Category Archives: Project #1

draft, Homework Instructions, Week 7

Responding to our retelling comparisons

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As with the drafts of the retellings, you’ll post your drafts of Part 2, comparisons of the original story and your retelling here and then as homework for Week 7, write comments on at least 2 classmates’ drafts.

For your post:

  • title: the title you’re giving your comparative essay
  • include a link to your retelling draft
  • paste your comparative essay into the post
  • category: choose Week 7 under Homework AND draft under Project #1
  • tags: choose the tag for the story you’re writing about, plus any others you think are appropriate

In the comments you write to your classmates, reflect back to them any or all of the following:

  • what do you understand is the argument made in the comparative essay?
  • what is the thesis statement?
  • does the thesis statement reflect the argument?
  • do you have any suggestions about the examples chosen to support the argument?
  • do you have any suggestions about the organization of the argument?
  • what do you not understand?
  • what is clear and convincing to you?

Remember that in class last week we decided that the final version is due on Wednesday on our site:

  • post your retelling using the category Project #1
  • tag your post with the story you’re working with plus any other tag you find appropriate
  • for the post’s title, use your retelling’s title
  • in the post, write your retelling’s title, then paste in the retelling
  • next, leave two blank lines and then in the same post, add your comparison’s title and paste in your comparison.

I look forward to reading your Project #1 results and gathering all of your hard work into our anthology using a WordPress tool called Anthologize.

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Project #1

“The Yellow Wallpaper” Johns Pov

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 “The Yellow Wallpaper” Johns Pov

The dream is finally coming together. The beautiful wife, the darling baby, and now we are finally able to afford the renovations that we’ve been speaking about. Sure it’s expensive, and we’ll have to be away for the entire summer, but it couldn’t have worked out better. I found a nice rental home for the full three months, and got a job nearby in the clinic.

Besides, ever since the baby has come along, Jane seems a little on edge, and perhaps a little depressed. This little “vacation” will give her a chance to clear her head, and get a little fresh air. In fact the cleaner air will be beneficial to both her and the baby, such fragile things.

We finally arrive at the house, and it really is perfect. It is set back from the road and is on quite a large property. It has the most beautiful gardens, Jane and the baby can spend hours out there in the wonderful summer air. Jane immediately says the house is haunted, but I know that is just her depression talking. It was sitting empty for a couple of years but that just led to the price being reduced, not to having ghosts in the attic.

We finally got settled. We chose the room on the topmost floor. It has lots of windows, providing plenty of fresh air and sunshine, practically the cure for her symptoms of depression! At first she wanted a room on the ground floor, but I talked her out of that in a hurry. Although she did make a good point about the wallpaper, it really is ugly. Maybe I’ll get around to repapering the room this summer.

Jane has been complaining about her “illness” as of late. What a silly girl, “illness” this is a mild case of depression brought on by the stress of giving birth. I have seen it before and will no doubt see it again. How lucky is she to have a physician as a husband?! With fresh air and lots of rest she will be back to her good old self in no time. She wants to write, and talks about visiting her cousins, but that must wait, rest is what she needs now.

The work at the clinic is really interesting, and challenging. It’s really a shame I have to spend so much time there, and sometimes even late into the night. I’m just glad that Jane is on the mend, this wonderful air is really doing her well. She does have some trouble sleeping some nights, but it’s just her nerves. It’ll pass soon.

My, how Jane can go on about the wallpaper. She speaks of its crazy patterns, angles, and curves, and how it makes her nervous. I would love to repaper it, but we are so very busy at the clinic these days. Besides, to repaper it would be giving in to her wild imaginations and make her fantasies more real. It’s really a great room, all but the wallpaper, but it’s not like we live here. Only for a couple more months. I’m sure she understands that.

Again, Jane speaks about visiting with her cousins, and again how I tell her she needs more time to rest. Her cousins Henry and Julia are very excitable folks and that is too much for her right now. I’m also having suspicions that she might be writing. It’s a good thing my sister was able to come out and help around the house. I’ll be telling her to keep an eye out for Jane’s notebook. Jane needs her rest, we are so lucky to have found such a great house for her to recuperate.

After the fourth of July, Jane’s mother, and sister spent some time here along with her sister’s kids, I thought the company would do her good, but she seems very tired out. If she’s still not 100% by the time we go back home, I’ll take her to see Doctor Weir Mitchell. He has been known to treat hysteria very effectively. But in the meantime I’m very glad Janie was able to stay, and help us out this summer. Jane has to focus on getting healthy, not on housework, and caring for the baby.

What a busy summer this is turning out to be, there is always something going on at the clinic, with lots of late nights. And when I get home, there is Jane’s silliness to deal with. Again she asked me about visiting her cousins but made my argument for me by breaking out in tears during our conversation. They’ll be plenty of time to visit once she gets better, now she needs to rest.

Last night I awoke to find Jane creeping around the room in the middle of the night. She decided that was the time to tell me she wanted to go home. She can be so silly, where would we go, the house is still not ready. In only three weeks we’d be leaving anyway. In the meantime she is getting noticeably better. She seems to think that  physically it might seem so, but mentally she is suffering. It is just that kind of thinking that is making her feel that way. After speaking about it, I’m sure she feels the same way I do about it. If she puts those thoughts out of her head she’ll be better in no time.

Jane seems to be doing much better, and is really getting her rest. Jane and I had a laugh today, about her getting better in spite of the wallpaper. I’m pleased to see she got over those ridiculous fantasies.

