Horror Chase Scene

Elliott awoke with a jolt, the bed squeaking as he sat straight up. Something wasn't right. A large gust of wind blew in from the window, the thin white curtains fluttering as the air cooled his bare chest. Elliott felt a chill wriggle its way down his spine, and goosebumps appearing on his arms. He looked at the ajar window, trying to muster up the energy he knew he would have to find eventually to close it. Suddenly his eyes bulged and he felt a pressure on his mind and body to move, but couldn't. He refused to believe it, that is until he saw the beast's shadow cast across his entire bed. It new it had been seen and needed no time to ponder its actions, expanding its silky black wings to cover the entire window, the creature poked its head through, grinning at Elliott as their eyes met. There was something distinctively human about it. It was the eyes, they were at the front of its head, unusual for a bird. Or was it the look, the creature had its head lowered to look at Elliott from the top of its eyes. Its beak extended the size of two rulers in front of it, and a full one in width as well. It was orange, although the tip was stained glossy red. The creature stuck a tongue out of its mouth and licked the glossy red with a ravenous, teasing look.

Elliott threw his large duvet into the air as the creature tightened its wingspan, bursting through the window. The blanket covered the savage's head, its claws reaching up to rip through the cushion with the fluidity of cutting a piece of paper with scissors. Out of his room and down the stair case Elliott bolted, closing the bedroom door while the creature burst through it right behind him. Elliott needed to find a small space, a space too small for the beast, and far enough away to keep safe from the creatures claws. The crawl space. Elliott bounded down the steps to his basement, the beast slowly following him, knocking over furniture and squawking in short rhythms, almost as if laughing. Running through the basement doors, Elliott reached the storage room, its dark and musty space packed with boxes and a large furnace. Reaching above him Elliott pulled the threadbare chord connecting to a bare light bulb hanging above him. The lights shut off, as Elliott shut the door, grabbed a saw and hammer from a tool rack on the wall and slid with all of his energy on his knees beneath the crawl space of his basement steps, his knees left raw and singed from the concrete floor. A great cracking sound resonated through the room as the beast's beak splintered through the wooden door and wiggled around. Then there was the whoosh of air, the beast was inhaling, sniffing. Suddenly it retracted its beak from the door. There was a pause, as Elliott wrenched inwards, attempting to hold his breath for just one more second. Then a piercing explosion as the door suddenly burst into fragments around the room, jagged pieces still creaking as they swung violently on their hinges. The beast stepped forward into the room and used its beak with great finesse to pull the thin chord, turning on the light. Elliott cowered in the crawl space of his basement steps as the shadow of the beast's wings eclipsed the light and its claws shot forward. Elliott screamed and shut his eyes, opening them to find the bast stabbing his claws, only to get just inches in front of Elliott. He was safe, but for how long?

Elliott began swinging the hammer at the beast, hitting one of its claws as it screeched in agony. He continued to swing violently, but to no prevail as the beast had moved backwards and now was attempting to break the wall above the space with his one good claw. Elliott looked at the saw and hammer, then at the steps above him and began  beating the hollow steps ferociously, wood chips falling onto his face and blinding his vision. He was beginning to lose hope when finally the blunt end of his hammer burst through a step. He hit it again, it was now big enough for his entire wrist. Again, his arm. Again, his shoulder.

Mystery Idea

(All descriptions of the crime are not told in chronological order throughout the story, but instead figured out by the readers as the detective discovers them. He investigates both suspects and the story would provide the reader with accounts and details on both of these investigations. The reader has an idea of who committed the murder after a while, but are still unsure of how the criminal did it.)

Setting: Toronto. A basement washroom in a doctor's office building. Entering the hallway from the stairwell, a narrow white hallway extends 50ft. The walls are stained beige and have multiple smudges of dirt smeared across them. The floor however, is waxed and the tiles reflect the rectangular fluorescent lights with a slight sheen in parts. On one end of this hallway is a janitor's office, and on the other is a set of washrooms. The crime takes place in the men's washroom. It's small, having only a doorknob, two stalls, and one sink, but the walls and floors are clean and a strong scent of Lysol seems to constantly linger in the room.

