English 1121, OL41

Essay 1 (Revision)

Crispin Thys (Essay 1 draft)

Intro

I chose to write about the story which depicts a man having a friend fix the button on his coat after a fight ensues on a bus. In Queneau’s stories he uses great detail to explain the story from that specific perspective. Oftentimes his depiction relies on a lot of sensory detail. Each of the perspectives that I wrote about, come from a place of vulnerability, a place of helplessness. The first perspective is that of the bus itself. I chose to write about this point of view because I felt that the interpretation from the point of view of the bus itself would be an interesting viewpoint, which would emphasize the damage done to our surroundings that might occur when a fight ensues. This damage is often done with little regard to the property itself. The bus could not do anything other than accept the beating it was taking, and was forced to watch from a submissive position. The second interpretation of the story that I wrote about was that of the bus driver. I also interpreted his viewpoint to be from a position of desperation because he normally has control of his bus, and takes great pride in its efficient functionality, but during this scenario he lost control and could not calm the raucous on the back of the bus. The third interpretation of the story that I wrote about was that of a fellow passenger. I chose to use a passenger who does not normally take the bus, but was forced to do so today to ensure that all three perspectives shared similarities in that they came from a helpless, desperate point of view, but the details were unique to their situation. In writing using these three perspectives, with three different tones, that all come from places of desperation and submissiveness, I hope to convey the less often considered notion that we, as human beings, are subject to the conditions instilled upon us by our surroundings. Under normal circumstances humans are used to being at the top of the food chain, altering the environment around us, but in many cases, nature is too powerful, and we, just as the bus, the bus driver, and the passenger, must adapt to the conditions.

The Bus

They fill me up as they always have. I sit in the hot sun as they load more and more bodies onto me. They cram more and more people into my seats, without regard for the work I do to transport them. Expressing little appreciation for my hard work, they focus more on each other and how they are inconvenienced. Each person is different, one in particular with a long neck, more into himself than the rest. Another one of them, less appreciative of me, but more angry at his situation. Their pain felt by all, they break out into arguments against each other. Me, and all of my parts, the last thing on their mind. After the fight, they look disheveled with their clothing all misaligned. They express no sympathy for the damage they have done to me. Seats torn. Window scratched. Focused on himself, the man has a friend fixing the button on his coat. Nobody fixes the damage, which has been handed to me.

The Bus Driver

You usually have the regulars, but today was different. Strangers alike, they each get on my bus giving me a nod as they walk up the steps. I take good care of my bus. It serves the community well, and it provides me a lifestyle. Hot from the body heat of everyone on board, I do my best to open the windows to provide a little bit of comfort to my passengers. A tall man with his chin pointed towards the clouds enters the bus. He doesn’t seem like my normal passengers. He has a bow on his hat. The bodies and the heat inconvenienced another passenger, an older fellow. Neither recognizes that we all share the same conditions. The older gentleman explodes in anger, only to be met with disdain from the fancy fellow in the back. A fight ensues. I try my best to reintroduce peace into the situation, but like the little regard they have for my bus, little regard they have for my voice. I no longer have control. The damage is unavoidable, but it is fixable, just as the button was fixable on the one man’s coat.

The Passenger

I never take the bus. I hate the crowds. I hate the smell. I hate the traffic. I hate the jerky movements. But my car broke down, and I had to take the bus today. I went in with an open mind, hoping to be pleasantly surprised, but I quickly recalled exactly how much I hate the bus. The bus was hot and humid. The sun shined down on the bus, and bodies seemed to radiate steam. Everyone was frustrated as more bodies crowded on the bus, but most people managed to keep calm enough. One crotchety old man caused a raucous expressing his dissatisfaction only to be met with the force of another passenger. What was already an uncomfortable situation for me, quickly escalated into my worst nightmare. More heat. More energy. More noise. More being pushed around. More arguing. The bus ride from hell continued, but I couldn’t get off. I had to take the bus today, and I had no other option. After the fight I noticed a man out the window having the button on his shirt fixed. This is the last time that I will ever take the bus.

