ivycreativewriting

[ivycreativewriting]

Eportfolio notes

[ivycreativewriting]

Final Project

[ivycreativewriting]

Final Project

“The Code”: a Short Found Poetry Collection

Page 1:

Shows full life Observations, deeply felt. Style, change, timeless connection Passion serves as president. The journey of the extra limits Authentic Inquirer.

Page 2:

This beloved July-September I miss my expression to you…

Page 3:

It’s collateral damage - showing control Fortunately, the abyss got Stronger. I share words I still see, birthed after pain Our choices need to stop Suffering.

Page 4:

Stand up. Everything you desire - Unveiled to the world This sacred wish, deep root… Wisely forgotten. “Untie” from maturity Discover strength a place… The truth is outside. Answers. Questions. Look.

Page 5:

Truth, a book. Read. Course on “knowing your value.” Majestic power is to feel Unlocking your Code. Search inside of you Principles remind what matters, meaning… what unites Ancient yet modern

Page 6:

Personal woman challenges her core. We all want to be.

Page 7:

Your key. Beautiful light and rainbows matter Doubt Criticize Waste. You have forever of moments Sapphire Sun Wild Ones

Timeless struggle Who you are... Who you are not... Okay.

[ivycreativewriting]

Digital Animation Story Outline

Stop Motion Short Story “Clique” Scene 1: A girl walks into school by herself on the first day. Girl = a drawing or paper cut-out for stop motion effect Props = open green gate doors of OLP The sky is a nice shade of yellow and pink for an early sunrise. Sky = watercolor or painted color background The girl has an eager smile on her face as she walks into school and sees a large group of other girls. Her hand is outstretched and shaped like a key. Group of girls = also paper cut-outs Key for hand = an ancient-looking key, with an embroidered body Props = two paper cut-out green tables next to the girl group to symbolize upper plaza Scene 2: As the girl gets closer, she realizes that each girl in the large group also has outstretched hands that are either shaped into a key or into a lock. Other keys & locks = differently shaped; less extravagant/special as main girl’s key The group consists of about four pairs of girls, each pair matched up perfectly, shaking hands with their coinciding key or lock. Girl pairs = at this point in the story, each pair has still not looked towards the main girl’s direction; obnoxious smiles are on their faces Setting = sky is still pink/yellow but is beginning to turn blue = watercolor background Scene = scene is zoomed in on the girl group to reveal the key and lock hands to audience for a moment; main girl is not present in this shot Props = zoomed in on cut-out green tables in the background Scene 3: The girl finally approaches the group, still smiling, and excitedly looks for a matching lock to her beautiful key hand. Main girl = zoomed more directly in to show her face and the faces of the other girls; obvious differences are seen between her and the other girls i.e. shorter hair with purple tips and dark accessories to her uniform (nail polish, jewelry, jacket) Girl group = begin to notice the new girl and have disgusted/freaked out/annoyed faces; obvious differences are seen between them and the new girl i.e. long blonde hair and bright accessories to their uniforms (nail polish, jewelry, jacket) Props = cut-out green tables in background; detailed depictions of character i.e. differences in uniform & personalities Scene 4: The girl’s facial expression becomes more frantic as she doesn’t see a matching lock to her key; she becomes embarrassed. The other girls begin to giggle and point at her in unison. Setting = sky darkens to a deeper shade of blue; watercolor background Scene = zoomed out to fit main girl and large girl group Props = cut-out green tables in background; cut-out air bubbles saying “HAHA” from each girl in the large group Scene 5: The girl is confused as to why the other girls are laughing; she looks down at her key hand and feels ashamed. A tear trickles down her cheek. Setting = sky is a deep shade of blue at this point Scene = zoomed in on main girl to emphasize her feelings of sadness and confusion Props = none, just main girl cut-out and more blue sky Scene 6: The girl looks up, wipes her eye, and decides to try again. She takes a step towards the girl group a second time. However, as she steps towards them, the girl group closes themselves off in a circle with their backs facing her, laughing and chatting. Setting = sky is same shade of blue; watercolor background Scene = zoomed out to show every girl Props = green cut-out tables in background; smaller air bubbles saying lighter “haha’s” and “!” from a few of the girls in the large group Scene 7: The girl begins to sob and walk away back towards the green doors in which she entered. Her hands cover her face, still showing off her beautiful key hand as she walks. Setting = sky is an even deeper shade of blue Scene = zoomed in again to only show main girl walking towards entrance Props = tears falling down her face; one cut-out green table in the background; open green gate doors Scene 8: At the entrance, the girl bumps into another girl. Both had been crying with their hands over their faces. They pull back and look at each other warily with less eagerness than before. The main girl sees that this new girl has a beautiful matching lock hand to her own key hand. They shake hands with shocked expressions on their faces as the lock and key fits. Setting = sky is still blue but a warmer shade; turquoise watercolor background Scene = zoomed in to reveal similarities and differences between the two girls; new girl with lock hand had same elegantly embroidered lock but has a short pixie haircut and purple nail polish and lipstick with her uniform Props = tears falling down their faces; open green gate doors in background Scene 9: The two girls continue to shake hands and smile. They begin to giggle and the new girl says “Hi” to the main girl. The main girl smiles and responds simply, “Hi.” Setting = sky is again a warmer shade of blue; watercolor background Scene = still as zoomed in as it was in Scene 8 Props = open green gate doors in background; air bubbles saying “Hi.” from each girl

