Body image is a very touchy subject when it comes to women of all ages. Everyone desires to have the perfect body, but no one accepts the body they have now. In Shelley Jackson's "The Body," she accepts her body, even if she has flaws, through her discovering her own body. She doesn't compare her body to the models and actresses that teenage girls are so often told to emulate. Our bodies are unique. It should be kept that way. Jackson's overall purpose for this story is to prove to the audience that image shouldn't matter. How you carry yourself and your self-confidence is what will make you attractive.
So reading about her body features, I was struck by the link about her feet.
"Feet are alien, like a hoof or a wing. They are more like tools or furniture than like flesh, they are so sturdy and well-crafted and so serviceable. Maybe they are a little too far away from the heart to befriend, though at one time I could put my big toe in my mouth, and I aspire to do it again, though without much hope."
Jackson doesn't refer to her feet as another body part, but she looks to her feet as a tool, well-crafted and serviceable. Without our feet, we wouldn't be able to walk. Well, okay, if we had our arms, we could technically walk with our hands, but anyway. She writes, "My strong feelings about feet have lessened in intensity as I have put distance between myself and them." I think this line is brilliant. She is telling us through this one sentence, that as she aged, she also grew in height allowing for her to be further away from her feet that she depends on to walk. She explained earlier that feet are alien, they are more like tools than flesh. Can't we look at our arms, legs, mouth, and eyes as tools as well?
A side note:
When she writes about her feet nestling one another under sheets, I was like OH MY GOD! I do that every night. It is the only way that I can fall asleep.
"My feet rub each other under the covers at night or
while I'm reading, sliding sensuously on each other. The ball of the
big toe screws into the arch of the other foot, the toes fraternize,
side slides by side. The pace steps up when I'm excited, the foot
cranking around the ankle joint in slow circles, toes spreading and
then squeezing together: a whole waltz under the covers, very
comforting and secret and like company, like two small dachshunds
rolling on each other."
Okay back to the close reading.
Jackson talks about how she has hairy feet and how a girlfriend was opposed to all body hair. Even with her girlfriends comments, she still looked at her feet as cute. The way she flashbacks to her childhood on most of her body parts, really emphasizes the idea that through the years, she has grown to accept her body more and more.
"I have a few glinting hairs on the tops of my feet and a
little tuft on each toe. When I was nine I read that hobbits had hairy
feet and went around barefoot, and that was enough to persuade me that
hairy feet were good. Much later a girlfriend firmly opposed to almost
all kinds of body hair persuaded me to try shaving my feet, but stubble
on my toes seemed so ludicrous that I gave it up forthwith. Besides, I
still felt that my hairy toes were cute."
Jackson had a willingness of being open that may help other women having constant body image problems know and understand that everyone's body is imperfect, and that's the beauty of a body. The author was not always happy with the her figure, but as she embraced her body, she embraced a new level of self-confidence that every woman wants.
Disorientated, confused, annoying, and stupid are a few adjectives that describe my feelings about this hypertext story, The University of the Yellow Wallpaper. Why do people make these types of stories? Don't they realize that readers aren't going to sit at a computer screen and click on every link and read every word?
Okay, so now that I got my feelings out of the way, I will look a little closer at this dreadful reading. Throughout the story, the author makes several references to her childhood. She also includes an image of a child there is an image of a child from the waist
up. where she explains through one of her links that it is "not a realistic representation, a related copy, an
idea such as we might get from figurative painting; it is a scene made
up by blocks of meaning, at once varied, repeated, and discontinuous".
It seems that she is not very confident in herself for she explains that she " will have become the post-graduate, who by sheer
terror, boredom, anger, frustration, melancholy, or witty intelligence,
decided to terminate my indefinite subscription to higher learning; I
will opt to drop out
of the University of Yellow Wallpaper, owing to the fact that the
voices have strongly suggested I cease listening to the anterior
voices, who whisper, "you are an infantile wish fulfillment..." She describes voices telling her to give up. Who are these voices? Is she crazy? Is The University of the Yellow Wallpaper an insane asylum. She indicates that the university is on the hills near an insane asylum, but never says that she is admitted into it.
Her professor told her class about the idea of "existential 'nothingness,' as simply to be and
not to be, expressing the fact that nonbeing is an inseparable part of
being, grasping what it means to exist, I need to grasp the fact that I might not exist, that I tread at every moment on the sharp edge of possible annihilation and can never escape the fact that death will arrive at some unknown moment in the future (but I always knew this)!" She seems very gloomy and depressed.
