Blog Post #10

June 21, 2011

We had spoken about working on the parts of my story where I am speaking in my mind, and using italics to mark that vs using a different speech…. I tried working on parts of it, and I also added to my story, because well, the whole night was a long drunken shit show. So, I apologize for the bull- – – – girl drama that you are being forced to read.

“We need to talk,” I said as I looked down at her waiting impatiently outside the bathroom door.

“I was going to say the same thing to you. Mind if we talk in here?” she replied as she pushed her way past me into the bathroom.

“No, not a problem at all…” Closing the door behind me I take a deep breath; I feel my whole body begin to shake as I slowly tempt fate, praying that the gods of friendship will take pity on me, and let me escape unscathed once more. Wake up… it’s now or never…

I look at her, sitting there peeing in front of me. I should be disgusted. Normal people would be disgusted. But we’ve been friends since we were eight years old. I’ve seen her when she was sick and coughing all over, when she was crying from her boyfriend breaking her heart–hell, I’ve seen her naked. This, is nothing. She’s my one of my closest friends..she always has been. At the end of every day, no matter if we were on speaking terms or not, I would drop everything to rescue her from whatever monster was attacking her. We were partners in crime, inseparable, we double dated religiously when we dated two best friends; it was like a fairytale.

Wake UP, I urge myself. It’s just Monica…. it isn’t a big deal… I shake my head, looking back down at my shoes, my breathing slow and steady as I stand there, my back against the door.

“Look, whatever it is that you are holding against me, it needs to end.” I sound stronger than I feel; my heart is pounding in my throat as the alcohol begins to hit my already spinning head. I shake my head in an attempt to clear the fog, Stay focused, Heather…

“I don’t know what it is that you are holding against me, but I don’t have anything against you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She’s baiting me…

I choose to take it.

“Monica, cut the shit. Seriously. You know what I’m talking about. You’ve been acting weird ever since we started hanging out again; you even invited me to the party tonight, only to ignore me. Ignore me! You wouldn’t even look at me!”

I invited you?” This bitch wants to go.

My face immediately changes from one of sympathetic understanding with a hint of hopeful forgiveness to one of complete apathy. Fine, if this is how we’re going to play, I’ll play.

“Are you fucking joking, Mon? You know what, no, forget it. Whatever the fuck you have against me, it needs to stop. Right now. Because Rosie is being thrown in the middle and it’s not fair to her anymore.”

Rosie. The girl that has been my best friend and confidant since first grade. The three of us were so close growing up. Sure, there were times when two of us were closer with each other than with the third, but we were always friends. That was something that I never thought would change. But here we are, standing in a bathroom, two of us battling it out, as I throw out the third musketeers name in an attempt to salvage enough of what we once had to keep things civil.

“What the fuck are you talking about, I’m not throwing her in the middle.” The first stage is always denial…

“Really? Then how come when I wanted to leave the party, Rosie knew she couldn’t leave because you would throw a shit-fit?”

My bag on my shoulder, I was ready to go. I stood there waiting on the brick pathway that led to the gate– my escape–as I waited for Rosie to come back from the house. She walked outside, and I knew I had to be the one to break the news to her. We both knew it deep down; we’d been talking about it for weeks now. Monica would never let her live it down if she walked out with me. It would become the point in time known as the ‘breaking point’ in their friendship. The night Rosie officially chose me over her. It’s not that I didn’t want that. In many instances, I still do. But who am I to make her tempt the devil. She jumped off the last step and stepped up to me.

“Ready?”, she asked.

“Dude, you know you can’t leave right now. Not without her. If you do, you know she’ll see it as you choosing me over her.”

The truth hurt her. I could see it in the way her chest dropped back and her shoulders lurched forward as if someone deflated the balloon in her chest.

“Well then that’s something that she and I need to talk about, it’s her problem!” She shouts, bringing me back into the situation at hand.

“This still needs to stop, this is ridiculous, whatever it is, it needs to end–”

“I haven’t trusted you since the pool party at the Phagan’s!”

