Advanced Essay Writing, Spring 2013

Simile

As empty as…the desert

As weak as…a little girl

Gathered together like…prisoners

As rough as…burlap

Trembling like…a first date

Praying like…a nun

Bouncing like…a ball

Smiling like…a clown

Metaphor

Heart of…gold

Mountains of…laundry

War is…a drug

The ocean is… a hole

The moon is… meditation

This house of… horrors

My love is…magic

Writing is…work

Trembling

With my eyes closed

Talking about what happened

Trying to put words together to not cause much harm,

My words gathered together like prisoners yearning for freedom

And I’m still trembling like a first date

He caresses my face and closes his eyes tightly

And brought his lips to mine.

I squinted

It was a bit like a big, wet kiss on the lips,

But I was sure that I don’t wanted to be kissed by him anymore

I felt nothing

I was empty as my silent face

Mountains of agony washed over me

I was trembling like a first date but it was the last one

He was trembling too and crying and trying to make me change my mind

But every single word from his mouth I didn’t want to hear

And I just left

As empty as a beggar’s hands.

As weak as a new-born kitten.

Gathered together like the pieces of a puzzle.

As rough as the stubble on my face.

Trembling like a puppy in the snow.

Praying like a devout noun.

Bouncing like a scam artist’s check.

Smiling like an innocent child.

Heart of rusted iron.

Mountains of plastic-wrapped butter rolls.

War is the pastime of the rich and bored.

The ocean is a jealous lover.

The moon is the child birthed from the earth.

This house of unfulfilled dreams.

My love is a phoenix rising from its ashes.

Writing is the key that opens all doors of creativity.

After years of praying like a devout noun my resolve finally becomes as weak as a new-born kitten. That was my last resort, my final attempt to attain fulfilling happiness. As I walk back home from being stood-up once again, I look up at the solitary moon. The moon is the child birthed from the earth, yet it has no life upon it as its mother does. I, too, have no life around me, as much as I am the son of a woman who has touched the lives of so many. My only comfort is my writing, the key that opens all doors of creativity, the one refuge in which I may express my miserable feelings in security. Returning my eyes to the ground, I trudge back to my house of unfulfilled dreams.

Hi guys,

Just a reminder of this definition on a metaphor, from the Blog Post 3.2 assignment:

A metaphor is a comparison between two unrelated nouns. Nouns.

So, love (noun) is a battlefield (noun) is a metaphor.

Love is beautiful (adjective) is not. That’s just an example of using the adjective, beautiful, to describe the noun, love.

Sometimes you can use a verb or adjective that doesn’t naturally “belong” with a noun, and thereby suggest a metaphor. For instance, if you say “The carnivorous (adjective) pencil (noun) devoured (verb) the page,” you’re personifying the pencil and thus making (I would argue) a metaphor.  But the surest way to make sure you’re crafting a metaphor is to compare a noun to another noun.

Check your lists to make sure you’re not merely describing a noun with an adjective–especially one that isn’t surprising or doesn’t defamiliarize the noun–since that doesn’t make a metaphor.

Similes

As empty as the devil’s heart.

As weak as a feather.

Gathered together like pieces of broken glass.

As rough as a cats tongue.

Trembling like a chihuahua.

Praying like a nun.

Bouncing like a bubble in the wind.

Smiling like freshly bloomed flowers.

Metaphors

Heart of a lion.

Mountains of pain.

War is infinate.

The ocean is eternal.

The moon is the light of the darkness.

This house of memories.

My love is destructive.

Writing is freedom.

Destruction

My emotions lay puddled on the floor

Gathered together like pieces of broken glass

I stand there as empty as the devil’s heart

Numb; as weak as a feather

It is a constant battle with my giving heart

But this war is infinate

The puddle swells becoming a red ocean

And the ocean is eternal

Piecing together the shards of glass

Too many to put back together

Overwhelmed; I’m sucked in

My love is destructive.

Similes 

As empty as death.

As weak as human flesh.

Gathered together like bees.

As rough as tree bark.

Trembling like a junkie.

Praying like a saint.

Bouncing like a deflated beach ball.

Smiling like serpent.

 Metaphors

Heart of ice.

Mountains of tears.

