Big junkyard (enough for 2 weeks)

"A witty saying proves nothing."

-- Voltaire

"I don't want to achieve immortality through my work, I want to achieve immortality through not dying."

 -- Woody Allen

"As sensitive and broad-minded humans, we must never allow ourselves to be in any way judgmental of the religious practices of other people, even when these people clearly are raving space loons."

 -- Dave Barry

"When you're swimming in the creek
And an eel bites your cheek,
That's a moray!"

 -- Fabulous Furry Freak Bros.

"A day without sunshine is like night."

 -- Unknown

"Fruitcake is like semen, there's a lot of it about but no one wants to swallow it".

 -- Oscar Wilde

"The Psblurtex is an 18-inch long anaconda that hides in the gentlemen's outfitting departments of Amazonian stores and is often bought by mistake since its colors are those of the London Reform Club.  Once tied around its victim's neck, it strangles him gently and then claims the insurance before running off to Germany where it lives in hiding."

 -- Mike Harding, "The Armchair Anarchist's Almanac"

"NASA should not be allowed to operate in a vacuum".

 -- Editorial, Aviation Week & Space Technology, 2/2/87

"I've seen things you people wouldn't believe.
Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion.
I've watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser Gate.
All these memories will be lost in time,
like tears in rain."

 -- Roy Baty, Blade Runner

"I can explain it for you, but I can't understand it for you."

 -- Unknown.

"There are still places where people think that the function of the media is to provide information."

 -- Don Rottenberg

"Life admits not of delays; when pleasure can be had, it is fit to catch it.  Every hour takes away part of the things that please us, and perhaps part of our disposition to be pleased."

 --Samuel Johnson

"I'm Buh-ish, which is a cross between Buhdist and Jewish. That's where you sit and wait for things to go on sale."

 --Robin Williams

"Hypocrisy is the Vaseline of social intercourse."

 -- Unknown

"The difference between theory and practice is always greater in practice than in theory."

 -- Unknown

 
"In theory, theory and practice are the same thing, but in practice they're not."

-- Unknown

"Definition of a hermaphrodite: a bisexual built for two."

 -- Jeff Daiell

"All I ask of my body is that it carry around my head."

 -- Thomas Alva Edison

"It is up to us to produce better-quality movies."

 -- Lloyd Kaufman, producer of _Stuff Stephanie in the Incinerator_

"Gosh, math is hard!"

 -- Talking Barbie

"I'd give my right arm to be ambidextrous."

 -- Unknown

"Style distinguishes excellence from accomplishment"

 -- J. Coplien

"You may buy from me in your own language, but sell to me in mine."

 --Willy Brandt

Random Impulse Part II

     I was somewhere in the middle of the parking lot when he started coming after me. “I’ll take you home,” he demanded.

     “No!” I turned my head and kept hiking it towards the highway. I made sure to swing my ass a little so he knew what he was missing. While treading away, my first thought was I didn’t want to mess up my new heels. My second thought was that my feet were going to start hurting within about five minutes of walking. Then, my third thought followed and I told myself I needed to get in the truck. It was either walking home and getting raped on the side of the road, or riding home and getting raped in the comfort of a truck.

     The truck was red, lifted, suspended axel with a chrome brush guard, and decked out with all the good shit a real truck should be. ‘I wish I could date the truck’, I thought. I touched the side of it as a checked it out. Nice paint job, nice brush guard, and definitely nice wheels. I definitely had wished it was mine.

     He walked over to the passenger door and offered to help me into the massive carriage. “I got it!” I blurted. I grabbed the “Oh Shit” handle the hung on the side of the door and pulled myself up into heaven. The truck shook as he plumped his ass down. The roar of the engine was loud. I observed the interior as he backed out of the confined area. The radio thumped and the speakers vibrated underneath my ass. It was probably the best part of the date.

     He put it in drive and drove to the road where I examined the houses and trees as we passed them. “Fuckin’ rough,” he said. I shot my eyes over to him. They burned a hole right through his head straight to the window. “Can you hurry?!” I impatiently demanded, “I have to go do my laundry.”

     “Hurry?!” he yelled, “You can fuckin’ hurry!” He slammed on the breaks and my body flew towards the dash board. I scrambled around to pick up the contents of my purse. “Get out,” he demanded.

