Extra Credit Peer Response Week 4

Response to Jenna’s “Extra Credit – Week One – Improv”

At Twenty-Six

It was all so close to what she'd expected, really.

That one time she almost devirginized against a married

birdwatcher failed so she tried again: gyrated for a Latin
tap dancer, uncorked for a vineyard tour guide, drew
her V-card for a board game designer, do not pass go,

do not collect 200 dollars. [B1] Now she makes her bed

with word searches and Sudoku puzzles. She hoards
magazine articles on motorcycle repair, fly fishing,
and Call of Duty, then folds them in beside tagged lingerie:
a blue-ribboned baby doll, a chained and zippered bustier,
a peignore[B2] . Her walls shout techniques for proper tongue
flicking, hand cupping, the pressure of a pleasurable bite.
She's measured her age in quarter-years since she was eleven
and when she thinks of her last date, the swimsuit model
who asked her to hold his head underwater while he hooked

his pinkie behind her teeth[B3] , she wilts[B4]  at the opportunity she refused.

Really, she wanted to submerge lobsters for dinner and place sliced

tomatoes on his tongue. She could read him her latest draft Cracking Open

a Suitcase in Gatsby’s Powder Room  and tell him that, sometimes, her
gardener plants for the wrong season. She would show him her harmless history:

the hula dancing, the sign language, maybe the tattoo of a Joker
juggling a rifle and a curling iron nestled against her spine and never
mention the men’s names, only the learned hobbies.

Since I didn’t have a chance to look at your drafts before I had to head out, I thought that I would take a look at what you posted on here. I love, love, love, this and must admit that I want more! I want to know what the speaker looks like or why this desire is present now. What has changed?  Is it because the speaker is 26?  This is a clever draft Jenna.  Hope to see it Monday. (:

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 [B1]I agree with Sydney. It might benefit the draft to simply take this out and replace it with something less known. But I do like the way it helps the draft make its transition. If I knew board games at all I would try to help you with something different. Ha!

 [B2]Peignoir?

 [B3]This is fantastic!

 [B4]Nice word choice.

Extra Credit Peer Response Week 5

Response to Larue’s Improv 1, Post 8, Week 12

 At Twenty-three
 

It was all so different from what she'd expected.
Only one wheezing Ford for the two of them.
At one time she was almost engaged.
First she tried teaching, then writing.
Now she just tries for a paper.
Not enough men attempt to satisfy her.
One man convinced her to tithe, but she did not sing.
Her family makes sure she doesn't starve.
When she thinks of the Middle East she draws a blank.
Her last lover, the drunk, always wanted her to cry.
Blue jeans and T-shirts, the only clothes that can keep up.
She can only grow a cactus.
Really she wanted to sing, or surf.
Her major, Mass Communications with
a minor in English, her native tongue.
Grades, drafts, and a box of rejections.
Sometimes her grandmother sends her apples.
Fake ballet in the living room, a cat and a dog,
crying for hours in front of the mirror.
She says, whatever happens I will keep my heart.
When she giggles she sounds like a child.

Really quickly, I'm going to agree with all of the comments and suggestions that were given but I also wanted to say that I too think that this is an amazing draft. Realizing that it was an improv, I would still like to suggest that the draft does away with some of the end-stops, they seem jarring and disconnect the piece. There is some really great material here to work with and I can definitely empathize with the speaker's busy schedule and time constraints. This line, "[n]ot enough men attempt to satisfy her" seemed awkward to me. Re-wording would easily fix this. Awesome, LaRue! Hope this helps to produce more drafts for your final portfolio. (:

Extra Credit Peer Response 2, Week 8

Response to Pauline’s “Week #12 Improv #2”

The Silence of the Pond Fish at Feeding

Their darting

is not in the least annoying.

They eat without giving me a thought[B1] 

and they are as hungry

as Moses in the desert. 

They owning the water like gold[B2] ,

they swim without strokes.

Some are Koi, some carp,

but every scale is so precious.

that their eyes aren’t tearful

even when they lose a friend.

Perhaps they’re heartless.[B3] 

The water was gifted to them

to swim in day and night

and when they salute the sky,

the sky too is theirs.[B4] 

Their darting is always full of mischief.[B5] 

Over the seasons

it seems to have become

a sign of disenchantment.[B6] 

First off, forgive me for disheveling this draft this much.  There are some many novel ideas here, that I simply could not help myself… besides, I’m sure that any ideas are welcome in this time of stress. (:

I wonder what might happen if you paired this idea with another, perhaps a person, a relationship, or another creature?  Really great draft, Pauline!

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 [B1]This might work better later in the draft but I believe these particulars ideas are an awesome starting place. They definitely caught my interest. (:

 [B2]Might there be another word to use here. Perhaps something really unexpected? Or consider a descriptor after “gold.” Who interesting might own an abundance of “gold”?

 [B3]“as giraffes and just as clumsy without water.’ I don’t know I just want more here. (:

 [B4]Lovely!

 [B5]This seems out of place or under-developed, in my opinion.

 [B6]This is a bit confusing to me. Since each “scale is precious” why does the speaker feel this “disenchantment?

Extra Credit Peer Response Week 8

Response to Sydney's Make-up For: Free Write, Week Seven

An Attempt at Saving Sam

Since you left, the pantry no
longer needs refilling, laundry
piles into pyramids, and my under-
wear changes as often as the sheets.[B1] 
I sat robed in the blackness, tore
out my hair and used it to spell
your name, postered the mirrors
with our hometown obituaries,
even prayed over their bodies,
[B2] until remembering Preacher Don's
sermon about praying for
the living, cause the dead 
can't be saved. So I struck 
a match and watched the ink
run their deadness together in
the flames; keeping you stored
separate--in a makeshift
coffin--so no one turns the paper
corpse[B3]  of you into mache or
protective wrapping or a wet-pad for
some untrained house[B4]  pooch.

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 [B1]Is there a way to condense this (e.i. “laundry pyramids”)?

 [B2]I’m intrigued, why?

 [B3]Because creative writers are often so nosy, I want to know more about what happened. :P I think that this piece is lovely but it certainly needs some expansion.  While the idea of the speaker burning the other obituaries is interesting, I wonder how the draft might benefit from the incorporation of something more bizarre.

 [B4]This isn’t really needed here.