This Must Be The Place Response

This series of videos makes me so excited to do the audio/visual piece!
I thought that the use of audio in these pieces was really expertly done.  The filmmakers did a great job of combining music, natural sounds, and speech to effectively tell a story.  I thought the audio in the Hill piece was particularly effective and I liked how at the beginning we heard the voice before we saw the speaker.  Like RadioLab, these pieces illustrate how powerful the voice of a subject can truly be.  Furthermore, the music made the transitions smoother and, overall, made the pieces more engaging and interesting.
The pacing of the four pieces is also something important to consider.  I think that with audiovisual the pace of a piece can afford to be slower than with just plain writing.  In Byun, for example, the filmmakers combine slow, long shots of the busy, cluttered room with more melodic music.  This effect works to make watchers less overwhelmed by the complete chaos of the artistic presentation.
However, while they work really well as audio/visual pieces, I have to wonder how well the text would work on its own.  As compelling at the text is, I do believe in these four videos the sounds and pictures are really quite complementary.  So complementary, in fact, that the text might seem a bit quite weak without them.  Thoughts?

The Most Dangerous Gamer Response

I loved this piece and thought it was a fascinating read despite being a "non-gamer."  I think Clark carefully crafts his narrative to speak to those of us who know nothing about gaming while simultaneously reaching out to a more informed gaming audience.  He does this, I think, by weaving historical narrative with contemporary story-telling techniques to create an easy-to-navigate profile that highlights both the game creator and his games.
I particularly loved Clark's in-depth descriptions of both Braid and The Witness and, with the help of the video, could really visualize how intellectually and creatively different Blow's approach to game creation really is.  I also enjoyed the background information about Blow.  Clark's looks into the past let us glimpse the child "computer nerd" and helped illustrate Blow's metamorphous into renowned video game creator.
One thing that I think comes across in this piece, however, is Clark's awe of Blow.  While in some ways this benefits the piece, such as in the ways he describes how his kind of work has never been done before, in other ways it hinders the piece.  Blow obviously has a troubled and somewhat dark past, yet Clark does not fully uncover it nor does he reveal the secret self that Blow has incorporated into Braid.  I was kind of hoping that Clark would dig up the dirt on Blow and talk, for example, to his estranged family members or figure out who this "princess" is and talk to her.

Final Draft- Personal Narrative

Intended Publication: NYT Lives

Title: Unexpected Acceptance

I awoke with a start.

The neon hands of the bedside clock glowed eerily into the darkness.  3:16am.  I rolled over and willed myself to fall back asleep.  It was no use.  Jetlag tugged me into consciousness and my mind began to race.

Goosebumps coated my skin as I pushed back the covers and shuffled into the kitchen of our small, three-person apartment to start a pot of tea.

It was cold for October in Morioka.  Any day now, we could expect a snow-capped Mount Iwate, my parents had recently said, both pointing to the impressive silhouette of Japan’s second largest volcano which was visible from our apartment window.

After my tea was ready, I poured myself a generous cup, allowing the steam to swirl around my face.  It reminded me of the onsen, or volcanic baths, we visited the day before.  I longed for the serenity of the baths now, sitting wide-awake in nervous anticipation of my first day at Morioka Dai-Ichikou high school.

I finished my tea quickly and despite the early hour, pulled on my starchy, blue uniform.  At seventeen, this was my first time wearing a uniform to school.  My parents said it would help me fit in with my classmates, but I was not too sure.  My broad-shouldered frame surpassed all Japanese female size charts, requiring me to order a specially tailored uniform blazer and my size ten feet forced me to visit the men’s section for uniform shoes.  Paired with my five-foot nine-inch stature, blonde hair, and blue eyes, I was sure “fitting in,” at least physically, was pretty much out of the question.   

However, fitting in was never my strong suit.

In elementary school, kids made fun of me for bringing rice balls for lunch instead of peanut butter sandwiches and thermoses of green tea instead of boxed JuicyJuice.  In later years, these same kids teased me for dressing up as a geisha for Halloween.

