. Even though he states it was never very far it tells me there was never one set place during his childhood where memories were made and he grew up. I think this could have a big impact on his stability later in life.
2. Even my ex-wife, who wanted some honest distance between us, said, "Don't go out to the Midwest, don't go there." She said it was barren and flat and full of Bibles. (52)
3. But I'd already signed the contract to teach at a coed boarding school in Michigan, a place I'd been and didn't much want to be. (52)
4. "I arrived in heavy rain. No letup for three straight days, and I went stir crazy finally in the knotty-pine-walled cabin I'd rented from the school, classes still two weeks away. A ghost community." (53)
5. "But I believed in omens and signs, and when the sky cleared before the bottle emptied, I took a walk, which, on this campus, meant into the woods--1,800 acres between two lakes, Wahbekaness and Wahbekanetta: "water lingers, water lingers again."(53)
6. "At this moment in the moonlight I imagine that the trim on the trailer house is pink, and that the man is a decent man but a bad drinker--half an hour? All day? How about six months? Perhaps custody of his son depends on the man's sobriety, though who would drive out so late on a night like this to check?" (54)
7. "This is the north country. The bridge across the Mackinac Straits is the longest suspension bridge in the world, connecting the landmass of lower Michigan to the Upper Peninsula (referred to as the U.P.)" (55)
8. "It's already October, and for the past half hour the blue heron has kept his outpost at the first bend, knee-deep in shallows. But now he spreads his enormous wings and rises slow-motion, gliding downriver above the last of the cardinal flowers: blue heron, red cardinal flowers." (56)
9. "So let another winger come. Let it take us where it will." (60)

Just a creek in the woods

You could probably drive past that creek without a second glance, after all it looks just like any other one in Iowa. If you walk along beside it down into the woods you'll come across a swinging bench. It's made of wood and perfectly placed so you can see through an opening in the trees. I promise you it looks beautiful in any type of weather or any time of day and night. In the rain it's empowering and noisy in the wind. The creek will rush and splash as every raindrop hits. Then the morning after in the sunshine and wet grass it will reflect more beauty than you thought imaginable. Silent and peaceful as the animals return out from under cover. It's even better if you share the view with someone else, holding your hand and speaking words you've always wanted to hear and say. Letting nature take you under it's wing and forgetting there's a world outside of those woods. Rain could make you cold, but their arms could warm you. The sun could warm you both as you swing and watch the animals. But then again you probably don't see that when you pass by, you probably just see a creek in the woods.

What is Place?

To me place is not simply the land but everything that is interacting in that environment. Place is always changing and never stays the same, because something or someone in that place is changing it. Once you enter a place it will not be exactly the same when you leave. It has to do with the animals that live there, plants that grow there, people that visit there, or even causes that destroy it in some cases.

Week 7 Reflection

I feel like throughout the trimester so far I have been focusing on making sure my pieces can relate to a specific audience. If a piece is too general it may be read by lots of different people, but that doesn't mean they will understand or connect with it. I feel by adding specific examples and descriptions it makes the piece more personal. I think that is one thing I have gotten better with. Also I feel another thing I try to focus on is exploring with different types of writing styles, different endings, and beginnings. I will often experiment with many different ways to write something before I make a final decision now. Over all I feel my techniques and strategies have been improved. Also I realize that with every piece I write it is new experience and a new lesson can be learned from it.

So Who's To Say?

Society has expectations
That no one ever meets
But what's so wrong with
Marching to a different beat?

It doesn't make you wrong
Or bad in any way
If you go with what you feel
And not care what they say.

It's all anyone wants
To be accepted as a whole
Without changing anything
Or trying to fit the mold.

Be a different color
Because you're one of a kind
Take a chance once in awhile
Don't be afraid to speak your mind.

Words can hurt like fire
Even when there cold as ice
But no one can make you feel
Like you're less than suffice.


*this is just a start to my next individual piece, questions, comments, advice??*

The truth is I can't drive to come see you,
We won't ever fish by the lake again,
The truth is our family will never be the same,
You'll only be able to see those moments from heaven.

