Events of October Reading Response

I first read The Events of October when I was a freshman in Karyn Boatwright’s Introduction to Psychology course. She told me I reminded her a lot like Maggie, she even called me Maggie once by mistake. The comparison Karyn made really threw me off. It just felt so odd to be compared to a girl who had been murdered, but even more strange to actually identify with her -- of course, that’s credit to Gail’s writing and her strong presentation of character. I had completely forgotten about all of these mixed feelings until I read the book again. But beside it’s emotional triggers, I found that I read and appreciated the book in a whole new light.

Writing my own profile, and also reading the texts in this class, has helped me understand what a tremendous accomplishment Gail’s novel is. The countless interviews, endless research, and the soul searching Gail herself had to do, is unbelievable. I’m really interested in the timeframe behind her work -- how long the interview process took, how long the writing/editing process took, etc. I was lucky enough to take Victorian Lit with Gail last spring, her last quarter on campus. From the 10 weeks in class, I know what a warm and open person she is, so it’s not a surprise to me that she was able to make grieving parents, friends, and teachers comfortable enough to talk with her.       

Besides the incredible amount of research, and the brilliance of her writing style, I’m most moved and impressed by how Gail recreates the post-murder scene. I loved that she included what other people in the same dorm were doing the moments leading up to and after the murder-suicide. The varying descriptions of what the gun sounded like -- “like pots or pans or dishes hitting the wall” (106), “a sound like a dresser falling over” (105) -- helped to paint the panic and confusion that occurred that night. The recreation scene was impeccably written, again credited to Gail’s tireless interviewing.

I think more than anything, what I appreciated was that Gail really tried to understand Neenef. Not as a killer, but as a person struggling with his ethnic identity and a daunting family life. By talking to his close friends, and delving into his personal, social and academic life, it created a complex character that at times, I found myself empathizing with. I wonder how Gail wanted Neenef to be understood by readers. It seems to me that she wanted to challenge this conception of cold-blooded patriarchal murderer, but at the same time, I wonder if it was difficult --emotionally -- for her to do so.

Week Seven Response

Between now and Wednesday I have a lot of work to do on my profile. I have all the information/reporting that I need, it's just a matter of structure, or so I thought. Part 5 gave a lot to think about. There are so many different aspects to an effective profile: character/character development, scene reconstruction, setting the scene, sequencing, portraying a unique and strong voice and countless others. Although I think I'm doing all of this to an extent in my current draft, I can be doing it more and I can do it better. I found Hochschild's "Reconstructing Scenes" to be helpful. Atmosphere is crucial to my profile, especially in the beginning as I try to highlight the Gospel Mission's area and its importance to the homeless, low-income and those that suffer form mental illness. Hochschild says: "For your readers to experience the scene, you must do more than describe how things looked. Sounds, smells, temperature, and even the textures of objects are all important" (132). Too often I focus on what can be seen, so this was an obvious, but important reminder for me. 

He also talks about dialogue which I really need to work on. I ended up taking a lot of my dialogue out in this draft.. I really don't know how that happened.. so now I need to put it back in and avoid a lifeless narrative as Hochschild calls it. Kramer's section "Setting the Scene" was also an important section for me. He advises writers to create a sense of volume, "to array details and events so that readers experience the location in three dimensions" (137). I think that this can be very effective in my profile as location is such an important element. Orlean's section on voice was also very helpful. She talks about the importance of understanding your voice as a writer, but I'm not sure I'm there yet. "You can't invent a voice. And you can't imitate someone else's voice.." (158). That sentence really resonated with me and my hope for the final weeks of the class is to work on developing/understanding my voice.

Story Pitch

For the next assignment I've been thinking about doing a profile on Ministry with Community and their work with the homeless, specifically those with mental health issues. However, in my last article I had problems getting a lot of information, and the people I interviewed did not want their picture taken. So I'm thinking I may get more information/photos if I do a profile on Henderson Castle. It's a historic landmark in Kalamazoo and I know that there has been some legal disputes with the new owner over the last few years so it might be interesting to do some more research. Thoughts?

Profile Process

I struggled immensely in putting this profile together. I conducted many many interviews (there are 5 other interviews with people who sleep at the Gospel Mission that are not included), and spent a lot of time at both the Gospel Mission and Ministry with Community. I gathered a ton of observations and quotes, and really don't know how to weave it all it into a cohesive piece under 2,000 words (right now I'm almost 500 words over).