Crime: A body is found in the basement bathroom. The victim: a private investigator with no apparent physiological problems. There is only one small abrasion on the subjects body, a non lethal cut along his throat. However, a lethal does of morphine is found in his system in the autopsy report. The perplexing part occurs when the police find the apparent criminal stuck in an elevator, the PI's doctor, and beside him a garbage bag containing a pile of garbage, and among it the needle and morphine bottle as well as the incision knife used for the cut. The bag reeks of Lysol, and is damp.

Criminal: Dr. Bishop is cunning, ruthless and an expert involving police discretion. Running a prescription drug trafficking system is no piece of pie, Dr. Bishop knows that the best way to defeat a detective is to blatantly make a mistake to sway their attention to something not as obvious. Private investigator Smallwood was expendable. In fact, he had to go. He had figured the drug operation out, and could prove it, meaning life in prison for the doctor. If it wasn't for the PI's need to gloat of his intuition for suspicion to the doctor, he might still be alive and the operation figured out by the police.

The murder had to be committed to ensure the doctor's freedom, and spontaneously none the less. Not only that, but the doctor had a need to be in plain sight while hiding. Dr.Bishop chooses to test his luck and skill in acting, by framing the office's janitor, an ex violent patient of the psychiatric clinic attached to the back of the building. Dr. Bishop jabs the morphine needle in forcefully and unprofessionally when killing PI Smallwood. He steals a set of keys and a full garbage bag from the janitor's office, and puts the murder weapons inside. Next Dr. Bishop proceeds to prop the murder victim in a stall to avoid being conspicuous until the right moment. He returns to the washroom after noticing the janitor is heading to the basement to take his break. That's when the doctor sprawls the corpse on the bathroom floor, then proceeds to enter the elevator with his bag of murder weapons (needle and morphine container). Halfway up the elevator, he uses the keys to stop the elevator. Then Dr. Bishop continues to dispose of the keys by exiting the top of the elevator and throwing them down the shaft. He has now purposefully trapped himself with the murder weapons. When the police arrive, the Dr. is stranded in the elevator with the murder weapons. He is arrested on the spot. However, he pleads with rookie detective Chase and the police force that he is innocent and has been framed by the janitor who asked the doctor to place the garbage bags with others on the way up, then locked him inside the elevator. The criminal's talents in improvisation and lying are frightening, but fascinating, and make his ability to persuade and deceive others (including the readers) very appropriate for an antagonist in a mystery.

Detective:
Detective Chase is a rookie, assigned to the case. The rookie detective has just lost it all. He was injured in the field, and now the chief of police has forced him to take the detective position. After all, he did achieve the highest scores among the trainees, but refused the offer of the sleuth position. Detective Chase, is met with the two suspects, the janitor and the Doctor. Both suspects claim to be framed by the other and both do not have any apparent motive. Both pass the polygraph tests. The janitor's psychiatric and violent history, as well as the Dr's coincidental presence with the murder weapons of one of his patients create conspicuous aspects to both characters. And even after the court has dismissed the Doctor, declaring him innocent, the rookie detective is faced with the same intuition of suspicion that killed PI Smallwood. He investigates the janitor and doctor in more depth, despite being against the code of conduct regarding closed cases. The Detective's cunning, patient, precise and persistent nature allow him to find clues at the scene of the crime, and in the lives of both suspects. The detective also manages to break the doctor by becoming one of his patients, and making frequent trips to engage in mind games with him. 

Fantasy Activity

Every one hundred or so years a reader dies. A reader is a human who has a unique set of magical abilities and intuitions that are used to interpret and understand every situation or object they come into contact with. Since the beginning of time, only one reader has lived at once. Towards the end of his/her legacy the reader chooses an appropriate student to replace him/her as the next reader. The reader contains extra-ordinary powers of the mind. He/she who obtains the abilities from the previous reader can:

1. Calculate odds of the future from information they've been given. The reader calculates these odds to a very precise and accurate degree, allowing them to read the future, without actually physically seeing it. (clairvoyance)