[ivycreativewriting]

"Clique"

[ivycreativewriting]

Spoken Word Final Draft Piece

“Hard” I don't think I'm all that good at poetry. There's a lot of pressure...to… Make others feel what you feel... See how you see... Hurt like you hurt… It's hard. But then again a lot of things are...hard. Concrete is hard. High school is hard. My skull is hard. The wall around my heart is...hard. And I see them suffer, around you, around me They say, “You can't feel when you're seventeen.” Well I'm nineteen. And I know pain when I see it It deepens stares and thoughts and drinks And it bites at souls until they're incomplete So how dare you say, “You're just a teen.” Teenage angst is deep, it burns With every letdown it yearns and it churns Until light is just the moon, which...disappears. They used to laugh and look at stars… But now they cry and make new scars You can't tell me I'm too young to scream. “We all make it through, the ones who don't are weak.” Would you say that to her mom, Kathleen? Who still makes breakfast and sets the table for three She can't move on, there's nothing to see... We glorify death when we pass the baton of blame to another for more guilt to fall on… But I'm tired of blood. You say you miss them when they're no longer here, When they've taken your fears and brought them near To your eyes, to your mouth, to your ears… “She was a drama queen, attention-seeking slut Who deserved what she did, No ands and no buts.” But… It's not like that. It's not your call. It's four years, they're hard, and they harden some shells They make or they break you You've either won… Or you fell. And the living… We're the ones to blame. We hate and we take and we rape and we lie We kill without even blinking an eye But it's your words that damage all the same. I don't think I'm all that good at poetry. It's hard. And hard suddenly fails to describe the magnitude of life Because living… That's the hardest poetry of all.

[ivycreativewriting]

Spoken Word Poet Project

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=5xyKKoL1NSM

The artist I chose is Sierra DeMulder.

The poem I chose from her is titled “Mrs. Dahmer,” a poem transporting its audience into the mind of a mother who’s son is a murderer.

This poem is extremely compelling, mainly because its subject content is so dark and disturbing. DeMulder is known for speaking about abuse survivors, the aftermath of assault, and depression. This particular poem expresses social justice because it sheds light on a new kind of victim: the mother of a serial killer. When I first read the description of this poem, I knew I had to hear it; it was too interesting to turn down. It involves social justice in an interesting way because it discusses the blame and mental abuse a mother of a psychopath must be tortured with by society today.

DeMulder uses sound quite effectively while delivering her piece. She shakes and shapes her voice throughout the entire poem to go from expressing rage to pain to motherly love to sacrifice and more. I especially noticed that she put emphasis on important words, or words that sting to really reach out and slap the audience. Her voice and sound were extremely captivating.

