Course Evaluation/Reflection
1. Meeting course objectives
Course objectives
Learn to recognize and use strategies & conventions commonly found in cnf including: reflection, segmentation, narrative voice, use of scenes, dialog, character development, and detailed description, movement between the subject at hand and a personal, reflective perspective focused on a concept
Develop an invention process based in writing
Develop/extend revising process
Explore different forms for CNF
Questions:
What did you learn in this course?
I learned a few things in this course, with one being about myself. I learned about a form of writing that I thought was non-existent. At first, it wasn’t quite comprehensible, but as time progressed, It became clear. The second thing I learned was that I have the potential, with enough practice and time to become a good writer
About the form of CNF?
I learned that the form on CNF is a genre of writing truth using literary styles to create factually accurate narratives. For a text to be considered creative nonfiction, it must be factually accurate, and written with attention to style and technique. Ultimately.
What did you learn about how to write CNF?
The form of CNF is very unique, and based upon the short stories that we read, can be written in different forms, take for example, the story “out there”
About where to publish/find publishing venues for your creative writing?
Upon looking at the different publication venues, I learned that there are plenty of different styles with different objectives to each writing based on what the publication asks for
Did you change anything /try anything different in your writing process? Please describe.
Nothing out the ordinary from trying to meet the expectation of writing my essays to a CNF standard
Which class assignments/class experiences helped you learn whatever you learned?
Essay 4: writing about a place. It taught, and made me realize that my past experiences could be the reason why I cannot let go of that place.
What do you wish the course spent more time on?
Elaborating on the definition of CNF
What do you wish we'd spent less time on?
The MONOPOLY STORY….GRRRRR
2. Structure of course/assignments
Assignements
Blogs
readings
writing journal
writing assignments
exploration of publication venues
Questions:
Right pace/schedule?
Both of the pace and the schedule were fine in the beginning, but felt as if the whole world came down towards the ending of the course. A lot of work with what felt like little to no time
Coherence of material?
the material was very coherent, keeping a balanced dose of essays that were written in a CNF format
Workload => Too much, too little, just right? What would you change?
The workload was not too much, it was actually just right. I just feel as if it should have been evenly spread out more. As I said earlier, I felt like the whole world came down on me during the end with all the writting
Cover material appropriate to course goals?
Yes, In my opinion, it was just right
Enough feedback for grades?
Yes, more than sufficient feedback to change any paper from a D to an A
3. Provisions for feedback/grades
Forms of evaluation + feedback
comments/grades for blogs
comments from classmates
reading aloud from journals + class discussion
conferences with professor on papers
group work with classmates on papers
written feedback/grades on papers
reflective writing about your work (in you journal, on your blog)
Questions:
Which form of feedback was most helpful?
Both physical, and email were very helpful when it came to making corrections to a paper, but if I had to choose one, it would have to be the conferences. It made things clearer as far as what you were looking for because I had a chance to see facial expressions when making certain points
Which did you enjoy most?
The conferences
Any which you felt was unproductive?>
Neither
What would you do more of?
Write the essays better from a reader’s perspective and make sure everything is clarified
What would you do less of?
Nothing
Did you feel the grading system was fair?
yes
Did the grades/grading system contribute to learning?
If Im reading the question properly, my answer would have to be no
4. General response
Is there anything you could tell me that would help me teach a better/more engaging course?
I am not trying to brownnose, or earn brownie points by saying this, but I believe you did everything just right.
Anything you want to say about your experience of the course?
I never knew I had the potential, based on your comments, to write such moving essays. It was the BEST English class ive taken to date.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Irreplaceable Blog # 23
I don’t know how to suitably pioneer this, so I’m just going to begin writing. Growing up in Nigeria, all the way up to my current days as a young adult, Ive been forced to say goodbye to the things I cherished. My first puppy was taken from me because my landlord did not want any pets. My intangible relationship with my brother was also robbed from me, except it was taken over a period of time. My pit-bull pup named pickles was also amongst the things I was forced to say goodbye to, my power ranger action figure, and my first bicycle, but all of these- with time, have gradually but surely become just a mere thought as beloved as they were to me. All of these items/things except for one thing that I cant seem to let go of. It was on the corner of Colonia Boulevard and Saint George in Rahway. Till this day I still go bye and sit outside of it more often than I should for it no longer belongs to me, reminiscing and thinking.
