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Welcome! On this blog, you will find self-developed reflections and teaching activities related to the theory and practice of creative & expository literacy instruction. Also, you will find discussion related to the theory and practice of utilizing critical literacies, digital / technological writing pedagogies & literacies, pop culture, and the media as instructional tools in the English / Language Arts classroom.
The following creative example is in response to PART TWO of Bernays' and Painter's (1990) exercise titled An Early Memory: The Reminiscent Narrator.
In PART ONE of the exercise, B&P challenge writers to recollect and recast the event on the page via the perceptions and emotional tones appropriate for a child. As a result, B&P argue that writers will run less of a chance of intentionally influencing reader's perceptions of what is written, and simply report the basic "facts" of the memory instead. In PART TWO of this exercise, however, B&P challenge writers to re-color the same event, but this time through perceptions and emotional tones appropriate for an adult. As a result, the objective of this exercise is two-fold:
1.) explore the underlying "meaning" of the memory that writers simply "reported on" in PART ONE, and
2.) do so by recasting/recoloring the memory in a perspective, point of view, and overall emotional tone appropriate for an adult.
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The Neighbor's Moat
Impulse control, as I’ve heard some psychologists call it, has never been one of my strong suits. When the feeling of not knowing makes my skin crawl, I do not have the control to push it aside and focus even for a second on the other things in my life that I desperately should do, or desperately need doing. In comparison to the mountains of fly-infested dishes piling gradually higher in the sink, to fixing the relationships corroding in the acid bath of my decisions, I cannot or will not tolerate being so uncomfortable in my own skin.
When I was seven years old, I received the first glimpse I can recall of what I am capable of when confronted with the impossibility of not knowing. As I kicked a favorite soccer ball back and forth in the open lane of grass separating the reclusive neighbor’s house from my childhood home, I noticed that some sort of construction was taking place in the adjoining back yard – the majority of grass had been completely removed, and a deep, freshly-dug, moat-like trench lined the rear of the house. Propelled by my impulse via the guise of accidentally kicking my soccer ball closer and closer to the curious scene, the ball suddenly vanished from my sight, followed by a quite, yet noticeable, splash. As I peered into where the ball had disappeared, I noticed that the trench was filled with a rather high volume of water, most likely from the combination of the intense rain we’ve been having that summer, as well as the contractor’s inability to understand the concept of adequate drainage.
The trench wasn’t just moat-like, but a real moat in every way that I could logically discern. Like a real moat surrounding a castle, this moat-like trench surrounded a structure that could need guarding if the owners wished. Like a real moat surrounding a castle, this moat-like trench was deep and filled with dangerous looking water, deep enough and watery enough that it could trap an intruder for later judgment. But, I could not figure out if it was indeed a real, honest-to-God moat, or a fake moat-like substitute. Because I have never seen a real moat, I was worried that my comparative criteria were flawed, and I decided to test my hypothesis further. If it was a real moat, a real intruder would indeed become hopelessly trapped, I concluded.
Having devised a reliable experiment, I began to brainstorm possible subjects, focusing on my younger friend and adjacent neighbor Kevin, who I thought best fit the profile – like me, he couldn’t resist a construction site. But unlike me, he wouldn’t be calculated enough to immediately perceive my designs for him.
Kicking the ball briskly through my yard to Kevin’s, I did my best to look like a normal child at play. But, my twists and turn did not even carry me half way through the yard until I was intercepted by my mother shaking out the foyer rug on the front steps, and placed under the lens of her scrutiny.
“Why are you so dirty?” she immediately demanded, noticing the physical most indications of my plot.
“Just playing,” I returned, doing the best to focus my attention on clumsily dribbling the ball at my feet than her eyes carefully assessing me. “Can I go over to Kevin’s?”
“You look like you are up to no good,” she turned over over in her mind. As she continued shaking out the rug, the increasing cloud of dust, dead skin cells, and dog hair masked any potentially remaining tells. Finally, her struggle with the rug had won her immediate attention, and she sent me on my way with nothing more than a warning to not get my clothes any dirtier than they already were.
Kevin’s dad answered the door, and I asked if Kevin could come out and play. Flying out of the front door, Kevin stole the ball at my feet, and I engaged him in this play to keep up appearances.
“Hey, you wanna see something really, really cool?” I asked after quickly growing tired of our game of cat and mouse.
“What is it?”
“I found a giant hole in their backyard that looks like a moat.”
“Like a castle?”
My heart raced so suddenly at the quick progression of my experiment that I found it nearly impossible to speak. But this was a different type of racing heart than getting yelled at for getting my clothes too dirty, or running from the adjacent neighbor’s German Sheppard that we shot it with the hose. This was the first taste of the racing heart that now runs me.
“Just like a castle,” I managed to choke.
I reenacted my initial surprise and curiosity at discovering the neighbor’s construction site, and Kevin continued to fall hook, line, and sinker, just as my father would say after returning home with the latest piece of electronics that he didn’t really need. After allowing Kevin several victories in king of the hill atop the construction site’s small, scattered piles of dirt, all conditions but one were in place to initiate my the final stage of my experiment – Kevin was still much too far away from the edge of the moat-like trench.