As I said, DeMulder does an incredible job speaking to the meaning by expressing such vivid emotion. I think she does this well specifically because she expresses a wide variety of emotion, not just one throughout the entire poem but at least five. This put together with emphasized words, hand gestures, and facial expressions make her poem believable. I even thought for a second or two that she really was a suffering and grieving mother of a serial killer while watching her perform.

The beat contributes to the meaning because it almost sounds like one, big, messy run-on sentence. DeMulder rarely pauses throughout the poem, and the beat is rigorous, almost gory, as if the words are being ripped and sucked out of her. It matches the overall disturbing tone of the play very well. This repetition reintroduces the meaning and strengthens the dark factors of the poem.

The poet’s tone/persona is very dramatic (in a good way). While doing my research on her, I read many reviews. A lot of her fans as well as distinguished judges stated she is fearless, unafraid to speak about any topic or go the extra mile during a performance. During this poem, she truly embodied the character she was representing. In this poem, a mother torn by heartbreak and rage is speaking. It is at a point in her life where grief is taking over her life. DeMulder does an exquisite job at painting this story.

The delivery affects my overall experience immensely. In order to answer this question, I looked up the words to this poem and read it out loud to myself, expressing no emotion or using hand gestures. Although I was seeing the words on the page right in front of me, it was extremely dull and inefficient. The meaning changed and it suddenly wasn’t as dark as I’d just thought it was. This goes to show that delivery is everything. Not only voice quality and memorization, but hand gestures and facial expressions play a huge role in how an audience will receive a poem.

[ivycreativewriting]

X-ray Chapter 2 Analysis

Ivy Yahnke Mrs. Turner Creative Writing Block A 27 March 2017 X-Ray Chapter 2 Responses 1. In the Lectures of Russian Literature excerpt, Nabovok talks about literature in a beautiful and meaningful way. His message is that literature must not read through quickly and uncritically, even though doing so may be easier or instantly gratifying for our thoughts and feelings. Literature must be something you chew over and over. “Real” literature, as he argues, must be mulled over piece by piece until it again connects magically back in your brain and you’ve had no choice but to personally connect to it as well. He is saying that this is the only way true literature can be valued and understood. Nabovok utilizes sensory details in this description very well; doing so helps the readers thoroughly understand his point. The way he uses specific verbs with accompanying adverbs is what really provides the sound sensations of his message. Words like gulped, broken to bits, pulled apart, squashed, smelt, munched, and rolled upon the tongue with relish take readers to an exquisite part of their imagination where such actions can be visualized and heard. 2. I think the opening passage of Lolita is a “language playground” because of how elaborate and well-thought-out it is. When I first read the passage, I only thought that it was enjoyable to read. I didn't think about it as a true “language playground” until Clark explained its brilliancy. I was mostly amazed that the X-ray reading uncovered the usage of interdentals, specifically with the t and d sounds. This revelation honestly amazed me. Clark also discussed in detail the effective use of the letter l, which enhanced the sense of eroticism and rhythm throughout the passage very nicely. Looking back on the passage through Clark’s X-ray eyes truly unraveled it as a language playground to me. 3. Eminem uses “experimental rhyme” in his song Lose Yourself when he states, “Make me king, as we move toward a, new world order.” In this line, he experiments with rhyme by changing his pronunciation, efficiently stretching the words to rhyme based on the way they roll of his tongue. When he raps this, he pronounces it as “toward-ah, new world or-dah,” changing the words’ original translation while still keeping them understandable. He also puts emphasis on certain syllables to coincide with the beat. 4. This quote uses a lot of sound and specific word choice. The author first pairs the long “i” in “fine cry” to give off a kind of whining sound. Morison then uses the l in “loud and long” to give off a desperate image to the cry. My favorite part is the phrase “but it had no bottom and it had no top.” This part of the quote has a similar bum-bum bum bum bum-bum beat that parallels to both sections of the phrase. It sounds uncontained. The last part of the quote uses imagery with the repetition of the word “circles,” creating a never-ending whirlpool image of a sad word: sorrow. This makes me visualize a spinning whirlpool of blue and hear a repeating whooosh sound. You can really hear a loud, desperate sob hanging in the air. 5. Sentence: He laughed a crisp, well-rehearsed laugh, one that bubbled and bent in the air, ripe with falsity, ending in a hoarse chirp to give off a brooding charm.