Conclusion

This assignment required a great deal of creative writing. I think what I struggled with most was thinking of different perspectives from which to write. It initially seemed that Queneau used every possible style and interpretation imaginable. After I thought about all of the players involved, however, I realized that there was great potential to write with a unique style, taking the perspective of innocent, passive, members of the story. This allowed me to see that there are always multiple sides to a story. A story is told by one individual, but the story might come across entirely different from the perspective of someone, or in the case of the bus above, something, else. This assignment allowed me to realize that an interpretation can really be very diverse. It can focus on sensory details like Queneau’s examples writing from an olfactory or visual sense. An interpretation can also focus on other physical details or even mental details, as can be done by approaching the scenario considering the unique situation of everyone involved. I think that this assignment translates quite nicely to the outside world where it is important to consider that every situation has multiple interpretations. It is important for us to consider each interpretation of events, and not focus solely on a single interpretation or a single report of the events. One could argue that examples of the different sides to a story are more evident in the current news cycle than ever before. In the recent weeks you have had a great deal of civil unrest, and everyone seems to have a different opinion or perspective. You have the voice of the peaceful protestors, and the angry rioters. You have the voice of the police who are protective of their profession, and the police who recognize a need for change. You have the voice of the news anchors, and those they bring on their show. Everyone seems to have a voice, but each voice is different, and all parties must be heard. Queneau does a great job providing a voice to each sense, and each perspective. I hope that through this assignment I was able to provide a voice to the other people involved in the scene, and to an even greater degree, I hope that you listened.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1DJ41dLRvFNniJ1nCsz2DAni3rOEHoMPp8q9OO05l6dA/edit?usp=sharing

https://docs.google.com/document/d/11F4bxJQLOBrJr8-ayQtaVqV5UT9cWvC2V9mZPAOx10k/edit?usp=sharing

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1trKcl77mwwytKLfUG9uLtLt2NJRXrOiZ18XY0oBo7dI/edit?usp=sharing

Essay 1 - Draft

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1eS9esqoqzH9Mg-uiBj3MTJxarNM_h2kYcwKD9CbnmrE/edit?usp=sharing 

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1K_GvCuc_y5BEbR-PynMvaguJ098g5dwZqlHCfsaUDgs/edit?pli=1

Marcus Robinson     

English 1121

Essay No.1-Draft

The Objective

This short story is inspired by  “The Money” by Junot Diaz, The story can be seen from many different views and be interpreted differently. The two styles that you will see are objective from the thieves view and a virtuous remix from the child’s view. The family in the story, even most of the neighborhood was depicted as poor and without money. Although there wasn’t very much available they were honest and truthful. I chose to write from the view of the thiefs side but also change the story. One personal way I Interpret “The Money ” is as objective and a virtuous story , There will always be people who want more no matter the cost and who don’t care about personal feelings as well as those who have standards. 

Not everyone is lucky to have a life like mine. You either have to work hard or be born into wealth to get into this life. The only downside to being rich is you lose your ambitions because you already have everything someone can dream of. So you turn to the only thing you have left which is money. Enough money will make anyone go rotten inside and out, at least it did to me and my family anyway. It’s freezing out here, my brother Theo said, you should come inside. It’s time for business as usual. As I slowly walk inside and welcome our guest for the evening, I smile at everyone but today I actually feel guilt for a change. Every tuesday at 8pm precisely my father has potential clients come into our massive house for real-estate. It happened to be Mr and Ms Walton who are looking to buy property. In this neighborhood our reputation precedes us as the best retailers around. My dad uses our family money and assets to help the less fortunate. Only my dad, brother Theo and me of course all by ourselves. Now the plan is simple, all we have to do is convince our wonderful guest that we have what they want only excluding the fact we’re robbing them of thousands of dollars behind closed doors. Hey it may not be the nicest thing to do to anyone but it’s just the usual family business. It will never matter how much my family has all we know is that it will never be enough money for us. 

Strangely one morning about two weeks later we get a call from a family friend who lives a mile away. He talks about throwing a party to celebrate good times and friendship. I can’t remember the last time someone wanted to throw a party for me. Who can deny a party, a few drinks with my friends. Ideally it sounds fun but no one must ever find the red briefcase hidden in our house. Of course my father and brother knew about this special briefcase and if lost our life would be at a loss. A day passes and it’s time for the party, except we didn’t expect 100 people or more to come. Not that we couldn’t fit everybody, I just don’t want to be responsible if anything valuable gets stolen. “What an amazing house you have” says Stanly, the man who decided to throw this party. I replied it’s great to see this neighborhood together for a change. The residents in our neighborhood were all quiet and rich people so I doubt anyone would steal from us.

Thank You for coming! See you next time as I say goodnight to everyone leaving. But I feel uneasy, my heart is pounding and I can’t get my mind off that red briefcase. Ironically my dad and brother immediately stare at me  as the door slams shut behind me, where is the briefcase they both ask simultaneously? Not a word leaves my mouth. The only thought in my head is that our lives are ruined if someone found it. So I ran with no hesitation to the hiding place only to find myself in disbelief that my room looks like a hurricane has swept it away and no briefcase was to be found. I panic and think who could possibly know what this is and when during the party was it stolen. I never saw anyone leave with anything remotely close to a red briefcase. Who would want to steal from the most successful criminals in Maryland? Couldn’t have been the Waltons there too old. Then who? The people who gave the idea for the party? Unfortunately we can’t go to the cops because they will find out our lies so I need to think long and hard. 

