written 30 january, 2004:
"we were given an essay in english class today to read as an example of description. this is how it went (sans capitalisation):
'the big one' by rebecca mutch
with a final crack of a bat and a lofting fly ball, baseball ended for the year. the last swirl of water gurgling down the drain of the community pool marked the end of its season. these closings marked the beginning of another event, the county fair. this season i was elected to take my little brother on a ride- 'the big one', in his words.
once again i found myself in the familiar grass lot bordering the fairground. the fair itself was surrounded by a fence. no one could see what was inside. the only clues were carried on the wind. muffled echoes of carnies hawking their games, excited squeals of children, and blaring carnival tunes, frequently punctuated by sharp, crackling static, blended with the tantalizing fragrance of popcorn, the spicy aroma of pizza, and the sweet molasses smell of caramel corn.
as we entered the main gate and handed our tickets to the men whose baskets already overflowed with torn stubs, my eyes immediately confirmed what my ears and nose had already reported. in one step we had gone from a semiquiet and relaxed world into an ever-revolving one. dazzling lights, blinking out of control, seemed to filrt with anyone and everyone. children, their white t-shirts covered with splotches of chocolate and mustard, dashed ahead of their parents and returned shortly, screaming about the giant bear that waited ahead. the distant, shuffling crowds appeared as moving shadows, their features blurred.
the little tug on my sleeve reminded me of that big ride that waited ahead. the path up the midway, packed with a cushion of sawdust, was strewn with empty popcorn boxes, scraps of papers, and crumpled cigarette packages.
game booths and food huts, their pennants whipping and snapping in the wind, dotted the path on both sides and formed two long serpent-like strings of pleasure. bb's clicked against tin objects in the shooting gallery. hawkers with greased hands and pudgy fingers tried to lure suckers toward their gaudy booths. a backboard thudded and a hoop glanked as still another young man tried to win the enormous purple teddy bear which smiled down mockingly from its perch above. the sound of hot dogs sizzling on a grease-spattered grill gave way to the whirling buzz of a cotton-candy machine. fascinated, we watched as the white cardboard cone was slowly transformed into a pink, fluffy cloud. despite their fiberglass appearance, the sticky puffs dissolved on my tongue into a sugar-like sweetness. soon our faces and hands were gummed with a sticky mess.
we scuffled along with the rhythm of the crowd and before long arived at those metallic contraptions of nuts and bolts - the rides. the sounds of metal clanging and banging filled the air. sparks shot out from where the metal pieces slapped together. swirling and whirling, these pieces caught the reflection of the neon lights and, together with the sparks, produced a world of spectrum colors.
this was it. the ferris wheel stood towering before us. as the seat gently swayed, we waited for the ride to begin. the motor belched and then slowly started to turn; goose bumps formed on my brother's bare arms, and his eyes grew larger as the ride picked up speed. the fairground was soon a kaleidoscope of fantastic images and colors. the wind whipped through my hair and snapped it back, stinging my face at times. both of us were screaming uncontrollably. suddenly, with no apparent slowdown, the ride was over, and we made our way dizzily to the car.
my brother talked about the big one for weeks. for me it brought back many fond memories and let me, just for an evening, be a child again.
...
okay. so, if anyone liked that, i mean really truly liked it, thought it was a fantastic piece of writing, please leave now. because it is my duty as a cynic and a writer to tear it apart.
what follows is the same essay, this time with my notes added in in bold. usually when i underline something it's because it was referring to something i previously said or am going to say. if the notes about the underlines are not right there after them, they are at the end of the paragraph, or at the end of the essay. enjoy.
...
'the big one'
by rebecca this-is-a-little-too mutch
with a final crack of a bat and a lofting fly ball, baseball (redundant! BAH!!) ended for the year. the last swirl of water gurgling down the drain of the community pool marked the end of its season. these closings marked the beginning of another event, the county fair. (shitty transition.) this season i was elected to take my little brother on a ride- 'the big one', in his words. (bugger this beginning. it sounds like she wrote the rest and then had to toss this in last-minute.)
once again i found myself in the familiar grass lot bordering the fairground. (hrmph. that's all i have to say.) the fair itself was surrounded by a fence. (why not a peeling white wooden fence with splatters of grey bird shit? c'mon, description nazi, don't fail me now!) no one could see what was inside. the only clues were carried on the wind. muffled echoes of carnies hawking their games, excited squeals of children, and blaring carnival tunes, frequently punctuated by sharp, crackling static, blended with the tantalizing fragrance of popcorn, the spicy aroma of pizza, and the sweet molasses smell of caramel corn.
