Writing for Story or Truth

Jon Franklin is an incredible writer, no doubt. His idea that good nonfiction comes from writing coherent, well developed, and interesting short stories makes a ton of sense. The difference between fiction and nonfiction is just that one exists, while the other is a figment of the author’s imagination. The writing styles are so similar and the goal is to create writing that is believable and interesting for the reader. It is especially interesting how he chose to refer to people in nonfiction stories as characters. For me, that codifies the connection between the two genres. For me, the hardest part is trying to find an interesting angle to present a story that will connect to the audience.

The idea of conflict resolution and working backwards to find to determine the conflict from the resolution is extremely interesting. In looking at the case of Mrs. Kelly, she died in surgery, yet out of her death, comes the story of a doctor and HIS conflict with AVM, referred to in the article, as the “monster.” At first, the story appears to be about Mrs. Kelly and her brain. Soon the reader is pulled into the story by a play-by-play of the surgery that puts you in scrubs standing over her body. Once she is put under, she remains in the story only as the “pop, pop, pop” of the heart monitor, while Dr. Ducker emerges as the hero fighting against the dark-side. This story made me wonder how the story would be written if Mrs. Kelly had survived. Most likely, her husband, who told her good-bye, would play a more central role. However, he used the circumstances of Edna’s demise to tell a story of hope through the dedication of the “good” doctor.

For me, the hardest part of writing is determining what my audience is determining how to teach my readers a lesson through my writing. It is hard when writing to tell a story, especially when certain choices lead to certain consequences, to not moralize the ending to the reader. In reporting certain truths, won’t a degree of judging always occur on the part of the writer? If someone is telling someone else’s the story, there is always an outside perspective and bias that will determine what and how the story will inevitably become. The story of the author may not be the truth, but rather the truth through his lens.

Man Behind the Mustache

http://www.rollingstone.com/news/coverstory/sacha_baron_cohen_the_real_borat_finally_speaks/page/2

The Man Behind the Mustache

This is a profile of the comedian Sacha Baron Cohen who stars in the feature film Borat and on the Da Ali G show. The most interesting aspect of this piece is how the author juxtaposed the characters created by Cohen and the comedian, himself. The lede of the piece shows how Strauss, the writer for Rolling Stone, was let into the world of his subject, as he described how the mustached character of Borat introduced himself as "Sacha" something never done prior to this meeting.

He contrasts the physical appearance of the two characters by describing the demeanor of the Kazahki reporter as donning a "shit-eating grin," with Ali G's riduculous questions and faux hip-hop persona to the private and preppy nature of Cohen. This article sets up an interesting perspective on a very complex man. Through usage of language in devling into Cohen's personal history, he seeks to understand and dissect the origins of his unique character comedy. Strauss was able to coherently create a character and picked meaningful details to support the character that he decided to show.

The conflict between Borat, Ali G, Bruno, and Cohen show how controversy can bring attention to greater social issues like racism. By portraying an anti-anti Semite, Borat is able to bring about awareness and expose subconscious prejudices or indifference towards anti-semitism. To explain he uses an example from an episode of Ali G, in which, Borat goes to a club in Tuscon and starts singing, "Throw the Jew Down the Well," soon to be accompanied by those in the bar.

Strauss contrasts the characters and Cohen by using dialogue about the movie, which indicates the insecurity of Cohen about the film. Throughout the entire profile, the comedian is portrayed as extremely quiet, shy, and extremely religious. This bifurcation of character reflects his desire to be "greedy" by having a private and a public life.

I really enjoyed this article. It was interesting to learn about his history; what he was like in school, the trouble he got into while in school, his family life, and personality. Strauss does a really good job of developing the character and using those supporting details to craft an interesting subject. His notoriety as Borat, has given him an opportunity to expose the darker side of American culture. It was also interesting to learn about all of the legal interworkings of his film, which have made news, because of the number of lawsuits that have followed the release of the film.

The end of the piece is the most interesting part for me because it reveals Cohen's desires to stay out of the press. Additionally, it further causes the reader to wonder with all of the pressures and coverage of his characters, if it is even a possibility to make a follow-up movie. With so much of his comedy based on shock and interviewing, one might wonder how that will be possible in the future, while maintaining the level of honesty that was portrayed in his first film.

Spacing

I'm sorry my blog is hard to read. On m personal essay I had at least 3 spaces in between paragraphs, but whenever I post the spaces disappear. Any suggestions? Please help me. I do not like how it looks...

High School High?

Student Council Class President, two years; Class Treasurer, two years; Captain of the Varsity Soccer Team, three years; Most Valuable Player, two years; Most Valuable Freshman on the Varsity Soccer Team; Who’s Who Among High School Students of America, three years; National Honor Society, three years; 3.95 GPA at graduation… That is an excerpt from the Resume that got me in to Kalamazoo, College. Where I go from this place and who I am now, can be traced to my formative years at West Bloomfield High School, either for better or worse.