Boy, am I tired. After spending the afternoon, packing and getting ready to return home, and spending the whole night at the clinic, I hope to find the time for a short nap before traveling back home.

Finally I arrive home and head to bed, luckily that’s bolted to the floor and does not need packing. As I approach the room, I notice something very wrong, for one thing the door is locked, and from within there are tearing sounds and maniacal laughter. “Unlock the door” I yell to Jane to no avail. The strange noises from inside the room continue. I call to Janie to bring me an axe, I must get Jane out of there. Then I hear her speak, in a very gentle voice she says “John dear, the key is down by the front steps, under a plantain leaf”. 

She is just being silly again, “open the door, my darling” I pleaded. But again and again she says the key is downstairs. I send Janie to go check before taking the axe to the door and indeed she comes back with the key.

Bracing myself I open the door, and there is my wife creeping around the room amidst the ruins of the wallpaper. I call to her ask her what she is doing. She turns to me and I will never forget her face at that moment, the crazy look in her eyes. “I’ve got out at last,” she said, “in spite of you and Jane. And I’ve pulled off most of the paper, So you can’t put me back!”

The world starts going dark, what is she talking about? I have a very clear thought just before hitting the ground, that crazy women creeping about is not my wife, she looks very much like her, but that is not her!

 

 

Comparison

For my retelling I decided to go with “The Yellow Wallpaper” by Charlotte Perkins Gilman. I chose to rewrite the story from the protagonists husbands point of view, switching from autodiegetic, to heterodiegetic first person point of view. In its retelling the story changes from an increasingly unreliable narrator, to a slightly uninformed narrator. The new version shows us that even though the “illness” was taking over Jane’s life, her husband only saw it as an overreaction to a mild depression.

In the story, Jane spends a lot of time alone, and has a lot of time to dwell on her thoughts and imaginations. She tries speaking to him a couple of times, saying she wants to be in a different room, but he doesn’t go for it. He has different ideas on how to deal with her issues, but of course he doesn’t realize how bad it is for her.

In the story there are a couple of times when John seems to brush off her concerns. She tries to tell him what bothering her, but he finds an explanation. “..there is something strange about the house, I can feel it…but he said what I felt was a draught, and shut the window.” I tried to show how he really was trying to do the best for her and really felt he knew better. ” Jane immediately says the house is haunted, but I know that is just her depression talking.” He really feels that he is making all the right decisions.

A few times throughout the story John makes a decision for them. In the original it is clear that John made the decision and she was not all too happy about it. “I don’t like our room a bit. I wanted one downstairs that opened on the piazza and had roses all over the window, and pretty old-fashioned chintz hangings! But John would not hear of it. He is very careful and loving and hardly lets me stir without special attention.” In the retelling however, John says how “we” made the decision. “We chose the room on the topmost floor. It has lots of windows, providing plenty of fresh air and sunshine, practically the cure for her symptoms of depression! At first she wanted a room on the ground floor, but I talked her out of that in a hurry.” I feel this shows that while he is trying to do what is best for her, he doesn’t take the time to listen to her. What he thinks is right. He is, after all, the physician.

In the original, the story ends with the woman behind the wallpaper “getting out.” “I’ve got out at last, in spite of you and Jane. And I’ve pulled of most of the paper, so you can’t put me back!” Although it was in her head, i tried to leave in some of that ambiguity, allowing the thought that someone actually got out to remain in the story. “I have a very clear thought just before hitting the ground, that crazy women creeping about is not my wife, she looks very much like her, but that is not her!”

I enjoyed imagining John’s side of the story, he is a big part of the story and the reason she is in her situation. I feel the original made him seem a little uncaring, and I felt he deserved more credit. I think he really did care, but felt he was doing what was best for her.

 

 

 

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draft, Week 6

Retelling, 3rd Person Omniscient

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Retelling A Rose For Emily -3rd Person Omniscient (first Posted Under Reply to Project 1)