It was not the largest, but it was definitely amongst the prettiest on the whole street. It was sky blue in color, with white shutters that complemented the blue oh so gracefully; Almost made it seem like there was a little piece of the heavens here on earth. A vast driveway and a big backyard were some of the things that I miss about this place. In the backyard was a set of swings and an over the ground pool where there were various cookouts and pool parties with friends and family. In the second part of the driveway was where I had my first huffy basketball rim, and believe it or not, my brother and I assembled it. Funny thing about the rim, my dear and beloved mother bought it for my brother and I, but in order to keep peace, and prevent any type of altercation, she had to say my father bought it for us…what type of man was he??, but that’s neither here nor there. It was on that rim that was put up in the driveway that I learned to dunk, and eventually broke the rim..silly old me.
The neighborhood was peaceful, friendly and quiet with the biggest ruckus, as much as I hate to this, coming from us, mainly from that guy called my father. Nothing in this world is perfect, and he epitomized that statement. My home was the one thing that besides my siblings and mother was very dear to me and also cherished. In all the comfort, safety and happiness I found in my home, my father was the constant reminder that its still just a house. A home is where you feel completely comfortable, while a house, in my perspective, is just a place of shelter. His presence turned my home into a house. Every waking moment with him in the house made me outcast myself to the “play-room” as you get to read later on. He stood against everything a home represented,- wanted no peace, family moments, laughter, nothing of that nature. Everything that brought even the slightest smile across anyone’s face was frowned upon, while he was present in the house that is. He was the ultimate asshole; finding pleasure in our misery. He would eventually due to his actions, the way he treated us, and the eventual loss of my home, seal his fate with me. I found myself beginning to hate him with no way of going back
Loretta was not just a neighbor, but also a friend, a caring one at that. One plenty occasions, she was the one who took the initiative to dial 911 on behalf of my mother as her scream for help traveled through the air to nearest ears that were open. Her and her husband were the friendliest older couple I have ever met. I can’t completely remember the name of her husband so well call him Lorettas husband for now, but Loretta, was a sweetheart. Every holiday, including those nationally celebrated and those that weren’t, we were always trading gifts and wine bottles. by the age of 18, I must have tasted about 25 different types of wine from all corners of the world. And that is not an exaggeration. She opened my eyes and taste buds to Italian food, as we opened hers to Nigerian cuisine also, not to mention, she was gardener, and a great one at that. On frequent occasions, she would bring freshly grown tomatoes and peppers over to us in abundant amounts, and boy, if you cook often, you would be instantly notice that something tasted fresh. During the early days of spring of every spring that I knew Lorettas husband, we would always sit on the chair on his front yard and talk about how shitty the Knicks were, debating and placing friendly wagers that the knicks would have a worse record than the preceding season next season. Ironic thing is that we were both die hard knick fans..its quite funny looking back at those days now and I would give almost anything to have those days/neighbors back, which is part of the reason why I cant let this place go.
Inside was three rooms an attic and a play room, which was my favorite part of the house. The playroom, though not the biggest space in the world, but decent in size was where I spent almost all, if not all of my time. It composed of a TV and a kick ass sound system temporarily erased our worries at the time away. We had what was then, the hottest gaming console on the market, a Sony play station 2, a computer, a couch that was just incredibly comfortable, and finally, the most comfortable carpet I ever lay my feet on. Everyday after school, my first stop was the dual door refrigerator to grab a drink, and then off to the playroom to do my homework as I listened to music. Followed by an infinite amount of hours in front of the TV, watching nickelodeon. That room was my getaway from the problems I had to endure cause of that man. That room was also the room where I introduced my first major girlfriend to my mother and the rest of my family, the same room where my father slapped me across my face, the same room where I learned how to do the “heel toe” which was a popular dance at the time. The room that had numerous of my drawings across the whole room as if there was a holiday that designated picture to be hung up like Christmas decorations do. My personal dinning room, and room, though it was a play room, but more than normal, I found myself waking up on the couch during the wee hours of the morning, only to drag myself in a zombie type method to my room, which I shared with my brother.
