Christina Mata
Discussion 1
Each required response to classmates must meet
or exceed 150-300 words. In your responses, you may choose to address a
particular example from this week’s Recommended Resources in connection to your
peers’ posts. How does the real-life experience or event described in the
creative nonfiction piece employ elements of poetry and fiction to give it
literary appeal? Use examples and cite your sources in APA format.
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Explain in terms of language, how creative nonfiction borrows
from the genre of poetry.
Creative nonfiction can use the styles of fiction, poetry,
memoirs, and even essays. It can be of personal and public history. It uses imagination
with experience, opinions, and research to materialize its writings. Poetry has
all of it, and creative writing can use the feelings from poetry. Poetry tells
a story with feelings of anger, lust, denial, poverty, incest, even love and
hate. This style of language is what makes creative writing.
Identify how creative nonfiction uses certain conventions
of fiction such as conflict, dialogue, plot, the point of view, etc. to create
appealing narratives.
Creative nonfiction uses conflict, dialogue, plot, the point of
view of things that could have really happened, whether in the past or the
present. It uses these true stories and details to give its readers and enhance
the authenticity of something that has happened or could happen. It brings the readers
into a realm of truth so they can feel the story rather than just read it. It
shows a true conflict that may have happened already or a similar dialogue they
could have read in a news article of some sort with a few variations to bring
it some or more interest into their imaginations. It gives the reader a plot
that they know is plausible and a different point of view that their
imagination can accept. This is what creates the appealing and believable
narratives people enjoy reading.
Discuss why creative nonfiction uses elements of poetry and
fiction and point to specific examples from one of this week's Required or
Recommended Resources to substantiate your ideas.
The reason creative nonfiction uses fiction is relevant in the
works of Joan Didion and her story, "After Life." Didion pieces
together a narrative of events that took place in her life the night her
husband suffered a cardiac arrest at the dinner table in their home. She puts
in writing what she remembered throughout that night and afterward.
I recognize now that there was
nothing unusual in this: confronted with sudden disaster, we all focus on how
unremarkable the circumstances were in which the unthinkable occurred, the
clear blue sky from which the plane fell, the routine errand that ended on the
shoulder with the car in flames, the swings where the children were playing as
usual when the rattlesnake struck from the ivy. (Didion, J. (2005)
This made her narrative of her story compelling and the reader
wanting to know more. It also shows how one person deals with the experience of
grief and death. The poetry is relevant in that poetry tells a story of anger,
like what she felt over the loss of her husband so suddenly, anguish, like what
she must have gone through as she writes about the details of that night.
Poetry also writes about love and companionship as she wrote in the story of
her husband and herself before his demise.
I finished getting dinner. I set
the table in the living room where, when we were home alone, we could eat
within sight of the fire. I find myself stressing the fire because fires were
important to us. I grew up in California, John and I lived there together for
24 years, in California, we heated our houses by building fires. We built fires
even on summer evenings because the fog came in. Fires said we were home, we
had drawn the circle, we were safe through the night. I lighted the candles.
John asked for a second drink before sitting down. I gave it to him. We sat
down. My attention was on mixing the salad.
John was talking, then he wasn't. (Didion, J. (2005)
Explain how and why poetry and fiction also borrow from
real-life experiences. Which poem or story from your readings do you think most
captures the spirit of nonfiction?
Poetry and fiction borrow from real-life experiences for the
reason of bringing their stories more within the realm of belief. Having
realism in their stories makes them more compelling to the reader. Truth
enhances the story of fiction by giving it some realism.
I believe the essay of "The Case for Reparations" by
Coates, T. (2014), gives us the spirit of nonfiction in the story of the
effects of an event or a series of historical occurrences that happened to a
real person during their life.
Reference
Coates, T. (2014, June). The case for
reparations (Links to an external site.)Links to an external site... The Atlantic.
Retrieved from
http://www.theatlantic.com/features/archive/2014/05/the-case-for-reparations/361631/
Didion, J. (2005, September 25). After life (Links to
an external site.)Links to an external site... The New York Times Magazine. Retrieved
from http://www.nytimes.com/2005/09/25/magazine/after-life.html
Kaitlin Bluemel
Creative non-fiction borrows from poetry because it encourages
you to express the emotion and relation that you have personally with what you
are writing. Just like poetry your personal feelings towards the event are what
drives the narrative and keeps the reader interested in your piece.
