The idea behind project 2

My second project is about life and death but more importantly, it is about time. The time continuum has been broken within this text as well as the narrative.  The bases if the story is about my relationship between my grandmother and myself.  However the story starts  at her funeral.  This is a third personnstiry however the second person aspect is added by way of flash back scenes where the reader is put in the driver seat to feel the emotion I felt during other events in my life. The reall kicker is when you transition from the funeral to the death bed because the story is being told in reverse. This allows the reader to ease the pain.

Kathy Acker

•Kathy Acker
The Killers

•By Jason B. Crawford

•Kathy Acker

•Born: April 18, 1947
New York City, United States

•Playwright, Novelist and Essayist

•Wrote on Naïve Realism, Sex- Positive feminism, Post Modernism, etc.

•Died November 30, 1997 (Age 50)

•What is Naïve Realism?

•Naïve realism is the idea that we can display the images in head through text.

•We tend to have the believe that there is a word mirror between reality and what we think

•This is not true

•The Killers
Three Parts to One Story

1.The Conversation- With Bob Gluck and Kevin Killian about what book should Bob read. 

2.The Memory- About her childhood and meeting her cousin for the first time

3.The Dream- Searching for her father or any information about her father

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4.The Connection- Is the narrative

•Questioning Narrative: Rethinking Realism

•Other Notable Works

•Great Expectations (1983)

•Blood and Guts in High School (1984)

•Hannibal Lector My Father (1991)

•My Mother: Demonology (1994)

•Bodies Of Works: Essays (1996)

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The First Page of my project 1

: "Who's Daniel?" The crowd looked around, soft murmurs of contemplation filled the air. No one could answer the question. "I'm Daniel," I said as I raised my hand. "Are you ready to give your report?" Dr. Linda Schultz asked. "Yes", I replied, slightly hesitant, mostly nervous. I started walking towards the front of the class, staring at blank faces. They had no emotion, nor knew who I was. To them, I was the kid who sat in the back of their Gender and Sexuality 104 class, never spoke, not even a sound. No one knew I was even there. Today however, was report day and I had to give my report. This was the longest walk I've ever had, or at least it felt like it. My report was done and I was pretty proud of it. I rehearsed it at least a thousand times in my dorm. So why am I so nervous?

 I finally reached the front of the room. "You have 5 minutes to speak on your topic." She had a stopwatch in her hand, "the timer will start when you start to speak." My heart dropped, my feet melted into the floor as my mind froze. ‘Deep breaths Daniel,’ I had to remind myself, ‘deep breaths.’ I started to open my mouth, as I did the blank faces became visible. I could see the judgment from their eyes.  But how can you judge something or someone you don't know. They were and it was very evident.  My face became pale, the sound of the classroom dead silent. Or was it? I slowly looked around only to see snickering voices that I couldn't hear. "Daniel,” a faint voice started to fade in, “Daniel.” I looked over to Dr. Schultz. “Daniel, class is almost...” She looked at her watch, “over. Okay class we will start with Daniel’s report on Monday.” She turned to me, “Be ready next Monday or I will dock you points.” I hurried through the halls, covering my face of embarrassment. I dare not look them in the eyes. Even without looking at their eyes, I could feel the judgment in their glare. The kid who froze up in class, forgot how to speak. That idiot kid who for his lines, who dropped the ball. No, I couldn’t look my peers in the eyes. Funny thing is, the souls that stared at me were not even people in my class. These people had no idea of my stage fright or my humiliation form class, still I could feel them judging me. I kept my head down until I had completely escaped the campus, not even stopping at my dorm to see if my roommate was there.

 As I drug my feet across the busy streets of Downtown, I saw a man sitting in front of a building. His clothes tattered, his hair looked like unkempt ball of yarn that had been thrown in the bottom of grandma’s purse. He had a sign made out of  old, soggy cardboard that read, "Homeless- please spare food or change". His face looked depressing and lifeless.  This man had nothing. I dare not stop, he would beg me for money. Why not just get a job? Besides, I was already late meeting up with Mary Rose, no doubt in my mind she would be upset. I walked up to the jagged picket fence ready for the wrath of my girlfriend. The chime of her doorbell sent an unfamiliar chill down my spine. The door slowly creped open. "Sorry I'm late babe." I quickly started to explain. "You're fine." She replied her face neither mad nor sad. She looked tired, not physically but mentally, as if she had something on her mind that was killing her inside. Some kind of emotional turmoil that would not allow her to sleep. Her long black hair split at the ends, dyed once too many times, a mess not like the usual up kept and stylish way. Her nails often painted now bare, her skin seem dry. Mary, standing about five eight usually, today hunched over to a five-six or five-five. She sat on her couch lifeless, without makeup to hide her tired eyes. She wore a baggy sweatshirt I had never seen before, it looked used, a male size large. Most likely her dad’s, seeing he attended our school years before. It had a few grass stands from a possible football game from back in the day. 

so I creative writing major and this is my blog