Well, alright. This article was tricky to craft - I had over 12 pages of notes, and, as I think it is evident from the writing, I was unclear about how to structure this.
I think, too, that I was not sure what I should focus on. As usual, I had a very different "vision" for this article - at first, I thought it would be about the lack of security and deficient policies on campus. In fact, it turned out to be quite the opposite story as I interviewed more and more people - the attitude of the students, the racial issues surrounding security on our campus, etc, reflected a completely different story.
That said, I want it to be more than whining about how K students are just so mean to staff here. I want it to have some overall point of emphasis, a "take away message" but that may not be something I can force out of a story. It just is what it is right now - a series of somewhat interesting observations.
I think my "diagnosis" of what I need to do from here is this: interview MORE, structure this MORE, and perhaps write an outline to hone in of what, exactly, this article is about.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Comments on Final Article Drafts
Austin -
I do like that you composed an outline - it helps me to see where you are going. There are lots of interesting pieces that could be developed here - Are you going to focus on Jan and his background, or the GLBT groups he is involved with? Or are you focusing on Fire? It was a little unclear, but obviously, once you do the interviews you will have a lot of material to work with.
Jackie -
Hey, I really feel your passion about the topic in this piece. That said, I think that the beginning is much stronger than the middle/end of the piece. I know how hard it can be to not turn a topic you care about from a well reported piece into a rant...but I would be careful to NOT make it a rant. You will actually win over more readers if you use more quotations, anecdotes to back-up your assertions. (which are, after all, very valid - but you don't need to convince me, you need to the rest of the people who might read this).
Finally, I feel that several of the paragraphs at the beginning of the piece AFTER the nut graph could be shortened or cut - a few of the lines I have underlined on the copy I printed out and will give back to you tonight are redundant.
Martin -
As usual, you have such skill at making your writing flow and transition so smoothly. I love the way that you write!
I also enjoyed your intro - the first paragraph is the strongest. I wish the transition from night/day was stronger - you really need to make that the "pivot point" of your article. I THINK you intended the day-transition to illuminate the environmental issues with the dunes - but you could make that much stronger.
I think it would also improve the piece if there were more detailed illustrations of the problem - like more quotes and anecdotes.
Overall, though, I do love your piece - the only significant problem is that it is so smooth that it almost...floppy?...for lack of a better word. I think you need to structure this a little more, make the transitions stronger.
Regis -
I think the first thing with this piece is that it needs a stronger lede. I am sort of unsure WHO this is about. I do love how you flesh out the Noah's character - the details about his life and childhood were great. I loved the bit about Dilbert. I'm not sure I really see what his plight is here - is it to do science projects that sometimes don't work out?
Overall, I think the piece just needs more focus. Towards the end, I was really left wondering what this was about...I think the wonderful details you provide could be better organized to provide a clear image of Noah? or whomever you want the focus to be on.
Toni -
I think you do a really good job with this piece. I love that you give just enough background information on growing grapes (something I know little about) and the history of Ohio to give us a good sense of the context for this story.
You must have really good interviewing technique because you get great quotes out of people - I think you could utilize this to get some more "local color" about who goes to this winery, as opposed to the "entertainment wineries" that Gretchen talks about. Could you interview someone who goes to visit?
Overall, the transitions and details are lovely - you have A LOT of information in here, but you package it really well. The one weak transition is at the top of the third page..."She's not a Riesling person..." What is the significance of this quote? It seemed awkward and a little out of place.
Other than that, I really, really enjoyed reading this! Nice work - you are a gifted writer!
I do like that you composed an outline - it helps me to see where you are going. There are lots of interesting pieces that could be developed here - Are you going to focus on Jan and his background, or the GLBT groups he is involved with? Or are you focusing on Fire? It was a little unclear, but obviously, once you do the interviews you will have a lot of material to work with.
Jackie -
Hey, I really feel your passion about the topic in this piece. That said, I think that the beginning is much stronger than the middle/end of the piece. I know how hard it can be to not turn a topic you care about from a well reported piece into a rant...but I would be careful to NOT make it a rant. You will actually win over more readers if you use more quotations, anecdotes to back-up your assertions. (which are, after all, very valid - but you don't need to convince me, you need to the rest of the people who might read this).
Finally, I feel that several of the paragraphs at the beginning of the piece AFTER the nut graph could be shortened or cut - a few of the lines I have underlined on the copy I printed out and will give back to you tonight are redundant.
Martin -
As usual, you have such skill at making your writing flow and transition so smoothly. I love the way that you write!
I also enjoyed your intro - the first paragraph is the strongest. I wish the transition from night/day was stronger - you really need to make that the "pivot point" of your article. I THINK you intended the day-transition to illuminate the environmental issues with the dunes - but you could make that much stronger.
I think it would also improve the piece if there were more detailed illustrations of the problem - like more quotes and anecdotes.
Overall, though, I do love your piece - the only significant problem is that it is so smooth that it almost...floppy?...for lack of a better word. I think you need to structure this a little more, make the transitions stronger.
Regis -
I think the first thing with this piece is that it needs a stronger lede. I am sort of unsure WHO this is about. I do love how you flesh out the Noah's character - the details about his life and childhood were great. I loved the bit about Dilbert. I'm not sure I really see what his plight is here - is it to do science projects that sometimes don't work out?
Overall, I think the piece just needs more focus. Towards the end, I was really left wondering what this was about...I think the wonderful details you provide could be better organized to provide a clear image of Noah? or whomever you want the focus to be on.
Toni -
I think you do a really good job with this piece. I love that you give just enough background information on growing grapes (something I know little about) and the history of Ohio to give us a good sense of the context for this story.
You must have really good interviewing technique because you get great quotes out of people - I think you could utilize this to get some more "local color" about who goes to this winery, as opposed to the "entertainment wineries" that Gretchen talks about. Could you interview someone who goes to visit?
Overall, the transitions and details are lovely - you have A LOT of information in here, but you package it really well. The one weak transition is at the top of the third page..."She's not a Riesling person..." What is the significance of this quote? It seemed awkward and a little out of place.
Other than that, I really, really enjoyed reading this! Nice work - you are a gifted writer!
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Workshop Rough Draft: Week 10 (oh my gosh - ITS WEEK 10!!)
Utopia on the Hill
Andrew Vermeulen answers the shrilly ringing phone. He is sitting behind the desk in the Security Office at Kalamazoo College, wearing a stiff-looking blue shirt and black pants. His hair is cropped and short, and, much like the sparsely decorated security office itself, he looks like a man of business. On the other end of the line, a high-pitched female voice sounds panicked, desperate. It is the mother of a student at the college. She sounds as if there is an emergency, but Andrew’s face does not contract or express any sense of urgency. He holds the phone away from his ear, sighing. Her son is lost, the mother says. He must be in a very bad situation. The mother has not heard from her son in 48-hours. Can Andrew please track him down on campus? No, she does not know his room number. Or what residence hall he lives in.
Andrew hangs up the phone. “People expect us to know and do everything,” he says with a slight grimace. “I’d say seventy-five to eighty percent of the time they [parents] don’t know what dorm their kid lives in.”
This is a typical Thursday night in the Security Office, according to Vermeulen. Vermeulen has worked in Security at the school for three years, and, unlike what many students might expect, the majority of the petty crimes that security is called to deal with are just that: petty. Sometimes, like the mother calling about her missing son, the things that security is called upon to handle aren’t even crimes at all.
If there is anything stressful about the job, it seems to be not the occasional stolen I-Pod, or the even more occasional campus flasher. If anything, it’s the kids at K College themselves that pose problems for security. “They so pamper and shelter these kids – it’s laughable,” says Vermeulen.
He recalls being taunted and laughed at by students. As he makes the rounds, he says he is often thrown dirty looks. He says that several students on his most recent round yelled something about a “police state” at him before running off. He feels students don’t give security a fair appraisal. “There’s a perception that our department is bumbling. We’re put in positions where we can’t win. We’re constantly made to look foolish,” says Vermeulen. He cites the lack of authority campus security guards have. Unlike what many students believe, security guards have no power to touch or arrest students. In fact, security is not even authorized to seize illicit drugs from students. He states that if he were to “arrest” a student, it would qualify as nothing more than a citizen’s arrest.
As one of the few minority members of the Kalamazoo College staff, director of security Tim Young reports being treated badly by students as well. In particular he says that even on a campus where students pride themselves on being open-minded, Young felt discriminated against for his first year on the job. “It took awhile, it wears you down. If you’re not a strong person, it’ll get to you,” Young says. He comments that the other minority workers that students see on campus are typically in low level positions, and he says he feels as though they are treated badly by students. “I would venture to say myself and Dean Joshua are fortunate in that our positions are different,” he comments, referring to the one of the college’s deans, who is also black.
Five years ago, when Young first came to the department as the chief of security on campus, he recalls a dispute he had with the BSO, the Black Student Organization on campus. As a black man, he insists that his staff treats students of color with the same policies as white students, but he will admit that the perception of unequal treatment is still there. Young recalls that the BSO came to him asking to borrow a security guard uniform for a skit. They had planned to depict what they felt was racist treatment and racial profiling by security guards on campus, and needed the uniform as a prop.