2. Perform psychometry (the ability to perceive and understand the history of an object upon touching it).

3. Read thoughts
4. Track people in their mind and create maps of different environments. (Psychic Radar)
5. Block others from using their mind powers (telepathy, telekenisis, etc.)
6. Read environments (weather, how it will be effected, natural disasters, etc.)
7. Read and speak all languages of other species

On earth there are thousands of dangerous species, whose power and size are far above those of humans. The most intelligent of these species are Elves, Dwarves, Goblins, and giants. Each species has their own magical abilities, except for humans who's only magical member is the reader. The creatures have begun to take advantage of humans for their lack of magic, and nobody is certain of the reader's identity. Many believe him to be a myth conjured to provide people with hope. The reader does not reveal himself because his/her abilities don't match the physical strength of other species. However, it is still the reader's responsibility to protect the human race from the threatening creatures by inventing new technology, and helping them to progress through advancing their intelligence. Other creatures become jealous and opposed to the humans' intelligence and technologies that destroy the environments they live in, resulting in many conflicts.

The reader faces the challenge of establishing an all peaceful and energy efficient earth. He attempts to invent a system of synergy between the species, one that fulfills all needs and is opposed by none. To do this, the reader must completely devote himself to the task, but also expose himself to enough experiences that will help in his formulation of a plan; this means interacting with other species and gaining wisdom through their culture. The reader must research previous reader's plans, this could take an extended period of time. During these years the reader does age, but much slower than other humans; this means that although his life is extended, he only gets so many attempts in making the world better before he has to admit that he is not the solution. If a reader admits this, he must find a candidate for the next to hold the power, or the powers will become extinct when he/she dies.

Character Name: Lectiovate (derived from the latin words lectio and vate, meaning reading and poet)

What if? (Sci-Fi Scenario)

What if at the end of everyday you were given the choice to live the next day, or go back and live a day you've already lived? What if in the future a technology offered the option to experience the past, not through a time machine, but a function of memory?

There are two catches. First, if you decide to live a day in the past, you must live it exactly how it was, you cannot interfere with your past self, only spectate both your past self's thoughts and emotions first hand. Second, if you decide to live a day in the past, your present self will be controlled by an autopilot program and you will never be able to re-live this present day again. 

It's pretty far into the future. In a world where this memory technology exists, there have been many other "convenient" advancements. The cities are run by autopilots. Transportation consists of small, personal train cars, and sleek sports cars, both run by a self operated program system. Business and apartment buildings have grown to a point where they extend past the clouds. The air is thick, but new technological advancements now look towards environmentally friendly approaches because they cannot avoid it any longer. Furniture is white and in modern, geometric shapes, matching walls and roads and cars of the same colour and style. There are fewer and fewer jobs, and automated robots are beginning to take over most things; this means societies are beginning to run into issues with money and credit systems. Human agriculture has become extinct, being replaced by underground farms in which autopilots are used to grow food and crops in synthesized conditions. The average person lives their life in constant entertainment, other than attending school when they are young, until about an age of 120 years.

The protagonist is among the elderly people in society who are perplexed by the rise of robotics. However, ironically most seniors (despite being against the use of robots and technology) are entirely engaged in the automated program used for re-living memories. My character's children become increasingly distressed about the constant autopilot their father is on, and the protagonist becomes increasingly depressed when living in reality. Finally my character must face the truth and come to terms with the present; this requires him to spiritually come to terms with his death and find the beauty in the new revolution.

Poetry Unit Reflection

The thing I like most about poetry, was also something that made this unit the most enjoyable for me so far. It's the freedom. Poetry allows writers to adopt their own style and portray what they want without worrying about if it is the most effective way to go about it. I feel as though all parts of poetry are indicative of the writer's personality: the message, the diction, the line spacing, how it flows, the tone it's told in, everything. I also think that because poems are so personal, they cause this form of literature to be one of the most creative and diverse.

