Advanced Essay Writing, Spring 2013

I think my essay topic will be modeled after a rhetorical question that Mr. Parker (my english teacher in tenth grade) asked.

“Where do thoughts go?”

With this topic, I am hoping to interweave what I believe Mr.Parker meant by that question, my own thoughts on the topic, and some quotes from philosophers that pertain to the subject.

My design will be in four windows, modeled after the Johari Window.

I think my focus for the essay will be language and format. I want it to be poetic. I am not yet sure if I will just write it and present it as a lyrical essay standing on its own, or if i will add another medium to it. It will be a hybrid essay because of the interweaving, maybe not of stories themselves but of thoughts.

I am not sure about the title, but maybe I will call it ” A Dreamer’s Dream”, might be too corny. I usually title my writing either while I write or after, so it is bound to change, as is the format of the Johari Window. It might be difficult to implement all of this in one essay and I am not sure if it will work, but thats the idea.

For my final essay, I initially planned to expand on the same story that I covered for my second essay. I thought it would be fun to experiment with the structure and how I told it. But then I thought of a similar experience that might fit better for a lyric essay: My worst experience at the hair salon. It’s also a childhood experience, but this time I will talk about getting my hair pressed (straightened with a hot metal comb) for a party.

For this piece I really want readers to feel what I was feeling. I want them to experience the chaos and confusion of a cluttered salon, to react to the pointless gossip I was forced to hear, and to smell the filthy odor of burnt hair and cheap perfume in a salon with no windows. I want them to see what it’s like to be in a nine-year-old’s shoes, stuck in a high chair with a scalding hot comb against her scalp. I often say that words can’t describe how embarrassing and painful this experience was, but hopefully, this lyric essay will change that.

This fits into a lyric essay category because it will be very poetic, and it will depend a lot on imagery. I intend to use a lot of description for this, so I want the details to be really vivid. I want it to flow like a creative poem because I want it to have rhythm, so I’ll be experimenting a lot more in terms of the structure.

For now, I plan to go through the experience step-by-step and build up to the climax. To signify the shifts between each main point I might use paragraph breaks, but I’m still thinking of other options. And as for the length, I think it will be about 5 pages.

For lack of a better title, so far I’m thinking: Pressed to Kill

I witnessed a smile recently, a kind of smile that is still breathing in me. I also witnessed a cry few years ago, a kind of cry that is still bleeding in me. However, these two events have nothing to do with each other. One originated in Bangladesh and is the story of one of my best friends,and  the other one originated here is in New York and is the story of time. So these two somehow flow in my mind like two rivers flowing parallel side by side but have no common points whatsoever. For my lyric essay I am going to try to connect the two streams and see what color water is going to be after the merge. It could be yellow or orange or indigo or purple or green or gray or blue.

I don’t know what trajectory my essay will take on its way to the end. It’s a journey. Like every other journey my essay will certainly have an end, a destination, but I can’t tell how long it’ll travel through the wings of butterflies. I set my imagination on the wings.

I will call it ” Seven Colors of Butterflies.”

As empty as a ill-fitting tattered suit

As weak as two week old tea with the teabags still inside of the pitcher

Gathered together like a gaggle of geese headed Southwest

As rough as an uncut blood diamond, found in a gutter on the street, from a broken marriage

Trembling like a newly planted sapling in a drafty spring downpour

Praying like a terminal blood cancer patient

Bouncing like a king in his inflatable castle

Smiling like a cougar devouring its prey

Heart of a Tootsie pop

Mountains of freezer burned ice cream

War is eggshells

The ocean is simply the horizon line

The moon is a wheel of the bicycle of the daily cycle

My love is an ocean

Writing is everything and everywhere

Poem:

Smiling like a cougar devouring her prey

She turns praying like a terminal blood cancer patient

Hoping no one saw her in her house of hell

Eating her love is like an ocean.

As empty as a park in the dead of the night
As weak as a newborn
Gathered together like a pair of magents
As rough as sandpaper
Trembling like an ostrich who has spotted a lion
Praying like a mantis
Bouncing like the pavement below him was a trampoline
Smiling like a young girl opening her gifts Christmas morning

Heart of hardened steel
Mountains of granite arrowheads piercing the sky
War is the clash between two hopes that cannot coexist
The ocean is a turquoise explosion of life
The moon is a pockmarked prizefighter at the end of his ropes
This house of elaborate lies
My love is a dream that never slips away
Writing is blood and sweat transformed into ink

The most compelling acts from , “20 Acts in 60 Minutes” are 2,7 and 10.  In Act Two, “No, Of Course I know You,” I really can see how the intricacies of the depths of human connection occur. The way he felt about this woman drove him to both insanity and anguish. He felt that he may have been in love with her at one point and that whatever she had within her he needed for some unknowable reason that even he could not pinpoint. It wasn’t as if it was a love at first sight thing, it was as if he had known her in a previous life and immediately felt more than a connection. He became obsessed with her and can’t even tell her he loves her because he does not even know her in real life. It does not even occur to him to approach her and ask her if they have met before, he immediately jumps to wanting to profess his deep rooted emotions for her. Act Two is a beautiful piece of work. “Up Where the Air is Clear,” Act Seven, is very funny. It speaks to the power of the social circle and acquaintances because everybody else had felt that these two characters, Mary Poppins and Penguin, should meet and when they finally did they barely had anything to say to each other and it was quite uncomfortable. In fact when they met, “Penguin became very shy and quiet. As he stood there staring at her, his top hat felt needlessly clumsy, his monocle too small for his face, and the squinting needed to keep it in place was giving him a slight headache. For the first time in his life, the Penguin felt ludicrous.” Even though he knew he was going to meet her, his reaction was unprecedented in his life. I absolutely loved Act Ten, “Etiquette Lesson.” I think it is fantastic they way they use words to show how theater can work. They use adjectives and adverbs and such but it is once removed. Rather than placing a statement, they just say the word allowing one to insert whatever they think is appropriate based on the tone of the actors’ voices and the emotions. My two favorite phrases from Act 10 are, “aggressive childish insult,” and “pathetic self-evaluation.” The flow of the recording is great. They way they use English and voice and everything is superb. Overall this was an enjoyable experience, however I did not find all of the acts to be compelling. Some of them I found to be a little dumb and pointless.