Young does say that he feels rude or insensitive behavior from students directed toward him and his staff has gotten better since the arrival of college President Dr. Wilson Oyelaran. “A chunk of it [the racism] changed when the president came.”
When all is said and done, Young attributes the rude behavior he and his staff have experienced to the relative privilege of students at Kalamazoo. “Some students have never worked – and they don’t have compassion.” Amanda Geer, a freshman at Kalamazoo College, feels strongly that everyone is nice to security and members of the staff at K. “I’m nice to everybody,” she says. “Except for people I hate.”
If there is any kind of criminal activity bubbling under the surface of K’s seemingly idyllic campus, for the most part it has to do with drugs and alcohol. Under the Cleary Act of 1989, all undergraduate universities in the United States are required by law to report all criminal activity that occurs on campuses across the country. Last year, while there were no aggravated assaults or reported cases of robbery, there were one hundred and fifty five liquor law violations, and ten drug-related violations. In every one of the liquor law violations, not one arrest was made. Instead, disciplinary action by the school was taken. All but two of the drug-related offenses were treated in the same manner.
Young, who retired from the Paw Paw, Michigan state police force several years ago, takes the job of supervising security at K seriously, but ultimately, doesn’t seem too worried about criminal activity on campus. He sits in the over air-conditioned security office, so cold compared to the heat of the oncoming summer weather outside that goose bumps rise on his brown skin. “We all get held accountable, at the end of the day,” he says, and he leans back in his chair.
Andrew Vermeulen answers the shrilly ringing phone. He is sitting behind the desk in the Security Office at Kalamazoo College, wearing a stiff-looking blue shirt and black pants. His hair is cropped and short, and, much like the sparsely decorated security office itself, he looks like a man of business. On the other end of the line, a high-pitched female voice sounds panicked, desperate. It is the mother of a student at the college. She sounds as if there is an emergency, but Andrew’s face does not contract or express any sense of urgency. He holds the phone away from his ear, sighing. Her son is lost, the mother says. He must be in a very bad situation. The mother has not heard from her son in 48-hours. Can Andrew please track him down on campus? No, she does not know his room number. Or what residence hall he lives in.
Andrew hangs up the phone. “People expect us to know and do everything,” he says with a slight grimace. “I’d say seventy-five to eighty percent of the time they [parents] don’t know what dorm their kid lives in.”
This is a typical Thursday night in the Security Office, according to Vermeulen. Vermeulen has worked in Security at the school for three years, and, unlike what many students might expect, the majority of the petty crimes that security is called to deal with are just that: petty. Sometimes, like the mother calling about her missing son, the things that security is called upon to handle aren’t even crimes at all.
If there is anything stressful about the job, it seems to be not the occasional stolen I-Pod, or the even more occasional campus flasher. If anything, it’s the kids at K College themselves that pose problems for security. “They so pamper and shelter these kids – it’s laughable,” says Vermeulen.
He recalls being taunted and laughed at by students. As he makes the rounds, he says he is often thrown dirty looks. He says that several students on his most recent round yelled something about a “police state” at him before running off. He feels students don’t give security a fair appraisal. “There’s a perception that our department is bumbling. We’re put in positions where we can’t win. We’re constantly made to look foolish,” says Vermeulen. He cites the lack of authority campus security guards have. Unlike what many students believe, security guards have no power to touch or arrest students. In fact, security is not even authorized to seize illicit drugs from students. He states that if he were to “arrest” a student, it would qualify as nothing more than a citizen’s arrest.
As one of the few minority members of the Kalamazoo College staff, director of security Tim Young reports being treated badly by students as well. In particular he says that even on a campus where students pride themselves on being open-minded, Young felt discriminated against for his first year on the job. “It took awhile, it wears you down. If you’re not a strong person, it’ll get to you,” Young says. He comments that the other minority workers that students see on campus are typically in low level positions, and he says he feels as though they are treated badly by students. “I would venture to say myself and Dean Joshua are fortunate in that our positions are different,” he comments, referring to the one of the college’s deans, who is also black.
Five years ago, when Young first came to the department as the chief of security on campus, he recalls a dispute he had with the BSO, the Black Student Organization on campus. As a black man, he insists that his staff treats students of color with the same policies as white students, but he will admit that the perception of unequal treatment is still there. Young recalls that the BSO came to him asking to borrow a security guard uniform for a skit. They had planned to depict what they felt was racist treatment and racial profiling by security guards on campus, and needed the uniform as a prop.
Young does say that he feels rude or insensitive behavior from students directed toward him and his staff has gotten better since the arrival of college President Dr. Wilson Oyelaran. “A chunk of it [the racism] changed when the president came.”
When all is said and done, Young attributes the rude behavior he and his staff have experienced to the relative privilege of students at Kalamazoo. “Some students have never worked – and they don’t have compassion.” Amanda Geer, a freshman at Kalamazoo College, feels strongly that everyone is nice to security and members of the staff at K. “I’m nice to everybody,” she says. “Except for people I hate.”
If there is any kind of criminal activity bubbling under the surface of K’s seemingly idyllic campus, for the most part it has to do with drugs and alcohol. Under the Cleary Act of 1989, all undergraduate universities in the United States are required by law to report all criminal activity that occurs on campuses across the country. Last year, while there were no aggravated assaults or reported cases of robbery, there were one hundred and fifty five liquor law violations, and ten drug-related violations. In every one of the liquor law violations, not one arrest was made. Instead, disciplinary action by the school was taken. All but two of the drug-related offenses were treated in the same manner.
Young, who retired from the Paw Paw, Michigan state police force several years ago, takes the job of supervising security at K seriously, but ultimately, doesn’t seem too worried about criminal activity on campus. He sits in the over air-conditioned security office, so cold compared to the heat of the oncoming summer weather outside that goose bumps rise on his brown skin. “We all get held accountable, at the end of the day,” he says, and he leans back in his chair.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Revised Profile
Scraping By: Life on the Small Farms of Southwest Michigan
May 19th, 2009
By Elizabeth Porter
Willie the boar grunts. He shoves his glossy wet nose into the side of a plump female pig several times. He sniffs, grunts again, and with surprising agility for the three-hundred plus pound animal, hoists himself onto the back of the impatient looking female. “The first pigs he tried to mount were cut males,” Kim, his owner, sighs. “We thought he was gay at first – but now he’s doing his job.” By “doing his job” what Kim means is that Willie is functional – if only with some rather intimate assistance from Kim. Kim entering the pig pen dons rubber gloves and explains the procedure of “lining it up.” He says that on a good day, he can ensure that Willie’s rather skinny penis enters, “the right hole.”
Willie’s sole purpose on this farm, owned by Kim and his wife Sandy, is to sire offspring: offspring that will grow up grazing under the lush organic apple orchards of the farm, and will eventually be butchered, sold and, ultimately, provide an income for the McNee family.
Usually, this story would serve as a marginally humorous anecdote, maybe a good bar story or the “gay pig” punch line of some low-brow joke. But for the McNees’, the seemingly homosexual pig, and what he means for their bottom line is a serious problem.
On a drizzling Monday morning, the rolling landscape of Paw Paw, Michigan is a graying blur. On the outskirts of Paw Paw, past an aging bowling alley, a few haggard mechanic shops, and a dimly lit diner, a gravel road twists towards the McNees’ farm. A large, prominently displayed sign reads “DEAD END” and hangs haphazardly on a rusting signpost; the smell of manure is thick.
Sandy stands on the front step of her small house. She is past sixty, and her dark hair seems too youthful against her aged face. “You don’t have to take off your shoes – I just hate shoes,” she explains, as she hobbles, barefoot, to the recliner in her small living room.
She and her husband Kim have been farming here for the past fifteen years, the two of them doing almost all the work it takes to grow and harvest their organic vegetables and now, increasingly, hogs and cattle. To sustain Barefoot Farm, the only additional labor they bring in is the occasional high school kid, usually in the summer, when the backbreaking field work becomes too much for them. They estimate their average workday at sixteen hours, give or take, during those summer months.
Sandy hobbles outside to the greenhouse toward her seedlings. Severe arthritis and old injuries make walking a struggle, and it seems to take a long time to get to the field. Sandy sighs and admits to the pain. “I have a high pain tolerance and I’m stubborn as hell.”
Entering the greenhouse, where Sandy spends most of her time, rows and rows of tiny green shoots are lined up; box after box of the sprouting plants are just breaking the surface of dark soil. She points to different groups of boxes: jalapeños, onions, broccoli, some lettuces, zucchini, even garlic.
Regardless of the difficultly of the farm tasks, she and Kim make it on the profits they earn at the weekly farmers markets all over southwest Michigan. Travelling sometimes up to an hour, Sandy and Kim wake at 3 or 4 on the mornings they go to the market. On one drizzly market morning, the crowds that pour into the small stalls, picking over produce and freshly butchered meats, hover over Sandy and Kim’s booth, shoving handfuls of fives and ones over the mountains of vegetables. These market days gross a surprising amount of money for the McNees, typically upwards of six or seven hundred dollars, much more on a good day. Back in the greenhouse, talking about money pushes a nagging problem to the forefront of Sandy’s thoughts. She sighs. She starts to talk about the problems with Willie the boar.
