(NOTE: I DIDN'T WRITE THIS! My Dad emailed it to me and I thought it was hilarious)--
A Creative Writing professor told his class one day: "Today we will experiment with a new form called "The Tandem Story." The process is simple. Each person will pair off with the person sitting next to his or her desk.
As homework tonight, one of you will write the first paragraph of a short story. You will e-mail your partner that paragraph and send another copy to me. The partner will read the first paragraph and then add another paragraph to the story and send it back, also sending another copy to me.
The first person will then add a third paragraph, and so on back-and-forth.
Remember to re-read what has been written each time in order to keep the story coherent.. There is to be absolutely NO talking outside of the e-mails and anything you wish to say must be written in the e-mail.
The story is over when both agree a conclusion has been reached."
The following was actually turned in by two of his English students:
THE STORY:
(First paragraph by Rebecca)
At first, Laurie couldn't decide which kind of tea she wanted. The chamomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he liked chamomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about him too much her asthma started acting up again. So chamomile was out of the question.
(Second paragraph by Bill)
Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron now in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about than the neuroses of an air-headed asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with whom he had spent one sweaty night over a year ago. "A.S. Harris to Geostation 17," he said into his trans galactic communicator. " Polar orbit established. No sign of resistance so far..." But before he could sign off a bluish particle beam flashed out of nowhere and blasted a hole through his ship's cargo bay. The jolt from the direct hit sent him flying out of his seat and across the cockpit.
(Rebecca)
He bumped his head and died almost immediately, but not before he felt one last pang of regret for psychically brutalizing the one woman who had ever had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its pointless hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Skylon 4. "Congress Passes Law Permanently Abolishing War and Space Travel," Laurie read in her newspaper one morning.
The news simultaneously excited her and bored her. She stared out the window, dreaming of her youth, when the days had passed unhurriedly and carefree, with no newspaper to read, no television to distract her from her sense of innocent wonder at all the beautiful things around her.
"Why must one lose one's innocence to become a woman?" she pondered wistfully.
(Bill)
Little did she know, but she had less than 10 seconds to live. Thousands of miles above the city, the Anu'udrian mother ship launched the first of its lithium fusion missiles. The dimwitted wimpy peaceniks who pushed the Unilateral Aerospace Disarmament Treaty through the Congress had left Earth a defenseless target for the hostile alien empires who were determined to destroy the human race.
Within two hours after the passage of the treaty the Anu'udrian ships were on course for Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverize the entire planet. With no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated their diabolical plan. The lithium fusion missile entered the atmosphere unimpeded. The President, in his top-secret mobile submarine headquarters on the ocean floor off the coast of Guam, felt the inconceivably massive explosion, which vaporized even poor, stupid Laurie.
(Rebecca)
This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My writing partner is a violent, chauvinistic semi-literate adolescent.
(Bill)
Yeah? Well, my writing partner is a self-centered tedious neurotic whose attempts at writing are the literary equivalent of Valium. " Oh, shall I have chamomile tea? Or shall I have some other sort of F--KING TEA??? Oh no,what am I to do? I'm such an air headed bimbo. I guess I've read too many Danielle Steele novels!"
(Rebecca)
A$$h@le.
(Bill)
B*tch!
(Rebecca)
F*** YOU - YOU NEANDERTHAL!!
(Bill)
In your dreams, Ho. Go drink some tea.
(TEACHER)
A+ - I really liked this one..
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
The Empty Cup
It's exam time, and job-hunting time, and dealing with life time, so obviously I'm going to procrastinate on everything and write a blog...
As my Sobomnin (martial arts teacher), Michael taught me a lesson a few weeks ago: he gave me a teacup filled with tea and told me to examine it. "Get to know that cup. I want you to know it, feel it, taste it, know the color, the smell... Know that cup like you would marry it." (Those probably weren't his exact words but, as my Grampy always says, "Never let the truth get in the way of a good story!")
He gave me a few minutes. Then --
"Do you know that cup like it was your firstborn child?"
"I feel like I just gave birth."
(Those also were nothing like the words we actually said.)
"Good," he replied. "Follow me."
And then he led me on the most meandering sprint around his house that I've ever experienced: up the stairs, around the kitchen, down to the basement, turn on our heels and sprint all the way up 3 flights of stairs again -- all while holding my teacup and trying not to spill on the carpet.
We ended in front of the sink.
"Here, have some more tea."
He filled my cup until it was overflowing.
"Ready to go again?"
"No."
I dumped a bit out so the tea wasn't so close to the surface.
He filled it to the brim again.
I dumped a bit more.
He filled it back up.
"Ready?"
"No, I'm going to spill!"
"OK, well what do you need to do?"