As I clicked along with the text, I came across a passage that goes a little in detail about her childhood and how she has felt.
"...you used to say to me that I am a great young girl, and though you
left me here to perish, though you put beneath my feet a great howling
pit of emptiness, the words that lie at the bottom of my soul leap
forth and they light the shadows below me; I am the one who was lost in
the crowd, whom the fizzing lights made dizzy, a subaltern who saw
everything about her reduced to absurdity, for if I were truly a great
young girl the specters would cease bellowing; I was a young child with
a body and soul, I had a heart that was not protected by a steel vault,
and when I had moments of ecstasy I would sing with burning sparks"
The young girl, or woman, however old she may be, is very unforgiving of her parent(s) actions when she was little. She was empty. She was a young girl with a body, soul, and emotions whose heart was unprotected by her parent(s).
Us as a reader you get an inside glimpse of her childhood.The young woman seemed as if she didn't want her mother to leave because she knew that she was being sent away to The University of Yellow Wallpaper, where one can only assume, is most likely some sort of psychiatric ward where she could recover. But what causes her to become psychotic? Was it her family, the voices in her head that she still hear? To me, it seems that her childhood is what caused her to be so disoriented and confused.
As Maddie writes, "White displays in this excerpt the age old dilemma of a child facing the great troubles of adulthood and the adult that still wished the inner child time to play. The continuing sentences, though correct, reflect both the continuity of time as well as the child-like desire to pour something out that either excites or sorrows in one mad long rush."
Don't we all feel like that? We wish to stay young forever and avoid the trials and tribulations that adulthood has awaiting for us. I know I do. =]
Here are my exercises 4 and 5 from Writing for the Web 3.0.
These exercises were actually very helpful.
The moon acted as spotlight on the lake where we spent our first summer together three years ago. Here we were, same place, still together and more in love than ever. The clanging acoustic guitar of Kenney Chesney filled the midnight black sky as Joey and I lay on the hood of his Chevy truck. It was the last night we had together for tomorrow we would be saying sentimental goodbyes filled with heartache and tears.
Lying on the dented red hood, he turned to me and said, “Your eyes put the stars to shame tonight,” lightly brushing my hair from my eyes.
Nestling my head into his soothing arms, the radiance of the night sky created a glimmer on the ring placed on my left hand earlier that day. At the age of nineteen, I had married to the love of my life who in one day was heading to Iraq. I tried not to think of what might happen over there and instead focused on our first and last night together as man and wife.
Living in a small Christian town filled with immense morals and values, we decided to wait until we got married to consummate our love, for any premarital relations would be a sin in the eyes of the Lord. I knew he was just as nervous as I was about what would end our night together. He was watching the stars and planes, one of which he would board tomorrow, flying above our heads. I closed my eyes and listened to his familiar heartbeat that I wouldn’t hear for two tortuous years.
We laid there for a silent hour before another word was spoken. Lifting my head up to meet his, Joey caressed my face and kissed me. Soon we found ourselves in the back seat of this truck finally consummating our love. The windows became saturated with steam and the seats sheltered with our clothes. After a physical and emotional two hours, we dressed and drove to our new home together where we fell asleep in one another’s arms.
The alarm went off at five o’clock to an undelightful awakening and miserable morning where I wished I could’ve hit the snooze button and avoided the inevitable sending off of my soldier to Iraq. We arrived at the base with my eyes swollen and puffy from the early morning cry. With a last hug, a final kiss, and an emotional “I love you,” Joey walked up the stairs to board the plane that was stealing him from me. There would be no more lake picnics, Sunday morning brunches, Friday night movies, or Wednesday softball games at the base for the next two years. My whole life left me on the now-empty blacktop of the runway.
It’s been six months since that atrocious morning and I’m sitting in the gynecologist’s office with my mother awaiting the results of our baby.
We are having a girl.
Aiden and I were the best friends since 1st grade and our friendship was cut short a few weeks ago. We were seniors in high school with three months left and so much to live, explore, and be. I got accepted into New York University and both Aiden and his girlfriend, Layla, were set on University of Miami. They received their acceptance letters on the day of the accident. On March 4, 2006, I lost both of my best friends. It was a night I would never forget. I witnessed their death first hand and could do nothing to help them.
