The Avengers, a film by Marvel Studios and released on May 2012, makes a promise to viewers that they will finally get to see the formation of The Avengers, a classic and iconic comic book team, on the silver screen. They will also see plot threads and continuity from multiple movie franchises by the same studio come together and expanded on. Viewers will also get to see a veritable superhero spectacle with great action and effects.
The universal truth of the piece is that no matter what differences humans may have, in times of crisis and when the world needs saving, the best and brightest will band together as heroes to save he planet that needs them.
The Avengers is an ensemble piece with multiple main characters who all desire to help others and preventing harm. But some have differing ideals and methodologies that causes friction, but their general kindness and affable natures lead to viewers liking them.
Sunday, September 29, 2013
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Associated Fire Events
Associated Fire Events by David Means is a story that is defined by its details, as author David Means extensively and meticulously explains his tale to the reader. It is through this that readers are painted a vast and extensive picture, giving them a better understanding and insight into the story. It is very much a story that "tells" readers what they need to know, informing them of numerous details and traits found in the story and its characters while expecting the readers to fill in the blanks with what information they have. The detailing present in the story is noticeable from the first sentence, where "the declivity where he sat to rest was part of a railroad bed blasted out of the hard shale and lime deposits cut by the Hudson River, which was just down the hill, out of sight, hidden by forestation, backyards, homes."
This extends to the characters as well, where information about the main male character is revealed one after the other to give readers an in-depth understanding of who he is and what his situation is. In some ways the vast amount of detail can overwhelm a reader, but it also helps to create a more complex and breathing world to explore and understand.
This extends to the characters as well, where information about the main male character is revealed one after the other to give readers an in-depth understanding of who he is and what his situation is. In some ways the vast amount of detail can overwhelm a reader, but it also helps to create a more complex and breathing world to explore and understand.
Friday, September 20, 2013
Dialogue
"I-I'm sorry Joe. I just wanted to help out around the house just a little..."
"You should've just let me do it mom."
"But it's not that much. You've just been working all day, I thought it best that you get some rest-"
"I don't need it. I don't have homework so I have nothing else to do. Doing chores is my job, not yours. You should be making dinner now, not straining yourself with work that's my responsibility."
"Can you blame me? You keep pushing yourself every day be it at home or at school. I've seen them Joe. Don't try and pretend those marks aren't there."
"They're nothing. I've had had them all week and I haven't slowed down a bit."
"You're overworking yourself Joe! You always say you're fine but I just know that if this keeps up you'll just kill yourself."
"I'm fine."
"Joe, I know what you're trying to do. I know that this is about your father..."
"Don't say anything about things you don't understand mom."
"Huh?"
"I can do this, I want to this, I have to do this. It's that simple. Don't force ourself out of sympathy for me. If you get hurt doing that, I'll tell you from experience that I will feel a lot worse than if I injured myself. So, if you could just get out of the way..."
"Joe, I..."
"Out of the way please mother. I have to work."
"O-okay. Just be careful."
"You should've just let me do it mom."
"But it's not that much. You've just been working all day, I thought it best that you get some rest-"
"I don't need it. I don't have homework so I have nothing else to do. Doing chores is my job, not yours. You should be making dinner now, not straining yourself with work that's my responsibility."
"Can you blame me? You keep pushing yourself every day be it at home or at school. I've seen them Joe. Don't try and pretend those marks aren't there."
"They're nothing. I've had had them all week and I haven't slowed down a bit."
"You're overworking yourself Joe! You always say you're fine but I just know that if this keeps up you'll just kill yourself."
"I'm fine."
"Joe, I know what you're trying to do. I know that this is about your father..."
"Don't say anything about things you don't understand mom."
"Huh?"
"I can do this, I want to this, I have to do this. It's that simple. Don't force ourself out of sympathy for me. If you get hurt doing that, I'll tell you from experience that I will feel a lot worse than if I injured myself. So, if you could just get out of the way..."
"Joe, I..."
"Out of the way please mother. I have to work."
"O-okay. Just be careful."
