User:Derek Blair

Bio
Hi! I'm Derek, and I am in your Literature class. Awesome.

Response
I am writing my Response to Oliver's Ekphrastic, “Little Mag's Adventure” First of all, I enjoyed the details and descriptions throughout the whole thing. They really helped bring me into the world of Little Mag. I also thought it was clever that instead of “Mag” being short for Maggie or Magdalene, it was a nickname that hearkened back to her origins, being found on a pile of magazines. It also alludes to her interest in the typewriter, as it is a tool used to create magazines. The imagery of the dusty old orphanage was nice, and the sheer scale of the place was a nice contrast to the small stature of Mag, and adds to the feeling of adventure. Mag is portrayed well in a charming light, and adds an element of whimsy to her quest. This is especially evidenced in her snagging a flashlight from the janitor as he cleaned up an accident. The nature of Mag also gave me an image of her actually causing the accident in order to distract him. After Mag walks to the west end of the mansion, and gets the hallway with nothing but doors, she immediately chooses the first one, and moves on. Given her curious nature, it might have been fun to have her maybe open a couple of them, and peer in, just to quench her curiosity, and add some build-up to when she finally chooses a room to fully explore. You could also use this as an opportunity to add more history and magic to the orphanage, and paint it as more of a character in itself. When Mag enters the room, and “Old men just stared at (her) as she walked in...” it was a little confusing. A little clarification that these were ornate paintings of old men, creepily watching her as if they were alive, would have been helpful. Or maybe they are alive! When she enters the secret room with the typewriter, it would have been nice to get some imagery as to what the secret room looks like. As a reader, a secret room is exciting and awesome, but the lack of detail and imagery lessened the overall impact of the discovery. The “small nook on a window that led to the garden” could have benefited from a more detailed description. I have no idea what a small nook off a window looks like, and if there is a nook, do you have to climb out the window to get there? And if the nook leads to the garden, then the garden could technically lead to the secret room, making it not-so-secret anymore. Just something to think about. Overall, I enjoyed the whimsical nature of the story, and felt the charm that you were instilling into the character of Little Mag. I also liked the scale of the orphanage, and the magical and mysterious possibilities for Mag in the future are essentially endless. The ending left me wanting to keep reading, and experience the vast gardens of the mansion with Little Mag. All in all, a good read.

Response to Your Chrestomathy
Hey Derek

So I am here to respond to some of your works, and the first one I will comment is your short poem Seasons in you Style section. So first I want to say how clever it was that you only used the letter “s” as the start at every line, so having said that, the next thing I want to compliment you on is your use of imagery that makes me see a clear picture in my mind and they also go really well with the words you chose to use it makes more of an impact in the mind of the reader sort of giving it a little Shakespearean twist to the whole text. The other part of your chrestomathy I wanted to comment on was your Personal section where you decided to right the style as a 3rd person POV but since I know you and know that the guy is you in the story it was predictable but that’s only because it’s me reading it, had it been someone else that doesn’t know you for sure they would consider turning the person into anybody they wished. Going back the work itself, I really liked the style you wrote it in, kinda reminded me of the lead character from the movie “Wanted.”

Style
Seasons Slovenly, I slumbered, seeing seasons in my sleep Slowly more encumbered with the seasons as they creep Saddled with the scenes of Spring, when life returns anew Summer succeeds, then Autumn leads, and Winter swings for you Sloppily, I scrutinized the savageries of time Seeing seasons sabotaged, either soon or syne Scenery, it sloughs away, like simple stacks of schist Supine against barbarity, shiftless to subsist Suddenly, I sever from my sedentary state Seething from suspicion, that I am simply bait Snared and snagged and sentenced, degrading in the span Succumbing to my seasons, slowly in this age of man

Description: Essentially, I wanted to write a short poem, using alliteration and rhyme as the dominant stylistic devices. While alliteration is usually used to replace rhyme, I thought it could be fun and interesting to mix them. Diction is also used heavily, and was necessary to differentiate each verse. The rhyming scheme is in heroic couplets with a meter of iambic pentameter. As for influence, I guess it would be Chaucer.

