Writings For Those Who Hope, Dream, and Love By Madelyn Harnish
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Table Of Contents ● Authors Forward 3 ● My Personal Narrative - A Trip To the Emerald City 5
● Short Story - The Greatest Christmas Gift 10
● Micro Fiction - A Memory of My Future Husband 14 - Mount Everest 14
● Free Verse Poems -
Fall 16 The Artist 16 Worry 17 The Runner 18
● Formal Poems -
Christmas 20 Stereotypes 20 Beauty 21 An Ode To Theatre 22
● Original Draft - A Trip to The Emerald City (Original) 23 - Revising “A Trip to The Emerald City” 26
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A Memory of My Future Husband (Original) 27 Revising “A Memory of My Future Husband” 27 Fall (Original) 28 Revising “Fall” 29 Beauty (Original) 30 Revising “Beauty” 31 Stereotypes (Original) 31 Revising “Stereotypes” 32
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Authors Forward Throughout the whole unit, I have learned many different writing styles and how they can make fictitious writing more pleasant. Imagery was a major writing style that I used throughout all of my writing props. I really enjoyed imagery because I feel it helps paint a picture in the reader’s head. In my poem “Fall”, I would describe the setting you can see when looking outside on a fall day. I also added a lot of imagery to my short story Mount Everest to make it easier to picture the struggles taking on such an enormous challenge. Though I rarely used it, I loved using flashbacks in my stories. I took a little bit for me to grasp writing in flashback, but after a while, I was able to see how a flashback can add to the character’s development. My micro-fiction, A Memory of my Future Husband, relied heavily on flashbacks since it started out as the story of the narrator and how she met the man she was going to marry. It later comes back to the present day as she getting ready for her wedding day. When writing formal poetry, rhythm came to be a very important writing style. In my skeletonic poem, “Stereotypes”, the rhythm was able to add to the message that the poem was trying to convey. The poem talked about issues that the world today faced and with the quick rhythm, I made the reader able to see more why these problems need to be addressed. The writing that was my favorite was my skeltonic poem, “Stereotypes”. I find talking about issues like stereotyping is important, so when I realized most skeltonics were normally about deep topics, I knew I wanted to write something I care about. Since it was a topic I cared about, I felt that the poem wrote itself, and I was easily able to get the poem to convey what I wanted. Writing the poem also made me enjoy writing poetry more than when I started the poetry unit. On the other hand, the micro fiction I wrote called, A Memory of My Future
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Husband, was the work that I struggled with the most. I thought it was a little challenging conveying a whole story with a short amount of words. In the workshops, I noticed many people even said that I should add more on the speaker's initial thought of the man she is about to marry. Another part I had struggled with is actually getting the word count. In the end, I was able to get inside the word count and, I think it turned out to get a good story. Major assignments in this course have definitely allowed my writing to become stronger and bring me out of my comfort zone. Throughout the course, I have been able to become better at certain writing habits, like imagery. My first work, A Trip to the Emerald City, did not have as much imagery and lacked descriptive detail. Near the end of the course, I was able to learn how to add more detail to my story, and it really paid off in my work. Also, the workshops have been able to bring me out of my shell. In the beginning, I was nervous to bring feedback other’s work. I was especially nervous to tell people what was negative and here what was on my work. Now I am more comfortable giving criticism to others. I am also more accepting to other people’s feedback and am able to take it into consideration. Finally, I have become better managing my time. I learned how much independence the course gave me. It was my responsibility to get the assignments done, and I learned how to manage my time to get them done. The assignments helped me to fix my procrastination habits as well. Throughout the whole unit, I’ve grown a lot as both a writer and person.