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Word Theatre
I attended the Word Theatre earlier than most, having agreed to assist with setting up and passing out fliers. I had no idea what to expect from it, though my Creative Writing Professor had it in high regards. I actually was not greatly aware of many of the guests, barring Cassidy Freeman, but was quite interested in seeing what this purported "Word Theatre" was like. That going to such event was required for class didn't hurt either. Suffice to say, it was quite the experience. Hearing each of the actresses, even Jill McCorkle herself, speak out the works gave it such character and life that I don't think could have been truly appreciated by just reading them alone. Each of them did a splendid job, especially Lesley Nicols' reading of "Intervention," where she gave the story such depth and detail that had never struck me when I originally read it. Jill McCorkle's reading of her own work, my first time truly seeing and hearing the author, was also bright, humorous, and filled with emotion. In good spirits, I purchased a copy of "Life After Life" by McCorkle and made sure to get it signed by all the attending players of this "Word Theatre." I very much look forward to the next one!
Thursday, September 12, 2013
He was of a burly sort, with high shoulder bones and large muscles. But he wasn't tall, more stocky and short, the type of guy you'd be forgiven for mistaking for a child at a glance. His face was broad and plain, save for a few cuts and bruises that gave it character. They were from Football practice, from his pushing himself too far during practice because he felt he had to. His name was Joe.
He wore simple clothing, a tank top and blue shorts, and unlike the students reading books around him, he did not rely on his Iphone or cellular device for time. Instead he would often cast a glance towards his bronze and faded watch, an antique from his father before he set out on the "great college journey." Joe didn't actually own a cell phone. So as Joe sat at the first floor of the Leatherby library, in the worn out and dusty chair that was likely utilized by several other students within the library. It served its purpose and that was all Joe ever needed.
Joe had multiple books in front of him, all on the same subject: English. It was his worst subject, and he was left with little choice with his spot on the team in jeopardy with his failing grades. He had to ace the next few assignments and tests, and with nothing better to do on a Sunday night, Joe thought a personal crash course on English was his best bet. Not that it was doing him very good, as the excerpts of Wordsworth, Twain, Salinger, and Frost that he read still went over his head. He couldn't see the subtleties, the meanings, or ultimately the point of written work. It was in action that the world truly ever moved.
That had been a truth of Joe's entire existence, having to work to ensure his family stayed out of debt, that he got any sort of education, and could achieve the dreams his father's leg injury curtailed. His entire life he had pushed his body to the breaking point through physical labor, but still perservered in order to carry out that dream. That one, inherited dream. And the only thing standing in his ways were a bunch of words strung together that he was told had some meaning.
He told his professor about his problem as soon as it presented itself, but all he could tell him was "Words and stories are like our lives Joe. We give them their meaning, and go from there." Joe didn't quite understand how that worked, but he pressed on. He could not lose everything to a bunch of books and stories. Sighing as he rummaged through the pile of books he brought out a book by Michael Lewis, "The Blind Side: Evolution of a Game." Surprised at the cover picture, something seemingly ripped straight out of a football playbook, Joe opened the book.
He wore simple clothing, a tank top and blue shorts, and unlike the students reading books around him, he did not rely on his Iphone or cellular device for time. Instead he would often cast a glance towards his bronze and faded watch, an antique from his father before he set out on the "great college journey." Joe didn't actually own a cell phone. So as Joe sat at the first floor of the Leatherby library, in the worn out and dusty chair that was likely utilized by several other students within the library. It served its purpose and that was all Joe ever needed.
Joe had multiple books in front of him, all on the same subject: English. It was his worst subject, and he was left with little choice with his spot on the team in jeopardy with his failing grades. He had to ace the next few assignments and tests, and with nothing better to do on a Sunday night, Joe thought a personal crash course on English was his best bet. Not that it was doing him very good, as the excerpts of Wordsworth, Twain, Salinger, and Frost that he read still went over his head. He couldn't see the subtleties, the meanings, or ultimately the point of written work. It was in action that the world truly ever moved.