* * * *
Aiden and I had physics for our last period together on the day it all happened. I remember looking over at him watching his face showing his anxiousness of going home and finding out the news. Aiden was getting annoyed second by second as our teacher went on and on about our upcoming physics test. He sat in class impatiently waiting for the bell to ring and was frequently glancing at the clock drilled above the door. The clocks two tiny hands moved sluggishly. It was as if the clock gods knew he had an important letter waiting for him at home. They continued in their clockwise pattern, with the minute hand coming closer and closer to the 10 which would initiate the bell. It was only 2:03. Aiden had 47 minutes left.
“You know, time only goes slower if you keep staring at it,” I whispered as Mr. Bollen went on about torque and gravity.
“Yeah, well, this class is so boring and I just want to go open my letter.”
After the dreadful lecture was over, the bell rang two times signaling the end of the day. We both met up with his girlfriend, Layla, at his locker shortly after the bell rang. Aiden and Layla were dating since freshman year and were in the yearbook every year as the best looking couple.
“I’m so nervous. What if I don’t get in and you do and vice versa?” she asked.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get in. Trust me,” he said as he kissed her forehead.
They weren’t the couple who publicly displayed their affection for one another. They held hands and kissed each other on the cheek, but they weren’t like Sally and Todd. After every period, and there are seven of them, you could find Sally and Todd locking lips and groping each other like two crazy animals till the next bell rang.
We began walking to the parking where everyone on a Friday afternoon hung around figuring out their night plans. I remember almost running to the cars as if we were caught in a horrible tsunami. Aiden walked to the passenger side of his brand new 2008 Jeep Grand Cherokee and opened the door for Layla. Aiden received the Jeep as an early graduation present. Well, it wasn’t really a present or a surprise, he knew about it because he picked it out.
“Aiden that hoodie in the matter of minutes will soon not just be a fan item, but an attending college student item,” I said as I got in the back seat.
“Yeah. Let’s hope,” said Layla.
He walked to the other side - brushing the dust of the University of Miami bumper sticker - hopped in the car ands started the engine.
* * * *
We stopped at Layla’s house first so she could pick up her letter. Then we headed to Aiden’s to get his. They both had in their hand what they hoped were acceptance letters.
“Okay, we’re here,” he said as we pulled into the township park filled with dog owner’s power walking on the path with their dogs drooling from the mouth. “You ready?”
I remember when they sent out their applications, they put six stamps on them in hopes that they would get there faster and be accepted sooner. I was the one who had bought their stamps. You know, I wanted to help in some way for them to get into Miami.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“On three. Ready...”
“One, two, three,” they said in unison while opening their letters at the same time. I sat in the back seat in anticipation.
“What’s the news?”
“I got in!” Layla exclaimed with the most priceless face you could ever see. I remember her bright blue eyes having a sort of glimmer added to them as the sun glazed over her face. Tears were slowly coming down her cheeks like a light rain shower.
“Remember what you said about my hoodie, Brody? Well...”
“Well what,” we both asked almost frightened to hear his response.
“Well, I think I’m going to have to buy you one when I get there. I got in too!”
We became elated. Nothing could stop us now. We were invincible. We were on top of the world. I got into NYU a week ago and they just received news of getting into University of Miami. This day was the beginning of the rest of our lives.
* * * *
Aiden dropped Layla off at her house after we went and got coffee. We pulled into our neighborhood being that we grew up 3 houses down the street from one another. You could say that we basically owned the streets with our bicycles on lawns, sidewalk chalk markings in front of every driveway, pranks we pulled on our neighbors and baseball and kickball games held every day in the middle of the street causing havoc for our neighbors. It was like any other neighborhood, except the houses started at $500,000. The community, you could say, was a bit stuck up and snotty. They thought they were better than everyone else because of their fancy cars, 5 maids, and chandeliers in every open window of their house. You had to be accepted into the neighborhood community before even considering buying a house. All the houses looked exactly the same except for both of ours. We both had Christmas lights and decorations still up on our houses. Aiden’s house had the blinds wide open looking into the living room and office filled with old papers and boxes still unpacked from moving in which was 2 years ago. Our parents were anything but stuck up. Our families were well off in the financial department, but there is more to life than money. That was a motto for both families.
