Cold Turkey (Close Third Exercise)

Joe's fiancee was nothing like Alice had described.

"Welcome, I’m Julie,” she said, tugging her mittens off and casting them onto the countertop.  She shook Daniel’s hand wildly, beaming with eyes full of nerves.  Her makeup and hair were neatly done, but her clothes were covered in spot of water and grease from the turkey she pulled out of the oven.

“Daniel,” He told her.

“Alice.”

Even he was jaw-wide, slapstruck even, at the way Alice didn’t so much as extend her hand, let alone look the woman directly in the eye.  

“I am going to clean up.  If you two will excuse me, Joe is waiting for you in the next room.”

Daniel took Alice by the hand and pulled her along towards the living room, careful not to tug with force, but only as a suggestion.

“I am not ready for this,” she said.

“You’ll be fine.  Just fake it.”

“I’m not so sure I can once I’m in there.”

Daniel panicked for a moment.  If Alice couldn’t feign interest in her father’s girlfriend, there was no way she’d be able to deal with her father.  Flight kicked in and he wished he’d never agreed to come.  If he hadn’t Alice would have never agreed to the plans, Joe would never get a family reunion, and maybe he wouldn’t think any less of Alice for her snappiness.  

Alice tugged her hand away and walked to the table, sitting down without embracing her father.  He stood in shock, then shaking it off, trained his eyes on Daniel.  

“You must be Daniel, ” Joe said, grabbing Daniel’s hand and resting a hand on his shoulder.  He spoke soft.  “Thanks for getting her here.”

Daniel wondered if Joe knew what he had asked for - what he had gotten himself into.

A Mistake (Reader Response 17)

I really liked Akhil Sharma's "A Mistake", and the way the story captured so many different kinds of experiences.  The main character's new life after immigrating to America brought about a conflict that allowed for the author to compare each character's background and the new changes that this kind of life brings.

At times I was unsure if every character in the story was dynamic or if the narrator was so changed that he saw changes in everyone because of his own changing understandings of his family.  It felt, perhaps a little like both.

My favorite aspect of the story was the family dynamic, and how the narrator began seeing these changes.  The way he interpreted his parents' role in his life an in the home before and after was very interesting, moving from one in which his father appeared to assert his equal role in the family life, when they had thought their mother was the sole decision-maker and the only authority they would listen to in the home.  Birju's overconfidence after his acceptance to the prestigious science school reveals other changing character dynamics, as Birju acts disrespectfully towards his mother and holds himself in a way that demeans others around him, especially his younger brother, our narrator.

The ending, while I liked it and felt it fit, seemed a little predictable to me, at least in certain elements. I didn't feel as concerned for the characters in the moment - I wasn't as empathetic at the end as I had hoped to be - which made me like the ending less, and drew away from some of my appreciation for it.  

The Story (Reader Response 16)

The Story, by Amy Bloom, might just be my favorite so far.
I mean it.

Not just because the characters were recognizable and strong.  Which they were.  Not because the narrator was intriguing and I understood her and identified with her.  Which she was.

I think it was because there were so many stories woven into one narrative.  There was the story.  Then there was the reality.  Then there was the writing of the story.  And "The Story" was candid and intriguing before the narrator came clean about the details, before she started talking about wanting to tell the story and all the details she found necessary.

I found myself rooting for the story and the narrator.  And the author.  I'm still not certain if the narrator at the end was the author or not.  I hope she was, and I hope she wasn't.  On one hand,  I hope that the awful things Sandra did were punished.  On the other, the entirety of "The Story" makes a compelling work of fiction on it's own.  I don't know if it's all fiction, or half fiction and half non-fiction, or what it may be.  All I know is I loved it.  Every second of it.

The blur between reality and fiction as the story began to reach it's ending was exciting and, I think, really captured the process of writing a story that is rooted in a personal reality in huge ways.  At least it felt like that to me.  I have difficulty writing stories based on people I know or direct creative non-fiction. I always need to add a detail to separate my story from reality.  Something like making stained glass windows instead of statues.  Or being a psychiatrist, specifically, not a therapist.

Little details like that do a lot.  First, they're great for filling gaps.  Second, and more importantly, they allow for the expansion of empathy a reader needs.  By adding fictional details to creative non-fiction, blurring our reality with our story, we can see into the minds and experiences and motivations of characters, based on people we know personally and with whom we can never have that level of understanding.  Being able to understand a fictional character better than we know people we have known all our lives is one of the most magical things about fiction.  Whether it is all fiction, or half and half, or whatever balance it is, Amy Bloom captured that for me.  And, like I said, All I know is I loved it.  Ever second of it.

Plus, that last line speaks to me on a spiritual level, and it's just another reason to love the story even more. As if I needed another one...