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My Personal Narrative “A Trip to Emerald City” “Everyone deserves a chance to fly”. I live by this quote as it reminds me of the person I am and who I want to be. My life is theatre, and I dream to be able to soar in the business of Broadway and show tunes. So imagine my excitement when I found out for my birthday my grandparents gave me an unforgettable experience in the form of tickets to one of my favorite show of all times, Wicked. Not only was I going to see the show, but I was able to spend one short day in the Emerald City, New York. Wicked is a musical that teaches the life lessons of friendship and not to judge a book by its cover. Ever since middle school when my love for musicals emerged I fantasized about seeing this hit sensation. I watched videos of recordings of the show and the tony performance, but all this did was made me wonder more how beautiful it was up close. Now in my hand, I had the ticket to experience a world of both fantasy and reality. Not only that, but I was able to experience this with two of the most important people in my life. My grandparents were never much into musicals as I am. They especially were not the city typed. Still, they loved me so much they were willing to give me my dreams for my birthday, even if that meant they had to go through something they weren’t 100 percent comfortable with. I hugged them both while thanking a million times for their generosity. Two days after the last day of finals and homework, I started my summer off right, going to New York City. My grandparents picked me up early in the morning, and
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we went to begin our journey. Our journey began on a bus tour, where we were acquainted with a colorful amount of people. They arranged from elementary school age children, who were dreaming of this big kid experience, to older age tourist wishing to be young again. After a four hours bus ride the wait was finally over, and I stepped on the grounds of the beautiful city that was NYC. The hustle and excitement were not what anything like I experienced in Lancaster, yet I felt like I was a local. Unfortunately, the feeling of being a local didn’t help with the fact that neither I nor my grandparents had any idea where we were going. “I think it’s this way”, I kept saying trying to see where Google Maps was pointing at. “No the map the tour guide gave us is pointing this way”, my grandma said trying to read the vague map we were given by the bus we rode. It turned out my grandma was right, and I have been leading us in the wrong direction. After wandering around the city a little bit more, we saw where our destination was. For the first time in my life was face to face with Gershwin Theatre, the home that began my love for theatre. Nothing could ever explain the raw joy of encountering the place that began your hopes and dreams. I took in the sight a little longer, then proceeded to walk in. The inside of the theatre was more beautiful than I could ever imagine it would be. Everywhere you looked, decorations of the set and pictures of the show covered the walls. My eyes became wet with tears as I took in the majesticness of the lobby. I thought “if this is what the lobby looked, the show is going to spectacular.”
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My grandparents were both impressed by the lobby decorations as well. “I wondered how much time and money goes into putting on this show” My grandpa said examining the walls. “I’ve never seen anything this professional” My grandma commented in awe. Before the show started, I knew there was something else I needed to do. There was no way I was leaving my favorite place in the world without something to show for it. My eyes scanned the theatre until I finally found what I was looking for, the gift shop. I got into line and began looking at all the merchandise for sale. “How am I supposed to choose just one thing to buy?”, I thought to take in all the Wicked themed items up to buy. That’s when my eyes locked on the perfect thing to buy. A Wicked t-shirt, not only with the known logo on the front but on the back the quote “Everyone deserves a chance to fly”. All of a sudden all of the posters and mugs didn’t even compare to this beautiful shirt with the words that I live by daily. I bought the shirt and reunited my grandparents, joy surging through my body. We began to walk up to our seats. While we waited for the show to start, I started to notice the age differences of the audience was very similar to that of our tour bus. Still no matter the age, everyone in the theatre had that Broadway magic cast onto them. Children smiled at the thought of one day living this dream, while adults were just happy to be able to see art being performed. We all got comfortable in our seats, flipped through playbills and waited for semi-patiently for the show to begin. Minutes that felt like years went by and finally, the lights dimmed and a voice boomed over us letting the room know to be quiet because the show was about to start. All of a sudden
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the music began to play hinting the opening number was about to be performed. I jumped in my seat. Bright colors and perfect harmony swarmed around me and for a second time, that day beauty forced me to tears. I became an emotional wreck by the powers of Oz. When the show started off, the audience became aware that the Wicked Witch was dead, and no one was grieving this tragedy. Even though I knew the story, as well as a, knew how to tie my shoe, it didn’t take me long to feel sympathy for Elphaba, the wicked witch, and looking around me I realized I wasn’t the only one. All throughout the show, my body went through both laughter and the five stages of grief all at once. I was laughing at the talented acting of Glinda one minute, and crying at the cruelness of the people of Oz the next. All throughout the show, I found myself rooting for Elphaba and that she could finally experience happiness for once in her life. I never wanted the show to end and began to dread the last note of the closing number. Sadly, nothing could prevent the resolution of the story and the lights came up again. I wiped my eyes and began talking to my grandparents about the show. “So, was this a good gift for your birthday?” They asked. I nodded and thanked them. Never would I forget this milestone I got to experience with them. There was still time before our bus was going to come back and steal us from this lovely city, so we roamed around a little bit more. I took in the sights on last time hoping to never leave this place. Sadly, as all days do, it came to an end. The bus came back to take us home to our normal everyday lives. The bus ride home I spent reflecting on the excitement of the day. I was still moved by Wicked and the beauty of the city. In my mind I kept reflecting on the same
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quote, “I have been changed for good”, and I thought it to be another Wicked quote that would relate to me for the rest of my life.
