Blog Fourteen - Final Short Story

Danielle Zingalis

 

Short Essay One – Final Revision

 

 

Grandpa

 

            The drive from our house to theirs was so long. At the young age of only three or four, a forty-five minute drive is a lifetime. Chrissy, my twin sister, and I couldn't wait to see the familiar white duplex house with the big bay window. We were getting closer, so close. We were finally off the bridge and passing the cramped streets with condensed building. We had finally made it down their street and after my father had skillfully parallel parked the car, my mom said we could get out of the car. Our seatbelts couldn’t come off fast enough.

Chrissy and I used to run to him as soon as we got through the front door. We would run through the cold, white hallway and into the living room. As soon as my foot touched the outdated, but still so soft brown rug, it would creak and I would lean my hand on the velvet wallpaper as I continued to run. That’s what we always did when we went there. We ran to him, we couldn’t wait to see him and we were getting closer.

She would sit in the kitchen, at the head of the table with her cane in one hand and a cigarette in the other. We would run into the kitchen and the creaking would suddenly stop, we were no longer on the carpet, but the old tile. We were getting closer. Chrissy and I would look at her and smile and continue to run, we would say hi to her later, we wanted to see him first. We always wanted to see him first. There was something indescribable about him, something that we loved so much and we would just run when he was around.  

We’re so close to him. Just one more room. Running through the kitchen and past the little hallway, we made it. The walls were covered in wooden paneling and the carpet was green. He was there already standing up from the gray couch with bits of reds and yellows woven through. Chrissy and I would run into him and hug him so tightly. He took our hands and brought us to the couch and had us look behind one of the throw pillows and behind it was a little handheld videogame. He didn’t have to do that. We never expected anything when we went to see him, we just wanted to see him. Chrissy and I would get so excited to see him and he was always just as excited to see us.

 

Blog Thirteen - CNF Venue

Hippocampus Magazine: http://www.hippocampusmagazine.com/

 

Hippocampus Magazine was not my first choice, but in class as I searched through the hundreds of choices for a venue, this one caught my attention. I am a psychology major and the brain is something I am constantly learning about, the Hippocampus Magazine jumped out at me for the simple reason that I am a psych major. The reason the founder of this online venue chose the name is because the hippocampus is the part of the brain that our long-term memories are formed, a place where our most personal memories are stored. The main focus for this online publication venue is to engage and entertain the readers as well as educate them.

 

Hippocampus Magazine is a venue for both men and women, there is no prevalence as to whether men or women submit more work. The actual target audience is men and women who want to learn. Not only is this venue filled with great memoirs are memorable essays, but they allow new writers and aspiring writers to be educated and informed about reading and writing creative nonfiction.

 

Every piece that I have read has left such an impression. The pieces I had read were darker pieces or they had dark elements to them. When I say dark and dark elements, I mean that some were sad, some were disturbing, some were heartbreaking. These authors are delving so far into their personal lives and sharing their past experiences with their readers and it can be overwhelming. I only read about six or seven and they were amazing. A short essay about a young boy named Jake had peaked my interest when I read it - http://www.hippocampusmagazine.com/2013/12/jake-by-karen-zey/. This is from the December 2013 issue and it tells the story of a troubled young boy and a teacher who tries to help him. As a psychology major, I enjoy reading about how devoted one person can be towards someone who needs help. From the November 2013 issue, Shannon Fandler wrote about a man she went to college with - http://www.hippocampusmagazine.com/2013/11/wet-dead-leaves-by-shannon-fandler/. She wrote about him as an anomaly. He was in their circle of friends and yet he seemed so disconnected. There was something about him that intrigued her about him and when reading this, I became intrigued by him as well. In October 2013 issue was an essay written about an experience with a boy - http://www.hippocampusmagazine.com/2013/10/burn-by-cheryl-diane-kidder/. This was the essay that left the biggest impression on me, it was the darkest one I read and it just showed what kind of power a man can have over a man.

