Tanya

I get to be Tanya's partner again! Woo hoo!
Tanya's greatest hits:
My Journey
An Adventure
My Super Hero

In each of Tanya's blogs, her voice is so prominent. The events are so easy to relate to, and yet they each have such deep meaning. In "My Journey" we are taken throughout a surreal adventure of whether or not she should change her past. As readers, we are taken back with her, as she thinks of all her mistakes, but her end decision to not change anything makes her appreciate those things more, but the reader is secretly glad with the decision she made. In "An Adventure" Tanya displays her nack for humor. In just an hour time-frame, the atrocious events are written without bitterness or much sarcasm, instead just simple reflection laced with humor. The readers can relate to having similiar days with experiences much the same due to circumstances beyond their control. Loved it! In "My Super Hero" we can clearly see how much Tanya cares for her mother. The voice she uses, the way it's not about the big things, but the little ones like her mother's smile makes Tanya more three-dimensional to the reader. Great blog, can't wait to be in her group again! :)

Christine

Christine's greatest hits.
Collage: Red, Yellow, Blue
Fingerprinted
Cellphone

Throughout all of Christine's blogs I felt completely intrigued from the very beginning. She has a knack for not revealing everything until the very end, but gives just enough curious information to get her readers hooked. I loved Collage mostly for it's ambiguity. How could so many things be blue when all of them didn't necessarily mean the same thing? Why could someone be blue, as in sad, but the sky was the same color and yet so inspirational? I liked the voice in that story, as though it were told from someone in younger years. It gave a fresh perspective on life. In Fingerprinted, the friendly voice laced with inner sarcasm was a classic example that was easy to relate too. At one point or another, everyone has been in an overly crowded room with crazy coughing people. I especially enjoyed the flashback and how well it was woven in. In cellphone, the voice was just as strong and the stories just as easily related to. I particularly enjoyed the second story and the cruel irony it entailed. There were very few errors anywhere that I saw. Some of the transitions were a little rough, but other than that it was very well done. Great blog!

Diary Entry

Dear Diary,

Wouldn't you like to know? ><

Braided Confrontation

Samantha was late. She haphazardly ran a brush through her hair, threw on some quick eyeliner, slipped into some flip flops and was out the door. She jumped in her car, relieved when she saw the clock on her dashboard telling her the real time, not the time set ten minutes early on the microwave in the kitchen. She laughed. She knew herself too well.

Derek was back at home. His spring break was a week earlier than everyone elses, so essentially, everyone he knew would be at school. That was fine by him, which was why he was now sitting on a bench in front of his old high school. He missed being at this school, missed being in this state. Missed Samantha, if he was being honest with himself. Speaking of which. . .

Samantha pulled into the school parking lot, ten minutes before the bell. She'd even had time to grab a cup of coffee for breakfast. Her cellphone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out and smiled at the caller ID.
"Good morning, gorgeous," Nathan said, when she answer. Samantha smiled.
"Good morning. How are you?"
"Early, surprisingly," Nathan replied with a chuckle. "I have a present for you. Meet me in front of the Science Building."
Samantha heard him hang up. She put the phone back in her pocket, wondering what on earth was going on.

Derek was trying to remain nonchalant as his ex-girlfriend, Samantha, walked towards him. What on Earth? She didn't have first period in the Science building. . . Derek jumped as someone came up beside him. He was tall, with brown hair and blue eyes.
"Hey, sorry, man. Didn't mean to scare you."
"No problem," Derek replied, turning back towards Samantha. She was approaching fast now, a smile on her face.
Oh, shit. Derek thought. That's her new boyfriend. . . Nathan waved as Samantha approached. She waved back, still smiling, when her eyes suddenly landed on Derek. She stopped dead in her tracks. No more smile. . .

Humility

She is standing in front of the class, pushing her perfect hair away from her face and chomping her gum loudly. It is lime green. The sight of it makes me want to vomit. She has no papers in her hands like all the other people did. She's not prepared. She smiles brightly, flashing her pearly whites at the teacher, who gives her a tight smile in return. She rambles on about how she wasn't really sure what the prompt was, but like she tried and like yeah and like I think this chapter was about the human genome, which was like awesome and all that jazz. I can tell by the way she speaks, the way she's so cocky in front of the class that she doesn't care about this subject and she thinks it's an easy A. The teacher asks her a question. She pales noticeably, not knowing the answer. "Maybe you should actually do the reading before you get up in front of the class and waste everyone time." She's taken aback, but tries to hide it. She tosses her hair and marches back to her seat, tripping along the way. The way she sits in her seat now, the way she begins to take notes. . . I can tell she's learned her lesson. I hide a smug grin. She got a C. . . seems fair enough.

Kinship

I am getting dressed upstairs in my room. My work uniform has been through hell and back this week. I really, really should buy more than two pairs of work pants. . . I slip into my uniform, and walk back out into my room. My roommate is sprawled across her bed, laughing at something funny on Youtube while texting her friends. Life just seems overly bubbly for her. . . she wishes me a fun day at work, but I just grimace. Ever since she stopped working, that line has meant less and less to me. It's genuine, sure, but something about it doesn't seem fair when financial troubles don't exist in her life the way they do in mine. Speaking of financial troubles, it looks like I'll be eating on campus to save myself the couple bucks. I take the elevator to the ground floor, and walk over to Manzy Square. The girl at the register is somewhat familiar to me. She lives at Manzanita as well, and is one of the only people I know (besides myself) who seems to be at work 24/7. She smiles at me as I approach. There's something in that smile. Something that says, "I know how you feel," instead of the nasty looks everyone else gives a girl in a work uniform. She swipes my card and hands me my reciept. "We girls gotta stick together," she says with a smile. I grin. She's absolutely right.