Through having to write a spoken word poem I also realized that presenting a poem often enables the poet to have a deeper impact. You're able to convey more messages through pauses, amplifying your voice, and showing your emotions to the audience. The spoken word was definitely the most interesting part for me. The poem I chose to analyze (Beethoven-Shane Koyczan) was incredible, and I've watched it countless times since doing the assignment. Having a local spoken word performer come in and show us some of her work and give us tips on the form was also fascinating. I admittedly find spoken word to be a little overbearing sometimes. However, I gave it more of a chance in this unit and found there is a lot I can relate to. In fact, often times I find spoken word poets in particular can choose exactly the right diction to convey an idea in a way that many people can relate to and be profoundly impacted by. Another reason I enjoy poetry is that I realized it can be used practically. When someone is hit with an idea, they often don't have enough time to write volumes about it. Poetry can work as a sort of descriptive and accurate jot note if the person has a minute or two to think about the message he/she is trying to send out. Overall, I think poetry is an appreciable and impressive form of literature, and wish to practice more and more to further my understanding and style.

"The poet's voice need not merely be the record of man, it can be one of the props, the pillars to help him endure and prevail"- William Faulkner 

Song Lyric Poem

How much sweat splashed on the sand to harden the land

While slabs of stone moved by hordes of hands, deified man

by command

Shaping a structure, acclaiming the sun

An upward pointing pyramid

A light ray, Beating down on them.

Lost Techniques, profound mystique still tower over peoples' minds

leaving them speculating, missing systems of design, and they must

examine physics, hieroglyphics and the ancient sands of time

How much sweat splashed on the sand to harden the land

while slabs of stone moved by hordes of hands, deified man,

By command of a god who saw potential in the sand

who created history, and watched, while being fanned.

A slanted structure acclaiming the sun

an upward pointing pyramid

A light ray beating down on them.

Lost Techniques, profound mystique still tower over peoples' minds

leaving them speculating, searching the ancient sands of time.

Wonder welcomes eyes to wander, climbing each brick stupefied

adjusting spectacles to view the spectacle

gathered to guess at its birth, skeptical

Embracing a portrayal of

human history, capability

climbing stone steps, reaching the peak of posterity

below lying a tomb

of a mummified man, who saw something in the sand

a light ray of the sun

forever encasing him.

And deep within the ancient sands of time

is an answer to a puzzle with all its pieces

for riddles can always be solved with reason.

Still, wonder adds an extra weight

and exposing an illusionist will always ruin him.

And retaining its mystery until the end, it will never be in ruin.

Article: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Pyramid_of_Giza

Original Lyrics: http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/tool/lateralus.html

Beethoven- Shane Koyczan (Spoken Word Analysis)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ppwowTJg0mI

I would first like to credit Shane Koyczan for this phenomenal piece of writing I was moved by. There are several aspects to the presentation of this poem that help it to have a profound impact on the viewer. Koyczan has parts throughout the poem where he describes something very dramatically and in a fast pace, this creates imagery while also showing passion about the topic. However, what is most grasping is the way Koyczan ends these intense descriptions by slowing everything down and whispering or saying a few words very softly. A clear example of the speaker using this method to impact the audience is when he says moving at the speed of sound, the words "moving at the speed" being very fast paced, while the word "sound" being whispered and drawn out for effect. Also, the poet cleverly uses other sounds throughout the poem to create imagery, such as when he says snaps his fingers at the very beginning of the performance when referencing Beethoven's abusive father. These snaps represent the abuse from his father and the sound helps the viewer to form a clear image. Finally Koyczan uses repetition of Beethoven's name to remind the readers of who he is talking about , and the lines "not good enough" each time getting louder and louder, to show the intensity of Beethoven's Father's expectations. Near the ending Koyczan even sings part of Beethoven's Ode To Joy as an ode to the beauty of his music.

 The writing of the poem is also extremely well done. Several lines are clever, insightful and original such as "The man got down on his knees for no one, but amputated the legs of his piano so he could feel the vibrations through the floor. The man got down on his knees for music." The poem also begins and ends with the same word, "listen". Koyczan uses the word at the beginning, addressing the audience to listen, then ends the spoken word with the sentence "to know the man all we ever had to do was...listen." Because the poem is about the genius of Beethoven's compositions, the word "listen" is very appropriate and provokes the audience to find the beauty in the poem as well as Beethoven's legacy.