“Hey, Aiden! Listen; there is a party at the beach tonight. They said their having a bonfire and shit,” I said.
“I will be there for sure. When and where?”
“It’s at Belmar tonight. I’m driving separately because I have an early curfew because I have to go to Delaware for a family reunion. But I will follow you guys there.”
“Okay. You want to come over for dinner? My parents would love it.”
“Of course. Are you crazy? I love your mom’s cooking and she’s not too bad to look at either,” I said as he punched me in the chest.
* * * *
It’s crazy to think that I ate dinner with Aiden and his parents on the night he died. Maybe it was a sign. It was a sign that I had to be with him at every moment because he was going to lose his life in a couple hours and I was to help and rescue him.
Dinner that night was Mrs. DeMaio’s best. She made chicken parm with pasta and a fresh salad of greens and buttery biscuits that just melted in your mouth. As we sat down to dinner, and made a toast, Aiden told his parents the news.
“Okay. Well I don’t want you to get mad but I’m going to have to borrow some money.”
“How much do you need? And what did you do now?” his dad said.
“Well, don’t get mad, but...” Aiden stopped in mid-sentence. “I need around $50,000.”
“What the hell did you do?” his mom asks.
“I got accepted to the University of Miami!” Aiden reached into his back pocket pulling out the acceptance letter.
Without hesitation his mother jumped out of her seat and gave him a hug and a kiss leaving a moist, red lip print on his cheek. She made the typical facial expression of a contestant who just found out she won Miss America with her mouth open wide, speechless, fanning her face with her hands in hopes that it would stop the tears. His dad walked over and gave him a firm handshake and a bear hug and I could see tears in his hard green eyes forming.
“Congratulations, son,” his mom said in that kind, gentle soothing voice she had that could put babies to sleep.
“Son, you have made me so proud. You are now the 6th generation to attend University of Miami,” his dad said trying to keep back his emotions and act as the true Army soldier he once was.
“Thanks,” Aiden said.
* * * *
We walked up to his room after dinner and he called Layla asking if she was ready to go. This would be the last phone call he would make in his life.
“Hey, babe. Did you tell your parents?”
“Yes I did and they are so overwhelmed right now, probably more than me right now,” she said.
“I know. Well, listen. Brody told me about a party at Belmar beach tonight. They are having a bonfire, food, and drinks. So, I’ll pick you up in like 15?”
“Sounds great. See you then. Bye.”
We sat around for a little listening to some music and talking about the next three months and how slow they were going to drag. During this moment with Aiden, I felt a strong bond between us two that I have never felt before. Aiden and I always told ourselves we were brothers separated at birth, but at that moment in time, I felt that we were one. We completely understood each other like finishing each other’s sentences, sharing clothes, swapping CDs. Time went by and we headed downstairs.
“Mom, I’m going out with Layla and Brody and a couple friends for awhile. I’ll be back around 12 tonight. Don’t wait up.”
“Where are you going?”
“To Belmar. There is a bonfire. You know, just like a little get together.”
“Okay, be safe and wear your seat belt.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said grabbing his keys off the kitchen table. He smiled at his letter from Miami.
* * * *
After, deciding on an outfit, Layla was ready. She chose to wear her new skinny jeans, a white, embellished tank, and blue flip flops. She was infamous for wearing flip flops, especially in the winter. I was waiting behind Aiden in his car as we waited for Layla to come out. I honked my horn at him and he honked back signaling to me he was calling her.
He hated waiting, especially with her. She never was on time. For our junior prom, she was an hour late to my house because she didn’t like the way her hair stylist did her hair so she made her do it 3 other times. Just 2 weeks prior, we were all late to a ceremony at our high school for a community service project. She told us she didn’t know what purse to bring because she couldn’t break the unwritten fashion rule of wearing black and brown together.
* * * *
Living in New Jersey was great. Beaches were so close by; it seemed more like a luxury than anything. Belmar beach was a half hour away from our houses. It was a quiet beach with a boardwalk filled with restaurants, cafes, games, and playgrounds. Aiden, Layla and I have been there many times before especially during the nights in the summer. The road was familiar to us with the constant traffic lights and windy curves. With the windows down and the fresh smell of salty ocean water filling both of our cars we blasted our stereos at a traffic light where we were waiting next to each other.
“Listen, Aiden. No racing against me tonight. I only have like 2 gallons of gas.”
