User:TimStandridge

Bio
29 Married AA Degree in Audio Production. Working on an AA degree in Video Production.

InResponseToEkphrastic
Hey so this is in response to your Ekphrastic post John Schlicht. I like it, the story is great and the dialouge you use gives me a clear picture of the person telling the story. I only vaugley remeber the old Paul bunyon story, and mostly I just picture the animated cartoons I have seen. What I like here is that you have taken something that is purely mythical and turned it into something of a debunked myth. Have you read the stories of Pecos Bill, I ask because I think those would be great stories to use in the same manner. I read your other post's as well and I think you have a great Sense of imagination keep up the good work! Retrieved from "http://en.wikiversity.org/wiki/User_talk:Jms2117"

Style
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I like to think that, the first thing any one who see's this will think, is why? To which I would say, exactly. Its fairly straight forward other than that, The Y's make up the why, which is a saying one of my old bosses used, to use.

I have always liked art in this style, because it makes me wonder how bored an author had to be to think of that why struggling to write.

Compare/Contrast
Lately I have been reading a series of books by Terry Goodkind, called the Wizards first Rule. What I find, I like about these books is the easy in which the story flows from the page. Since they are fantasy books I would compare them to the likes of Robert Jordan and his wheel of time books. One major difference however between the two is that Goodkind’s books get better with each book, I’m currently on number seven in a series of eleven. The Wheel of time books were only good up until I would say book five. In my opinion what makes for a good fantasy book is a twisted plot that takes you up and down and pulls you into the characters world. You have to feel empathy for the characters, even sometimes for the bad ones. If you find yourself imagining you are there doing the things the character is doing or thinking about how you would overcome the next obstacle, then the book is more than a book it’s a story that you live inside your mind. Goodkind’s writing style is also a matter of structure, when a character talk’s quotations are used to separate speech from descriptive devices. When I read I prefer to skim over what most authors spend a lengthy amount of words explaining, and simply focus on the speech involved. Mostly I do this because I can get a sense of the descriptive words without spending a lot of time pondering the meaning behind them. I should preface these statement’s by saying I only do this for this genre of books, when reading for fun. As an example if I was an author and I wrote like this.

The shores of the lake wear long silhouettes cast down by the long towers of the Ide’de”soul, for three hundred Leagues the gold towers have, cast their long shadows of a hazy blue. From up upon the parapets near the largest of the gates that lead to the lands of gas’noir Idée, the wights cry out to their unflinching mistress, we have searched long and wide, but we still cannot find them, they who are so bold to come and take from you, surely they have surrendered their souls to the frozen cold before us. In return she cries out, you fools do you think I would not know should they lose too the cold for all who die in this land, surrender to me forever to hold. The white winter witch has a voice like ice and as she speaks too her slave like wights her voice cuts deep to the core of their barren souls. While not every author writes in such a manner I do find it typical of the authors I don’t like to read, the following is the same text but the formatting makes the reading smoother.

The shores of the lake wear long silhouettes cast down by the long towers of the Ide’de”soul, for three hundred Leagues the gold towers have, cast their long shadows of a hazy blue. From up upon the parapets near the largest of the gates that lead to the lands of gas’noir Idée, the wights cry out to their unflinching mistress,” we have searched long and wide, but we still cannot find them, they who are so bold to come and take from you, surely they have surrendered their souls to the frozen cold before us”. In return the white winter witch who has a voice like ice as she speaks too her slave like wights, her voice cuts deep to the core of their barren souls as she cries out, “you fools do you think I would not know should they lose too the cold for all who die in this land, surrender to me forever to hold”. To me the second is far easier to read as I can skim the descriptive parts quickly allowing my mind to form the picture as I read on, the quotations are to me like a yield sign that tell me pay more attention to the spoken word, because that is where the comprehension will take place, between these quotes is where the story truly takes place where active thought is required. If that doesn’t make since try reading the second one, but this time move your eyes across the line, don’t stop to think upon the description, instead wait till you get to the quotes when you get to the quotes think on the words and as you do form a picture of the subject in your mind. I find that the setting invariably forms in the background as my mind studies what is said and I imagine the way in which they are spoken. For me I often find the echo of the descriptions form a picture in my head that is unbiased by conscious decision and equates to an art form, that more closely emulates the original reason behind a descriptive means, to paint a picture.

Other Media
I made A short Video inspired by The Alice Through the Needles Eye Book. you download it directly from here it is less than 2 MB.

http://www.timstandridge.com/public_html/tss/Video/NeedlesEye.mp4

Ekphrastic
I was inspired by the silver tree sculpture at the park, and the following is a story I wrote about it. However, I wrote the ending first and felt the need to add a back story to give the sacrifice meaning.

/EkphrasticStory/

Sequel/Prequel
The following is in responce to a book "The Extravagant Universe: Exploding Stars, Dark Energy, and the Accelerating Cosmos" It is more of a text book, but after reading this book I begin to think about how mankind would ever survive the loss of our Sun. What insues is purely fictional, and the result of my imagination running away. I have written this in a script format because A. I am currently a video student, and need the practice and B. I think its a great form of Literature. I have placed this script on a sub page as advised by the wiki. /Sequel_Prequel/

Analysis
/number21/

Memorization
Robert Service (1874-1958) The Cremation of Sam McGee

There are strange things done in the midnight sun By the men who moil for gold; The Arctic trails have their secret tales That would make your blood run cold; The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, But the queerest they ever did see Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows. Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows. He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell; Though he'd often say in his homely way that "he'd sooner live in hell."

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail. Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail. If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see; It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.

And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow, And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe, He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess;    And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request."

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan: "It's the cursèd cold, and it's got right hold, till I'm chilled clean through to the bone.    Yet 'tain't being dead — it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;     So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains."

A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail; And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale. He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee; And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven, With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given; It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your brawn and brains,    But you promised true, and it's up to you, to cremate those last remains."

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code. In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load. In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring, Howled out their woes to the homeless snows — Oh God! how I loathed the thing.

And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow; And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low; The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in; And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.

Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay; It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May." And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum; Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire; Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher; The flames just soared, and the furnace roared — such a blaze you seldom see; And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so; And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow. It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why; And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear; But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near; I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside.    I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked"; ... then the door I opened wide.

And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar; And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and said: "Please close that door.    It's fine in here, but I greatly fear, you'll let in the cold and storm —     Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm."

There are strange things done in the midnight sun By the men who moil for gold; The Arctic trails have their secret tales That would make your blood run cold; The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, But the queerest they ever did see Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee.

Self Assessment
What a broad question to answer here, but ok I will try. I will just assume that self assessment is actually pertaining to my progress in this literature class and not the broader sense of self. Well I guess you could make the argument that my broader sense of self has somewhat changed due to the class. That being said I would have to say this class was not what I expected it to be. Wait stop right there, let me be clear that is not an admonishment or in any way a degradation or slander of the class. I did in fact enjoy this class and I feel like I learned a lot, however it just wasn't what I expected. That is itself a broad statement, I suppose since I wasn't absolutely sure what to expect. At first I was thinking it might be more structured around what Literature actually is, having taken the class now I think, that I learned no one knows for sure what defines literature. Back to the topic of self assessment though, I do feel that as I stammered out the memorization poem on week eleven, I did ok in memorizing 5 versus, considering at the age of twenty nine I have not even tried to remember more than a string of numbers (lots and lots of Software serial numbers) since the age of fifteen or so. All in all, I think I will continue to read, and enjoy literature in what ever form it takes.