Intro to Creative Writing Portfolio: Spark of Spunk
Introduction: I am Shannon, hear me roar…
This is an accumulation of my work over a period of time, AKA portfolio. Isn’t that the definition of portfolio you ask? No, the definition of a portfolio is a portable case for portable material, such as photographs or drawings. The materials collected in such a case, when representative of a person’s work.
Clearly this is not your average everyday portfolio. Why you may ask? You’ll just have to find out.
Over this period of time (a semester) I have typed until my fingers bled, scrawled until I had no lead (granite technically), and my mind had to concoct new ideas until it was dead. Miraculously, I am still alive.
This semester has been a vendetta of words against a tyranny of illiteracy. Imagine words rolling over your mind like fresh creamy butter, buttering the roll of your imagination. Phrases so succulent they remind you of sirloin steaks, dripping with delicious juices and seasoning. After a day of piecing tiny slips of words together your mind had been liquefied like egg whites beaten to make meringue. Am I hungry? Yes. This has been the daily experience provided by Creative Writing.
Here are my memories and my portfolio, with most of my writing from the year.
Enjoy.
Coversheet: Free Verse #2
We are given sheets full of words. This is always really hard for me, because many words are just so wonderful I want to use all of them but don’t know how, or how to make them sound like a poem.
We had just finished the Men vs. Women section of the class and at the moment I was really ticked at both genders. I decided to make fun of women and men at the same time, although I ended up making fun of guys more.
I usually end up putting words together and try to make the poem fit that way. It works pretty well if you’ve got a topic in mind. I tried to pretend I was in the tea scene of The Importance of Being Ernest or being in a kind of Pride and Prejudice world, as they have the most stereotypical men and women. Imagine a real scumbag at the other side of the table, who is so stupid, he doesn’t get what you are saying at all.
I was actually influenced by Olivia when she was talking about her own poem. The end of the poem is a result of her comments.
At Tea
Do not scoff at my delicate temperament
Or my oath to nurture
And tendency to gossip
Just because you find it convenient to shroud yourself
With indifference and superiority
Such belligerence is futile
For I will dissipate any sense of security
All attempts at deceit will fail
I have dissected your actions and come to a conclusion:
You shield yourself with a grandiose air
That one could equivocate to that of an almighty being
Such abrasive behavior could be called blasphemy
You do all this when in reality
You are a vindictive warmonger
Reveling in the chaos and fear of those decidedly lower than you
To state aloud that any contact with you whatsoever
Is equal to the affinity of excrement would be uncivilized
I will instead simply insinuate these thoughts
I am a lady after all,
And hope that through some miracle
That you will receive, no, that you will be compelled
To retain a mere flash of intelligence
So that you may comprehend my meaning
Now…
Would you care for some tea?
Coversheet: Bag Tag Team #2This was a lot of fun to do as well. My partner was Olivia and we decided there wasn’t going to be a topic until we finished the first couple of lines. With nothing really on our minds we pieced some words together and it sounded like the Renaissance. So after that we gave each other words and out of that we had to make new sentences. Then we switched around the sentences until they were in an order than made a little more sense.
I thought it turned out quite nicely, although we both agreed we have no idea what some parts mean
.
Renaissance
Universal News: The appearance of a place
To build, to thrive
Explore the crimson peaks
A new bittersweet philosophy
An obnoxious optimism
A surprise of freedom
The essential conquering of a dynasty
The ferocity of a slender flame
See, their keeper of mystery
And frantic invention
Envision the beginning of a masterpiece
The unseen secret smiles
Within the roar of the ravaging silence
Behold, a velvet dawn
Coversheet: Free Verse #1
This is another one where we are given a sheet with lots of succulent words and I just had to use every single one. I had something in mind when I started but it morphed into something else.
I don’t like poems, in fact, given a choice I would throw every single poem I have ever written down the toilet. I don’t understand them and I don’t understand what makes a good poem compared to a bad one.
Either way here is one of my attempts.
Fallacy
Allow your heart freedom, they say.
Instead we give it a sanctuary immune to time and disease
A vast castle of welfare, life and isolation
Impenetrable from the forces outside
Impossible to escape
We are safe, secluded
But every castle has a dungeon
Every mind a deep recess of misery
Where fear, fetid and rotting, eat at the stone walls
A child writhes silently, waiting to see the light
From the protection of our minds we plan
Our dreams, finally growing, becoming real
Finally freedom, joy and hope are all in reach
And the child, like a vicarious worm,
Unnoticed, eats at our walls and very marrow
Our true enemy is revealed, surprise.
Force the monster back to the abyss
Force the monster back to the abyss
Yet unable to obliterate it completely
All our strength and plans gone
Recuperating for the next battle
Allow my heart freedom, you say.