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Short Story “The Greatest Christmas Gift” “Mommy, guess what,” Billy squeals as he jumps on his mom, Linda’s stomach “, guess what today is!” Linda wakes up from her long peaceful sleep. Though she loves her son, moments like these make her wish Billy understood what the word sleep meant. Still, she was able to wake up just enough to respond to her son’s question with more than just a groan, “What’s that?” “December first”, Billy exclaimed in a voice too loud for six in the morning, “and you know what that means?” The electric bill needs to be paid with the money I don’t have, Linda thought to herself. She had no idea what in the world an eight-year-old could find so exciting about the first day of December. After pretending to ponder it, she told him that she had no idea. “Today means there is only twenty-five days until Christmas! I’m going to start on my Christmas list to Santa,” he exclaims as he runs out of the room. Panic runs through Linda’s head. How is she going to afford to make this Christmas magical for her son as it was prior years? This year was hard enough on them. Thanks to the workings of a drunk driver a large part of their family died along with her husband. The pain of losing him was too much to bear. If it wasn’t for the fact that she had to provide for her child, she might have just broken down and lost herself as well. And she did for a little bit. She wouldn’t get of bed for weeks. Her parents would take care of Billy during those days. She even lost her job as a lawyer since she stopped showing up for work. Now she was forced to try the job of a single mother, along with waitressing during Billy’s school hours, where the tips suffered since
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the chef who made five times the amount as she couldn’t make anything take remotely close to what it should. She knew she would have to admit to her son that Christmas just wasn’t going to be the same this year. She just didn’t know how. After another fifteen minutes, Linda founds the energy to crawl out of the blankets and help her son get ready for school. She reaches into the cupboard to grab the box of Cheerios. Her hand just grabs a handful of air instead. “Did I forget to do the grocery shopping this week?” she thinks to herself. She decides she can go after she picks up Billy from school. As long as she gets enough tips. She looks at her son who was waiting patiently to eat. “How about we go out for breakfast?” she asks her son. He squeals with excitement as he did earlier. “Finish up your letter and start to get ready”. He writes down something quickly and heads upstairs to get changed out of his pajamas. Linda looks down to see what her son wrote that he wanted. All it said was, “Santa, please bring my dad back”. I t took everything in her not to cry. “You’re early,” Linda’s co-worker, Heather exclaims. She notices that Billy was with Linda, “He sick again? Remember what happened the last time you brought him in when he had that flu? Calvin nearly fired you.” “He’s not sick, we’re just here for breakfast”, Linda informs her as she sits down at the counter. “Well, in that case, what can I get you?”
