Essay 4 draft...

I know we were writing an essay using descriptive narrative.  I ended up with this.  I am certainly open for suggestions.  And I know that I relied more on describing feelings.  I hope this somehow works for Essay 4...

Essay 4 – Draft 1                                                                                             Marjorie Papa

His Plan

            I had seen him before.  Of course I had seen him before, we graduated high school together.  I also have several distinct and vivid memories over the years of chance meetings.  That morning wasn’t much different except that about a decade had passed.  He looked the same, kind of.  Maybe there was something different, but it was too early in the morning to be fully aware.  It wasn’t too early to be aware of my mother asking him if he’d like to marry her daughter…or the fact that he said “Nah, I’m all right.”  As if she wanted to marry him anyway... Vaya con Dios on your surfing trip with my brother, good to see you again.

            My week went by as usual.  Same grueling work schedule; same nightly routine of unwinding with some Twizzlers and a few glasses of pinot noir.  Little did I know that I was with you in Barbados.  Did my brother know you brought me?  Of course not.  Because I only existed in your thoughts.  You taking a break from surfing, thinking if it would be ok for you to ask him about me.  How? When? Forget it…just drink another Banks.

            Two weeks later, here we are again.  I haven’t seen you this often since freshman year English.  And one more time, it’s on the account of my brother.  Except this time, it’s not in your head: I actually am at this party celebrating my Irish heritage.  And you really are walking alongside me on our way to the pub.  Did I ever realize how funny you are?  And cuter than I remembered too.  Sure, you can have my number, sure we can have lunch.  I never thought you would actually follow through.

            And yet you followed through.  Shit.  Yesterday it seemed harmless to talk to you.  Today is not the same story.  Why did I give my number? And why did you use it? This is not the norm.  But fine, we can meet for drinks tonight.  That’s much easier than lunch anyway.  And yes, I will definitely be imbibing in a glass of pinot while I get myself ready.

            I can’t remember the entirety of this conversation with you.  And no, not because of the drinks.  They did help you steal that kiss from me later, though.  But at this point, I don’t even remember ordering.  True there was a bowl of New England clam chowder in front of each of us.  And a fabulous smell of fresh popcorn coming from that old-fashioned maker in the corner.  But exact words?  No.  Just a feeling of…of what? Uncertainty? Confusion? Surprise? To say the least.  Or, more accurately, to not want to say –or think or feel- anything further…

            You again.  You left your keys in my car last night? Likely story.  But yes, you can stop by and pick them up.  Shit.  I’m nervous again.  Why do you keep using my number?  I’m not ready for this.  And you’re knocking already?  That was too fast – I barely even had time to check my reflection.  Yet here you are in my doorway…looking absolutely ridiculously attractive in your work clothes.  And that smell…I can’t put my finger on it.  I’m usually so good at the guess-what-I’m-wearing game.  But all I know about this scent is that it’s yours and I could get high on it.  What is going on? I’m slipping.  I’m not myself.  I need to get it together.

            Flowers at work?  From who?  You.  And for no reason whatsoever.  Wow, you are good.  What are your motives?  Why are you doing this?  Who told you I never got flowers for no reason?  Who is behind this plan to sabotage me?  Are you working alone?  How much more of this am I in store for?  How much longer will you keep this up? I really need to run from this…

            And that’s exactly what I did.  I ran.  Away from everything I had ever known.  Not exactly my plan…but exactly what happened.  No matter where I run this will always catch me.  You are my daily reminder of that.  There was and is more in store for me.  I probably couldn’t forget even if I wanted to…but I vowed to you I would always remember.  I am convinced that was your plan all along.  And I know now for a fact you weren’t working alone – that this wasn’t your idea.  Your Accomplice has made Himself quite known to me.  Better remember to thank Him in our prayers.

