1. Most times, when I start writing, I don’t have a topic or a focus. I start to free write and see what comes to my mind. I’m constantly second guessing my topics. I’m never sure how much information I’m comfortable giving out.
2. I do best with writing that although involves me, does not have myself as the central focus. This is why my Personal essay was about my sister, and her journey. My memoir was about my family and its journey and my journalism essay about my job and its employees.
3. Try to describe the scenario, or the key points of the scenario, as if I don’t know anything about the topic.
4. I don’t do outlines. I just let my writing stroll through my memory, and refuse to edit until the story is told.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Monday, November 19, 2007
Blog 13- Rhetorical Analysis of Publication Venues
Rhetorical Analysis of Publication Venues
1. Analysis of the editorial description of essays accepted
See http://www.cupofcomfort.com/share.htm#guidelines
Explores the occurances which are ordinary and extraordinary. They also shed light on the events that change or define our lives. “Refreshingly Real Stories Of Extraordinary Experiences In Ordinary Lives”
Welcomes personal, non fictional stories. Gives an emphasis on truth and has sever sub-genres that relate to different audiences. These include friends, women, mothers, daughters, and teachers. There is also a specialized section for Christmas stories, and inspirational stories.
Reading dates: Submissions are read on a rolled basis, and each sub-genre has a different date.
.
2. Description of several representative essays published in your venue;
sample essays= on their website.
Bedloe, Maura, "Something More," (Courage)
Holt, Joyce, "Angel Wings;" (Inspiration)
Massand, Nancy, "Time Out." (Mothers and Daughters)
Scher, Edie, "The Lady in the Blue Dress." (A Cup of Comfort)
subject matter (defining/uplifting/relationships) - varied subject material – visible limitations include works that do not teach a lesson, experience an epiphany, and end positively.
voice: Uplifting literature+ philosophical reflecting - essays accepted here will need to include a meaning, or moral, to serve as a central focus.
depth of discussion: many of these stories are carefully crafted to expose the message in a unique way. They no do drudge extra information or give negative highlights without a solution. Can be compared to Chicken Soup Magazine.
form (modes of writing) description, narration, dialog; Dialog compromises the “small talk” of the story. Most of the emphasis is given on the imagery and movements.
artistry: Very high- much emphasis on creativity in terms of imagery and angles. They place value on the ordinary, blessed with imagery. It gives it another life. There is value on originality, and the usage of recurring images or phrases,
length: up to 2000 words
3. Niche
audience - literary, passionate audience - interested in releasing emotions about the events in their life. Looking for closure. Looking for a connection to resolve their past or present morals.
purpose - publish beautiful, well-crafted writing that idealizes the situations that many families encounter. Although it critiques to friends and family alike, there is a niche that brings people together.
4. Other
Accepts email submissions-prefers them- = see website for specifics
The writer is notified shortly after the deadline date.
Publishes unsolicited manuscripts
No mention of pay.
1. Analysis of the editorial description of essays accepted
See http://www.cupofcomfort.com/share.htm#guidelines
Explores the occurances which are ordinary and extraordinary. They also shed light on the events that change or define our lives. “Refreshingly Real Stories Of Extraordinary Experiences In Ordinary Lives”
Welcomes personal, non fictional stories. Gives an emphasis on truth and has sever sub-genres that relate to different audiences. These include friends, women, mothers, daughters, and teachers. There is also a specialized section for Christmas stories, and inspirational stories.
Reading dates: Submissions are read on a rolled basis, and each sub-genre has a different date.
.
2. Description of several representative essays published in your venue;
sample essays= on their website.
Bedloe, Maura, "Something More," (Courage)
Holt, Joyce, "Angel Wings;" (Inspiration)
Massand, Nancy, "Time Out." (Mothers and Daughters)
Scher, Edie, "The Lady in the Blue Dress." (A Cup of Comfort)
subject matter (defining/uplifting/relationships) - varied subject material – visible limitations include works that do not teach a lesson, experience an epiphany, and end positively.
voice: Uplifting literature+ philosophical reflecting - essays accepted here will need to include a meaning, or moral, to serve as a central focus.
depth of discussion: many of these stories are carefully crafted to expose the message in a unique way. They no do drudge extra information or give negative highlights without a solution. Can be compared to Chicken Soup Magazine.