 

Submitting to Hippocampus Magazine: http://www.hippocampusmagazine.com/submissions/  

The online magazine accepts creative nonfiction work only in the forms of memoir excerpts, personal essays, or flash creative nonfiction or a work of creative nonfiction in an experimental format. Memoir and essays should be no more than 3,500 words, flash creative pieces should be less than 800 words. All submission and should be in Times New Roman, 12 pt. font and double spaced. There should be no identification on submitted pieces and only one submission per author. Hippocampus Magazine reviews all submissions and sends a response to all submitters within eight to ten weeks. The online magazine publishes new material every mont

Blog Twelve - Short Essay 2: Draft

                The drive was too short. It could have taken a lifetime to drive there and it still would have been a short drive. There were no words spoken, there was nothing to say, there was nothing anyone can say that would make that day better. The crowded streets gave me recognition of where I was and where I was going. We kept getting closer. The lights inside were bright almost blinding, as if it was supposed to give off a happy vibe. There was no happiness, it was just a sullen atmosphere. The whole building gave off an unmistakable odor, there was no possible way to pretend that you were somewhere else because the smell was constant. It was depressing. It was goodbye. The room was quiet, but it sounded so loud. The door opening and closing letting me know someone else had come. The noise outside was of horns honking and people shouting, it was a welcoming sound. It was much better than then the noise in the room. Black, no matter what way you turned, you saw black. But not her, she was dressed in green, her hands folded over her heart. The soft cries coming from everyone were louder than a whisper, yet it sounded like everyone was screaming. But not her. She no longer yelled. She no longer whispered. She no longer cried. 

Blog Eleven

Ideas for Short Essay Two

Last week in class I read aloud the sad piece I wrote about a funeral and the loss of someone very important to me. I think I want to expand on that one. I think there could be great detail in that one and it could work well with the length it needs to be.

Blog Ten - Short Essay One: Draft

Danielle Zingalis

Short Essay One - Draft

 

Grandpa

 

 

            The drive from our house to theirs was so long. When you’re at such a young age, a forty-five minute drive is a lifetime. We were getting closer, so close. We were finally off the bridge and passing the cramped streets with condensed building. We had finally made it down their street and after my father had skillfully parallel parked the car, my mom said we could get out of the car. Our seatbelts couldn’t come off fast enough.

 

 Chrissy and I used to run to him as soon as we got through the front door. We would run through the cold, white hallway and into the living room. As soon as my foot touched the outdated, but still so soft brown rug, it would creak and I would lean my hand on the velvet wallpaper as I continued to run.

 

She would sit in the kitchen, at the head of the table with her cane in one hand and a cigarette in the other. We would run into the kitchen and the creaking would suddenly stop, we were no longer on the carpet, but the old tile. We were getting closer. Chrissy and I would look at her and smile and continue to run, we would say hi to her later, we wanted to see him first.

 

We’re so close to him. Just one more room. Running through the kitchen and past the little hallway, we made it. The walls were covered in wooden paneling and the carpet was green. He was there already standing up from the gray couch with bits of reds and yellows woven through. Chrissy and I would run into him and hug him so tightly. He took our hands and brought us to the couch and had us look behind one of the throw pillows and behind it was a little handheld videogame. He was just as excited to see us as we were to see him.

Blog Nine - Long Essay: Final Draft

Danielle Zingalis

Long Essay 2 – Final Draft

 

 

 

Different Sides of the Same Door

 

 

            We were always different. As babies and toddlers we were dressed in matching clothes and had the same hairstyles, but looking the same and acting the same is so different. I was always the one to walk to my own speed and Chrissy wasn’t. All that didn’t matter though, it didn’t matter how different we acted or how different our personalities were, and we were always inseparable. When I tell people that I am a twin, there is something that enamors people about that. It’s something they think is so unique and they always have questions. Who’s older? Are you two similar? Are you best friends? The hardest question to answer that I get asked a lot is “do you like being a twin,” it’s such a difficult question to answer. Not difficult because the answer is no, but because being a twin is something I’ve always been. I don’t know how to feel about not being a twin, but what I do know is that we are two total opposites. 