           

Brainstorming for Essay 4

Monday's class was very interesting. As long as I can keep up with "switching gears" in some way or another, it keeps giving me ideas to maybe expand on or write new essays.  Casey commented on my Essay3 and what a great idea! It gave me such another avenue to take my essay and I'm already jotting things down. I really like getting feedback, especially because I always hear other people's stories and think how I wish I thought along those lines.  It kind of pushes me past a mini writer's block.

As for the "descriptive" writing. Very thought prompting for me....I have to remember to use as many of the senses as possible for this type of writing.  One idea I had would be pretty cool to be able to write out - but it might be more challenging than it is worth. So I'll keep it in mind but now I've got to think of other ideas. How do I write about a place that people would recognize without me saying exactly? I knew that the example Dr. Chandler posted on her blog was about the beach. I don't remember seeing the word in there, but knew it right away. It made me realize to  describe fully each detail, even if it's an obvious "give away". I have to stop trying to make it so complex! Maybe if I relaxed a little I would be able to be more inventive???

Essay 3 Draft 1- Just another chapter

Essay 3 – Draft 1                                                                                             Marjorie Papa

“Just another chapter…”

            It makes sense that life can be compared to a book.  It can vary from individual to individual what kind of book: a memoir; a biography; perhaps some may even consider it a fairytale.  No matter what a person might consider “their book,” the structure or outline remains the same: each has a beginning, middle, and eventually an end.  And it is safe to say that within those sections are subsections, or chapters.  They illustrate the journey that makes a person who they were, are and hope to become before the end.

            It brings to mind a chapter from the book of “Stephanie’s Life.”  Her beginning is being the first born in our family of three children.  In the youngest of years, there are many chapters that are “written” that pave the way for the largest of all chapters…the middle.  Throughout this body of a person’s book, there are even more occurrences that shape us further towards the conclusion.  Since there numerous, notable stories that have unfolded and will continuously unfold, we can aim our focus on those with momentous impact.

            In this section, Stephanie was a young single mother.  She had a job with which she could sustain her small family, as well as the aid and support from her family.  There comes a time in almost every young woman’s book when the yearning for a partner to share life with becomes nearly tangible.  Stephanie was no exception to this.  It was around this time in her life that she was reunited with her first love.

            They quickly picked up where they left off practically a decade before:  fervent love.  Without hesitation, they were both sure of where it was meant to lead, which is marriage.  The winter passed and the spring was full of promise.  Even the torrential downpours of rain, which had soaked through every bit of land for basically three weeks straight, could not dampen the spirits of young love.

            Stephanie’s man was working endlessly to save up for the engagement ring that women all around covet.  She met him at his weekend job and waited for him to finish so they could spend the rest of their night together.  They played a few games of pool but did not want to share their time together with friends and acquaintances who were vying for their attention.  So they simply left.  She took the lead in her car, with him following closely behind, en route to his apartment for some privacy.

            Not far into their drive, Stephanie glanced in her rearview mirror, as she had already done several times.  She checked one more on the status of how her makeup was holding up, then back farther to search for his car.  She saw his car following in a different direction.  He was careening off of the highway, headed straight for a pine tree.

            She pulled over on the side, jumped out of her car, threw off her flip flops, and ran towards him, all while on the phone with a 911 operator.  He had hit the tree and the tires of his truck continued to spin.  She tried to get to him, even trying to summon the strength to pull his truck back in an upright position.  When the emergency team arrived, they took over the rescue attempt she had been making.  It was all to no avail...his heart had bled out immediately.  She was told that “he did not make it.”  They removed him from his vehicle and lay him on the side of the road.  In true love story fashion, Stephanie kissed him on his lips as a final goodbye. 

            She went through the motions of planning his funeral in a detached state so as to keep herself glued together.  She coped for months in the best way she could.  Most of the time, it is common for the “best” way to be the worst way.  But many people’s stories go that way.  That was the end of that section of her life.

            The chapter of her book that Steph is currently writing includes a third child on the way with her husband of four years.  Another girl.  If asked, she would not say that her story is a fairytale.  In fact, she’s not sure what style her “book of life” is.  She readily admits that it is a work in progress.  And when asked about this previously “written” section of her life, she says with assuredness: “It was just another chapter.”