So, with great remorse for my firstborn tea, I dumped the whole cupful into the sink.
"Ready."
Aaand, we went for another sprint - one that was much easier this time because my cup was fully empty.
As a reward for my brilliant decision to leave my old, cold tea behind, the next time we returned to the sink Michael filled my empty cup with raspberry juice.
("Enjoy! Comagain!")
Now, how would it have been if my cup was still full of cold tea dregs when he'd filled it up with juice? The fresh, cold juice would have been contaminated by the old tea. (Gross for a normal person's tastes, I'm sure, but I probably would have enjoyed the weird beverage... But that's beside the point.)
The lesson, he said, came from his old Hapkido instructor. When students are too full of their own opinions and expectations, how are they to learn anything?
They need to first open their minds - "empty their cups" - so that the knowledge and experience of the new instructor, new experience, or new perspective, has a place to go.
As my Sobomnin (martial arts teacher), Michael taught me a lesson a few weeks ago: he gave me a teacup filled with tea and told me to examine it. "Get to know that cup. I want you to know it, feel it, taste it, know the color, the smell... Know that cup like you would marry it." (Those probably weren't his exact words but, as my Grampy always says, "Never let the truth get in the way of a good story!")
He gave me a few minutes. Then --
"Do you know that cup like it was your firstborn child?"
"I feel like I just gave birth."
(Those also were nothing like the words we actually said.)
"Good," he replied. "Follow me."
And then he led me on the most meandering sprint around his house that I've ever experienced: up the stairs, around the kitchen, down to the basement, turn on our heels and sprint all the way up 3 flights of stairs again -- all while holding my teacup and trying not to spill on the carpet.
We ended in front of the sink.
"Here, have some more tea."
He filled my cup until it was overflowing.
"Ready to go again?"
"No."
I dumped a bit out so the tea wasn't so close to the surface.
He filled it to the brim again.
I dumped a bit more.
He filled it back up.
"Ready?"
"No, I'm going to spill!"
"OK, well what do you need to do?"
So, with great remorse for my firstborn tea, I dumped the whole cupful into the sink.
"Ready."
Aaand, we went for another sprint - one that was much easier this time because my cup was fully empty.
As a reward for my brilliant decision to leave my old, cold tea behind, the next time we returned to the sink Michael filled my empty cup with raspberry juice.
("Enjoy! Comagain!")
Now, how would it have been if my cup was still full of cold tea dregs when he'd filled it up with juice? The fresh, cold juice would have been contaminated by the old tea. (Gross for a normal person's tastes, I'm sure, but I probably would have enjoyed the weird beverage... But that's beside the point.)
The lesson, he said, came from his old Hapkido instructor. When students are too full of their own opinions and expectations, how are they to learn anything?
They need to first open their minds - "empty their cups" - so that the knowledge and experience of the new instructor, new experience, or new perspective, has a place to go.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Colors
Apparently I'm both green and blue. Abudee Abudi.
According to the True Colors (Personality Test), I'm a walking contradiction. A stereotypical Blue profile says that I’m “highly emotional and irrational”; as a Green, I’m “the cool, investigative, brainy” type. That explains the mood swings.
I think it's interesting though that I display the polar opposites of "emotion" vs "logic" -- and I commonly use both those sides of my personality when I'm creating. The "Blue" part of myself lends creativity, relationship intuition and emotions into my writing; the "Green" part helps me edit the mushy blob into something people can understand.
The actual act of creativity needs to be uninhibited by logic, preconceptions, or worry about feasibility (Blue). In order to make the idea possible, however, logic and method need to take their turn. (Green)
A lot of writers feel that structure - outlines, formatting, or page-by-page planning like in Blake Snyder's Save The Cat - take away from an artist's freedom and inspiration. So, they pour their soul onto the paper, using every ounce of inspiration and emotion in them. Their output is immensely personal, abstract, and jumbled. Unstructured creativity creates it's own restrictions by being too wild and unwieldy to work with.
With a logical, tried and true procedure, format, or structure, the writer has unlimited freedom within those bounds. (Don't worry, good formatting doesn't stop you from being able to sell your soul to Hollywood. You can still go ahead and do that. Have fun. Send me postcards.)
Some of the best moments in film come from the need to improvise because of restrictions. You can't afford to build a ten-story high mammoth with beaded fur and dreadlocks? Substitute it with a mouse wearing burmuda shorts. Or better yet, just take that part out of the script. Your film still may not have any great moments, but at least it won't suck so bad.
(Disclaimer: If any of you have/are writing a script about a mouse in burmuda shorts or a hippy mammoth, I'm sure it's amazing. Go get em, tiger.)