WHEN Emily Grierson died, her whole town went to her funeral: the men through a sort of respectful affection for a fallen monument, the women mostly out of curiosity to see the inside of her house, which no one save an old man-servant–a combined gardener and cook–had seen in years.
It was a big, frame house that had once been white, decorated with cupolas and spires and scrolled balconies in the heavily lightsome style of the seventies, set on what had once been the best street. But due to development of  garages and cotton gins even the august names of that neighborhood have vanished; only her house was left, lifting its stubborn and coquettish decay above the cotton wagons and the gasoline pumps-a degradable sight to see. And now she had gone to join the representatives of those august names where they lay in the cedar-bemused cemetery among the ranked and anonymous graves of Union and Confederate soldiers who fell at the battle of Jefferson.
Alive, she had been a tradition, a duty, and a care; a sort of hereditary obligation upon the town, dating from that day in 1894 when Colonel Sartoris, the mayor–he who fathered the edict that no Negro woman should appear on the streets without an apron-rid her taxes, the dispensation dating from the death of her father on into perpetuity. Not that she would have accepted charity. Colonel Sartoris invented an involved tale to the effect that Miss Emily’s father had loaned money to the town, which the town, as a matter of business, preferred this way of repaying. Only a man of Colonel Sartoris’ generation and thought could have invented it, and only a woman could have believed it.
The next generation came around, with its more modern ideas, became mayors and aldermen, this arrangement created some little dissatisfaction for Emily. On the first of the year they mailed her a tax notice. February came, and there was no reply. They wrote her a formal letter, asking her to call at the sheriff’s office at her convenience. A week later the mayor wrote her himself, offering to call or to send his car for her, and received in reply a note on paper of an archaic shape, in a thin, flowing calligraphy in faded ink, to the effect that she no longer went out at all. The tax notice was also enclosed, without comment.
They called a special meeting of the Board of Aldermen. A deputation waited upon her, knocked at the door through which no visitor had passed since she ceased giving china-painting lessons eight or ten years earlier. They were admitted by Tobe an old servant into a dim hall from which a stairway mounted into still more shadow. It smelled of dust and disuse–a close, dank smell. Tobe led them into the parlor. It was furnished in heavy, leather-covered furniture. When Tobe opened the blinds of one window, they could see that the leather was cracked; and when they sat down, a faint dust rose sluggishly about their thighs, spinning with slow motes in the single sun-ray. On a tarnished gilt easel before the fireplace stood a crayon portrait of her father.
They rose when she entered–a small, fat woman in black, with a thin gold chain descending to her waist and vanishing into her belt, leaning on an ebony cane with a tarnished gold head. Her skeleton was small and spare; perhaps that was why what would have been merely plumpness in another was obesity in her. She looked bloated, like a body long submerged in motionless water, and of that pallid hue. Her eyes, lost in the fatty ridges of her face, looked like two small pieces of coal pressed into a lump of dough as they moved from one face to another while the visitors stated their errand.
She never offer them to sit. She just stood in the door and listened quietly until the spokesman came to a stumbling halt. Then they could hear the invisible watch ticking at the end of the gold chain.
Her voice was dry and cold. “I have no taxes in Jefferson. Colonel Sartoris explained it to me. Perhaps one of you can gain access to the city records and satisfy yourselves.”
“But we have. We are the city authorities, Miss Emily. Didn’t you get a notice from the sheriff, signed by him?”
“I received a paper, yes,” She said. “Perhaps he considers himself the sheriff . . . I have no taxes in Jefferson.”
“But there is nothing on the books to show that, you see we must go by the–”
“See Colonel Sartoris. I have no taxes in Jefferson.”
“But, Miss Emily–”
“See Colonel Sartoris.” (Colonel Sartoris had been dead almost ten years.) “I have no taxes in Jefferson. Tobe!” Tobe appeared. “Show these gentlemen out.”

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Homework, Project #1

“Poor Emily” (Part 2)

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The original story, “A Rose for Emily,” by William Faulkner is told using first person narration.  The narrator is a member of the town where Miss Emily lived, who is a minor character not centrally involved in the plot.  This type of narration limited the access of the reader to the thoughts, emotions, setting of events and interaction of the point of view character Miss Emily, with other characters.  In the retelling of the story entitled, “Poor Emily,” the narration used is third person limited.  Tobe, Miss Emily’s servant becomes a central character in the story.   With this type of narration the narrator is able to provide readers with in-depth access to the thoughts and feelings of Miss Emily.  Readers also gain access to the settings and events they were not privileged with in the style of the original story narration.  Also Tobe, a key person in Miss Emily’s life becomes less mysterious.  The reader is able to get a glimpse of his interaction with Miss Emily inside the home.

The original story started with the death of Miss Emily, the narrator opened the plot by stating, “when Miss Emily died, our whole town went to her funeral.”   This is in contrast to the retelling where the plot commenced with the death of Emily’s father, Mr. Grierson.  The narrator stated, “when Miss Emily’s father died Tobe was worried about her.”  The original story is told using the flashback technique.  This technique resulted in plots from earlier events interrupting current events as the story progressed.  For example, although the story began with the death of Miss Emily the author then told the events that led up to the death of Miss Emily before culminating the events surrounding her death.

The retelling, “Poor Emily,” told the story in chronological order.  The plot unfolded to the reader frame by frame as events occurred.  There is however, one aspect of the story where flashback was used briefly.  This occurred when Mr. Grierson’s died and Miss Emily was in denial and refused to bury him.  “Just as the law was ready to force her to release the body Tobe appeared at the coroner’s office.”  “Miss Emily is ready to bury her father was all he said.” The flashback occurred when the narrator stated, “It was not an easy task for Tobe to get Miss Emily to relent.”  “This is wrong Miss Emily.” “He said to her earlier that morning.”  Clearly Tobe went to speak to the coroner before the reader was given access to the event or conversation that occurred before he was allowed by Miss Emily to go there.

The original story had more plots for the reader to follow.  Faulkner started with Miss Emily’s death then he gave us an insight into her life and the various events that occurred.  He gave us an insigt into her life when she was alone and was excluded from paying taxes by Colonel Sartoris.  After the Colonel’s death the new town officials saw through the made up story of a so call loan that Emily’s father had given to the town.  They became adamant that Miss Emily pay her taxes.  Of course she refused stating, “I have no taxes in Jefferson, Colonel Sartoris explained it to me.” From there the story progressed to the death of her father.  Then her life seemed to be renewed when she met Homer Barron her love interest.  The narrator stated on page 5, “presently we began to see him and Miss Emily on Sunday afternoons driving in the yellow-wheeled buggy and the matched team of bays from the livery stable.”   Unlike the original story the retelling has less plot and the chronological order helps the reader to follow the plot much easier.