[ivycreativewriting]

Get Get Get Away

[ivycreativewriting]

Flash Fiction Final Piece

"My Genie" I am in love with a Genie. I don't think I've ever said that out loud before. It feels good, to finally share the truth with someone else. I mean I'm sure word has gotten around...not like it's not obvious. But still. To come from my mouth, that's...relieving. Verifying. My Genie is incredible. Honestly, I don't know how she does everything she does. Any wish I have is her command. And she does it willingly. She does it with love. She does it with a surprising gentleness that I know is love. Last week, for example, she came in at about ten o’clock in the morning (she always comes in at ten), and I wanted some pancakes. I asked and waited not even fifteen minutes, and well-ah - the most extravagant buttermilk pancakes I've ever tasted appeared right in front of me. Or another time a couple of days ago my oxygen cord was tangled again for the hundredth time. It likes to dance around my body even though I myself haven't danced in about thirty years. I couldn't breathe for a couple of seconds; I thought - maybe this is it, my last hoorah. But hell, there came my Genie, gazelling into my room and untangling my cord with a simple touch. Untangling my life. I've even seen my Genie's lamp. She likes to hide it from me. I think she wants to keep some things secret before we end up permanently living together. But I can't help to take a peek at it whenever she's near. Her lamp is elegant with a short shiny neck and a metallic glass body. It's delicate; you could easily break it if you tried. Kinda like me. She keeps it resting in the waistband of her pants at all times, but sometimes I see her pull it out from the inside pocket of her white Genie scrubs, an easier access spot. Smart Genie. She takes a long swig from it on the days she spends more time here. I think it's brilliant. It enhances her magical powers by tenfold. She only gets quicker and more accurate with my wishes the more Genie potion she drinks. She only loves me more. I think that's why she's so protective of her lamp. I know it reminds her of me, although she'd never tell me so. Delicate, breakable, always at her side. She thinks it'd hurt my feelings. But I've accepted my strengths and my weaknesses as a man. Sometimes you gotta do that when you're dying. My Genie leaves me at six o’clock every evening. That's when I feel it the most. The hole in my chest chisels down deeper every time my Genie’s gone. Sometimes, when the hole is so deep it feels as if it could swallow my body hole, I think to myself that she's cursed me. How can love physically hurt this much? I understand physical pain; I'm a ninety-two year old man with stage four thyroid cancer. But love? Now that's a bitch. No, that's a curse. A curse straight from my Genie. Today, my Genie walked in looking strange. Her familiar silky caramel hair was up in a high ponytail. The soft cotton shirt that hugged her breasts beneath her Genie coat was replaced by a girly yet professional-looking button down rolled up at the sleeves. A rock of heavy sparkle rested on her left ring finger. Hmmm. It's gotta be a new lamp. Wow, a new lamp, how exciting! Much smaller. More efficient. Smart Genie. And a change-up look...I can deal with that! Anything for my Genie. She'd do anything for me. But she didn't smile like she usually does and she didn't grant my wishes. She whispered a quick, guilty goodbye that was very unmagical. She didn't even hug me today. She’ll be back tomorrow. I'm not exactly sure what she'd said; I can't hear over the rickety old hearing aid in my head sometimes. But I know she'll be back tomorrow. Because my Genie is in love with me. She loves me. And I am in love with my Genie.

[ivycreativewriting]

It is a thousand pities never to say what one feels.

Virginia Woolf (via quotemadness)

[ivycreativewriting]