As fate seemed to have it, Kevin had a stronger kick than he expected, and the soccer ball plummeted into the watery chasm of the moat-like trench following a final victory kick. As he leaned over the moat-like trench to recover the results of his miscalculated contact with the ball, the final condition of my experiment fell into place. As if out of instinct, my impulse immediately reacted, and the accelerating momentum of my seven-year-old form sent Kevin falling head first into the watery prison bellow, his screams to my back as I retreated to assess the outcomes of my experiment.
From a secure vantage point behind the utility shed in our backyard, I could hear Kevin’s cries bellow hopelessly from the moat-like trench. Although I could see an occasional hand desperately brush the rim of what was once merely a moat-like trench, Kevin was not exiting the hold of the honest-to-God moat under his own power. As Kevin’s mud-covered hands continued to rake back and forth across the edge of the now-confirmed moat, the sheer joy of knowing surged through me, my impulse tearing my body from the safety of the utility shed and sending it running and skipping around the backyard. If anyone was watching me, they would have seen the normalist, happiest child in all of Oakdale.
As I tumbled and zigzagged my way home, my mother was already lying in wait for me in the open threshold of the front door, hands on her hips, telephone in hand, my father standing slightly behind her with arms sternly crossed on the now dust, skin, and dog hair-free foyer rug.
“Kevin’s father is on the phone,” she yelled frantically at me as I approached. “Did you push Kevin into that hole in the neighbor’s backyard?”
“Yes.”
“Why on earth did you do that?” She was begging now, completely bewildered by such a guilt-free affirmation to such a dreadful question.
As I excitedly explained that Kevin helped me to test if the moat-like trench in the neighbor’s backyard was indeed a real moat (and that it had passed the test wonderfully), she rudely interrupted, simultaneously informing me that I was not allowed to play with Kevin anymore because I hurt him so terribly, and apologizing to Kevin’s father for my behavior.
Uncomfortably shifting his position on the foyer rug, my father asked me a question that I have pondered in various tenses and terms ever since the day I discovered the neighbor’s moat –
“Was it worth it, son?”
More than you or anyone else can possibly imagine.
The following creative example is in response to Bernays' and Painter's (1990) exercise titled An Early Memory, Part One: The Child as Narrator. In this exercise, B&P argue that although the phrase "write what you know" has become completely cliche, it does hold extremely true: "Your own life - and your memories of it - have an intensity and immediacy that are useful in creating fiction" (64). However, B&P argue that it is integral for writers to explore and consider their proximity to their own memories, more specifically, the idea that "it's not just what you know, but how you see it, shape it, and enhance it with your imagination" (64).
In part ONE of this exercise, B&P challenge writers to recall and write about an event in the most objective voice possible, working to NOT color the recollection with current/adult perceptions, feelings, wishes, and so on. In other words, B&P challenge writers to present the "facts" of the recollection as accurately as possible, coloring the event with perceptions and emotional tones appropriate for a CHILD. As a result, the recollection should present the narrative "without nudging the reader or in any way explaining what she has written" (65).
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I lose sight of my favorite soccer ball as it bounces down the big field of green grass between the two backyards. As I run to find it and kick it back up the field, I see that the neighbor’s backyard looks really different – there was a huge field of grass yesterday, and now there are tall mountains of dirt all over the place. I pick up my ball and run into the yard. I have to run fast because mom and dad wouldn’t let me go over there. They would say that I would just hurt myself.
What I find looks like a big, brown castle – a huge trench is dug around the back of the neighbor’s house, and it is filled with muddy water just like a moat. I kick the ball around in the dirt for a while and climb all over the dirt hills. The ball bounces off of one of the huge mountains and falls down into the muddy water, and I wonder if this moat works like a real moat. If real moats are used to trap people and keep them out of castles, a good way to test the realness of this moat would be to push my friend Kevin in and see if he got stuck.
I walk over to Kevin’s house with my ball under my arm and see my mom on the front steps shaking the dust out of a rug. I try to walk by without her seeing me, but she stops me and asks,
“Why are you so dirty? You look like you’re up to no good.”
“I’m just playing,” I say bouncing my ball off of my knee. “Can I go over to Kevin’s?”
“Sure,” she says waving the dust out of her face. “Just try not to get any more dirt on your clothes.”
Kevin’s dad answers the door and I ask if Kevin can come out and play. I wait on Kevin’s front steps bouncing the ball off of the side of their house, and Kevin's dad tells me to stop it. After he sees my ball, Kevin comes outside and steals it from me.
“Let me show you something really cool,” I say.
“What is it?” he asks kicking the ball past me.
“I found a big hole in their backyard,” I say pointing to the neighbor’s house. "It looks like a moat."
“Like a castle?” Kevin asks.
“Just like a castle,” I say. I feel good that I am able to get Kevin to come without him knowing what I am going to do to him.
Kevin runs ahead of me with my ball, and we both wave at my mom as she shakes the dust out of another rug.