            Chrissy and I were born on a Saturday via a caesarian section. My mom told me and Chrissy that when one night when she was lying in bed, she felt me completely turn my body and becoming in breach. As if having two babies wasn’t going to be hard enough, I had to turn over and make things more complicated. I wasn’t even born yet and I was already doing things my own way. It has always been that way, Chrissy and I have always been different and we never saw that as a problem, no one did. Being different is what makes us so great, it’s what makes our relationship so great.   

            Back when VHS’s were still popular and home videos were something used to capture major moments, my dad was always there with a camera in his hands. A few years ago we were watching some home videos and there was one that seemed to have given me that “ah-ha” moment where I saw I was always this way. It was Halloween and we were at a school participating in the holiday activities for the kids. I couldn’t have been more than five years old. The game that was shown on the video was a representation of musical chairs, instead of chairs being used there were large paper squares on the floor. The same concepts applies for the game, once the music stops everyone had to get on a square. It seemed that I didn’t like the rules because once the music started playing I went to stand on a square. I didn’t want to play the game by the rules they had, I was so young and already walking to my own beat. It was during that time that Chrissy and I were inseparable, we were in the same preschool class and kindergarten class and all of our time was spent together. When you spend that much time together, time together at home and countless hours at school, there is no room for individuality. However, it was during those truly inseparable moments that our relationship grew. We have the friendship we have now because of the countless hours we spent together when we were younger.    

            It wasn’t until elementary school that they decided to split us up. As inseparable as we were, the school thought we should be interacting with other students our age as if the school knew what was best for me and my sister. Nonetheless we were separated and put into different classes. Maybe it helped us gain some independence, we were locked at the hip since birth and maybe a little space did us some good, but I can’t say for sure. All I know is that whether the school knew what they were doing or not when it came to our interactions with other students, Chrissy and I were still inseparable and a different class wasn’t going to change that. We had this connection that unless you’re a twin, you wouldn’t be able to understand. We didn’t need to be attached to each other twenty-four seven to know we were best friends. We didn’t need to be attached to each other to know that the other wasn’t far away. If I needed her or if she needed me, we weren’t far apart.

            By the time we went to High School, we couldn’t be separated anymore. There wasn’t enough classes and too many students. It was nice to be able to have a class with my twin again after having being separated in school for so long. It’s so hard to say for certain when we became the people we are today, but I do think it’s safe to say that by High School, Chrissy and I were both set in our ways. During the four High School years that we shared, we both had the same friends and a few that were just mine or just hers. It was also during those years that people would refer to Chrissy as “the nice one” and me as “the mean one,” and I was fine with that. It was the truth. That was all a part of our personalities, Chrissy has always been a tolerant and forgiving person, it’s something I love about her. Me, on the other hand, I was far from forgiving people easily. I always knew how to hold on to a grudge. I had no tolerance for stupidity or practical jokes. My mom always says that my humor always has been on a different level than everyone in the family.

            I like to think about what may happen before it happens, especially in a situation I haven’t been in before. I think about the consequences and the repercussions, I map out everything that could possibly go wrong and Chrissy is willing to try anything and think later. I really love that about her. I love that she is so willing to be open about new experiences and willing to try anything. I am too paranoid to do things like that, I always think about what could go wrong rather than what could go right. With all my irrational fears, I think me being slightly paranoid is normal for me, but not for Chrissy. In a way, because we are so different, we protect each other.

            When it comes to being in the dark, having bugs in the house, having people call me names, I know Chrissy will be there to make sure that I don’t fall. She’ll sit with me so I won’t be alone when the sun goes down, she’ll have a napkin ready to kill the bug once she hears me screaming, and she will never let anyone get away with talking bad about me. I would do the same for her, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her. When she is willing to dive in head first, I hold her back and tell her to think before she acts and sometimes it’s okay to dive in head first and she will be there to give me that push to jump. I never let anyone bad mouth my sister to me in any way, and if she needed help with anything, I would always help her. We are two different people, but when it comes to protecting the other we couldn’t be more alike.