For the last several weeks, she and Kim have been trying with yet unknown success to ensure that Willie impregnates as many of the young females as possible. “There’s no pregnancy test for pigs, unlike cows,” Sandy informs me. Not that a pregnancy test seems needed in any case. Just in the last few days have the McNees begun to see success with Willie, meaning he has, indeed, begun to mount females. However, it has been a long struggle to get him to this point. Getting Willie to adjust has been difficult; getting him to procreate has proved impossible. Given the choice, or just the chance, he will mount one of the McNees’ cut males.
The gamble of whether or not Willie has done his job is a palpable source of stress to Sandy and Kim. As the McNees age, it becomes harder every year to maintain the farm solely off of the profits they make on agriculture and the McNees are increasingly reliant on the gamble of raising livestock. Sandy wrinkles her brow and runs her hands together, thoughtful. “Physically, the vegetables are getting harder to do,” she says.
And yet, the McNees seem sure that if they could produce enough pork next year to start phasing into livestock, and out of agriculture, that they will make it. They describe themselves, even after twenty-one years together, as best friends. “I was born to be a farmer,” Sandy says. Kim doesn’t say anything, but seems to agree with Sandy, and nods his head. Kim finally looks up. If it weren’t for the financial burden, farming would be their ideal lifestyle. “I wish I were richer,” Kim finally says, his sun weathered skin wrinkling like leather as he laughs, a mix of anxious joy, smiling through the struggle.
WORD COUNT: 976
May 19th, 2009
By Elizabeth Porter
Willie the boar grunts. He shoves his glossy wet nose into the side of a plump female pig several times. He sniffs, grunts again, and with surprising agility for the three-hundred plus pound animal, hoists himself onto the back of the impatient looking female. “The first pigs he tried to mount were cut males,” Kim, his owner, sighs. “We thought he was gay at first – but now he’s doing his job.” By “doing his job” what Kim means is that Willie is functional – if only with some rather intimate assistance from Kim. Kim entering the pig pen dons rubber gloves and explains the procedure of “lining it up.” He says that on a good day, he can ensure that Willie’s rather skinny penis enters, “the right hole.”
Willie’s sole purpose on this farm, owned by Kim and his wife Sandy, is to sire offspring: offspring that will grow up grazing under the lush organic apple orchards of the farm, and will eventually be butchered, sold and, ultimately, provide an income for the McNee family.
Usually, this story would serve as a marginally humorous anecdote, maybe a good bar story or the “gay pig” punch line of some low-brow joke. But for the McNees’, the seemingly homosexual pig, and what he means for their bottom line is a serious problem.
On a drizzling Monday morning, the rolling landscape of Paw Paw, Michigan is a graying blur. On the outskirts of Paw Paw, past an aging bowling alley, a few haggard mechanic shops, and a dimly lit diner, a gravel road twists towards the McNees’ farm. A large, prominently displayed sign reads “DEAD END” and hangs haphazardly on a rusting signpost; the smell of manure is thick.
Sandy stands on the front step of her small house. She is past sixty, and her dark hair seems too youthful against her aged face. “You don’t have to take off your shoes – I just hate shoes,” she explains, as she hobbles, barefoot, to the recliner in her small living room.
She and her husband Kim have been farming here for the past fifteen years, the two of them doing almost all the work it takes to grow and harvest their organic vegetables and now, increasingly, hogs and cattle. To sustain Barefoot Farm, the only additional labor they bring in is the occasional high school kid, usually in the summer, when the backbreaking field work becomes too much for them. They estimate their average workday at sixteen hours, give or take, during those summer months.
Sandy hobbles outside to the greenhouse toward her seedlings. Severe arthritis and old injuries make walking a struggle, and it seems to take a long time to get to the field. Sandy sighs and admits to the pain. “I have a high pain tolerance and I’m stubborn as hell.”
Entering the greenhouse, where Sandy spends most of her time, rows and rows of tiny green shoots are lined up; box after box of the sprouting plants are just breaking the surface of dark soil. She points to different groups of boxes: jalapeños, onions, broccoli, some lettuces, zucchini, even garlic.
Regardless of the difficultly of the farm tasks, she and Kim make it on the profits they earn at the weekly farmers markets all over southwest Michigan. Travelling sometimes up to an hour, Sandy and Kim wake at 3 or 4 on the mornings they go to the market. On one drizzly market morning, the crowds that pour into the small stalls, picking over produce and freshly butchered meats, hover over Sandy and Kim’s booth, shoving handfuls of fives and ones over the mountains of vegetables. These market days gross a surprising amount of money for the McNees, typically upwards of six or seven hundred dollars, much more on a good day. Back in the greenhouse, talking about money pushes a nagging problem to the forefront of Sandy’s thoughts. She sighs. She starts to talk about the problems with Willie the boar.
For the last several weeks, she and Kim have been trying with yet unknown success to ensure that Willie impregnates as many of the young females as possible. “There’s no pregnancy test for pigs, unlike cows,” Sandy informs me. Not that a pregnancy test seems needed in any case. Just in the last few days have the McNees begun to see success with Willie, meaning he has, indeed, begun to mount females. However, it has been a long struggle to get him to this point. Getting Willie to adjust has been difficult; getting him to procreate has proved impossible. Given the choice, or just the chance, he will mount one of the McNees’ cut males.
The gamble of whether or not Willie has done his job is a palpable source of stress to Sandy and Kim. As the McNees age, it becomes harder every year to maintain the farm solely off of the profits they make on agriculture and the McNees are increasingly reliant on the gamble of raising livestock. Sandy wrinkles her brow and runs her hands together, thoughtful. “Physically, the vegetables are getting harder to do,” she says.
And yet, the McNees seem sure that if they could produce enough pork next year to start phasing into livestock, and out of agriculture, that they will make it. They describe themselves, even after twenty-one years together, as best friends. “I was born to be a farmer,” Sandy says. Kim doesn’t say anything, but seems to agree with Sandy, and nods his head. Kim finally looks up. If it weren’t for the financial burden, farming would be their ideal lifestyle. “I wish I were richer,” Kim finally says, his sun weathered skin wrinkling like leather as he laughs, a mix of anxious joy, smiling through the struggle.
WORD COUNT: 976
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Week 7: Reading Response
I liked "The Road is Unfair" much better than "Access."
Both articles brought up ethical issues, but I feel like Conover did a much better job of navigating a different culture. His writing does not come across as judgemental - he just says it the way it happens. Somehow, I think this gives the reader a sense of power - there isn't an interpretation already glossed onto the story. The reader is able to think whatever they think.
One example of this is Conover's treatment of Bradford as a character. The frustrating thing about Bradford is that he KNOWS how AIDS is spread - he totally gets it. But he sleeps with prostitutes anyway...BUT Conover doesn't describe the scene where this happens with judgment. It just happens. I decided on my own that Bradford is a frustrating character, and I like having that power as a reader. In a way, it makes the point that *presumably* Conover is making more palatable - I don't feel like I am being spoon fed something that already seems biased.
This is different Kramer's story. From the first sentence of "Access" the narrative is rife with his own judgments. I lost interest in the story MUCH more quickly, in part because I felt like the answer to what these people, this culture, was about at the time was already given to me - and it wasn't my answer, it was Kramers.
That said, both pieces relate to the chapter on Ethics. Obviously, it is an ethical issue how you paint the characters in the book. This is something I struggle with as a writer - I need to get over feeling guilty when I write what I see...the way I see it. I think I need more of Conover's "What I see" and less of Kramer's "How I see it." Although I DID like Tracy Kidder's comparison of an interview, and the need to convey what the consequences of an interview might be, to Miranda rights. I need to figure out how to word my own version of "Miranda rights" before an interview. I think that might help the guilt factor I feel in writing. That, and keeping a boundary between me and my interviewee...there is ALWAYS the temptation to start think they are your friend...
Both articles brought up ethical issues, but I feel like Conover did a much better job of navigating a different culture. His writing does not come across as judgemental - he just says it the way it happens. Somehow, I think this gives the reader a sense of power - there isn't an interpretation already glossed onto the story. The reader is able to think whatever they think.
One example of this is Conover's treatment of Bradford as a character. The frustrating thing about Bradford is that he KNOWS how AIDS is spread - he totally gets it. But he sleeps with prostitutes anyway...BUT Conover doesn't describe the scene where this happens with judgment. It just happens. I decided on my own that Bradford is a frustrating character, and I like having that power as a reader. In a way, it makes the point that *presumably* Conover is making more palatable - I don't feel like I am being spoon fed something that already seems biased.
This is different Kramer's story. From the first sentence of "Access" the narrative is rife with his own judgments. I lost interest in the story MUCH more quickly, in part because I felt like the answer to what these people, this culture, was about at the time was already given to me - and it wasn't my answer, it was Kramers.