“The pool party? That was..” 1..2..3..4..5—no 4 “…four years ago! What the fuck, we’ve talked about that, get over it!”

She hasn’t trusted me since we were 19? How is that even possible? We made up from the fight that happened that night…we moved past that. It took us a while, but we did… We’ve been friendly, close since then. Has all of this just been a lie?

“And then you apologized to Rosie about everything that happened when you were dating Kevin. Did you think I wouldn’t know? You never said anything to me about it! You never apologized!,” she spat.

Kevin. The guy I had devoted the last two years of my life to, only to have them handed back to me in a doggy bag. It was with him that I planned on spending the rest of my life traveling the world, moving from base camp to base camp as he lived out his dreams of being in the Army. The pain I feel from losing him is a pain I feel everyday; can’t she see that? The burning in my eyes are causing me to blink even more than I already do…Stop…She’s going to notice..she’ll see the tears…she’s going to win…

Blog Post #9

June 21, 2011

Story Line: 10 points.

1- I confront Monica

2-Flashback through the years of our friendship

3-Monica denies that there is a problem

4- I bring up Lisa in an attempt to solve the problem civilly

5-She instead gets more angry and admits that she hasn’t trusted me in years

6- I drop trying to “fix” the friendship, and try to make things civil again

7- She keeps yelling

8-I make one more attempt as she keeps pushing

9- I walk out

10- She walks out

Blog Post #8

June 21, 2011

Opinions of Don Quixote:

* * * *

I found Don Quixote to be very entertaining. Though the stories we read about did seem to be repetitive, it was funny to ‘watch’ DQ constantly get the crap beat out of him. In reading it, I couldn’t help but become attached to his character…feeling his pain when they walled up his library and then burned his books. I’m so attached to my books, I can’t even imagine that feeling. The whole idea of the story was extremely interesting to me, the thought that one can become so involved in their books and never come out of their imagination…their reveries, it’s intriguing. Last semester (Spring ’11), I had a class with Professor Cuomo–Aspects of Fiction. We often would sit there and discuss how sad it is that the younger generations–mine included– are completely unable to sit in a room and read a book; get truly lost in the world created by the things that you are reading, I can see it in my classmates and even my siblings. What Professor Cuomo and I had in common was that we are both able to sit and read a book for a few hours without my cellphone next to me, without using a computer, or needing the television. We’ve actually spent time discussing how involved in books we can become, and after eventually coming away from the books we’re reading, for a split second, readjusting your brain and remembering that you are actually in the real world. It made Quixote extremely close to me–easier to relate to. I really liked the novel. The only aspect I didn’t like was the need to analyze the idea of who the narrator vs the author is. Trying to decide where this narrator comes in for so long, just frustrated me and made me bored.

Blog Post #7

June 20, 2011

Chapter 17-Don Quixote

We see many changes in discourse throughout this chapter–from narrator’s discourse to character’s discourse. In the narrator’s discourse, we are being told the story in the past tense and as soon as the character’s discourse takes place, it reverts back to the present tense. It leaves readers questioning which of the narration techniques houses the reliable narrator. The heterodiegetic narrator is whom I would believe to be the most reliable, and though I question Sancho’s sanity and brain power, he is always seeing the same things as the narrator, unlike Quixote. Quixote, though also clearly off his rocker, can also be referred to as a reliable narrator–in most cases–because his hallucinations are consistent. So while we can understand that the narrator is telling us the truth (the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help us students of literary analysis), we can also understand that Quixote truly believes he is seeing these windmill giants, dust clouds filled with armies, and so on. I also believe that when the characters are speaking, it is direct tagged discourse.

Important Quotes to think about using:

129- Sancho hopes that Quixote dies tomorrow so he can reveal his secret

130-Sancho questions their adventures/misadventures

131-demands greater respect

133-Sancho gets sick from drinking the “balsam”

Blog Post #6

June 15, 2011

“The idea that this whole fabric of famous fabrications was real so established itself in his mind that no history in the world was truer for him” (Cervantes 27).