This is a link for the true colors test. For maximum irritation, play the "True Colors" song while you're filling it out, set on repeat.
http://www.truecolorscareer.com/quiz.asp
Just remember, you need every shade of color to make up a person. Unless you're invisible.
If you're invisible, contact me here. Teach me your secrets...
According to the True Colors (Personality Test), I'm a walking contradiction. A stereotypical Blue profile says that I’m “highly emotional and irrational”; as a Green, I’m “the cool, investigative, brainy” type. That explains the mood swings.
I think it's interesting though that I display the polar opposites of "emotion" vs "logic" -- and I commonly use both those sides of my personality when I'm creating. The "Blue" part of myself lends creativity, relationship intuition and emotions into my writing; the "Green" part helps me edit the mushy blob into something people can understand.
The actual act of creativity needs to be uninhibited by logic, preconceptions, or worry about feasibility (Blue). In order to make the idea possible, however, logic and method need to take their turn. (Green)
A lot of writers feel that structure - outlines, formatting, or page-by-page planning like in Blake Snyder's Save The Cat - take away from an artist's freedom and inspiration. So, they pour their soul onto the paper, using every ounce of inspiration and emotion in them. Their output is immensely personal, abstract, and jumbled. Unstructured creativity creates it's own restrictions by being too wild and unwieldy to work with.
With a logical, tried and true procedure, format, or structure, the writer has unlimited freedom within those bounds. (Don't worry, good formatting doesn't stop you from being able to sell your soul to Hollywood. You can still go ahead and do that. Have fun. Send me postcards.)
Some of the best moments in film come from the need to improvise because of restrictions. You can't afford to build a ten-story high mammoth with beaded fur and dreadlocks? Substitute it with a mouse wearing burmuda shorts. Or better yet, just take that part out of the script. Your film still may not have any great moments, but at least it won't suck so bad.
(Disclaimer: If any of you have/are writing a script about a mouse in burmuda shorts or a hippy mammoth, I'm sure it's amazing. Go get em, tiger.)
This is a link for the true colors test. For maximum irritation, play the "True Colors" song while you're filling it out, set on repeat.
http://www.truecolorscareer.com/quiz.asp
Just remember, you need every shade of color to make up a person. Unless you're invisible.
If you're invisible, contact me here. Teach me your secrets...
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Focus
In a break-dance class I took a few years ago, we were told that the big moves are made bigger by having a tighter center. The power of all kicks, spins and swipes comes from being grounded and focused around a square inch of floor; an anchor for the furthest reaches and extensions of motion exploding around it.
Expanding on that idea, it seems like the most power would come from having a focused center within yourself. I love the idea of that sort of magic. Of knowing exactly where to look within yourself to be able to draw upon memories and sensations closest to your heart – to be able to summon the lightness of jumping, the giddiness of being silly, the serenity of beautiful music and emotion, the strength and guidance of God.
Expanding on that idea, it seems like the most power would come from having a focused center within yourself. I love the idea of that sort of magic. Of knowing exactly where to look within yourself to be able to draw upon memories and sensations closest to your heart – to be able to summon the lightness of jumping, the giddiness of being silly, the serenity of beautiful music and emotion, the strength and guidance of God.
Jump
One of the keys to horseback riding is a remarkably logical mantra: “Let the horse do its work.” Obviously, it takes a huge amount of effort to get a thousand-pound animal to do its work, but it’s important to know that you can’t do it for him or her. You can’t jump the fences or pick up your hooves. Like in any partnership, you need to trust your partner to do their part, and they must trust you to do yours.
Many horses get into the habit of “dragging” on the reins, because many riders are willing to try and “hold their horse up”. Since a horse’s head can be as heavy as your entire body, this is obviously not the best distribution of duties. Let the horse do its work – and support it with short, light bursts of encouragement. That sort of encouragement is much more potent than simple raw strength of muscle. Horses are heavy. You can’t lift them. They have to WANT to jump. As a rider, you need to remind them that working hard does feel good, and jumpin is fun.
Just like a horse can’t jump while leaning on two leather reins, a bird can’t fly by pulling down on the clouds. She needs to want to join them on their own level – and she needs to find her way there on her own will before she can fly.
Many horses get into the habit of “dragging” on the reins, because many riders are willing to try and “hold their horse up”. Since a horse’s head can be as heavy as your entire body, this is obviously not the best distribution of duties. Let the horse do its work – and support it with short, light bursts of encouragement. That sort of encouragement is much more potent than simple raw strength of muscle. Horses are heavy. You can’t lift them. They have to WANT to jump. As a rider, you need to remind them that working hard does feel good, and jumpin is fun.