            Chrissy is a student at Kean enrolled in the Art and Education program. Even when she was younger, she always had this amazing talent for drawing and painting. If she is given an object to draw, she will draw to par, it will look absolutely stunning. I, on the other hand, don’t have an artistic bone in my body. In High School, I had to take a drawing class and she happened to be in the same class with me, she always helped me. She always sat next to me and helped me with my projects and I was so appreciative. I was always the more academic type, not the artistic type. I would much rather write a paper than anything else, writing always came easy to me. Chrissy struggles when it comes to her writing, she always tries her hardest and then I will take her papers and look over them and correct them. I like that we are so different in that artistic and academic way, she uses the left side of her brain and I am on the right. One of my favorite aspects about our relationship is that we are different when it comes to how we excel at school. It only shows how different we truly are and how there isn’t anything we wouldn’t do for each other when we need help.

            I always wonder what our lives would be like if we were the same, if we thought the same way and acted the same way. Would we be as close as we are? Would we be able to tolerate each other the way that we do now? It seems like it would be boring. Who would want a carbon copy of themselves down to the way we act? Maybe it’s because we are so different that we get along so well, it would be so strange to have this amazing relationship with her if we were so alike. I know I can go to her and talk to her about anything and she will be understanding and calm. With me, it would be completely different. If she came to me to talk about anything, she knows that whatever answer or advice I give her will be what she needs to hear and not what she wants to hear. It’s not always about being the “same” all the time. When people think of twins they can often think about dressing the same and having the same hairstyle and being the identical version of the other. That’s not who Chrissy and I are. We may share the same clothes, but that’s about it. We are so different and we think so differently, it’s the reason I think we are so close. We balance each other out and keep each other on steady ground. It’s always about being there for the other person when they may fall, it’s nice to know I have her to catch me in case I ever fall and she knows that I would do the same for her.   

            We are often asked if we are identical twins because we look so much alike, but we’re not. We are fraternal, everything about us is different. Everything, but our birthday.  

            “How do you like being a twin” is the hardest question that I get asked by people when they meet me and Chrissy or they find out I am a twin. I’ve always been a twin and I will always be a twin, a question like that doesn’t have answer. The relationship I have with my sister isn’t something that can be duplicated and explained in one sitting, we are both complex and have a complex relationship, but it’s ours. What she and I have, no other set of twins in the world will have. Our relationship, our bond, it’s can’t be duplicated.

Blog Eight

Ideas for Short Essays

It is so difficult to come up with a few ideas about a short story because they need to be more condensed and still having a lot of detail and description. I was only able to come up with one idea that I think will work for my first short essay and that is about my very first memory. It is something that I can describe in great detail and remember very vividly.

Blog Seven - Long Essay Draft 2

Danielle Zingalis

Long Essay 2 – Draft

 

 

 

Different Sides of the Same Door

 

 

            We were always different. As babies and toddlers we were dressed in matching clothes and had the same hairstyles, but looking the same and acting the same is so different. I was always the one to walk to my own speed and Chrissy wasn’t. All that didn’t matter though, it didn’t matter how different we acted or how different our personalities were, and we were always inseparable.

            Back when VHS’s were still popular and home videos were something used to capture major moments, my dad was always there with a camera in his hands. A few years ago we were watching some home videos and there was one that seemed to have given me that “ah-ha” moment where I saw I was always this way. It was Halloween and we were at a school participating in the holiday activities for the kids. I couldn’t have been more than five years old. The game that was shown on the video was a representation of musical chairs, instead of chairs being used there was large paper squares on the floor. The same concepts applies for the game, once the music stops everyone had to get on a square. It seemed that I didn’t like the rules because once the music started playing I went to stand on a square. I didn’t want to play the game by the rules they had, I was so young and already walking to my own beat. It was during that time that Chrissy and I were inseparable, we were in the same preschool class and kindergarten class and all of our time was spent together.    

            It wasn’t until elementary school that they decided to split us up. As inseparable as we were, the school thought we should be interacting with other students our age as if the school knew what was best for me and my sister. Nonetheless we were separated and put into different classes. Maybe it helped us gain some independence, we were locked at the hip since birth and maybe a little space did us some good, but I can’t say for sure. All I know is that whether the school knew what they were doing or not when it came to our interactions with other students, Chrissy and I were still inseparable and a different class wasn’t going to change that.