“Don’t you know that geishas aren’t prostitutes?!  They are respected!” I yelled, hurling handfuls of Reese’s Pieces at the jeerers.  They laughed. 

Life went on. 

By the time I reached high school, I began to think critically about my white, middle-class peers who taunted me and, by extension, the academic institution that we all attended.  I dreamed of breaking away from Wooster High School’s stifling, Republican landscape to expand my education.  My classmates’ interest in Prom and the latest Gossip Girl did little to hold my attention during those long years of high school.  That’s why, when my dad was offered a position with Earlham College as the Japan Study Abroad Coordinator in the fall of 2007, I was eager to go along.

But today, the reality of what I was getting into hit home: I had little means of communication and I was visibly different.  What was more, the oddities that my American peers had mocked growing up were not so odd in Japanese culture.  Almost overnight, my strangeness was normal and my normality could surely be considered strange. 

As I entered the schoolyard, on that first day of class, I straightened my blazer.  My heart pounded in my chest.

A kind-faced English teacher greeted me at the entrance the moment he saw my blonde head bobbing in a sea of black.  He guided me down a wide hallway to a door on the left.  He pushed it open and time seemed to stop. 

Thirty pairs of eyes instantly shifted from an early morning assignment to fixate on me.  I turned toward them mechanically, looking into the faces that looked intently into my own.

I mumbled some memorized lines in Japanese: Hajimemashite.  Alaina desu.  Dozo yoroshiku. Onegaishimasu.  Then, my cheeks as red as Kyoto cherry blossoms, I rushed to a desk toward the back where I sat in silence for the remainder of the morning classes.

All too soon, a tinny, unwelcome ring sounded throughout the room: the lunch bell, every new kid’s worst nightmare.  I pretended to look busy, intentionally adjusting and readjusting my materials in my new, navy blue satchel.  Slowly I looked up as a classmate approached. 

She stammered in broken English, “You…like… ‘High School Musical’?” 

In that instant, my two worlds collided with such force I was left breathless.

The white, middle-class brand I thought I was leaving behind had actually slinked along, following me like a shadow.  Here, in this Japanese classroom, I was that girl.

I wrestled momentarily with my response. 

Maybe I could be that girl, if just for the lunch hour. 

"I love 'High School Musical.'" I replied.

The girl smiled and beckoned me to join her and her friends. 

As I approached their table, I couldn't help but match her grin: the girls had all brought thermoses of green tea.

Reading Response, Week 4

This week's reading, "Telling True Stories," was a nice followup to last week's "Writing for Story."  I really enjoyed the collage of stories, tips, and experiences offered by this text and felt that they provided a more well rounded view of the story telling trade.  While Franklin's book covers a wide variety of topics and offers some extremely helpful advice, I preferred having the opinions of numerous notorious writers all in one place.  It was helpful for me to read entries by writers clamoring for one particular style or technique and having those essays immediately followed by opposing styles or techniques.  One example that stood out to me begins on page 39 with Anne Hull's "Being There."  Her advice on where to go, what places to visit, and how to be present as a reporter was very enlightening.  Not being religious, I wouldn't have thought to visit a church in the community that I am reporting on, for example.  However, reading Louise Kiernan's "Not Always Being There" directly after offered a nice juxtaposition and reminds us that reporters really have to use their gut to decide when we should intrude and when we shouldn't.

The reading in "Telling True Stories" gives helpful context when reflecting on the other short stories for this week, "Trina and Trina," by Nicole LeBlanc and "The American Man at Age 10," by Susan Orlean. While these two stories were both great fun to read, it's interesting to look at how different the pieces really are.  The writers tell their stories in such contrasting ways, with such different styles, characters, and voices.  The way each author choose to insert herself (or not) in specific scene also caught my attention.  When thinking about how to place myself in the profile we are writing next week, I think that it will be very helpful to revisit both of these stories.  

