She Eats Apples

For this week and next, we'll be discussing Stephanie K. Brownwell's play She Eats Apples. Some questions I have:

• This play is supposed to be about "rape culture." What is rape culture? How does the play explore this issue?
• Why is it important that Ben and Ashley have the perfect Halloween costumes? Why do they need to dress up as a pair?
• What is the importance of the prom (in the play and/or just generally in US culture)?
• Why are there only six parts although there are many more characters? 
• Why is there only one part for a man and all the rest women's roles?
• Why is there a character named "She"? Why are the other two called "Girl 1" and "Girl 2"? How is "She" different from "Girl 1" and "Girl 2"?
• What is the significance of apples?
• What is the significance of fairy tales? Video games? Classic art? Pop culture? 
• Why isn't the story told chronologically?
• What questions do you have as you read the play?

A-Z flash fiction

  As I sit on the bench with my best friend. Boys get drunk on the table beside us. Carelessly they talk loudly disturbing the peace and quietness of the atmosphere. During my stressful times I like to come here and relax but my relaxation time is being disturbed right now.

 “Edward is my name; I am from Italy” said a voice. “For your information you are really cute” said the same voice. Generally, I don’t do long distance relationships but for you I will he said, while turning to face me. He looked directly at me and smiled. I waved my hands at him too but only because he was good looking.

 “Jacket is on the floor” he said pointing at the floor. Knowing that the situation just got kind of awkward I waved at him and said thanks. “Luckily for you I saw that, you would have lost it”, he said.

            “My name is Elena” and this is my best friend I said to him.

 Nice name you have there, what does it mean?. Oh these are my friends they are not from Italy they live here in the USA, he said. People in this country are generally not nice but you are an exception he said “again” and, I started to wonder why he was talking too much. Quietness finally came from his table.

            Remembering all those moments make me happy. Special moments like these are hard to forget. That is the day I met my long distance lover who is now my husband. Usually people say long distance relationships fail but, not in our case. Valentines day is our favorite time of the year. We met on Valentines Day. Xylophone is our favorite musical instrument or mine rather. Years go by and time passes by but he still remains by my side.

            Zapped with love, I fell for the half drunk guy from another county who swept me off my feet with just a smile.

Thanksgiving Week

Since we're not meeting this week, there is no blog required. If you neglected to make entries last week, I will accept them up until the end of this week. Don't forget to read at least the first half of She Eats Apples. You'll be required to make entries on it next week. Happy Thanksgiving!

The Fantastic in Fiction

There is a long history of "the fantastic" in literature that goes back to some of our earliest myths and religions and folktales. Often, these stories of the fantastic are ways to help us understand the world we live in, they're creation stories or stories that help us know why we're here or why we are they way we are.

I would consider both of the stories we read for this week fantastic stories (in both senses of the word--they're magic and they're also just really good). They also both use real elements of the natural world. In "The Mushroom Queen," we have a mushroom who takes on the shape of a woman and makes the woman a mushroom. But this is not just fantasy, it relies on real science. Look, for instance at the first full par. on p. 170: Beetles really do interact w/ mushrooms this way. Ziemska is just imagining what that would feel like if the mushrooms were part of a sentient individual. Likewise, no human child has ever been kidnapped by a raptor. But what if it had? And what if, instead of eating it, it adopted the child? It would probably feed it in the way described on p. 424.

This week, I'd like you to respond to the fantastic elements in both of these stories. Did you believe in them? Did they remind you of other stories, TV shows, films? Which ones and why? What do these stories have to do w/ contemporary life? With the environment?

Since we're finishing up the fiction section of the course, you might make some general comments on what makes fiction different than other genres? Which story, or stories, that we read did you connect to best and why? Which stories did you struggle w/?

Who’s the antagonist?

