“You're not a criminal yet, Charlie.” The thought ran through my mind over and over: “You're not a criminal yet, Charlie.” It was like a marching band traversing through my mind over and over as I slowly made my way down the quickly moving street.
“You're not a criminal yet.” The sound became louder and more obnoxious to match my ever-slowing footsteps. I felt as if I was crawling along a worn and beaten path, and the world around me had switched into super-speed; the people and cars going by in fractions of a second, not a one giving me a single glance.
“You're not a criminal yet, Charlie.” I reached into my pocket and slowly traced the freshly-inscribed gang symbol along the sharp blade of my knife with a single finger. This was my ticket to happiness. This little piece of metal was to be my escape from the tormenting world of alcoholic fathers and relentless bullies: A sliver of steel turned into a sliver of hope, acceptance, and respect. A twitch of the lips sent my dull face into a slight hint of a smile as I focused upon this single thought.
“You're not a criminal yet, Charlie.” I grimaced—only slightly—and frowned once again as the torrential thought ripped its way into my confused mind once again. I glanced around nervously to see if anyone was watching me, but saw again only the blur of people and cars passing by while my own body seemed to move at the slowest pace possible. I turned my head back to stare straight ahead as I walked with all the determination I could muster so as not to looks suspicious. I even went so far as to remove the hood from my head.
“You're not a criminal yet, Charlie.”
“DAMMIT!” I yelled, and clapped my hand over my mouth the moment the words left, terrified that some passer-by would suspect me.
“Everything alright?” the blur of motion slowed for a moment to reveal a concerned face several feet in front of me. I couldn't deduce a uniform, and so responded.
“Yes, yes, I'm fine.” The blur returned.
“You're not a criminal yet, Charlie.” it was all I could do to keep from turning and running home. I slid my finger along the freshly sharpened blade once more, reminding myself of the coming respect and acceptance.
“Just a few more steps.” I reminded myself, and looked around to confirm the whisper of a thought. I was struck with a sudden sense of panic as I came to the realization that the buildings surrounding me had joined the blur of people and cars. Nothing was deduce-able. Colors and lights blended together to form a massive, watery-like vision which flew in front of my eyes. I turned my head every which way, my eyes screaming for an escape route. Nothing. I ran, bumping into several things as I went, waiting for the reassuring thought to return to my head.
I reached for my knife, my finger sliding against the blade and screaming in pain as I did so. I felt a warm trickle run down my arm as I pulled out the weapon and swung it before me like a madman, trying to find some escape from the horrifying blur that was engulfing me.
“He's got a knife!” I heard a faint shout, and a thud as my blade connected with something solid—but not too solid—and sunk in enough to throw me off balance and knock me to the hard, blurry ground. I scrambled to get back on my feet, but was knocked over again by a heavy object. I cried out in pain, begging the reassuring thought to return and wipe my conscience clean.
I made no effort to stand up, and had lost the gang-emblazoned knife when I struck that unfortunate passer-by. A knee was pressed into my back, and cold steel tightened onto my clammy wrists.
“I'm not...a criminal...yet.” I panted slowly, but was silenced by a commanding voice.
“You have the right to remain silent....”
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
The Journey of Sir Lancelot
One might say that a personal journey and a personal essay are quite similar. Both have a beginning and an end, both contain opinions and experiences, and-frankly-both have the word personal in them. Of course, I would disagree entirely with anyone who made such a ridiculous claim, for I have discovered several amazing things about my personal style of writing over the course of the past semester. One could almost say I have met someone who changed my life. Then again, one could say a lot of things and less than half of them could be true...anyway, let's begin.
I started the semester thinking myself a fairly good writer. I have been writing since I was about ten years old, and have spent nearly five years creating a fantasy world and composing great lore stores around this world. In between the time of creating this world I wrote short stories, poems, and books. I also discovered an amazing love affair with the art of film and radio. So, naturally, I considered myself a fairly good writer.
But that was just the problem.
I considered myself-me, Isaac Golle-to be a fairly good writer. Now, don't get me wrong, I still consider myself to be a good writer-but about half way through the semester I discovered something which completely changed the way I wrote just about everything-including essays.