That had been a truth of Joe's entire existence, having to work to ensure his family stayed out of debt, that he got any sort of education, and could achieve the dreams his father's leg injury curtailed. His entire life he had pushed his body to the breaking point through physical labor, but still perservered in order to carry out that dream. That one, inherited dream. And the only thing standing in his ways were a bunch of words strung together that he was told had some meaning.
He told his professor about his problem as soon as it presented itself, but all he could tell him was "Words and stories are like our lives Joe. We give them their meaning, and go from there." Joe didn't quite understand how that worked, but he pressed on. He could not lose everything to a bunch of books and stories. Sighing as he rummaged through the pile of books he brought out a book by Michael Lewis, "The Blind Side: Evolution of a Game." Surprised at the cover picture, something seemingly ripped straight out of a football playbook, Joe opened the book.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
The Lady and the Dog
The Lady and the Dog is a story of passion and apathy, chronicling the meeting of two people fed up with their current lives and looking for something more. Anton Chekhov first draws readers into the story through incredibly detailed diction, creating a living and breathing world that readers can almost feel themselves apart of. Chekhov's ability to both show and tell readers is incredibly prevalent in the work, and gives it a new dimension through its extensive detail. This extends also to the characters, such as with Gurov who before meeting Anna is described as having been a part of numerous meaningless affairs and was "eager for life."
Chekhov also readlily establishes the passion prevalent between Gurov and Anna, the crux of the story, as the lovers find themselves drawn to each other despite whatever conflict their relationship may bring. Gurov finds himself lost when Anna leaves, and continually stares at other women "looking for someone like her." Only when "his head was grey" had Gurov found the woman he was meant to be with, had properly fallen in love with someone. Chekhov's uncertain diction reveals to the reader both the pleasure, the uncertainty, and the living that comes with falling in love no matter how old or what your position is.
Chekhov also readlily establishes the passion prevalent between Gurov and Anna, the crux of the story, as the lovers find themselves drawn to each other despite whatever conflict their relationship may bring. Gurov finds himself lost when Anna leaves, and continually stares at other women "looking for someone like her." Only when "his head was grey" had Gurov found the woman he was meant to be with, had properly fallen in love with someone. Chekhov's uncertain diction reveals to the reader both the pleasure, the uncertainty, and the living that comes with falling in love no matter how old or what your position is.
Sunday, September 8, 2013
Hospital
The smell of disinfectant and plastics filled the air of the hospital room as George entered. It was his first hospital visit in a long while. There in the metallic and uninviting bed, with its only source of comfort appearing to be a medium-sized cloth, lay his wife Sasha. Sasha was sleeping peacefully, at least she looked like she was, and George sat on the plastic chair situated at a wall near her bed.
After positioning himself on the small chair, George then began to stare at his wife with a sense of love and devotion. He notice everything: the nerves peering through her pale skin, her silent breathing, her colorless nails, one even being cracked, and the small ring finger missing a ring. Eventually George could not continue and merely turned away, trying to steer his mind away from his wife's condition on the bed and towards other things. He noticed the painting hanging on the front wall of the room, he even thought he could smell the oil, depicting a vivid image of a cow in a field. After chuckling at the inane nature of a picture of a cow hanging in a hospital room, George turned his head right. there he saw a bright T.V blaring on and on with an untouched food tray laying in front of it.
The commercial was evidently about food sales, which only served to remind George of the mouths he had to feed back home. The smiling and jubilant characters on the commercial struck George as apathetic. For he knew full well what a real smile was. His wife's smile. Sasha's smile. Something he hadn't seen in months through no fault but his own. He said to himself "I'll see her after the operation, I'll see her after I'm sure she's going to be okay" but he knew full well how much it rang hollow. He just couldn't bare to see her as she was. In pain. Dying.
He wondered if he had any right to be there, any right to be her husband after everything that had happened. Sure he took care of the kids, but was he really there for them? Not like Sasha would've been, of that he's acutely aware. Wandering around the room he eventually came to a window, where his eyes became blinded by the rays being reflected from the descending sun. He remembered that he and Sasha had seen this same exact view on their first date. And then he knew, full well, what he was going to say when she woke up. Just three little, powerful, and all-encompassing words. At that exact thought, he heard a distinct change in her breathing and turned around, to see his wife's eyes open and her deep-blue eyes revealed.