     I didn’t give a shit. I hopped out of the piece of heaven with the devil that rode inside. The soles of my feet landed on the pavement so I wouldn’t break any of my new heels. With one finger in the air, and my pepper spray in the other, I watched him drive away.

Random Impulse Part I

Last Ron-De-Vu

            It was big and had me going.

     Its curves were enormous and had me from the first moment I had set my lustful eyes on it. If only I could get my hands on it. Lord knows what I could do to it. I knew I could take it for a ride and treat it like a baby. My baby. My hand lingered down the smooth side of its walls, while my mouth salivated. God, I wanted it so bad.

      It was awkward. His breath was shitty, hands were sweaty, and his words were dumb. He was a loser that couldn’t ever get a date in his life and I volunteered on the pity level to do it. My back stood against the damn wall as his face inched closer to mine. “What the hell man!” I shouted, “It’s the first damn date and I don’t even like you. No wonder you can’t ever get a girl. Gee!” So much for these pity dates I go on. This was the last one I ever pity. They usually just sit and nervously talk, but this one had some seriously bad actions that turned me off.

     He was already making a move. What an idiot. I yanked my purse away from him, grabbed my keys full of jangles, and shoved his fat ass out of the way. I flipped my hair back in anger and turned the opposite way. My heels clomped as I marched off to God knows where.

4 Incredible Reading Responses

After watching an epsiode of Doctor Who, I now see why everyone thinks it's so awesome. At first, I thought the weeping angels were a little bit cheesy, but dang, when they got their scary faces on screen that was a little bit more than creepy. I learned from watching this that different items that are inanimate objects can be made into a story. How awesome is that, and Doctor Who. I wish I had a British accent.

In chapter 10 of Steering the Craft, the main focus is multiple techniques for revision, such as crowding and leaping. Le Guin talks about the effects of crowding and keeping descriptive and lavish language. She also mentions the element of leaping (Often used in poetry as well). It is applied the same way to short stories as it is poems, except more in depth. I usually try to explore "leaping" from every aspect of my writing.

In chapter 9 of Steering the Craft, the main focus is indirect narration. It is discussed that the writer should create description through scene instead of creating a random palcement of description. This technique is known as invisible exposition or intertwining information "silently" within dialogue. Sometimes, this technique can add difficulty to the readers' imagination as they read. I would say it would not "flow", but we all know that's a bad word in creative writing.

In chapter 7 of Steering the Craft (point of view and voice), it is stressed that multiple points of view are important for short stories to help draw in the audience. The different types of voice that were touched on were reliable narrator, first person, limited third person, involved author, detached author, and some others. I believe this is one of the characteristics I have the most trouble with while writing a short story. I do try to incorporate multiple dialgue, but never point of view. I will be trying this new technique.

Response to Emily's Random Impulse

Rolling hills, where I gained self loathing. Grass unbending to gusts of needed wind. Water holes run dry with heat. He is a drunk bastard with no beads of sweat. Cattle crossings and southern embellishment mascaraed as the sentiments of home. Trees of subtle shade bring relief to my worn down eyes, squinted under a cap of brown, tender sweat. A dinged white undershirt, thin: my mother has washed too many times.
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Emily--
I'm not quite sure how you feel about poetry, (cause it's my fave, maybe that's why I am going in this direction) but I see a lot of potential in this piece for a poem. And if not exactly quite a poem, then maybe add the language to your junkyard, or flesh out the story more. For example, if I were to create some poetic elements out of this... It might go something like this: Rolling hills, grass unbending,/ gusts of wind needed./ Holes run dry.... (You get where I'm going?) Awesome. Also, the "self-loathing" is a bit ambiguous. I would try to work on that as well. Great job.

Response to Josh's: Break Up mostly finished?

First, I would like to say how humorous it was to click on your page and then have a pop up box saying, "Would you like to continue? This page may have content only suitable for adults?" Haha. Forreal?? Anyways... Back to this peer review...
This short story is awesome. So, make some more drafts-- perfect it. Then, when the time comes, submit it to the Eclectic. Forreal. My favorite characteristics of the story are the harsh elements you used throughout the context of your story. For example, ESKIMO KISSES. Thatis soooo creepy, but awesome. Needless to say, when I read your story I do get that "shock factor" in it as well. I am glad you cleaned up the first paragraph from the first draft that I saw about the communicating. I do believe you fleshed out your idea, and now it is more clear.
The end of your story would have to be my favorite part when the character says, "Eskimo Kisses." Creepy. And the reader knows what is exactly about to happen. Wow. Awesome. Keep up the great work, Josh!

