Three Prompts

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The universe tastes like one of Willy Wonka’s amazing creations. It is a flavor that you experience. Not one of his candies that is the most successful, no, not even one that gets past the testing process. It was too abnormal. Every other minute the flavor was enjoyable, and the minutes in between it would leave a strange taste in your mouth. The sweet minutes are a classic vanilla bean, not overtly complex, but provide warmth and happiness. The more bitter moments are like fennel. They have a bitter licorice flavor, but it is subtle enough that even the negative moments are redeemable. The constant change leaves room for wonder and curiosity.

Elegy to Sanity

Where does peace of mind go

when ideas scream, when consciousness is lost,

when thoughts run rampant while darkness exhausts

and ­­­­­­replaces common to and fro?

Where does peace of mind go?

Where does sanity leave to stay

when dark transcends light and creates tension

past normal tendencies to points not mentioned?

When the only savior are the padded walls of snow,

Where does peace of mind go?

And why does bliss retreat

when days are tiring, too tiring to bare,

and not one thought stays to care?

Oh, where life’s glow goes, I don’t know,

where does peace of mind go?

Ode to the book

Modern entertainment has flaws,

shallow,

unbalanced in narrative.

Minute by minute they

are puzzle-pieced and formed,

episodes and films take form,

flamboyance, lights, special effects .

The book,

simply the book

was pure and wonderful:

it was both simple and complex

guiding hungry imagination onwards.

Film wants to be simpler and noble,

thriller wants to be soft and sweet

rom-com is too dishonest and misled,

animation too fanciful wishing for truth,

comedies vie for realism,

reality attempts for comedic truth,

but the book

simply wants to be  a book

and all books are stories

from novels to nonfiction

from fantasy worlds reaching the end of space

to present day life,

from classics to the nonlinear story.


not finished :(

The Guest

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THE GUEST

By Ellen Valentine

CAST OF CHARACTERS

MR. MILTON, a father, works at the local real estate office, first name is Michael, called Mike

MRS. MILTON, a feminist and mother, works for a non-profit, first name is Elizabeth, called Lizzie.

ZACHARY MILTON, a 17 year-old son, unsure of his future, but a loving family member

CAROLINE MILTON, a 14 year-old daughter, focused on sports

THE GUEST, an unexpected visitor

SETTINGS

The backyard of the Miltons’ house

The Miltons’ house: stage right is showing part a small part of the front yard, stage is divided by a wall that holds the front door of the house. The majority of the stage is taken up by the interior of the house that is holding a room that looks like a mix of a living room and a dining room. There is a table that could fit 4-6 chairs, pictures around the room, an end table or two with random things on it.

Play Draft 1

THE GUEST

By Ellen Valentine

CAST OF CHARACTERS

MR. MILTON, a father, works at the local real estate office

MRS. MILTON, a feminist and mother, works for a non-profit

ZACHARY MILTON, a 17 year-old son, unsure of his future, but a loving family member

CAROLINE MILTON, a 14 year-old daughter, focused on sports

THE GUEST, an unexpected visitor

Writers and their Notebooks: "Writing in Public Places"

I enjoyed how Morris talks about the immortality of physical writing as well as how she comments on how it can be used as a way to relate to other people. She brings up points that I have agree with, but also things that I haven't given much thought. I admire her efforts to stay with pen and paper, rather forcing herself to switch to typing a journal. Whenever she is talking about her journals, it is in a romantic way. I do think that keeping a written journal is much more personal and warm, whereas typing one on a computer is cold and unwelcoming.

Writers and their Notebooks: "Sea of Blue Ink"

My favorite part of this piece is how Wilkens talks about her journal as being permanent. She references this idea a few times and I really like how she presents it. Wilkens thinks of her notebook as a record and a reference to look back on her memories when she might not be able to think of them in great detail. This bit actually reminded me of the notebook a little, and made me think about how when we don't remember our lives very well anymore, it could be like ready a story. I really liked how she explained why she uses the notebook and pen that she does. While not everyone would agree with her because it is a personal system, it does make sense. What she writes is permanent, and she wants to remind herself of that as well. In my own experience, when I use a spiral bound sketchbook, I have ripped out pages I didn't like before. I like how she said a bound notebook forces integrity on you, and forces you to leave everything even if it could be embarrassing. Another idea she brings up is on looking back and reading old notebooks. I like the idea of being able to do this because it gives you a different insight on who you were and how much change can happen even when it seems that things are moving slowly. It shows that change isn't as gradual as we perceive it to be. 

Prompt 1/9/13

Surrounded by darkness, Kevin walked further into the bridge. It was narrow, enough room for only one car. Though cars only occasionally passed through, people tended to keep the area clear. The bottle of 2001 zinfandel was near empty, and Kevin's worries were pushed further and further down with each swallow. He could still smell the garlic on his clothes from the failed dinner. How did he get here, to this point? Why did he let it go so far?

A single car drove through blaring its horn to get him to move out of the way. He stumbled to the side and pressed his body against the wall, watching in hazy confusion as it passed by. The car was gone, as well as the distraction from his thoughts that it brought and stole away too quickly. The only thing to keep him sane was the bottle in his hands. Kevin still had himself pressed to the wall, but fell into a sitting position. As he emptied the bottle, he was left with a single thought.

Where did he go wrong?

Writers and their Notebooks: "Using My Notebook"

This piece really spoke to me. I found myself agreeing with the majority of the points Stavans brings up about his notebook, probably because this is very similar to how I view my sketchbook. One of my favorite ideas was how Stavans played with the idea of what is worth writing down. I liked how he said that they have to all come out on his notebook to be related to another idea before he can even determine this. This seemed important to me because it really defines the purpose of having a notebook. Before you can decide if something should be written or drawn to be shared, you have to play with the idea first. The notebook acts as a sanctuary that only you can visit where you can write down ideas without fear of reaction or judgement.