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Linda and her son both decide that they wanted pancakes, blueberry for Linda and chocolate chip for Billy. Ten minutes later Heather brings over their breakfast, and they begin to eat. Linda looks down at her phone to check the time. It read seven-thirty. “Alright Billy you’re gonna have to hurry we don’t want you late to school,” she instructs. Billy nods and rushes to eat his pancakes. Then they get up and get ready to leave. “Later Heather and Merry Christmas!” Billy exclaims as they walk out the door. Linda puts on a fake smile as she hugs her son. She lets Heather know she will be back in twenty minutes. As soon as Linda comes back, it gets ten times busier. Orders are barked, food is served and people leave less than twenty percent tips. Finally after what felt like days of serving the clock reached two. “Finally, time for a break”, Linda tells Heather. The two of them sit down at the counter next to an old man drinking coffee and eating two chocolate chip cookies. Linda requests her second meal there that day, a cheeseburger and french fries. She starts to count her tips. Heather starts to notice tears rolling down her cheek. “The tip jar makes me wanna cry too,” Heather says trying to calm down her friend. “I’m sorry”, Linda apologizes wiping her eyes “, it’s just I don't think I can afford to give Billy a good Christmas this year. I’m struggling to pay the bills already”. “You still got twenty-five days,” Heather assures her. “It’s not enough. I don’t know what I’m gonna do”. “Tell him.”
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“It’s not that simple. He still believes in Santa. Telling him that Santa isn’t coming ruins telling him there is no Santa.” “Dang Linda. That really sucks. Just know if you need anything and I mean it, I’m always here. Promise”. “Thanks, Heather you don’t understand how much that means.” The old man sitting next to the two waitresses gets up and turns to leave. “Thanks for everything,” he exclaims, “and have a Merry Christmas”. Linda notices two crisp hundred dollar bills on the counter where he just sat. “Sir”, she yells, “I think you dropped some money”. “No, I didn’t,” he yells back, “buy the kid a bike, every kid needs one. And to know who Santa is.” He winks and leaves. Linda sits back down astonished. A smile crawls onto her face. She is thankful for the good people left in the world.
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Micro Fiction “A Memory of My Future Husband” It rained. Isn’t it funny how memories work? I couldn’t tell you what I ate for breakfast, or what math equation was written on the board, but there are two things I distinctly remember. It rained, and I met Tyler. The morning didn’t start off the way a perfect day should. I forgot my umbrella, and my favorite shoes became ruined. During the first block, my day gets even better when I spilled my cup of coffee on the floor. That’s when I hear a voice in the back. “I’ll go get some paper towels”, it says. The voice belonged to Tyler, a new kid with beautiful blue eyes and a smile so bright you needed sunglasses to be near it. Though he seemed nice, I wasn’t in the mood to get to know him. I made this well known. Despite being cruel, he continued to help me, even buying me a new coffee. “Caffeine is essential for sucky days”, he states. I smile reflecting this memory. Exactly five years ago I spoke to him for the first time. Today for the first time he will see me in the wedding dress I’ve hidden since he proposed five months earlier.
“Mount Everest” Mount Everest. George had been preparing his whole life for the frozen mountain and today he was finally going to conquer this challenge. The plane leaves and drops him off. He pauses and stares at the gigantic challenge, takes a deep breath and begins. Immediately, all he feels is coldness sharply cutting his skin like a knife. The thickness of the air clogs his throat. All George
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can here is the short breaths he is trying to breathe. Each step is harder to take then the next. The expensive snowsuit he bought is more uncomfortable then he thought it would be. Despite this, he can not get rid of the numbing feeling surging through his body. George looks up. The mountain is no smaller than when he started his journey. Hours, go by, but to George, they feel like days. He takes the fifth break of the day. George reaches in his backpack and finds a chocolate bar. He opens the chocolate, cocoa seeping through his nostrils, bringing him a sense of joy. He takes a bite of the chocolate. Nothing has ever tasted this good, he thinks as he takes another bite, the sweetness passing through his tongue. This moment is the best that he’s had all day. Still, the isolation and quietness lower his mood. All he wants is to hear the voice of his son or wife for one more time. The thought of his son makes him remember why he started this journey in the first time. He wants to prove nothing is impossible. George stands up and moves up. The mountain may look large, but he feels taller.