Random Impulse-- Back to Poetry (Can't handle short stories!)

Apitoxin

The moment floats, its focus uncharted,

He here and I unmasked like candy in sun.

I fish out excuses to bridge the force,

But excuses too are seared and long-lived,

Excuses slashing life as life’s counterpart.

Still, I fall in the valley. The standstill

Stills all sweat—lines, curves, crevices—

Like stumbled bruises on the beaten path,

A small dam where the hand burns and pulls.

If six roses align in the neon pasture horizon,

I could imagine them as my outlet

Toward a path on the opposite of excuse:

Excuses clothed, excuses stripped, excuses kept.

A firm hand that meets points to joints.

With excuses, I can imagine what’s next

To know. With the excuse, of course.

I am in the calefaction of the situation,

It’s endowed, well endowed, with its knowledge,

It’s dance, on the hard peak of its comfort.

Of course there’s no other way. Of course not.

Side to side the bee comes and departs

From one rose. I look down to touch

The feel of sting: exhausted, worn,

A stem limp from a days work.

While I look, the bee does not return. Ever.

These are excuses when a reason is more than excuse

Or excused action: chocolate swimming in taste buds,

Medicine, amending, all reason being filled

To hear: an excuse.

Junkyard-- Inspirations-- Ode to the Approaching Finals

Character is a diamond that scratches every other stone.
Cyrus A. Bartol (Transcendentalist)

Character and personal force are the only investments that are worth anything.
Walt Whitman

They can because they think they can.
Virgil

On every thorn, delightful wisdom grows,
In every rill a sweet instruction flows.
Edward Young

Happiness does not consist in pastimes and amusements but in virtuous activities.
Aristotle

You're happiest while you're making the greatest contribution.
Robert F. Kennedy

Classmate Response

Jami Lynn's Random Impulse

Skittles of the rainbow
dropping off
one by one into a dark maze
heading to the bottom
of the slate rectangle
that holds this candy
in the palm of it's hand
until it's all eaten by the shark
that controls it's taste.

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Yay, poetry... Oh, how I have missed doing this in our class. I really enjoyed this excerpt because it is very visually pleasing. If this poem is going to stand alone as a poem itself (and not just a stanza from a poem) then I think it needs location, experiential elements, and syllabic rhythm. Good job though!

Reading Response

Short Stories: The Fat Girl
I enjoyed this story because it was about power over one's own self, instead of others telling what one should or should not do. I also liked how the different personalities relied on the outcome of the story as well. Maybe, someone should write a sequal about her going on The Biggest Loser!-- Just sayin'. That would totally change and revise the whole thematic elements of the "Screw this attitude" that is given at the end of the story.

The Magic Barrel
When I first read this title, I was thinking it referred to Cracker Barrel because... It is magic-- Steak and Gravy and dumplings! However, I was terribly wrong. The characters within this story were seemingly different from one another-- some having lots of background info and others having not as much. At the end of the story, I enjoyed has this "eerie" feeling rose over me... Like the good kind-- not bad. Anyways, the descriptions and character plots really aided to the main point of the story.

Random Impulse

  Plan A (Part II)         

I woke up in the ER at Tanner Medical Center with my coach hanging over my bed while my dad paced back and forth murmuring, “That’s the end of the season for her. How could this happen?”

       I knew exactly what he meant. There went my chance to be scouted to play at a college somewhere in Georgia. It had been my dream since third grade. My Plan A. Days of practice and sweat, and hours of endless drills out in my driveway were now pointless. I knew I would never get into a division one school to play; however, I figured I might have a chance at one of those smaller schools where the majority of the players were white, blonde, and girly—like me. My mind kept lingering through the thoughts of where my life would lead me now. If basketball was my life and I lost it… Then what next?

       As I came to my senses, I felt… No pain? Where was the pain? My shoulder was falling off and now it didn’t hurt anymore? This can’t be possible.

      The doctor walked in and asked, “Ms. Johnson, would you like another shot of morphine?

      “Yes, please.” I was quite pleased with the feeling I had now. Imagine how I would feel if I had more. I lay still as I got another dose of morphine shot into my i.v.

