A Few Short Stories

And here are a few responses for the short stories (This might be a bit long)...

"Everything That Rises Must Converge" - Flannery O'Connor

This short story was, needless to say, a lot more interesting and enjoyable to read than William Faulkner's "Barn Burning." It follows a young man, Julian, and his mother, who are on the way to the Y. Julian is forced to accompany his mother due to the fact that she believes that it would be dangerous for her to ride the bus alone. At first it starts off with Julian's mother complaining about her hat because it was expensive, while Julian would argue it looked fine (even though he thought it was ugly). The majority of the story takes place on the bus, but the most eventful parts of the story take part after they get off. Julian's mother is struck by a black woman because she tried to give the woman's son a penny and she later suffered through what seemed to be a stroke. 

After reading "Everything That Rises Must Converge" various questions and issues popped up. The way Julian acts or thinks is not exactly soporific, but he tends to be completely repetitive. He states that he wants to annoy his mother and do whatever makes her "tick". What is the reasoning behind the way he acts? Why does he seem to dislike his mother? Julian sits next to the African American man in order to annoy his mother, who is obviously racist. They differ in views regarding race, but is this reason enough to bother her to the point of anger? Julian simply wanted to teach his mother a lesson, but she still didn't understand. At the end, when she is struck down by the African American woman, did Julian's mother finally understand what Julian had been trying to teach her? Or was the shock of the blow just too much for her to handle? 

I found it, for some odd reason, a bit funny when Julian says to his mother, "You needn't act as if the world had come to an end...because it hasn't. From now on you've got to live in a new world and face a few realities for a change. Buck up...it won't kill you." This is such an ironic statement, and if the readers were to ever find out what happened after Julian's mother collapsed, I'm sure it would involve extreme guilt on Julian's part. He did, after all, unknowingly predict his mother's fate.

"Everyday Use" - Alice Walker

Walker's "Everyday Use" told a story about a mother and two very different daughters, Dee and Maggie. Dee went to live in the city while Maggie stayed behind with her mother. Dee decides to go back home with her boyfriend. After taking pictures of Maggie and her mother, Dee tells them that her name is no longer Dee, but Wangero Leewanika Kemanjo. She no longer wanted a name because she claimed that she couldn't stand "being named after the people who oppresse[d] [her]." She also reveals that her purpose in going to the house was to collect items that dealt with her family history. At the end, Dee tries to take the quilts that her grandmother had stitched by hand, but her mother reveals that they were going to Maggie for when she gets married. Maggie said Dee could have it, but their mother took the quilts away from Dee and gave them to Maggie because she was the one who deserved them. 

Dee is one of the selfish types of characters one learns to hate more and more. She seems to be the type whose speech is bunkum; she speaks as if she knows everything, and all of this is just absolutely boring. Just because she visited home doesn't mean she can just take everything in the house that she deems perfect for her own place. She even exclaimed "That's it!" and took the churn in order to use the top of it for the centerpiece of her alcove table. I hate house Dee (Wangero) claims that she appreciates the cultural value of these items, and yet doesn't understand the purpose of each item. One is supposed to use a simple item such as the churn, not turn it into a centerpiece. How does this show the appreciative value of it?

The funny thing is, I can almost relate to Maggie in a way. Although she seems more shy, I am similar to her due to the fact that I tend to always give in to my siblings. For example, if my sister (let's call her Crazee) came home from college, reconnoitered my room, and decided she wanted to take one of my favorite shirts, I would let her. I would figure that she probably appreciates it more than I do, and I would let her have it. I'm used to giving my sister whatever she wants, and this would really be no different. I sympathize with Maggie because she lets her sister walk over her without much of a second thought. 

"Cathedral"- Raymond Carver

"Cathedral" was actually one of my favorite short stories from the assigned reading. It was about a blind man named Robert who stays with a wife and her husband due to the unfortunate death of his wife. At first, the husband (no name was given) was a bit awkward because he had never met a blind man and did not know how to converse with him. He didn't expect to see that Robert wasn't how he expected him to be. This was shown when he said, "But he didn't use a cane and he didn't wear dark glasses. I'd always thought dark glasses were a must for the blind." Later on, however, after the wife falls asleep, the narrator attempted to describe to Robert what a cathedral looked like (it appeared on the television screen). After a few failed attempts, Robert tells the husband to grab a piece of paper and pen so they could draw a cathedral together. Whilst drawing together, the husband is told to close his eyes while drawing. It is then that he begins to understand and change. Even after Robert told the man to open his eyes, he kept them closed. Robert asked, " 'Well?...Are you looking?' " and afterwards it switches to the narrator, "My eyes were still closed. I was in my house. I knew that. But I didn't feel like I was inside anything. 'It's really something.' "