Suddenly It strikes fast, the only other person in the world who knew about that hiding spot. My mother must have snuck in last night with our guest and took what belonged to me.  Luckily she only lives an hour down I-95, so I tell my brother and father the news and they force me to drive considering this is all somehow my fault. It all makes sense why she wanted that briefcase, she was just honest and never wanted anything with criminals like us even though the pay was well. I make it to her house and drive slowly. Surely she’s not home at the moment. I waste no time struggling to climb through her back window in search of what’s mine. I’m surprised because the red briefcase is right in front of me. Open it and sure enough is all our records that proves me my father and brother conduct illegal business.  Although I couldn’t help to see what else was hiding in her house because there is always more to take. The entire house was perfect kitchen nothing, bedroom nothing, however in the bathroom, now that is worth taking. No matter how much of something you have or want in life, you will always want more and for me that’s money. 

I have no questions in relation towards where my mother managed to scrounge up two hundred thousand dollars but I took it anyway.  I headed up back north to my home in Maryland feeling successful, my family welcomed me home and I returned only the red briefcase back. Days past even months and still nothing from any of my family. I feel guilty about what I did by taking my mother’s money but Not everyone is lucky to have a life like mine.

It’s only the five of us on this lonely farm as for away from the city as possible. My days are mostly simple, my mom raises my two baby sisters who are only three months old. Meanwhile my father works hard on the felids to sell fresh fruit to keep money in the house. Luckily for me I was the first person in my family fortunate enough to get an education . One that may make me a doctor or lawyer someday my mom hopes. One hot summer day I became memborized on my father’s work ethic only for it to pay off so little. The hardest part is keeping away thieves from our farms, they take what they can run off with it. As long as no one finds what’s most precious to this family, a diamond necklace passed from generation here on this poor farm.

Virtuous 

When I was little I never cried at a funeral, maybe I couldn’t feel the grief of everyone in the room or I just couldn’t comprehend death. So why cry today, my uncle who always supported me died in a car accident. No one deserves that kind of death. We heard the news early yesterday morning, so a week passed and  my family and I left in the morning to go to the funeral.It was a beautiful service, got to see a long distance family member. Honor my uncle, and the food was amazing. However, I wish I could say the same thing when my family arrived home later on today.  My father was about to turn into the incredible hook and my mother was devastated to see our poor farm now broke. Who would want to rob us the one day we leave. We’ve been good to everyone and this is how our community treats us back. Of course the thieves stopped when they found that diamond necklace, as my mother cries I promise our items will be returned

But firstly who are these mesiouris thieves. Thankfully this town is small so there can be only but so many people who would want business with us.

All these problems started happening when I did first start in high school and that’s when it dawned on me. There are these two twins that go by the Robinson’s, they don’t come from the best family and sure as hell there sneaky. No one takes what belongings to my family and gets away with it. So I take all the chances in the world and blame them. Like I said this town is small so we all knew where eachother lived. I paid the Robinsons a friendly visit when they all left for work and school. Today I had to skip school because this is priceless. I checked the mailbox for an emergency key and luckily there is one there. After an hour of searching I see something priceless: a diamond necklace, something that belonged to my mom. I put it around my neck and quickly leave the way I came. Its about a ten minute walk home and on that walk home I felt happy I can contribute to my family. Like an undercover agent.  I return the necklace to my mother because it’s the right thing to do. . One day I feel like I will be blessed for the good I have done.

In making this story what I mainly learned from “The Money” by Junot Diaz is the language that you use can determine the way people interpret your story. Language has an unlimited amount of styles as well, so depending on your word play you can make the same story one hundred times all interpreted differently. Just like in Raymond Queneau’s “Exercises in Style,” about the same scenario just with a different style of writing. Another proved to be a changeling topic was recreating the story because it is based on “The Money”.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1g6_jY-2TQVhznwoRca1XmdHfUNcOm14OR8HBtiUWqOc/edit

Essay 1 draft :

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1WCyNZCY8OE3XndpduODN7kPBPjq1qU1128KMR_QfVFw/edit?usp=sharing

or

English 1121 Essay 1 draft

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1Op1DgfHSpO–WqwwTEN_0p59R_MlRyAz

Essay 1, draft 1