Smoke Break Musings

On Style, and thoughts thereof

2012-02-01T13:59:00.000-05:00

Styleis rhetorical in the sense that the style of every individual piece of writingis influenced by the needs of the audience. Style is basically the wayyou as an individual write. When you're reading a novel, the style is generallyhow the narrator tells you the story. Style has been a huge part of mydevelopment as a writer. Through several of the creative writing courses thatI've taken I've had to slowly adapt and chance my writing style to fit myassumed audiences needs and expectations. With the novel that I'm working onfor instance, I realized that my audience was going to be a younger group ofpeople who are interested in action and a fantasy universe. That knowledgealone educates me in how to modify my writing so that it comes off to thereader as being tension filled and active as opposed to my original style whichtended to be very proper and conversational.

The Glimmer: V2

2012-01-30T23:49:00.002-05:00

John was always a troubled childfrom the very beginning. He displayed signs of destructive anger from the timehe was two years old till that anger slowly shifted to an internal hatred ofhimself and by proxy the world around him. Pain and loss lead him to a place inwhich he was plagued by utter uncaring and sadness. In the sixth grade he wasmet with a thread or tether, to carry him through the tough middle schoolyears, as he met the music director at Redland Middle School, Mr. Hudson. Mr.Hudson was an excellent teacher and someone that John looked up to. In seventhgrade, on the first day of class John found out that Mr. Hudson had taken a jobat a High School and that he wouldn't be coming back.

"John,don't you dare buy that drink, we're loading the buses now." Mrs. Killroywas an exceedingly rotund woman in her late 40's to early 50's. The new musicdirector at Redland Middle School had very little say-so over her students, andshe found that the majority of students who had been there the year beforedespised her.

Johndidn't bother to respond to her. He felt confident that he could get away withbuying a soda even if it directly contradicted his teacher's command. There hadbeen three people in front of him at the soda machine moments before who hadignored Mrs. Killroy's initial instruction to get to the busses. Why should itbe any different for John? He had been waiting patiently for every otherstudent to finish getting their drinks, and it was finally his turn. That sentiment,of course, lead to him choosing to blatantly ignore the seemingly powerlessteacher. As he fished the dollar into the machine, he felt as if he'd escapedhis drink-less fate and pushed down on the Surge button. He tried not to lookat the teacher, as if he hadn't heard her.

Johnmust've drawn the short straw of karma that day as apparently the teacher wasdone being ignored. Her shoes clacked with harsh resonance on the ground as sheburst forward and shot her hand in the vending slot. She pulled out the surgethat John had just bought and paid for and then threw it smugly in the garbage."GET TO THE BUS!"

John'spride was injured, his feelings hurt. In his mind he had done everythingcorrectly. He let everyone else go before him, he was patient, and he felt thatif everyone else had gotten their drink while disobeying the teacher then heshould be entitled to a drink as well. The slight of ignoring the teacher amoment longer to get what he had felt he deserved seemed minimal in comparisonto Mrs. Killroy's aggressive act. He felt his throat closing off as the unfairness of not only this moment,but also life in general smothered him. He made a choice then to flip theswitch on his emotions and instead to hate Mrs. Killroy with an unyielding anddestructive passion.

Overthe next year and a half John would lose his first dog as well as hisgrandfather. After already having lost the only person he actually liked inmiddle school, Mr. Hudson, he was quickly losing the fight for happiness andwas running out of things that he had a passion for. The one thing that reallygave him a sense of satisfaction during those years was the cello. He couldpour his emotions, fears, and worries into the music and all of those negativethings in his life became a beautiful deep melody. He always thought it wasinteresting how so much pain and sadness could produce something so sweetsounding. Walking sedately into Orchestra class every morning he would tune outMrs. Killroy and focus in on the cello sitting in front of him. When she told astory to the class he would practice the fingering of a piece that had caughthis attention. He held on tight to the cello all the way through middle schooland one day found him self auditioning at Coral reef high school with his oldteacher, Mr. Hudson, sitting in front of him. Although there was someexcitement at the sight of his old teacher, mostly John found himself unsureabout how he felt. After all, he’d spent the last three years of his lifeshutting down emotionally so that he didn’t have to deal with the pain.Suddenly there was a white light at the end of the tunnel where one hadn’t beenbefore. He missed out on two years with Mr. Hudson as a teacher, but thepossibility of four years was now coming into the picture.

“HeyJohn, take a seat,” said Mr. Hudson.

Therewere two other people with Mr. Hudson that worked together to audition studentsapplying for the school. The woman seemed kind to John, she was fairly youngand attractive for an administrator and she seemed caring. While Mr. Hudson andthe woman seemed to be happy to see John and eager to see what he had to offeron the cello, the other man didn’t seem at all interested in the proceedings.

“Whydon’t you go ahead and play us the first song you prepared John.”

It’slucky that John was so naive at the time. He played the pieces he’d practicedfor the committee calmly and with passion and it was clear that they were veryhappy with his performance. Had he realized at the time that all the otherstudents applying to the school had had private lessons and years moreexperience then he might not have played so well. But not knowing, he put ineverything he had and not long after that he received a letter in the mail thatannounced his admission to the school.

Thenext four years were wonderfully spent with good friends and a wonderfulrole-model. John finally came out of his apathetic shell and started to livelife again to feel pain as well as love simultaneously. He continued playingcello throughout high school and through 2 years of college as well and evennow picks it up occasionally when the mood strikes him. Since then he’s foundnew passions and hobbies that he fills his time with and it’s sad in a way thathe didn’t keep playing, but at the same time were it not for music in the firstplace he might not have any of the things that he does today.