I love the fact that the narrator underwent such a transformation in a seemingly short amount of time. A single blind man changed the life of a man who didn't seem to understand much of anything. This man couldn't even really learn how to make friends (his wife pointed out the fact that he has no friends). Carver leaves the reader hanging at the end of the story, but as the reader, I felt as if I knew that the narrator underwent a positive change. However, the question remains: in what way does the narrator change? Why did this drawing of the cathedral have such an impact on him? Does Robert know that he has just, possibly, changed the life of this man?

"How to Become a Writer" - Lorrie Moore

This short story is basically one giant ironic story. The title is "How to Become a Writer", but the story completely discourages a person from wanting to become a writer. In the beginning it tells the readers to try and be anything else but a writer. Then, it tells "you" to go through a painstaking process of writing and getting shot down. One of my favorite parts of the short story read, "Write another story about a man and a woman who, in the very first paragraph, have their lower torsos accidently blitzed away by dynamite...You read the whole thing out loud in class. No one likes it. They say your sense of plot is outrageous and incompetent. After class someone asks you if you are crazy." This title is completely ironic (and quite humorous) due to the fact that it is not really "How to Become a Writer" it is more of "See if You Want to Become a Writer After Going Through All This Crap". 

I really enjoyed how this was written in a sarcastic and witty way, and it was really different reading from the second person point of view. It was also funny, yet somewhat sad, when "you" try really hard and fail because no one seems to understand you. Another one of the most enjoyable parts of the story was when Francie (you) tells a joke: " 'Mope Dick, get it?' Your roomate looks at you, her face blank as large Kleenex. She comes up to you, like a buddy, and puts an arm around your burdened shoulders. 'Listen, Francie...Let's go out and get a big beer. The seminar doesn't like this one either. You suspect they are beginning to feel sorry for you." It is like the writer is lost in her own world of writing, where she is constantly misunderstood. It is easy to connect with such experiences, yet easy to laugh at it. 

This would either tie in first place with "Cathedral" as my favorite short story, or it would be at the top of my list. It definitely was the most interesting How-to book I've ever read. How many How-to books have you read that led you through a painful process of misunderstandings and discouragement?

William Faulkner's "Barn Burning"

William Faulkner. Why does this name sound so familiar? I remember saying to myself, "I have definitely heard this name before," and I was right. When I read Faulkner's short biography in order to figure out who this man was, I was excited to learn that he had won the Nobel Prize for literature. Maybe this is why I've heard of him. He's famous!  This must mean his work is amazing, am I right? After reading the first two or three pages of the story, my enthusiasm turned into annoyance. I discovered I was very, very, very wrong. I learned an interesting lesson that day, and I told myself, "Kim, just because you've heard this man's name, and this man just happened to win some prestigious award for literature, doesn't mean he's as good as you think he is." Don't get me wrong, he is actually very good, but I've discovered I hate his style of writing and the way he phrases everything. This all may seem a bit harsh, but think of it this way, it reflects my opinion about his short story, "Barn Burning".

The story is mainly centered around a boy, Colonel Sartoris Snopes (Sarty) and his father, Abner Snopes. It starts off in a store, which is being used as some sort of courtroom, where Abner Snopes is being accused of burning Mr. Harris's barn (Mr. Harris is a farmer). The case is dismissed due to lack of evidence so he gets away with impunity, but the judge believes Abner is guilty of the crime and highly suggests that he leave the area. Abner and his family then pack their belongings and head towards another plantation where they can stay. After spending a night camped out, the Snopes arrive on the de Spain plantation, where another conflict erupts. Abner steps in horse "droppings" on his way to the de Spain house and steps on the expensive rug in when he enters their house. He had no right in doing so due to the fact that he is a mere sharecropper; his job was far from being a sinecure, and it would be difficult for him to pay back the damages done. In the end, de Spain demands 20 bushels of corn to pay for the damages, but when brought to court, the judge demands 10 from Abner Snopes. That night, Abner decides to go and burn down the de Spain's barn himself. Sarty decides to go against his father and inform de Spain about the noisome crime his father is committing. At the end, he runs away from it all. 

