Prompt: "I am from." Write a story that begins with this phrase. Return to it as often as necessary. Today's writing class had two participants. We wrote and shared our work, and talked about the cold.
Numbers
By James
I am from a small town in New Jersey. Teaneck, NJ. When I look back on life and ask myself— All I've been through, I'm still alive. I'm from the 60s. I come from a middle class family. At times I often wonder where I'm going. Where I'm from, the neighborhood is nice. I'm 48 years old. All I've been through, I'm still alive. There are people that never make it to see 48. 48 is a good number for me because I'm alive.
I worked in a cemetery, Potter's Field. My job was to put the bodies in the ground, and to dig them up if someone claimed them. We get bodies from all the hospitals— unclaimed bodies, from accidents or whatever. They stay in hospital for 30, 60 days. When no one claims them, the medical examiner picks them up, puts them in a truck. It goes to City Island. We take the truck and put it on a boat that goes to Hearts Island, that's what it's called. The bodies are in wooden boxes, heavy, wrapped in a plastic bag with a string. It's an awful smell, an awful smell you cannot get out of your clothes. I cannot tell you what it smells like. We put a hundred, hundred fifty fifty bodies in the ground at once. Once we get a thousand bodies in a grave, we close that grave up and we open another one.
Some bodies is unknown some are known. The only way you can find your loved ones is by numbers. The graves are marked with a pole, and each pole has a number, one to one hundred. If you find your loved one is in Potters Field, we will go and dig up that grave. We will put the hearse on a boat and go there with a tractor, and we dig up the grave. Sometimes the bodies have fallen out of the boxes. We put the body in a coffin, and we put it in the hearse. We bury babies on fridays. They go in separate graves from where we bury the adults. Babies, we stack it ten high in a grave. We bury people of all ages.
It was not a job that affected me; it was just a job. The sad part about it, though, your being identified by number.
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Workshop 5
Today’s prompt: The Fall. Maybe you want to tell a story that takes place in Autumn. Or you could interpret “the fall” to mean something else. Wrote for 15 minutes. Let people continue writing if they wanted to. Those that were finished shared their work and we responded to it.
Most people read, gave each other positive feedback. Then, we wrote for a second round. Participants could choose from two prompts: Who’s afraid of the dark, and trick or treat?
Before we read the second round, we discussed the mentor text, an excerpt from Piri Thomas’ memoir, Down these Mean Streets. Joe commented that he didn’t like the text, others agreed that it lacked realism. We talked about writing for different audiences. Sometimes when you write for a reader that doesn’t know, I explained, you sacrifice some of the realism. We talked about the difference between the protagonist and the narrator- the character you were then, versus the character you are today. Sometimes, and sometimes as a result of our writing, we become a completely different character— older and wiser.
We might feel like completely different people at times— and in some ways we are; but in some ways we’re still the same.
What Happened to Belinda in the Fall
By Belinda
Like two years ago, I'm pretty sure it happened in the month of October. I was walking up and down through the hoe stroll and I see this guy but I really don't pay much attention to him. All I know is that he is looking at me and asks me what I'm doing. I say, "Nothing, just trying to make some money."
"How much money you trying to make?"
I say, "Well, like forty or fifty dollars."
Real quick, but really quick he said, "Ok, that sound good. Would a blow job work?"
I said, "Hell yeah."
So anyway we walk to the park, and I do notice that he had a limp. As we got deep in the park, I notice that he no longer had a limp.
All I know is that he was trying to choke me and I'm losing my air and thank God that I have a scraper. I take the scraper and I try to stab him whoever, just so I can stop him from hurting me.
It happened in the fall.
The Fall
By Christopher Vonderlieth
I remember counting the loot we just got from the robbery. About $160 give or take. But being dope sick and broke, it was more like $160,000. Straight to East NY to get high. About three months later, big ole scene with the cops. I felt like I was Gotti, the cops kept high giving and patting each other on the back, saying "good work." To make a short story shorter, my offer went from 11 flat to 9 flat to 7 flat to 5. I jumped on the five. I took the fall.
Most people read, gave each other positive feedback. Then, we wrote for a second round. Participants could choose from two prompts: Who’s afraid of the dark, and trick or treat?
Before we read the second round, we discussed the mentor text, an excerpt from Piri Thomas’ memoir, Down these Mean Streets. Joe commented that he didn’t like the text, others agreed that it lacked realism. We talked about writing for different audiences. Sometimes when you write for a reader that doesn’t know, I explained, you sacrifice some of the realism. We talked about the difference between the protagonist and the narrator- the character you were then, versus the character you are today. Sometimes, and sometimes as a result of our writing, we become a completely different character— older and wiser.
We might feel like completely different people at times— and in some ways we are; but in some ways we’re still the same.
What Happened to Belinda in the Fall
By Belinda
Like two years ago, I'm pretty sure it happened in the month of October. I was walking up and down through the hoe stroll and I see this guy but I really don't pay much attention to him. All I know is that he is looking at me and asks me what I'm doing. I say, "Nothing, just trying to make some money."
"How much money you trying to make?"
I say, "Well, like forty or fifty dollars."
Real quick, but really quick he said, "Ok, that sound good. Would a blow job work?"
I said, "Hell yeah."
So anyway we walk to the park, and I do notice that he had a limp. As we got deep in the park, I notice that he no longer had a limp.
All I know is that he was trying to choke me and I'm losing my air and thank God that I have a scraper. I take the scraper and I try to stab him whoever, just so I can stop him from hurting me.
It happened in the fall.
The Fall
By Christopher Vonderlieth
I remember counting the loot we just got from the robbery. About $160 give or take. But being dope sick and broke, it was more like $160,000. Straight to East NY to get high. About three months later, big ole scene with the cops. I felt like I was Gotti, the cops kept high giving and patting each other on the back, saying "good work." To make a short story shorter, my offer went from 11 flat to 9 flat to 7 flat to 5. I jumped on the five. I took the fall.
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