In the original story the only insight we had into the emotions of Miss Emily is when she became a recluse after her father’s death and again after she killed Homer Baron.  On page 3  the narrator sated, “after her father’s death she went out very little, after her sweetheart went away, people hardly see her at all.”  It is clear that when she was experiencing situations that made her sad she would avoid being seen in public.  In the retelling we get the sense of how devastated she was after her father died.  On page 1 while she was grieving and in denial of her father’s death she angrily spoke to Tobe, “no one is to touch my father!” “as she turned her head tears ran down her cheek.”  This is a moment where the reader gets to understand the level of distress Miss Emily was experiencing.  In the original story the reader could only imply that she was sad because she lost her father and was alone, husbandless and had no family in town.

Another contrasting moment in the retelling and the original story is how Miss Emily met Homer Baron.  In the original story Faulkner gave the reader no insight as to how Miss Emily met Homer Barron.  The reader had an understanding of who Homer Barron was and suddenly Miss Emily started to be seen with him on Sunday afternoons.  In the retelling the reader has a better idea of how they both met.  On page 2 Tobe explained who Homer Barron was, “he is out there with some niggers paving the sidewalks.”   “Tobe she yelled as the noise became more bothersome, fetch me my hat.”  “When she came back inside Tobe thought he saw a faint smile on her face.”  This indicated to the reader that Miss Emily’s first meeting with Homer Barron was a pleasant base on her demeanor.

The mood of the original story is somber and tragic.  Because of the nature of the plot the retelling had to remain in the same tone.  Miss Emily in both stories was sad and lonely.  For a while it seemed as if her prospects was changing after she met Homer Barron, everyone including her thought she was to be married.  However, this was not to be.  Both the original and the retelling ended in tragedy for Miss Emily.  While the original kept the reader in suspense about the whereabouts of Homer Barron after the night Tobe admitted him through the kitchen door.   The retelling gave the reader obvious hints about what happened to Homer Barron.  The narrator stated, “after the meal Homer just sat there as if he could not move.”  “Tobe, take Mr. Barron upstairs to his room said Miss Emily.”  “The next day he thought Homer had left town.”  “He noticed the room he had put Homer in was kept locked.”  Then the overpowering smell that reminded Tobe of when the father had died came back.

 

 

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Homework, Project #1, Week 7

John’s Voice / Part 2 – Project 1

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Although the original narrator’s is told in first person autodiegetic from Jane’s perspective; the retelling gives a different vantage point being told by John in the first person autodiegetic narrative form.

“The Yellow Wallpaper” showed the reader the unraveling of a woman and how she perceived her situation. Throughout her narration we get a sense that she realizes that what she is feeling may be something deeper and much more substantial than what her husband John is leading her to believe about her condition. She wrestles with her current state of anxiety and depression because she has been told by John who is a doctor that it is nothing more than exhaustion. He brings her to house that he promises will be her sanctuary so that she may gain repose and get back to her old self. She has been anxious and feeling melancholy since the birth of their son and does her best to be pleasant, and tries to do as John bids her to do: rest, light exercise, eat well, and sleep. He ignores the fixation that she begins to develop with the wallpaper in the house and does his best to convince her to grab hold of her anxieties, and preoccupy herself with her recovery and rest. He issues a few warnings, though subtle, that if she does not improve that he will take more drastic measures and send her to the repudiated doctor that has handled other women with her similar condition.

“He said we came here solely on my account, that I was to have perfect rest and all the air I could get. “Your exercise depends on your strength, my dear,” said he, “and your food somewhat on your appetite; but air you can absorb all the time.”

“But John says if I feel so, I shall neglect proper self control; so I take pains to control myself – before him, at least, and that makes me very tired.”

It seems that in her quest to please and heed his word that she ignores the bubbling anxieties she feels.

It’s also interesting to see her fear of what may happen if she is honest about how she is feeling.

“Better in body perhaps – I began, and I stopped short, for he sat up straight and looked at me with such a stern, reproachful look that I could not say another word.”

The fact that she took care to keep her creeping hysteria from John shows how there was a lack of trust in their marriage. She should not been able to confide in her husband that what she felt was more than exhaustion?

“The Yellow Wallpaper” told from John’s perspective gives us his interpretation of Jane’s behavior. He married his beautiful Jane, and as a man of prestige due to his occupation as a doctor, had hoped to have the perfect picture of domesticity. He does his best as a husband to show Jane love, care and patience, but encourages her to help herself. I correlate the details in my retelling by showcasing his  bewilderment and slight exasperation at the fact that she is taking longer to recover than expected, and that she must in turn push herself to take care to his recommendations, for not only is he her husband, but a doctor as well.

“She should be focusing her thoughts on resting and doing light exercise, but absolutely no writing. I feel that it adds to her whims of her strange caprice. For heaven’s sake, I am a doctor and know how to handle her over exhaustion and need for bit of tranquility. I feel that I have done a fine job at picking the perfect sanctuary. Doesn’t she realize that I know best?”

What I try to convey in John’s version is not only the frustration that he feels at Jane’s whims, but also how he tries to convince himself that there is nothing truly disturbing about her behavior.

“If she doesn’t recover soon, she must go to Weir Mitchell for extensive treatment for her exhaustion and nervousness. The look of horror that overshadowed her face at the mere suggestion broke my heart even further, but at the same time gave me hope! Jane’s insistence that she did not require such treatment made me realize that she is slowly returning to her sound mind, for surely if she were truly on the verge of hysteria she would not protest with such conviction.”