Chapter 6 (Reader Response 15)

I'm really glad we were assigned Chapter Six of Imaginative Writing, because it got me off my butt and focusing on paying attention to the chapters in a way I hadn't been during the semester so far.  But it  had a lot of solid advice and interesting perspectives on explaining the process of writing the story and elements that make it captivating.
Here are a few of my favorites:

• "If the story succeeds", readers will have their "capacity for empathy enlarged by having lived in the character's skin for the duration".
• Looking at a story's beginning, middle, and end as "conflict, crisis, and resolution" instead.
• the pattern of connection and disconnection (particularly when it was traced out piece by piece with examples to show the shifts)
• And, on that point, how ending with connection or disconnection helps determine the story to be a tragedy or a comedy.  

I'd never read or heard any of these phrases before, and I think they helped me understand the concepts better than previous ways they'd been explained.  Especially the connection and disconnection.  That one is going to haunt me every time I read something.  But in a good way.  Not all hauntings are necessarily bad, I think.  It's just like the first time someone told me we breathe through one nostril at a time.  Now that I know, I'm aware of it and think of it sometimes when I'm not overwhelmed with anything.  It annoys me, but I'm grateful for it.  It reminds me that something is working right. 

One day I really want to write a story that doesn't fit what a story usually is.  It won't be about a journey.  Or a stranger coming to town.  Or two worlds colliding.  Or a love story.  And it won't be a slice of life.  It'll be ages before I find a way to do that, but I think it might be fun to push the boundaries of the kinds of conflicts I write.  The kinds of stories I portray.  This chapter made me want to try that.  And it gave me a new way to look into a story's conflict, to read it closely and sectionalize it.  I just wonder what advice and ideas I've been missing by skimming the other chapters.  Guess I know what I'll be rereading this week.

Victory Lap (Reader Response 14)

Victory Lap, by George Saunders, was a difficult one for me to easily jump into.  I found the first narrative voice, that belonging to (or perhaps just focusing on) Alison Pope, to be confusing, her trains of thought hard to catch.  The jumping around caught me off guard.  I think my favorite line, though, is below.  I found it amusing first, then felt it fit the character's voice very well.

"Egads! One found oneself still standing on the top of the stairs.
Do the thing where, facing upstairs, hand on railing, you hop down the stairs one at a time, which was getting a lot harder lately, due to, someone's feet were getting longer every day, seems like."

Though the story's voice at this point was not very easy to follow or understand, I still found it interesting and worth pursuing.  But just as I got the hang of the style, BOOM!  Another point of view.

The next character, Kyle, was easier to follow, his voice being both clear and distinguishable.  The inner workings of his mind felt natural, and I found his background more enjoyable to piece together, seeing clear correlations between his actions and his history.  While Alison had been a fun challenge to read through, Kyle's perspective made the story more interesting to me and kept me invested so that I could remain gripped as the story approached it's climax.

After Kyle's section, the point of view changes felt natural and the voice for both characters was clear.  I don't know if this clarity was because I was now used to Alison's voice, or if it was less of the fun disjointed quirky voice from before.  As the plot came through both of their voices, and they each battled with their internal monologue, trying to deal with a terrifying experience, I found myself captivated and feeling certain I knew who these characters were.  And I care, which I think is a more important point.  I cared by the end in a way I hadn't when Kyle started talking.

Gusev (Reader Response 13)

Of the stories I have read for this class, Gusev, though interesting, would not be amongst any of my favorites.  Perhaps it was just because it didn't capture me the way other stories have.  Perhaps it was the vagueness of the ending and that I had to read it twice to realize what had happened on a surface level.  Perhaps I was just irritated that Pavel Ivanitch's name was always fully stated, never shortened, and he was never referred to by first or last name alone.  Whatever it was that bothered me, it was of no fault of Mr. Chekhov.
Chekhov's prose was beautiful.  Particular sections left me wanting to write about sailors on the high seas and capture a spirit of living a life among the waves.  I did once before, about a daughter whose father, though long dead, left her itching to follow waves as he once had, just to understand what he loved about it.  But, perhaps, it might be worthwhile to do something with his character.  But that's a project for another day, I suppose.  I already have a long list of stories I want to write and character I haven't gotten around to exploring yet, and I feel I owe them something.
I think, maybe if I wasn't so tired for the past couple weeks and I took my time with the story (significantly more than necessary, I mean), if I focused on minute details and did a close reading, I could find a lot about the story I loved.  The dialogue was well put together, and I did enjoy that, but those little details that kept bothering me were the things I fixated on in my reading, and they inhibited my full enjoyment.  Maybe I can read it again in the next couple weeks... revisit the story.  Get to know the characters better.  I think I'd feel a lot more for them than I do right now.