That said, both pieces relate to the chapter on Ethics. Obviously, it is an ethical issue how you paint the characters in the book. This is something I struggle with as a writer - I need to get over feeling guilty when I write what I see...the way I see it. I think I need more of Conover's "What I see" and less of Kramer's "How I see it." Although I DID like Tracy Kidder's comparison of an interview, and the need to convey what the consequences of an interview might be, to Miranda rights. I need to figure out how to word my own version of "Miranda rights" before an interview. I think that might help the guilt factor I feel in writing. That, and keeping a boundary between me and my interviewee...there is ALWAYS the temptation to start think they are your friend...
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Comments
Jackie -
I can see you are struggling here...I guess I would ask you: Is this a profile of Lisa, or a profile of the health center? I think you need to narrow everything down to a specific part of the health center, if that's what its about. What about mental health at K? You mentioned Lisa is very interested in repro. rights. Could you talk about how THAT has influenced her work?
Right now it just seems to clean...there's no tension, no real theme.
It's tough though, I know...especially when you have a lot of ground to cover, and a lot of different directions that it could go.
Mae -
I think there's a lot of potential here.
I think the article needs to offer the reader some MORE than what they would get just walking into a bar - I KNEW your story before you told it, if that makes sense. (anyone who's been in a dive bar does).
I think it needs to be more complex - like Jackie, I think you need to figure out where the tension is. Is there one person in particular that you could focus on? Is there some part of the neighborhood you could look into? You mention drunk driving in passing...what about looking into that issue and how bars are handling that in Kalamazoo?
Like I said though, there's a lot of potential. I like your descriptions.
Regis -
I like your story - its about something different, someplace I have never been before and know nothing about. I am interested to hear what you have to say at workshop tonight.
I DO think it could use a better lede - I really wish, given that your topic is really interesting, you have given me something more to get pulled into.
Also, I realize that we just did personal essays...but your profile sounds too much like a personal essay I think. (I mean...that's my opinion though...) I think it needs more focus. Less "I" and more of a target for the reader to hone in on...
This is going to be good though, I can tell...
Toni -
I just love your writing. You have such excellent descriptions, and such active verbs - I love how they "plop" a bag of cheetos and a soda on the counter - that one word says so much: they are casual kids, carefree, comfortable - this seems like a place they must come often.
And your descriptions make me remember Las Juanitas almost exactly, even though it has been months since I have been there.
I think the one place where I would like to see more is....well, honestly, I wish your story had more trouble. It needs something to pull me along...its just too perfect.
I think you need to go back and poke around...this is the one place you WANT to find trouble, drama, problems...it does need to be positive, in fact, I feel like readers enjoy reading about trouble..
Martin -
One thing that I am coming to love about your writing is that you know just how much you should be in the story. I love the details about your sense of smell being deadened...and at the same time, there is no self-judgment or otherwise in your writing. If there is (rarely) its humorous. It's so honest...and that's powerful, because you can get your readers to trust you...
Would it be wrong to say that I see nothing immediately in need of revision? You really SHOW people what it feels like to be in Fourth Coast...and there is definitely tension lurking under the surface. Maybe it needs more of a direction, early on? That's about all I can think of...
Very nice job.
Austin -
I really, really like this piece, with one exception....I hate to be so blunt...but, well: Is this actually a profile? Or is it a personal essay?
Your writing is great, I love the details you include. I love that you can see dialogue and the reader really gets inside your head. But, it seems like a personal experience. What is it a profile OF?
I can see you are struggling here...I guess I would ask you: Is this a profile of Lisa, or a profile of the health center? I think you need to narrow everything down to a specific part of the health center, if that's what its about. What about mental health at K? You mentioned Lisa is very interested in repro. rights. Could you talk about how THAT has influenced her work?
Right now it just seems to clean...there's no tension, no real theme.
It's tough though, I know...especially when you have a lot of ground to cover, and a lot of different directions that it could go.
Mae -
I think there's a lot of potential here.
I think the article needs to offer the reader some MORE than what they would get just walking into a bar - I KNEW your story before you told it, if that makes sense. (anyone who's been in a dive bar does).
I think it needs to be more complex - like Jackie, I think you need to figure out where the tension is. Is there one person in particular that you could focus on? Is there some part of the neighborhood you could look into? You mention drunk driving in passing...what about looking into that issue and how bars are handling that in Kalamazoo?
Like I said though, there's a lot of potential. I like your descriptions.
Regis -
I like your story - its about something different, someplace I have never been before and know nothing about. I am interested to hear what you have to say at workshop tonight.
I DO think it could use a better lede - I really wish, given that your topic is really interesting, you have given me something more to get pulled into.
Also, I realize that we just did personal essays...but your profile sounds too much like a personal essay I think. (I mean...that's my opinion though...) I think it needs more focus. Less "I" and more of a target for the reader to hone in on...
This is going to be good though, I can tell...
Toni -
I just love your writing. You have such excellent descriptions, and such active verbs - I love how they "plop" a bag of cheetos and a soda on the counter - that one word says so much: they are casual kids, carefree, comfortable - this seems like a place they must come often.
And your descriptions make me remember Las Juanitas almost exactly, even though it has been months since I have been there.
I think the one place where I would like to see more is....well, honestly, I wish your story had more trouble. It needs something to pull me along...its just too perfect.
I think you need to go back and poke around...this is the one place you WANT to find trouble, drama, problems...it does need to be positive, in fact, I feel like readers enjoy reading about trouble..
Martin -
One thing that I am coming to love about your writing is that you know just how much you should be in the story. I love the details about your sense of smell being deadened...and at the same time, there is no self-judgment or otherwise in your writing. If there is (rarely) its humorous. It's so honest...and that's powerful, because you can get your readers to trust you...
Would it be wrong to say that I see nothing immediately in need of revision? You really SHOW people what it feels like to be in Fourth Coast...and there is definitely tension lurking under the surface. Maybe it needs more of a direction, early on? That's about all I can think of...
Very nice job.
Austin -
I really, really like this piece, with one exception....I hate to be so blunt...but, well: Is this actually a profile? Or is it a personal essay?
Your writing is great, I love the details you include. I love that you can see dialogue and the reader really gets inside your head. But, it seems like a personal experience. What is it a profile OF?
Week 6: Writing Process
The most difficult thing about writing this story is that I HAD NO IDEA WHERE TO BEGIN. I guess it might be obvious from the lede, but basically, I just decided to cut straight to the point - what would I say if I were trying to explain this story to a group of my friends, in one sentence? And...that's what I wrote. But somehow, I feel like it could be stronger...
There is SO much I could have written - if our word limit was longer, I would have been able to flesh out Sandy's character much more. She's a hoot - and there are SO MANY darn good quotes that I wish I could have included that say so much about her outlook on life, which is one that I love. Sandy: "I have my shit together, sometime I just don't know where it is" (on life in general) Or, "Natures a bitch as it is, I don't know why people feel like they need to change it" (on all non-organic farming) Or, "He's a very disgusting person. He loves this work" (on her husband, Kim).
So, basically, my hurdles with this piece focused on discerning what was ESSENTIAL and what was not...there is so much here, and so much tension that figuring out what, exactly, I would focus on as tension...(the love story between Kim and Sandy, the economic struggle of sustaining the farm, organic versus non-organic farming, etc)it was difficult to compile succinctly.
Honestly, when I sat down to write, I typed my lede. Then I went downstairs, had a glass of wine, looked over my notes with a highlighter, and just started writing what I thought was most important. I still don't feel like I did it justice...but, it seems increasingly like that is sortof what its like to write...to not ever feel like you have something perfect...
There is SO much I could have written - if our word limit was longer, I would have been able to flesh out Sandy's character much more. She's a hoot - and there are SO MANY darn good quotes that I wish I could have included that say so much about her outlook on life, which is one that I love. Sandy: "I have my shit together, sometime I just don't know where it is" (on life in general) Or, "Natures a bitch as it is, I don't know why people feel like they need to change it" (on all non-organic farming) Or, "He's a very disgusting person. He loves this work" (on her husband, Kim).
So, basically, my hurdles with this piece focused on discerning what was ESSENTIAL and what was not...there is so much here, and so much tension that figuring out what, exactly, I would focus on as tension...(the love story between Kim and Sandy, the economic struggle of sustaining the farm, organic versus non-organic farming, etc)it was difficult to compile succinctly.
Honestly, when I sat down to write, I typed my lede. Then I went downstairs, had a glass of wine, looked over my notes with a highlighter, and just started writing what I thought was most important. I still don't feel like I did it justice...but, it seems increasingly like that is sortof what its like to write...to not ever feel like you have something perfect...
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Yes, this is my pig story...
A gay pig is threatening to ruin Kim and Sandra McNees’ family farm. The boar, purchased for the sole purpose of siring offspring; offspring that would grow up graizing under the lush organic apple orchards of farm, and would eventually be butchered, sold and, ultimately, provide an income for the McNee family.
Sandra and Kim, who name all of the animals on their farm, named their new boar Willie. Arriving on the farm, Willie was immediately charged by the eager female pigs: he ran away squeeling. Getting Willie to adjust has been difficult; getting him to procreate has proved impossible. Given the choice, or just the chance, he will mount one of the McNees’ cut males.
Usually, this story would serve as a marginally humorous anecdote, maybe a good bar story or the “gay pig” a punchline of some low-brow joke. But for the McNees’, the seemingly homosexual pig, and what he means for their bottom line, and Barefoot Farm, a labor of love built over fifteen years of backbreaking labor, is a serious problem.