as we entered the main gate and handed our tickets to the men whose baskets already overflowed with torn stubs, my eyes immediately confirmed what my ears and nose had already reported. in one step we had gone from a semiquiet and relaxed world into an ever-revolving one. dazzling lights, blinking out of control, seemed to flirt with anyone and everyone. children, their white t-shirts covered with splotches of chocolate and mustard, dashed ahead of their parents and returned shortly, screaming about the giant bear that waited ahead (what the hell?). the distant, shuffling crowds appeared as moving shadows, their features blurred. (there is no variance in her sentence length. she is the epitomy of a college student - too much detail. her description is fantastic, technically. but this girl leans on adjectives 'like an old man on a cane'. [ha, ha.] i'm so full of similes i could barf.)
the little tug on my sleeve reminded me of that big ride that waited ahead. (what is her brother, an enigma? oh wait, he's just a crutch for her psychotic overdescription.) the path up the midway, packed with a cushion of sawdust, was strewn with empty popcorn boxes, scraps of papers, and crumpled cigarette packages.
game booths and food huts, their pennants whipping and snapping in the wind, dotted the path on both sides and formed two long serpent-like (let's all clasp an asp to our bosoms) strings of pleasure. bb's (is this a word?) clicked against tin objects in the shooting gallery. hawkers with greased hands and pudgy fingers tried to lure suckers toward their gaudy booths. (she's prejudiced, my god!) a backboard thudded and a hoop glanked as still another young man tried to win the enormous purple teddy bear which smiled down mockingly from its perch above. (what is it, satan?) the sound of hot dogs sizzling on a grease-spattered grill gave way to the whirling buzz of a cotton-candy machine. fascinated, we watched as the white cardboard cone was slowly transformed into a pink, fluffy cloud. despite their fiberglass appearance, the sticky (going once) puffs dissolved on my tongue into a sugar-like sweetness. (it IS sugar, you dumb bitch.) soon our faces and hands were gummed with a sticky (going twice) mess. (well sticky icky icky.)
we scuffled along with the rhythm of the crowd and before long arived at those metallic contraptions of nuts and bolts - the rides*. (okay. this is going too far. it's like calling myself 'a woven mess of cells, tissues and organs.' it's all fine and good in some contexts, but not this one.) the sounds of metal clanging and banging (she is a poet. NOT.) filled the air. sparks shot out from where the metal pieces slapped together. swirling and whirling (and curling and unfurling and... your mom!), these pieces caught the reflection of the neon lights and, together with the sparks, produced a world of spectrum colors. (BLOODY REDUNDANT!!!)
this was it. the ferris wheel stood towering before us. (woah nellie. what are you, superman? a jump like this requires a better transition. poetic license cannot carry you here!) as the seat gently swayed, we waited for the ride to begin. the motor belched and then slowly started to turn; goose bumps formed on my brother's bare arms, and his eyes grew larger as the ride picked up speed. the fairground was soon a kaleidoscope no acid trip (yes. haha.) of fantastic images and colors. the wind whipped through my hair and snapped it back, stinging my face at times. both of us were screaming uncontrollably. suddenly, with no apparent slowdown, the ride was over, and we made our way dizzily to the car.
my brother talked about the big one for weeks. for me it brought back many fond memories and let me, just for an evening, (*bark*) be a child again. okay. so i hate commas. and bad pauses. and dribbling crap! anyone want a hot dripping bass of dough covered in vegetable paste and sliced products of our soils? (yeah, it's a pizza. *see what I mean?)
my english teacher said that this essay 'comes to life'. yes, this essay comes to life. but then it gets hacked to death by the adjective machete.
this comes from 'strategies for successful writing', by someone i can't read the name of right now because my professor has a true doctor's grasp of handwriting.
if this is successful writing, and this is how i am meant to 'bring my essay to life', then i am a dead duck. this man is going to hate me.
...
written in my english notebook today after seething:
'oh-oh, i can see where this is going to go. my efforts to set myself apart have crashed just as they could have taken off. i am going to find myself retreating back into my dutiful-writer self and becoming overwhelmed by - urk - technicalities. and here i call myself a writer. bah. this man is going to become the bane of my existence if we do not reach an understanding. he will chop apart my verbs, butcher my punctuation, and pepper my essays with all the ruthless narrow-mindedness of an eighth-grade english teacher. if this man read the first chapter of how stella got her groove back he would weep himself sick.
i must overcome him. i must.
he mocked me. but i set myself up for it.'
...
anyone who has ever read how stella got her groove back, or if not read, at least LOOKED at the first few pages, will understand what i am talking about.
the grammar nazi has met her match."
heh.