Patchwork Poem

Across the lines of straighter darker trees,

at the crystal moon at the red branch

lie

safe and sure forever and ever

the whir of sober birds

(Birches-Robert Frost)

(If You Ever Forget Me- Pablo Neruda)

(On the 24^th Of May-

(Lovesong- Ted Hughes)

(A Late Walk- Robert Frost)

Paradise

A world that spins cyclically

like a carousel,

playing music vibrantly

while silently reminding me

of childhood dreams

A world so maxed with mystery

that all the rain that fell

would be explained in history

by a deity

straining his spaghetti

A world where all the earthites

are happy with themselves,

appreciating zebra stripes

where the beauty of the night

feeds off the beauty of the light

Short Story Reflection

Writing my short story was engaging and enjoyable. I found certain devices we learned in the memoir unit such as how dialogue can work effectively, and where to use present and past tenses were extremely helpful in this unit as well. The most challenging aspect of writing the short story was deciding how much detail to include. It was hard to draw the line between what was essential in filling in the holes of the story, from what was just minor detail. In the end I cut a lot of what I had written out, and I found it to be a lot better after doing so. Still, I think a bit more could have been edited out. I enjoyed writing the story a lot, and I liked the idea for it, although in some parts I found it difficult to fully put my vision on paper, especially the parts of dialogue between the protagonist and burglar. Most of the short stories I like are written in first person perspective. In first person narration, the characters recount the events in their own voice (often with an ambiguous opinion behind it), allowing the reader to question the story's credibility and to develop knowledge of the character that is more intuitive. I find the writing in short stories told in first person narration is very meticulous and difficult because the author is trying to convey the opinion of the narrator in every sentence without contradicting themselves. Finally, when a short story is written in first person you get a very vivid idea of the epiphany the character experiences, I like being able to see the character's approach and often times relate to it and sharing the epiphany. Overall I thought my story had a good basic idea to it. However, it lacked some explanation and the writing was a little shaky in parts. I'm still getting used to switching between the past and present tenses in order to apply suspense to certain parts of the story, and I'm not entirely certain I did an accurate job of this. Naming my work also seems to be a recurring struggle for me, next time I will have to put more thought into it. What I did like about my story was the symbol of the house, and the intro which was a flashback to the climax. Ultimately, writing the short story was difficult, but very fun. I will definitely try it again.

Character Sketch (The Eulogy of Cato)

“I thought perhaps I might need an introduction, but I see that we're all familiar with each other. I ask you to join me in remembering and celebrating the life of my brother Cato.

Growing up with Cato was an absolute privilege. Thanks to him I was one of the few kids who never experienced boredom. He seemed like a certified summer vacation professor. He taught me how to get lost in my own thoughts, unwind, and forget about the practicality of things when it was appropriate. I remember in our younger years, when my friends and I would be playing football, or king of the hill, and we'd ask Cato to join. He hardly ever did, but somehow still managed to become the appointed leader of our pack. That was what amazed me, Cato was never really conceited or even engaged, but the kids could still recognize his adventure and spirit . We called him Ferdinand because he liked to watch on the sidelines with his head in the clouds, he loved that. It didn't take us very long to stop playing football. We'd have to ask him of course, but Cato invented numerous games, and pretty soon those were all we played. He even invented his own card game.

I'm sure everyone here knows he wasn't a big fan of practicality over doing what he felt was right. In fact I did his homework up until grade seven, can you believe that?! However, his disposition to dream didn't stop him from being extremely successful in university, or in the job category, becoming an actual university professor. Of course success based on money and acknowledgment was a side note, Cato had his own system for defining success.

One of the things I admired most about him was his ability to atomize any competition he felt with others, instead focusing only on an endless battle with himself. Easier said than done. That was Cato's super power, his ability to let all envy slide and solely focus on his own limits. This power was also, in my opinion, what allowed him to always be satisfied.

