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by Megan Harris

The gravel crunched lightly under my nondescript sneakers, and the remaining puddles from last nights rain seeped up the cuff of my flare-legged blue jeans. I tied the arms of my hoodie around my waist, it was a warm night. “What kind of show did you say this was?” asked my mother.

“Rockabilly, that’s what the paper said.” I could already feel the bass thrumming in my gut when we were still 10 yards from the door. The couple in front of us pulled open the door, and a tidal wave of sound and smoke engulfed us. Nervously, I handed the doorman my five dollar bill and held out my hand for the admission stamp.

“Megan this doesn’t look like your kind of music, maybe we should leave,” my mom said tentatively. Wide-eyed, I replied, “No freaking way”. And with that, I stepped into the fray.

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I’d never heard music played so loudly before in my life. Pounding out of cheap borrowed speakers, penetrating my body like a tribal heartbeat. This was insanity. Room spinning in a smoky haze, distorted in the flashing colored lights, I lost myself. I could not think, I could not hear, I could hardly see, and it was bliss. I looked out over the gathered crowd, engrossed in the tidal wave of huge colored hair and bejeweled faces, of ripped clothing and militant boots. Mohawks rising over the congregation like sharks in a rainbow sea. I was a fat grey pigeon in a flock of exotic birds, proclaiming my normality and simplicity for all to see. And in that moment, more than anything I wanted to be one of those people, I too wanted to be colorful, exotic, and inspiring. I wanted to look my strict, predictable life in the face and say FUCK YOU!…I had never screamed at anyone in my life. The very idea of doing anything remotely displeasing to another person was enough to make my stomach turn, and yet--- I wondered. How empowering would it be to become one of them? To strut around as if the world were my oyster, like I didn’t give a damn who approved of or hated me. These thoughts filled me, and I clung to this first strand of rebellion like a drowning man, each jarring note of the electric guitar like a gasp of icy air. I vowed in the corner of that dingy venue that I would become part of this new and exciting world, that I would immerse myself in this seedy underbelly of American culture. I emerged from that ramshackle building sweaty and bruised, but with a new purpose, to become who I wanted to be. If I could’ve pulled out a crystal ball, and looked into my future on that night, foreseeing the difficulties this journey would create, I likely would have run for the hills, cowering in the plush corners of my predictable life for the rest of my days.

Looking back on that cool summer night from years ago, I would say with certainty that it changed my life. Most days I think for the better. That was the first day that I ever mustered the defiance to even form an idea of the person I wanted to be, regardless of the plans others had for me. People look at me on the street now, and they see obnoxious dress and clunky boots, funny colored hair, gauges and piercings. To some this is inspiring, to others disgusting. And despite what most of them think, I don’t do this for their reaction. I look in the mirror each morning and see a series of small attempts to shape my identity. Every piercing, every stick of eyeliner, every jar of gaudy hair dye, is a step in the formation of me. Every clownish pair of tights, every ripped up band t-shirt, every scuff on my Doc Marten boots is a mark of painstakingly won identity. Through these small, simple alterations I become myself.

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Just be yourself. What a misleading phrase! It seems simple, easy, like something you would find in a fortune cookie. And your lucky numbers are… but no, becoming yourself, being yourself, is far from easy. The temptation is always there, whispering in your ear “give up, just do what they want, become who they want, and everything will be easier”. Those are the times when I seek out a punk show, a metal show, anywhere I can once again immerse myself in that brightly colored sea. Where amplified instruments drown out my doubts and I can again find myself. Tossing back and forth, in ebb and flow of human bodies, I let go. I release my tight measured grip of control from my life and seek that tribal heartbeat, reminding me of who I want to be.

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by Jack Richard Norman

It was a day not like any other. The sun was out, but not its usual blinding self and there was an overwhelming humidity in the air like a thick blanket of moisture weighing me down. I thought nothing of it at the time, just another day to me. I had only arrived back in the States a week previous. After the fall I had gone home for Christmas break, and didn’t have to return until a week ago. Already though it all felt so familiar and quickly I was back into a routine. I had to be up early as usual for classes. This was the part of my day I did not look forward to. What seemed like an endless stream of classes back to back all the way through until lunch time. Yawning and dreary eyed I managed to pull myself from the bed and prepare myself for the long day ahead of me. Running over in my head all the classes I had to attend that day, Test and Measurements, Kinesiology, Arts in Western Civilization, the list seemed to go on. It was not an exciting prospect although the fact that I was here in another country, living a dream of mine, was more than enough encouragement to pull me through.

It was only the second semester of my freshman year. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect from the off season. I was used to having soccer practice at 3pm after classes every day. However that was not the case this semester. Our regime consisted of practicing only twice a week and not always at the same time. With all the classes I was taking and work to be done I was sure this was a good thing, although all I ever wanted to do was play soccer. I mean it was the reason I travelled three thousand miles and halfway across the world to be here. Today was one of the few days however that we had soccer practice. It wasn’t until later tonight but it was something to look forward to.