War is peace.

The ocean is corrupt.

The moon is wild in the quiet of the night, escaping the claws of the night.

This house of crumbs.

My love is war.

Writing is dreaming.

My love is war

War is peace,

Peace unknown without the war,

War unknown without the hope of peace.

Even the moon is at war against the dark.

The moon is wild in the stillness of the night,

Escaping the claws of the darkness.

Waving the white flag.

The good is at war with the bad within us,

One is smiling like a serpent,

The other, praying like a saint.

I dream and dream for peace,

But I can’t write my way out of this one.

The war is constant,

The loser always left trembling like a junkie,

The winner reaping the benefits,

Neither of them being able to keep the winning title.

This race in never ending,

As the moon fades

And light shines anew,

We have entered phase two.

Writing is dreaming,

And I write for you,

as I write for me.

Imagine the sinner without the saint,

and the saint without the sinner.

What a sight such a thing would be!

We are as weak as our weakest link,

the weakest link being our own skin,

the humanity within.

war is peace,

love is war,

neither of them a winner,

both of them too proud to surrender.

thus we reach the end of phase two,

with a screeching halt,

and as empty as death.

[Some of the similes/metaphors I have used might be wrong. I dont know why, but I think sometimes I use them without noticing, but when asked to identify it, for some reason I am having trouble; or maybe I am just over-thinking here.]

Similes

As empty as a cookie jar within a child’s reach

As weak as the delicate silk of spider webs

Gathered together like sewn pieces of thread

As rough as a stubbly beard

Trembling like a racing pulse

Praying like a frightened child

Bouncing like a coin across the water

Smiling like a rich gambler

Metaphors

Heart of sand

Mountains of frozen tears

War is death

The ocean is a blanket of silk

The moon is a beacon of hope

This house of hope

My love is an endless sea

Writing is a battlefield

Poem

I stand by the shore,

Clutching a thin shawl around my shoulders,

Trembling like a racing pulse.

The harsh wind is cold and unforgiving,

Biting at my icy, cold flesh.

I look ahead at the water.

The ocean is a blanket of silk

That ripples with the whistling wind.

I reach into my pocket and pull out a pebble-sized rock.

I roll the smooth pebble between my thumb and forefinger

Before I toss it into the ocean.

It crashes against the silky surface,

Bouncing like a coin across the water

I dig my toes into the wet sand

And enjoy the grainy sensation.

I look down at my feet and I can see the grains of sand

Being pushed and pulled by the water

These tiny specks of sand that are washed away,

Bit by bit, into this endless sea of blue

And I suddenly think

Of how much I’ve changed,

Of how much I’ve lost,

Of the tiny bits of me

That have slowly been washed away

I can feel myself fading,

Like a helpless creature with

A heart of sand.

Some of the stories in this 60 minute work really captured my attention while others were just begging me to skip them. After listening to all 20, I decided that I most enjoyed “Don’t I know you,” “No, of course I know you,” “Up where the air is clear,” and Act 10, which has no title but is a 2 minute play.

One thing that connects all four stories is that they made me laugh. Especially Act 10. Definitely Act 10.

I sometimes think my sense of humor is quite odd, as I find amusement in some things where few else do, and no enjoyment in things that most people find laughable. Half of the time I spend with my friends is filled with polite smiles or blank expressions as they share some joke that I can’t relate to. The other half is spent trying to cover for my own failed attempts at raising some chuckles from them. In these stories, though, I can see the humor that the authors intended to convey, and I have received it well. That must mean that my own sense of humor isn’t so unusual after all.

That brings me to another connection – I can relate to each of those stories. Okay, I’m not an under-recognized actor who roams the streets of New York everyday, but I have certainly made innocent situations awkward by pure accident before.

The four pieces I chose can each tie into an experience I’ve had in my life; thinking about a strange woman for hours, even days, before finally placing where I’ve met her before; trying to hold a good conversation with someone I have only one thing in common with (and nothing else); and doing an improv act in front of an audience. That’s why I’m able to laugh at these stories – I have some kind of experience that allows me to relate to them and find the humor.

Maybe I’m just taking the chance to laugh not at what the authors placed in my ears, but simply at myself.