2:47am (Character Exercise)

She couldn't usually manage to stay up long enough for him to get home.  Usually, she woke up to the sound of his key scraping around the keyhole.  Usually, he headed straight for his room so she would sit still and pretend like he hadn't woken her.
She hated that word.  Usually.  There was something so tragic about the routine.  It made her sick to her stomach to think of it.
"Goddamn it,  you smell like jet fuel."
Part of her only said it to break the silence.  To let her know she wasn't just being creepy and watching him.  She had been cleaning when he got home.  The kitchen floor stuck to her socks, and the freezer drawers were next to impossible to open and close properly.  Another part of her felt ill, smelling the whiskey from across the room.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
He was quiet.  Strangely so.  She'd never seen him quite so still either.
She knew the alcohol was hitting him hard.  She knew, in part at least, why he was drinking.  She hated seeing him so stressed.  There was something sad about it.  He tried to clean himself out, get rid of the stress, but it was still in his eyes, the crinkle at the corner of his eyes, premature wrinkles and squinting vision.  It was always there.
But he wasn't there.  His eyes were distant, and she knew for now he'd feel fine.  But he wasn't fixing anything.  He opened and closed his mouth.  Put his hand on his chest, then quickly moved it to his knee as he leaned forward.
"Oh God, please don't throw up.  Please.  I can't clean it up right now.  I'll be sick.  Just -- "
"I'm fine."
"Oh.  Okay."
She considered grabbing the trashcan from the kitchen, debating what he needed more.  Space, company, or something else - what exactly that may be,  she didn't know.
He sat with his head in his hands and tapped his fingers from between chunks of hair.  She took her hand and scratched his back slowly.  Trying to soothe and relax him.  He leaned back and looked back at her.
"What are you thinking about?"
"You're blurry."
"It's okay."
That seemed to be enough for now.
He'd be fine.  He usually was, anyway.

Roy Spivey (Reader Response 11)

I really enjoyed this story for so many reasons and I don't have enough time to share them all.  I thoroughly enjoyed the serendipitous circumstances of the narrator's encounter with Roy Spivey and the dialogue became a whimsical representation of an exciting moment and connection that would leave someone absolutely starstruck.  The characters themselves were a little bizarre in a fun way, what with them biting each other and sharing personal information so immediate in the conversation.
I adored the narrator.  Her fixation on the number Roy had her memorize, thinking about it year after year when her life became difficult, reminded me of the little things we all hold onto in times of need.  There was also this pervading hope that she might give the nanny a ring and reconnect with this stranger, although by the time she found the number again and was ready to call, it was far too late.
I read this piece when I was supposed to be working on something else and focusing, but I couldn't resist reading every bit before I got back to my work.  It was captivating and held me trapped both times I read it.
I don't know what to make of the last paragraph, but I loved it.  Something about it feels hopeful, but still regretful, a set of feelings I felt permeated the piece.

What We Talk About (Reader Response 12)

In What We Talk About When We Talk About Anne Frank, I loved the dimension of the characters far more than I liked the dialogue.  The narrator, Deb's husband, perceived his wife's guests in an interesting way and his perspective made for an interesting representation of their situation.
One of my favorite parts of the story was how the husband continues to refer to Shoshana and Yerucham as Lauren and Mark, a choice which makes each piece of dialogue feel like part of a conflict between him and his guest, and their choices and his own.  This comes as an indictor of his personality and reveals a form of discomfort he feels in being surrounded by these people as he cannot adjust to their names, or anything else bout them.
His emotion in the story takes the main stage and shows us this discomfort and takes the reader along with him as he learns things about his wife, her friends, and his son at the same time the reader does.  The dialogue and the information revealed within, as well as the perspective he shares between these moments, portrays our narrator as a man who is an outside in his own home and his own family, which made for an intriguing point of view in such a dialogue driven piece.

Hills Like White Elehants (Reader Response 10)

I can't even remember how many times I have read Hills Like White Elephants for my classes, whether in high school or college.  It is one of those stories that I go on loving more and more each time I read.  Sure, I see it in a whole different light, knowing the ending and knowing the meaning, but never once have I found myself not thoroughly enjoying it.  The Great Gatsby is like that for me, too.  The two are among the very few things I've been 'forced' to read for classes and actually loved.  Every single time.  And the reason why I love them changes every single time.
If I was asked what my biggest weakness is in my writing, my answer would be dialogue.  Somedays it is better than others.  Other days it is an absolute nightmare and I can't even fathom why nothing will work together.  I wrote a story last year about a person I used to talk to all the time, for hours on end.  I never saw his face, but his voice was a constant in my life.  It was a beautiful, but disturbing experience.  Writing the piece, I couldn't figure out how to make it work, even though the words I wrote were the same words we said to each other.  Even though it was a real conversation, the dialogue didn't feel right.  Something about it didn't fit.  But now, I am proud of that story, nearly entirely dialogue but still, I think, a cohesive representation of a time in my life that matters.  It was my story, so I am happy with how I represented it, but my dialogue always needs more work.  Always.
Reading this story is also a reminder of how to improve my own writing.  The dialogue is smooth, and easy to follow, but nothing is expressly stated.  It is easy to fall into the trap of trying to self-explain in dialogue, to use it as a source of information or as something that needs to mediate between the story and the reader's understanding of it.  But no real conversation does that.  Real conversations are vague and confusing to a passerby.  They are reliant upon previous discussions and are a reference to those conversations.  Real conversations don't exist in a vacuum and they don't grab random passersby listening in by the hand and say 'This is what we are talking about in case it wasn't clear'.  That would be ridiculous.
I'm not inclined to be writing ridiculous things.  I'd like my work to be a reflection of life.
It's just another thing I'll have to work on, but it's okay.