form (modes of writing) description, narration, dialog; Dialog compromises the “small talk” of the story. Most of the emphasis is given on the imagery and movements.
artistry: Very high- much emphasis on creativity in terms of imagery and angles. They place value on the ordinary, blessed with imagery. It gives it another life. There is value on originality, and the usage of recurring images or phrases,
length: up to 2000 words
3. Niche
audience - literary, passionate audience - interested in releasing emotions about the events in their life. Looking for closure. Looking for a connection to resolve their past or present morals.
purpose - publish beautiful, well-crafted writing that idealizes the situations that many families encounter. Although it critiques to friends and family alike, there is a niche that brings people together.
4. Other
Accepts email submissions-prefers them- = see website for specifics
The writer is notified shortly after the deadline date.
Publishes unsolicited manuscripts
No mention of pay.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Revised Memoir
My sister and I have become very different people. Currently, I am a 23 year old junior in college working two jobs and going to school full time. My sister, Jennifer, is a 26 year old recent college graduate expecting her first child. My parents have never tried to treat us equally and my sister has never stopped running from their expectations. Floating through school, through boyfriends, through housing—nothing in here life has been stable. I believe that the decisions that impacted us during our adolescences have made us who we are today. Unfortunately, there is recurring question my sister continues to ask. “Why can’t we be close like “Normal” sisters? Why do you hate me?” She could never realize we have never been like “normal” sisters. We have always been us. My sister was first at walking, talking, reading, writing and unfortunately finding trouble and following it. It was almost as if we were born from two different families. It wasn’t until years later my sister acknowledged the fact that I had known all my life. We were different. Sometimes, I wonder whether we were born differently, or if our adolescents through us into an alternate reality.
When I was 10 years old my family was going through a difficult time. My grandfather had just recently passed away and my father was still an emotional wreck. He had not been working for the last several months, and my mother was paying most of our bills. My sister had just turned 13, and had begun to develop a less than appropriate temperament. She was constantly referred to as a rebel child. My parents had little assets to accommodate what was going on in their lives, much less to help my sister Jennifer.
My parents would be sitting at the dinning room table paying some bills. Jennifer would come down the stairs, “I’m going out. Bye” Before my parents could get two words out of their mouth, she was gone. Later that night, “John, did Jennifer say where she was going” my mother would ask. He would reply “No idea” as they both sat mindlessly in front of the television.
Originally I used to blame my sister for abusing my parent’s tolerance. After several months of my sister constantly breaking the rules my parents decided to try something new. My godparents had referred them to an organization called “Tough Love.” Every Tuesday night they would go to these “tough love” meetings. The goal was to control my sister through the advice of the people in the organization.
Often times I would imagine my parents at these meetings. I could see them sitting in a circle say, “Our names are John and Maryanne and we can’t control our daughter.”
Our routine would become so predictable.
Walking home from school at 3:30 in the afternoon, I would walk through the door and call my grandmother to tell her I was home. Every Tuesday my mother would walk in the door at 5 pm. “Hello? Jessica?” she would call when she entered the door knowing I’d be home. “What do you want for dinner?” I didn’t really have many options. I would usually have some sort of pasta. While I was finishing homework, my father would enter. At 5:45 we would have a brief dinner. “Jessica, how was your day?” My father would ask. “It was okay.” My social life never had much interaction. This was probably the only reason my parents had no issues with my adolescence.
For years, they would just refer to this place as “the group.” While I was growing up, my parents tried to ignore the seriousness of this situation with my sister. More amazingly, while my parents were at these meetings my sister was elsewhere. She often didn’t make it home before I fell asleep. I’m not sure whether they didn’t know she was out, or just didn’t know how to react to her.
My mother would kiss my forehead right before they left. “Don’t stay up too late Jess.” I would nod, and say goodnight. Later that night I would be watching Full house. I could imagine that being the perfect family. Nothing like mine. None of the kids would ever be left alone all night every Tuesday.
At times, I am still angry about what those years did to my family. I would come home from school expecting a war zone in progress. Sometimes I really wondered if I didn’t come home, would they even notice? Some days I would take the extra ten minute walk to my grandmother’s house instead. I could hear from the television room from when my grandmother would call my father.