The day had dragged in, and my energy had slowly dwindled as I moved from class to class, but they were over now, it was lunch time, time to refuel and get ready for the night ahead. It was like a drug not on the market yet, the feeling of freedom, and relaxation the moment the last class of the day ended. I always imagined to myself if we could bottle the feeling of finishing classes for the day and sell it, someone could make a fortune. Especially selling it to students, who spend years of their lives craving that single best feeling on a daily basis. All day in school people had been talking of the weather and how it was supposed to storm later tonight, but I had never paid any attention. What do I know about the weather? I thought to myself, it can’t be that bad. In my country the weather is hardly a topic of discussion as it usually remains unchanged, always the same old cold, wet and dull weather. Occasionally when the sun rears its head it sparks a conversation but this is not as often as you’d think. Anyway, I had no time to think about the weather, it was almost time for soccer practice and I had to get ready.

I borrowed a car from one of my friends, as we were practicing at some high school a few miles from town. It was only Big Mike and I in the car, the radio was pumped up to an excessive volume, and we were on our way to practice. It didn’t take long to find the school, it was only a few miles down the road, and before we knew it we were the first ones at practice. It was short lived however. Before we even had a chance to exit the car our coach came to the car and said in a calm voice, “Go home guys practice has been cancelled tonight, there’s a huge storm cell coming this way, so make sure you’re inside and safe.” That was it, practice was cancelled and the few hours of soccer a week that takes me away from the stress of work and school had been cancelled. Mike was from Canada, so we were both international students and freshmen, and although we were from different countries our faces looked exactly the same. Our confused faces showed that we were inexperienced to American weather and what it can harvest. We both ranted the whole drive home, how can practice be cancelled due to weather it was indoors? This is crazy we thought, nothing will come of this we laughed and joked, as we arrived at my house. I quickly turned on the TV to see what all the fuss was about. There it was written all over the screen, expected at 6:15pm a large storm cell with high potential for rain, hail, thunder and lightning, and with the potential for tornadoes. I had never experienced a tornado before, I don’t know what all the chaos is about its only wind. That is a thought that will never go through my mind again.

Mike and I sat in my bedroom looking out the window, with camera in hand. It had been storming pretty bad for the last half hour or so, but nothing I hadn’t seen before. Some rain, some lightning followed by the voracious boom of thunder, but nothing worth getting in a panic over. We both sat still laughing and joking at the state “these Americans,” had got themselves into. Then all of a sudden it became calm. The say there is always a calm before the storm but this was the saying personified. The rain had stopped, there was no wind, just an eerie silent calm throughout the blackened streets. In the distance we could here the whisper of a siren sending out a warning, becoming ever increasingly louder. It was like an air raid in the 1940’s, the streets were blacked out and the as the siren grew the realization became ever clearer. Without notice the house began to shake uncontrollably, and an overwhelming rush of noise and wind surrounded us. The noise was deafening and the panic that evaded us earlier had found its way into our minds. There was five of us in the house at the time and suddenly we were all together congregated in the hallway. The fear in our eyes grew wider as the attic door burst open and insulation filled the room like a swarm of angry insects. Windows began collapsing inwards on themselves, and glass was strewn throughout the rooms. Quickly we scrambled to the bathroom. It was in the center of the house, with no windows it was the safest place to be. There were five of us huddled together inside a bathtub, blinded by the darkness of the room, when suddenly it was over. It seemed like an eternity at the time, but what in actual fact was only a 20 second time frame. As the noise faded and the dust settled, we opened the bathroom door to reveal the damage done. It was worse than we could have imagined. Our home was destroyed, from the inside out. Every window was smashed, with glass, insulation and debris everywhere. Our entire roof had been lifted off the house, twisted, moved and dropped back out of place. The front porch was lying in a wreckage in the front lawn. The laundry room was nowhere to be found. All that remained of it was the door leading inside, but when opened revealed nothing but the back yard. The washing machine, dryer and four brick walls had been swept away in a flurry of wind and haste. The car that I had borrowed lay under our garage which now looked like a pile of scrap wood and metal. We however, were not even the worst off in our street. As we stepped outside to see the wreckage, the house across the street had the entire front wall torn off and could see every room in the house. We clambered through the fallen trees, and torn houses calling out to people making sure everyone was alright and no on was trapped. People began emerging slowly from their homes, or what was left of them. Dust covered and shocked, it was a miracle that no one had been hurt...yet.

My house was about 2 miles from the school campus. After the dust had settled I had tried calling everyone, but there was no reception. All I could think about was my friends and everyone else on campus. Had it hit them? Were they OK? Why can’t I reach anybody? I wasn’t about to sit around and wait to find out. Myself, Mike and one of the other guys took off running. Down the street, onto the road and towards the school. In our journey we could see the devastation caused by the tornado. We followed a path of destruction all the way to the school. Homes were demolished, power cables lay skewed across the streets, cars flipped on their roofs, and people distraught everywhere. It was only about to get worse. When we eventually arrived at the campus it seemed that all the students were in the hallways safe and secure, except two. One of which was my friend and team mate who had taken shelter in one of the common rooms but it had collapsed under the tornado and he was trapped. No one knew if he was alright, or if he was alive. It was possibly the worst few hours of my life. We did all we could to help the fire brigade and rescue team, lifting rubble and debris out from the wreckage. Finally after 4 hours of searching, we had found David trapped but alive. He had been pinned down at the legs by some of the concrete wall that had collapsed. Once he had been rescued, he was taken to hospital for treatment, where he spent the next few months of his life.