Love

I can't quite decide if it's difficult or easy. Falling in love seems easy enough, though if genuinely terrified like some people are, I can see how it could be difficult. What I do know is that love is complicated. Complicated in ways of which movie should we see, complicated in ways of timing, and complicated in ways of which level are we on. A lot of people think love equals heartbreak. That to feel such immense pain at the loss of someone constitutes love. . . and I suppose that's true, though cruel, to be honest. What love is to me is simple gestures. Like a boyfriend that spends all evening with me. Who puts up with my obnoxious roommate and takes me out to dinner and tucks me into bed before he leaves. A boyfriend who knows me well enough to know that I'm not actually asleep. My phone goes off, and it's him. Immediately, I answer. He tells me to go to the window. I throw off the blankets and run to the window. He's standing beneath a light, waving. I wave back and he blows me a kiss. He wanted to see me one last time before he went home. I laugh to myself; love is simple like that. . .

Through the Ages

I am one. Splattering my birthday cake all over the table. There are no friends at my party, only family. They smile. "Oh did she really? That's amazing. She's ahead in her class already? Well, we always knew she was bright."

I am three. I have friends now. My dog, BJ, and my kitties. I play with them. I talk to them. They listen to me. We have tea parties and play with mud. Inside friends, like kitties are calm and sleep with me in my bed. Outside friends like BJ steal steaks off the grill and play with me in the tall grass of the backyard. I love my friends.

I am five. I am going to school now. A private Christian academy. My uniform is strange, with poofy shoulders on my white button-down shirt. My jumper is red plaid, and my little black shoes make strange clomping noises on the floor. But Mommy and Daddy paid for them with a little money they'd saved. So I pull up my hair and clip it with the little red barette my mother bought me. It matches the plaid. It was the one thing she let me get that wasn't on my mandatory list. It was special. And so I would wear it to my first day of school.

I am eight. School is different now. My friends are non-existent. My classes take up alot of time. I am bussed over to a different school for special classes. Mommy and Daddy worked hard to get me into these special classes. I try as hard as I can to pay attention and do everything right. I find my sister each day after school and we board the bus together. Our parents won't be home when we get there. I will watch after my sister and make her a bowl of soup or cereal.

I am eleven. I have a best friend, Heather. We like to talk during school, but my grades are terribly important, my parents say. I focus even on the boring subjects and get the best scores I can. I work hard in gymnastics, trying hard to impress my mother. I am getting better but I'm not there yet.

I am fourteen. High school is the strangest of places. The campus is a big, wide, unfamiliar world. My classes are full of people who do not try and it irritates me. Do they not care about their future? There is a boy in my class whom I like very much. He gives me roses on Valentine's Day and we are the talk of the school. I am more social now, going bowling or to the movies. But always I return to look after my sister and make sure her homework and mine are completed before bed.

I am sixteen. I have suffered a move mid-semester and the worst heartbreak ever. That boy of mine freed me for my own good, he swears. My school is more important now than ever. My grades are impeccable, my circle of friends quickly grows, as does my love life. There is a new boy, a better boy. He looks at me like I am the greatest thing in the world.

I am seventeen. I am accepted to college, and working part-time to raise some money. My parents finally confessed that they would be unable to lend me a financial hand during college, but I had already guessed as much. I was awarded a full-ride to ASU. Only problem was. . . I didn't want what came with it. Four years of college paid for meant four years of military service afterwards. I swallowed hard and signed my name. My parents didn't have enough money, so I would sacrifice four years.

I am eighteen. College is rigorous but seems futile, in all honesty. That boy of mine is still just that. . . a boy. He is joining the army soon, and though it makes me sad, I hope it will make him grow up. I am working forty hours in a desperate attempt to have enough for tuition, in a desperate attempt to live on my own. And only now do I realize that the world never really changed. . . just my point of view.

essays

One of the essays that definitely struck a cord with me was Virginia Wolfe's, "Death of a Moth". I especially enjoyed the juxatoposition of life and death throughout the piece. The birds, the moth, the sun, the men in the fields are all described in ways that are vivid and bring them to life as characters although they are never truly described. The way the narrator's life is put temporarily on hold while she watches the moth contrasts beautifully with the way the moth lives so fervently for what little time it has. Such a tiny creature, and yet such enormous life inside of it. And even in death, it never truly admitted defeat. It could not overcome death, but it surely did not have to leave the world with anything but the utmost of poise.

The other essay I enjoyed was Rider's "Three Voices". The format, the different points of view, it almost seemed like a stream of counciousness piece. In the three or four paragraphs she wrote, Rider was able to harness the tension and confusion of love, adultery, pain. Such things often occur in real life as well, and the mind does not process them with good grammar or well-thought-out sentences with appropriate diction, but rather facts, like bullet points, as Rider demonstrated with the quick changes in view and the words and definitions at the very end.