As empty as an abandoned apartment
As weak as the ebbing tide
Gathered together like chains on 
As rough as my summer soles
Trembling like an apartment in post-earthquake Los Angeles 
Praying like a brotherhood of monks
Bouncing like a tennis ball
Smiling like a kid walking into Disney World for the first time

Heart of splintered bark
Mountains of cigarette ash 
War is a lost boy
The ocean is a well of unheard wishes
The moon is an escape from the darkest night
This house of broken glass
My love is a prisoner
Writing is a beaten dirt road 

——————————-

rooftop wishes (bedford)

my love is a prisoner of a brownstone in bedford,
   where mountains of cigarette ash build on the rooftop,
          the surface as rough as my summer soles,
   as i look out across the borough of the kings.
the moon, an escape from the darkest night,
   no longer lights up my night as it has before.
                          the ocean, that well of unheard wishes,
    has finally heard the splash of my latest coin.
          my heart now beats hard and fast,
          never to be as weak as the ebbing tide again.
                my love is at home in a brownstone in bedford.

After listening to the NPR segment “20 Stories in 60 Minutes”, I found that I was most attracted to stories to which I was able to relate; they struck a chord with me, creating a pathway through which I could connect to the speaker and the material through a strong combination of humor and familiarity.

My favorite segment by far was the story of the Penguin from Batman.  Early in the story, the reader begins talking about a cartoon character drinking Absinthe and reciting poetry from Blake.  this idea both made me laugh out loud and become eager to find out where the rest of the story was going.  The music in the background helps to tell the story and gives time for reflection, an important factor in any story.  The connection to Mary Poppins is also unexpected and hilarious, and the mental image of the Penguin “challenging her to a duel” and “umbrella travel” again kept me on my toes. 

The story of the boys naming their dog Pasta-Batman held many similar qualities to the first story despite touching on a completely different topic in a different way.  What I liked about this story was the way the readers played off of each other, keeping the listener engaged much in the same way the first story did.  I wanted to know more.  The humor in this segment came across in both material and style, and I found myself laughing frequently throughout the course of the tale. 

A final story that contained similar qualities despite being told in a different manner is the story of the woman babysitting for a family with her future husband.  Her voice was immediately engaging, and she allowed time and space for the audience to process that story and imagine what was going to happen as the story went on.  Despite the pauses, the story teller still managed to add shock value to the segment because of her content material.  The lies that they blatantly told to the parents upon their return were hilarious and unexpected.

I enjoyed hearing these stories read out loud because they highlighted the content material and allowed me to reflect on how to get these important factors of making content familiar to your audience and incorporating some shock or surprise into a story to make it a quality read.

Simile

As empty as the open road

As weak as a newborn baby

Gathered together like a group of gossiping schoolgirls

As rough as chafed skin

Trembling like a naked mole rat

Praying like an Olympic gold medalist

Bouncing like light off the wall

Smiling like a child on the last day of school

Metaphor

Heart of a soldier

Mountains of flesh

War is a deadly chess match

The ocean is a boundless pool

The moon is nature’s nightlight

This house of judgment

My love is a chameleon

Writing is a never ending marathon

******

I am still.

I take short deep breaths as I observe them, gathered around like gossiping schoolgirls. The sun has set unusually early today, but that’s ok, the moon is nature’s nightlight and I use it to my advantage.

Crack!

The sound of the bullet escaping the rifle is deafening in the silence.

I hit my mark. Bambi goes down, trembling like a naked mole rat. Panic sets in, the other schoolgirls scramble and scatter, their shadows playing in the moonlight bouncing back and forth off the trees.

I rise, smiling like a child on the last day of school, I collect my victory.  

“Not bad for an old man, huh!” I mock, as I toss the nights dinner in front of the camouflage clad men.

SIMILES

As empty as an egg shell

As weak as the dying

Gathered together like hibernating birds

As rough as love

Trembling like the strings on my guitar

Praying like a new widow

Bouncing like club music

Smiling like the crescent moon

METAPHORS

Heart of glass

Mountains of laughs

War is time

The ocean is a wishing well

The moon is the smile of the sky

This house of lies

My love is the box you should handle with care

Writing is dancing with our hands

POEM

And I can’t seem to find the right way to dream

Under the smile of the sky; the moon shines bright

I sense the vibrant essence of the crescent,

And it keeps me alive.

But my bones shiver.

My body trembles like strings on a guitar.

It plays a sad, sweet melody

And cracks my glass heart.

My love is the box that should be handled with care.

Package my dreams and vacantly stare.