Carissa's Corner

It is clear from Chapter 13 that there are several things that make a "good" essay: scene, specificity/detail, character, dialogue, point of view, image/metaphor, and rhythm. Looking through my previous writings, I believe I can specifically work on specificity/detail, character, and dialogue.  I've been afraid to use too much specificity/detail in my writings. There's a constant fear of drowning the reader in adjectives and descriptions. However, I liked the suggestion from the book to "keep going back and sharpening as much as possible" (167). It is easy to start out with many details and wean them down as I revise my longer essay. For an essay about Rome, I think it will be particularly important to include details. The city is incredibly rich with history and culture, and I must honor that aspect of my trip. Character is another part of writing that I can improve upon. Most of my writings are self-centered. This makes sense because I am describing storie...

My long essay will be about a five-week study abroad trip I attended in Rome, Italy, in the summer of 2018. Rome is synonymous with history -- which means I must conduct a lot of research. Several research methods from Tell It Slant caught my attention. The first research method is using library books. I learn better from hard-copy materials and am certain I can find a book on Rome at the Sacred Heart library. I could also utilize Internet searches; however, I find the Internet to be overwhelming in terms of data and prefer something simpler. It is essential to include historical information about Rome because it will make my essay more interesting as well as more accurate. It will show increase my credibility as a writer by being factual.  The book also describes ethnography as a form of research that examines cultures. By reading books from the library and researching online, I am conducting ethnographic research. Including information about the culture of Rome will strengthen my...

          Chapter 12 of Tell It Slant  will be incredibly helpful for my writing in this class. I've found myself writing a lot about my emotions, even in my obsession journal. Although this has felt therapeutic, and I like what I'm writing, I feel as if I'm focusing too much on my emotions rather than actual events. Tell It Slant succinctly showed me where I was going wrong and how to strengthen my creative nonfiction pieces. One phrase of advice I highlighted was, "You must know when you are ready to write about certain subjects and when you are not" (159). For some prompts, I originally wrote about entirely different subjects than I ended up sharing with the class. But when I read them back to myself, I felt it was too raw and too open. There is a boundary, being a creative nonfiction writer, between being real and being unbarred. Sharing emotional events that you have not healed from will result in an essay that doesn't have a complete message -- a...

When my stomach is in knots, you take the time to investigate it. it looks like it's...     Right over left.               Through the center.                         Left over right. When my stomach is in knots, you grab both ends of the thread gently.  I think I can...     Left over right.             Through the center.                     Right over left. And then the thread is just thread. And you are you. 

I'll remember this. We're on the train and my head is in your lap. I look up at you. Your eyes are following the buildings outside, the buildings hidden by the shadows of the night sky.  You look down at me. I'm not sure if you're smiling because your face is covered. But then your hand is in my hair and it suddenly doesn't matter. I take your other hand. I hold it up against the palm of mine.  I'll remember this.

In the middle of the Gianicolo Residence is a plum tree. Its roots interrupt the tiles laid onto the ground, like an octopus breaking out of the ocean, and its branches reach two stories high. The tree is alone, but it is happily growing, producing purple plums. Leaning casually against the tree is a makeshift pole with a net attached for students to pick the plums. When my friends and I would come back to Gianicolo, after a night of drinking and eating and laughing, we would take turns catching plums. The Italian resident assistants would saunter out of their rooms to yell at us for being too loud, but we just couldn't help ourselves. It was our nightly tradition, and how could you not laugh watching Dre and Emily drunkenly stab the pole into the tree? The plums were the perfect drunk-snack. They had a thin skin that broke easily against my teeth. The insides coated our mouths in juice. We joked that they would prevent hangovers because they were so hydrating. While we ate, we wou...

One section from  Tell It Slant that interested me was the subject of the memoir. Ever since I've read The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls in high school, I have loved the concept of the memoir (I distinctly remember loving and hating her parents, and admire how Walls' style of writing caused me to feel that way). I've written in other posts about how unique everyone's individual lives are, and how our own experiences shape our writings. Anyone can be a writer because everyone has a story to tell. It's been a goal of mine to write a memoir, which I think is obvious from my previous mini essays in this class. I tend to write about extremely personal and specific instances in my life. Miller and Paola write, "Memoir can heal, it can warn, and it can provide spiritual direction" (95). For me, it's been a goal to share my memories because I feel I've learned a lot from them, and I think this quote exemplifies the goal of teaching.  In terms of the samp...

My dad grew up in Hunterdon County, New Jersey, and will never leave. He always smells like Marlboros and wears flannels with holes in the sleeves. He has a fuzzy mustache and a bald spot on his head, hidden by Nascar racing hats. He spends most of his time in the garage working on his race cars. A retired race car driver turned mailman. When we were young, he loved to come to our sports games and scream from the stands. I remember him as tired but content. A great dad. My mom could not be more different. It's as if God wrote down every characteristic of my father and Googled the antonym. Nevertheless, she was also a great mom. With the energy of a teenager, she was prone to spontaneity and adventure. Always laughing, always dancing. She liked to come home with random pets that we never asked for, like birds and bearded dragons. A great mom.

Our backyard has been swallowed by the darkness. I wonder what monsters are out there, hiding in the woods. The boogeyman, Mom says the boogeyman is out there.  Peering out our large living room window, I can only see the moon and the stars. I find Orion's Belt in a heartbeat -- one, two, three sparkles in the sky -- and feel a child's pride at being able to see something that others cannot in cities with pollution and skylines.  There's a storm (I can tell by the heavy sounds of rain hitting the grass), which means we will lose power. I wonder how tall the creek will be tomorrow, if it will flood our road again. The little house on Brook Road never puts up a fight against the weather. She just gives in, says, all right, fine, you win! and then we spend hours in darkness. This is a child's nightmare; but not mine. I love when the power goes out because it means we will play The Thunder Game. My sisters and I run to my parent's room and sit on the bed. We're gigg...