“John, Jessica is over here. She walked here from school.” My grandmother was my stone during these years. She was still mourning the loss of her husband, and I was mourning the loss of security in my family. She would never pry me for information like my parents did. It was almost like clockwork. At 5 PM my mother would stop at my grandmothers after she got off of work. “Jess, it’s time to go home.” The three minute drive home was filled with silence. She would ask about school, and then I was in my room.
Coming downstairs for dinner, right before they would leave for the group every Tuesday night was always the same.
“But why do you guys need to keep going to the group? It’s not helping us.” I would plea with my parents. My father would respond, “That’s why we’re going. We need help. We don’t know how to fix this.” I would sigh, and whisper to myself “just leave us here. Doesn’t make a difference to you.”
During the first year that my parents had been attending “the group” we nearly had a meltdown. My father and sister were having a fight. Although no one can remember the exact reason for the fight, it was not exactly an uncommon occurrence.
“Just Leave Me Alone!” my sister would yell at my father. “This is my life and I can take care of myself.” My father has always been very passive. Trying to reason with my sister was as easy as knocking down a brick wall. She stormed down the stairs with my father directly behind her. He was breathing heavily. “I’m fed up with all of this.” Right as she finished saying that, she was gone. “Jess, Jess, go get my medicine. I can barely breathe.” I was scared. It was the most surreal thing I had ever seen happen to my father. “Here Dad, here’s your pills.” His eyes closed as I gave him the bottle. “DAD, DAD” I was screaming. I grabbed the phone and immediately called 911.
“911 Emergency. How can I help you?” the operator would say. “My dad was having trouble breathing and he’s not answering.” I remember the pace of my heart, which was pounding with fear. “The ambulance is on the way.”
The ambulance came immediately. When it pulled up, my neighbor came next door to see what was wrong. “Theresa, something happened to my dad. He and my sister had a big fight” I said. “Did you call your mother yet?” and I shook my head no. My neighbor had seen my sister and I grow up. She had always been there for us.
“Maryanne, you need to come home. Jennifer and John had a fight and the paramedics are here.” I can only imagine how fast my mother hung up the phone and ran out the door.
When my sister returned, the ambulance was just leaving. She walked through the door as if nothing had happened. “What the hell happened?” She looked right at my father, and deciding to walk upstairs to her room without an answer. I had never seen her with such a guilty face until that day. My mother looked as if she was alone. “Thank you for being so responsible Jess. You did a very important thing today.” She refused to look my sister in the face. I could imagine what my mother’s eyes were saying. “This is our family and you are ripping it apart. You need to change. You need to grow up.” Sitting at the dinner table, my sister was full of shame and regret. Things were very quiet that evening. After that night, I tried to look the other way when my sister and parents were arguing. This family struggle continued for the next few years. I’ll remember all of this. I’ll remember all of these memories.”
My family went through hard times the next few years. When she was 15, my parents did one of the most difficult things they had ever done. My parents were talking to my sister’s Godparents.
“We really don’t know what to do anymore. She never listens to us. We were hoping that she could stay with you for a little bit this summer. We need a break.” Her godparents accepted saying that it would be “no problem.” I could see the pain and regret on my fathers face that things had escaladed to this.
During my freshman year of high school my sister and I shared the same school for the first time. Nearly all of my teachers knew who I was because of her, and needless to say it was not always a good thing. “Is it true she has been kicked out of the house? She has been in so many fights. I heard she was even kicked out of conflict mediation.”
My sister had always felt like the world was going to bow down to her every whim. Sneaking out, stealing, smoking on our schools field, and to no avail the world would protect her. Regardless of how many fights she was in “I’ll still graduate. I’ll still be alright.” No matter how many times she had been suspended for smoking “I’ll still graduate. I’ll still be alright.”