      The doctor then proceeded with the next procedure, “Okay Ms. Johnson, we must get this shoulder back into place. What I’m gonna do is pop your shoulder back together on the count of three. You shouldn’t feel a thing. Ready?”

      “I guess.”

      “One, two…”

      “Aghhhhhhhhhhhhh!” And my shoulder was back in its place.

      I winced with tears and could feel my body getting hot from the morphine running through my veins. My teammates walked in and looked around the room before they took notice to me.

      One girl sat down by my bed and asked, “How are you feeling?”

      “Like I am on cloud 957. Forreal.”

      There was a scream from a guy in the room beside me. Our eyes got big.

      “Oh, don’t worry,” the doctor said, “the guy next door busted a vein in a wrestling match while ago. He is in just as much pain as you.”

      “I bet he didn’t have fat ass fall on his shoulder,” One girl added.

      “Yeah, he’s just a pussy compared to what I went through!”

      Everyone laughed at the joke I had just made. At least it drowned out the screaming from next door.

      There was so much chaos in my ER room that the doctor made everyone go wait in the lobby. I finally got some peace and quiet. The morphine was making me drowsy which made it extremely painful to try and keep my eyes open.

      “Ms. Johnson,” the doctor turned to grab my chart, “we seem to be having a few minor issues here that will cause your playing to be set back a little. By the looks of—“

      “Set back?! What do you mean set back? It’s only December and it was just a tournament. It’s not even like this game actually mattered. If you are tellin’ me I can’t play anymore then I’m sorry, I must play. This is my life and what I have planned for the rest of my career. I don’t expect to watch from the sideline, I will be on the court.”

      “Now, Now Ms. Johnson… You have torn a ligament in your shoulder which makes it weak. It is not worth being injured for the rest of your life now is it?”

      “Of course it is, this is what I plan on doing for the rest of my life. I have no other options,” my tone became weak and harsh. The morphine was really getting to me.

      I felt a tear of remorse and pity falling down my face. It raced over my cheek, through the corner of my lip, and over my chin. Then it fell off of my face into my lap. It was gone. Gone.

      Gone.

      Done.

      Finished.

      My dad’s hand found its way to my shoulder for comfort. My mother sat in the doctor’s chair to my side and wiped her own tears away.

      For once in my life, I felt empty and clueless. My future was wiped away in less than five seconds. My future was gone in the blink of an eye by doing what I love the most. I had no second plan, no Plan B. It was always Plan A. No back-ups. If I stuck to Plan A then I would not need a Plan B, C, or even D. I’ve never heard of anyone using their Plan D anyways. If I was going to start over then I would need a new plan.

      I lay back in the hospital bed, my eyes heavy from the morphine. They closed shut as my mind wondered into my next scheme of plans. Slowly, I fell asleep and started at Plan Z and worked my way backwards.

Junk Yard Quotes

I just pulled these from my JunkYard for my poetry writing...

through the dark, gaping holes in walls

Beaming on stage in the aftermath of the night.

excuses too are seared and long-lived

A firm hand that meets points to joints.

hand burns and pulls

The feel of sting: exhausted, worn,

A stem limp from a days work.

Never forget the most important way

Classmate Response

Angie's Random Impulse:

If America were an egg it would need to be a lot less cheesy It would need a lot less scrambling and it would need to be a lot less greasy.

 

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I laughed when I first read this exerpt from Angie. Since it is a random impulse, I am guessing that she came up with it herself. I do believe that this line can be utilized in a short story or a poem-- most like the first line of a story, and for a poem-- use for connotation and subject matter. And, if she does not use it.... Then I shall steal it. 'Nuff said!

Reading Response

In Chapter 3 of Steering the Craft, Guin discusses sentence length and structure, along with the use of words. As a writer, I know that I need to improve in all of these areas, including the use of words. Sometimes I find it difficult to sway away from the language that a writer would use in an essay or research paper. In order to gain more of a “natural” sense of the narrator in stories, the tone should reflect the character that is speaking, which I have a difficult time doing sometimes. In this reading, Guinn states that sometimes extra can be good, or it can be bad—each sentence lead to one and then the other… Helping the reader through the connotation of the story.

In Chapter 4 of Steering the Craft, Guin discusses repetition, noting that it can become a very helpful tool, especially in prose writing. She also notes that it is helpful to use tools such as a Thesaurus, find words that help the story become more interesting than average words. I believe this is a great way to help expand on repetition and I intend on using it in my writing.