Unfortunately, I did not have a ton of time to observe the daily processes of the Mission. The Mission itself was not easy to work with, and did not provide me with the kind of access I was hoping for. Also, other than attending classes and meals, the clients who stay permanently in men and women's shelters are not really around during the day, which also made things difficult. Therefore, I'm wondering if my piece is "narrative" enough. Also, while I was writing my piece, I thought about the New Yorker presentation we read for last week's class. MacFarquhar talked about how introducing oneself into the piece as a writer was jolting and somewhat problematic. Therefore, I decided to distance myself in writing this piece and did not use "I." I'm wondering if that makes the piece interesting, or if I should maybe put myself more in the piece.. Thoughts?

The piece as-is is very problematic. I'm struggling with how I present the Mission. While my narrative piece is biased based on how I feel the organization handles religion, I also do not want to take away from the good work the Mission does, and all of the people they help. I'm wondering if it comes off as completely anti-Mission.. I would also like to include a little more about Ministry with Community as a kind of alternative look at how other organizations that help the homeless and abused handle the concept of religion. Ministry with Community is really an excellent organization, but given that my main focus is a profile on the Mission I'm not sure if there's a place for it in my article.

Overall, I'm pretty clueless as far as what to do with this piece, so I look forward to hearing all of your suggestions!

Week 5 Response

I had my first interview today for my profile with Gospel Mission. With one interview under my belt, and four more to go this week, I tried to read each assigned piece for Wednesday very carefully. I was most intrigued by Larissa MacFarquhar’s presentation about The New Yorker Profile. She made a lot of good points that I think will be very helpful in my upcoming interviews, especially the two interviews involving clients of Gospel Mission. 

MacFarquhar talks about how it’s important to remind subjects that the interview is not a friendly conversation -- we, as reporters, want something from them. I think the most useful tip was her point about not filling the silence. People, myself included, are uncomfortable with long periods of silence during a conversation -- we find the situation and ourselves awkward, so we jump to a new subject to avoid this momentary discomfort. MacFarquhar, on the other hand, invites us to embrace this awkward silence. She states: “If you shut up, they have to speak.” I was really fascinated by this suggestion and am going to try to restrain myself in my upcoming interviews, and encourage my subjects to tell their stories. 

I was also interested by her viewpoint of first person. She states: “I feel that even one use of ‘I,’ the first person, interrupts.” She compares the writer’s use of first person to a director leaning in front of the camera-- “It has broken the illusion.” I think I tend to agree with her, although I think LeBlanc’s use of first person worked well in the particular instance of ‘Trina and Trina.’ Overall, the Sinatra profile and this presentation reinforced the dedication it takes to make a good profile. MacFarquhar states that it takes approximately 2 months for each story: one week spent with the person; three weeks preparing/studying up on subject; week transcribing tape; four or five days to writ time. Given all of the details and scenarios shared in the Sinatra profile I would imagine it took around the same amount of time to create such an amazing piece of writing. 

Personal Essay Revised(x2)

Franklin Outline

Complication: Suzanne fears illness
Development:
     1. Past threatens Suzanne
     2. Suzanne rejects fear
     3. Mom admits panic
Resolution: Suzanne accepts unknown

The Clean-Up Conversation

It was Tuesday. Six chairs and four people sat at the kitchen table. It had been a month since my return from Scotland, and the family dinners that I had missed so much when I was away had become normal once again. Now I longed for the North Sea.

Dinner conversation collapsed into its usual pattern with my dad ranting on about my older sister Margaret, and her mooching boyfriend Kyle.

“He’s good to Margaret,” my mom interjected, always the peacemaker at a table that has seen its fair share of battles. 

She scooped my dad a heaping helping of seconds -- a peace offering -- and was quiet for the rest of dinner. Sometimes my mom becomes so internally preoccupied that she checks out from reality. That night, staring at a swirl of peas across her plate, she was lost in her thoughts once again.

After my dad finished his food he pulled his chair from the table -- a sign that we were now free to leave. 