I cannot say that I completely hate how Faulkner writes, because he does write the more action-filled parts in an exciting way. It is the small things I hate. For example, was it really necessary to write a whole paragraph (which only contained a little over two sentences) about cheese and the store? I realize this gives the reader a sense of timelessness and waiting on the part of young Sarty, but was this necessary? It is great that Faulkner decides to describe everything, but it is almost too much at times.

Anyway, overall I thought the story was actually interesting. I may hate how Faulkner writes, but I'll admit that the plot was good. A few questions popped up after reading "Barn Burning", and I couldn't answer them. 1. Why does Abner follow the path of an arsonist, and on what grounds does he think he can commit such terrible acts? 2. Why does Sarty feel a strong connection to his father at first (or is this actually fear?), but then decide to "rebel" against him and inform de Spain of his actions? 3. Although Abner may be the head of the family, why can't anyone do anything to stop him? 4. What will happen to Sarty after running away? 5. It was implied that Abner had been killed, due to gunshots Sarty heard while running away. What will happen to the Sarty's mother, grandmother, and two sisters? Would Sarty come back? 6. Would the Snopes become a bereft family, or would they believe that their life will actually take a turn for the better now that a major source of their problems is gone?

All in all, I feel as if I cannot speak much more about this story. "Barn Burning" is written by a Nobel Prize winner, and I feel as if I expected too much from the story. I expected, well, I don't really know what I was expecting. Maybe a story that wasn't so wordy and more exciting? Though the image of a man burning down a barn is pretty exciting. Besides vengeance, maybe Abner wanted to burn down the barn for the thrill of it. Oh no, am I beginning to take on the mind of an arsonist? [Just kidding]. 

Released

Boredom tends to rule over my life, but I felt as if the words to express myself needed to be said. I am one who is plagued with guilt every day. I thought it would be pretty creative to write a poem as my blog. I don't know if this is allowed, but here it is anyway. I feel that emotions cannot only be expressed through simple sentences or written in paragraphs. Sometimes, it takes a bit more then that. The creative juices flow, and it cannot be helped. 

The purpose of writing this is not only to use up the vocabulary words, but to exculpate myself before I crack.

(No title yet)

When you begin to lose something

that you thought was once yours,

you become possessive and a fool.

Your emotions run wild,

and the taste in your mouth is bitter.

Your quick in your responses,

and you become impatient.

Even the smallest of threats will hurt you,

Even the smallest of lies will kill you,

Even the smallest of fears will send you,

send you to the labyrinth of Hell.

You would do anything to keep it,

and you would do anything to grasp it;

you would give up anything just to hold it,

just to touch it one more time.

You become jejune and whine

and kick and scream and stomp.

The same sentence repeats itself in my ears;

it is beginning to sound like a litany.

You're being punished 

for doing nothing wrong,

and you begin to question my judgement.

"Why are you doing this? 

Don't you like me anymore?

Is my punishment just some predilection?

Why do you get off so easy,

when I am the one who has to suffer through the pain?"

You cannot stop your jealousy;

you cannot stop the emotions from spilling;

you cannot stop the pain; and

you cannot stop the realization that now,

now is the time to be released.

I have held you back for long enough.

I want to find the keys to unlock you,

from the prison cell

in which I have kept you.

I want to free you from the electric cage;

where the pain will no longer spark

and will no longer hurt you.

It is human nature to want the best;

it is a tacit understanding among

the people in this very small world.

It is also in one's nature to feel the emotions:

happiness, sadness, hatred, jealous.

I have felt all four at once.

This confusion is killing me, 

killing me ever so slowly.

I want to let you go, 

but you hold me back. 

You're an obsequious fool

who doesn't know any better,

and for that I am almost grateful to you,

in this small, uncaring world.

How can I let you go? 

The most precious thing in the world,

in my life,

is going to be lost to the ills of society.

I am letting you go for the first time,

so you can finally walk on your own.

Do you understand how hard this decision is?

I am liberating you

and paving the path to freedom.

You are free to fly

and sing the song of sweetness.

I feel as if I lost you long ago,

once I closed the steel, cage door.

You just never realized it.

But do not worry my dear friend,

Do not feel the guilt or remorse

Do not cry for me, please,

Do not fret or worry

I will be fine

Just fine.

Please do not linger anymore

before I decide to close the door

and trap you once more.

I would not hesitate to slam the door

and put you in safe keeping

where I can watch you

and make sure you'll always be okay.

Please run away, right now.

I am simply a lilliputian,

one who is possessive and a fool.