Walking through the huge entry doors into the two story atrium at seven on any day Monday to Friday, you would see the “popular kids.” The cute, well dressed freshman girls, waiting for the older boys to notice them, had their own little corner. The senior girls who resented presence of underclassmen girls within their circles huddled next to their male counterparts, marking their territory. In season athletes stood, donning their green and white jackets and gym bags, talking about an upcoming game or amazing play. Sounds typical, I recognize, but throw in designer handbags and expensive cars, and the scene resembles a cheesy Hollywood exaggeration of high school portrayed in some Freddie Prinze Jr. film. Little did I know of cruel high school politics when I walked into school on the first day of my freshman year.

My mom had woken up with me at 5:30 that morning to dry my hair and help me get ready for my first day of classes. I wore a pink XOXO sweater with my new grey Z. Cavaricci pants with my new Calvin Klein messenger bag, the fact that I still remember that demonstrates my attention to detail in presentation. I felt like I blended well with my surroundings, except of course my athletic build that did not match the slender dancer’s bodies of so many of the other girls. Despite my less than graceful, almost boyish walk, people had taken notice of “Jenn, the tall blonde girl.”

It was always flattering when I introduced myself to someone new, and encountered a look of recognition. Within the first couple of months of school, I was brought into the clique with the “popular girls.” When I would walk into school, I confronted a screaming group of girls who complimented my outfit, haircut, or any other superficial conversation piece. I had traveled into a foreign territory, bringing with me a few of my friends that would fit the mold, and leaving behind those who did not. Weekends full of birthday parties and social gatherings were like a dream come true to a once awkward adolescent. I was adopted into a world because of my looks and like anything else superficial, the novelty wore off.

On the surface, everything seemed perfect, but I realized early, I could not play that part forever. For the first time in my life, I started to feel insecure. It seemed that all of those other girls had more dates, better grades, cuter clothes, and more connections. To keep up and stand out, I learned to accessorize, laugh loudly at everything, keep my personal life private, and walk with my head high surrounded by an aura of self-assurance. Outwardly, confident and poised, I was intimidating to others, while inside I was always on my guard, waiting for the delicate balance between illusion and reality to crumble.

It never bothered me that people misperceived me as stuck-up or bitchy. Rather, it proved that I had succeeded in hiding my own insecurities and dissatisfaction with the shallow nature of my relationships. In adopting the motto, “you look good, you feel good,” I learned to appear put together and collected, like the duck on the pond that seems calm, but under the surface his webbed feet are paddling furiously to stay afloat. By masking my inner disapproval, I disconnected myself from any experience, and able to elevate myself above the superficiality.

On graduation day I walked up to the podium to address my classmates and their families for one last time. It was in that moment, when I looked over the sea of green and white caps, that I realized that the next chapter of my life gave me a chance to start all over. After commencement I watched my girlfriends bawling, hugging one another, and taking pictures. For me high school is a series of photographs, where I exist as static figure, smiling, and blending in. It is easy to fake a life when you have all the attributes of popularity and facades are more important than substance.

The distinction between people knowing you and knowing who you are is subtle and recognizable through retrospect. When I think about my high school friends, with a few exceptions, I cannot remember any details about their lives. I can recall an outfit from nine years ago in infinite detail, yet I can’t remember old inside jokes or memories from those four years. My experiences in high school encouraged me to bifurcate my personality into a private and a public life. Even now, I am still learning how to reconcile the two by allowing people to see my vulnerabilities, while dressing well, but actually feeling confident at all the same time.

The Character of Colin Duffy

Susan Orlean, in her piece, “The American Man at Age Ten” provides an interesting perspective on the life and concerns of the average ten year old boy. She paints the picture extremely well. The language evokes clear images from her strong uses of metaphors “each one comes as a fresh, hard surprise, like finding a razor blade in a candy apple” (102). Her descriptions clearly paint pictures of both the character of Colin and his surroundings.

The story is woven through an interesting tapestry of detail that creates a character that is representative of the youthful boys of days past. It brings older female readers back to a time when their male counterparts stole, hit, and bullied girls to get their attention, when crushes and cooties ran rampant on the playground. For me, bringing in the gender relations when discussing Colin, did not make a lot of sense. True, at that age, a conception of the opposite sex is developed, but he is such a dynamic character I would much rather see her bring in extra information about the age, in which, children really formulate substantive world views.

For me the discussion of the difference between AIDS and HIV, the emphasis on recycling, or the propensity towards imaginary games based on videogame or comic book characters would be more relevant to the story. The gender relations would be more telling for an profile on Japeth, who seems to be a womanizer in the making. It would be interesting to me to see what he is like at age twenty, probably still game playing with women and, most likely, Nintendo 360.