Just as in ficitional pieces a non-fiction piece flows better
when it has a conflict, dialogue, plot, and a point of view. It makes the piece
more appealing to the reader and makes the reader feel as though they are still
a part of the story, even though it is a piece of non-fiction.
The reason that we use poetry and fictional elements in our
stories is to keep the reader interested and make them want to engage more in
the story. Using bland formats for you narrative will make the reader fall
asleep or just put the reading down and not finish it. Throwing in successful
elements from poetry and non-fiction allows your story to be engulfed by the
readers. They can relate to a story more when it follows the properties that keep
them intrigued.
Poetry and fiction can borrow from real life experiences because
this allows the story to become more relatable and more believable. Readers
don’t like a story that’s too unbelievable because then they are unable to
relate to the story at all. When they can relate to a fictional story they are
more likely to read it to the end and recommend it to others to read.
Joan Didion’s “After Life” captures non-fiction very well
because she looks back on her entire life and reflects what happened. She even
manages to reflect the grief that she felt throughout life and it was very easy
to follow and believe. You know that happened to her and you know it was a true
experience.
Didion, J. (2005,
September 25). After life. The
New York Times Magazine. Retrieved from http://www.nytimes.com/2005/09/25/magazine/after-life.html (Links to an
external site.)Links to an external site.
Meetze, J. & Deutsch, A. (2015). Transcending genre: An
introduction the elements of creative writing [Electronic version]. Retrieved
from https://content.ashford.edu/
Discussion 2
Provide critiques for two peers of your choice and one more for
a peer who either does not yet have a critique or who has the fewest responses
to his or her submission (three critiques total). Your first critique should be
at least 250 words in length and sufficiently address each of the criteria
listed below. Your second and third critiques should be at least 125 words in
length and can focus on one or two criteria in particular, or they can expand
on or engage with another peer’s critique. In your longer critique, be sure to
address the following questions:
·
What is the central
idea, subject, conceit, or emotion expressed in the piece? Is this expressed
clearly or is it obscure?
·
What is the tone of
the piece?
·
Is language used
effectively to create imagery, or could the images be made stronger? If so,
how?
·
What is the point of
view of the piece and how does it inform your reading?
·
Is the ending
effective? Why, or why not?
·
Does the piece build
on a particular theme? Is its exploration of the theme effective, or could it
be made more so? How?
·
What suggestions would
you make to the author to improve the work?
Be sure to use specific examples from the piece to substantiate
your critique. Remember that a critique includes constructive criticism and
praise, but it should strive to balance both. It is important for the author
being critiqued to understand how his or her piece is being read and whether or
not the intent of the writing is conveyed effectively.
Christina Mata
Believe
Christina Mata
English 318 Creative Writing
Instructor Melody Bebonnel
October 9, 2017
Believe
The station was a dark and dreary place at midnight. There was no sound except
that of the distant chirping of crickets. The air felt cold and still as a
bleak cemetery. Because of it being a small town, the next train was not due
until nine in the morning, and the only motel had no vacancies. A tall,
handsome featured man with a sturdy build, and sandy colored hair cut close to
his scalp like a military cut, stood holding his keys and a suitcase. He was
staring at the station with eyes that only saw facts and a look of anxiety over
spending the night in such a desolate place. The man's only recourse was to
stretch out on the wooden bench in the depot. He thought to himself, at least
it is nice and warm in here. The only other person in the deserted building at
the time was the station agent.
"Are there any others waiting for the train?" the man asked the
station agent.
"Nope, you're the only one here tonight," he replied.
"Guess I'll stretch out on this bench tonight." said the man.
"Sure, go ahead., maybe you'll dream of a pretty girl to keep you
company." the agent replied with a smirk as he walked outside.
As the man was sitting down on the bench, he heard a woman's voice. A tall,
slender built woman in her late twenties, hair the color of corn silk and
looking just as soft, smiling at him with green eyes that seem to shine right
through a person; walked over to the man. With a voice as tender and gentle as
an angel, asked the man sitting on the bench.
"Excuse me, would you like to have some company and talk for a while, I
would like some company and some conversation.
The woman with the angelic voice sat down next to the man on the hard bench. As
the man answered her, he noticed the air was suddenly so cold he could see his
breath, and he thought the agent must have left the door open, or the woman did
when she came in. He looked at the door and noticed it closed. It would be nice
to have someone to talk with for a while the man thought to himself as he
replied,
"Why not, not much more to do in this small town. My name is Franklyn
Wavering, but you can call me Frank. What's yours?"