The morning after it all became clear as to the extent of the tornadoes destruction. Pictures and news cameras showed pictures of the path it took, leaving everything in its wake destroyed. It had been one of the worst tornadoes in the history of the town, and F5 tornado, costing approximately $40 million worth of damage. These were all minor details in the bigger story to me. It was a miracle no one had died that night, and more importantly that we had rescued those trapped and helpless to save their lives. We never know what is in store for us and how things can change any minute of our lives for better or for worse. David made a recovery in hospital eventually but spent so much time with the weight of the building on his legs that he was in intensive care for months, and had to relearn how to walk. He will never play soccer again, and is lucky to be alive today. After everything he went through, you reconsider the priorities in your life. We take for granted the things that are given to us daily, and not until they are threatened to be taken away do we see what is truly significant. It was a day that changed thousands of peoples lives, for worse and for better. It was a day I will never forget, February 5 2008.

An Adventure Within An Adventure

by Graham Faulkner


As I approached the most high-tech theme park in the world, my heart skipped a beat. I was about to enter the park that had only been open since 1999, and here I was, in the summer of 2010, preparing myself for what was about to happen. Outside the entry gates, I could see all the rides that seemed to forever extend into the atmosphere. I had always seen the park from a distance, but now I was getting my chance to get up close and personal with these rides, characters, and adventures. I was going to tap into childhood memories at Seuss Landing and Toon Lagoon, explore the unknown of the Lost Continent, battle super heroes in Marvel Super Hero Island, and become my very own wizard and help The Harry Potter at the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. My epic journey was about to begin at Universal Studios Islands of Adventure. This park was meant to pay tribute to the characters and stories inside. I was about to dive in and join them.

First, I found myself thrust into the Port of Entry, the introduction to the park. It contains no rides and is primarily marked by shops and restaurants. This technique, taken from Disney World, aroused a couple of things inside me. The first was anticipation. If the introduction to the park looked like this, what would the rest look like? Second, annoyance began to fester. I wanted to sprint through the Port and experience my adventure. However, we had to waste a couple of minutes and take a picture for the nagging camera lady that seems to show herself at the front of every theme park. Next, we slowly but surely made our way to the real park as we ventured through stores such as the Island of Adventure Trading Company and Port Provisions. As we reached the front of the park, we finally decided our first point of interest. With many normal things, the best is saved for last; however, this was not a normal thing. Therefore, the best came first.

On May 31, 2007, Universal Studios announced that it was adding a seventh theme to the park. After two-and-a-half long awaited years, The Wizarding World of Harry Potter was finally opened to the public. On June 18, 2010, thousands lined up and waited up to 8 hours to get into the park. Unfortunately, small numbers were let into the 20-acre world due to safety hazards. Since we arrived to the park early, we figured that we could make it to the magical realm before we had to fight muggles and mythical monsters. We set out to prove ourselves as wizards and witches- and whatever my brother was working towards; based off his grumpiness, my guess was one of the ugly bank goblins, but God only knows at this point. Unfortunately, we wouldn’t reach our goal without a couple short, thematic stops along the way.

First, the shortest trail that took us to wizardry began at Seuss Landing. Dr. Seuss is great, but my love was devoted to the world produced by J.K. Rowling, although, this world enticed me. Filled with rides and restaurants such as One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish and The High in the Sky Seuss Trolley Train Ride and Circus McGurkus Café Stoo-pendous, who wouldn’t be tempted to get wrapped up in the innocent atmosphere and take a stroll down memory lane? I couldn’t cheat now, especially since this was only the first world! I made my way through, absorbing what Seuss Landing had to offer but without getting too close to anything. We made our way out with colorful pictures and little trouble. One more world before we got to Hogsmeade!

Next, we found ourselves journeying through The Lost Continent. We quickly found that this world is divided into two parts. We found ourselves in an Aladdin-like merchant world called Sinbad’s Bazzaar. It was short and easy to bypass Sinbad’s stunt show called The Eighth Voyage of Sinbad and the Mystic Fountain. The Lost City was more intriguing. When we got there, my brother, the grumpy bank goblin, wanted to ride the attraction Poseidon’s Fury. It was a short wait so we decided to take a break from our trip. In the ride, we met an archaeologist taking us to a lost city and were attacked by a mythical god, but we were saved by Poseidon. The mix of fire and water effects made for an engaging ride. I would have killed the goblin if we would have been trapped forever in the lost city and unable to make it to the Wizarding world though. I later found that the ride had been changed from its original version. In the old version, Zeus fought and beat Poseidon in an epic battle. Fortunately, we were directed back to the path to join Harry Potter.

Before The Wizarding World of Harry Potter was built, The Lost Continent contained three sections rather than two. The third section was known as Merlinwood, and it hosted the rides The Flying Unicorn and Dueling Dragons. The Wizarding World changed the name from Dueling Dragons to the Dragon Challenge. They also changed the theme of the ride from a fire dragon versus an ice dragon to a Chinese Fireball versus a Hungarian Horntail. The Flying Unicorn became much more entertaining when it was changed to Flight of the Hippogriff. What would you rather fly on-a childish beast that you control whether or not it flies up or down or a wild, uncontrollable beast that flies every which way leaving you adrenaline-rushed and wanting more? The last ride in this world is newly built. It is inside an amazing and magnificently detailed replica of Hogwarts castle. Harry Potter and the Forbidden Journey allows riders to join Harry Potter in a quest throughout Hogwarts and the Forbidden Forest. I had heard about such a marvelous place but, little did I know, I was about to be absolutely blown away by it.