After positioning himself on the small chair, George then began to stare at his wife with a sense of love and devotion. He notice everything: the nerves peering through her pale skin, her silent breathing, her colorless nails, one even being cracked, and the small ring finger missing a ring. Eventually George could not continue and merely turned away, trying to steer his mind away from his wife's condition on the bed and towards other things. He noticed the painting hanging on the front wall of the room, he even thought he could smell the oil, depicting a vivid image of a cow in a field. After chuckling at the inane nature of a picture of a cow hanging in a hospital room, George turned his head right. there he saw a bright T.V blaring on and on with an untouched food tray laying in front of it.
The commercial was evidently about food sales, which only served to remind George of the mouths he had to feed back home. The smiling and jubilant characters on the commercial struck George as apathetic. For he knew full well what a real smile was. His wife's smile. Sasha's smile. Something he hadn't seen in months through no fault but his own. He said to himself "I'll see her after the operation, I'll see her after I'm sure she's going to be okay" but he knew full well how much it rang hollow. He just couldn't bare to see her as she was. In pain. Dying.
He wondered if he had any right to be there, any right to be her husband after everything that had happened. Sure he took care of the kids, but was he really there for them? Not like Sasha would've been, of that he's acutely aware. Wandering around the room he eventually came to a window, where his eyes became blinded by the rays being reflected from the descending sun. He remembered that he and Sasha had seen this same exact view on their first date. And then he knew, full well, what he was going to say when she woke up. Just three little, powerful, and all-encompassing words. At that exact thought, he heard a distinct change in her breathing and turned around, to see his wife's eyes open and her deep-blue eyes revealed.
Tapka
The story of Tapka speaks to me as a story about losing innocence, a powerful topic in general when it comes to storytelling. The Author at first creates a quaint and positive atmosphere for the immigrant families, and presents it through the eyes of a child, who are often looked on as the very definition of innocence. And over the course of the story, their is a gradual shift from the naive innocence of the beginning and the harsh reality that descends in upon the families and the children in particular. The authors use of diction and tone heavily dictate this point of view to the readers, allowing it to better reach them emotionally.
The last few lines of the book illustrate this in a powerful way, that "there is reality, and then there is truth"and that innocence cannot truly hold up to such a concept. The writer of the story masterfully creates the paradigm shift between the two views during the walking of Tapka, with the lines "we grew confident," instilling in the readers a foreboding sense of dread of where this newfound confidence will lead. Later in the story, the two children become accustomed to the foul language of their new country and begin using it indiscriminately with little regard to what it truly means. Words like "Shithead" and "Gaylord" are thrown around in tandem, as a sign of corruption in the young Russians.
The last few lines of the book illustrate this in a powerful way, that "there is reality, and then there is truth"and that innocence cannot truly hold up to such a concept. The writer of the story masterfully creates the paradigm shift between the two views during the walking of Tapka, with the lines "we grew confident," instilling in the readers a foreboding sense of dread of where this newfound confidence will lead. Later in the story, the two children become accustomed to the foul language of their new country and begin using it indiscriminately with little regard to what it truly means. Words like "Shithead" and "Gaylord" are thrown around in tandem, as a sign of corruption in the young Russians.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
Intervention
Intervention, in my opinion, is a dark take on the subjects of devotion, commitment, and love featuring both their positive and negative effects. Told from the point of view of Marilyn, whom we're led to believe at first is a classic example of a wife suffering from the abuse of her drunk husband, we get many glimpses into her past and her life with her husband Sid and their family with each new glimpse into the past offering a new revelation towards the present. What the story seems to be at the beginning quickly evolves into something far more complex as we learn more about Marilyn and Sid.
The story makes good use of subtlety to convey its meanings, such as the first instance where Marilyn conveys how Sid "helps" her which carries a new meaning as one dives further into the story. While at first it appears that Marilyn is avoiding dealing with the problem with her husband, it becomes more apparent that the central problem and conflict with the story lies with her. A woman whose one mistake caused to hate herself and desire nothing more than for her husband "to hate her right then" only for his love and devotion to keep her going. But on the flipside, such an act drove her husband to a depression that kicks off the stories titular "Intervention."