"My name is Faith Troth, but my friends know me as just Faith. Where are
you headed Frank?" she asked.
"Texas, to see my girl." replied Frank
"What's your girl like, have you been together long?"
"Oh, she's pretty, really pretty, kind of smart too, but she still
believes in fairy tales and that God-fearing stuff." the man said with a
sarcastic grin.
"What do you mean God-fearing stuff?" asked the woman.
"You know," said the man. "stuff like spirits, angels, turn the
other cheek kind of stuff," said the man.
"You don't believe in God, or angels or going to heaven when you die? She
asked
"Nah," said the man, "You die, you just die, the end. Nothing
left, you don't go anywhere else, you're dead, that's all." the man
replied.
"Oh, I see, you don't go to church or believe in an afterlife with God in
heaven. What do you believe? She inquired.
"Me, I believe in me, not any of that other hogwash stuff, ordinary people
try to convince others so they can get their money; it's just a scam, and a
pretty darn good one if you ask me."
"What about miracles, do you believe in them?"
"There's no such thing as a miracle; you sound like my girlfriend. She
say's miracles are acts shown to us by God, to let us know he loves us. They've
brainwashed her all her life, but I'm hoping to set her straight." he
remarked with disgust.
"Have you ever seen something you could not explain? Or has someone done
something that was beyond belief?" asked the woman.
"There's always a reasonable answer for everything. It can all be
explained through science, and facts and give you a credible explanation.
People just want to believe in fairy tales," he told the woman.
"Fairy tales are made up stories to soothe young children into peaceful
slumber at night, not achieve miraculous acts to save those from death or
destruction. You hear every day of someone doing something that was impossible
for them to do, like lifting a car off a loved one, or knowing something is
going to happen to them if they take a certain flight. There is no scientific
explanation for that." she said with conviction.
"Why are you so sure there are angels?" he questioned her
"Why are you so convinced there aren't?" she retorted. "There
are miracles! Some people do the impossible. There is no answer scientific or
otherwise for someone cured of a deadly disease the doctors could not cure, yet
the person is miraculously free of the disease, and no one knows why. They just
say it's a miracle." You might just be a miracle yourself one of these
days. What would you think then?" The woman looked at the man for his
answer.
"Don't be ridiculous I need a cigarette," he exclaimed as he walked
out of the building. The air outside seemed a lot warmer than inside of the
building; the man did not realize how cold he was in the building. The man lit
his cigarette and took some puffs of it, as he thought to himself about the
conversation he just had with the woman inside. Thinking, he said to himself,
what is with these bible toting people who believe in all this stuff.?
"Why can't a guy just wait for his train in peace?" he found himself
saying out loud as he put his cigarette out with his foot and walked back into
the building. The man looked, but he couldn't see the woman anywhere. He
decided to sleep for a while on the hard bench, and as he laid back, he
realized it wasn't cold anymore inside. When he awoke hours later, it was
already light, and as the train agent walked by the man sitting on the bench.
The train agent asked the man,
"Are you hungry, there are donuts and hot coffee in the office, you're
welcome to some if you want?"
"Yea," the man replied as he stood up, stiff from sleeping on the
hard bench all night. "I can use some hot coffee; did you ask the woman if
she wanted a cup?"
"Woman, what woman?" the agent asked.
"The woman I was talking to last night as we sat on this
bench." the man replied nonchalantly.
"There was no woman, in here last night, you been asleep right there on
that bench all night long." the station agent said.
The man looked at the agent like he was crazy or something.
"Must have been one hell of a dream you had last night?" the agent
said with a smirk.
"Yea, some dream," said the man, with a questioning look. The train
pulled into the station right on time, and the man was the only person to get
on. He looked for the woman on and off the train, but he did not find her. When
the train pulled into his stop hours later, he saw his girlfriend waving at him
beyond the gate.
"Hi, did you have a nice trip?" she asked.
"Yeah, it was alright I guess. Sure, glad to see you though." He
replied.
"Did you miss me?" she asked with a smile.
"Sure did, more than you can know."
As they were getting into the car to leave the station, the girlfriend replied,
"We need to hurry if we want to miss the evening traffic on the 405, it
can get quite crowded, bumper to bumper."