Profile Pitch

For my Narrative Journalism Profile I am proposing to write about my friend, Laura Bowers.  During her freshman year at Loyola Univeristy, Laura, a white-middle class girl from a suburb of Chicago, converted to Islam.  She now attends regular religious seminars, wears a hijab daily, and wants to become one of North America's first female Islamic scholars.  This girl, who I first met in Spain, who used to split beers and hotdogs with me on Barcelona boardwalks, now doesn't drink, doesn't eat pork, and doesn't date.  Everyday this white girl, who used to be at the top of American social hierarchy, now faces blatant racism and sexism.  People ask her if she's from Morocco, Jordan, and Lebanon.  She says, "No.  I'm from just outside of Chicago."  She has faced criticism from her white friends.  She has lost friends.  She has fought with her family.  She has been accepted by her family.  This girl is my best friend and there is a huge part of her life that I want to understand better.

While I don't exactly know where this story is going, I feel a story is just waiting to emerge.  Some potential points of conflict that I hope to address include:

1. Her decision to convert. WHY??
2. How did her decision change her relationship with her friends and family?
3. Racism.
4. Sexism.
5. What is her role in society?  How does it point to larger issues?
6. Why did she keep her conversion a secret?
7. What is my experience in relation to her conversion?
8. Why now?
9. Cultural/religious practices.
10. Stereotypes.
11. Education.          

Personal Narrative Outline

Final Outline-

Complication: Alaina seeks acceptance

Development:

            1. Anxiety encumbers Alaina

            2. Change troubles Alaina  

            3. Alaina embraces change

Resolution: Alaina finds acceptance

Rough Draft Outline-

Complication: Alaina seeks acceptance

Development:

            1. WHS suffocates Alaina

            2. Dissimilarities trouble Alaina

            3. Alaina welcomes change

Resolution: Alaina finds acceptance

Wonder Town Response

What really worked well in this piece is the author's use of description to make readers really feel the music.  His imagery and jarring details actually had me cringing in my seat in both disgust and awe.  I think Cam and Jordan are exactly right in saying that the author can effectively describe the music experience in non-music related terms.  Specifically, lines such as "The feeling was a little like being held hostage in a room with someone who refuses to turn on the lights," or, "... broken open garbage bags of noise ..." really grabbed my attention and gave me concrete images and sounds to hold onto.
While I think, ultimately, his audience is relatively specific, I don't think he alienates those of us who don't so readily identify with this type of music or music history.  He combines music fact with narrative to produce a cohesive, fairly easily-to-navigate piece of text.  I enjoyed learning about the history of this particular band, this genre, as well as the author's own experience of attending a Sonic Youth concert.
One of my concerns with this piece, however, is that toward the middle the author seemed to lose his authoritative voice.  Specifically, when he places himself into the narrative I felt like the tone of the piece switched from a polished, music savvy reporter writing a profile to more of an amateur, Sonic Youth groupie writing a concert review for a high school newspaper.  This switch in voice is really the part that confused me the most.  Did anyone else have a similar reaction or did the author seem to have a consistent, grounded voice throughout the entire piece?

Shooting an Elephant Response

For a text to be considered "creative non-fiction" it must, first and foremost, be factually sound.  While the author may shape the piece to read more like a work of fiction (hence the creative part of the name), the text's main objective is to inform its readers in a factually accurate manner.  George Orwell's "Shooting an Elephant" does just that.  Orwell combines fact with creative narrative to effectively tell a true story.  When reflecting on Ellen's questions (do we actually think Orwell shot the elephant and does it really matter) I believe yes, Orwell did shoot the animal and yes, it does matter.  

For me, breaching the rules of non-fiction by inventing a time, place, or event is comparable to breaking an academic honor code.  The breacher automatically loses the trust of those who are most important to their success (for students it is their professors, deans, and fellow students; for writers it is their editors and readers).  When an author loses the trust of his/her readers, it is almost impossible to gain it back.  