Brainstorming for Essay 3

Last night, we were to write lists on areas that we felt we had "authority" to speak about. I don't know if I did the list the way it was intended and I drew some blanks. What do I have authority to speak on? And how to I turn that into "eye" instead of veering towards "I" without overlapping the two?! The "I" essays I wrote were difficult in that I chose to speak on very personal stories. As hard as it was for me to share that, I'm finding that this "eye" essay might be even more challenging.

I think it's because I feel like I'm going to have trouble walking the "fine line" in my opinion. From what I understand we are to talk write about a subject as we see it, yet without our own thoughts directly coming through. Rather it seems like our thoughts might be a shadow in the writing. We allow the readers to maybe feel where we might want them to or the opposite, without saying it overtly.

In my mind, I have several things I might talk about. Fishing, addictions, obsessions...but how to make that into an "eye" essay? How do I show that without crossing into "I" essay territory? After thinking some more about it, I turned to my journal for some insight. In it, I had written possible topics. Two really stand out to me: "Rebecca" and "Stephanie." One is my best friend and the other is my sister. I definitely feel that I can write confidently about either one. Does this count as a valid area? I hope so...otherwise I'm grasping for straws

Essay 2 Draft-Learning Lessons

Creative Nonfiction – Essay 2 Draft                                                               Marjorie Papa

Learning Lessons

            The First Grade.  Think about it.  Several images appear in my mind.  For many kids, it was a big deal.  We no longer found ourselves in the shelter of kindergarten.  Now, we were entering the world in which we would be in school for the entire day.  We even had a lunch time where we would be sitting with the students from the upper grades.  Here is where we were educated on higher academic levels.  Yet it was still a time of innocence.  Yes, learning became more challenging.  Lessons became more defined and tangible.  And some of us discovered another novelty: we now had a few more choices.  And for me, one of those bigger choices was simply whether I wanted to sit in the cafeteria on the “cold lunch” side with my lunchbox from home…or the “hot lunch” side where I could buy my meal from the school.  You could learn a lot from the freedom of having a choice, even if it began in a lunchroom.

            Allow me to illustrate this by using a story about a 7 year old child in the First Grade.  I knew this child very well and I have quite an extraordinary memory, if I do say so myself.  Therefore, I know that this story is factual and accurate.  She was not really any different from the other students.  She enjoyed this new way of learning.  She made friends and had one in particular who was her best friend.  They had the same teacher, which means that they sat together in the designated section for the students in this teacher’s class.  The lunchroom was as I said: divided by the “cold” and “hot” lunch sides.

            It was a Friday afternoon.  I remember well because she was excited about sleeping over her best friend’s house that night.  It was the fall, although which month I can’t exactly recall.  I’ll get to how I know the season in a few moments.  Somewhere in the midst of their talking about later that night, another topic came up in conversation.  Someone asked if anyone thought this certain Second Grade girl was pretty.  Well, our girl told her best friend that she thought the girl was ugly.  Now who can really say why she said this.  True, it wasn’t nice.  But keep in mind that she was 7.  Maybe the Second Grade girl was mean to her; maybe they liked the same boy.  That’s not the important thing.  No, the important thing is that a boy from this Second Grade girl’s class, who happened to really like her, overheard this conversation between the friends.

            As the end of the school day neared, the girls were even more excited about their soon-to-be sleepover.  Just about an hour before the day was over, our girl’s teacher told her that the Second Grade teacher, let’s call her Mrs. Pace, wanted to see her.  The girl had no clue why but had no fear since it was her brother’s teacher.