I will have to lock myself up

and throw the key away

just to keep myself from taking you back.

I want to release you;

I want to be done with you;

I want to run away from you,

and leave you behind.

Ignore my pleas and my cries,

I only want what's best for you.

Please go, just leave...

Before I get lost in despair.

Frozen

In my previous post, I went off on a small tangent about never finishing my written work. This time, however, I'm going to prove myself wrong. I am going to subjugate this curse of mine, and finish something. I have recently began writing a story, and I think I might actually finish it. Shocker, isn't it? Well, I'll admit that the process has been going a bit slow, but doesn't everyone have the tendency to do that? I am a neophyte when it comes to writing stories. How am I supposed to end it? Where, exactly, am I supposed to lead it? Every time I have started a story, I stopped before I reached a plot. Maybe I'm a sucker for introductions and amazing detail about the setting and background. Who knows (I surely don't)?

I tend to believe that writing has become some sort of Mecca for me, even if I haven't actually finished writing anything. The process itself has become some sort of center of my being. Whenever I'm feeling emotional, which actually happens a lot, I turn to writing. It's a form of expressing myself when I think that no one else would understand. I begin to think, hey, maybe someone, somewhere, will read this and understand...no, relate, to what's happening in my life right now. My parents always tell me, "Kim you're too sensitive," and all I want to say right now is, "Well, look at me. I'm an emotional person who takes everything to heart. I'm overly sensitive, and no matter how many times you tell me, it won't change. Believe it or not, I'm probably more sensitive than you think. The only reason why you don't know, is because writing has become my savior. It gives me a sense of escapism from the real world, and it helps me deal with my problems...unlike you." Sounds harsh, no? Don't worry, I would never actually say that TO them; I know where to draw the line. If I said anything even closely related to that, I'd be ostracized from the house, and I'd be living in a cardboard box on the side of the street.

Okay I've gotten off topic, once again. Back to my story and my feelings of accomplishment. I semi-recently came up with a weird story idea, and it is completely different from what I've ever written. It is a sci-fi type story, which is odd because I typically write the cliche romance stories or the "my life sucks I want to die" stories (not my variety at all, actually). 

Now, before I go into the actual story itself, I feel as if I should explain the background of how it actually came to be...to happen. I was talking to my friend, and I was explaining my insane idea of a topic. I was excited, and he was the type of person to share my thoughts with. He's the kind of guy that would say, "that's cool, but wouldn't it be better if...?" and then come up with something extremely cool and unsuspected. Anyway, so once I told him my story idea, he starting giving me these awesome ideas. He should be the epitome of an august person. I admire him for all his ideas and the way his mind works. It's like he thinks with a completely different and warped view and adds his own twists to everything. He's imagination is incredible (Don't tell him I said that, he'd get a big head). 

So onward to the story! It starts out with a father, a man with a wife and a young child, who is stuck in time, or is everyone else stuck in time? He is the only one that can move in "his world", while everyone else is simply stuck. Frozen. Immobile. Silent. He is forced to live in a world in which he is never alone, yet feels the utmost loneliness. Now on the other hand, the world is actually still moving. This man (who I have yet to give a name) is actually missing in the "real world". Where has he gone? Did he get left behind in time? What is happening? 

The great thing is, the way the reader understands what is going on, is through a different story. One that is told by the man's granddaughter (someone who he has never met). This is a separate story entirely. It is about a girl (unknowingly the granddaughter of the missing man) who works in an asylum as a nurse. There, she slowly pieces together what has happened in the past: the government, a missing man, hundreds of experiments conducted, her grandfather. 

At the very end the two stories converge into one. The two separate stories finally meet at one end point. The granddaughter finds a man locked in a padded cell with papers strewn all around him. There is a story written on all the pages, and it is at that moment, the girl realizes this man in front of her is her grandfather. What shocks her, however, isn't the fact that he is locked up in a padded cell. It isn't even the fact that he's writing furiously on the papers, scribbling his thoughts. It's the fact that this man, her grandfather, looks exactly the same as he did in the photographs. The man did not age. 

Sounds pretty cool, right? Of course I skipped over a bunch of things, or maybe I just haven't begun to think about those parts yet. Do you know what's even better about this story? I'm not the only one writing it. My friend that I mentioned earlier is going to be writing the second part: the granddaughter's story. I have no idea what he's going to even write about, or what it's going to say. I do know, however, that it is going to have a million twists and turns that I would never expect. Let me say this simply: I am really excited for this. 

