Reflections

Reflections

Part One: Thinking and Writing

• Snowday: This piece was inspired by watching the snowfall when we were out of school for a snowday. As I watched the flakes fall to the ground, my mind wandered back to a memory from several years ago of my very first snowday. At this time, I was learning about ways to use description and dialogue to make the story interesting. I used several of these elements in this piece, describing the snow and creating a voice for each of my characters.
• Sunset: This piece was inspired by sitting on my back porch one night and watching the sun as it faded into the horizon. I wanted to capture the beauty and magnificence of it all while still maintaining a certain simplicity in the language to make it easier for all ages to relate to. When I wrote this, I was learning the importance of creating a tone and sticking to it throughout the piece; in this poem, I tried to maintain a sense of wonder and reflectiveness as I described the sunset.
• Color Dance: This poem has somewhat of a strange inspiration. The assignment was to write a poem about how we thought colors would act if they were human, but when I tried to sit down and write it, my mind went completely blank. That night, I was babysitting my younger cousins, who were coloring at the kitchen table as I worked on homework. The radio was on, and one of them got up out of nowhere and just started to dance and twirl around with the music. (It just so happened that the song was "YMCA" and she was wearing a yellow shirt, which I used in one of the lines in the poem.) This made me wonder: what kind of music would each color listen to? What kind of dance would each color do? I started to write, and "Color Dance" was finished in ten minutes! At the time, I was learning how to create personality in a character through description and dialogue, so I tried not to actually say how each color felt; rather, I tried to create those feelings by saying how each color danced.
• The Water Is Wide: I wrote this poem after hearing a song by Garth Brooks titled "The River". In the song, he sings about life being like a river, "ever changing as it flows," and each person being a vessel in that river, "that must follow where it goes." The title was borrowed from a movie about a Low Country teacher in the 1970s who inspired a whole culture to better itself, starting with its children. At the time I wrote this, I was learning about using metaphors and similes in writing. As I wrote this poem, I found myself thinking back to all the people in my life--family, friends, teachers--that have inspired me, and I used the metaphor of a ship in the distance to represent these people. The water in this poem is representative of life and how it never stays the same, but keeps changing with the times.
• Chess Match: This piece is actually two poems, but the central idea of a simple game of chess is carried from one into the other. I wanted to try a two-part poem, and I was somewhat surprised by the results because the two poems did not use the same formats or styles, but I feel that what tied them together best was that I wrote one from the perspective of the players and one from the perspective of the pieces. At the time I wrote this piece, I was learning several techniques: first of all, how to describe a character using actions and dialogue; secondly, how to use different forms of poetry. The original "Chess Match" was written using the first technique to describe my chess partner. "Chess Match, Part Deux" utilized the classic pantoum format, reinforcing certain important ideas through repetition and rhythm.

Part Two--Process of Revision

The poems in this selection did not undergo any major revisions, although I did tweak a few rhymes or added or took away words to fit the rhythm of the piece. The most revision came with writing "Snowday."

In "Snowday," I had to revise several times--first to remove passive voice and some excess repetition, then several more times to add in descriptions and reinforce characters' voices. I had to try to come up with multiples ways of saying "snow," as that word appeared too many times in my first draft. I also revised to use the BrushStrokes techniques we were learning at the time, varying my sentence structures to make the piece more interesting and entertaining to read. Perhaps the biggest problem I had in writing "Snowday" was trying to create a specific voice for each character, be it the "caring-but-overbearing" mother, the "more-adult-than-child" brother, or the "overly cautious" toddler with the wild imagination. I also tried to maintain a slightly subliminal sarcasm throughout the piece, going back through my story several times to add this in.