“Okay, loser.”
We were only ten miles away and as I looked over at the harbor, it looked more beautiful that it ever did before. The docks were lit up with white lights and the moon looked like a spotlight on the water. As we neared the next to last traffic light before our right turn onto 4th street, there was a party of cars exiting a popular night club called, “Shampoo”. As Aiden moved into the left lane, so did I. We were allowing the exiting cars the right lane. A black, convertible sports car which looked like a Mitsubishi Eclipse pulled out of the parking lot burning rubber as it created a fog in the air.
The car wasn’t slowing down and was coming closer and closer to the side of Aiden’s car. Aiden tried to pass him but there was no way he was going to be able to with the congestion of traffic in our lane. All of a sudden the black sports car sped up, made a sharp left and cut off Aiden and Layla causing him to turn the wheel sharply. I jammed on my brakes immediately causing my automated brake system to activate. My heart was beating so hard it felt as if it was going to pop out of my chest. I clenched my steering wheel so hard that I left handprint molds on the wheel. I lost my breath and for a split second everything was black. Aiden’s car was forced to the opposing land and skidded for 50 feet before a Honda CR-V collided on the passenger side.
The windows shattered immediately into a thousand pieces covering the road. It looked like diamonds were paved into the road. The Jeep was hit so hard that it completed 360 degree flip. The car was being tossed around like a football during a middle school game. All I could do at that moment was sit in my car, completely exasperated; I was in shock. I opened my door and ran over to their car. Layla’s was impossible to open because of the impact. I ran over to Aiden’s side. I pulled the door open only to find his head lying against the steering wheel bleeding uncontrollably and Layla’s body distorted. Her legs were twisted and her arm was stuck between the door.
Finally, the ambulance came only to push me out of the way and keeping me behind the police unable to see my two best friends.
* * * *
The following Monday, the school held a memorial service for both Aiden DeMaio and Layla Costello. I was too traumatized to attend the service. I witnessed their death and I did nothing to help them. I was too scared and shocked. They never got to experience life or even college. How am I supposed to move on? How am I supposed to go to NYU knowing my two best friends are not going to Miami? They were only 17 and their lives were taken away at too young of an age.
The newspapers and TV covered this story for the next couple days giving more details of the accident every day. They reported the driver who cut of Aiden’s car was found minutes later and was drunk. He is now in jail awaiting his sentence of either life in prison or the death sentence. They also stated that neither Aiden nor Layla were wearing a seatbelt and if they have been wearing them, they would have survived with major injuries due to the force of the opposing Honda CR-V. The driver of the Honda was listed as stable with a mild concussion and a broke leg. Pictures of the accident were put in the newspapers. I could not look at them. I already had a vivid image of it already. However, one the pictures showed both the Honda and Aiden’s Jeep. The ironic thing was on the bumper of the Honda there was a University of Miami sticker. The driver of the Honda was identified as a recent graduate of Miami and had just received a job working for The New York Times.
On the side of the road where the accident happened, a tree was adorned with ornaments of youth and sorrow. Playful road-trip photos dangled near cellophane-wrapped flowers next to half-burned candles and home-made cards. A sign was planted in the ground decorated with orange and green letters spelling out, “Hurricanes Forever.”
Still and Quiet
The swings no longer squeak
to the frantic beat of children.
The sky has turned a dim red,
and the flip flops have worn down to boots.
Our summer skin has faded
to a pasty color of white.
The sounds of seagulls
have turned to the crunching of leaves.
The backyard baseball games
have been traded for football on TV.
The fresh, squeezed lemonade
has become a cup of hot cocoa.
The trees have turned bare
and the ground stiff.
The summer season has died
and the fall has replaced it.
Everything is still and quiet now.
--------------------------------------------------------
West Coast Envy
It’s very hard living on the east coast.
The sun rises, but it isn’t as bright.
I want California to be my host
during the walks along the beach at night.
I never knew that I could fall in love.
I fell so hard and it happened so fast.
The Californian sun should be my glove.
I wish that this deep love would only last.
This road is kind and full of winding curves.
The sun is in front of me as I drive.
My heart starts to beat faster full of nerves.
This adrenaline makes me feel alive.
I’m almost underneath the west coast sun.
San Diego is longing to have fun.