A mix of emotions began to flow inside of all of us. It was practically written on our foreheads. I knew I was glowing. It was what we had all been waiting and longing for. As we walked closer and closer to the entrance, the snow covered tops of the buildings began to show and the castle tremendously towered over all inside. But I could not get myself to look at it. I had to wait until I stepped inside to take it all in. No peeking allowed. I felt like a child at Christmas. I could find out everything I was getting that year, but I wanted the suspense to build and the happiness to last. It was that feeling times a million. I may have even been blushing at this point, but I didn’t care. I was about to step into a magical world unknown to us muggles until now. The entrance stood in front of us. I looked up at a cast iron cut out that read Hogsmeade with a boar cut out above it. I could wait no longer. I launched into the world.

I found myself on platform nine and three-quarters looking at the Hogwarts Express. A tall, pudgy bellman with a perfect English accent greeted us, “Welcome to the Hogwarts Express! Are you looking for platform nine and three- quarters? You’ve come to the right place! This way, please!” We started walking at snail pace until I actually just stopped to gaze. I was looking up at charcoal buildings with wavy chimneys covered in a pure white snow. The castle overlooked it all. It was as if a sun was rising over an ocean, only this was the Hogwarts Castle rising over the Wizarding World. The train station stood to my right. Honeyduke’s, the candy store, stood to my left. Ollivander’s, a Butter beer tap, and a Pumpkin Juice stand stood in front of me.

“Pumpkin Juice,” I yelped. “Mom we have to get some!”

It was almost a fight for who would tear open and have the first gulp of the pumpkin juice between me and the goblin. I didn’t care how grumpy and ugly he was that morning. I was trying that Pumpkin Juice first! I tore open the bottle topped with a plastic pumpkin lid and took in a huge gulp. It was delightful. It was an extremely sweet, cool pumpkin cider that was refreshing and rich. It was fantastic. We all shared a bottle. Next we headed to Honeyduke’s. We were all ready to see what kind of candy we could get our anxious fingers on. We entered the store and swarms of color seemed to hit me right in the face-colors of different licorice, sour gummies, and the infamous Bernie Bott’s every flavored beans. I was mesmerized, but I couldn’t make myself buy anything. There is just something about a puke flavored jelly bean for breakfast that can quickly ruin an appetite. Connected to Honeyduke’s was the prank store Zonko’s. If we were to find Fred and George Weasley, it was going to be in this store. Unfortunately, they were not there, but all of their mischievous filled boxes were. We found things from Puking Pastilles to Dungbombs to Nose-Biting Teacups. I would be lying if I said that I didn’t think about grabbing something for the goblins shorts to try to deal with his grumpiness, but I decided against it, in fear of turning him into some other horrific monster. Next, we headed to join the Hippogriff. It was a short line, and on the way to the actual attraction, we passed Hagrid’s Hut. Once again, it was an exact replica from the hut seen in the movies. As we started our ride on our own Hippogriff, we passed Buckbeak in her nest on the way to the top of our climb. We were forced to bow to her and accept her passing before we continued on the ride. The small coaster tossed us every which way at sharp turns and short bursts of speed. It was nothing compared to what else we would face that day, but it was a start. The Dragon Challenge and The Forbidden Journey beckoned us next.

Although the rollercoaster is the same as when it was named Dueling Dragons, the theme of the ride is completely different. The journey to the ride is themed to make the rider feel as if they are part of the Triwizard Tournament. For example, the entrance is the champion’s tent, and artifacts like the Goblet of Fire are shown. Also, they show three golden eggs in hope that the rider would recognize that they are supposed to be holding the fourth since they are a “champion”. We all decided that we would ride the Hungarian Horntail coaster. We were all amazed because the coaster itself had been created to look like a real dragon! We waited to sit in the front row then battled it out for from heights up to 125 feet for two minutes and twenty-five seconds at speeds up to fifty-seven miles per hour on this inverse coaster against the Chinese Fireball. After our battle, we finally ventured towards Hogwarts. Anticipation rose from the fantastic view of the castle that the trail leading away from The Dragon Challenge provided.