Part Three--Learning From Your Classmates

• Power of Vivid Descriptions

In reading John's piece about witnessing the brutal murder of a police officer while in Italy, I felt as if I had been standing right beside the narrator as the whole scene unfolded. His descriptions made the scene come alive, and all the sounds and smells in the story seemed so real. I tried to capture this in my writing as well, especially in "Snowday" because I wanted the reader to be able to put him or herself in the place of my character and experience the story with that character. I think John did a very good job of mastering this technique, and he will be one of the many writers I will look to as I try to work on this in my writing.

http://johnscreativewritingblog.blogspot.com/2007/02/just-another-rainy-day.html

• Creating a Strong Mood in Poetry

In reading several of Katie's and Emily's poems, I learned that it is important to be able to create a strong mood within the reader as he or she reads your work. Since poetry is usually much shorter than prose, it takes a lot of talent and effort to be able to evoke such strong feelings in one's readers. However, I think both of these writers have mastered this technique, through diction as well as description. In their poems, if the main character feels hatred or passion toward another subject, the reader can clearly distinguish the emotion and feels just as much of that emotion toward the antagonist in the piece as the main character does. This really adds to the reader's experience--to be able to walk away from reading and say, "Wow, I actually felt that."

http://emidilweegomefofers.blogspot.com/2007/02/letter-to-you.html

http://ktsuntitledblog.blogspot.com/2007/01/devils-hand.html

• Power of Brevity

In reading Dean's piece entitled "Wisdom," I learned that brevity in a piece of writing can be a very effective thing. Dean used vivid descriptions to fully personify the character of Wisdom in only three lines, and the reader can fully visualize the character, despite the very brief nature of the piece. I think it is essential to be able to leave certain aspects of a character to one's own imagination; I believe that makes the reader think. However, in this description of the character, there is much left unsaid that the reader can speculate upon without losing the character's identity. The brevity of the piece also evokes the strong sense of honor and nostalgia in the reader, being able to picture him or herself in that very room at that very time with Wisdom.

http://djusc1.blogspot.com/2007/02/wisdom.html

Snowday!

Snowday!

My hands are freezing. My jacket is covered in ice. Water is dripping from my hair and eyelashes, even as we speak. Yes, it's snowing...in February...in Dixie...it's snowing. Real snow, too--not that icy, slushy, makes-you-fall-on-the-concrete stuff either--this is the real thing, light and powdery, perfect for making snowballs...or snowmen...or snowcream. It's the kind that crunches when you step on it--the kind that sticks in the trees and clings to the side of the road. It's also the kind that gets young children out of bed at six o'clock in the morning to have snowball fights with their brothers and sisters before their parents even wake up. (Well, you can't expect them to get up that early any other normal day can you? It's not snowing then...why should they?...My point exactly.)

Right now, I am standing beneath the shelter of half a dozen ice-tipped oak trees, resting and trying to catch my breath because I just pelted my brother with snowballs (and he's probably looking for me now!). I laugh as I take in the frosty air, all the ice on the leaves and limbs above me, the whole world one giant snow-covered abyss. This brings back memories--memories of every snowday I've ever seen, of every snowman, every power outage, every puppy-dog-paw-print in that frozen white stuff. But most of all, it brings back memories of a time when family was all that mattered, all that existed (or, at least, all I remember). Strange as it may seem, that was not too long ago--only before everyone became so busy with their daily routine that we forgot to step back and enjoy the moment...

I had just turned three years old; my little brothers were still in diapers (babies that they were...). That morning, I woke up and looked out the window like I always did--my morning ritual, my simple way of greeting the new day. Every day before, the sun was either wide awake or still snoozing behind the clouds, too lazy to rise and shine. This time, though, I was greeted not by the sun or the rain, but by this white...stuff...falling from the sky--or, what I perceived was the sky, as the...stuff...had completely covered the ground, making it look like a giant, puffy white cloud.

Still trying to figure out whether or not our house had flown off into the sky during the night, I heard someone down the hall shouting with great enthusiasm, "Yeah! Alright! Snowday!" Just as suddenly as he had shattered the silence, Derek emerged in my doorway, grinning like a possum from ear to ear. "You see the snow?!" he half-screamed, half-whispered, still smiling, trying not to wake the whole house. "I don't have to go to school today!"