Overall, I think the piece is extremely engaging. The reader follows the experience of Colin to discover what he is going to say next. Colin’s precocious nature would suit him well for an appearance on “Kids Say the Darndest Things.” She does an extremely good job of portraying Colin with the right amount of detail so that the reader can really relate to the character, whose coherent and consistent, creation is important in creating a relationship of exchange between the author and her audience.

Women Blogging

I thought that this website was interesting. I that it is designed to discuss issues that are pressing for women; socially, financially, politically, and even spiritually. This gives women a voice to talk about their various experiences in a non biased environment. You can find posts, articles, responses, and lists to other blogs on a single website.

However, the one aspect of this that I think is a little bit awkward the concept of a blogger conference. What does it look like? What happens there? With such a wide range of topics, what are the bloggers going to talk about? If they wear name tags, is their alias on it or their real name? As much as I am weirded out by the idea of Internet interactions becoming personal (in terms of online dating), the more I think about this idea, the more I think it might work. I think it may be a good way to make the Internet a little bit more personal. This will force more accountability in their writing and will put a face to an online alias and bring a personal aspect to an otherwise anonymous medium.

http://blogher.org/links/media-and-journalism-blogs

REALLY rough draft

Student Council Class President, two years; Class Treasurer, two years; Captain of the Varsity Soccer Team, three years; Most Valuable Player, two years; Most Valuable Freshman on the Varsity Soccer Team; Who’s Who Among High School Students of America, three years; National Honor Society, three years; 3.95 GPA at graduation… That is an excerpt from the Resume that got me in to Kalamazoo, College, where I am about to graduate for years later, with a much less loaded list of extra-curricular activities. Where I go from this place and who I am now, can be traced to my formative years at West Bloomfield High School, either for better or worse.

Walking through the huge entry doors into the two story atrium at seven on any day Monday to Friday, you would see the “popular kids.” The cute, well dressed freshman girls, waiting for the older boys to notice them, had their own little corner. The senior girls who resented their existence huddled next to their older male counterparts. In season athletes stood in circles donning their green and white jackets, talking about an upcoming game or amazing play. Sounds typical of any high school, I recognize, but throw in designer handbags, expensive cars, and a tumultuous racial mix of students, and arises an interesting situation filled with its own set of pressures, separate from the typical adolescent experience.

It is not often that a white Christian girl feels like a minority in her community. I walked through those great doors on the first day of my freshman year, with little idea of what I would encounter. Our school district is composed of two middle schools, one far less diverse than other. Since I had not spent my summers at sleep-away camp with them, or studied at Temple Israel, for a bat mitzvah that my religion did not dictate, I had no connection anyone other than my immediate classmates.

My mom had woken up with me at 5:30 that morning to dry my hair and help me get ready for my first day of classes. I wore a pink XOXO sweater with my new grey Z. Cavaricci pants with my new Calvin Klein messenger bag, the fact that I still remember that is sickening. I felt like I blended well with my surroundings, except of course my athletic build that did not match the slender dancer’s bodies of so many of the other girls. Within the first weeks of school, I had earned a reputation, not a bad one, but one of curiosity.

It was always flattering when I introduced myself to someone new, and countered a look of recognition. Within the first couple of months of school, I was brought into the clique with the “popular girls.” When I walked into school, I would confront a screaming group of girls who would compliment my outfit, haircut, or any other superficial conversation piece. The notoriety I gained encouraged me to begin to run for positions within Student Council and won. On the surface, everything seemed perfect, but I realized early, I could not play that part forever. For the first time in my life, I started to feel insecure. It seemed that all of those other girls had more dates, better grades, cuter clothes, and more connections. I abandoned my best friends, most of whom I had known since elementary school because they ran in different circles. I appeared confident because I did everything I could, but felt shallow and different on the inside.

For two years, I kept up the charade. I continued to isolate myself from those I had always considered my closest friends to have a Sweet Sixteen Party with fifty guests, maybe two of which, I’ve kept in contact. Trying to keep with the trends, gossip, and being set up on dates/ or told who to date took its toll. Even now, as embarrassing as it is, I hate recycling outfits. Despite how lousy I felt, I dressed up and dressed well to mask any inner turmoil. In adopting the motto, “you look good, you feel good,” I have learned to appear put together and collected, like the duck on the pond that seems calm, but under the surface his webbed feet are paddling furiously to stay afloat.

The start of my junior year, proved pivotal. That summer I spent time rekindling relationships with old friends, while also pulling away from others and making new ones. I began to feel like a floater, bouncing from one group to the next, never having a close-knit group of friends, while also knowing the value of lots of acquaintances. Walking past the cafeteria during lunch, each grouping of students had a designated area of the cafeteria, mostly based on race or ethnicity; black, Chaldeon, or Jewish. Without the visual clues guiding me to the appropriate table, where an empty seat waited for me, I felt awkward and out of place no matter where or with whom I sat. During those years I learned to act and I did it well.