"we were given an essay in english class today to read as an example of description. this is how it went (sans capitalisation):
'the big one' by rebecca mutch
with a final crack of a bat and a lofting fly ball, baseball ended for the year. the last swirl of water gurgling down the drain of the community pool marked the end of its season. these closings marked the beginning of another event, the county fair. this season i was elected to take my little brother on a ride- 'the big one', in his words.
once again i found myself in the familiar grass lot bordering the fairground. the fair itself was surrounded by a fence. no one could see what was inside. the only clues were carried on the wind. muffled echoes of carnies hawking their games, excited squeals of children, and blaring carnival tunes, frequently punctuated by sharp, crackling static, blended with the tantalizing fragrance of popcorn, the spicy aroma of pizza, and the sweet molasses smell of caramel corn.
as we entered the main gate and handed our tickets to the men whose baskets already overflowed with torn stubs, my eyes immediately confirmed what my ears and nose had already reported. in one step we had gone from a semiquiet and relaxed world into an ever-revolving one. dazzling lights, blinking out of control, seemed to filrt with anyone and everyone. children, their white t-shirts covered with splotches of chocolate and mustard, dashed ahead of their parents and returned shortly, screaming about the giant bear that waited ahead. the distant, shuffling crowds appeared as moving shadows, their features blurred.
the little tug on my sleeve reminded me of that big ride that waited ahead. the path up the midway, packed with a cushion of sawdust, was strewn with empty popcorn boxes, scraps of papers, and crumpled cigarette packages.
game booths and food huts, their pennants whipping and snapping in the wind, dotted the path on both sides and formed two long serpent-like strings of pleasure. bb's clicked against tin objects in the shooting gallery. hawkers with greased hands and pudgy fingers tried to lure suckers toward their gaudy booths. a backboard thudded and a hoop glanked as still another young man tried to win the enormous purple teddy bear which smiled down mockingly from its perch above. the sound of hot dogs sizzling on a grease-spattered grill gave way to the whirling buzz of a cotton-candy machine. fascinated, we watched as the white cardboard cone was slowly transformed into a pink, fluffy cloud. despite their fiberglass appearance, the sticky puffs dissolved on my tongue into a sugar-like sweetness. soon our faces and hands were gummed with a sticky mess.
we scuffled along with the rhythm of the crowd and before long arived at those metallic contraptions of nuts and bolts - the rides. the sounds of metal clanging and banging filled the air. sparks shot out from where the metal pieces slapped together. swirling and whirling, these pieces caught the reflection of the neon lights and, together with the sparks, produced a world of spectrum colors.
this was it. the ferris wheel stood towering before us. as the seat gently swayed, we waited for the ride to begin. the motor belched and then slowly started to turn; goose bumps formed on my brother's bare arms, and his eyes grew larger as the ride picked up speed. the fairground was soon a kaleidoscope of fantastic images and colors. the wind whipped through my hair and snapped it back, stinging my face at times. both of us were screaming uncontrollably. suddenly, with no apparent slowdown, the ride was over, and we made our way dizzily to the car.
my brother talked about the big one for weeks. for me it brought back many fond memories and let me, just for an evening, be a child again.
...
okay. so, if anyone liked that, i mean really truly liked it, thought it was a fantastic piece of writing, please leave now. because it is my duty as a cynic and a writer to tear it apart.
what follows is the same essay, this time with my notes added in in bold. usually when i underline something it's because it was referring to something i previously said or am going to say. if the notes about the underlines are not right there after them, they are at the end of the paragraph, or at the end of the essay. enjoy.
...
'the big one'
by rebecca this-is-a-little-too mutch
with a final crack of a bat and a lofting fly ball, baseball (redundant! BAH!!) ended for the year. the last swirl of water gurgling down the drain of the community pool marked the end of its season. these closings marked the beginning of another event, the county fair. (shitty transition.) this season i was elected to take my little brother on a ride- 'the big one', in his words. (bugger this beginning. it sounds like she wrote the rest and then had to toss this in last-minute.)
once again i found myself in the familiar grass lot bordering the fairground. (hrmph. that's all i have to say.) the fair itself was surrounded by a fence. (why not a peeling white wooden fence with splatters of grey bird shit? c'mon, description nazi, don't fail me now!) no one could see what was inside. the only clues were carried on the wind. muffled echoes of carnies hawking their games, excited squeals of children, and blaring carnival tunes, frequently punctuated by sharp, crackling static, blended with the tantalizing fragrance of popcorn, the spicy aroma of pizza, and the sweet molasses smell of caramel corn.