I stood in front of the castle, gawking at its magnificence. It was perfect. In fact, it was better than what was seen in the movies. The stoned archway that marked the entrance wrote and rewrote “Harry Potter and The Forbidden Journey” in the Harry Potter signature print. With every step towards the castle, a thrilling sensation overtook us all. We finally entered the castle to see lockers where we had to put anything of importance. Apparently broomstick rides aren’t personal belonging friendly. We hurriedly put our things away and made our way through the castle. We passed statues of previous wizards and even the Mirror of Erised. Hogwarts House Jewels captivated us with their beauty and talking portraits almost took all our time. We passed through a greenhouse before we entered back into the castle. The sand jars for each house lined the wall to our right. Gryffindor was not winning, but we know who would in the end. The hallway led to the statue that concealed Dumbledore’s office. As we walked through the corridor, we found ourselves in Dumbledore’s office where he invited us to join in a Hogwarts history lesson. His office was exactly as it was in the movie. The phoenix sat in the main office with the staircase leading up to Dumbledore’s private office. The sword of Gryffindor sat on top of one of the various bookshelves that lined the office. Our next stop was a Defense Against the Dark Arts class where Harry, Ron, and Hermione revealed themselves from under the Invisibility Cloak to tell us that they were going to try to sneak us into a Quidditch match. I almost tore down the hall to get onto my broomstick; unfortunately, I had to wait my turn. As we sat into our benches, the ride started, and we were put in front of a projection screen. We had to fly through the Floo Network then we eventually began being chased by Hagrid’s Hungarian Horntail! We were removed from the projection screen and flew through a design of Hogwarts. Shortly, we were dropped into the Forbidden Forest where we were confronted with Aragog’s, the terrifying spider, children. Then we had to escape a Whomping Willow. Quickly, we found ourselves flying through a Quidditch match while being chased by Dementors! They chased us all the way into the Chamber of Secrets where Harry saved us with a Patronus Charm. We flew into the middle of Hogwarts where we were cheered on for our victory. This was four minutes of greatness with speeds up to 23 miles per hour. Filch's Emporium of Confiscated Goods gift shop stood at the bottom of the ride. After I bought a limited edition pin, we were off to fight with the Marvel Heroes to end our day.

Toon Lagoon was a brief stop in our journey. We joined Dudley Do-Right to fight Snidely and save Nell in Dudley Do-Right’s Ripsaw Falls. This log flume ride was soaked us into refreshment. Toon Lagoon offered over 150 cartoon characters. We glimpsed through most of them and skipped Popeye and Bluto’s Bilage-Rat Barges. We were already wet. We didn’t need another water adventure. Finally, we found Marvel Superhero Island! Shops, restaurants, and rides contained all different heroes and villains across them. Wolverine, Storm, The Hulk, and Doctor Doom are just a short list of the few to be seen. The first attraction showed a giant, animated Spider-Man web-slinging across the Daily Bugle. I had to go in. Riders were led through an inside look at the Daily Bugle, and, while inside, a situation arises that calls the riders to be photographers of a mess going on in the city. We rode in roving motion vehicles, also known as Scoop, in front of a 3-D projection screen. We fought alongside of Spider-Man against Doctor Octopus, Scream, Electro, Hydro-Man, and the Green Goblin. Luckily, Spider-Man saved us all from a terrifying drop in a massive and merciful web. Physical and 3-D special effects combined with rapid twists and turns with fire, water, and wind added to the excitement of this ride. Dr. Doom’s Fearfall stood next this attraction. We decided to conquer him next. It is the second tallest ride at Universal Studios. This ride only lasted for about 50 seconds, but it dropped us from a height of 199 feet at 40 miles per hour. We journeyed through his laboratory until the ride. It was a rough on the stomach, but I was ready to join The Hulk in my final ride. We were in for the ride of our lives when joining Dr. Bruce Banner in his experiment. The theme leading to the coaster was Banner’s lab as he was trying to reverse the effects of what he had created. When first opened, this coaster was the world’s tallest cobra roll at 110 feet. It is completely different than most roller coasters in that it has a launch hill lift. As we climbed to what we thought was the drop, the coaster shot us out of the Gamma Tube at 40 miles per hour before reaching its maximum speed of 67 miles per hour. High speed mixed with seven different inversions made this the most thrilling ride of the day. The Hulk took his riders for a ride of a lifetime that left us wanting to ride it again and again and again- which we so happened to do that day.

Universal Islands of Adventure offered us seven unique adventures to take part in. It allowed us to feel like children again, and it allowed us to be our very own wizards, witches-and goblin- to fight alongside the greatest wizard our world has ever known. I was able to dive into my own comic book and help greats like Dudley-Do right and The Hulk. Every time I go to Florida, a desire to dive back in is sparked within me. This nearly twelve year old park that was added onto the CityWalk Entertainment District, the Portofino Bay Hotel, and Hard Rock Hotel holds a special place in my entire family. It is the one place we must adventure within every time we get the chance.

Drifting Minds

by Emily Estes


As I sit and listen to the lecture my mind drifts. It drifts into a land of imagination, where all things are possible. Ideas pop into my mind, people, places, events. I let the imagination take hold and the stories unfold. It starts out with a picture in my mind, which is horrible sketched out on paper. I am a writer not an artist. The characters take names, friendships are formed. At first, there is no significance behind them, just things, ideas. As time goes on the dialog begins. It’s like my sister as a child, out of the five; she is the only one in her age group. She starts up conversations with her fingers or mannequins in a store. This is how my stories are invented.

As I start out, there is information here; plots there, things begin to unfold. The characters sit in a three ring binder on paper waiting to see what will happen next. What their next move will be. My writing is like an unfinished chess game. Each pawn strategically placed to win the game. This game is a win lose situation. If I make it back, my ideas can change, characters rearranged, or they stay the same.

As a writer I prefer for them to change, be moved here or there. This makes for a better, longer story. Most of the ideas are short lived originally. There is still a beginning, middle, and end, but the details are not formulated. Actions are not taken in depth. It’s just there. But when things change, new ideas come to light. Those unfinished things grow, deepen, and set root.