V1: A Glimmer of Hope

2012-01-26T18:48:00.001-05:00

The Glimmer

"John, don't you dare buy adrink, we're loading the busses now." Mrs. Killroy was an exceedinglyrotund woman in her late 40's to early 50's. The Orchestra and Guitar teacherat Redland Middle School. She'd only recently taken over after the previousteacher, Mr. Hudson, had left for a better job opportunity at a High School. Hewas a tough act to follow and because of that Mrs. Killroy was despised byevery student who had spent the previous year with Mr. Hudson.

John didn't bother to respond toher. He felt confident that he could get away with buying a soda even if itdirectly contradicted his teacher's command. There had been three people infront of him at the soda machine moments before who had ignored Mrs. Killroy'sinitial instruction to get to the busses. Why should it be any different forJohn? He had been waiting patiently for every other student to finish gettingtheir drinks, and it was finally felt his turn. That sentiment, of course, leadto him choosing to blatantly ignore the seemingly powerless teacher. As hefished the dollar into the machine, he felt as if he'd escaped his drink-lessfate and pushed down on the button for Surge as he turned his head and smiledwidely at the teacher. Stop me frombuying a drink when everyone else did huh? Hah!

John must've drawn the short stickof karma that day as apparently the teacher was done being ignored. Her shoesclacked with harsh resonance on the ground as she burst forward and shot herhand in the vending slot. She pulled the surge that John had just bought andpaid for and then threw it smugly in the garbage. "GET TO THE BUS!"

John's pride was injured, hisfeelings hurt. In his mind he had done everything correctly from waitingpatiently, to paying for the drink with his own money. The slight of ignoringthe teacher a moment longer to get what he had felt he deserved seemed minimalin comparison to Mrs. Killroy's aggressive act. He felt his throat closing offslightly as he started to feel like crying, but he stuffed the emotion downdeep and instead determined to hate Mrs. Killroy with an unyielding anddestructive passion.

This is of course just a briefdescription of a single event among many that steadily beat down on John untilhe became a child of sadness and despair, plagued by utter uncaring. A snapshotof the way in which he tended to be misunderstood as well as overdramatic. Butits purpose it to show John's state of mind in his darkest hour, when the onlything that he cared at all for was music.

Tension: How to Build it.

2012-01-19T21:53:00.001-05:00

I was up by six in the morning yanking clothes on and grabbing my bag before flying out the door. I heaved down the sidewalk through the drizzling rain to a crescendo of monstrous barks as I flew past house after darkened house. As the doggy decrescendo finally played out I started to take a breath as I simultaneously heard a quick inhale directly beside me.
The throaty bark of the monstrous fiend beside me was enough to make me jump several feet off the ground. The fence that separated us acted like a counter for the dog to lay its arms on while it stared at me with it’s menacing little eyes. I rushed on past it but the black skin hot breath lingered in my mind.
When I arrived at my destination there were several other kids waiting around. Each one of them was older and more experienced than me. They all had dark skin, which scared me, and they had a funny way of talking. They grew quiet as I stood watching them. One by one they turned and looked at me as the dead silence started gaining momentum again and the whispers began to circulate. That was exactly why I’d never wanted to ride the bus to school.

Open Form Prose

2012-01-17T16:57:00.003-05:00

How is a 60 second podcast like writing open form prose?

I'd say its pretty straight forward; Open-form prose is basically inviting the audience into a conversational setting where you can be yourself, tell a story, and communicate experiential emotion and knowledge. It's about forgetting the "rules to writing" so that you can just relax and let the narrative flow out in a very natural way. Open-form prose can be planned or unplanned, simple or complex, and either grammatically correct or not. In other words it can be anything the writer wants. As an example, the sentence I just wrote could have given off several different vibes. It could have been personal and relaxed; "In other words it can be anything you want," but instead I chose to make it slightly more professional by referring to the writer as impersonal. Changing just one word is enough to change the entire feel and flow of a narrative.

All that being said, the videocast that I did - in place of the required 60 second podcast - Was similar to writing open-form prose because, even though I planned it out, it was a very relaxed and personal message with a Pathos appeal to the listener. By inserting music created by me I was able to delve to an even deeper level of emotional appeal as well as to establish Ethos and to meet the exigency of the audience by providing them with a clear example of the story I was telling them.

Videocast: A History of Beauty.

2012-01-15T15:55:00.000-05:00

Blog 1: A Little Thought Goes a Long Way

2012-01-12T16:38:00.001-05:00

The obvious audience for college level writing would be a student's professors, administrators, and peers. Throughout my entire college experience the one element that has been consistently lacking in my own and my peer's writing was an adequate level of thought and time spent. It's likely that professors expect that the student puts in at least the same amount of time that he/she puts in. As a peer, there have been many times where I either felt ashamed of the fact that I was forcing my poorly written work onto other students, or times where I was frustrated by the lack of effort on the part of other students. It all boils down to time spent. If a student writes a paper for instance, and submits it without rereading it, then the audience then has to deal with tons of errors and is much less likely to appreciate the paper. If the same student takes the exact same paper, but instead of submitting it right away decides to take five minutes to read it, then they will have found a multitude of errors which can then be corrected and will no longer distract the reader from the core of what was written.

Tons of other groups are included in the audience for college writing. Companies, Grant Funders, Graduate programs, and even beyond that there are people who are affect by college writing whether it be fully developed or not. I think in this particular scenario the most fitting answer (although untrue) would be, "Practice makes perfect." The only way to guarantee that a writer meets the expectations of his/her audience is to just keep writing and to receive as much feedback as possible from positive and knowledgeable sources until writing becomes a honed skill and habit.