I believe the biggest block in her road happened during the summer before her senior year. It’s been such an infamous incident that most of my family refuses to ever bring it up. I recently asked my mother about it, from a brief memory I had. It was a typical night. “I’m going out. Bye.” At this point, my parents didn’t know how to react to her. About an hour later, I was upstairs and heard the phone ring. It was 10 PM at night. The call came from Bellevile Police. My sister had been picked up for being with some older kids who tried to steal from a liquor store. My father said “I’ll be right there.” I didn’t want to imagine the war zone when my sister got home. I went back to my room and tried to ignore the screaming that came from downstairs. I’m not sure what my parents could have said to her, but they must have meant it. Shortly after this incident she began to face the reality if she was kicked out, she was an adult. “I guess I’ve been putting you guys through a lot haven’t I? I’m sorry. This is who I am.” Things weren’t perfect. They still aren’t perfect. My parents have learned a lot about accommodation though.
I’ve never fully accepted the decisions my parents and my sister made during those years. In relevance, the decisions they made probably helped our family survive.
They have always been there for me when I need them to be. Because of this experience, they realized that I need my personal space and I also need parents. They realized that if they constantly pressure me for information about my life I will close them out of my life just as she did. Although my sister and I have very little in common, we still come from the same family.
When I was 10 years old my family was going through a difficult time. My grandfather had just recently passed away and my father was still an emotional wreck. He had not been working for the last several months, and my mother was paying most of our bills. My sister had just turned 13, and had begun to develop a less than appropriate temperament. She was constantly referred to as a rebel child. My parents had little assets to accommodate what was going on in their lives, much less to help my sister Jennifer.
My parents would be sitting at the dinning room table paying some bills. Jennifer would come down the stairs, “I’m going out. Bye” Before my parents could get two words out of their mouth, she was gone. Later that night, “John, did Jennifer say where she was going” my mother would ask. He would reply “No idea” as they both sat mindlessly in front of the television.
Originally I used to blame my sister for abusing my parent’s tolerance. After several months of my sister constantly breaking the rules my parents decided to try something new. My godparents had referred them to an organization called “Tough Love.” Every Tuesday night they would go to these “tough love” meetings. The goal was to control my sister through the advice of the people in the organization.
Often times I would imagine my parents at these meetings. I could see them sitting in a circle say, “Our names are John and Maryanne and we can’t control our daughter.”
Our routine would become so predictable.
Walking home from school at 3:30 in the afternoon, I would walk through the door and call my grandmother to tell her I was home. Every Tuesday my mother would walk in the door at 5 pm. “Hello? Jessica?” she would call when she entered the door knowing I’d be home. “What do you want for dinner?” I didn’t really have many options. I would usually have some sort of pasta. While I was finishing homework, my father would enter. At 5:45 we would have a brief dinner. “Jessica, how was your day?” My father would ask. “It was okay.” My social life never had much interaction. This was probably the only reason my parents had no issues with my adolescence.
For years, they would just refer to this place as “the group.” While I was growing up, my parents tried to ignore the seriousness of this situation with my sister. More amazingly, while my parents were at these meetings my sister was elsewhere. She often didn’t make it home before I fell asleep. I’m not sure whether they didn’t know she was out, or just didn’t know how to react to her.
My mother would kiss my forehead right before they left. “Don’t stay up too late Jess.” I would nod, and say goodnight. Later that night I would be watching Full house. I could imagine that being the perfect family. Nothing like mine. None of the kids would ever be left alone all night every Tuesday.
At times, I am still angry about what those years did to my family. I would come home from school expecting a war zone in progress. Sometimes I really wondered if I didn’t come home, would they even notice? Some days I would take the extra ten minute walk to my grandmother’s house instead. I could hear from the television room from when my grandmother would call my father.
“John, Jessica is over here. She walked here from school.” My grandmother was my stone during these years. She was still mourning the loss of her husband, and I was mourning the loss of security in my family. She would never pry me for information like my parents did. It was almost like clockwork. At 5 PM my mother would stop at my grandmothers after she got off of work. “Jess, it’s time to go home.” The three minute drive home was filled with silence. She would ask about school, and then I was in my room.
Coming downstairs for dinner, right before they would leave for the group every Tuesday night was always the same.
“But why do you guys need to keep going to the group? It’s not helping us.” I would plea with my parents. My father would respond, “That’s why we’re going. We need help. We don’t know how to fix this.” I would sigh, and whisper to myself “just leave us here. Doesn’t make a difference to you.”
During the first year that my parents had been attending “the group” we nearly had a meltdown. My father and sister were having a fight. Although no one can remember the exact reason for the fight, it was not exactly an uncommon occurrence.