This was the turning point in the retelling in which we start to see that it’s not that John is so domineering, but more so that he doesn’t want to see what is right before him, and that Jane’s condition may be worse than he wants to let himself believe.  We get to see that both Jane and John were both suffering from not being able to face difficulties about their spouses, and that distrust and fear on both their parts led to Jane’s unraveling.

I chose this”The Yellow Wallpaper” in particular because I felt that in relationships, someone may seem like the one who is at fault in certain situations ,and that it’s so important to get both sides of story. A person’s interpretation of a situation and why they may be behaving so is what causes most disconnection between people, and I think that with both stories we are able to see that within the complexity of this couple.

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draft, Project #1, Week 6

My Retelling “A Rose for Emily” by William Faulkner

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“The Late Truth”

I go by the name of Homer Barron. I am a Foreman from the North with a rather large body size with a dark skin complexion, a booming voice, and light-colored eyes. I am a gruff and demanding boss of my company. I consider myself accepted by the town because I was able to win many admirers in Jefferson because of my gregarious nature and good sense of humor. 

It was a scorching hot summer day on the job. Me and my men were hard at work on a sidewalk-paving project in town working towards completing by the end of the week and move on the the next job, because you know what they say “time is money,” well at least thats what I always put my belief in, and it makes sense doesn’t it?

The first day on this project, as me and my men begin digging and shoveling into the ground breaking the concrete bit my bit, the jackhammers prying the hard cement open like a nutcracker breaking open a wall nut so effortlessly making a loud cracking noise like an intense thunder storm rolling into town.

It was part of the job as foreman to inform the locals of our work so I went door to door on the block to let them know that we will be working on the concrete floors not to be alarmed by the noise and apologize for the inconvenience that we may cause. This is how I came across the most beautiful creature that I have ever set my eyes on.  She had beautiful young lady with long brown hair, a beautiful pair of brown eyes that glistened in the light and velvety smooth skin. 

I formally introduced myself and informed her that there will be a lot of noise for the next few hours. A few days later I was taking her around town in my chariot and we were spending a lot of time with each other. I was sure that the towns people were talking about us because lets face it, a wealthy and beautiful young lady like Emily was not usually seen with a man of my stature.

Emily was always skeptical of me coming into her home but one afternoon she invited me over for dinner so I blissfully made my way over to her home. After dinner emily asked me if I wanted a further tour of the upstairs rooms and I agreed. She brought me to the attack room, looked like any normal old room, bed night counter with a bunch of little trinkets. i then took the last gulp of the wine that was on my glass from dinner and little that I know that this would be the last liquid that I would ever consume. Complete feeling in my body had vanished and the room faded to black.

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Project #1

Richards Worst Day

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Richard’s worst day by Keith Smith: Project 1

Personally I feel that “The Story of an Hour” is best told by Louise Mallard. To go through her emotions and feelings, really shows me the life of women in the late 19th century. At first you really think that being married is wonderful You have a home and children. You have a man who supports you. You are able to do things together, and you are never alone. So I have to assume that marriages were looked upon as the completion of becoming an adult. I would also assume that if you were not married, you might go through personal and public scrutiny. Lastly I would assume that the parents of the woman would chase away would be suitors, (which might be the woman’s true love) so she could marry into a better husband.

I decided to change this story to Richard’s view to show the uncomfortable position of a man in an emotional setting. I would know that as he was giving the news to other women he experienced a nauseous feeling from their reactions. But to tell the wife of his friend had to be very hard because it was more personable. He knew them well and could not tell her. Plus the fact that this is where he finally had to accept his own personal loss. The loss of his friend, Brently. This also enabled me to really tell this story in a unique way. What was Josephine going through, and what was he going through. I also need to show how Louise’s epiphany of having a new life, really made her happy. Josephine did not seem to realize this herself, the way the story was written. So I wanted to show a neutral view on what took place. I made him unmarried to portray a working man who has only his work to come home. I was trying to emphasize his uncomfortability with Louise.

I decided not to bring up the heart symptoms until it needed to be brought up. Because I know that when I read that in the first line of the story, I knew it was going to be the deciding factor of the ending. So I was not surprised when she died. I felt that if I am writing about Richard’s worst day, it was not about Louise. From the news of his colleagues dying in a horrible accident. The death of his friend. To witnessing Louise’s breakdown and death. And Brently going through a frightened panic of his wife’s death. I feel this would be a horrible day for anyone. By telling this story through Richards, I was able to show that even through all these emotions it would not be the cause of death for Louise. I was trying to show that Louise’s death came from losing the joy, of her of being finally happy. I felt that the confusion that Richards had, of seeing happiness on Louise’s face, was not something he expected. Changing the characters around really showed a different kind of story. The original was very eye-opening on Louise’s views of being married and the news of becoming independent. Where, as my story, is about a man and his uncomfortability with bad news, and events.

 

I also wanted to show more of Josephine. How she had to talk to her sister. How she wasn’t sure of what to do about her sister’s emotional health. Maybe I could have revealed what she knew about her sister’s unhappiness with her marriage, but I felt that the original story just did not leave me enough content to say it was true. Also when Louise finally came out, she held Josephine around the waist and walked with her. There was no mention of Josephine seeing the emotional change that Louise had. That was another reason I picked Richards. He would see the difference. I assumed there were vehicles in the story so I changed it to a horse drawn cart. How else would the doctor get there. Josephine had to get him. This also enabled me to keep Richards at the scene to really show his horrible day becoming worse. I also needed to change the ending that I had, to portray his point.