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Free Verse Poems “Fall” Oh, don’t you just love that feeling of fall? Where the weather is never too hot or too cold, And the best types of drinks are in season Everything with the taste of cinnamon. Apple cider, chai tea. and don’t forget a Starbucks pumpkin spice latte. Leaves fall on the ground in orange, yellow and red, Crunching beneath your feet, You rake them up just to jump right back in. Fall is the time for the holidays. Sure there’s no Christmas, but what about Halloween and Thanksgiving. Daylight saving giving us that hour to sleep more. That way we can binge watch Netflix until it's late’ Without worrying about losing sleep. So to all those winter, spring and summer lovers they do have their perks. But truly no season will make up to my love of fall.
“The Artist” An artist stared of their window one day The world outside portrayed what they wanted to say The world outside portrayed their life
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So out of bed, they rose and started their daily rife They grabbed a paintbrush, paper, and pen And with a stroke of a brush, they began An icy road that seemed a journey on an endless trail And trees that stood firm though they were driven to becoming bare and pale Snow covered up the life-breathing grass And showed no signs of stopping making the pain last From across the sky, the sun started to rise And from there the artist began to cry For the sun was a new day And the snow on the ground started to melt away The road would someday come to an end And the artist well they were the tree and never would bend
“Worry” As a child, we wanted to get older Peter Pan could never catch up But where is Neverland now When did easy times past When life takes childhood away Telling me growing up is all there is But how can I grow when I’m still a child inside They say choose a career, go to college, start your life
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It’s been drilled in since the beginning of your childhood’s end Being told you still have time to make decisions But those words are spoken no more Times up time to decide But decisions I have none So can I go back in time If I could would I be able to stay a child Let me stay young for a few seconds more And better yet find me a time machine Allow me to go back in time So I can talk to that 5-year-old self Just be her one more time Then allow her to fly to Neverland And never worry about growing up
“The Runner” Lungs gasping for air, yet I go on Feet begin to cry in pain, yet I go on The earth forms into a hill, yet I go on The sun decides to become hotter, yet I go on The humidity thickens the air, yet I go on Sweat streaks my sore skin, yet I go on Thirst forms in my mouth, yet I go on
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Lungs continue to search for air, yet I go on The road gets rockier, yet I go on The hill gets steeper, yet I go on The end is not near enough, yet I go on Question why I began, yet I go on Stop, Stop Stop my brain screams, yet I go on I see the end in front of me, yet I go on I reach my destination, happy to have gone on
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Formal Poems “Christmas” Be happy for its Christmas time The highlight of the year Don’t fret upon the lack of sunshine Be happy for its Christmas time Families all around combine To give there thanks and cheer Be happy for its Christmas time The highlight of the year
“Stereotypes” Blonds are dumb, The depressed are always glum, American, then you’re a bum, You’re a terrorist if you’re Muslim, Women aren’t strong, Husband’s are always wrong, Basketball players are long, Immigrants are illegal and don’t belong, Whites drink pumpkin spice, Asians only eat rice,
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Criminals are never nice, Let me give you some advice, No person is the same, No matter the stereotype proclaim, So instead of bringing them shame, Try to actually learn their name.
“Beauty� They say beauty is in the face, But what about the mind. Does the outside matter? For the inside is what shines.
So what about the mind, Where all thoughts are placed, The inside is what truly shines, And where personalities are formed
We place all our thoughts, Creativity comes alive And personalities are formed. Where beauty truly thrives.
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Now creativity comes alive, Thoughts surround our life. Where beauty truly thrives, And goes beyond what meets the eye.