Simile
As empty as an eaten bowl of cereal
As weak as a toothpick
Gathered together like pile of snow
As rough as sandpaper
Trembling like a leaf
Praying like a preying mantis
Bouncing like a rubber ball
Smiling like a happy child

Metaphor
Heart of gold
Mountains of Vermont
War is negative
The ocean is blue
The moon is bright
This house of sticks
My love is sincere
Writing is thoughtful

Paragraph
The house of sticks trembled like a leaf; composed of toothpicks.
Piles of snow as soft as feather gathered round the house in support.
Located in the mountains of Vermont, where it snowed continuously, huge drifts of snow lined banks and valleys. The sky was bright blue with sharp rays of sun piercing through.
Skiiers, dressed in heavy winter jackets and ski boots, dragging skis, trudged to the tops of mountains. They flew down mountains through snow at top speed. They gathered at the bottom for hot coffee and tea, chatting and exchanging conversation. Several wrote letters thoughtfully.
When the sun set later in the evening, it was a rainbow of colors over Vermont.
Later that night the sky turned black and filled with stars. Skiiers returned to their cottages , preparing to arise early with the sun for another d

What I don’t appreciate about myself is being unable to read out loud. I just can’t. Maybe it’s because of my voice or something else that is beyond my knowing, a mystery. So whenever I hear someone reciting something, or telling stories, I find myself drawn to that. It’s something that I like as much as  I like reading and writing for pleasure.

I read the script of Act 2 before I listened to it. Honestly speaking, it didn’t sound fun to me at all. However, it turned out very different when I listened to it. Once again my inability of reading out loud or reciting haunted me for the 2^nd time during this semester. And the first time it happened when we’re reading Sofia and Kris’s essay before the spring break. I had read silently both essays before professor Smith read them aloud to our class. So how did I feel when I read both essays to myself? The answer was- not so great. How did I feel listening to professor Smith reading? As she read along, I felt like I was listening to a song that has a very low background music which could only reach my ears. I drew a conclusion from that ” I lack this amazing quality that you people have.”

I liked all the Acts because I simply love listening to stories. Nevertheless, one story that struck me most is ” The Greatest Dog Name in the World.” This story and the two brothers bickering over dog’s name brought me a little sweet memory of my childhood. Like the two brothers, we, my brother and I, used to have little disputes over simple matters. Once my father bought a parrot home for us. He  thought it would make us happy. What he never thought was this parrot could literally create a problem that would destroy our normal peaceful life. My brother and I fought over the parrot’s name.  It wasn’t settled until my father opened the cage of parrot. He let go of the bird. And our fight flew away with it.

My favorite act was undeniably David Sedaris. The content of his writing usually elicits laughs from me. but his matter-of-fact tone added to the humor. In Act 11,  his vocal intonation reflects his writing – he makes grunting noises imitating his sister on the toilet but he stays minimal where others overdo. His description is vivid but he uses adjectives sparingly. While I appreciate high-brow and nerd humor, the teenage boy side of me still digs sophomoric humor. His comfort with the subject matter is a plus as well, it puts the reader at ease and the pacing works.

In Act 18, I enjoyed Klosterman’s methodical writing style and the inane subject matter. As someone who has devoured way too much TV and has a 27,000 song library mostly skewed to 20th century rock and jazz, I especially found his listing style and quick-witted observations entertaining. His quirky tone of voice and the setting in which his friends competitively try to correlate bands with TV shows is comical.

Susan Drury’s Act Three “It’s Commerce That Brings Us Together” was a quaint look at ebay’s predecessor. The thick accents of the callers selling mundane items while host Don straightforwardly announces these listings is strangely enthralling. The variety pf the items got me to laugh the hardest. Lost cows and trampolines without any tarps don’t seem to intrinsically have comedic value but they way they sit within the story makes them funny.

Lastly. Act 16 on the person who sits next to the printer and has his name forgotten quite quickly. As an intern doing “internwork” at a law firm, I can entirely relate. I appreciate the interviews with Matt’s co-workers which reminded me of The Office‘s mockumentary style. The sad trombone music is an amusing touch. Expounding on how the printer plays a large-than-life role for Matt – even appearing in his dreams – makes the story absurdly whimsical.