My younger sister, Mary, snuck out after him to avoid the after-dinner clean-up. I waited for my mom to offer up one of her weak pleas for help, but she said nothing. Hunched over the kitchen table, she began to put away the leftovers that would be my dad’s lunch in the morning.

Left alone with her in the kitchen, I tackled the dishes and complained about my boss.

“Joe wasn’t even in the office when I got there this morning. I had to wait 30 minutes before he even showed up!”

No response.

“And then I had to call every golf league member about the price change because he forgot to include it in the bulletin.”

No response.

I looked at my mom across the kitchen, bent over dishes, mechanically ripping off sheets of saran wrap. I rolled my eyes in annoyance, and continued to scrub away dinner scraps. 

“If I get sick I want you to put me in a home.”

I switched off the water and turned around to look at my mom casually covering the spinach casserole with pink plastic. She didn’t look at me. I think she wanted to pretend that this conversation was normal. That it was like any other clean-up conversation we’ve had over the years. But it wasn't. The obvious terror in my eyes would have only confirmed it.

“What are you even talking about?”

“I want to be put in a home. You can find a nice place and visit me. I don’t want to be taken care of.”

“That’s a little dark and premature mom, don’t you think?”

She let out a breathy sigh, shrugged her shoulders, and placed the leftovers in the fridge. 

My grandfather died when I was 10 after losing his humanity to Alzheimer's. Reduced to an infant, a 6’3’’ man in diapers, he could no longer walk, or speak, or remember us.

Is this what she thinks will happen to her?

My grandma took care of him at home; my mom and her siblings alternated weekends to drive up to help, until every couple weekends became every weekend. Eventually a hospice worker came to the house, but there were always family members around -- taking him to the bathroom, changing him, feeding him, talking to him. 

This went on for five years. I was too young to be sad about a man I had never known when he was healthy, a man that would never know me. 

Put me in a home.

At 21, the idea of my parents in a home was not something I had ever really thought about. I had never considered the possibility of my mom having Alzheimer’s, but after that conversation, the possibility consumed me. An image was stamped across my eyes and I couldn't blink it away. There was my mom, sitting in my grandfather’s rocker, her warm blue eyes faded into an absent stare. 

Yeah, she forgets where she puts her keys, but doesn’t everyone sometimes?

She always asks us to leave her reminder post-its, but she just has a lot going on. 

She works too much. 

Yeah, she works too much.

A few nights later, during a different clean-up conversation, my mom would tell me that she was afraid. 

“What if something’s wrong with me?”

I didn’t tell her that I was scared too -- scared that I might lose her; scared that she might someday forget me.

“Mom, there’s nothing wrong with you. Really, you’re worrying about nothing.”

Dinners passed, the kitchen was cleaned and eventually I stopped worrying about an illness she might get years down the road. But there are still moments, like when she misplaces her keys, that the familiar feel of panic sets in and I am terrified all over again. 

She just has a lot going on. 

She works too much. 

Yeah, she works too much.

Word Count: 813

Intended Audience: Lives

Discussion Questions - Writing For Story

1. In the final chapter, Franklin talks about the difference between stories about reality and true stories. He says that real life and researched facts do not add up to truth -- that reality is confusing, boring, and lacking in emphasis. Rather, readers want an extract of reality -- "a story with minimum loose ends, a tale that's been simplified and crystalized in such a way that it clarifies and enlarges the mind" (213-214).

Franklin believes that readers do not want reality, they want the truth. What does Franklin mean by truth? How can we as writers be truthful?

2. In the chapter "Stalking True Story," Franklin states that "successful stories generally have happy endings" (80). He talks about the public needing relief from the sorrows of the world. But as writers, are we doing a disservice to society at large by only writing happy endings? Surely in life, the end result is not always pleasant. Doesn't there need to be someone to investigate and narrate these moments of human suffering? In Franklin's assessment of what readers actually want, is he wrongly assessing society as shallow and fearful or is he accurate in that readers will not want to read sad stories?

3. In the chapter "Structuring the Rough," Franklin advises writers to begin with the end of the story rather than the beginning. He states: "The story doesn't pivot on the beginning, it pivots on the end -- so write that first. That way, you know exactly where it is that you need to foreshadow" (158). While this piece of advise makes sense to me, I also find it problematic. How do you feel about writing the resolution first? Do you think this approach is helpful or complicated?