At this point in the novel, the narrator has already introduced us to our main character, the insane Don Quixote. A man who spent most of his time reading stories and slowly losing his mind–he now believes that he is a knight errant–and now plans to travel around solving everyone’s problems. This quote is the beginning of Quixote’s change from a flat character into a round character as we see him develop into a “knight”. He even goes so afar as to travel to an inn–an inn which he believes is a castle– and spent the night (it only wound up being a little more than four hours) standing guard so that the inn keeper would knight him in the proper way. I question whether or not this could be implicit characterization; implicit characterization is the auto-characterization of someone’s physical appearance or behavior is indicative of a character’s trait. So one might think that the characterization of Quixote after his loss of clear mindedness is implicit because his behavior, along with the change in his mind, has gone off the deep end. Quixote has gotten himself so thoroughly involved in the fictions that he has been reading that he is unable to distinguish the difference between his world and the world of his novels. The diagetic levels within the novel change at this point: Quixote= matrix, hypernarrative = fictional world.

Blog Post #5

June 15, 2011

“We need to talk,” I said as I looked down at her waiting impatiently outside the bathroom door.

“I was going to say the same thing to you. Mind if we talk in here?” she replied as she pushed her way past me into the bathroom.

“No, not a problem at all…” Closing the door behind me I take a deep breath; I feel my whole body begin to shake as I slowly tempt fate, praying that the gods of friendship will take pity on me, and let me escape unscathed once more. “Wake up,” I tell myself… it’s now or never…

I look at her, sitting there peeing in front of me. I should be disgusted. Normal people would be disgusted. But we’ve been friends since we were eight years old. I’ve seen her when she was sick and coughing all over, when she was crying from her boyfriend breaking her heart–hell, I’ve seen her naked. This, is nothing. She’s my one of my closest friends..she always has been. At the end of every day, no matter if we were on speaking terms or not, I would drop everything to rescue her from whatever monster was attacking her. We were partners in crime, inseparable,  we double dated religiously when we dated two best friends; it was like a fairytale.

“Wake UP,” I urge myself. “It’s just Monica…. it isn’t a big deal…” I shake my head, looking back down at my shoes, my breathing slow and steady as I stand there, my back against the door.

“Look, whatever it is that you are holding against me, it needs to end.” I sound stronger than I feel; my heart is pounding in my throat as the alcohol begins to hit my already spinning head. I shake my head in an attempt to clear the fog, “Stay focused, Heather.”

“I don’t know what it is that you are holding against me, but I don’t have anything against you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She is baiting me.

I choose to take it.

“Monica, cut the shit. Seriously. You know what I’m talking about. You’ve been acting weird ever since we started hanging out again! You even invited me to the party tonight, only to ignore me. Ignore me! You wouldn’t even look at me!”

I invited you?”

This bitch wants to go.

My face immediately changes from one of sympathetic understanding with a hint of hopeful forgiveness to one of complete apathy. Fine, if this is how we’re going to play, I’ll play.

“Are you fucking joking, Mon? You know what, no, forget it. Whatever the fuck you have against me, it needs to stop. Right now. Because Lisa is being thrown in the middle and it’s not fair to her anymore.”

Lisa. The girl that has been my best friend and confidant since first grade. The three of us were so close growing up. Sure, there were times when two of us were closer with each other than with the third, but we were always friends. That was something that I never thought would change. But here we are, standing in a bathroom, two of us battling it out, as I throw out the third musketeers name in an attempt to salvage enough of what we once had to keep things civil.

“What the fuck are you talking about, I’m not throwing her in the middle.” The first stage is always denial.

“Really? Then how come when I wanted to leave the party, Lisa knew she couldn’t leave because you would throw a shit-fit?”

My bag on my shoulder, I was ready to go. I stood there waiting on the brick pathway that led to the gate– my escape–as I waited for Lisa to come back from the house. She walked outside, and I knew I had to be the one to break the news to her. We both knew it deep down; we’d been talking about it for weeks now. Monica would never let her live it down if she walked out with me. It would become the point in time known as the ‘breaking point’ in their friendship. The night Lisa officially chose me over her. It’s not that I didn’t want that. In many instances, I still do. But who am I to make her tempt the devil. She jumped off the last step and stepped up to me.