I began when I started writing, "The Elf". I have always been fascinated with the wit of Oscar Wilde, and wanted to capture that sort of personality in a character. In such a way, "Gump" was born. I became fascinated and intrigued with him right away, and very quickly found myself writing down lines for the character as though they came to me naturally. I wrote, and wrote, and wrote, and wrote, and wrote; completely blown away by the intelligence, wile, and wit of a character I had created. When I finished, "The Elf" it wasn't enough: I wanted more Mr. Gump.
And so I wrote, coming up with all kinds of mysterious, witty, and intriguing characters, composing their dialogue as though it was my own-as if I was the character through and through.
About a week after, "The Elf" I began work on, "Fun and Games" which was my summative assignment for this class. In this I created Justin and Terence: two more wiley and witty folk to add to the quickly growing pack. One day after I had been writing for a while, I stopped to take a break and turned to an assignment in another class. It also involved writing, and so with a sigh I gathered some paper and began writing answers to the many questions. After a moment I stopped, stared hard at my answers, then glanced over at, "Fun and Games". I looked at my answers again, then at the script once more. My eyes widened and my heart raced: I had discovered a new me.
My writing style has literally evolved into its own personality. Justin, Terence, Gump, and other others, all come out to get a word in every time I place my pen on paper. The me that writes and the me that walks and talks no longer share the same thoughts. I suppose one could say I have a sort of controlled multiple personality disorder. Of course, one could say a lot of things, and less than half of them could be true.
Now, as I look to the future and try to deduce the right path, I look to my new found friend(whom I call Sir Lancelot) and hope that this journey will be nothing short of exhilerating.
******
This was an essay I wrote for a final exam in my writer's craft class. The essay inspired this video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bkIdIvqDcws
I started the semester thinking myself a fairly good writer. I have been writing since I was about ten years old, and have spent nearly five years creating a fantasy world and composing great lore stores around this world. In between the time of creating this world I wrote short stories, poems, and books. I also discovered an amazing love affair with the art of film and radio. So, naturally, I considered myself a fairly good writer.
But that was just the problem.
I considered myself-me, Isaac Golle-to be a fairly good writer. Now, don't get me wrong, I still consider myself to be a good writer-but about half way through the semester I discovered something which completely changed the way I wrote just about everything-including essays.
I began when I started writing, "The Elf". I have always been fascinated with the wit of Oscar Wilde, and wanted to capture that sort of personality in a character. In such a way, "Gump" was born. I became fascinated and intrigued with him right away, and very quickly found myself writing down lines for the character as though they came to me naturally. I wrote, and wrote, and wrote, and wrote, and wrote; completely blown away by the intelligence, wile, and wit of a character I had created. When I finished, "The Elf" it wasn't enough: I wanted more Mr. Gump.
And so I wrote, coming up with all kinds of mysterious, witty, and intriguing characters, composing their dialogue as though it was my own-as if I was the character through and through.
About a week after, "The Elf" I began work on, "Fun and Games" which was my summative assignment for this class. In this I created Justin and Terence: two more wiley and witty folk to add to the quickly growing pack. One day after I had been writing for a while, I stopped to take a break and turned to an assignment in another class. It also involved writing, and so with a sigh I gathered some paper and began writing answers to the many questions. After a moment I stopped, stared hard at my answers, then glanced over at, "Fun and Games". I looked at my answers again, then at the script once more. My eyes widened and my heart raced: I had discovered a new me.
My writing style has literally evolved into its own personality. Justin, Terence, Gump, and other others, all come out to get a word in every time I place my pen on paper. The me that writes and the me that walks and talks no longer share the same thoughts. I suppose one could say I have a sort of controlled multiple personality disorder. Of course, one could say a lot of things, and less than half of them could be true.
Now, as I look to the future and try to deduce the right path, I look to my new found friend(whom I call Sir Lancelot) and hope that this journey will be nothing short of exhilerating.
******
This was an essay I wrote for a final exam in my writer's craft class. The essay inspired this video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bkIdIvqDcws
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