The biggest change I made to my last stanza was point-blank saying what the poem was about by adding the part about being in heaven. I can't decide if I want to leave I a little mysterious or point blank like this? Opinions?

Hurt This Much

Maybe if it was just a drive,
Down that highway to get to you,
Maybe if it was that easy,
It might not hurt this much.

Think if I could visit the past,
All those weekends by the lake,
Think if we could fish one last time,
It might not hurt this this much

What if it was that simple,
To connect this family once again,
What if I could hear your laugh one more time,
It might not hurt this much.

If I imagine you at my graduation,
With that big smile on your face,
If I imagine you at my wedding,
It might not hurt this much.

The truth is you are too far away
I can't go back to that time,
The truth is our family will never be the same,
You won't be there for those special moments.

The truth is it does hurt too much.


*This is my first piece for our own writing, please comment*

Poetry

Today our lesson was on poetry, and last week after our interviews I wrote a poem so I decided to take another look at that piece.
The day I learned the feeling,
Of complete terror and fear,
Never had I imagined such a feeling,
In all my sixteen years.
I thought I was invincible,
I thought my plan was full proof,
But it turns out it was another mistake I made,
During my inexperienced youth.
The cops caught me red-handed,
I was so stunned I couldn't even lie,
As they locked me in those silver bracelets,
I wanted to break down and cry.
Wondering how I could be so stupid,
Oh and what my parent's will say,
Our family is so closely knit,
I hope that won't be changed by today.
It was just another mistake a I made,
In irresponsible youth,
It was just another day,
Back when I thought I was bullet-proof.

Thinking Lead

We were never really close, in fact I don't remember very many good memories between us at all. There was probably only a handful of them, and the bad always stand out more than the good. I bet that's true with a lot of things though, it seems to me that people always remember more pain then happiness. Anyways I always complained about him but I never thought it would end like this. I never wanted this.

I decided to practice a thinking lead, because I enjoy them most. I think it's a really personal and emotional way of connecting with the reader.

Writing Marathon

I watched it fly away with it's wings spread wide, soaring high into the sky. Part of me wondered where it must be going. After all the possibilities are endless, that must be nice. I wish I had that freedom and power. The best part about it was no one would know, there would be no one to answer to or explain myself to. Just me and freedom. Maybe that is why birds always seem so peaceful and why people describe their chirps as sining. After all it is a happy noise, wouldn't you be happy if you had that freedom? Right under their wings they have the power to go and never be seen again. Yeah, if I ever wanted to be an animal it was in that moment.

Prompt--Place

Three Rows of Gold
It was three rows long, with ten hay-bails each,
on the edge of the land where the family use to meet.
Laughter still echos and memories still shine,
after so many years of growing and passing time.
The four of us always loved jumping from row to row,
or maybe it was the company we enjoyed so.
Two younger sister's, two older brother's,
Related by heart but not father or mother.
The rows are still there,
even after all these years have passed.
Though the children are not the same,
it's a different generation, children of a different name.
Though we still stand and watch from the side,
underneath that old pine.

Prompt--Emotional Object

It's not like most stuffed animals, filled with fluff like a pillow, instead it contains little beads that would slowly leak out if a seam ever broke. Bead so tiny that it was hard to imagine how many that stuffed frog contained. Which made it heavier to pick up but for some reason felt much more enchanting compared to being stuffed with fluff. The outside has an irregular pattern of colors, a little bit of everything really. There is some blue, green, purple, red, orange, and yellow scattered all over it's back; however, the belly is solid yellow. The smell is the only downfall, since the slight aroma of cigarette smoke will forever be attached. This come's from Grandpa's smoking. I always grabbed the frog the moment I walked into the house and carried it to the couch. Very rarely was I in that apartment without the frog in my lap. It's about the size of a football and he always told me it was too big of a frog for such a little girl, but I didn't care. I took that frog from his apartment the day we cleaned it out, about a week after the funeral. It's faded now, the colors aren't quite as bright anymore, but it still occasionally sits on my lap.