During our group sessions on Tuesday an idea of the reading “The Story Of A True Artist” arose. Is Cam really the antagonist? In my opinion, Cam though he did leave the YouTube channel which would be considered an evil move, it’s really not. Cam was simply doing what Lo wanted to do which is be famous. People don’t start YouTube channels without that intentions and although he is wealthier than Lo, it doesn’t really mean he can’t go and fulfill his dreams. Another argument I can make is that he was technically doing all the work. This story was told in the eyes of Lo and she even said all she did was have her own little box in the corner. All she did was do facial reactions while Cam did the commentary, jokes, etc. Finally, we must be realistic in identifying antagonists. All our life we’ve been taught that we must work harder than the person next to us. We were planted this mentality of constant competition theroefore, just because the protagonist didn’t get what they wanted are we gonna blame someone who is working hard for what he wants. What do you guys think?

ABC FLASH FICTION

Flash Fiction

Postpartum depression

Almost every day, i wake up with drops of sweat running down my cheeks and neck. Bright days come and I’m sitting by myself talking to the doll that’s underneath my bed. Constantly shaking like a blender, i then decide to open up the curtains.

Days like these make me want to rip my heart off my chest and then fix all the darkness that it has consumed. Entering the room, I opened my eyes and closed my mind, not wanting to overthink but I wanted to see every soul. Furiously closing my hands; feeling the nails cut right through my skin. Grinding my teeth while they break piece by piece, I then rolled my eyes without even noticing. “Hurray!” I spoke to myself, “I can actually be tough too”.

Irritating, scandalous and pathetic; that’s what I should be thinking about them, but they overpower me, they want to kill me with their harsh words. Just in case I die, I want to be remembered as a friendly, tough, honest and hardworking person. Killing myself right now I will only be remembered as a “hoe,” “easy,”and “weak”. Lack of love, lack of money and lack of spirit are not things you actually desire.

Melancholia creeps when I think about my little angel. Negativity also takes over my mind while I get all of these flashbacks; I was 14 and pregnant. Obsessed with her tiny feet, tiny hands,  the throaty and growling noise of her cry, and her beautiful big brown eyes. Panicking over how to become a dad and a mom, all in one, made me anxious and preoccupied of my baby’s future. Questions that I asked myself were the type of questions that I had to answer to my kid; “how can I raise a child when I’m still a child” I frequently ask myself. Reality then hits me like a ton of bricks; I have to now learn how to cook, find a job that pays me good enough to pay a babysitter  in order for me to keep up with my education, and wake up an hour earlier to get my bag ready.

Staying on this bed by myself after two days of giving birth have reduced my appetite and concentration, also, I’ve been having problems sleeping; all i think about is how to succeed as a single mother. Terrific moments must come before i grab that syringe and just stab my throat off my neck. Unforgettable experiences hunt me down when i look at the scars and bruises, through them I see the reflection of her father. Victim to my own love and desires. Worthless is the word that I imagine when I see that man whore son of a bitch !!! talking about getting me back. X are the amount of chances that I gave him. Yes, I may sound weak and pathetic but I feel like I want to drown in my own tears; images of this innocent ball of energy that i call my daughter appear every time. Zero is the number of men that are ever going to hurt my fragile heart, ever again.

She Eats Apples

You're required to see She Eats Apples. You can find the schedule on the Theatre Dept.'s website. The price is $3 w/ a QCC ID (there is one $1 matinee performance). The play is in the Shadowbox Theatre in Bldg Z. You will write a 1-p response which is due on the last day of class, 12/12 (please attach your ticket stub as proof of your attendance).

"The Story of a True Artist" and "Avarice"

I'd like us to try and make connections between the stories this week. Some questions to consider:

• "Avarice" explores three different generations living together in a household. "True Artist" is very much about one generation. How does this difference limit (or not) ea. story?
• Corine, the narrator's former daughter-in-law in "Avarice" is insane. You could argue that "True Artist" is also about seeing the world in a different way. The narrator can't explain why Cam&Lo is popular to her parents, she expresses her emotions and physical rxns verbally ("exasperated sigh," "shakes head"). What do these stories say about the way we perceive reality? 
• The word "avarice" means greed. How are both stories about greed?