Arriving on the McNee farm on a drizzling Monday morning, the rolling landscape of Paw Paw is a greying blur beyond the windshield of my car. On the outskirts of Paw Paw, I pass an aging bowling alley, a few haggard mechanic shops, and a dimly lit diner. The gravel road that leads to the McNees’ is ominous: a large, prominently displayed sign that reads “DEAD END” hangs haphazardley on a rusting signpost; the smell of manure creeps into the secure interior of my car.
Sandra McNees, who immediately tells me that she prefers “Sandy,” is waiting on the front step of her house. She is past sixty, and her dark – not grey – hair seems too youthful against her aged face. “You don’t have to take off your shoes – I just hate shoes,” she explains, as she hobbles, barefoot, to the recliner in her small living room. This preference, she later tells me, is the reason for the name of the farm – Barefoot Farms.
She and her husband Kim have been farming here for the past fifteen years, the two of then doing almost the entirety of the work it takes to grow and harvest their organic vegetables and now, increasingly, hogs and cattle. The only additional labor they bring in is the occasional high school kid, usually in the summer, when the backbreaking field work becomes too much for Sandra and Kim. They estimate their average workday at sixteen hours, give or take, during those summer months.
Sandy hobbles outside to the greenhouse to show me her seedlings. Sandy is severely disabled, and even walking seems to take a long time. “I have a high pain tolerance and I’m stubbon as hell,” she says when I ask her how she manages to work the farm.
Entering the greenhouse, where Sandy says she spends most of her time, rows and rows of tiny green shoots are lined up; box after box of the sprouting plants are “popping,” as Sandy says. She points different groups of boxes: jalepenos, onions, broccoli, some lettuces, zucchini, even garlic, which she says she has let go too long. She pulls one of the garlic shoots from the black soil and peels back a portion of the milky stem with a fingernail. She lifts the bulb to my nose. One whiff of the plant makes my eyes water; indeed, even I can tell that something has been allowed to get out of hand with the garlic. She chucks the plant over her shoulder, and starts to talk about the problems with Willie the boar.
“When I first saw the boar, I thought ‘he looks like my first husband,’” Sandy sighs. Apparently, this was not a good omen. For the last several weeks, she and Kim have been trying with yet unknown success to ensure that Willie empregnates as many of the young females as possible. “There’s no pregnancy test for pigs, unlike cows,” Sandy informs me. Not that a pregnancy test seems needed in any case. At this point, Willie has yet to mount a female. That is, without direct guidance from Kim. The procedure is a messy one – and just as I am starting to visualize what this might entail, Kim chimes in, the first time he has entered our conversation so directly in the hour I have been at the farm. “The first pigs he tried to mount were cut males,” Kim says. “We thought he was gay at first – but now he’s doing his job.” By “doing his job” what Kim means is that Willie is functional – if only with some rather intimate assistance from Kim. Kim dons rubber gloves, and, entering the pen, explains the procedure of “lining it up.” He tells me that on a good day, he can ensure that Willie’s rather skinny penis enters, “the right hole.”
Sandy and Kim are increasingly reliant on the gamble of raising livestock. Livestock, apart from the sometimes graphic nature of ensuring procreation, is much easier for the aging couple to raise. “Physically, the vegetables are getting harder to do,” Sandy says. As the McNees age, it becomes harder every year to maintain the farm solely off of the profits they make on agriculture. Their income comes from the farmers markets they frequent, sometimes selling through small shops and at fairs. They only sell what is in season, right now, asparagus. Still, with the endless work, they are still just scrapping by. “The expense of it is a struggle – every single year,” she says. This year, with the unusually cold winter, the McNees nearly gave up on the farm altogether. “The colder it is, the more they eat – we depleted all the money we had, trying to keep them fed.”
And yet, back in the warm living room of the McNees home, they seem sure that if they could produce enough pork next year to start phasing into livestock, and out of agriculture, that they will make it. They describe themselves, even after twenty-one years together, as best friends. Kim gets up to pour coffee for Sandy, and he pats her hand as he sets the mug down next to her on the side table. “I was born to be a farmer,” Sandy says. Kim doesn’t say anything, but seems to agree with Sandy, and nods his head. Do they have any regrets? Kim finally looks up. “I wish I were richer,” Kim says, his sunweathered skin wrinkling like leather as he laughs.
Sandra and Kim, who name all of the animals on their farm, named their new boar Willie. Arriving on the farm, Willie was immediately charged by the eager female pigs: he ran away squeeling. Getting Willie to adjust has been difficult; getting him to procreate has proved impossible. Given the choice, or just the chance, he will mount one of the McNees’ cut males.
Usually, this story would serve as a marginally humorous anecdote, maybe a good bar story or the “gay pig” a punchline of some low-brow joke. But for the McNees’, the seemingly homosexual pig, and what he means for their bottom line, and Barefoot Farm, a labor of love built over fifteen years of backbreaking labor, is a serious problem.
Arriving on the McNee farm on a drizzling Monday morning, the rolling landscape of Paw Paw is a greying blur beyond the windshield of my car. On the outskirts of Paw Paw, I pass an aging bowling alley, a few haggard mechanic shops, and a dimly lit diner. The gravel road that leads to the McNees’ is ominous: a large, prominently displayed sign that reads “DEAD END” hangs haphazardley on a rusting signpost; the smell of manure creeps into the secure interior of my car.
Sandra McNees, who immediately tells me that she prefers “Sandy,” is waiting on the front step of her house. She is past sixty, and her dark – not grey – hair seems too youthful against her aged face. “You don’t have to take off your shoes – I just hate shoes,” she explains, as she hobbles, barefoot, to the recliner in her small living room. This preference, she later tells me, is the reason for the name of the farm – Barefoot Farms.
She and her husband Kim have been farming here for the past fifteen years, the two of then doing almost the entirety of the work it takes to grow and harvest their organic vegetables and now, increasingly, hogs and cattle. The only additional labor they bring in is the occasional high school kid, usually in the summer, when the backbreaking field work becomes too much for Sandra and Kim. They estimate their average workday at sixteen hours, give or take, during those summer months.
Sandy hobbles outside to the greenhouse to show me her seedlings. Sandy is severely disabled, and even walking seems to take a long time. “I have a high pain tolerance and I’m stubbon as hell,” she says when I ask her how she manages to work the farm.
Entering the greenhouse, where Sandy says she spends most of her time, rows and rows of tiny green shoots are lined up; box after box of the sprouting plants are “popping,” as Sandy says. She points different groups of boxes: jalepenos, onions, broccoli, some lettuces, zucchini, even garlic, which she says she has let go too long. She pulls one of the garlic shoots from the black soil and peels back a portion of the milky stem with a fingernail. She lifts the bulb to my nose. One whiff of the plant makes my eyes water; indeed, even I can tell that something has been allowed to get out of hand with the garlic. She chucks the plant over her shoulder, and starts to talk about the problems with Willie the boar.
“When I first saw the boar, I thought ‘he looks like my first husband,’” Sandy sighs. Apparently, this was not a good omen. For the last several weeks, she and Kim have been trying with yet unknown success to ensure that Willie empregnates as many of the young females as possible. “There’s no pregnancy test for pigs, unlike cows,” Sandy informs me. Not that a pregnancy test seems needed in any case. At this point, Willie has yet to mount a female. That is, without direct guidance from Kim. The procedure is a messy one – and just as I am starting to visualize what this might entail, Kim chimes in, the first time he has entered our conversation so directly in the hour I have been at the farm. “The first pigs he tried to mount were cut males,” Kim says. “We thought he was gay at first – but now he’s doing his job.” By “doing his job” what Kim means is that Willie is functional – if only with some rather intimate assistance from Kim. Kim dons rubber gloves, and, entering the pen, explains the procedure of “lining it up.” He tells me that on a good day, he can ensure that Willie’s rather skinny penis enters, “the right hole.”
Sandy and Kim are increasingly reliant on the gamble of raising livestock. Livestock, apart from the sometimes graphic nature of ensuring procreation, is much easier for the aging couple to raise. “Physically, the vegetables are getting harder to do,” Sandy says. As the McNees age, it becomes harder every year to maintain the farm solely off of the profits they make on agriculture. Their income comes from the farmers markets they frequent, sometimes selling through small shops and at fairs. They only sell what is in season, right now, asparagus. Still, with the endless work, they are still just scrapping by. “The expense of it is a struggle – every single year,” she says. This year, with the unusually cold winter, the McNees nearly gave up on the farm altogether. “The colder it is, the more they eat – we depleted all the money we had, trying to keep them fed.”
And yet, back in the warm living room of the McNees home, they seem sure that if they could produce enough pork next year to start phasing into livestock, and out of agriculture, that they will make it. They describe themselves, even after twenty-one years together, as best friends. Kim gets up to pour coffee for Sandy, and he pats her hand as he sets the mug down next to her on the side table. “I was born to be a farmer,” Sandy says. Kim doesn’t say anything, but seems to agree with Sandy, and nods his head. Do they have any regrets? Kim finally looks up. “I wish I were richer,” Kim says, his sunweathered skin wrinkling like leather as he laughs.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Week 5: Reading Response
I have to say that I loved "Frank Sinatra Has a Cold" but definitely not as much as "Memories."