All in all I see now why authors choose how they write their stories. By telling them through a specific narrator, they can really provide a better picture of what they are trying to portray. They are able to provide the scene, thoughts and emotions. Using a reliable and unreliable narrator can give their stories a different feel. Allowing the narrator to use only the main characters thoughts only gives you an insight of how things unfold. In a story of an hour, it all made sense. Using a first person like I did, can only give you a certain feel of what is happening and changing the whole story around.

Richards Worst Day by Keith Smith

It was the worst day of my life. As I looked on, I could only feel the sadness of losing my friend Brently. But somebody had to tell her, and I was so glad that Josephine was there. Josephine was her sister, and I think Louise already knew that there was something wrong. Why else would Josephine and I appear at her home? But in a very careful way Thank God, she spoke slowly looking at her with teary eyes, as the words started to take meaning. “Louise, I have some bad news, but I feel I should be the one to tell you. Brently was on a train and well the train had a problem. Louise I’m very sorry to say that he did not make it.” At this point I looked down, I felt so helpless, and then I heard Louise cry uncontrollably and Josephine just grabbed her and held her close. The crying just continued and it tore me up inside because now the truth was so painful. My friend was gone and a lot of my associates that I had worked together with for a long time. Well I would never see them also.

Louise’s crying turned into sobbing as she let go of her sister. She then turned around and walked slowly to her room. Josephine decided not to walk with her, probably because she knew her sister just needed to be alone. I heard the locking of the door, which meant she was probably right. At that point I looked at Josephine, and said “ I‘m really thankful that you came with me. I don’t think I could have done this. Do you think she will be OK.” “ No” she said, “I mean nobody who loses their husband would be.” I then realized the stupidity behind that question. It was just I had never been married. But she was right. At that point, I asked her if she was going to stay with her. She said “maybe I can take her to my home for the night. I certainly don’t want her to stay here it might just make her even sadder.”

“Well, I think you are right. Maybe you could take her on a little getaway. It probably would be good for her.” She just looked at me, and I could see the wheels turning as what she should do next. “Yeah maybe a trip to the city or something”, she said. “But now we are going to have to make arrangements for his funeral, and then yeah a trip to the city.” She started to sob, and then said “I should go check on her.” “Yea that would be a good idea I guess”, I said. “I’ll wait here let me know if you want me”. I was hoping she wouldn’t. She said “Thank you I’ll be back.” She then walked toward her sister’s room.

She knocked softly and said “Louise, can I come in?” There was no answer. She knocked again, but louder. “Louise are you OK please let me in.” Again there was no answer. I got really scared at that point, because Josephine had told me that Louise had a heart condition. I saw that Josephine started to panic, and I said “can you hear her?” “Yes she is moving around.” She then got on her knees and put her mouth to the keyhole and said excitedly, “Louise open the door! I beg; open the door—you will make yourself ill. What are you doing, Louise? For heaven’s sake open the door.” And then I heard Louise.” Go away. I am not making myself ill.”

Well I am glad that she was alright, and my fear lifted. The emotions that swirled around me made me light-headed. And then I heard Louise unlock the door, and as she opened it, she came through and put her arm around her sister’s waist as if she was consoling her. There was something different about her. She walked erect and had this look like nothing happened. She almost seemed happy, but that couldn’t be. And yet the closer she came to me, she really seemed happy. I could not understand why though. Did Josephine notice it, I wondered.

All of the sudden I heard a noise behind me. It was the sound a latchkey and it was opening the front door. No it couldn’t be! They had confirmed his death in a second telegram. The door opened and to my surprise it was my friend Brently, and he was alive! And then I remembered his wife Louise and the uncontrollable sadness that she went through. Then I heard Josephine’s high pitched cry and I started toward Brently to take him outside, so I could explain to him what was happening. There was a thump and I turned around to see Louise had fainted and was lying on the floor. Brently rushed past me to aid his wife and yelled, “get a doctor here right now,” and before I knew it Josephine was out the door and in her cart. The horse drawn cart turned and headed down the road.  I turned around and asked;” is she OK”, and Brently looked at me, his face lost all color, and he started to cry. What was going on? Why was he crying? He kept repeating himself through his tears “Louise wakeup please Louise wakeup” as if he was trying to will her back to life. “Brently is she OK”, I asked again. But he didn’t hear me; he just kept talking to Louise: “Wakeup Louise Please wakeup.” My mind started racing with bad thoughts and I got down to help Brently.” C’mon let’s get her to a couch”, but he just pushed me away and kept rocking with her head in his lap.

When the doctor finished examining Louise, he motioned for Brently and Josephine to come with him. They were both crying still but I heard him tell them, “she seems to have suffered a heart problem and I cannot do anything else.” He then said “if what you told me Josephine, was true she probably was overcome with joy that Brently was alive. She did go through an emotional ordeal, and maybe it was too much. I will make arrangements to have her taken to the morgue”. It was a very bad ending to my day, even though Brently was alive, he lost his wife, who was also my friend. When I left, I realized that this was the worst day of my life. I left and got drunk.

 

 

 

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draft, Project #1, Week 6

The Woman

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There’s a woman in the room, although oddly familiar she is still a stranger. It is very intriguing watching her struggling to break free of the strangling ropes that bind us, how silly it is seeing her indulge her madness.