I can't help but think of the case of James Frey, author of the national bestseller "A Million Little Pieces."  Frey initially sold his story as true, gaining the respect and sympathy of millions of people.  It was later discovered, however, that not all of his story was actually factual, and his blatant dishonesty caused a major uproar across the nation. (Oprah even called him out on national television.)
As a reader who has been deceived, I believe it is incredibly important for writers to properly identify the genre of their writing and to remain faithful to it throughout the entirety of the text.  Though I suppose nobody can know for sure if Orwell really did shoot the elephant, I would like to believe that he honors himself, his work, and his readers enough to tell the truth.  

Emergence Response

Oops!  Accidently posted this on Emily's page and not on my own.  Here is my response to Emergence:

As someone who doesn't really listen to a lot of radio news, I found this piece quite interesting. One thing that really stood out to me is radio's capability to literally capture the voice of the interviewees. In some ways I think that hearing the voice of a source can effectively portray their emotion and depth of knowledge in ways that written journalism cannot.

I found that the sound effects generally significantly contributed to setting the scene and giving the piece audible context. However, it makes me wonder if this piece were scripted, how a writer would choose to capture those sounds with words. There were a few instances though, when I found the sounds to detract from the piece rather than add to it. At times they took the attention away from the speaker or were excessively played. (Specifically the repeated use of the word "coffee" or the singing around minute 45.)

The main question that I took away from the piece was, how does order assume from disorder? I think that the opening example of the fireflies was really great and provided a nice transition into the exploration of ants and bees. I also liked how the emergence of order from disorder was investigated in both natural and urban settings.

Since I believe that there are other in the class more radio savvy than I, I'm curious to hear everyone else's take on this piece and what exactly about was intriguing.  

Reading Response, Week 3

While reading "Chapter VI: Outlines" of Jon Franklin's Writing for Story, I had this strange sensation that the author was speaking directly to me.  A true fighter of outlining, Franklin seemed to call out my resistance as a measure of literary and, perhaps, intellectual weakness.  Initially offended by his pompous, cheeky declarations that all writers of merit from the last 500 years have used outlines, I found myself reconsidering his remarks once he gave some concrete, more relatable examples.  Personally, I identified with his example of a writer who sets out with a great idea but only a vague concept of where the story will actually go.  While it is easy going at first, soon the writer's progress slows, the details get confused, and the story line becomes muddled.  A stubborn writer might plow ahead for a few hundred words more, a smarter writer would realized they've been "spaghettied."  I definitely have been "spaghettied" uncountable times.

Looking back, I really do appreciate how Franklin addressed the problem of outlining.  I think he acknowledges outlining as a very basic, yet frequent problem that seems to stump young writers.  Specifically for me, outlines always seemed so daunting.  The student examples that Franklin provides, however, illustrate that outlines don't necessarily need to be complex, just well thought out.

Finally, I found this section particularly helpful and relevant in light of our Personal Narrative workshops last week.  Many of us, myself included, had problems discerning the true focus of our pieces.  We tended to start telling the story in one place, then ending up somewhere completely different.  I think we can definitely apply some of Franklin's outlining theory to our future work in this class.  By thinking through our stories ahead of time and determining what exactly we want our readers to come away with, it will make the whole writing process a lot easier.

Questions to consider:

1. Did you find Franklin's authoritative voice commanding and reassuring or disheartening and stressful?  Did he ever provoke an emotional response in you?  If so, when and what was the response? My own feelings toward him seemed to fluctuate depending on how much I related with the different topics that he addressed.

2. In the section titled "The Moment of Truth" located in Chapter VII: Structuring the Rough, Franklin swears that if a writer begins his or her story at the end, working backward to fill in the transitory and preparatory narrative, it will be a hundred times easier to write.  Have any of you ever written a story from back to front?  If so, do you find Franklin to be right?  If not, is this a tactic you are willing to try?  Why or why not?

