Final Workshop Reflection.

I never knew that creative writing was a thing but it is nice doing your own thing in writing. I am used to journaling every day, I write about my day, my feelings, new experiences and my favorite, jotting down quotes I come up with. I have written creative nonfiction before but this course was different for me because topics were given to me which allowed me to start somewhere. One of the most difficult part of creative nonfiction for me is having a good start and ending. Wrapping up is always a struggle for me because highlighting the entire story once more does not do the job, I feel like it should have some sort of thesis.

There were so many great readings in class. My favorite had to be “In Cold Blood” by Truman Capote. This was one of the first readings we did and it stuck with me because the story itself is pretty fascinating. This reading was one of the best description pieces we read in class, in my opinion. I enjoyed the first fifteen pages so much I bought the book and can not wait to finish it so I can watch the movie afterwards.

My favorite piece of writing of my own was my description piece of a concert. I enjoyed seeing how fun it is to analyze a moment in your life and bring it to life in your writing. It gave me a mind of creativity. My piece was called “Forest Hill Drive 2015“which was the name of the tour:

“The beginning of our cab ride was like any other cab ride with girls sitting in the back, a photoshoot. Flashes are going off from the right and left side, the hot summer wind coming in from all four windows, hairs are blowing, laughter is being shared with a soft scream because our hair is getting stuck to our lips from all the lip gloss and then it stopped. The cab driver initiated a conversation asking us who was at the garden, “J Cole. He’s my favorite rapper.” With nothing else being said the cab driver picked up his pace and started to drive faster.”

Although this was fun and I would love to attend more concerts and write a good experience that would make other people want to go, I am not sure what type of journalism I want to do. I like writing with no rules because I want to stay true to myself and belief.

Responding to a piece of literary journalism

When Mom Steals From Her Kid
http://www.narrative.ly/mommy-dearest/when-mom-steals-from-her-kid-2/

What really grabbed my attention to read this piece of literary journalism was the intro which was "One of the hardest things about being a seven-year-old with a drug-addicted mother was realizing why everything from piles of pennies to my most prized possessions slowly went missing." This entire post is about a girl who is most likely older now, remembering the times when her mother would steal from her when she was younger. Their life does not seem great as Laura (the young girl) describes her living conditions which did not seem safe at all. I think its amazing being able to see the life of someone who has to deal with their parent being a drug addict when they are the ones who are completely sane. Its also sad to know that things like this actually exists. I only seen such terrible scenes in a movie which is why I think the writer chose to write about this to bring awareness. The writer is the character. One quote I enjoyed reading was "Later on that night, my stepfather sidled into my room after bedtime, after my mother gave me a stiff “goodnight” and refused to read me a bedtime story because she was “too tired.” " I was pretty impressed seeing that her six year old self was able to acknowledge pettiness from her mother who didn't read her a book because she didn't give her her ten dollars that she has earned. I really enjoy the dialogue shared in this piece and description which makes this profile good. 

Planning an Interview for a 'personal profile'

As I think about the interview I will have to encounter I think about the type of people I would like to learn about. I know many of my classmates will interview some sort of artsy person and I want to set my writing apart. I don't want to learn about someone's struggle, Id like to learn about someone's happiness. As I think of "happy" I cant help but have my six year old niece in mind. She's so free, happy and funny. My niece lives with me and as much as I would like to think that I really know her, I don't know who she is in school. I want to know her future plans  and goals. I want to ask her where she sees herself a few years from now, how she thinks shell look, what would she like to be when she grows up and more depending on her answers questions can take a turn.

          Four days ago my husband and I finally settled in our new apartment. We moved in a month ago but we just finished unpacking every box and throwing out all of our garbage because I am very, lazy like my cat. After all the cleaning my back started to hurt from picking up boxes and not lifting with my legs like my husband would tell me to do but he wasn't there to remind me. I was exhausted and ready to lay in bed and call it a night. Roger came home from work with a bouquet of flowers (he knows how much I love flowers) and gave me a kiss hello. I told him I'd wait for him to get in bed with me. I loved our talks at night which started at exactly seven o'clock. We spoke about our day at work, work gossip and what we still wanted for our future together. I always thought moving in with your spouse was the ultimate idea for the future but it doesn't end there. "I'm excited for the house warming party" "I know we had everyone waiting for a month to come see our place" "I'm just embarrassed that we don't have any furniture, our family would start to think that we need help and I don't want any" "we'll be fine babe, lets take it a day at a time. how was work?" "work is work, I was more excited to leave work to get new shoes" "that's where our furniture money is going."

         The next day I headed to work, I wasn't excited but I had no other option. "Hey Grace!" "Good morning Linda, like my new shoes?" "love! when is your house warming party again?" "Friday." I dreaded for five o'clock to come around so I can punch out of work and head to a furniture store but it was only eleven. I decided to do work and file papers for my boss, the time started to pass by quicker and then it stopped when I got a paper cut. I went to the bathroom to run water on my finger and put a band-aid over it. I went back to filing and my hands started to get sweaty which made my paper cut sting. I decided I needed to take a break and eat. I went out for lunch and passed by the furniture store. I picked up some books that I knew Roger would enjoy. On my way to check out I saw a blanket with flowers and I thought how pretty, Ill come back for it. I was back at work and the time went by fast now and before I knew it it was time to punch out.