Cover Sheet: Memory Poem
I love this… poem. It’s not a poem, by the way. When I wrote this story I tried to remember how I thought as a kid. As children, my sisters and I would always pretend we were under attack. It didn’t matter by who, pirates, soldiers, kidnappers, or the classic ‘bad-guy.’ I was generally the Prince, Elise would be the Indian (Indian Princess sometimes) and Sydney generally didn’t play but in this story I decided she would represent both sisters. Elise and I would make the sound effects as we hit and were hit in return. I’m fairly sure that we looked like idiots fighting air.
In the poem I imagined my old house in Washington. The caves are rooms, the golden plaything and gems are of course toys (mostly horses), and the hard food is plastic fruit. We had a small room upstairs that we called the cubby, where we kept all of our toys. Sydney and I would take socks, fill them with the toys, and tie them to sticks like they did in cartoons. Then there was a long balcony (cliffs) and steep stairs (waterfalls) and finally there was the study that had a gigantic map on one wall. It was one of my favorite rooms. The yard was beautiful with a patio, gorgeous plants and flowers, and a swing set.
This story is simply a snapshot of the kind of adventures I would have as a kid.
Treasure!
I crawled into the deep, dark and rather dirty cave with my sister close behind. Carefully choosing my favorite gems and golden playthings from the boxes and piles of treasure we had stored there. Some of my favorites were Sydney’s too and it caused her to poke me and complain. Depending on the piece I would comply or hotly argue, usually I got my way. I was older and leader of the expedition. We would pull out our white and sometimes smelly bags from off our feet and force as much of the gold into them and quickly fasten them to sticks so it would be easier to carry across our backs.
Once we had escaped the cave, we would travel down tall and dangerous waterfalls and cliffs. They were so high above the ground you couldn’t even see it. We had left our map in one of the first caves we had encountered and so went there to see where we should strike next. The map was large, so large it covered an entire wall of the cave; we examined it carefully and pointed here or there. I frowned as I thought, so far we had been lucky and no bandits had seen us, but it wouldn’t be long before we had to fight our way out.
As I had suspected, they had found us. Suddenly we were surrounded by large, toothless, thugs with
weapons of every kind. Syd and I put down our bags of precious treasure and began to whirl, kicking and hitting every man in sight. We forced them out of the cave and into the sun. Syd had gone back to grab our treasure while I held them off. I was hit again and again but that didn’t stop me. Sydney soon joined me and together we broke free of the bandits and reached our hideout that was hidden among the grass and trees of our island. I started to unpack my treasure and Sydney followed suit. My choice stallions, loyal steeds and other animals I adored were laid out in front of me and Sydney in front her. I had also brought hard food and we tried to eat that after the long day. As soon as we had finished that we began to play with our gems and golden playthings.
Cover Sheet: These I Have Loved
What more can I say about this poem? I love it. It has everything I’ve ever really enjoyed. I may sound a little vicious but if you’ve learned anything from the past thirty pages, you’ll understand.
When I saw, Sherlock Holmes I was in awe. And as I left the theatre and kept saying, “That’s my favorite thing. I absolutely LOVE listening to brilliant people think!” That is what I’m referring to in the poem. I love watching mysteries and great detectives make me so happy. They are so brilliant!
We have a twenty foot ceiling (that is a rough estimate, don’t judge) and whenever the house is empty, I sing. It’s a weakness I have, listening to myself reverberate of the walls. It makes anything you sing sound so cool, but if you can sing arias, it’s even cooler.
As a child I was invincible. I believed I would never die and never get hurt, so I did some pretty stupid things and somehow made it out alive. One of my favorite things was to climb either the aspen in our front yard, (at one point I actually mapped out the branches and named several of them and paths to get up, again don’t judge) or the huge tree in one of the parks. We weren’t supposed to climb that tree, and they were always taking off branches to try and stop the kids. It never worked. We would always find a way around it. Once at the top, you were level with many of the roofs around you and swaying was the best feeling ever.
They are things that I love.
These I Have Loved
A moment of flying, the time that stops mid-air
The feel of a dog’s warm ears
Soaking up a warm sun
Diving into a completely still, and cool water
The feeling of victory as I crush my father in a board game
Listening in awe as a genius puts it all together
Climbing to the top of a tree on a windy day and swaying back and forth
The distinct smell of old money or books
Bursting into song in an empty house and listening to the echoes
Shaved legs against pajama pants
That “Ah ha” moment when everything become clear
Being right
Freshly baked bread smothered with butter and homemade jam
Singing with inspiring music
Milk so cold your brain freezes
Laughing until your stomach hurts and tears flow
These I have loved.