            By the time we went to High School, we couldn’t be separated anymore. There wasn’t enough classes and too many students. It was nice to be able to have a class with my twin again after having being separated in school for so long. It’s so hard to say for certain when we became the people we are today, but I do think it’s safe to say that by High School, Chrissy and I were both set in our ways. During the four High School years that we shared, we both had the same friends and a few that were just mine or just hers. It was also during those years that people would refer to Chrissy as “the nice one” and me as “the mean one,” and I was fine with that. It was the truth. That was all a part of our personalities, Chrissy has always been a tolerant and forgiving person, it’s something I love about her. Me, on the other hand, I was far from forgiving people easily. I always knew how to hold on to a grudge. I had no tolerance for stupidity or practical jokes. My mom always says that my humor always has been on a different level than everyone in the family.

            I like to think about what may happen before it happens, especially in a situation I haven’t been in before. I think about the consequences and the repercussions, I map out everything that could possibly go wrong and Chrissy is willing to try anything and think later. I really love that about her. I love that she is so willing to be open about new experiences and willing to try anything. I am too paranoid to do things like that, I always think about what could go wrong rather than what could go right. With all my irrational fears, I think me being slightly paranoid is normal for me, but not for Chrissy. In a way, because we are so different, we protect each other.

            When it comes to being in the dark, having bugs in the house, having people call me names, I know Chrissy will be there to make sure that I don’t fall. She’ll sit with me so I won’t be alone when the sun goes down, she’ll have a napkin ready to kill the bug once she hears me screaming, and she will never let anyone get away with talking bad about me. I would do the same for her, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her. When she is willing to dive in head first, I hold her back and tell her to think before she acts, I never let anyone bad mouth my sister to me in any way, and if she needed help with anything, I would always help her.

            Chrissy is a student at Kean enrolled in the Art and Education program. Even when she was younger, she has this amazing talent for drawing and painting. If she is given an object to draw, she will draw to par, it will look absolutely stunning. I, on the other hand, don’t have an artistic bone in my body. In High School, I had to take a drawing class and she happened to be in the same class with me, she always helped me. She always sat next to me and helped me with my projects and I was so appreciative. I was always the more academic type. I would much rather write a paper than anything else, writing always came easy to me. Chrissy struggles when it comes to her writing, she always tries her hardest and then I will take her papers and look over them and correct them. I like that we are so different in that artistic and academic way, she uses the left side of her brain and I am on the right.

            I always wonder what our lives would be like if we were the same, if we thought the same way and acted the same way. Would be as close as we are? Would be able to tolerate each other the way we do now? Maybe it’s because we are so different that we get along so well, it would be so strange to have this amazing relationship with her if we were so alike. I know I can go to her and talk to her about anything and she will be understanding and calm. With me, it would be completely different. If she came to me about anything she knows that whatever answer or advice I give her will be what she needs to hear and not what she wants to hear. It’s not always about being the “same” all the time. When people think of twins they can often think about dressing the same and having the same hairstyle and being the identical version of the other. That’s not who Chrissy and I are. We may share the same clothes, but that’s about it. We are so different and we think so differently, it’s the reason I think we are so close. We balance each other out and keep each other on steady ground. It’s always about being there for the other person when they may fall, it’s nice to know I have her to catch me in case I ever fall and she knows that I would do the same for her.   

Blog Six

Long Essay Two Ideas

At the young age of twenty-two, thinking about moments that have impacted my life have come far and few between. The traumatic scare that took place when I was six was always a memory that stuck with me and always will, which is why I chose it for Long Essay One.

The weeks for this fall semester seem to be going by so quickly and it's already time for Long Essay Two. Maybe it's the constant stress I have or the overload of upcoming assignment and things that need to get done always running in my head, but thinking about something to write for Long Essay Two has been a challenge. I had two ideas that may seem to work for this essay; one was about a long, lost family member. The other was about having Bell's Palsy. The latter of the two happened when I was in fourth grade and yet it seems like the memories of what happened to me have faded. I don't know why that is. The former idea, the one about the long, lost family member, it's complicated. As easy as it would be to tell the story, I don't think I am comfortable talking that in depth about my family.