          I went back to the furniture store on my way home and decided to get the blanket I saw. I walked over to the blanket and the closer I got to it it became bigger, it turned out to be a couch and I loved it! "Oh the pattern of these flowers are beautiful! how much is it?" "its four hundred dollars mam" "oh I cant afford that." I was so sad, this would make my home a home. I left on a sad note and got home. I waited for Roger as I cooked dinner and spoke on the phone with Linda. The conversation didn't last long because the extension cord only reached the fridge and my stove was further then that. "Hey babe it smells good" "Hey my love, dinner is ready." We sat down to eat and spoke about our day "oh babe I saw this amazing couch on the corner of North 7 and Berry street. It had flowers on it but its too expensive" "how much is it?" "four hundred dollars."

         Two days had gone by and I dreaded the house warming party. "Bye Grace I'll see you tonight at your place" "that's right, see you Linda." I walked slowly back home thinking of what to cook, what to wear, is the house clean, how I don't have furniture. I got to my door steps and Roger came out the front door, "put these on." He handed me a blind fold, "what's going on?" "just put them on." Roger guided me into our home, I was actually surprised at the fact that I didn't know my house well enough to walk alone without guidance. "Okay take them off" "OH MY GOD! THE COUCH!" I threw myself on the couch with a big smile on my face and Roger took a picture. "OH babe! Thank you so so much" "your welcome babe" "this house warming is going to be the best because of you."

Reading Description

I read a lot of books, essays and articles, some make me laugh and majority of the time I can not stop reading because it is interesting and I have to know what's going to happen next. Unlike anything I've read, "Inherit the Earth The Things They Carried" by Demetria Martinez made me cry! Demetria spoke about what it is like crossing the U.S.-Mexico border. She starts off  her essay describing the heat in Arizona by saying "The Arizona sun is melting like a pat of butter on the mountain that flanks Tucson's west side." As I kept reading I realized how important this information was. She continues to explain how every Thursday night people have gathered in El Tiradito to remember those who have suffered death trying to cross the border. Yolanda Gonzales was a mother who died; she gave up her last drops of water from her plastic jug into her daughter's bottle. This was such a heart warming thing to read because although I am not a mother, I understood the struggle the parents had to sacrifice through this journey. People who were crossing the border carried things with them to help them a long the way such an empty plastic jug to get water from water stations and used AeroMexico tickets. My assumption to the used AeroMexico was the same as Demetria Martinez which was that people had that on them so if they died along the way they were able to identify them. An installation put together by Maeve Hickey called "Lost and Found: Remnants of a Desert Passage" selected items that were collected by Human Birder volunteers on their trips to haul water to the water stations. One of the items were a "babys cowboy boots with silver tips." This made me sad thinking that there was a baby who was walking barefoot burning its foot from the sun. I learned the risks people took trying to cross the boarder like arranging for rides from people they probably they don't know. The chance of this person getting robbed and being dropped somewhere they don't know or even getting picked up by someone who could be an undercover police is so high and dangerous. I believed Demetria Martinez when she said "Unconsecrated ground. Reflecting on those words, I can't help but see our border, la frontera: a militarized zone, a killing field. I think of the fourteen men who died recently in triple-digit heat -- abandoned by their smuggler, abandoned by a gluttonous nation that craved cheap labor but detests the laborer." I developed a sense of what this is like because I pictured a picture in my mind with people crossing the board getting killed inches away from their dream. Demetria Martinez didn't use much simile or metaphor to describe places, she was original and was real precise with her details. I really enjoyed this reading especially since it made me feel a way I never felt as a reader. I chose this essay because it reminded me of the stories my father told me about his crossing over the border from Guatemala and it hit close to home and I can not help but respect her words.

Welcome to My Blog

  I am just another girl in Brooklyn whose dream and aspirations are as big as Burj Khalifa. Like many people who struggle to define their-self and figure out their present and future, it took me quite some time to acknowledge that I did not want to be an Early Childhood Educational Teacher. Sure enough I realized how therapeutic writing is for me and how much I would enjoy writing for the rest of my life.  I came across Journalism in a Google tab and became extremely excited as I learned more about the field, I knew I had to change my major immediately, so I did. My career goals as a journalist is to become a well-known writer as a columnist and publish fiction books. I write religiously in my journal every night. My journal pieces contain a lot of feelings, new experiences and all of my thoughts on “news.” Occasionally I will write a poem when I find beauty in a struggle or when I am Zen. I am taking my first creative writing class at LaGuardia and I liked being introduced to Truman Capote and his book “In Cold Blood.” To me, creative non-fiction is a style of writing that paints the picture for you and is real.