as we entered the main gate and handed our tickets to the men whose baskets already overflowed with torn stubs, my eyes immediately confirmed what my ears and nose had already reported. in one step we had gone from a semiquiet and relaxed world into an ever-revolving one. dazzling lights, blinking out of control, seemed to flirt with anyone and everyone. children, their white t-shirts covered with splotches of chocolate and mustard, dashed ahead of their parents and returned shortly, screaming about the giant bear that waited ahead (what the hell?). the distant, shuffling crowds appeared as moving shadows, their features blurred. (there is no variance in her sentence length. she is the epitomy of a college student - too much detail. her description is fantastic, technically. but this girl leans on adjectives 'like an old man on a cane'. [ha, ha.] i'm so full of similes i could barf.)
the little tug on my sleeve reminded me of that big ride that waited ahead. (what is her brother, an enigma? oh wait, he's just a crutch for her psychotic overdescription.) the path up the midway, packed with a cushion of sawdust, was strewn with empty popcorn boxes, scraps of papers, and crumpled cigarette packages.
game booths and food huts, their pennants whipping and snapping in the wind, dotted the path on both sides and formed two long serpent-like (let's all clasp an asp to our bosoms) strings of pleasure. bb's (is this a word?) clicked against tin objects in the shooting gallery. hawkers with greased hands and pudgy fingers tried to lure suckers toward their gaudy booths. (she's prejudiced, my god!) a backboard thudded and a hoop glanked as still another young man tried to win the enormous purple teddy bear which smiled down mockingly from its perch above. (what is it, satan?) the sound of hot dogs sizzling on a grease-spattered grill gave way to the whirling buzz of a cotton-candy machine. fascinated, we watched as the white cardboard cone was slowly transformed into a pink, fluffy cloud. despite their fiberglass appearance, the sticky (going once) puffs dissolved on my tongue into a sugar-like sweetness. (it IS sugar, you dumb bitch.) soon our faces and hands were gummed with a sticky (going twice) mess. (well sticky icky icky.)
we scuffled along with the rhythm of the crowd and before long arived at those metallic contraptions of nuts and bolts - the rides*. (okay. this is going too far. it's like calling myself 'a woven mess of cells, tissues and organs.' it's all fine and good in some contexts, but not this one.) the sounds of metal clanging and banging (she is a poet. NOT.) filled the air. sparks shot out from where the metal pieces slapped together. swirling and whirling (and curling and unfurling and... your mom!), these pieces caught the reflection of the neon lights and, together with the sparks, produced a world of spectrum colors. (BLOODY REDUNDANT!!!)
this was it. the ferris wheel stood towering before us. (woah nellie. what are you, superman? a jump like this requires a better transition. poetic license cannot carry you here!) as the seat gently swayed, we waited for the ride to begin. the motor belched and then slowly started to turn; goose bumps formed on my brother's bare arms, and his eyes grew larger as the ride picked up speed. the fairground was soon a kaleidoscope no acid trip (yes. haha.) of fantastic images and colors. the wind whipped through my hair and snapped it back, stinging my face at times. both of us were screaming uncontrollably. suddenly, with no apparent slowdown, the ride was over, and we made our way dizzily to the car.
my brother talked about the big one for weeks. for me it brought back many fond memories and let me, just for an evening, (*bark*) be a child again. okay. so i hate commas. and bad pauses. and dribbling crap! anyone want a hot dripping bass of dough covered in vegetable paste and sliced products of our soils? (yeah, it's a pizza. *see what I mean?)
my english teacher said that this essay 'comes to life'. yes, this essay comes to life. but then it gets hacked to death by the adjective machete.
this comes from 'strategies for successful writing', by someone i can't read the name of right now because my professor has a true doctor's grasp of handwriting.
if this is successful writing, and this is how i am meant to 'bring my essay to life', then i am a dead duck. this man is going to hate me.
...
written in my english notebook today after seething:
'oh-oh, i can see where this is going to go. my efforts to set myself apart have crashed just as they could have taken off. i am going to find myself retreating back into my dutiful-writer self and becoming overwhelmed by - urk - technicalities. and here i call myself a writer. bah. this man is going to become the bane of my existence if we do not reach an understanding. he will chop apart my verbs, butcher my punctuation, and pepper my essays with all the ruthless narrow-mindedness of an eighth-grade english teacher. if this man read the first chapter of how stella got her groove back he would weep himself sick.
i must overcome him. i must.
he mocked me. but i set myself up for it.'
...
anyone who has ever read how stella got her groove back, or if not read, at least LOOKED at the first few pages, will understand what i am talking about.
the grammar nazi has met her match."
heh.
i didnt think anyone else from sg lived in avondale.