“Ready?”, she asked.

“Dude, you know you can’t leave right now. Not without her. If you do, you know she’ll see it as you choosing me over her.” The truth hurt her. I could see it in the way her chest dropped back and her shoulders lurched forward as if someone deflated the balloon in her chest.

Blog Post #4

June 15, 2011

“My name is Ofelia and I’m opening the wooden gate to my house”(Samperio 59).

As Jahn states in section N3.2, internal focalization is when a story is told through the eyes of a character within the text. The use of internal focalization within this quote is extremely obvious due to the use of pronouns. Immediately, the character Ofelia has defined herself as the new narrator of the story, strongly defining who she is and what she is doing. It is here that the story’s first shift in narrative focalization takes place. “My name is Ofelia”, she states. Previously in the story, readers have not seen the narrator refer to themselves as “I”, “me”, or “my”; it is due to Ofelia’s definitive announcement and verbally narrating her actions, that readers are left questioning whose story they are reading. This is the most confusing part of the story.

Blog Post#3

June 15, 2011

In class writing: “She Lived in a Story” by Guillermo Samperio

I did like Samperio’s story–I like that within the story we were able to follow Segovia’s train of thought as he went from one place to another. I tend to allow my mind to wander as I drive or watch t.v.; I am constantly thinking about things that I did earlier in the day or things that I still have to do. Typically, when I allow my thoughts to wander like that, it is when I come up with my best ideas. I found the questioning of whether or not the people within the story were real or not really confusing and at many points frustrating. I am not a fan of philosophy, so this whole do we exist, do we not exist, frustrated me. I did thoroughly enjoy Segovia’s constant use of metaphor, I do the same exact thing all time.

Blog Post #2

June 15, 2011

“I write that he writes a story that I live in” (Samperio 60).

In this quote, Ofelia is narrating–the narration has switched from homodiegetic, to heterodiegetic, back to homodiegetic, resulting in what I would call multiple focalization. See, at this point in the story, the “I” is Ofelia and the “he” is Segovia. Ofelia is literally saying that she is sitting down to write a story about Segovia, and that he is writing a story about her in his story. This whole thing confuses me, jumping between the narrative matrix like this is like asking which comes first the chicken or the egg. But, I digress, I would call this multiple focalization over variable focalization because in multiple focalization, it is the same episode being told over and over by different focalizers. Here, we have three narrators: Ofelia, Segovia, and our third person narrator that I would refer to as Samperio. While they are all telling different aspects of the story, they are all still telling the same story. It’s a story within a story, about the same story; the same episode.  They aren’t all telling different episodes, or different stories all together, they are telling the same story through their own eyes over and over, and as we get deeper into the levels of narration, we can see it really is the same story with their own additions to it.

Blog Post #1

June 15, 2011

“In one way or another actors live the text; they do not embody anyone at all. In the theater they live in literature for a brief moment. In motion pictures, some of their moments endure with a tendency toward the infinite. Dramatists have written plays in an attempt to approach the ancient dream of the fiction writer: that human beings live in their texts. Thus, artistic creation transcends the imaginary level in order to achieve reality. In regard to my own concept, the movement is reversed; that is, reality moves toward the imaginary” (Samperio 59).  When Segovia is trying to come up with a character to be in his text, again he has created a thought process that readers are able to follow within the text. What he is saying within this quote, is that actors are living vicariously throughout the texts that they are trying to embody. Perhaps in some sense, it means that actors are not living when they are not acting. Which relates to the conversation that we had in class today when we were discussing the belief that everyone is acting at every moment of their lives. In that case, no one is living unless they are embodying someone else, some other entity; “all the world is a stage” is the quote that comes to mind. Segovia is also insinuating the actors are not like typical readers who read a book using only their minds to interpret–rather an actor gives all of their being to the text. Which is true– I took theater all throughout high school, and the best way to become a character, was literally to become that person.