Graded Piece Final Draft - Daydream

"Daydream” Thinking there's no way is a lounge chair on the lower plaza of an all-girls high school. Sky Weekler stares at the chair; it has a deep chestnut brown frame with turquoise blue cushion pads, a bit gaudy for a Catholic high school. At first glance, the chair reminds her of the types of thrones one would see on a talk show, comfortably supporting hundreds of celebrities as they make pointless small talk and exploit their secrets on national television. She envisions herself sitting gracefully in the chair wearing a long white dress, like a swan perched on its lake, completely at ease. She watches herself flash a thick, dazzling smile at Evan Jenkins, the most famous talk show host in America. With her legs crossed, hands folded, and teeth bared confidently, a confidence that could only accompany immense fame, Sky falls deeper into her all too familiar daydream. “So Sky, what is new in your personal life? We have recent information that you may or may not be dating a certain Jack Herron, only Hollywood’s most decorated young actor…?” Evan asks with as much eagerness as a yellow lab puppy. She even looks like a yellow lab puppy, sporting shoulder-length bleach blonde hair and a slightly wrinkled tan. Sky blushes at the inquiry. She almost grimaces. First question of the night is not whether I like the role in my new movie or how I plan to be philanthropic, she thinks to herself, annoyed at how naive she had been assuming America could crave the answers to such questions. Nope. It's about Jack. It's always about Jack. “Yes, yes, Jack and I have been seeing each other recently,” Sky replies courtly, hoping her nosy host would get the ask-no-more hint disguised in her tone. A hushed oooo and aaaahhhh escapes from the crowd as hundreds of women gasp in excited jealousy. Sky smirks. She had never thought so many people could care about who she was dating. If only they knew...her subconscious snarks. The audience applauds and Sky notices Evan delicately clapping her hands together in a slow rhythm, as if each clap stings a bit more than the last. Sky remembers then that Evan had dated Joseph Herron, Jack’s father, just a couple of months ago. She remembers the tabloids pummeling her, reading, “Evan Jenkins: Most Dumpable Talk Show Host In America,” when Joseph had ended it. But Sky knew the truth of why the couple hadn't worked out. Sky had seen Evan. She had seen the scars. She had seen the purple splotches flawing that deeply tanned skin. Sky knew. Evan gazes at Sky, a pleading look of agony darting across her eyes. Sky nods. It lasts not even a second, but she appreciates the shared thought passed naturally between the two strong yet somber women. Let's move on, Evan’s eyes had said. It hurts. Evan quickly rebounds to her next question. “Sky, as most of America knows, you will be starring in the upcoming film Sisterhood. Please, tell us what this role will entail for you,” she asks. “Ah, yes, this role is very special to me. I will be playing a whimsical senior attending an all-girls Catholic high school in Hermosa Beach, California,” she replies, grateful to finally shift the focus of their conversation towards her acting. She winces slightly as she remembers Jack’s hurtful words on the subject, practically ripping her apart last week. “You? Playing an eighteen-year-old Californian? You’re a pasty brunette who could easily be thirty-five. Good fucking luck,” he had said, laughing and slamming the front door shut. She shakes her head out of the flashback, instinctively rubbing the bruises on her right forearm. Keep it together, Sky. To her confusion, she looks up to find Evan laughing a hearty, evil villain kind of laugh, as if she had been watching Sky’s flashback along with her. As if she had been amused by it… To Sky’s dismay, the audience joins, every woman cackling at her and pointing at her bruises as if each were a raunchy skit performed on Saturday Night Live. Sky covers her ears and closes her eyes, desperately wishing the faded contusions marking her would disappear. I need the evidence to disappear. The laughter continues, shouting, screaming, drowning Sky in her own guilt and humiliation. Stop she thinks. Please stop. She falls back into reality and frantically looks around. Three barbie-looking freshmen with long legs and blonde hair giggle at her as they walk by. Sky checks her watch. 2:45 pm. She had been standing in front of her talk show chair of dreams, staring, for at least twenty minutes. Shit! She runs clumsily to the top of the plaza stairs and out the tall gated entrance of the Academy. Great. 20 minutes late. Wonder what this will earn me today...she thinks as she bolts across the street, sliding into the passenger seat of Jack’s oversized Chevy truck. She looks at him and sees the familiar clenched jaw and veiny muscles. Her stomach churns, sticky with acid. Nausea creeps up the back of her throat. “It’s 2:45. What the fuck Sky? Jesus, were you fixing your makeup for twenty minutes? Flirting with a teacher?” Jack screams. Sky doesn't answer. Stop. Please stop. She desperately looks back at her school through the window as they speed away and Jack’s lecture continues. She pictures her chair, empty, sitting on the lonely floor of her dainty old high school. She wilts, realizing she could never escape him. She would always be his. He owned her even in her daydreams. Maybe one day things will change...she thinks, slipping towards another dream, the only temporary relief of pain. One alligator tear slips down her face as one gargantuan hand grips her wrist. No...there's just no way…