Works Unfinished

Everyone has foibles. This is fact. We have all heard the saying over and over again, but I must repeat the cliche: nobody is perfect. When it comes to me, however, I feel as I am the complete opposite of perfect. It would be like comparing one a rich man's panache to a homeless man's garbage style, polar opposites. One piques your interest, while the other doesn't. 

Let me be ingenuous and blunt about this. One of my worst flaws would have to involve my constant procrastination. I tend to wait until the very last moment, and I feel the stress building up with each passing minute. However, it is not just simply procrastination; I have the tendency to leave things unfinished. I would start one thing, such as a story, poem, or project, and I would never finish it. This, thank goodness, does not pertain to my schoolwork (procrastination does, but not this extreme laziness to leave projects unfinished). Getting into a good college would require good grades which would result in doing my schoolwork. This system keeps me motivated in doing my schoolwork. It makes me feel like an erudite student sometimes. 

I don't want to seem like one who is solely transfixed on their own problems, but I feel it is necessary to mention something about it. I never finish anything I start and leave unfinished. For example, I would get this sudden spark of inspiration where a story would just flow through my fingertips; I would type or write for the rest of the day and night until bedtime. The next day, however, I would think of the story, but I wouldn't write it. I would tell myself I'd get to it eventually, and I'd keep pushing it off until I forgot about it. It's similar to going on a permanent hiatus. If for some reason I do decide to go back to the story, I would read what I had written and complain. How did I write something so terrible? Why did I think this was such a good idea? Everything that I had loved about the story suddenly turns blase. It would take herculean strength for me to attempt and finish one of my beloved stories. 

It's funny. I remember a time where all I would write were stories with unhappy endings or a story or poem with a dark theme. There was one time where I wrote about a girl's personal vendetta against the world and society. What happened to the rest of the story? Oops. Never finished it. There was another story in which a malevolent mother tried to influence her family into doing something bad (I don't quite remember exactly what it was). Whatever it was doesn't even matter anymore. I've "forgotten" the story, and it is now out the door. 

Emotions Control Your Life

Emotions. Need I say more? It controls ones life half the time, and no one can do anything to stop it. You can attempt to calm down or try to seem more excited, but the feelings are always still the same. It doesn't matter how great of an actor you are; someone will see through you. You may have a composed facade at seemingly every possible moment, but there is always one crack in the mask; something that gives you away if noticed. It could be the sudden forced nonchalance in one's colloquial speech, or the simple expression hidden behind one's eyes. No matter what, it cannot be hidden forever. One cannot abrogate the deal with God or whoever or whatever created you; your emotions cannot be taken away with a simple refusal to comply with a situation. Emotions can either slow you down or push you forward, but either way, you have no choice but to obey your conscience.

When caught in an undesired situation, one may scruple over what is happening. Every decision made can be life changing and every choice possibly dire. The seemingly simple choice of whether to go right or left at the fork in the road can toy with a person's emotions for hours. There is always the gnawing fear or guilt, but there is always the undeniable feelings of optimism at what could come. The sudden fear that ensues, the fear of the unknown, blinds you, and the possibility of making a life-changing choice stops you in your place. You want someone to choose for you; someone to exonerate you just so you do not have to make the decision. You do not want to be the one scarred with the stigma of making the wrong decision, but you have no one else with you. The emotions are running in a frenzy back and forth in your mind, right or left, right or left. What good can come of going right? And left? You do not know. All you know is there is a fork in the road, and you're stuck on the decision to choose a path. Well, right or left?

Speaking of making decisions, it is obvious that no one else can make a choice but you. You are the one that decides everything: what needs to be said or done. However, it is not just about choices that need to be made nor the consequences of choosing the wrong path. It is simply about revealing your thoughts or emotions about everything. You do not need an imprimatur to voice your feelings; sure you may need it to visually reveal your thoughts in text, but no one can take away your voice. When one begins to finally think about their true feelings on a matter, it is simply like uncovering a secret under the veil.

If that secret is unveiled, then will it physically show as well? You may show us a smile, but will we know it's fake? You may think it is your typical smile, but it isn't. It is a saturnine smile with emotions hidden deep within the confines of your soul. You feel as if something sorties your heart and everything is just ripped out of you. Every secret you wanted to keep; every memory you longed to forget; every waking moment of your life; every salient figure who has changed your life: all of it. However, it all shows in that one, simple, sad smile. You just don't know that, in fact, we all know what's going on. It shows on your face. Your heart has been unlocked.