John, that is the name spoken from her lips, this man he loves her, or so it seems.  I hear bits and pieces of their conversations, sometimes they make sense sometimes not.  She shares her fears he shoots them down, he tries to save her. Is that not love? Even so, I can see the cracks starting to form on her countenance as she continues to divulge into her madness, which is slowly becoming more apparent.

He says, “There is nothing so dangerous, so fascinating, to a temperament like yours. It is a false and foolish fancy. Can you not trust me as a physician when I tell you so? ” She quiets down, but it doesn’t look as if she’s fighting her thoughts, she entertains them, feeds them. Foolish girl! Can’t you see there is no breaking free?

She writes a lot; I always see her writing in secrecy with the madness creeping out of her and seeping into the pages, her foolhardy thoughts out in the open for anyone to stumble upon. The cracks are quickly spreading all over her frail body, I am legitimately concerned seeing her thoughts pushing to break free to pierce into the room and consume the air.

She is much calmer during the daytime and more frantic at night. At night she sees me; am I a threat to her or is she a threat to me? John isn’t around much anymore. Can’t she see she is neglecting her duty of love for him?  There is another woman, John’s sister, keeping her keen eyes on her, Jennie. Can Jennie see the madness that I can see in her clearly now, it’s a shade darker than any black I have ever seen. It swells inside her, building momentum and seeping out of the  now countless cracks.

The black has now completely consumed her seeping out in a frantic rhythm. She’s coming closer, what is this? I cannot help but laugh loudly, I reckon she must have heard it. She is attempting to tear the barrier away. She is indeed the ‘Silly goose’ John claims her to be. This barrier is unbreakable. I will not allow her to consume me, I am happy where I am. This place is where I must remain, it is the only way for me to fulfill my purpose. For the life of me I cannot recall what this purpose is but I must remain here. I am sure of it. She promises to try again. There aren’t any worries on my part, she will never succeed. They never do.

She’s more frantic than ever, peeling off more of the barrier. My pleas are fallen to deaf ears as she desperately tries to break the barrier. Her duties, my duties long forgotten. She is me. I am getting angry enough to do something desperate. To jump out of the window would be admirable exercise, but the bars are too strong even to try. Besides I wouldn’t do it. Of course not. I know well enough that a step like that is improper and might be misconstrued.  I don’t like to look out of the windows even- there are so many of those creeping women, and they creep so fast. I wonder if they all come out of that wallpaper as I did? But I am securely fastened now by my well-hidden rope – you don’t get me out in the road there ! I suppose I shall have to get back behind the pattern when it comes night, and that is hard! It is so pleasant to be out in this great room and creep around as I please!

I don’t want to go outside. I won’t, even if Jennie asks me to. For outside you have to creep on the ground, and everything is green instead of yellow. But here I can creep smoothly on the floor, and my shoulder just fits in that long smooch around the wall, so I cannot lose my way. Why there’s John at the door!

It is no use, young man, you can’t open it! How he does call and pound! Now he’s crying for an axe. It would be a shame to break down that beautiful door! “John dear!” said I in the gentlest voice, “the key is down by the front steps, under a plantain leaf!”

That silenced him for a few moments. Then he said–very quietly indeed, “Open the door, my darling!” “I can’t,” said I. “The key is down by the front door under a plantain leaf!” And then I said it again, several times. very gently and slowly, and said it so often that he had to go and see, and he got it of course, and came in.

He stopped short by the door. “What is the matter?” he cried. “For God’s sake, what are you doing! ” I kept on creeping just the same, but I looked at him over my shoulder.

“I’ve got out at last,” said I, ” in spite of you and Jane? And I’ve pulled off most of the paper, so you can’t put me back! ” Now why should that man have fainted? But he did, and right across my path by the wall, so that I had to creep over him every time!

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draft, Project #1, Week 6

The Pink Ribbon

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The Pink Ribbon – A retelling of Young Goodman Brown
Edited by Rena

[1] My sweet husband and I came forth at sunset, into the street of Salem village. After crossing the threshold, he turned around and kissed me with his soft supple lips. I felt the wind playing with the pink ribbon in my hair. I felt him pulling me towards the dark side but I refused. I cannot let this happen. I don’t want to go, not yet.

[2] I leaned towards his ear. “Dearest heart,” I whispered softly and afraid, “pr’ythee, put off your journey until sunrise, and sleep in your own bed to-night. A lone woman is troubled with such dreams and such thoughts, that she’s afeard of herself, sometimes. Pray, tarry with me this night, dear husband, of all nights in the year!”

[3] “My love and my Faith” replied my dear husband, “of all nights in the year, this one night must I tarry away from thee. My journey, as thou callest it, forth and back again, must needs to be done ‘twixt now and sunrise. What, my sweet, pretty wife, dost thou doubt me already, and we but three months married!”

[4] I do not doubt you my dearest
 I doubt myself! Please, my dearest, doubt the lone woman, stay with me by my bedside to-night! I wanted to scream these words in my poor Goodman’s ear but he wouldn’t let me. He wouldn’t let me make a sound of my plea.

[5] “Then God bless you!” he forced me to say, “and may you find all well, when you come back.”

[6] It will not be well, and my dear Goodman will never really be back. Neither will I.

[7] “Amen!” cried my poor sweetheart. “Say thy prayers, dear Faith, and go to bed at dusk, and no harm will come to thee.”