Other Media
Here's Huck!

Poetic
A Sonnet

Her eyes are deep and radiant But she says they're tired today When light hits, and shows their gradient I see they have much more to say These eyes, these windows to her soul Seem sullied from their years Of losing love that made her whole Oh the pain behind those spheres If only I could let them see The way my eyes see her now How my heart exudes in revelry With every glimpse they are allowed And in her eyes, so deep and dark, mine can only hope to find That as I meet her passive gaze, her eyes will change their mind

Analysis
First Gloss When I first read Sonnet XV by Shakespeare, I took away from it the general theme of struggle, between the inconspicuousness of human life, compared the the overall scope of time and the universe. Shakespeare refers to the world as a "huge stage," where men grow like plants or weeds, and are boastful and brave simply because they don't know any better. However, man realizes how short his life really is, and eventually time will take him away. Shakespeare is arguing that no matter what you do you, you cannot defeat time. Instead of being arrogant and boastful, man should embrace love and make the best of the time he has. Second Gloss After researching Sonnet XV more deeply, I feel I have a better understanding of what Shakespeare was trying to say. Everything that grows has but a brief moment of perfection, and humans grow as plants do, nourished by the sky. Men flaunt their vitality until they reach their prime, and then begin to decline, and their youth passes from memory. Upon thinking of their short stay on earth, memories of their youth are brought vividly back to their minds. Time takes the love of your life away, and by immortalizing his love in verse, Shakespeare declares a war on Time. Historical Context In Line 4, Shakespeare says "Whereon the stars in secret influence comment." In this time period, it was generally believed that man's behavior and events were influenced, though not determined, by the stars, and such influence is described as a "secret" because it worked behind man's back like a political cabal or theatrical claque. Astrologers of the time claimed to penetrate this "secret influence." Dictionary / Definition Vaunt - show-off, extravagant self-praise Engraft - to fix or set securely or deeply Sullied - to soil, stain, or tarnish

Personal
"Helltown Grocery" At 6:10 AM, one crisp January morning, a young man sits at his desk. He has not just woken up to embrace the day, but is still awake, overcome with an insatiable urge to vent and spout to Microsoft Word. He works part-time at a small grocery store in a zombie-infested ghetto called Belltown. And he deals with these zombies on a daily basis. The zombies are not of the undead variety, but they might as well be, with their drooling and bleeding and shitting all over themselves, thirsty for their own form of brains; crack-cocaine. But because he sees them everyday, and they see him, and talk to him, and he sells them Tilt, he is free to walk amongst them, like a fucking Daywalker. And with the zombies come the crack-harlots, with their fake weaves and drag-queen make-up, reeking of stale cigarettes and blowjobs. And with the crack-harlots come the pimps and dealers, in gaudy-ass hoodies from BossWear and draped in fake chains, to "take care of their girls" by getting them some candy and a bag of fucking Doritos to eat, and paying with crumpled, filthy, disgusting money. Money that has changed hands so many times that its thin, and waif-like, and fuzzy. And we can't forget about the alcoholics, a close relative of the zombie, who somehow have the ability to survive solely on a liquid diet of Icehouse and Sparks. These "people" are about 80% of his clientele at this small grocery store. Sure, there's the senile old ladies, and the flamingly-gay gay guys, and the crazy people from the psych clinic down the street, and the construction workers, and the rich people who wandered too far from their condo, and the tourists who wandered too far from their hotel, and the scene kids who are really just jaded shitheads, and the Mexicans who just arrived in the country and need copies of their papers, and the bar-owners, and the musicians, and the college students, etc...but they are STILL the remaining 20%. But one thing his job has shown him, is what he never wants to be; a filthy vagrant who smells like the outdoors, with a look of sadness in his eyes like he knows what he's done to himself, but doesn't know anything else anymore, with his dirty hands outstretched, asking for some spare change from people on the street, because he's too fucked up to make the money himself. He's in his 10th quarter of school and only has a few left. He should be graduating after his 12th quarter, but he dicked around and partied too much for his first couple quarters and has to make some classes up. But he'll still have a Bachelor's in 4 years, and that's fine with him. Even though he's in the meat and potatoes of his program, and he absolutely loves what he's working for more than anything, he's getting burnt out on bullshit classes and really just wants to finish, and get a job in the video game industry, and stop racking up ridiculous amounts of money in student loans. In the meantime, he stays creative designing websites, and logos, and t-shirts, and brochures, and pamphlets, and posters, and cd covers, and all that other creative-service stuff that comes about. His first love is still drawing, and he pursues and obsesses over the Great Masters like Pontormo, Rafael, Titian, Watteau, Gerome, Buscher, Delacroix and a host of others. And his sketchbooks all start with a quote from his mentor, "Good is the enemy of Great." And he yearns to be great, to squash his peers in all areas, because competition is healthy and he knows he can. He also re-discovered his voracious love of Soul music and it vibes with him like no other music ever could. The best thing about working at that small grocery store in Belltown, with its cavalcade of crooked, conniving characters, is that he knows it's merely a chapter. This isn't it for him. Because there is no way in hell that he'll be THAT GUY, 8 years from now, living in a cramped apartment being choked out with a lifetime's worth of crap that's built up over the years, biding his time until something else comes along. Because sooner or later, that same sad look in the smelly vagrants eye who knows what he's done to himself but can't help it, starts to appear in THAT GUY's eyes, and then it's all over.

