Response to Carrie

"Learning to Let Go" is a memoir about when Carrie hit her head while attempting to rope-swing into a lake. Through the help of her friends and family she is able to overcome her ordeal and proceed to move off to college. Through this experience Carrie learns to ultimately let go of things that scare her, including her upcoming college experience.

I liked how the title could have multiple meanings: learning to let go of the rope-swing and learning to let go of life and home by moving to college. It's obvious Carrie is very close to her family, something I can relate with, and she does a good job of describing this closeness through explaining how she used to hate going to sixth grade and looked forward to seeing her mom when she got home in the afternoon. I also liked how you explained your friends in the story without going into too much detail. They didn't really need to be fully developed, but they were developed enough that they weren't boring (for example, including facts about your friends such as one didn't like to see vomit and another had a fear of ambulances were nice additions to your story).

As for suggestions, I would like to know what you hit your head on. I guess explain a little more clearly where you landed when you fell. Did you swing out into the water and didn't let go until it was pulling you back to shore, or did you let go before the swing had even reached the water? Also the transition between eating grapes and having a seizure was a little rocky to me, because I wasn't exactly sure where you were when you had the seizure. I think including whether or not you're afraid of getting in the water now would be interesting, because I'm sure that's an event you recall every time you're around water.

On a side note, I hope it didn't work out with Jack because anyone who would leave on a jet ski like that and then ask you if they were "still hot" after you had a seizure sounds like an ass to me, haha

Response to Leslie

"Five of Me" describes Leslie's parents' struggle as they try to expand their family of three to a family of four (or more) through a series of drugs used to help couples become pregnant. This memoir is important to Leslie because until she was 8 years old, she didn't know the complications her parents faced trying to conceive her.

Because you weren't able to witness everything that happened first hand, you had to explain what you "thought" was going on, and I think you did this in really well. I especially liked the part where you told readers that your dad hated seeing someone put an earring in, yet he was responsible for injecting your mother with a needle, an experience that was probably really difficult for him. I also liked that you took the time to find out the exact names of the pills and treatment your mother took to help her achieve pregnancy; this made the writing very clear and prevented readers from getting the different medications confused with one another. In addition, you did a good job of explaining your parents desperation for another child, showing they would go to as many lengths as possible to achieve their dream. I liked that you included the price of In Vitro fertilization in the story too, because I didn't realize how expensive the procedure was, and if you hadn't included it I would have wondered why your parents didn't try that option.

As for revisions, I would like to see a little more of your brother in the story: did he want a sibling? how did he feel when he found out your parents were expecting? Also I would like to see how your parents felt once they found out they were pregnant: did your mom take extra precautions during her pregnancy because she was afraid she might lose you? was your dad overprotective of you once you were born? Just getting more an idea of their emotions once they found out would be a good addition to the story. I guess what I'm basically trying to say is expand the ending a little more.

Overall, great job though! :)

Non-Fiction Class Exercise

When I was in the fifth grade, I became best friends with Allie. We played on the same basketball team together, went to the same after-school program and loved McDonald’s--it was an ideal friendship. We stayed friends into our middle school years, too. One Saturday in seventh grade after I had stayed the night over at Allie’s, her family had an emergency. I needed to leave so her family could ride over to the hospital. My mother was out of town at my sister’s dance competition, and my dad was at work, so I called my grandmother to come pick me up from Allie’s house. I was surprised when my grandmother refused. “I’m sorry sweetie but I can’t drive over to that house with those people,” I remember her saying defiantly. Eventually I was able to get my great-aunt to come pick me up, but the phone conversation I’d had with grandmother still lingered in the back of my mind. 

 I decided not to ask any questions until my mother got home from the competition. “Mom,” I asked, walking into her bedroom later that night, “why does Grandma hate Allie’s family?” My mother turned away from the dresser she’d been placing clothing into and faced me, her brows furrowed. 

“I don’t know if your Grandmother would appreciate me telling you this or not,” she said. She ran her fingers through her brown hair, something she always did when she was nervous. Now, I had to know. 

“I won’t tell anyone,” I said, my eyes growing wider as I attempted a look of innocence. I walked further into the bedroom and said down at the end of her bed, anticipating the story. 

“Well,” my mother said, taking a seat beside me on the bed, “when I was a little girl, your grandfather cheated on your grandmother with Allie’s mom.” I was still had not gotten over the shock of this statement when she continued, “Allie’s mom had a baby not long after, and while she claimed it was her husbands, it looked remarkably like your grandfather.” 

I’d only seen Allie’s brother a few times; Allie’s parents had been a lot older when Allie was born, so her brother was already married and living in another state when Allie and I met. Still, I couldn’t believe I had never noticed the resemblance the times I had seen him.

“I swear I won’t tell,” I said, my eyes wide again, this time with shock. I never mentioned the conversation my mother and I had again to anyone, especially my grandmother. I couldn’t believe that of all people I could’ve been friends with, I chose my unknown half-uncle’s sister! Small towns always harbor a lot of secrets, but I never imagined my family shared in a part of that. 

Personal to Abstract

Ballerinas in pink slippers, Dancing With the Stars contestants and Step It Up movies are a few things that might come to mind when one hears the word “dance.” Traced back as far as 3000 B.C., dance has played a significant role in society. Even the Bible mentions the art; Ecclesiastes 3:4 reads “a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.” While it can be argued that watching dancing is enjoyable, actually engaging in dancing always leads one to ask the question: can I dance or not?