“An Ode to Theatre” Though there are many joys come through my life There’s this one that is always here to stay When tough times come sharper than a knife My joys come back when I go to see a play There are plays all said there are plays all sung Some will make you laugh some so sad you cry Many begin to make the old feel young And some just some can be a little dry There's a place that nearly everyone goes When they want to experience a play The theatres that hold all the best shows In the city of New York is Broadway I have done sports and all of the above But let’s face it theatre’s my true love
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Original Drafts “A Trip To the Emerald City” (Orinignal) “Everyone deserves a chance to fly”. I live by this quote as it reminds me of the person I am and who I want to be. My life is theatre, and I dream to be able to soar in the business of Broadway and show tunes. So imagine my excitement when I found out for my birthday my grandparents gave me an unforgettable experience in the form of tickets to one of my favourite show of all times, Wicked. Not only was I going to see the show, but I was able to spend one short day in the Emerald City, New York. Wicked is a musical that teaches the life lessons of friendship and not to judge a book by its cover. Ever since middle school when my love for musicals emerged I fantasized about seeing this hit sensation. I watched videos of recordings of the show and the tony performance, but all this did was make me wonder more how beautiful it was up close. Now in my hand, I had the ticket to experience a world of both fantasy and reality. Not only that, but I was able to experience this with two of the most important people in my life. My grandparents were never much into musicals as I am, and they especially were not the city typed. Yet they loved me so much they were willing to give me my dreams for my birthday even if that meant they had to go through something they weren’t 100 per cent comfortable with. I thanked my grandparents for their generosity and hugged them. Two days after the last day of finals and homework, I started my summer off the right way, going to New York City. My grandparents picked me up early in the morning and we went to begin our journey. Our journey began on a bus tour, where we were
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acquainted with a colourful amount of people from elementary school age children who were dreaming of this big kid experience to older age tourist wishing to be young again. After a four hours bus ride the wait was finally over and I stepped on the grounds of the beautiful city that was NYC. The hustle and excitement were not what anything like I experienced in Lancaster, yet I felt like I was a local. Unfortunately, the feeling of being a local didn’t help with the fact that neither I nor my grandparents had any idea where we were going. “I think it’s this way”, I kept saying trying to see where Google Maps was pointing at. “No the map the tour guide gave us is pointing this way”, my grandma said trying to read the vague map we were given by the bus we road. We walked around the city like lost children at a grocery store, following the Google Maps. After wandering around for a good chunk of time we eventually found Gershwin Theatre, home of Wicked. Both I and my grandparents looked at each other, my grandma was right that we needed in the one direction. The kind women never spoke a word about this though, for she was just excited to be able to share this experience with me. We walked into the theatre. The inside of the theatre was more beautiful than I could ever imagine it would be. Everywhere you looked, decorations of the set and pictures of the show covered the walls. My eyes became wet with tears as I took in the majesticness of the lobby. I thought “if this is what the lobby looked, the show is going to spectacular.” My grandparents were both impressed by the lobby decorations as well.
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“I wondered how much time and money goes into putting on this show,” My grandpa said examining the walls. “I’ve never seen anything this professional” My grandma commented in awestruck. We walked up to our seats and I began to notice the age difference of the audience was very similar to that of our tour bus. No matter the age though everyone in the theatre had that Broadway magic cast onto them. Children smiled at the thought of one day living this dream, while adults were just happy to be able to see art being performed. We all found our seats, flipped through our playbills and waited semi-patiently for the show to begin. Minutes that felt like years went by and finally, the lights dimmed and a voice boomed over us letting the room know to be quiet because the show was about to start. All of a sudden the music began to play hinting the opening number was about to be performed. I jumped in my seat. Bright colours and perfect harmony swarmed around me and for a second time, that day beauty forced me to tears. I became an emotional wreck by the powers of Oz. When the show started off the audience became aware that the Wicked Witch was dead and no one was grieving this tragedy. Even though I knew the story like the back of my hand, it didn’t take me long to feel sympathy for Elphaba, the wicked witch and looking around me I realized I wasn’t the only one. All throughout the show, my body went through an emotional rollercoaster. I was laughing at the talented acting of Glinda one minute and crying at the cruelness of the people of Oz the next. All throughout the show, I found myself rooting for Elphaba and
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that she could finally experience happiness for once in her life. I never wanted the show to end and began to dread the last note of the closing number. Sadly, nothing could prevent the resolution of the story and the lights came up again. I wiped my eyes and began talking to my grandparents about the show. “So, was this a good gift for your birthday?” They asked. I nodded and thanked them. Never would I forget this milestone I got to experience with them. We roamed around the city a little bit more and after an eventful day realized it was over and hopped onto the bus to go home. The bus ride home I spent reflecting on the excitement of the day. I was still moved by Wicked and knew one fact in my mind, “I have been changed for good”.