“Just Leave Me Alone!” my sister would yell at my father. “This is my life and I can take care of myself.” My father has always been very passive. Trying to reason with my sister was as easy as knocking down a brick wall. She stormed down the stairs with my father directly behind her. He was breathing heavily. “I’m fed up with all of this.” Right as she finished saying that, she was gone. “Jess, Jess, go get my medicine. I can barely breathe.” I was scared. It was the most surreal thing I had ever seen happen to my father. “Here Dad, here’s your pills.” His eyes closed as I gave him the bottle. “DAD, DAD” I was screaming. I grabbed the phone and immediately called 911.
“911 Emergency. How can I help you?” the operator would say. “My dad was having trouble breathing and he’s not answering.” I remember the pace of my heart, which was pounding with fear. “The ambulance is on the way.”
The ambulance came immediately. When it pulled up, my neighbor came next door to see what was wrong. “Theresa, something happened to my dad. He and my sister had a big fight” I said. “Did you call your mother yet?” and I shook my head no. My neighbor had seen my sister and I grow up. She had always been there for us.
“Maryanne, you need to come home. Jennifer and John had a fight and the paramedics are here.” I can only imagine how fast my mother hung up the phone and ran out the door.
When my sister returned, the ambulance was just leaving. She walked through the door as if nothing had happened. “What the hell happened?” She looked right at my father, and deciding to walk upstairs to her room without an answer. I had never seen her with such a guilty face until that day. My mother looked as if she was alone. “Thank you for being so responsible Jess. You did a very important thing today.” She refused to look my sister in the face. I could imagine what my mother’s eyes were saying. “This is our family and you are ripping it apart. You need to change. You need to grow up.” Sitting at the dinner table, my sister was full of shame and regret. Things were very quiet that evening. After that night, I tried to look the other way when my sister and parents were arguing. This family struggle continued for the next few years. I’ll remember all of this. I’ll remember all of these memories.”
My family went through hard times the next few years. When she was 15, my parents did one of the most difficult things they had ever done. My parents were talking to my sister’s Godparents.
“We really don’t know what to do anymore. She never listens to us. We were hoping that she could stay with you for a little bit this summer. We need a break.” Her godparents accepted saying that it would be “no problem.” I could see the pain and regret on my fathers face that things had escaladed to this.
During my freshman year of high school my sister and I shared the same school for the first time. Nearly all of my teachers knew who I was because of her, and needless to say it was not always a good thing. “Is it true she has been kicked out of the house? She has been in so many fights. I heard she was even kicked out of conflict mediation.”
My sister had always felt like the world was going to bow down to her every whim. Sneaking out, stealing, smoking on our schools field, and to no avail the world would protect her. Regardless of how many fights she was in “I’ll still graduate. I’ll still be alright.” No matter how many times she had been suspended for smoking “I’ll still graduate. I’ll still be alright.”
I believe the biggest block in her road happened during the summer before her senior year. It’s been such an infamous incident that most of my family refuses to ever bring it up. I recently asked my mother about it, from a brief memory I had. It was a typical night. “I’m going out. Bye.” At this point, my parents didn’t know how to react to her. About an hour later, I was upstairs and heard the phone ring. It was 10 PM at night. The call came from Bellevile Police. My sister had been picked up for being with some older kids who tried to steal from a liquor store. My father said “I’ll be right there.” I didn’t want to imagine the war zone when my sister got home. I went back to my room and tried to ignore the screaming that came from downstairs. I’m not sure what my parents could have said to her, but they must have meant it. Shortly after this incident she began to face the reality if she was kicked out, she was an adult. “I guess I’ve been putting you guys through a lot haven’t I? I’m sorry. This is who I am.” Things weren’t perfect. They still aren’t perfect. My parents have learned a lot about accommodation though.
I’ve never fully accepted the decisions my parents and my sister made during those years. In relevance, the decisions they made probably helped our family survive.
They have always been there for me when I need them to be. Because of this experience, they realized that I need my personal space and I also need parents. They realized that if they constantly pressure me for information about my life I will close them out of my life just as she did. Although my sister and I have very little in common, we still come from the same family.
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