"How come?" I asked, still wondering what on earth he was talking about.

"Because it's snowing! You see all that white stuff? That's snow!"...Snow? What is snow? Why does that stop school? Why is he so happy??? As these questions filled my three-year-old head, I realized my feet had suddenly been separated from the ground, my brother's arms lifting me up to the window.

"Look!" he whispered as I pressed my palms to the cold glass, leaving tiny handprints in the fog.

"Snow?"

"Yeah! Isn't it cool?"

"Yeah." Putting me down and opening the closet, he held out the denim Winnie-the-Pooh jacket I'd gotten for Christmas.

"Here, put this on. We're gonna go outside."

Half an hour later, I stood in the kitchen, covered from head to toe in at least three layers of too-hot, too-thick fabric that bunched around my knees and elbows--making even the simple task of walking next-to-impossible. My mama caught sight of me from her place at the counter, where she stood, pouring her necessary dose of caffeine for the day. "Good morning, baby," she said, trying not to laugh at the ungodly outfit my brother had thrown together.

"Help me!" I pleaded, urging her to free my limbs once again.

A figure appeared at the front door of our apartment, streaming in light from the just-awakened morning sun. Covered in frosty white powder, his blonde mop of hair already dripping wet, my brother burst into the room.

"Are you comin'?" he asked, cocking his head as he brushed the snow from his jacket.

"Just a minute," Mama warned, "she'll be out in just a minute. Where's your hat?"

"Mama, I don't need that thing! It just gets in the way!"

"Well, I don't need another doctor's bill because you went outside in the freezing cold with nothing on your head like you don't know any better. I've got enough to deal with already with Kevin's earaches. You know that."

"But Mama--"

"Derek," she warned, lifting her eyebrows and raising the tone of her voice in that typical I'm-your-mother-and-I-said-so kind of way.

"Yes ma'am." With this, he trudged back to his room, ducking his shoulders and staring at the floor. Shortly after, he returned, a black-and-blue-striped knit hat clasped in his hand. Handing me a pair of lavender-hued mittens, my mother shooed us out the door, telling Derek one more time to "be careful with her." The neighborhood kids were already playing by the time we got outside. We followed them (or, shall I say, Derek followed them--I was merely tagging along in the footsteps of my big brother) to the neighborhood playground, where the slides and swings stood dusted with snow.

Letting go of my hand, my brother high-fived a few of the older guys in the group. As he did so, his best friend, Dustin, chucked a wad of cold white snow down the back of his jacket, sending Derek into a wild fit of screaming and chicken-with-its-head-cut-off-style dancing. I was amazed at just how much my brother, despite the nine years between us, still sounded so much like a girl!

"You're gonna pay for that!" Derek sent another handful of snow streaming into the air. Slowly, so slowly, it made its ascent, reaching the top, then falling back down to earth and landing directly between Dustin's eyes. (If this had been an Olympic tournament, I still believe my brother would have earned top marks and a standing ovation from a cheering crowd of fans---but since it was only a bunch of junior high kids, that toss was merely the beginning of an all-out snow war.)

As the other kids began to run aimlessly through the deserted parking lot of our apartments, hiding behind snow-covered cars and trying to avoid flying chunks of snow, I did not move. Instead, I remained right where my brother had left me, cold and paralyzed with confusion, still reluctant to move for fear I might fall through the cloud. Our friends kept running, pounding each other with handfuls of that frosty white stuff. As the surprised screams and excited yelling grew fainter, I looked all around for any sign of my brother.

"Derek?" I spoke to the wind. He was nowhere to be found. Maybe if I talk louder... "Derek!" Still no sign. "DEREK!!!" I yelled as loud as my little lungs would let me, but my brother did not answer. There was no one around. At all. I was alone. My eyes stung with the onset of tears; my vision became blurred. There was no sound, no sign of anyone nearby--I couldn't remember which way our apartment was. And besides that, I couldn't cross the street on my own anyway. I was stuck--all alone, forgotten, lost--in this strange place covered in this strange white stuff. I would never make it home; I would never see my family again. I felt sure of it.