[ivycreativewriting]

Graded Piece 1st Draft

Sisterhood Thinking there's no way is a lounge chair on the lower plaza of an all-girls high school. Sky Weekler stares at the chair, envisioning herself sitting gracefully in a long white gown, like a swan sitting on a lake. She watches herself flash a thick, dazzling smile at Evan Jenkins, the most famous talk-show host in America. Legs crossed, hands folded, teeth bared with an unfamiliar confidence, a confidence that could only accompany immense success, Sky falls deeper into her all too familiar daydream. “So Sky, what is new in your personal life? We have recent information that you may or may not be dating a certain Jack Marshall, only Hollywood’s most decorated young actor!” Evan asks with as much eagerness as a yellow lab puppy. Sky blushes. She almost grimaces. First question of the night is not whether I like the role in my new movie or how I plan to be philanthropic, she thinks to herself, comically annoyed. Nope, it's about Jack. It's always about Jack. “Yes, yes, Jack and I have been seeing each other recently,” Sky replies cautiously, hoping her nosy friend Evan would get the hint of ask-no-more. A hushed oooo and aaaahhh escapes from the crowd as hundreds of women gasp in excited jealousy. Sky smirks. She's never thought so many people could care about who she dates. Evan claps her hands together in a slow rhythm, as if each clap stings a little bit more than the last. Sky remembers how Evan had dated Rich Marshall, Jack’s father, a couple of years ago. She remembers the tabloids reading “Evan Jenkins: Most Dumpable Talk Show Host In America” when Rich had gotten bored and ended it. But Sky knew the truth of why the two of them hadn't worked out. Sky had seen Evan. Ouch. Evan looks at Sky, a pleading look of agony darting across her eyes. Sky nods. It lasts not even a second, but Sky appreciates the shared thought passed naturally between the two strong but sad women. Let's move on, Evan’s eyes had said. It hurts. Evan quickly rebounds to her next question. “Sky, as most of America knows, you will be starring in the upcoming film Sisterhood. Please, tell us what this role will entail for you,” she asks. Sky replies. “Ah, yes, this role is very special to me. I will be playing a whimsical senior attending an all-girls Catholic high school in Hermosa, California,” she states, more than happy to finally focus the conversation on her acting. She winces slightly as she remembers Jack’s hurtful words on the subject, practically ripping her apart last week. “You? Playing an eighteen-year-old Californian? You have ivory white skin and could easily be thirty-five. Good fucking luck,” he had said, slamming the front door shut. She shakes her head out of the flashback, instinctively rubbing the bruise on her right forearm. Keep it together, Sky. She looks up confusedly as Evan begins laughing a shrill, evil villain kind of laugh, as if she had been watching Sky’s flashback along with her. To Sky’s dismay, the audience joins, each woman cackling at her and pointing at her bruises as if each were a funny joke. Sky covers her ears and shakes her head. Stop she thinks. Please stop. She falls back into reality and looks around. Five barbie-looking freshmen with long legs and blonde hair giggle at her as they walk by. Sky checks her watch. 2:45 pm. She had been standing in front of her chair staring for at least twenty minutes. Shit! She runs clumsily to the top of the stairs and out the tall gate. Great. 20 minutes late. Wonder what new mark this will earn me today she thinks as she slides into the passenger seat of Jack’s new truck. She looks at him and sees the familiar clenched jaw and veiny muscles. She gets nauseous. “It’s 2:45. What the fuck Sky? Jesus, were you fixing your makeup for twenty minutes? Flirting with a teacher?” Jack screams. Sky doesn't answer. She desperately looks back at her school through the window as they speed away and Jack’s lecture continues. She pictures her chair again, empty, sitting on the lonely floor of her dainty old high school. She sighs, this time not out of longing but with the realization that no matter how “famous” she could ever be, she would always be stuck with him. Maybe one day things will change...she sulks, one alligator tear slipping down her face, one gargantuan hand gripping her wrist. No...there's just no way…

[ivycreativewriting]

The Art of Syntax

You, To me, Love well. You, To me, Used love. Love, To you, Used me. Love, To me, Well used.