Without a thought, he suggested,
"Let's have an early dinner and wait till after the traffic clears before
we get on it Ok; I just have this need to have you close to me for a while in
some quiet, safe place."
"Alright, is anything wrong?" she asked concerned.
"I don't know, just don't want to get in all that traffic right now, we
could be there for hours, who knows; besides suddenly I'm hungry" he
stated with a look of confusion on his face.
"No problem, I know of a little Chinese restaurant just a few blocks from
here, you do still like Chinese, right? she questioned.
"Chinese sounds great, let's go."
As they were eating their dinner, a news report interrupted the scheduled
broadcast on the small television above the counter in the restaurant. The news
reporter said there was a massive pile-up on the 405 that just happened minutes
ago and they expected hours of delay and many requiring medical attention. They
were asking everyone to stay off the 405 until further notice and take
alternate routes around the devastation on the 405. The man and the girlfriend
looked at each other in disbelief.
"We could have been in that accident; I'm so glad you decided to eat;
first, you probably saved our lives," she exclaimed shockingly.
"It wasn't me." He said, looking amazed and remembering what the
angelic woman had said to him last, "You might just be a miracle yourself
one of these days. What would you think then?"
"Sure, it was, you didn't want to go on the 405 until after we ate
something, you said we would probably get stuck in traffic for a long time. I
remember you saying that." She frightfully exclaimed.
"No, I'm telling you it wasn't me. I was told last night by an angel to
believe." He said with certainty.
"What! You always said there is no such thing as an angel, and what do you
mean, believe? What has gotten into you, you've been acting strange since I
picked you up at the train station?"
"I do believe in angels now, I do believe! And I believe in miracles
too," the man said convincingly.
By Christina Mata
Kaitlin Bluemel
A Night of Discovery
Out of reach from the rest of the world lies a small town,
containing a mere 3000 people. These people lived their days as if there was
nothing truly different about them. Most of them were born there and most of
them would die there. It is true that the town may not be like the rest of the
cities and towns found throughout the world. They are developed but they are
still simple and less progressed than the others. In the center of town is a
single stoplight, it flashes red constantly, it has no other colors. The stop
is a 4-way stop, stop and go style. Whoever stops first goes first, and the
light continues to blink. The light was how the people of the town would tell
directions. “Go to the 4-way, or the flashing light, and turn left” they would
tell travelers, or right, or wherever they needed to go. The single flashing
light was the main “landmark” they would follow. The little town was still
developed enough to have running water, they used cars and not horses, and they
did not have to shoot their dinner out of their back door. Contrary to popular
belief of outsiders they were still part of the modern world, they just liked
to keep the people of the modern world away.
When travelers heading East would exit off the highway in to the town the first
thing they come across is the town’s own historical landmark. Fort Bridger is
what they called it, named after a pioneering mountain man, Jim Bridger. The
original fort was a fur trading outlet that helped to supply the mormon
pioneers as they came out west, Jim Bridger supplied them with food and
supplies to finish their journey to the Salt Lake Valley, he also supplied
travelers on the Oregon and California trails. Later on the army established
the fort as a military post for the Utah war, after which the fort was closed
and used as a pony express station. The historical site still contains the
original fur trading post, a jailhouse, a school house, homes that were
believed to belong to army generals and commanders, and a few other structures.
The fort is one of the few things that bring travelers in and out of the little
town, the other is cheaper gas as they pass through on their way to somewhere
else. Not much else was there for people to see, so people came and left just
as fast as they arrived.
The people of the town took great pride in their small place in history. They
kept the old fort updated and maintained. Every year they held an annual even
that brought in more outsiders but they all left when it was over. In the
daylight people come to see it all day long, they walk through the buildings
and check out the small museum where they can buy souvenirs. At night time they
shut it down. Lights are off, gates are locked, and no one can get in without
climbing a fence or wiggling through a gate. On the outside it looks peaceful
and serene, nothing odd, nothing wrong, it looks like a typical tourist
attraction. But on the inside the peaceful appearance shatters.
Rebecca Saunders, a young girl of 16, was sitting at a table with her friends
in their high school lunch room. They were talking and laughing about different
things they planned to do for the upcoming weekend. It was Halloween after all
and they all wanted to do something fun and a little daring.
“Let’s go to the haunted walk through at the town hall.” Her friend Bridgett
says.
“I was thinking of going to the Halloween dance.” Sarah chimes in.
“How about we do something we haven’t done before.” Rebecca replies to them.