I feel like they are both excellent, stylistically. I love how the Frank Sinatra piece leads the reader along with the evident complexity of Sinatra: one minute he is the most generous friends you could ever hope to have, the next he is on the verge of a bar fight with a complete stranger.
There is definitely the sense of Sinatra's own desire to stay....I'm not sure of the word....young? in charge? new and famous? There is some sort of tension there that I can't really pin down, but I get the sense that that is a part of the reason why this article is so successful - because it really seems to find the tension and that is what runs through the piece to keep it going.
Along that same line, the images of Sinatra reflect this - I love the image of Sinatra standing by the bar, with the two older (and Talese makes a point of mentioning that fact) blondes. Its like that saying "A picture is worth a thousand words" - that image sums up the tension of the story - you have this once-fabulous icon, and....well....more than having a cold, he is getting OLD and fading. That really stuck with me.
"Memories" was an absolutely beautifully crafted story. Honestly, it made me cry, but I think that that is a part of what makes it so effective - it really reaches the reader. The part about Ted waiting endlessly for his wife was so parallel with the point of the story, and he was the perfect character to put it there. In sort of a dark way, it reminded me that - well, what ARE these people waiting for? And the answer seems to be that their days are filling with endless waiting for nothing, the only amusement being dictionary definitions.
Finally, I think the fragmented structure of the story really works - Kidder doesn't just stick with one character - he breaks it up. Which is, afterall, much like memory itself works - broken anecdotes.
I feel like they are both excellent, stylistically. I love how the Frank Sinatra piece leads the reader along with the evident complexity of Sinatra: one minute he is the most generous friends you could ever hope to have, the next he is on the verge of a bar fight with a complete stranger.
There is definitely the sense of Sinatra's own desire to stay....I'm not sure of the word....young? in charge? new and famous? There is some sort of tension there that I can't really pin down, but I get the sense that that is a part of the reason why this article is so successful - because it really seems to find the tension and that is what runs through the piece to keep it going.
Along that same line, the images of Sinatra reflect this - I love the image of Sinatra standing by the bar, with the two older (and Talese makes a point of mentioning that fact) blondes. Its like that saying "A picture is worth a thousand words" - that image sums up the tension of the story - you have this once-fabulous icon, and....well....more than having a cold, he is getting OLD and fading. That really stuck with me.
"Memories" was an absolutely beautifully crafted story. Honestly, it made me cry, but I think that that is a part of what makes it so effective - it really reaches the reader. The part about Ted waiting endlessly for his wife was so parallel with the point of the story, and he was the perfect character to put it there. In sort of a dark way, it reminded me that - well, what ARE these people waiting for? And the answer seems to be that their days are filling with endless waiting for nothing, the only amusement being dictionary definitions.
Finally, I think the fragmented structure of the story really works - Kidder doesn't just stick with one character - he breaks it up. Which is, afterall, much like memory itself works - broken anecdotes.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Outline
Conflict: GenXer gets engaged.
1. Girl gets ring
2. Engagement causes confusion.
3. Girl asks questions.
Solution: Girl feels content.
1. Girl gets ring
2. Engagement causes confusion.
3. Girl asks questions.
Solution: Girl feels content.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Profile Pitch/Progress?
So I thought I had the perfect idea to interview and profile Judy Sarkozy, who owns and operates Sarkozy's Bakery downtown. But the more I thought about it, and got ready to start working on securing an interview, the less and less excited I felt about this.
Honestly, I don't think its really making me go out on a limb at all - I think this would be a very straightforward interview.
What really intrigues me is profiling a place - I've never done this before, and it might help me develop another aspect of my writing that I have previously not done. I have been running through a lot of my ideas in my head...and I wish, at this point in the deadline, I had more to say! I shouldn't be still trying to decide what I'm going to do! I feel a little panicked.
Ideas are profiling the Kalamazoo Mueseum, going to the newborn nursery in Bronson and profiling that...I don't know. Going to talk to Marin...I just hope that some bolt of inspiration hits me...
Honestly, I don't think its really making me go out on a limb at all - I think this would be a very straightforward interview.
What really intrigues me is profiling a place - I've never done this before, and it might help me develop another aspect of my writing that I have previously not done. I have been running through a lot of my ideas in my head...and I wish, at this point in the deadline, I had more to say! I shouldn't be still trying to decide what I'm going to do! I feel a little panicked.
Ideas are profiling the Kalamazoo Mueseum, going to the newborn nursery in Bronson and profiling that...I don't know. Going to talk to Marin...I just hope that some bolt of inspiration hits me...
Week 4: Reading Response
Trina and Trina blew me away. I wish I could write a profile that is as all consuming as this one must have been for LeBlanc - it was really interesting as well, because part of the reason I feel the article is so effective is that it is in large part about the struggle of communicating and getting through to Trina. I feel like the story gradually exposes Trina - gradually, definitely not at first. In the beginning its a little disconcerting because we in fact know so little. I almost felt helpless as a reader.
Clearly, there are stories that are hard to separate your goal as a journalist and your basic humanity. I think the fact that LeBlanc repeatedly admit to his frustration with Trina - and that he even at one point oversteps the lines of his profession and takes her in, trying to get her clean, are cases in point. However, for this piece it really works - because we, the audience WANT to help Trina.
I think that his biggest challenge was connecting with Trina - she seemed like such an emotionally unacessable person, until almost the very end of the story.
It is interesting that LeBlanc chose to organize the story chronologically. Because the story is about Trina, her scattered, damaged life, and her drug addiction, I wonder how it would have made sense to organize it otherwise. Certainly, every story needs SOME structure, but what structure would have been reflected the subject?
As for The American Man at Age Ten, I just simply love this piece. Especially, I love her introduction - because the reader is drawn in but surprised at the same time. I had read this article before but I really see so much more in it the second time around - and I think what I love about Orleans writing is the imagery and examples. They are so lush, and give the reader such a clear, vivid picture of what she is writing about.
Clearly, there are stories that are hard to separate your goal as a journalist and your basic humanity. I think the fact that LeBlanc repeatedly admit to his frustration with Trina - and that he even at one point oversteps the lines of his profession and takes her in, trying to get her clean, are cases in point. However, for this piece it really works - because we, the audience WANT to help Trina.
I think that his biggest challenge was connecting with Trina - she seemed like such an emotionally unacessable person, until almost the very end of the story.
It is interesting that LeBlanc chose to organize the story chronologically. Because the story is about Trina, her scattered, damaged life, and her drug addiction, I wonder how it would have made sense to organize it otherwise. Certainly, every story needs SOME structure, but what structure would have been reflected the subject?
As for The American Man at Age Ten, I just simply love this piece. Especially, I love her introduction - because the reader is drawn in but surprised at the same time. I had read this article before but I really see so much more in it the second time around - and I think what I love about Orleans writing is the imagery and examples. They are so lush, and give the reader such a clear, vivid picture of what she is writing about.
Revised Personal Essay
Elizabeth Porter
5 April 2009
Narrative Journalism:
Engaged? Stumbling Upon the Mrs. Degree at K College
My mother told me a few days before I left for college that when she was a freshman at Northwestern in the late 1960’s, the goal for almost every one of her girlfriends was to find a husband by graduation. “Seriously?”, I had asked her, my mouth hanging open, incredulous. The idea of getting married immediately after college was something I had never even heard of, coming from the super liberal west coast, where marriage seemed very much optional. My childhood friends growing up often had divorced parents, like myself, and I had playmates that had two daddies or two mommies, some simply had parents that co-habited, not necessarily bothering with the formality of a ring. My elder brother, when he finally tied the knot with his live-in girlfriend of ten years, finalized their marriage license by signing it in the baggage claim of the Sacramento airport, something they almost forgot to do en route to their honeymoon.
So when I moved to Michigan for college, marriage, something that seemed more common, more traditional, and seemed to happen much earlier in life, was not even a slight possibility for myself. As a handful of friends from high school, and one or two of my college classmates, became romantically involved and then engaged, I will admit that I sometimes judged them, at times felt sorry for them. Perhaps it is the jaded nature of my generation that marriage has always seemed an phony contract, easily broken – like a fleeting phase, procured in drive-thru chapels in Las Vegas a la Britney Spears, or, for the truly adventurous, in front of millions on a reality TV show.
So when I found myself leaning over the glass countertop in the jewelry section at Boscov’s, the glass warm under my palms from the reflected lighting, a million glittering engagement rings sparkling under my eyes, the scene felt dream-like, and not only because of the two glasses of champagne I had just downed.
A week after St. Patrick’s Day, I found myself at a crossroads; the question, popped half romantically and half practically, was a weird illustration of the concept of marriage, distorted since my mother’s time in college. After discovering that my Teach for America placement could only be negotiated based on whether or not my partner was also my husband-to-be, the proposal happened over the phone, after a serious discussion. “Well, we could solve this whole problem by getting engaged, you know,” my now-fiancée told me. “Is that a proposal?” I asked him. “Sure,” he said. “Okay,” I said.