This is basically a narrative of a recent time in my life, written in Third Person. I guess my influences would be my own personal frustration, not only with my life, but also the frustration that comes with seeing people destroy themselves, and knowing there's nothing you can do about it. Also, zombie movies played a part in my head while I thought of the homeless wraiths that inhabit Belltown.

Memorization
"Annan Water" By: Colin Meloy Annan water You loom so deep and wide I'll cross over If you would stem the tide Build a boat That I might thwart the other side To reach the farther shore Where my true love lies in wait for me In wait for me In wait for me In wait for me

Oh, gray river Your waters ramble while The horses shiver And bide against the bridal But I will cross If mine own horse is pulled from me Though my mother cries that if I try I sure will drown it be Will drown it be Will drown it be Will drown it be

But if you cull And let me pass You may render me a wrack When I come back So calm your waves And slow the churn And you may have my precious bones on my return

Annan water Oh hear my true love's call Hear her holler Above your water's pall God, that I could That my two arms could give me way And I would cross your breath And rest my breast about her amber ring Her amber ring Her amber ring

But if you cull And let me pass You may render me a wrack When I come back So calm your waves And slow the churn And you may have my precious bones On my On my Return 

Self Assessment
When this Literature class began, we were all asked why we were taking it. I believe at the time, I replied, “Because it's required for me to graduate.” While this is true, I have taken away much more than I had initially thought I would. I have always been one who respects and admires creativity. However, in my studies of animation, writing and literature have generally taken a backseat to the more visual arts of storytelling, like composition or pose or color theory. But I have always been a reader, and I have always respected the power of written word, and this class has re-ignited an old flame. I thoroughly enjoyed every assignment, from the creative to the more analytical. It required me to use my brain, unlike many classes at this school, and I appreciate it, because it feels good. I feel I did the Chrestomathy assignments well, but I could have improved on them had I actually been able to find a copy of the books we read and discussed in class. And I really did try to find them. But as it turns out, My Jim is a very popular book in Seattle, and apparently everyone and their mom bought a copy. I contributed to the other students in the class by participating in discussions, and they contributed to me as well. It was refreshing to hear the different takes and viewpoints from students with varying backgrounds. Contribution was also a large part of the Chrestomathy, and the fact that we could view and read what other students had written, and comment on what we took from it, was a clever twist and allowed for a much deeper, more enjoyable class experience. In the wrong hands, this class could have been drab and boring. But you are a badass educator, and I appreciate your passion for your craft. Thanks for a great quarter, Steve.