I am like the writer Luke Wilson plays in Alex and Emma. My characters tell me what comes next. My stories are formulated by a thought, an idea, or a person that intrigues me. Then I run, I run as far as it will let me with events, relationships forming as the lead character takes shape. My stories are not set out in a ven diagram, or brain bubbles. They move together as each character takes shape, through their own dialog, interactions, events. Their names changing as their identity becomes revealed. In my mind like my little sisters, my characters are real people. Their story does not stay within the margins I give them. They have a story before me, and as the writer I get to see a glimpse into their lives. Their story will continue after me. As I writer I hope they will let me in once more.

Once my story has structure, the events happening in chronological order, from there it is all about the detail, the explosive words, and the eye catching details. These are what make a reader want more. The sad facts about these stories are they are not long. There are more ideas flowing through the land of my imagination, but the question is where do they go? How can I add them? The story sits in my binder or on my shelf waiting diligently to be made into a novel. A story other people can read. The characters wait to share their story with others besides me the writer.

I let a few close people read what I have written. This is a scary feeling, to allow someone into my imaginary land. This is a land that only I can understand. What if they don’t get it? What if they think I belong in a crazy house because I like to write stories of pain, abuse, and destruction?

My stories do not always betray myself. I do not put myself in the stories as a character most of the time. Putting yourself in a story as a character is hard to do even if it is fictional. It requires an analysis of yourself. It makes you go deep within. Most of the time your story ends u0p jaded, because you cannot put in all the emotions that a true fictional character could have. This is why I will stick with my community that lives within my imaginary land. Granted when it comes to giving these characters names, sometimes they will end up with names of people I know. This is not because that is all I know, but because they may represent a little bit of that person. But this is also why the names change. A character named Katie for instance may start out having some of the same characteristics as my childhood best-friend, but as she grows she is no longer that Katie, but a Victoria. A person I have never known until now.

I know the way I write is strange no doubt. It is like Margaret Atwood said in her biography. I have no one to go off of. My family is not made up of writers, at least not yet. I do not befriend novelist. I do not know how Frank McCourt, Silvia Plath, Herman Melville, or any other novelist gets their story ideas; or how they formulate plots. All I know is when I am bored, sad, lonely, or given a prompt my mind enters into a wonderful place. The land of imagination, where my mind takes off down the streets, up the mountain side, or into the grocery store where my characters lives are taking place.

“Frustration” or ...

by Quentin Pongratz

“Frustration”

or

“Since I was lacking a full actual essay, I just pieced together other things I wrote and then scrapped and decided to call it an essay.”

I love to write. Don’t get me wrong about that. If you take anything away from this reading, let it be that I love to write. Other things I love? Being unique. Being smart. Being funny. Being beautiful. Not in the sense of my looks, but I do love to craft my words in a fashion that is fashionable. I love to imbue my writing with all these things. But, I’m going to tell you right now that in this assignment I cannot really accomplish these things. There’s something holding me back with this assignment. I’m not sure what it is, but I can’t do it. Or at least, I can’t do it how I want to. I can’t do it in a unique, smart, funny, beautiful way. I’ve tried, but I can’t.

I started this assignment twice before writing the words of this sentence and the words of the paragraph before this sentence. It’s something about this that I can’t quite grasp. Reflection? That seems too abstract. I go into the writing knowing what I want, but then I lose sight of it. I get lost in my thoughts, and I can’t quite figure out where I was going. I can’t seem to figure out where I should be.

I don’t know where to put the paragraph divisions.

Fiction is easier. Not even that. Narrative is easier. I did just fine with the memoir piece, and I’m sure I won’t struggle as much with the Literary Journalism piece. Telling a story. That’s easy. Telling what’s in my mind... Well, it’s hard to grasp. Like I said, I want to be unique. I want you to go through a journey of my thoughts, but I still don’t want to tell you exactly what I’m thinking. Like we discussed in class, there are some empty words we should avoid in writing. I think if you are not in my mode of thought, if I can’t put you in my situation, if I can’t make you feel something, then all my words are empty. I could just put: This assignment gave me frustration. But that doesn’t mean anything. Well, it means something, but not a great impact.
My first swing at this failed:

“Recent mornings I have awoken to the words of Kanye West flowing from my computer speakers through the air and into my ears--my very tired ears. I use his song “Power” as a secondary alarm clock. It tells me if I’m not awake yet, I need to be. That is the last possible 6 minutes in which I need to be up to get breakfast, or take a quick shower before class. The beginning of the song is a instrumental choir type music. It’s this part before the bass comes in. It’s before Kanye’s core-cutting words come across the speakers--or headphones depending on the time of day. This is the sample that is looped behind most of the song. The other morning I had only acquired two or three hours of sleep before Kanye woke me. This time the beginning didn’t feel as beautiful as it usually did. Usually, the lack of Kanye and bass line makes this opening seem so peaceful. The calm before the storm, if you will. That morning, however, the beginning was a form of fine torture. Half-dreaming the beginning seemed to go on forever. It repeated and repeated like some sort of alarm clock from hell. If there is a hell, that is. From the idea of hell that most people have. Better.

