So my mentor, Dr. Shea...who told me he was leaving the university said that to become a better writer you have to write everyday. Write anything that comes to mind. I am taking his advise and started a new blog. A blog of short stories and other shit that I will write about.

But you can also see what I'm up to at my main blog.

Saturday, June 20, 2009

Assignment 4

Read the chapter on Setting. 2 part assignment. Part 1: Pick a setting, do a close up of the setting, then a wide view. Part 2: Pick a setting, do a wide view to a close up.

Part 1 (close up to wide view)

I awoke to the smell of hot buttery pancake batter cooking on the old iron stove. My eyes fixated on the crack in the ill faded red chipped ceiling. It exploded out dead center, then shot down to the right side of the wall the floor and grounding itself to the dull wooden floor planks. It had seemed as if Thor himself existed and he wanted his presence to be known. Getting up from the bed I made my way out of the small room into the hallway. The hallway was a museum of old photos, photos that seemed like they were taken right out of those old black and white turn of the century silent films. Still dazed I entered the kitchen and saw the meal that was being prepared for me. The selection of food was so enormous, it was like I was being sentence to death row and this was my last breakfast. I was now awake. She saw me and a smile grew on her face. She sat me at her small table that only seated one, two if you were lucky. The old beaten broken down duplex that she once reside in now turned in to a castle, I was the King and this was my royal breakfast. The smell of morning dew hits my nostrils, heightening my senses. The grass has been freshly cut. The humidity of the air leaves an uncomfortable sticky feeling on my body. The thin wisp clouds are gently bushed in to the sky. I read her headstone. “Mother, Grandmother, Great-Grandmother.” Closing my eyes, the smell of the buttery pancake batter strikes me again. Later that morning I try to recreate that same memory. But no matter how many times I try, they don’t come out like hers. No one made pancakes as good as she did.


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