The story has no good or bad people, maybe misguided at best, but it does convey how our mistakes can cause both ourselves and those we love pain and suffering that is hard to ever accept or heal. The pain is even greater when it involves family. But if the ending is apparent of anything, it's that the true and deep love that families ideally should have has the potential to make things right and save people from themselves.
The story makes good use of subtlety to convey its meanings, such as the first instance where Marilyn conveys how Sid "helps" her which carries a new meaning as one dives further into the story. While at first it appears that Marilyn is avoiding dealing with the problem with her husband, it becomes more apparent that the central problem and conflict with the story lies with her. A woman whose one mistake caused to hate herself and desire nothing more than for her husband "to hate her right then" only for his love and devotion to keep her going. But on the flipside, such an act drove her husband to a depression that kicks off the stories titular "Intervention."
The story has no good or bad people, maybe misguided at best, but it does convey how our mistakes can cause both ourselves and those we love pain and suffering that is hard to ever accept or heal. The pain is even greater when it involves family. But if the ending is apparent of anything, it's that the true and deep love that families ideally should have has the potential to make things right and save people from themselves.
Story
"How was the party last night?" asked the boy in the checkered shirt to his compatriot in the blue tank-top. The other boy was burly, with muscles most high school athletes pray to achieve, and looked away from his breakfast. He gave the other boy a quick glance then dove his gaze upward muttering "bogus man... total bogus." The checkered shirt boy appeared shocked at the statement and retorted "Seriously? That bad? Mitch made it sound like it was going to be the "height of our college lives" or something."
At the mere mention of this "Mitch" the burly fellow looked back upon his food and began aggressively stabbing it as if to temper his aggression from running loose. "Well let's just say Mitch isn't really the nice guy we thought he was. Let's just say he likes getting a laugh at others' expense. Let's just say he likes being a sexist, misogynistic, tool that we think are only stereotypes on T.V. shows."
The burly boy concluded this flurry of revelations with a very audble stabbing with his fork into his potatoes. Left somewhat stunned, the checkered shirt boy regained his composure and turned back towards his food. After five or so minutes had passed, he turned back to his friend and asked non-chalantly "How were classes yesterday?"
At the mere mention of this "Mitch" the burly fellow looked back upon his food and began aggressively stabbing it as if to temper his aggression from running loose. "Well let's just say Mitch isn't really the nice guy we thought he was. Let's just say he likes getting a laugh at others' expense. Let's just say he likes being a sexist, misogynistic, tool that we think are only stereotypes on T.V. shows."
The burly boy concluded this flurry of revelations with a very audble stabbing with his fork into his potatoes. Left somewhat stunned, the checkered shirt boy regained his composure and turned back towards his food. After five or so minutes had passed, he turned back to his friend and asked non-chalantly "How were classes yesterday?"
Anne Lamott's "Shitty First Drafts" gave me a new understanding of writers and a better appreciation for my own abilities. It also helped me to realize and find a solution towards a problem that has plagued both myself and other writers since time immemorial: pleasing everyone. To find my fears and anxiety's as a writer addressed so fluently and distinctly was a treat indeed, and moving forward I will always appreciate and respect my first draft. I will also realize that it is far from a finished product, but is well on its way to being what I want it to be.
Margaret Atwood's "Happy Endings" is a very tongue-in-cheek yet dark take on the notion of happy endings in stories. It shows that no matter how bleak or complicated a story might be, it's usually safe to assume that authors will rely on the tried and true ending cliche of a happy couple living out their lives together. Life of course isn't always the ideal we set for ourselves in books and stories, but fiction in general allows us to lay out a fantasy for the enjoyment of both ourselves and others. Stories allow for authors to give their characters the happy endings they wanted for themselves, to see the world in a more positive light than reality ever gave them. Such is the pastoral and traditional "happy ending" of fairy tales and stories.
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