Just like a horse can’t jump while leaning on two leather reins, a bird can’t fly by pulling down on the clouds. She needs to want to join them on their own level – and she needs to find her way there on her own will before she can fly.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
The Opposite of Love Is Fear
Fear triggers survival instinct.
Survival instincts are inherently selfish. We're not going to survive very long by stopping to let others go ahead of us when there's a hungry lion, tiger, bear, fire, angry leprechaun biting at our heels.
When we're afraid of getting hurt, of looking like an idiot, of being vulnerable, of losing the things we wish and hope for - we become selfish. Every man for himself.
So:
If love is selfless, then fear is the opposite of Love.
Just a thought.
Survival instincts are inherently selfish. We're not going to survive very long by stopping to let others go ahead of us when there's a hungry lion, tiger, bear, fire, angry leprechaun biting at our heels.
When we're afraid of getting hurt, of looking like an idiot, of being vulnerable, of losing the things we wish and hope for - we become selfish. Every man for himself.
So:
If love is selfless, then fear is the opposite of Love.
Just a thought.
Valid Excuse #2: Dropped Phone In Toilet
Last week I profiled my fantastic inability to get my winter jacket undone while I was late to work at the theater.
This week, I succeeded in getting to work on time.
However:
While standing in front of my colorful Canadian cash register, I noticed a crowd beginning to grow. At the same time, my bladder was beginning to grow. So, I figured I'd just slip off to the washroom before the next rush of caffeine-deprived movie-goers line up to order cups filled with 5 creams and 7 sugars and a touch of coffee, for color.
Slipped off to the bathroom. Sat on toilet. Blew my nose. Nose starts bleeding.
(It's kind of an occupational hazard of over-working in an overheated toaster house.)
Crap.
Pull out my cell phone to text my "Team Leader" (yay team ...) to let her know I'm temporarily incapacitated.
Drop phone in toilet.
Gross.
Yeah, I'd definitely already put my donation in the bowl. (Besides my cellphone.) It was number one, though, which is better than number two. (If you've read this far I'm sure I've lost all hope of earning your respect.) However, my nose was bleeding, so there was a nice amount of redness in the toilet as well. I also lost sight of my phone and was rather worried it had gone down the pipes.
So, I stand in Movie Theater bathroom stall with a piece of toilet paper shoved up my left nostril, staring into the abyss of the toilet bowl, listening to Cindy Lou and her friend talk about Black Swan in the stalls beside me. How appropriate. The toilet is looking rather horrifying right now.
To make a long story longer: I got my phone back. Washed my hands. Debated dunking them in the boiling deep fryer to sanitize them. (You shouldn't eat fries anyway, they're bad for you. Especially our fries. A friend pointed out that at some point a mouse has probably climbed into the fryer and, well, disintegrated. I wouldn't doubt it. I'm never eating fries again.)
Surprisingly my phone still works, and now I got an awesomely gross story out of it to blog about! I'd say it's a win-win situation, and definitely a valid excuse for lateness!
This week, I succeeded in getting to work on time.
However:
While standing in front of my colorful Canadian cash register, I noticed a crowd beginning to grow. At the same time, my bladder was beginning to grow. So, I figured I'd just slip off to the washroom before the next rush of caffeine-deprived movie-goers line up to order cups filled with 5 creams and 7 sugars and a touch of coffee, for color.
Slipped off to the bathroom. Sat on toilet. Blew my nose. Nose starts bleeding.
(It's kind of an occupational hazard of over-working in an overheated toaster house.)
Crap.
Pull out my cell phone to text my "Team Leader" (yay team ...) to let her know I'm temporarily incapacitated.
Drop phone in toilet.
Gross.
Yeah, I'd definitely already put my donation in the bowl. (Besides my cellphone.) It was number one, though, which is better than number two. (If you've read this far I'm sure I've lost all hope of earning your respect.) However, my nose was bleeding, so there was a nice amount of redness in the toilet as well. I also lost sight of my phone and was rather worried it had gone down the pipes.
So, I stand in Movie Theater bathroom stall with a piece of toilet paper shoved up my left nostril, staring into the abyss of the toilet bowl, listening to Cindy Lou and her friend talk about Black Swan in the stalls beside me. How appropriate. The toilet is looking rather horrifying right now.
To make a long story longer: I got my phone back. Washed my hands. Debated dunking them in the boiling deep fryer to sanitize them. (You shouldn't eat fries anyway, they're bad for you. Especially our fries. A friend pointed out that at some point a mouse has probably climbed into the fryer and, well, disintegrated. I wouldn't doubt it. I'm never eating fries again.)
Surprisingly my phone still works, and now I got an awesomely gross story out of it to blog about! I'd say it's a win-win situation, and definitely a valid excuse for lateness!
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