I don't believe anyone was close to Cato recently, not even myself. He became pretty reclusive. However, that was in his nature, and I'm sure if by some strange occurrence he wasn't already at peace in his own mind, he is now. I can see him up there, wearing a floppy robe and sandals. Boy does that ever suit him. I can see him looking down at us with his buggy eyes and those big old round glasses, wearing his famous half grin. We're all familiar with that grin he'd wear, while everyone talked around him, like he knew something we didn't. I can just see him there now, teaching the angels how to metaphorically live on the clouds.”

55 Word Short Story

"Briiinnggg", echoed through the musty, forlorn house. A voice accompanied it, "Faunia the phone!". It continued ringing, "FAUNIA THE PHONE!". The voice brought tears to Faunia's chin. "Faunia the phone!". She wept. She answered it. Then Faunia walked into the next room and whispered "hush Pete". The parrot became silent, and so did the house.

Memoir Reflection

Before this unit I wasn't familiar with the idea of a memoir, I just assumed these type of stories were all regarded as Biographies. The Glass Castle was definitely a good introduction to memoirs . The story held my attention throughout the entire thing, and although much of this can be credited to the interesting events that unfolded in the story, after writing my memoir I realized that the style of writing the author portrays the events through was even more gripping. Jeanette Walls successfully tells the story as if she was recounting it in person to the reader. It's amazing how when reading it you feel like you develop a knowledge and understanding of Jeanette and her family and how much emotion it can provoke by knowing that these events really happened. When writing my memoir I tried to take into account that this familiarity and connection a reader develops with the characters in the story is extremely important in that it not only helps people to relate to the story, but also insures that the reader regards the characters and events as believable and true.

Another admirable quality of Jeanette's writing in the Glass Castle that I tried to incorporate in my memoir is her ability to adopt a younger perspective perfectly. I found this to be challenging when writing my memoir, but partially avoided it by choosing a memory that took place closer to my current age. Overall I found the memoir difficult to write, but very enjoyable. I have never produced a piece of writing as personal as this, and I found through re-living the moment and writing it down, I gained insight into my views on myself and my family.

Unfortunately, I think I possibly focused on the description of the setting a bit too much. In the end I'm happy with the story I produced and the messages displayed in it, but I feel as though the story might have been more effective with more character development and less description of the scenery. Also, showing and not telling was difficult at first, but through dialogue and actions I found it easier to say less and less about a character, but still inform the reader about their personality and nature. Understatements are one thing I found very difficult to incorporate. Although they were extremely effective in the Glass Castle, I found it challenging to include them in my memoir because the perspective I was telling it from was much older. I tended to overstate things in several parts of the story, and although I don't think it took anything away, it didn't contribute anything either.

Ultimately, writing the memoir was an experience I enjoyed. I like some things about my memoir such as the repetitive symbol of the sand. I feel as though I put in a good effort, but there are also some things I regret not thinking about more such as the title and the opening. 

(picture taken on Gros Morne, Bonne Bay, Newfoundland)

An Introduction

Friends call me Jake. Acquaintances call me Jacob. Family call me Marley.

I've been writing recreationally for around a year. I don't sit down and write every day, but wait for a light bulb to appear above my head. I'd like to change that. Writing has grown on me. I wouldn't say it's a passion, but I definitely find it enjoyable! A couple of my friends have also taken to it, and we share our work with each other. My very own scrawl society.

 I first developed an interest in writing when reading. I try to read routinely, but to be completely honest I haven't read much recently, not for a lack of prospects.

I'm fascinated with poetry. The interest really sparked around a couple months ago when I became engrossed in my favourite songs' lyrics. I've tried writing poems, but have only touched on the subject, and hope to improve! The thing I find the most riveting about poetry is its diversity.

I'm taking this class to expose myself to new types of writing. I always enjoy finding new authors and stories that I've never heard of as well. I look forward to these projects because I haven't undertaken many of them like speech writing or short stories. I find that I have done so much of essay writing for school that it's become dull, and these assignments allow me to explore more creative forms of writing.

I've admittedly only scraped the surface of writing. There's so much more I would like to learn. My biggest flaw as a writer is my tendency to run on, or include too much description. I also find it difficult to find a voice, and sometimes in revising my work, I notice it seems too formal.