[ivycreativewriting]

Pink Ticket Reflection

Pink Ticket Reflection 1. The first pink ticket I received was labeled “tin cans.” This one I had a really difficult time with. My first instinct when I thought of tin cans was to relate them to beer cans or alcohol. So, interestingly enough, I placed this pink ticket on the statue of the Virgin Mary. I did this because I wanted to redefine Mary as not just a symbol of hope and respect, but also a symbol of sin and tough decision making. Alcoholism is a disease, addiction, and sin in our modern world today. Often times, religious figures like Jesus and Mary are defined by holiness and helping those on Earth who are holy reach eternal life. However, if anything, their challenge is to reach out to those suffering or abusing too and call them closer. I think it's forgotten that these kind of people are the ones who need God in their lives most. Therefore, I redefined the statue of Mary as tin cans. She is hope, peace, love, respect, and also tin cans. 2. My best pink ticket was also a bit difficult to metaphorize. It was labeled “thinking there's no way.” When I first read this ticket, I automatically thought of what will probably never be possible for me, and that is to one day be famous. Because of this thought, I decided to place this pink ticket on a lounge chair on lower plaza. I did this because these chairs remind me of the seats celebrities sit in when they guest-star talk shows, like Ellen, for example. Therefore, the lounge chair on lower plaza is my impossible goal of being famous. I believe this pushes readers to think critically because one would never think of a plain lounge chair at OLP as a fallen hope or dream. If described correctly, this metaphor can be extremely powerful in challenging readers’ original perceptions of what a chair in a story can represent. 3. My more challenging ticket was labeled “We put off swimming.” Now this was extremely difficult for me. I walked around school for about ten minutes trying to find something that wasn't too obvious. I decided to place this ticket on one of the white flowers on campus. I did this because when one normally thinks of flowers, he or she usually doesn't pair swimming. However, if given too much water, a flower can die or “drown” if you will. Therefore, I redefined flowers as those who avoid swimming. White flowers are now lousy swimmers. In general, I believe this process is so difficult because you have to be really open minded. It goes against your common knowledge to redefine Mary as tin cans, lounge chairs as a fallen dream, or flowers as lousy swimmers. It is a wonderful experience though because it shows us that having a “fourth-grader” mindset can really create something unexpectedly beautiful. 4. The ticket I used at home was labeled “soft as butter.” Again, I had a hard time with this ticket and not making it a cliche. I put it on a crystal chandelier in my living room. This chandelier is beautiful, but it is hard. Each crystal hanging is sharp. However, its beauty gives it a sweet quality, almost feminine. Therefore, it is also soft as butter. This chandelier challenged me to use personification in my way of thinking because one almost has to think of it as a female in order to understand the metaphor fully. My twin sister honestly thought the entire project was strange, which I don't blame her for. It is a very challenging thought process. However, she did respect and understand what I was getting at and even went, “huh...it is soft as butter.” It was a cool experience. I think this kind of shows that my home is full of traditional thoughts. It's hard for my family members to think like fourth graders or even think like writers. But with my help, I think I can continue to challenge them in the right way to see the world in a new light. 5. I labeled my own ticket “clearly blind.” I then paired it with an iPhone screen which displayed an Instagram picture of a famous model, Alexis Ren. This model is a huge icon in society. She is beautiful, but her body type and overall image is a false goal many women compare themselves to. I represented this image as “blind” to show that although one may think they see clearly what their idealistic goals may be when it comes to how he or she looks, social media and impossible comparisons makes one blind to the importance of self-love. Therefore, an Instagram image is clearly blind. I think this exercise is very important to creative writers because it sparks the importance of metaphor usage and how powerful this can be.

[ivycreativewriting]

Pink Ticket Pictures

[ivycreativewriting]

Success is liking yourself, liking what you do, and liking how you do it.

Maya Angelou (via goodreadss)