Revising “A Trip to The Emerald City” The reason why I decided to write about my trip to New York City was that it was a highlight of my summer where I got to see a Broadway show that I have been dreaming of since middle school. One of the biggest problems I faced while writing my personal narrative is making it correct grammatically. Grammar has always been one of the biggest struggles I had to face as a writer. Thanks to the workshop, I got a lot of feedback on how to fix my grammar, and it really paid off in the revision. When revising, I made sure to pay attention to my mistakes and did research in the places I was not sure if they were written correctly or not. I feel like when I improved the grammar, I improved the story. Now it sounds better and, without the grammar mistakes, it flows as I wanted it too. Another thing that I paid attention to in my writing, was using more of a descriptive language, especially in the end. To do this, I carefully re-read my narrative over and over
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again and made sure to pay attention to where the story seemed to be lacking. At these spots, I would retrace that day in my mind then jot them down. Afterward, I would add them to my narrative at the spots that seemed to make sense. The descriptive language seemed to add more emotion to the piece. I also thought that it would make it easier for the reader to picture the day.
“A Memory of My Future Husband” (Original) It rained. Isn’t it funny how memories work? I couldn’t tell you what I ate for breakfast or what math equation was written on the board that day in school, but there are two things I distinctly remember about that day, it rained and I met Tyler. The morning didn’t start off the way a perfect day should. I forgot my umbrella and my favorite shoes became ruined by the mud I stepped in on the way to school. During the first block, my day just gets even better when I still my cup of coffee on the floor. That’s when I hear a voice in the back. “I’ll go get some paper towels”, it says. The voice comes back with the paper towels promised. The voice introduces itself as Tyler and states he is new at school. He offers his hand for a handshake. I looked up and make a face to the voice I heard moments earlier. I smile reflecting this memory. Exactly five years ago I saw his face for the first time. Today for the first time he will see me in the wedding dress I’ve hidden from him since he proposed five months earlier.
Revising “A Memory to My Future Husband”
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One of my favorite things to read or watch is a well-written love story like one by Nicolas Sparks. That was my biggest inspiration to write this short story. Writing “A Memory of my Future Husband” was a little bit of a challenge for me and took a lot of revision. One thing I tried to focus on during my revision period was seeing what needed to be added and if there was any information in the original that did not need to be added. One way I do this is by showing and not telling. In the original, I told the speaker the events that happened when the narrator spilled her coffee and Tyler helped her clean up. Instead, I used dialogue to explain what was going on. Then I had more words for the narrator to describe how she feels about her first interaction with the man she would marry that day. I also described more what Tyler looked like so that the reader could draw a picture in their mind on what he looked like. I feel this added more imagery to the microfiction. I paid attention to the grammar in the story as well. To do this I reread the microfiction and paid attention to where the grammar was not correct. The grammar correction was able to make the story sound better.