My final idea was about my twin sister and I. There are no pivotal moments that jump out at me, but writing about myself and my sister seems like something that would come easy to me. We couldn't be more different than each other and yet we couldn't be closer.

These are just the few ideas I have and I don't know which to write or maybe I will think of something else. I guess only time will tell.

Blog Five

Revising Draft One

After having the meeting with Dr. Chandler and my group during class, I was given really good insights about what to do next in my Long Story. I plan on discussing more about the "now" instead of just keeping the focus mostly in the past. I also want to try and add more dialogue to the story to help the story flow more.

Even though I was given great advice about the story and what to do next, I am not too sure if this is the story I plan on revising for my final draft.

Blog 4 - Long Essay - Rough Draft

Danielle Zingalis

Rough Draft – Long Essay 1

 

The Mask

            At twenty-two year’s old I would have to say that my list of irrational fears has dwindled in the past ten years. My fear of the dark, of being in the house alone, an unexpected noise that seems to make only me jump is only listing a few. I have come to live with my fears and so has my family. They don’t hurt anyone or cause anyone distress, except maybe myself, and I don’t see this “phase” passing anytime soon. These fears that I have weren’t things that I just woke up to, something had happened to me that changed everything. I remember a time in my life when I was scared to tears. Unfortunately it was my father who scared me. To this day, I still think about that moment. One minute was all it took to scare the living daylights out of me.

            My aunt used to live in a house that was directly in front of the woods. Between the woods in the backyard and the exterior décor of the house itself, it gave off a very eerie feel to it. Halloween was approaching and her sons had wanted to do something memorable. My aunt, having always been a fan of Halloween, was to set up a series of clues that would lead her boys and their friends from the basement to the backyard.

            To make this Halloween prank even scarier, my aunt had enlisted the help of two of my uncles and my father. My aunt’s role in this prank was to guide the boys in the right direction. She held a walkie talkie that gave her a deep, scratchy voice and one of her kids had the other walkie talkie. In the basement was my uncle, who happened to be my aunt’s husband. He was in the corner lurking in the shadows holding a rumbling chainsaw. Following my uncle, was my aunt’s brother, Tommy. He was dressed as a very creepy old woman. Supposedly, his character had died years ago in the house and only one comes out on Halloween. The last piece of this scary puzzle was my father, and he had a mask.

            This wasn’t just any mask, not to a six year old. This mask was brownish in color, it had hair coming out every which way, teeth that were sharp and separated with eyes that were yellow with little pupils. About a week before the joke was to take place, right before Halloween, my father had a great idea that instead of just scaring his nephews and their friends, he would scare me as well.

            What does any typical six year old do at three o’clock on a weekday? I came home from school and my mother was in the kitchen and I had already known that my father was home; his car was in the driveway. My mom said that he was just about to go in the shower and that I could go say hi. My mother had no idea what my father was planning and I have to believe that if she did she wouldn’t have let him go through with it. Walking down the hallway to the bathroom was such a big mistake.

            I hadn’t even gotten half way to the bathroom when he jumped out of I front of me. All he was wearing was the mask and his grey shorts. He was crouched down, his knees were bent down close to touching the floor and his hands were in mid air flailing around. He made some sort of screeching scream. To say I was scared, would be an understatement. I panicked. I turned right around and ran back into the kitchen screaming. My mother turned around and looked at me with surprise, not knowing what was wrong. I was so scared that I literally fell to the floor hugging my knees to my chest.

My dad came running into the kitchen with the mask in his hand. “It’s me!” he yelled over and over and over, but I wasn’t having any of it. I was just laying on the floor crying, my mom holding me. All she could think about while holding my shaking little body was what I was thinking - monsters do exist.

            My father felt horrible about what he did to me. He didn’t think I would react the way that I did. I was so traumatized that my father had to take me to the toy store and buy me something. I can’t remember what it was, but I remember that he bought my forgiveness for sixty dollars. Of course, I did forgive him, but that didn’t change how I view things today. Because of my father and his “funny” joke, I am scarred for life.