They all stop and look at her, wondering what there was to do in this town that
could possibly be different. They had a bowling alley, the high school, a
grocery store, a couple restaurants, and a lot of bars. That was it. Not a lot
of things for kids to do except hangout at each other’s homes and try to be
entertained by each other or movies.
“Like what,” asks Sarah, “did you have an idea in mind? There’s really not much
else.”
“Well…” Rebecca holds back for a minute, “I’ve told you both about how at night
the fort seems to be really creepy, since I live right by it. I bet on
Halloween it would probably be even creepier.”
“As awesome as that would be, I bet it’s impossible.” Bridgett adds, “We’ve all
heard the stories of the place, I bet the cops will be guarding that gate like
hawk.”
“We don’t have to go through the gate, we just climb the fence in my back yard
and we’re in.”
Bridgett and Sarah look at each other then back to Rebecca. “Why not.” Sarah
says.
And that was that. They would be trespassing in to the old fort on Halloween
night and hope that they could get a scare that’s worth it and not get caught
by the cops.
On Halloween night they met at Rebecca’s at 8:00. Her parents were both at
work, so the plan wouldn’t be swayed by them at least. They gathered up a
couple flashlights, some RedBull, threw on their coats, and headed out to
Rebecca’s back yard. Naturally it was snowing on Halloween, which was pretty
typical for the area and it didn’t catch any of them by surprise.
Since Bridgett was the tallest the helped everyone else over the fence and then
climbed over herself, it was easy for her. After Sarah was over they headed
across the meadow to the first restored building which was a home. All of the
building had been locked up but the first home sat next to a cemetery, it was
small but creepy nonetheless. The cemetery held those who had died at the fort
during the time of war. Some killed by Indians, some by disease, some were even
babies. The first house was the main big house, stories were told about a
military general that could be seen in the top bedroom window. There were also
stories of ghost people that roam the grounds, as well as a military dog who
also has a marked grave out in the field.
The girls were there with the hopes that these spirits, or at least one of
them, would manifest themselves and fulfill their spooky weekend. Sure enough
as the girls were walking by the main has the door flew open and slammed
against the wall. They all froze for a minute and then Rebecca stepped forward.
“Let’s go in.” She said with a smile. The other two looked at
her as if she was crazy. “Come on, you guys wanted a creepy weekend now let’s
go in the creepy house with the creepy door. Even if there is a ghost it can’t
do anything to you. It’s a ghost, they have no physical properties.”
Rebecca headed in to the house; the other two hesitated but
followed after her. It was dark and you couldn’t really see anything, there
wasn’t even light shining through the windows. Sarah turned on her flashlight
and kept it as low as possible so no one could see people were in the house.
“Let’s go upstairs” Rebecca said and headed up the stairway.
The upstairs landing was a long narrow hallway with doors
leading to tiny bedrooms. At the end of the hallway was the room that the
general supposedly manifested in. She began to walk towards it when something
grabbed her arm. It was Bridgett.
“Don’t do it. We wanted a good scare, we don’t want to die.”
“We’re not going to die,” Rebecca rolled her eyes and shook
Bridgett off her arm. “I just want to check it out.” She walked to the bedroom
and looked in. Nothing. It looked the same as it did during the day. No ghost,
no creepy feeling, the temperature didn’t even change. Rebecca turned back
around to face her friends and her eyes went wide. Standing behind Sarah was
the ghostly reflection of an old military general. The general grabbed Sarah’s
hair and dragged her down the stairs. The flashlight fell to the floor. The two
girls ran after her down the stairs. When they got to the bottom there was
nothing there. The rooms had the plexiglass so you couldn’t go in them, and
Sarah was nowhere to be seen. They looked everywhere throughout the fort until
morning came. Bridgett and Rebecca parted ways and went home, they didn’t know
what to do or who to tell.
It wasn’t until 2:00 PM on November 1st that they discovered what happened to Sarah. The workers
that maintained the fort had found the main house to be unlocked, but no sign
of breaking and entering. Nothing was damaged or missing, but they had found a
flashlight on the upstairs landing. A mannequin had also been found inside one
of the rooms of the main house, it was the mannequin of the general with his
professional sly smile. In the mannequins hands they found some hair, with
flesh still attached at the ends. At his feet lay a girl in modern clothing,
made completely of wood, her scalp missing and horror carved in to her face.
posted by simon jones @ 08:22
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