ABC story

All colors of skin matter. Because we are all special in our own way. Can’t imagine not being me. Don’t try to convince me of anything else. Equality should be granted to everyone. Freedom from discrimination is key. Generations of racism are installed in families. How can we stop this cycle. I would like for all forms of racism and discrimination to end now. Just myself alone will not be able to make such a change throughout the world. Keep in mind that everyone has a part to play in making this change of creating a better word. Lots of people are still victims of racism. Most try to ignore the existence of racism. Not everyone believes that racism is still a problem. Only those who have their eyes open seem to realize the true issues at hand. People of all creeds must come together to end this. Quick action needs to be taken. Real changes need to be implemented. Silence is not the answer. Together we must take a stand. United we will stand to overcome. Victory over racism is the only answer. With us all together there can only be one outcome. Your voice matters.

Alphabet poem

Apple Zone

An apple falls down from its tree beside me, why does not it falls up?

Bumblebees, butterflies and hummingbirds sucking the life out of the flowers while pollinating and reproducing as the flower knows without this sacrifice its kin have no future.

Chocolate croissant the sweet buttery and flaky one, I can smell its warm aroma escaping from my picnic basket.

Digging deep into the basket to taste that croissant, why is the best piece always the hardest to reach?

Every early morning I am always here, sitting under this apple tree until the moonlight shines.

Fireflies flow with the gentle wind at the darkest night in a chaotic pattern.

Golden glow spots reflect each other around, like a switch off and on at their will, is that how they communicate?

Horror happens in the shadow; no one should be out outside.

Icy island in the north is cold and mystery, I think there must be more than a plain white stormy island.

Jingling jewellery stars sparks and bright up the high sky, lights down the low ground take over the darkness, can you see me now?

Keep kneeling down in the corner hiding from everyone, and they must not know.

Lakes, lagoon and ocean are formed from the tears of the goddesses.

Many more tears are pouring in droplets from the sky as the goddesses watch over me, after all this, will you see me now?

Naively narcissus myself, when I was younger, was my first mistake.

Obediently oath to protect and lead my people is a curse and blessing in my bloodline.

Palatial palisade separates and traps me from reality; this might be my punishment for all my crime and sin, what else do I need to do for you to notice me?

Quaintly question my existence; I know I am not the chosen one.

Rhapsodize randomly when dreaming of you, holding my hands and look at me.

Sudden stop, falling hard and I am wild awake, bruises by the impact and heartbroken from false hope, why does this happen to me - is it because I do not know how to communicate?

“Tick-tock tick-tocks,” said Death, the clouds moving and the breeze blowing, nothing stops no turning back; we are running out of time.

Ultimate ultimatum is to keep everyone safe and guide them to prosperity that my duty as their leader.

Vaguely vacillating different places in my mind, unable to connect and stay still, perhaps I am the hardest piece to reach?

Wearilessly working to accomplish my labour duty as their King even though it is killing me alive.

Xerophilous Xanadu is where I live, everyone wants to be and live like me but they do not know how dry and lifeless my paradise lost is.

Yellow yolk sunrise in the early morning, here I am walking to the tree with my same picnic basket, do I need to fell up to get to you?

Zillion zwitterions* in my chromosomes** that created me, maybe that is why I am neither good nor evil; a neutral mediocre. I know I am not special but I will still be waiting here by the apple tree until you notice me.

*neutral molecule with equally positive and negative charge

**zwitterions are in amino acid, which is essential for protein to promote DNA molecule (packed DNA into thread-like structures are chromosomes)

This is the alphabetical order short story we wrote in class (10/31/17). I decided to write a poem instead and I will use it in my collection. The speaker is the protagonist in my story, she the ruler of her kingdom and she is suffering from dissociative identity disorder.

Thanks for the help! Runako Callender and Ivan Mangones