            I have become so paranoid over the years because of this incident that I am now afraid of so many things. I had to sleep with a night light for so many years because I was afraid of the dark. Although I am still afraid of the dark, it’s not as bad as it used to be. I don’t watch a scary movies and I won’t stay in the house by myself when it’s dark out. For a long time when the sun would go down I had to have my sister come down that exact same hallway with me to go to my room just to put on my pajamas, I was scared to be alone. We still live in the same house and although some of my fears have subsided, there are still some that are there. This paranoia I have is still with me at twenty-two years old. I refuse to go up the fourteen steps that ascend to the second floor of my house when it’s dark; I refuse to go into the garage when it’s dark out; I won’t look out any windows for a long period of time when the sun sets because I am that paranoid and that scared that someone will jump out and scare me.

Regardless of my own little “Halloween Prank,” my cousins and their friends had their own experience of a lifetime. Two of my cousin’s friends got so scared that they ran home. By the end of the night, when the joke was over, my aunt’s kids and their friends said that they knew it was a joke and that they weren’t scared. I got so scared by a mask for this practical joke and fell to the floor; my cousins and their friends were a part of the entire prank, I don’t care what they say, they got scared. Because I was too young to stay home alone, I had to go to my aunt’s house with my family. I had no intention of going outside to partake in this little prank my aunt had created. I stayed inside with my mom where it was safe. 

It’s safe to say that I can now laugh at what my father did to me, but it is clear that I never got over it. My dad, unfortunately, still scares me from time to time, but he says he’s doing it to help me get rid of my fear. I may laugh when he scares me now, but that doesn’t change the fact that I get scared. Not only did that day scar me but it scarred my dad as well. To this day he still feels bad about what he did, but it’s been years since this horrific event and I like to think that we have both moved past this.

Blog Three

Possible Topics

Being only twenty-two, I feel like my life hasn't had many life changing moments. Perhaps I only had minor moments in my life that have impacted me. One thing that did have a long lasting impact on me and became the reason for some irrational fears I have is when I was about six or seven and was terrified by a joke my dad played on me. Another possible topic is when I was younger I found out I had Lyme's Disease. My final idea is when a man named Gene claimed to be my mother's brother about seven years ago.

Blog Two

Creative nonfiction is about taking a factual life event or historical moment and adding emotion and description to make the story stronger. When writing creative nonfiction, authors often use elements of fiction to generate a more interesting and in depth story. They will use flashbacks and irony to help recreate the scene they are writing about.

When reading Gutkind and Lott, they had made some interesting comments about what creative nonfiction is. Both authors had discussed how important it is to stay factual when writing CNF. Authors writing CNF have no room for writing false facts about their story. That would then make the story fiction, rather than nonfiction. Even though authors use fictional aspects in their writing, they don’t use it to bend the truth. Gutking and Lott had both stressed the issue that telling the truth in a CNF piece is so important, the most important aspect in the story.

I didn’t seem to find any facts that they left out. After reading them, I didn’t have too many questions that went unanswered.

Today, creative nonfiction is constantly changing its definitions; mostly because of digital publishing. People everyday are now blogging and writing “snapshots” of their daily life or current events. People are constantly giving their opinion on newsworthy events and writing about personal experiences that coincide with them. It seems that people are now writing more to get a point across rather than what they feel and what they want they’re reader to feel.  

Blog One

What it Creative Nonfiction?

Creative nonfiction is about telling a story in a more detailed way. The author gives their reader true facts about a time in their own life or a time in history and give a more detailed description. They use description and dialogue to emphasize their story.

Essential Features

• Told in first person's point-of-view
• Characters
• Description
• Tone
• Self Discovery
• Emotions

Sometimes There, Sometimes Not

• Minor Characters
• Metaphors
• Dialogue
• The ending of the creative nonfiction stories are not always happy

Differences Between Long and Short Forms

The main difference between the short and long forms of the stories is the level of detail. The longer stories had more description in their works and it was if the author had more to say. The scenes in the longer versions were set specifically to what the author remembers. They place the setting exactly how they want the reader to see it, the way that they saw it.

In the shorter versions, the author gets right the point. They didn't dwell on the little details because they didn't hold as much importance. They had wanted the reader to know just what their plot was and what the tone was  from the first few sentences.