--------------------------------------------------------
Time Machine
There’s that one phase
in everyone’s life
Where all you want to do
is go back in time.
The time you wasted with old friends
sitting around on balmy, idle weekdays
laughing in crowded cars on back roads
filled with adolescent glory.
You never wanted to leave the front porches
where you sat for endless hours
ignoring the realities before you
washing them over with foolish dreams.
You took the pictures to remind you
when you were the coolest kids.
Where you owned the streets and stayed awake
through summer like you owned the heat.
There were moments where you had mental highs
like the freefall on a rollercoaster;
those moments where you detached from reality
and screamed, “I’m fucking alive”.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Enjoy Your Youth
Oh, what it feels like to lay underneath
The balmy sun with tan toes in the brown
Sand singing songs about adolescent
Glory while living the good life with
Close friends you knew since the first grade. Where you
Ate glue and played on the monkey bars. Where
You would fall and go home with black, bruised knees.
Now you stay out late doing nothing at
All but still have the best times of your life.
The sun fades behind the calm, blue water,
Your skins becomes red and sore and you take
The pictures to remind yourselves when you
Lived in absolute bliss and ruled the world.
You pack the car and drive away from love.
Denamarie Ercolani
528A Turney Street
Greensburg, PA 15601
215-436-4992 - wcenvy7@yahoo.com
RESUME
PROFILE
§ Results-oriented, highly motivated, quality-driven leader
§ Excellent oral and written communication, interpersonal and team skills
§ Manage multiple assignments concurrently with strong detail, problem solving, and follow-through aptitude
RELATED SKILLS
§ Proficient in all areas of writing
§ Created a Weblog throughout my four years at Seton Hill
§ Experienced in creating web pages
§ Competent knowledge of Microsoft Office Applications (Word, Power Point, Outlook)
§ Exceptional time management aptitude and strong presentation skills
EDUCATION
First Major: English Literature Second Major: Creative Writing
§ 3.45 Grade Point Average
§ Dean’s List - Fall 2006
§ Softball Team- NCAA Division II
High School Diploma
§ 3.6 Grade Point Average
§ Member of the Field Hockey, Winter Track, and Softball teams
§
§ Four year Honor Roll student
ACADEMIC EXPERIENCE
News Writing, Publication Workshop, Writing of Poetry, Magazine Writing, Literary Criticism, Major British Writers 1 & 2, Shakespeare, American Literature 1800-1915, American Literature 1915-Present, Advanced Study in Literature, Drama as Literature, Chaucer, Writing of Fiction, and Writing for the Internet.
PROFESSIONAL EXPERIENCE
§ Wrote and distributed all news releases and articles relating to all team functions
§ Created distribution lists for consistent contact with media, team, volunteers, etc.
§ Generated media guides, game day programs, and other media tools
§ Developed listings for community events, games, and other team functions
§ Built relationships with local media outlets
Junior Writing Consultant, Work Study Program, Fall 2007
§ Helped students one-on-one in all stages of the writing process
§ Provided handouts, workshops, and classroom presentations on a variety of topics, such as writing a research paper, writing a thesis statement, and following grammar rules
§ Answered phone calls and carried out all other duties as assigned
BIOGRAPHY
Birthday:
January 7, 1987
Hometown:
Morrisville, PA
Education:
High School - Pennsbury High School
College - Senior Seton Hill University, Greensburg PA
Profile:
I am currently a senior at Seton Hill University
where I major in both English Literature and Creative Writing. I am a highly-motivated and quality-driven leader. I have excellent oral and written communication skills. I can mangage mulitple assignments concurrently with strong detail, problem-solving, and a follow-through aptitude.
Goals:
My goals are, first of all, to graduate and become
a writer for a Public Relations firm or business firm. Another goal is
for me to go attend graduate school and either get a Masters in Writing of Popular Fiction or for Speech Therapy. Long term goals of mine are to start a family, buy a house and be able to take care of my father.
WRITING SAMPLES
On my weblog, I have demonstrated my proficiency in writing. I am able to write long essays, on major topics in writing and education. I have also posted creative writing samples of short stories, Hurricanes Forever and Backseat Love Story, as well as poems.
I also worked for the Pittsburgh Colts as a Public and Media Relations intern where I created newsletters
colts newsletter.doc
and wrote press releases.
"The Heist" by Walter Sorrells was a sight for sore eyes.