3. This book was first published in 1986.  Do you find aspects of it outdated or irrelevant to what we know about writing for story today?  Or, are the author's points so classic and concrete that they have, in a sense, become timeless?

CYOA- Alaina and Julia

Here is our CYOA article, a profile on Jacob Zuma.

As you read this piece, consider these points:

-Does the structure work?  For example, what do you think of the lede?  How does the writer balance description with fact?  Is it easy to navigate and does it flow?

-Pay attention to the sources the writer uses in this article.  Is it well researched?  Who else should the writer have interviewed?

-How is the information presented?  What does it highlight about Zuma?  Does it give us more insight/understanding about him as a person?  As a ruler?  What does it reveal about South Africa and it's people as a whole?

-Does the author's language/stance affect how we, as readers, view Zuma and, by association, South Africa?

We look forward to your thoughts and to the discussion on Wednesday!

Process Writing- Personal Narrative

When I saw on the syllabus that our first Narrative Journalism assignment was to write a personal narrative, I expected to just coast on through.  I've always found writing about myself to be relatively easy and enjoyable and I anticipated that this essay would be no different.  Well I was wrong.  This assignment actually really perplexed me.  One of the most difficult parts was trying to pinpoint a "pivotal" moment in my life that I could recount in a short, 900-word narrative.  Even though I have had numerous turning points or Ah-ha! moments growing up, most of those moments were the product of a series of events, not just one, some even spanning months or years.  I finally decided to focus on my time in Japan after talking to my parents last weekend.  I told them about the assignment and my mom suggested that I talk about my first day of school in Japan.  After giving the essay and this particular topic some thought, I realized that she had a point.  Going to Japan at age seventeen truly marked a pivotal point in my life.  For the first time, I was immersed in a culture, language, and race different from my own.  All of the anxiety I felt (and still feel whenever I travel) could really be captured by my first day of school.  The idea of wearing a uniform and being "the same" as everyone else while simultaneously being acutely different also really intrigued me.  While I am glad that I chose this topic and decided to explore and reflect on such an important time in my life, I think my piece still has a ways to go.  Specifically, I would like to experiment with Julia's suggestion of slowing down time when I enter the classroom.  I think it would be really interesting to add in some more sensory images, detailing what I saw, heard, smelled, etc...  After the stress of deciding a topic melted away, I found myself to really enjoy writing this essay.  I am looking forward to delving deeper into this piece and play around with all the great suggestions made by my classmates.   

First Draft- Personal Narrative

Intended publication: NYT Lives

Title: TBA

I AM TRYING to relax.  I take a deep breath and then another, wishing my pulse to slow.  Onsens are a place for relaxation after all; a place where many Japanese flock to on the weekends to wash away the grime of the workweek, to soak their bodies in semi-scalding volcanic water, to turn soft and pruned, and to allow their thoughts of the looming Monday to evaporate along with the swirling steam.   

But my mind will not rest.  I feel nervous and exposed, two sensations that have surprisingly little to do with sitting completely naked in an outdoor hot spring next to several elderly Japanese women, one of whom keeps flashing me a crinkly, toothless grin.  The women appear perfectly at ease; each in a deep recline with their lined faces tilted toward the sky, their breasts peeping out of the water as it gently ebbs and flows.

Tomorrow is my first day of school at Morioka Dai-Ichikou high school in Morioka, Japan and I am terrified. 

The toothless woman senses my angst, I think.  She gives me a sly smile then slowly raises a dripping finger to the sky.  Snow.  It was coming down softly, dancing sweetly around my face before being swallowed by the heat of the hot spring.   