[8] I watched as my love pursued his way, until, being about to turn the corner by the meeting-house, he looked back, with a melancholy air hovering behind him.

[9] Then he was gone.

[10] “He’s chosen…” thought I as I walked back into the house, for my heart smote me.

[11] I closed the door behind me and headed towards the window in my dimly lit room.

[12] “The devil!” I screamed as I felt a serpent tail-like stick on my neck.

[13] I turned around and there he was, about fifty years old, with an indescribable air of one who knew the world. I saw his staff, which bore the likeness of a great black snake, so curiously wrought, that it might almost be seen to twist and wriggle itself like a living serpent. This, of course, must have been an ocular deception, assisted by the uncertain light…

[14] “He has chosen, and so have you my sweet girl!” said he of the serpent.

[15] If my dear Goodman choose to walk with the Devil tonight, I will walk with him as well. I will sell my soul to the devil if it means being with my sweet love.

[16] Just seconds later, I felt trapped in my body. I felt like I was gazing through the eyes of a stranger’s withered body. “Oh how weird this feels” I thought. I was no longer in control as I watched the scenery change from the familiarity of my bedroom to the meeting house where I last saw my love, and finally to the wicked dark forest.

[17] “With Heaven above, and Faith below, I will yet stand firm against the devil!”

[18] “Who was that?” thought I. “I know that voice. I know that is the voice of my dearest love. My sweet husband has changed his mind. What am I to do, there is no turning back now!”

[19] “Goodman, my sweet sweet Goodman, oh do please hear me! Come take me home with you my dear, so we can sleep in our own bed to-night, and forget about this nightmare!” I uttered with uncertain sorrow.

[20] But his voice was drowned out in the wind and before long I was before a sheet of flame; the smile of welcome gleamed darkly on every visage.

[21] The fiend-worshippers surrounded the flame chanting or screaming … but I couldn’t hear anything. I just looked for my dear Goodman, as hope came into my heart, I trembled.

[23] Then, a wretched man held me with his trembling hands.

[24] It was my dear Goodman. “Goodman, dear, oh how great it is to see you! Take me away from this nightmare, I beg of you” I kept screaming at him.

[25] His mouth seem to be saying my name, but I couldn’t hear anything.

[26] “Look up to Heaven, and resist the Wicked One!”  Resist the wicked one… resist the wicked one…

[27] I lifted my head up.

[28] Twisting and wriggling in a pink ribbon, I saw the great black snake.

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draft, Week 6

Two Men in My life

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Project#1
Retelling of the story “A Rose for Emily” in First person narrator
Two Men in My Life
I am Emily and I live in a small town where my father has influent in old generation and he is also influent my life when I was in younger age by not allowing any young men in town to approach me. Because of him, many town people in the community believe I am pride and stubbornness. Some saw me as very distant person and living in the past. I believe I am a very strong person never change my mind and give up what I want to do.
I loved my father because he was the only man that I met in life until he died and at the same time I hated him so much for bringing me up so lonely and not thinking long enough for my future if he was unable to accompany me one day . He believes that none of the young men were quite good enough to me. Now, I am all alone by myself in this old house with nothing left. How should I do with this big old house with no one to talk to? The complex feeling of love and hatred to my father strike me so hard that caused me sick for a longtime after his death. Although I have two cousins in Alabama, we were not too close due to the estate of my great aunt when my father was alive. Furthermore, they didn’t even show up at my father’s funeral and I am not close enough to them to talk about my feelings. The fears, the loneliness and sleepless night cause me sick for a long time but I do not want the town people to see my weakness since my family has a reputation in town and I don’t want people take advantage on me since I am alone and I have to protect the dignity of my family’s tradition and myself.
I met him in the summer after my father’s death. His name was Homer Barron. He was a Yankee–big, dark skinned with a loud voice. He was a construction foreman who came to the town with the construction company for pavement of the town sidewalks. After I met him, I felt myself like a different person and the most enjoyable time of my life. The most memorable time for me was spending the time with him on Sunday afternoon driving in the yellow-wheeled buggy around the town despite of the gossip of the town people and the warning of the minister that I made a bad example to the young people. He also gave me the type of joy that I ever had and I was dreaming and planning of the upcoming my wedding.
After the street sidewalk construction have finished, I thought he gave me opportunity to ask my two female cousins to leave the house and he will be back within a couple days for preparing our wedding. He did back in town after three days my cousins left.
All my dreams and happiness were not last for too long when he said to me that he cannot marry me. He said he enjoys drinking with young men in the Club and he was not the type of marrying person. He is the man that I love most in my life after my father. I hate him as if I never met him in my life and at the same time I don’t want to lose him forever. I must decide to do something so he will with me the rest of my life whether dead or alive. I went to the drug store to buy the best available poison. The local law requires buyer to tell for which purpose use, but I don’t want to answer and just said give me the arsenic then I saw “for rats” on the package.
I have prepared one room above the stair for our wedding. Inside the room, everything was set up for bridal including rose color curtains, rose-shaded lights, dressing table, man’s toilet silver sets, men’s outfit clothing including the nightshirt. I want the man I love to lay on my wedding bed for ever. I will have opportunity to fulfill my wishes to sleep next to him who is alive or not. Since my health gets deteriorating, I know I will not live longer soon. I will leave unanswered question as question mark for the poison that I bought and the corpse that people will find in one room of my house after I die because I don’t like to admit that I committed the crime.

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