Not knowing to expect from this novel, I opened the site and saw links. I clicked on one of those links that brought me to a page with more links, and those links brought me to another page of even more links. Ughh... never again will I read a hypertext novel in my life.
I didn't know where to begin. Should I read the first page first then go back to the links? Should I read it and click on the links as I get to them and so on and so on with the other pages filled with links?
Well, I read the first page in its entirety and I felt bombarded with links. This hypertext novel reminded me of my elementary school days when the class went to the library and I ran over to the section that had the choose-your-own-ending story.
On every page, there was another story waiting to be read by me. By following some of the links, it made my concentration of the novel as a whole incredibly hard. All I want to know is what happened at the end of the overall story. While I was taking in the information from the other links, I forgot what I just read earlier. I feel like there were too many different sub-plots in this novel.
Conclusion: This hypertext novel is a complete overload of information and sub-plots. I felt like I was trying to catch a frog but he kept jumping to different locations.
My feelings: I hated it.
"Yet manipulating readers by appealing to their fears and insecurities is deeply disrespectful. If you're attempting to persuade your readers, it should be on the basis of appeals to their intelligence and maturity."
-Writing for the Web 3.0
Three Elements of Persuasion:
1- Logical Argument
Stating a proposition of some kind with supporting reasons.
2- Emotional Appeal
Invoking ideas and images that stir our readers' feelings, we can gain attention that logical argument alone may not achieve. You may find that facts, not loaded language, can inspired emotions in the readers.
3- Credibility
Using the readers' language and registers they are comfortable with can strongly enhance your credibility. Make sure to demonstrate a shared interest between you and your readers and convey sincerity through your tone and evident desire to help readers view your site.
Kilian says to make sure you write in the language your readers will understand; however, I sometimes visit a site that I don't really understand what they are saying. It is hard to make sure that anyone that comes to your site will understand you completely. The vistiors that will come the most will either know about you or your ideas and will repeatedly come back for more. But for those visitors that came to the site on a whim, they may become lost in the language that is normal to the regulars of the site.
It's all about the blog. So basically there are 5 different types of blogs: personal, job, specialist, news, and advocacy. Well, our Seton Hill blog can fit under any of these categories. We can blog about personal ideas, we do it for a job (college counts as a full-time job), we have become specialist in the field of writing for the internet (well, we are getting there), we have blogged about news events such as the smiley or Palin's e-mail hacker, and we do advocate ideas through our words (whether or not teachers should have Facebook).
In section 6.3, Kilian explained that "bloggers usually welcome comments, but this function has hazards. Some comments may be abusive or even defamatory. Others can be 'comment spam,' planted to attract your visitors to pornography or gambling sites." Well I haven't had anyone direct to porn or gambling sites that I know of, but this semester I had "MS", a teacher, write an comment on my blog arguing my idea of this new text language. Dr. Jerz then stepped in and replied back to "MS" on my blog and later created a whole new blog about this topic going in depth. I later wrote an essay type blog on this topic, again.
So as for comments, they can be good or bad, but all in all, they are a form of expression.
The section on Personal Sites for Self-Marketing wasn't new to me. I have actually gone to internship interviews where they searched my name on Google and found my blog. During the interview, they asked me about it. I was blown away that they actually read my entries. My point is, that come later in life, when you're looking for a job, some employers might look at your blog and read your writing that could land you a great writing job either for them in print or on their website.
"Most of the problem with corporate websites is poor structure: visitors receive inadequate orientation, so they can't navigate to the information they want."
-Writing for the Web 3.0
Like Kilian explained earlier in this book, its all about the structure of the site and the text. If I go to a website and I'm confused as to where to go, I will leave the site and will most likely never return. Then again, "even when the site design is good, the quality of the writing may make the information unusable and the desired action unappealing to most readers." So basically, if the site is impossible to navigate and the writing is poor, the corporation may suffer from a decrease of customers.
In Kevin's blog, he wrote that "the corporate heads, the web writers, and even the readers all have a
part to promote a product or service. As web writers Killian states that
we must keep our ego offstage and engage the reader on terms of
equality. If the reading thinks that he/she is being jived, then that
company will undoubtedly lose a customer." If there are more than two people working on a corporate website, the competition to be the best writer on the site will probably allow for this "ego writing" to come through even when the site isn't their own personal site, but one that is trying to sell a product or service.