            As she entered the room, she heard the Mrs. Pace asking her brother what the girl was like at home.  In his innocence, he replied: “Well, she’s kinda bossy,” while the girl approached the teacher’s desk.  Mrs. Pace was cutting brown, yellow, and orange construction paper in the shape of leaves, which is why I am confident that this was the fall.  With barely a glance up, Mrs. Pace asked our girl if she said that so-and-so was ugly.  At 7 years old, it’s hard to lie to a teacher.  The girl wasn’t sure what to do.  She was wringing her hands and felt a heat flush up from her neck to the top of her head.  And so she replied: “Yes…but I was just kidding.”  Mrs. Pace then responded: “Well we don’t kid in the Second Grade.  Now I want you to turn around and tell this class that you’re ugly.”

            So, I turned around and repeated the words “I’m ugly” to a class full of Second Graders, including my brother.  I can actually hear the words in my head clear as a bell.  But this teacher needed to teach me a lesson.  Not an academic lesson, but a life-lesson.  She was a successful teacher because I never forgot the lesson she taught me.

            After a few years, I revealed this lesson that I learned.  The few people who I allowed to be privy to this information tried to tell me that it wasn’t true.  They pleaded with me not to believe it, as if it were an “old wives tale” or an “urban legend.”  But how many of us still wait a half hour to swim? Or still glance in the backseat of our car to check that no one is behind us ready to attack?  So I more or less kept this to myself.  But it was still something I believe.

            Let’s fast forward 20 some-odd years.  I have the love of an amazing man.  We were recently married.  It still amazes me that he truly loves me.  He looks at me like I’m the only person in the world for him.  I still question how this could possibly be true!  What have I ever done to deserve him?  In the months before we married, I questioned this quite often.  Often enough that it worried and stressed out my husband….and me to be honest.  What was it that made me feel so doubtful?  So I decided, for my sake and for my now-husband’s, to seek help finding these answers.

            Well, one of the answers was not what I expected.  The medical professionals that I went to see all had the same answer: I’m bipolar.  Now this is another life lesson.  What does one learn from that?  Well, for one it gives a reason and clarity for certain behaviors and actions.  I also learned that there is medication for people such as me.  And I learned that these medications can actually help, even an entire year later. 

            Now I’m sure many of you wonder how it is that I can share this personal and private information about me.  These are both truthful glimpses into the picture book of my life.  And that is something that I do have the answer to.  It is another facet in the inner file-cabinet of my mind.  I can share this because I am telling you a story.  It’s like in elementary school, perhaps the First Grade, when the teacher reads as the students sit in a circle, listening.  I am the storyteller.  It’s as if I am reading an excerpt from my own memoir.  However, I am not emotionally attached to it at this exact moment.  No, I am simply reading from my inner pages.   A story is a story: it’s just how you can share it.  I hope my story hasn’t made anyone feel sorry for me.  I have another secret weapon.  My one perk for the lesson I learned from being bipolar is this:  I have a prescription for Xanax.

Think I misunderstood...

So in my last blog just a few moments ago, I thought we were to post Essay 2 by today before the conferences. It appears I was mistaken! And I am glad for that! So disregard my last blog....I will post my Essay 2 this evening as the syllabus says! Whew!

I did however comment on the classmates essays in my group. I hope Hamilton, Yasmin, and Fran have a chance to read my comments. If not, I loved the completely different twists on all 3 writings. They really evoked feelings from this reader!

My apologies for Essay 2

I know we're supposed to post our draft of Essay 2 today.  And that we are choosing to read something we wrote, including the option of Essay 1 or 2.  I didn't really want to read something I have written in the past. True, there are many stories. But none that I have opened up with more than these 2 essays. So I have decided that I don't want to post my draft of Essay 2. At least not yet. I will post it tomorrow and open it up for any feedback or comments. But I have chosen this essay to read tonight. I really want to try it out as having everyone hear it for the first time. Not that I think it is some great work of art - it's just something I have decided I want to do.

I apologize if I'm going against the tide - but I can't help it. It's something I have to do for myself. Not that I don't trust anyone's response or criticism. It's only for my own personal knowledge. So I hope anyone reading this will understand or least just accept my decision. And I hope I don't disappoint tonight. Not so much the audience...but more myself.