A young girl watching a ballet for the first time might be captivated by the dancers fluid motions. As the dancer spins gracefully on the dark stage, she keeps her composure and seems oblivious to the hundreds of eyes watching her every motion. As she finishes her final turn, she ends the sequence with a slight bow as the audience rises to their feet in applause. She’s free and she’s more than an artist: she’s art itself.

When I was younger, I fell in love with ballets such as The Nutcracker and Swan Lake. I dreamed of perfecting pirouettes and leaping across the stage; I would spin around aimlessly in my living room, unaware that I looked nothing like the girls on stage. 

My 10th grade year of high school, I tried out for my school’s dance team. Since the sponsor’s daughter, who was also trying out, scored the lowest out of all those who auditioned, it was decided everyone who tried out would be let on the team. This team was far from Swan Lake. I quickly learned, and everyone else pointed out, that I could not keep beat to save my life. During dances I was either a beat ahead or behind, which threw off the synchronization of the entire performance. 

Another girl on the team bullied me and constantly complained about my inadequate dancing to the point that I went home from many practices in tears. I used to be awed by dancing, and now I dreaded going to practice. Did I miss a footnote in the Bible where “a time to dance” actually meant to be read “a time to dance (only if you’re talented)”? Sure the ballerina in The Nutcracker had talent, but did she dance because she had talent or because she loved dancing?

No, I wasn’t a good dancer. Many people, I’ve learned, are not. But I don’t think the point of dancing was to ever impress someone; besides, that’s objective anyway. Maybe those dancers in 3000 B.C. danced, well, for fun. This made me question what else in my life I’ve sacrificed because of others opinions. How much happiness do we let go out of fear of being imperfect? It’s been almost three years since I graduated high school, and I doubt anyone I graduated with remembers if I was a beat off during the half-time dance. Let go of the insecurities, and dance if you want.. even if you can’t. Because at the end of the day, it’s not about being an artist or a perfect ten, it’s about being happy.

Kelly Carlisle Response

When I first read this, I couldn't help but think that it seemed like something out of a movie: a woman grows up thinking her mother died in a car crash, but later she discovers it was something much more complicated. I feel Carlisle did a great job of guiding readers through her story. Kelly's desire to know more about her mother is realistic, and I was rooting for her to find answers.

I found myself feeling sorry for Kelly. What must it be like, I wondered, to grow up not knowing anything about your parents? How would it be for years to believe your mother died in a car crash, only to discover she was actually murdered? While I understand it might have been inappropriate to tell a young child that her mother was murdered, I don't think sheltering her with a lie was the best idea either.

I thought Kelly handled discovering her mother was a prostitute fairly well.. I don't think it deterred her from wanting to feel some connection with her mother. I think it was brave of Kelly to describe her mother as she was found: spread-eagle with the beer can next to her foot. She could've glossed over a lot of the graphic details, yet she decided to go with the truth, which I found to be a bold move on her part. As a writer, she had the ability to glamorize her mothers murder, yet she used what really happened to evoke emotion in the reader and show she wasn't ashamed of her mother's circumstances.

I wish Kelly would've learned more about her mother at the end of this story; however, that sort of ending seems to be reserved for a fiction work, so I probably shouldn't have been expecting that everything to work out...because obviously life doesn't always work out that way.

Annie Dillard "Living Like Weasels"

In "Living Like Weasels" the speaker uses her run-in with a weasel as a metaphor for life. The speaker and the weasel share a moment where the speaker says, "I think I retrieved my brain from the weasel's brain, and tried to memorize what I was seeing." The speaker seems to envy the weasel's animal instincts and asks the question "could humans live in such a way?" According to the speaker, yes, humans can. I love how the speaker compares the way a weasel kills its prey to humans finding their passion in life. Like the weasel finding the perfect spot in its preys' neck to strike, humans need to "stalk your calling in a certain skilled and supple way, to locate the most tender and live spot and plug into that pulse." The last paragraph of this piece really stuck out to me. As humans, we are all going to die no matter how we choose to live; however, if we find our "necessity" in life and truly grasp onto it, not even death can separate us from it. I found this to mean that by thoroughly connecting ourselves to our necessity, we have the opportunity to be remembered after death.

Response to Carson

“For the Family in the Car Passing By” is about Earl and Crystal and their three children and pet dog. For Christmas, the mom, Crystal, is gifted a kitten from her brother, much to Earl’s distaste. Earl makes comments throughout the story about getting rid of the cat, but when the cat is hit by a car at the end of the story, Earl is surprised at the feelings he experiences before he has to shoot the cat. 

I think this story does a good job of depicting an “average” middle-class family. They go through everyday life: burning toast, going hunting and taking family photographs. The family photograph scene was my favorite, because it showed the family uniting together to get the photo and shopping for their upcoming family Christmas dinner. Adding the coupon was a nice touch, too. The part of the story where the family cleans the house reminded me a lot of my family when we have  people over; everyone is trying to make the house look its best. I also liked how Earl went from being indifferent towards the cat to actually caring about it when he needed to shot it. I think that shows a positive change in Earl and shows he is more than some tough guy that goes hunting. 

There were a lot of characters in this piece for it to be so short. I know you need to include everyone in the family, but the way the characters were introduced was a little overwhelming to me. The start of the story had me slightly confused, but it got back on track when the backstory of the family getting the cat started taking place. Earl is the only character in the story that seems to go through a change, which isn’t bad, but since the family itself is the main character of this piece, I think the family should have gone through something together. Maybe have a new family picture made with the cat before it dies? I’m not sure exactly what I would change.