I have let this song invade the better part of my thoughts. I walk around to this song. I wake up to this song. I study to this song. I’m writing to this song. In the shower, I sing to this song. At all moments of the recent past I have, in some capacity, had this song on my mind. Is this a sign? I no longer believe in signs. I gave those up awhile back. Part of my journey from Hopeless Romantic to just plain Romantic. Why waste time looking for signs from the universe when in the end it’s all my decision anyway? I remember a time when I was driving to my home from dropping off a friend at his. I would take the different cars to mean different things. If a certain car would pass me, then that means it was all for naught, but if I passed the white Camaro, then it means she liked me. What kind of good did that thinking do except that it kept me from being bored on those twenty minute drives every day. Well, I guess I’ll let this assignment get to Kanye now.

I’m livin’ in the 21st century

Doin’ something mean to it

Do it better than anybody you ever seen do it

He really is tearing it up. One of the best tearer-uppers of the twenty-first century. If anyone else had ran up on stage during the VMA’s would it have been as big a news story as it was when Kanye did it? Probably. But no one else did do it. He’s the one. He got up there. He interrupted Taylor Swift. He acted like an asshole. He tore it up. He did somethin’ mean to it. And, he did it better than anybody I’ve ever seen do it.

Screams from the haters, got a nice ring to it

I think this is just great right here. You hate me? Well, I could probably make your hateful screams into a beat for which I could rap over. Boom. He is able to just take it all and shrug it all off. The ability to, in the middle of an argument, say “Fuck this noise,” and walk off. I envy this ability. I can’t do it. At least, I couldn’t do it and not be bothered. If you just walk off, there will be a line of reasoning on the other side. One that concludes you as the loser of the argument. “Well, he left. He must have been wrong, and he knew it.” That’s not how the thought would go exactly, but for sake of needing it, I abridged the thought. I made it less real, more stilted, in order to get my point across. It’s this little thing of not wanting to be seen as wrong that I can’t leave. Because, what if I’m right? Then I can’t let someone else in the world be wrong. I envy this ability to just be above an argument.

I guess every superhero need his theme music

No one man should have all that power

I don’t think I’ve yet said why I love this song so much. These lines right here are a good summary of the song. This is Kanye West’s superhero theme music. This is a summary of how he acts every week. It takes all of his powers and sets them to a song. Look at... Listen at the Batman: The Animated Series theme song. Quentin, this is just an instrumental. There aren’t any words here. Exactly. I believe that completely sums of the Batman of the show. He don’t fucking need words. He is the bad-ass instrumental. It’s like this for “Power.” It shows who he is. But I still haven’t said why I love this song so much. Hints of it are seen in these two lines. He doesn’t say “I’m a superhero.” He doesn’t say, “I, one man, should not have all this power.” But through the course of the song you get the feeling that it’s him. He’s the one that’s a superhero. He has all this power. I want to be famous. I don’t care about the riches, although that would be nice. I want the fame. I want to be known. That’s what I want. That’s why I love this song. I want this. “But Quentin,” you might say, “you’ll be an asshole. You’ll be corrupted by this power.” Maybe not, I say to that. I don’t have to be an asshole. But then again... If I do become that guy. What will I care? I’ll be famous.

The clock’s tickin’, I just count the hours

This line always gets me. I ain’t got time for second. I don’t have time for minutes. I just count the hours. Minutes ain’t nothing to me. You may think, shouldn’t the more famous you be, the more precious your time is? No. That’s wrong. You’re wrong. That idea was dumb. Look at money. You have the big bills and pennies don’t mean shit.

Stop trippin’, I’m trippin’ off the power

(21st century schizoid man)

This is a humble line throughout a boastful song. An acknowledgement of the self. I have that to look forward to. If I get super-egotistical, I can always count on that one aspect of me. The “21st century schizoid man” is actually the song which he samples in this song. This shows that Kanye is acknowledging his sources and inspirations and such. I can always count on that. I can’t see a future in which I just don’t acknowledge those that help me out. Those that help me create who I am. Then there’s the line before it. “I’m trippin’ off the power.” This is an acknowledgement of his self-praise. He recognizes that he is under the influence of his power. It’s like a drug in the way he references. He’s tripping on it. I don’t do drugs. I don’t smoke. I don’t drink regularly. I could use with some sort of vice. I could do with something that influences my decisions. I choose power. I want to trip on power. I want to trip on fame. And like Kanye, I won’t be shy to admit the influence it has on me. Let it be known.

The system broken, the schools closed, the prisons open

Here is some social awareness. Kanye is just trying to get the word out. Spread awareness to the masses. It’s a sort of humanitarian side to him. He’s worried about how the schools are put behind the prison’s in our country. How sometimes it seems that prisoners get more rights than our youth. I feel like with my future fame, I too will try to raise awareness. I think the cause that I want to rally with is the whole energy thing. Ecological type stuff. I’m a big fan of conservation. Don’t use more than you need. Turn off the lights when you fucking leave the room, Travis and John. Turn off the television when you leave the house, Mom and Dad. Don’t litter. Pick up after yourself. All that kind of shit. I think above all, I just want to advocate self-awareness. Pay the fuck attention and don’t do things that would cause problems for the world. Gah.”