After we kick the ball around in the dirt and play king of the hill on the mountains for a while, I tell Kevin to look at the moat. As he leans over the hole, I run up behind him, push him as hard as I can, and run. I hear Kevin splash into the water and start crying as I cross into our yard and hide behind the side of our house. At first, I feel good because I proved that the moat was a real moat, but then I get scarred and run home because Kevin doesn't stop crying. I can still hear Kevin crying my entire way back.
As I walk up our front steps, mom is waiting for me with her hands on her hips and the telephone in her hands. Dad is standing behind her in the house with his arms crossed.
“Kevin’s father is on the phone,” she says, pointing the phone at me. “Did you push Kevin into a hole in the neighbor’s backyard?”
“Yes,” I say, spinning my ball in my hands.
“I knew you were up to no good,” she yells. “Why on earth did you do that?”
I tell her that I wanted to see if the neighbor had a real moat or not, and Kevin helped me test it out. Mom tells me that Kevin's dad is really mad at me and doesn't think I should play with Kevin anymore.
“Was it worth it?” dad asks from the inside of the house.
I drop my ball and start crying.
The following reflective example is a response to Bernays' and Painter's (1990) exercise titled Funny - You Don't Look 75. In this exercise, B&P discuss the reader's need to "know" certain basic facts about characters, including their general appearance and approximate age (39). To practice communicating the aforementioned details to readers, B&P challenge writers to list the subtle ways in which basic facts about their characters can be conveyed (41).
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Non-physical markers of age:
-Type of car driven
-Smell(s) inside of house and / or car
-Pictures on display
-Technologies found in home and / or on person
-Furnishings
-Types and styles of food stocked in cupboards
-Medications / health / hygiene items stocked in medicine cabinet / bathroom
-Music displayed / listened to
-Literature displayed / read
-Amount / type of nick nacks
-Presence / amount of stairs
-Stores shopped at
-Social locations frequented
-Activities / hobbies interested in
Physical markers of age:
-Walking speed / gate
-Posture
-Hair color / style / pattern
-Reflexes while walking / driving
-Personal style
-Overall physical shape
-Overall physical health
-Complexion
-Most / least frequent topics of conversation
-Most / least frequent tones of conversation
-Personal lexicon / vernacular
The following creative examples are from Bernays' and Painter's (1990) exercise titled Naming Your Characters. In this exercise, B&P caution writers against simply pulling names out of a hat when naming their characters. Instead, B&P challenge writers to carefully consider how the names they give their characters help convey a sense of a particular character's role in your fiction (42). To practice this calculated selection of character names, B&P challenge the writer to assign names that "fit" the bellow character types.
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A petty, white-collar thief who robs his boss over several years:
An envious, bitter woman who makes her sister miserable by systematically trying to undercut her pleasure and self-confidence:
A sweet young man too shy to speak to an attractive woman he sees every day at work:
The owner of a fast-food restaurant who comes on to his young female employees:
A grandmother who just won the lottery:
The following reflective examples are in response to Bernay's and Painters' (1990) exercise titled Mining Memory. In this exercise, B&P encourage writers to view their lives as far from boring and dull. Instead, the authors suggest that writers take the time to "store away for future use the odd, funny, sad, and suspenseful things" that happen to them (28). After all, you never know what little thing can spark a detailed story!
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Over about the past week...
Things that pleased me:
1.) The observation that all morning doves (at least I think they're morning doves) sing the exact same two note tune.
2.) Ginger "asking" me to let her outside by barking and spinning in a little circle vs. just peeing (or worse) in the house.
3.) Annie "asking" Ginger to play by barking and moaning like a board little child, only to be completely ignored as Ginger simply isn't in the mood.
4.) Ginger looking at me in complete bewilderment (or is it defiance?) when I throw her the ball.
5.) Hearing hidden frogs croak over the noise of "Dancing Nancies" playing on my iPod.
6.) Tasting my first home-made, grilled "No Name" steak of the Spring.
7.) Paying less money for a delicious imported beer than I would for a mass-produced Diet Coke at the Kitty Cat Klub's daily happy hour.
8.) The cashier at Trader Joe's double-bagging my groceries without my having to ask.
9.) Being offered a small gig at the Dunn Bros. coffee near my home.
10.) My machinist father fixing my broken iPod case vs. myself having to replace it.
Things that made me angry:
1.) Annie biting at bees (and usually getting stung in the mouth at least once) EVERY Spring since I've had her.
2.) 65 pound Annie getting herself hopelessly tangled on a tiny stick, bush / tree branch, and / or one of her own turds.
2.) Ginger trying to "sneak" rabbit turds, even though I repeatedly yell at her for eating them.
3.) Waiting for at least one dozen cars before I can cross Hadley Avenue.
4.) Teenagers vandalizing the Oakdale Nature Center - MY suburban getaway.
5.) Walking into any Walmart in the United States. Enough said.
6.) Facebook status updates fishing for sympathies.
7.) Getting furiously passed by BMW man while stuck in a traffic jam on Highway 36.
8.) Listening to how much money has been offered to MN Twins player Joe Mauer.
9.) Getting "no-showed" by a client who begged me to fit them into the schedule.
10.) Not being able to find pre-made hamburger patties at Trader Joe's.