*            *            *            *             *

 

First Day of School in Morioka, Japan

The next morning I rise early.  Goosebumps coat my skin on this cool October day and I dress quickly in the uniform I had laid out the night before.  At seventeen, this is my first time wearing a uniform to school.  My parents say that it will help me to fit in with my classmates, but I am not too sure.  My broad-shouldered frame surpassed all Japanese female size charts, requiring me to get a specially tailored uniform blazer and my size 10 feet forced me to visit the men’s section for uniform shoes.  Paired with my five-foot nine-inch stature, blonde hair, and blue eyes, I am sure “fitting in,” at least physically, is pretty much out of the question.    

Secretly, I think my parents want to stir the pot of comfort a bit.  They want to break up the monotony of the white, small town life I had lived so far and give me the opportunity to reconnect with the country when I was born.  When my dad was offered a position with Earlham College as the Japan Study Abroad Coordinator in the fall of 2007, both of my parents encouraged me to think about accompanying him and spending part of my senior year of high school there.  I eagerly agreed.  But today, on the first day of school, that eagerness is replaced by anxiety.  My knowledge of the Japanese language consists of a toothbrush song my mom sang to me when I was little and a few words I had picked up from Hayao Miyazaki’s “My Nieghbor Totoro.”  I have little means of communication and I am visibly different.          

On the way to school, my parents jabber back and forth giving me a condensed lesson in proper Japanese social codes, rules, and norms. “Remember,” says my mom, “when you change from your street shoes into your school shoes, don’t let your socked foot touch the floor.”  “When you’re eating lunch,” my dad chimes in, “never point your chopsticks directly at anyone.”  “When a teacher enters the room,” my mom adds, “make sure you stand up, bow, and welcome him into the classroom along with the rest of your peers.”  As I enter the schoolyard, I cling to these scraps of advice for dear life. 

My introduction to my class, however, is quick and relatively painless.  I stand at the front of the room, towering over a kind, English-speaking teacher, and say a few memorized lines in Japanese.  Hajimemashite.  Alaina desu.  Dozo yoroshiku. Onegaishimasu.  To my surprise, the class breaks into applause and I feel myself turning as red as a Kyoto cherry blossom.  I rush to an empty seat near the back of the classroom and will the teacher to begin the lesson.  He does, but throughout the remainder of the morning classes, eyes from around the room are drawn to the back corner when I am sitting, quickly darting forward again when I try to make eye contact.  Could any of these be eyes of a friend? I wonder. 

Just as I begin to feel slightly more comfortable in my seat in the farthest corner, the lunch bells rings.  The lunch bell- every new kid’s worst nightmare.  I pretend to look busy, intentionally taking too much time to put away my class materials, adjusting and readjusting them in my new, navy blue satchel.  When it seems like I can no longer switch the location of my eraser from the back pocket to the front pocket one more time without looking like a total weirdo, I look up hopeful, searching for the friendly face of someone who wants to have lunch together. 

I smile shyly as one of my classmates approaches me.  She is a slight girl, with long dark hair that she sweeps gracefully over one shoulder and a smile that seems to stretch across her entire face.  In broken English she stammers, “You…like… ‘High School Musical’?”  At that moment, I automatically love “High School Musical”.  I would have loved anything that could help bridge the gap between my classmates and me.  I nod enthusiastically and she beckons me to join her and some other girls for lunch.  “I… am… Asako,” she says.  The other girls all smile when I approach them with Asako.  They chatter back and forth in fast Japanese until someone gets up the courage to say something to me in English.  Everything seems to be “High School Musical” related.  “You… like...Zac…Efron?”  “You…know…dance?”  I quickly weigh the pros and cons of confessing that I do, in fact, know some of the dances from the movie.  I decide it is safer to say that I don’t.  Asako jumps up.  “I…teach…you!”  she exclaims and immediately pulls out some stellar moves while singing “We’re All In This Together.”  Before I know it, I am laughing.  We are laughing; these Japanese girls and I are laughing together.  Coming from different cultures and unable to speak the same language, somehow we have found common ground.  In this moment I know that the rest of my first day—and perhaps the rest of my time in Morioka—will be okay.