I went a third of the way through the song and just couldn’t write any more. It was unique. I felt it got some of my thoughts and stuff in there, but without doing it so overtly. It captured my want for power, but my hesitancy to totally embrace asshole-dom. At least, that’s what I wanted it to do. I can create narration that hints at the emotional side of things, but to show the emotional side of things while hinting at the narrative known as my life? I don’t think so. This assignment seems like I can’t be as subtle with it. It gives me frustration. It sits there on the other side of this computer monitor, it puts the frustrations in a box and then hands it to me. I take the little package of frustration and open it up. I hope every time that it’s not frustration, but alas, it is. I see the contents of the box. I sigh. I throw it down to the floor. I walk away from the computer. I go for a walk. I play a game. I read a book, although usually not for class, but for my own pleasure. I go check my mail. I have no mail. Eventually though I return to the computer. I look down at that package. The frustration has spilled on the floor. It might stain if I leave it, so I delete all on that which I had been working. All gone. Better now. Now we can start the process again.

I started again. I thought, “What do I do well?” Not this, was my immediate thought. How can I do this well? It doesn’t make sense. Am I being too subtle? Are my thoughts not clear? Am I being not subtle enough? Am I just hitting the reader on the head with my emotions. Oh wow, he’s frustrated. Real original.

After I scrapped the Lyrical in the most literal sense essay, I turned my attention to something else. Maybe I could bring the reader into my mind in a different way. I think about women a lot. Maybe that’s something worth capitalizing. There’s that girl at the bowling alley:

“She reminds me of my ex actually. Who? Well, on Tuesdays and Thursdays I have a bowling class. Let me contextualize that a little bit more. Here, at USAO, in my my final semester, Spring 2011, I am enrolled in a bowling class. With that, no matter when you read it, you’ll no when and where this takes place. Well, there’s this girl in my bowling class. She reminds me of my ex. Not my first one, or the most recent one, but the one in the middle. She invades my thoughts more than she should. And now, she invades my Tuesdays and Thursdays from 12:30 to about 1:10.

I think it’s her hair. She has this straight, long, dark hair. My ex’s wasn’t always dark, but her natural hair color was dark.

I think maybe also it’s her face. She has this expression that sometimes my ex would get. This sort of bored look. She doesn’t want to be here. Well, that’s what it was on my ex. Here it’s a sort of norm. This bored look is constant. There are slight smiles or hints of laughter every once in awhile, but then it returns to the normal slightly bored look.”

I gave up on that one even quicker than the Kanye one. What is it about this assignment that just presents me with a block? I already answered that. It’s the reflective-ness part. I didn’t even get to the part in the essay that inspired me to write it. There was a particular scene I wanted to convey. I guess since I scrapped it, I can just say it now. When she’s bowling there’s this sort of clumsy grace to her throw. She walks up the lane in a casual fashion. She brings the ball back like any other bowler. She swings the ball forward. She lets loose the ball slightly above the ground. This leaves a second or two where the ball has no contact with the ground. It lands with a thud a foot down the lane. The release looks to be skill-less. She looks like she’s just throwing the ball to get it over with. Yet, the ball does this beautiful slow spin. The lack of grace in the release is made up for when the spin effortlessly obtains a strike every one in three times. It’s no professional technique, but there’s something about this paradoxical throw that attracts me. Something that looks like a horrible wreck of a throw that ends up in success. Hold onto this image, I’ll need it later.

The other reason I wanted to write this second piece is something I wanted to be subtle, but I’m just going to say it. I want the works of this class to have some sort of unifying theme. Some sort of meta-narrative. A story throughout the stories. I think, if I had to give it a title, and yes I’ve thought about this quite a lot, it would be “Shades of Sarah.” It has a nice ring to it, I think. Simple. To the point. Yet has an air of mystery to it. She’s the entire subject of the fifty five word story. She’s in the third scene of the memoir. She’s in that story just above these paragraphs. She’ll be sitting on a bench in my Literary Journalism piece if I follow through with my idea. She’s a part of who I am at this point in my life. She supplies the pain and the love that I like to write. I’m sure I’ll get it out of my system after some time, but until then, I’ll embrace it.

This new piece. This new essay. This new venture into my mind. It hasn’t yet opened the box of frustration to me. I’m still waiting. Any sentence now it could strike. I could decide there’s something better to write about. There’s some way I can grasp this assignment where it will just come to me so easily. There’s some magical epiphany in which you may or may not believe. It’s sitting out there waiting to be epiphanilized. But with minimal time before class and such restrictions of the real world, it will have to sit out there. Unrealized. There’s some unique, funny, introspective, beautiful, just subtle enough, but not too subtle, essay sitting out there waiting to be realized. There’s some essay out there with my name on it that I haven’t written yet, because I didn’t find it.

This is it. The end of the essay. Did you get a good look into my mind, dear reader? You have many questions, I’m sure. Is this frustration a fictionalized thing? Did he actually struggle with this assignment or is this the essay he intended to write all along? Did I actually get a good and subtle glimpse into his mind when he told me before that he wasn’t good at that? Did he do this on purpose or did it all just end up this way on accident? Is he asking questions from my perspective just to get me to think about things that I otherwise wouldn’t have thought about? Why did he ask me to hold onto that image of the clumsily graceful bowling ball? Is this the end? Is he going to say the end or is it just going to stop after this question?