I am happy with the decision. While I anticipate a long engagement – maybe sooner than five years, but who can really tell – there was not the requisite formality that Americans in generations past would have expected. No bended knee, no anxiety-fraught request of permission from my father. I know that this is the right life decision for me: intuitively I feel good about it. I worry, though, that perhaps the resoluteness of my now fresh decision will one day fade.
As I hung up the phone after our conversation that day, having decided to become engaged, I felt butterflies in my chest and stomach – but not the bad kind. Instead, I felt exhilarated, a little lightheaded. Images of monogrammed towels and summer vacations and the Christmas cards we would have together spun in my head, and I smiled. For the rest of the day, unsure about how to share the news with my friends and family, unsure of how I would be received, I walked around feeling giddy and happy and light. I didn’t feel trapped or claustrophobic, which is how I always imagined a lifelong agreement must feel like – spending the rest of my life with my now fiancée seemed so natural. I was elated.
Over the next few weeks though, the dust slowly settled. Somehow, the surreal nature of my modern-day engagement, with the concept of throwing a wedding, with church bells and rings and cake, bewildered me, and this feeling hasn’t subsided. I’m still happy with the decision, just very unsure of how I go about it: a marriage isn’t just monogrammed towels and Christmas cards – is it? The expectations and rules of how to go about getting married have been so revised over the last generations. During my last phone conversation with my grandmother, she inquired about whether or not the place cards for the reception dinner had been finished yet.
It seems to throw off my friends too. One of my closest girlfriends told me recently that she just didn’t think I was “the kind of person,” that got engaged. Conversely, an old study abroad buddy Facebooked me to say “CONGRAGULATIONS!!” . I get the idea that in some schools, being engaged is not as rare in their graduating class.
Last week, I went to Barnes and Noble to figure out just how someone throws a wedding. After all, they don’t exactly teach that in college. What is the etiquette on announcing your engagement? Does Facebook count as acceptable these days? I selected a few outrageously priced magazines, all with smiling brides on each glossy page, all wearing white. Would I wear white, or is that just too traditional?
As I purchased the magazines, the clerk looked at me sort of like I had looked at myself in the mirror that morning: Really? her face seemed to say.
Really. For now, I am wearing my grandmother’s anniversary ring, until we can afford a “real” engagement ring. On Graduation Day, I imagine myself preparing to walk across the stage: all requirements completed, SIP turned in. Cap: check. Gown: check. Ring: check. I will carry my grandmother’s ring, perched on my right hand, across the stage, and I can’t help but wonder, knowing what my mother would say about her generation, just what my grandmother might tell me.
5 April 2009
Narrative Journalism:
Engaged? Stumbling Upon the Mrs. Degree at K College
My mother told me a few days before I left for college that when she was a freshman at Northwestern in the late 1960’s, the goal for almost every one of her girlfriends was to find a husband by graduation. “Seriously?”, I had asked her, my mouth hanging open, incredulous. The idea of getting married immediately after college was something I had never even heard of, coming from the super liberal west coast, where marriage seemed very much optional. My childhood friends growing up often had divorced parents, like myself, and I had playmates that had two daddies or two mommies, some simply had parents that co-habited, not necessarily bothering with the formality of a ring. My elder brother, when he finally tied the knot with his live-in girlfriend of ten years, finalized their marriage license by signing it in the baggage claim of the Sacramento airport, something they almost forgot to do en route to their honeymoon.
So when I moved to Michigan for college, marriage, something that seemed more common, more traditional, and seemed to happen much earlier in life, was not even a slight possibility for myself. As a handful of friends from high school, and one or two of my college classmates, became romantically involved and then engaged, I will admit that I sometimes judged them, at times felt sorry for them. Perhaps it is the jaded nature of my generation that marriage has always seemed an phony contract, easily broken – like a fleeting phase, procured in drive-thru chapels in Las Vegas a la Britney Spears, or, for the truly adventurous, in front of millions on a reality TV show.
So when I found myself leaning over the glass countertop in the jewelry section at Boscov’s, the glass warm under my palms from the reflected lighting, a million glittering engagement rings sparkling under my eyes, the scene felt dream-like, and not only because of the two glasses of champagne I had just downed.
A week after St. Patrick’s Day, I found myself at a crossroads; the question, popped half romantically and half practically, was a weird illustration of the concept of marriage, distorted since my mother’s time in college. After discovering that my Teach for America placement could only be negotiated based on whether or not my partner was also my husband-to-be, the proposal happened over the phone, after a serious discussion. “Well, we could solve this whole problem by getting engaged, you know,” my now-fiancée told me. “Is that a proposal?” I asked him. “Sure,” he said. “Okay,” I said.
I am happy with the decision. While I anticipate a long engagement – maybe sooner than five years, but who can really tell – there was not the requisite formality that Americans in generations past would have expected. No bended knee, no anxiety-fraught request of permission from my father. I know that this is the right life decision for me: intuitively I feel good about it. I worry, though, that perhaps the resoluteness of my now fresh decision will one day fade.
As I hung up the phone after our conversation that day, having decided to become engaged, I felt butterflies in my chest and stomach – but not the bad kind. Instead, I felt exhilarated, a little lightheaded. Images of monogrammed towels and summer vacations and the Christmas cards we would have together spun in my head, and I smiled. For the rest of the day, unsure about how to share the news with my friends and family, unsure of how I would be received, I walked around feeling giddy and happy and light. I didn’t feel trapped or claustrophobic, which is how I always imagined a lifelong agreement must feel like – spending the rest of my life with my now fiancée seemed so natural. I was elated.
Over the next few weeks though, the dust slowly settled. Somehow, the surreal nature of my modern-day engagement, with the concept of throwing a wedding, with church bells and rings and cake, bewildered me, and this feeling hasn’t subsided. I’m still happy with the decision, just very unsure of how I go about it: a marriage isn’t just monogrammed towels and Christmas cards – is it? The expectations and rules of how to go about getting married have been so revised over the last generations. During my last phone conversation with my grandmother, she inquired about whether or not the place cards for the reception dinner had been finished yet.
It seems to throw off my friends too. One of my closest girlfriends told me recently that she just didn’t think I was “the kind of person,” that got engaged. Conversely, an old study abroad buddy Facebooked me to say “CONGRAGULATIONS!!” . I get the idea that in some schools, being engaged is not as rare in their graduating class.
Last week, I went to Barnes and Noble to figure out just how someone throws a wedding. After all, they don’t exactly teach that in college. What is the etiquette on announcing your engagement? Does Facebook count as acceptable these days? I selected a few outrageously priced magazines, all with smiling brides on each glossy page, all wearing white. Would I wear white, or is that just too traditional?
As I purchased the magazines, the clerk looked at me sort of like I had looked at myself in the mirror that morning: Really? her face seemed to say.
Really. For now, I am wearing my grandmother’s anniversary ring, until we can afford a “real” engagement ring. On Graduation Day, I imagine myself preparing to walk across the stage: all requirements completed, SIP turned in. Cap: check. Gown: check. Ring: check. I will carry my grandmother’s ring, perched on my right hand, across the stage, and I can’t help but wonder, knowing what my mother would say about her generation, just what my grandmother might tell me.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Response to Reading, for Week 3
I have actually really enjoyed reading Writing for Story, which, I'll admit it, is kind of a surprise.
I like that the way the book itself is set out like, well, a story. I really was hooked by the two examples Franklin sets out at the opening of the book: both Mrs. Kelly's Monster and The Ballad of Old Man Peters were so engrossing, I felt like I was reading for pleasure. I WISH I could write that well.
The point where I became confused had more to do with the "outline" that Franklin sets up as the way of constructing narrative stories. (I did, however, appreciate how he describes the Roman Numeral Outline as "the English Teacher's Revenge." I have always felt that way).
I realize that the outline serves to establish a clear focus and direction for stories that are big, messy, and long, with lots of details. Maybe its just that it seems so hard to create an outline as simply as Franklin describes - and that is why I am resisting.
Also interesting to me was Franklin's assertion that "polishing" a piece is something that should be easy - for me this has always been the hardest part of writing for me. I think that perhaps this is because I just start writing to "get it all out there" and then I have a mess to deal with, that requires a lot of backtracking into my own train of thought while I was writing the piece.
I will give it a shot though - I think it will help to keep the outline in mind BEFORE I start interviewing and doing the legwork for this upcoming profile piece.
I like that the way the book itself is set out like, well, a story. I really was hooked by the two examples Franklin sets out at the opening of the book: both Mrs. Kelly's Monster and The Ballad of Old Man Peters were so engrossing, I felt like I was reading for pleasure. I WISH I could write that well.
The point where I became confused had more to do with the "outline" that Franklin sets up as the way of constructing narrative stories. (I did, however, appreciate how he describes the Roman Numeral Outline as "the English Teacher's Revenge." I have always felt that way).
I realize that the outline serves to establish a clear focus and direction for stories that are big, messy, and long, with lots of details. Maybe its just that it seems so hard to create an outline as simply as Franklin describes - and that is why I am resisting.