Just as I felt the tears roll down my cheeks, I heard a soft rustle in the bushes behind me. Oh no! I thought, sitting stone-still, remembering all those episodes of America's Most Wanted about kids being taken by strangers. I tried not to breathe, hoping the sound-making person wouldn't hear me, wouldn't take me. Crunch, crunch--footsteps, coming toward me--I felt someone standing behind me. Swish-swash-swish--there was that rustle again. I felt the tears well up in my eyes once more, though I was still holding my breath in hopes of making the kidnapper go away. Don't take me, don't take me! I have two teddy bears that couldn't live without me and I wanna see my daddy again! I willed him to go away and leave me alone, though I still felt him standing behind me, not saying a word.

"Boosh!" The kidnapper spoke, and I felt my skin go cold--or maybe that was just the snow that had suddenly been dumped all over me. "Ha! Gotcha!" That voice sounded familiar, yet I could not place it. I knew I'd heard it before, but I couldn't think of where. I saw a bright blue blur in front of me, through my tear-filled eyes.

"What's wrong?" Derek. It was Derek! My teddy bears would have a mama again! I would see my family again!

"You left me," I said in a shaky voice, despite the immediate relief of knowing my brother was back.

"No, you left me," he answered back, his eyebrows drawing closer together, a puzzled look on his face. "I thought you were gonna stay with me, but I turned around and you were gone. Why didn't you follow me?"

"I don't know." I stared at the ground. Derek brushed the snow out of my hair and off my jacket, wiping a stray tear from my face.

"It's okay. Hey, you wanna see something cool?"

"Yeah," I muttered, still staring at the frozen ground beneath my light-up-in-the-dark shoes.

"Watch this--do what I do." Derek bent down close to the ground, his hands buried in the snow. I dropped to my knees, the wet snow soaking into my jeans, and picked up a small handful of snow. He closed his hands around the snow, carefully squeezing it to form a ball, and I did the same. "There, that looks good," he said as we both held up our snow spheres. "That's called a snowball." Snowball. So that's what they call it. "Now throw it way over there." He pointed to a few lonely holly trees in the corner of the lot, their berries dripping with melted ice.

The snowball left my hands, forming a small arc, then falling apart some before it hit the ground two feet in front of me. "Well, that's a start," my brother laughed. I stood in silence for a few seconds, mesmerized by the masterpiece I had just created. "Hey Haley, look out!" Boosh! Another snowball planted itself right in the middle of my back. Derek was still laughing as I turned around, another cold white missile perched in his hand. "Gotcha!"

"Hey!" I squealed in delight, reaching down for a handful of powder to toss at my brother. I sent it spiraling through the air, hitting him square in the stomach, the snow falling apart as it hit his jacket with a soft swash.

"Oh! You're gettin' good!" he said, smiling proudly, I'm sure, at how good of a teacher he'd turned out to be. He bent down for another handful of snow, and I took off running toward the swingset. We soon found ourselves covered in frosty white powder, laughing and yelling happily each time one of us hit the other.

As the sun found its way closer to the top of the sky, we heard our mother calling us from the screen door. "Derek! Haley! Time to come in!" Derek got one more hit in before lifting me to his shoulders and carrying me across the street to our home, laughing each time I yelled as he pretended to stumble and drop me.

Sitting there, watching the snowflakes that kept falling from the sparse clouds, I took in the winter wonderland that our yard had become. The icicles hanging from the roof, the frozen red berries on the tree branches, the grass peeking out from under the blanket of snow--it all stuck in my mind--the first snowday I can remember. Ever since then, each time I look out my window on a cold winter day to be greeted by the fresh-fallen snow on the ground, I think back to that image, that memory. I remember all the snowballs and the laughs and the smiles. And I am sure that, even after I am no longer able to go outside and play in the snow, I will still remember that sense of innocence and joy that came with my first Snowday.

February 1, 2007