“Fall” (Orginal) Oh, don’t you just love that feeling of fall Where the weather is never too hot or too cold And the best types of drinks are in season Apple cider, chai tea and don’t forget a Starbucks pumpkin spice latte Leaves fall on the ground in orange, yellow and red You rake them up just to jump right back in Fall is the time for the holidays Sure there’s no Christmas but what about Halloween and Thanksgiving
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Plus daylight saving gives us that hour to sleep in That way we can binge watch Netflix till it's late And not have to worry about sleeping in So to all those winter, spring and summer lovers they do have their perks But truly no season will make up to my love of fall
Revising “Fall� This poem was written during the beginning of my favorite season, fall. The change of the season inspired me to write this poem. Everything that I put in the poem is something that I enjoyed when fall comes, for example a pumpkin spice latte, the changing of leaves and sleeping in on daylight savings. The biggest thing that I did to revise my poem was adding more sensory details so that the reader could paint a complete picture in their mind. One way I did this was by adding more of the five senses then besides sight. For the drinks I wanted the reader to imagine drinking the fall drink while they were reading my poem. To do this I described how the drinks tasted. I added the taste of cinnamon that is in a pumpkin spice latte to convey taste. Then I saw where I could add more sensory details and decided to put sound into the poem. To do this, I used the sound of the crunching of leaves when you step on them. These improvements, I feel, made it easier to see how much I loved the season fall. Many of the new revision came from the workshop. Many others gave great ideas on how I can give more detail to the poem. I used a lot of their suggestions to improve my poem, and I think adding their suggestions helped to improve the poem. I made it easier to add the details, and they brought ideas that I never would have thought of.
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“Beauty” (Original) They say beauty is in the face But what about the mind Why does it matter what’s on the outside For the inside is what shines
So what about the mind Where all thoughts are placed The inside is what truly shines And where personalities are formed
We place all our thoughts Creativity comes alive And personalities are formed Where beauty truly thrives
Now creativity comes alive Thoughts surround our hearts Where beauty truly thrives And goes beyond what meets the eye
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Revising “Beauty” I wrote this poem to bring awareness that looks are not as important as a good personality and especially loving yourself. I find a major issue for teens today is insecurity, mostly in the way they look and how people think of them. Because of this, I wanted to speak out to those who feel insecure about their looks. That became my main objective for writing this poem. One of my main focuses when revising this poem was making sure every line made sense and got the point across. It was mentioned that the third line in the poem affected the rhythm in the poem. To fix this I shorten the number of words that were in the line while still keeping the essence that the line left. Someone also mentioned that one of the stanzas was confusing so I reworded it to make it easier to understand. I also reread the poem and anywhere that confused me or did not give enough to the poem’s message I would rewrite it to make more sense for the poem. For the original draft, I did not add any punctuation. I thought since it was a poem it might not need any. After going through the workshop, I realized punctuation might actually be important since it adds to the rhythm of the poem. I added commas where I thought the reader needed to take a break and reflect what they such read. This helped the poem to flow better.
“Stereotypes” (Original) Blonds are dumb Depressed are always glum American, then you’re a lazy bum You’re a terrorist if you’re Muslim
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Women aren’t strong Husband’s are always wrong Basketball players are long Immigrants are illegal and don’t belong Whites drink pumpkin spice Asians only eat rice Criminals are never nice Let me give you some advice No person is the same No matter the stereotype proclaim So instead of bringing them shame Try to actually learn their name
Revising “Stereotypes” The reason that I wrote “Stereotypes” was also to convey a message that I cared deeply about. I believe there is so many time where people judged someone they had never met before based on what the general population tells them what they are like. To try to end this, I wanted to write this poem so people realize that someone does not have to be like another based on their stereotype. The sharp language that comes with a skeltonic poem helped with this. To revise this poem I made sure that it had enough emotion. I put this poem in the discussion a week before working on the portfolio. The feedback I got from fellow students was extremally helpful in revising my poem. One thing that I did was make the sentences more understandable. I changed the wording in a
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few of them so that it made more sense when the reader read it. Changing the wording also helped me to get the poem to flow better than in the original draft. To make these changes I carefully reread the poem and looked to see where the lack of flow in the poem messed up the emotion I was trying to convey. Then afterward, I went back and fixed the problem. I also added punctuation to the story. I added commas after every line, except for the last one where I added a period. I feel like the comma added a needed pause so that the reader can pause and actually think about what they just read. This, I feel, added to the emotion I was trying to place.