Also interesting to me was Franklin's assertion that "polishing" a piece is something that should be easy - for me this has always been the hardest part of writing for me. I think that perhaps this is because I just start writing to "get it all out there" and then I have a mess to deal with, that requires a lot of backtracking into my own train of thought while I was writing the piece.
I will give it a shot though - I think it will help to keep the outline in mind BEFORE I start interviewing and doing the legwork for this upcoming profile piece.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Comments About Other People's Blogs
Toni:
Toni, you have such an interesting topic here. I really felt in tune with what you were talking about!
As far as the writing, the only point that was confusing was your introduction. The first time around, I thought that your post-weight loss state was when you developed the healthy mindset about food and eating...when, when you thinking about describing white bread as "poison" still seemed a little extreme. In other words, there didn't seem like there had been a REAL transition until the very end - maybe you could build on that a little?
I really enjoyed reading your article though!
Martin:
This is excellent. You are one of those gifted people that can somehow blend sadness with humor...in this really weird, fascinating ironic way. Like the detail about how you LIKE the smell of hospitals - that really illustrated your mindset, in a sad, but kind of funny, way.
I thought this was great, Martin. There was some word choice stuff that I would change, but I thought that overall it was extremely well done.
Regis:
COMMAS!!!
I really thought your article was interesting. But COMMAS?? Where, are, the, commas!!!!??? It drove me nuts.
Other than that, there's definitely PLENTY of interesting stuff here. It would have been more powerful if there had been a really clear transition point. WHEN, exactly, (notice the commas I just used? sorry, can't help it...) did you have the change in how you saw your situation? Was it the first time you were robbed, or the second? You made it seem like it was when you were walking around waiting for a cab, and then...you were robbed again.
Overall though, it really held my attention.
Mae:
I feel like if this were to be published, it would be so timely! Everywhere I go, I seem to run into people who want to talk about anxiety issues on this campus!
I think, like any first draft, the lede and kicker could be revised to do justice to your subject matter. Maybe you could BEGIN the piece with your mother's anxiety attack, as in, anecdotally?
I enjoyed it - the little details esp the bit about "stampeding kids trying to escape high school" were really good.
Jackie:
First off, I LOVED YOUR ARTICLE. I just really, really liked your voice, and it came across as really likable and accessible - like someone the reader would want to have a conversation with! You are so direct and concise - which makes what could be a sort of vague topic really flowing.The only thing I could think to say would be about the kicker - I think it could come full circle with your story - like, maybe you could end with an anecdote about your parents or about leaving the conference? I think that would give it a sense of completion.
Austin:
I really enjoyed the details that you included in your piece. I laughed out loud at the detail about face cream! Also, your description of your perfect man was so detailed and specific - it really gave me a clear image.
I think the only thing I would have liked to see was a more finished ending - although obviously you aren't done yet! I will be really excited to re-read it when you are all finished!
Toni:
I just need to get this off my chest: reading your article made me want to give you a hug! Your junior year sounds like it was just so, so miserable!
That said, I guess the fact that I felt that way speaks to your extensive detail and descriptions - which I really enjoyed.
The ending sounds a little too much like an academic essay. That's easily changeable though.
Overall, really nice work. And, for the record, after reading your piece I will never, ever go on a trampoline!
Toni, you have such an interesting topic here. I really felt in tune with what you were talking about!
As far as the writing, the only point that was confusing was your introduction. The first time around, I thought that your post-weight loss state was when you developed the healthy mindset about food and eating...when, when you thinking about describing white bread as "poison" still seemed a little extreme. In other words, there didn't seem like there had been a REAL transition until the very end - maybe you could build on that a little?
I really enjoyed reading your article though!
Martin:
This is excellent. You are one of those gifted people that can somehow blend sadness with humor...in this really weird, fascinating ironic way. Like the detail about how you LIKE the smell of hospitals - that really illustrated your mindset, in a sad, but kind of funny, way.
I thought this was great, Martin. There was some word choice stuff that I would change, but I thought that overall it was extremely well done.
Regis:
COMMAS!!!
I really thought your article was interesting. But COMMAS?? Where, are, the, commas!!!!??? It drove me nuts.
Other than that, there's definitely PLENTY of interesting stuff here. It would have been more powerful if there had been a really clear transition point. WHEN, exactly, (notice the commas I just used? sorry, can't help it...) did you have the change in how you saw your situation? Was it the first time you were robbed, or the second? You made it seem like it was when you were walking around waiting for a cab, and then...you were robbed again.
Overall though, it really held my attention.
Mae:
I feel like if this were to be published, it would be so timely! Everywhere I go, I seem to run into people who want to talk about anxiety issues on this campus!
I think, like any first draft, the lede and kicker could be revised to do justice to your subject matter. Maybe you could BEGIN the piece with your mother's anxiety attack, as in, anecdotally?
I enjoyed it - the little details esp the bit about "stampeding kids trying to escape high school" were really good.
Jackie:
First off, I LOVED YOUR ARTICLE. I just really, really liked your voice, and it came across as really likable and accessible - like someone the reader would want to have a conversation with! You are so direct and concise - which makes what could be a sort of vague topic really flowing.The only thing I could think to say would be about the kicker - I think it could come full circle with your story - like, maybe you could end with an anecdote about your parents or about leaving the conference? I think that would give it a sense of completion.
Austin:
I really enjoyed the details that you included in your piece. I laughed out loud at the detail about face cream! Also, your description of your perfect man was so detailed and specific - it really gave me a clear image.
I think the only thing I would have liked to see was a more finished ending - although obviously you aren't done yet! I will be really excited to re-read it when you are all finished!
Toni:
I just need to get this off my chest: reading your article made me want to give you a hug! Your junior year sounds like it was just so, so miserable!
That said, I guess the fact that I felt that way speaks to your extensive detail and descriptions - which I really enjoyed.
The ending sounds a little too much like an academic essay. That's easily changeable though.
Overall, really nice work. And, for the record, after reading your piece I will never, ever go on a trampoline!
Monday, April 6, 2009
Assignment 1: April 6, 2009
Engaged? Stumbling Upon the Mrs. Degree at K College
I remember my mother telling me a few days before I left for college that when she was a freshman at Northwestern in the late 1960’s, the goal for almost every one of her girlfriends was to find a husband by graduation. I remember how shocked I had been: “Seriously?” I had asked her, my mouth hanging open, incredulous. The idea of getting married immediately after college was something I had never even heard of, much less considered even a slight possibilities for myself. When a handful of friends from high school, and one or two of my college classmates, became romantically serious with someone and then engaged junior year, I will admit that I sometimes judged them, at times felt sorry for them. Getting married at 22 and 23 just doesn’t seem to happen in my generation, and it is not nearly as common as it was in my mother’s and grandmother’s generations.
So when I found myself leaning over the glass countertop in the jewelry section at Boscov’s last month, the glass warm under my palms from the reflected lighting, a million glittering engagement rings sparkling under my eyes, the scene felt dream-like; not only because of the two glasses of champagne I had just downed.
A week after St. Patrick’s Day, I found myself at a crossroads; the question, popped half romantically, and half practically, was a weird illustration of the generational differences between my mother and I. After discovering that my Teach for America placement could only be negotiated based on whether or not my partner was also my husband-to-be, the proposal happened over the phone, after a serious discussion. Followed by mutual agreement.
I am happy with the decision. While I anticipate a long engagement – maybe sooner than five years, but who can really tell – there was not the requisite formality that my mother’s generation would have expected. No bended knee, no anxiety-fraught request of permission from my father. (My parents, true to the 21st century, are divorced anyway – which leads me to wonder how the modern age will affect our wedding announcements). At any rate, I know that this is the right life decision for me, intuitively I feel good about it. But somehow the surreal nature of my modern-day engagement, the concept of a wedding, with church bells and rings and cake, still baffles me.
It seems to throw off my friends too. One of my closest girlfriends told me recently that she just didn’t think I was “the kind of person,” that got engaged. Conversely, an old study abroad buddy from Hope College Facebooked me to say “CONGRAGULATIONS!!” I get the idea that at Hope, being engaged is not as rare in their graduating class. The response from another friend, who attends the ultra-left leaning Scripps College in southern California quite a different post on my wall: “Holy SHIT, you’re ENGAGED????”
Last week, I went to Barnes and Noble to figure out just how someone throws a wedding, anyway. After all, they don’t exactly teach that in college. What is the etiquette on announcing your engagement? Does Facebook count as acceptable these days? I selected a few outrageously priced magazines, all with smiling brides on each glossy page, all wearing white. Would I wear white? Is that too traditional? Does that cramp my feminist style? As I purchased the magazines, the clerk – a girl about my age - looked at me sort of like I had looked at myself in the mirror that morning: Really? her face seemed to say. I, too, am still in the process of convincing myself that I am, really, engaged.
For now, I am wearing my grandmother’s anniversary ring, until we can afford a “real” engagement ring. On Graduation Day, I imagine myself preparing to walk across the stage: all requirements completed, SIP turned in. Cap: check. Gown: check. Ring: check. I will carry my grandmother’s ring, perched on my right hand, across the stage, and I can’t help but wonder, knowing what my mother would say about her generation, just what my grandmother might tell me about hers.
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