On graduation, I walked up to the podium to address my classmates and their families for one last time. It was in that moment, when I looked over the sea of green and white caps, that I realized that the next chapter of my life gave me a chance to start all over. Walking across the stage felt liberating, and exciting because I could go someplace different; start off on my own, walk away from the familiar, confront new challenges, and discover who I am, which after twenty-two years is still maturing and changing. Leaving college is a much different situation with more loaded questions, but I am lucky that I learned, at a young age, to keep up appearances, it will make my professional life a lot easier.

The Personal Essay HAS to be about ME?

When I first read about the assignment I didn’t think that it would be really challenging to fill 850 words talking about some of my life experiences. It seems like I have more than enough to focus on. So I sat down and started to write in the stream of consciousness manner, of which, I am usually absolutely averse. I decided to write about my relationship with my much older sister, Christina.

As I started to write, I realized that the anecdotes that I had thought about using were not that significant and/or relevant, and my essay was more about her than me. The purpose of a personal essay is to delve into and develop MY character, not discuss why from my sisters’ experiences a certain level of tension exists in our relationship.

I looked at her motivations and changes with little acknowledgement of my feelings or emotions. I started to paint the picture of myself as the innocent bystander, and the complicated nature of my blended family as the culprit. In extricating myself from any blame, am I really being honest with myself about my part or have I somehow been brainwashed into thinking that what I feel as tension is nothing more than a case of sibling rivalry?

I am starting to wonder if this piece wouldn’t be better to write later in the quarter when I have the tools and ability to find my voice and learn to report on someone else’s perspective. I think that I will use this topic for the last assignment, where I can examine our dynamic relationship with more honesty and clarity than I am prepared to do now. For the first assignment, I think I will put aside what I have already written and focus on “defining my I” and using that definition for a piece that will come later in the quarter or in life.

Rules of Literary Journalism?

After reading the Kramer's "Eight Breakable Rules for Literary Journalists," as the title suggests, I began to see them as nothing more than boundaries, either of thought or practice for the journalist. These parameters are determined by how the writer wishes to come across to his readers and source. Reconciling the truth of the occurrence and emotion is the key to maintaining the integrity of a piece. Subjectivity, inherent within the act of writing, allows people to explore the world and people within their existing realm of understanding, while also discovering entirely new lenses, through which to see the world.

The story he chooses to sculpt from his experiences depends on his depth of introspection of his experience during the writing process. Kramer writes, “This is the level that we think about our own everyday lives, when we’re not fooling ourselves.” Although this level of understanding is necessary to portray the drama of everyday people, it is impossible to understand every nuance, mannerism, and idiosyncrasy of a person’s character.

For me, the salient point of the articles is the importance of a definitive voice. The tone of a piece is determined by the personality of the journalist, who may put any spin on the person or event he observes. They are people watchers observing and painting a portrait of life for others to view and react.

Literary journalism is constructed to bring forth a certain perspective that cannot, by definition, emerge as objective. In writing a personal essay, it is almost impossible to write without bias. You are the one deciding what aspects of yourself to show the reader. What events you choose to seems significant must not detract from the main focus of your piece. Narrative journalism is supposed to convey a part of the human experience. To neglect to portray the subject, whether it is yourself or another person, honestly with imperfections and vulnerabilities, keeps the audience from connecting to your writing.

In the articles read for this week, the writers brought real meaning and personal connection to their audiences. I really related to the “Migration” one, because my parents recently uprooted and moved to North Carolina from my hometown, that I was not particularly sad to leave. The simple act of moving was taken into a bigger realm of existence, questing the value placed on different parts of experience. The “Badge of Courage” article also does the same as it describes a woman’s search for a symbolic physical representation of her battle with cancer. Her description of the YES moment has led me to think about times in my life where I had the sort of epiphany that requires capital letters.

For me, writing the personal essay is a terrifying thought. I can think off the top of my head three or four different experiences that have greatly shaped my life, forming a convoluted tapestry of events that has brought me to my current disposition. However, it’s hard to separate them and focus on maybe one with clues to how subsequent events all relate to one another.

Also it scares me to put myself out there, on the internet, so nakedly. This project requires me to reflect and determine how an experience has affected me and honestly write about it. As someone, who rarely has a loss for words, yet internalizes and keeps quiet her real emotions, I cannot fathom writing my feelings in a forum where other people will actually read them. In the meantime, I will have to do a lot of thinking about how to relate to others through my writing. Defining my “I” will prove to be an interesting and, I hope, liberating experience.