My sister’s room was right next to the playroom, and boy, was it obvious to tell whose room that was. Barbie dolls everywhere, mix matched colorful shoes all over the place, dresses, skinny jeans, and hair tie things. She was not your normal 13-year-old, but in the best of ways. Bro, can you please help me put this picture on my wall, bro can u help me fix my window, it wont close. The silly rabbit had forgotten she had put the lock on when she opened it. Cant complain though because I loved helping her in any way I could, but I couldn’t figure out if I especially did not care because it was my beloved sister I was helping, or if it was because I just loved being helpful around the house.
Me and my brothers room is next, it was about 16 x 16 in size and was obviously obvious whose room it belonged to just by approaching the door and looking at the sign that was drawn and pasted on the back of the door. “no girls allowed, please knock” in reference to my sister. It was childish if you ask me, but had to be done for my sister had a nasty habit of just barging in the room unannounced or without knocking. The drawings flowed from the walls of the playroom down to the room. Pictures that were drawn of me and my brother, favorite NBA players, cars I loved and would love to own someday were other types of pictures that were on display throughout the room. My bed was on the right and his was on the left. He got what I wanted as I love sleeping by the window. The room had a perfect view to the outside world, but I had to go on to my brothers side of the room to see the outside world, which more than often, got on his nerves.
The living room, was just that, a living room. Though rarely occupied, it was still beautiful. It had fluffy red wall-to-wall carpeting, a huge fireplace, and white walls with dashes of pink. A huge sliding door that led to the backyard, but at the same token gave a view of Lorettas backyard also. Black leather couches, and a surround sound system that had a lot of “HMPH”. The living room was the second thing that you walked into upon entering the house- the kitchen was the first. The living room was where my sister had her major first party, and boy did it turn out good. She had about 30 of her friends over, and it was like running our own chuck e cheese for the day. The one song that I cant seem to forget playing that whole day is by jimmy eat world, and the name was “the middle.” Me and my sister literally grabbed two remote controlls and started singing to each other like some American idol rejects,-
It just takes some time,
little girl, you're in the middle of the ride.
Everything, everything will be just fine,
Everything, everything will be alright. (alright)
Everyone crowded around us and cheered us on.. wow, good ol’ days. That is one particular moment in my life that I will forever be grateful for and also glad I had a chance to experience. As much as I loved this place, it was taken from me within the blink of an eye.
"Ring ring", “is Mr Akinyemi home?”, “no he is not, how can I help you” I replied, “well, my name is Mathew Pavlushkin, and im here to inform you that the new owners will be moving in 3 weeks” “WHAT?!?!?, you cant be serious I replied shocked and hurt. “Yes I am sir, please make sure you deliver the message, have a good day”
He replied in a such a way that in comparison to the coldest day of the coldest winter, it was summer. My so-called father had sold the house without our knowledge, leaving me, my mother, brother and sister to find a house within that time frame. I was shocked, offended, sickened, heated, poignant, aggravated, full of rage, disappointed, and lastly robbed. I never thought the day would come when I had to say goodbye to it. I was in shock for about a week, grief for the second, and tears all through out the third. A piece of me was taken from me. It is fair to say that materialistic things can be replaced or bought back. I beg to differ, memories I had in that house cannot be paid for, or bought, and I know, it was a memory, and as long as I have it, its mine to keep, but for some reason, getting forced to move out doesn’t make it the same anymore. Those memories don’t have as much “BANG” as they could potentially have if we didn’t have to pack up and leave.
As we see, animals and humans are not the only things that people can get emotionally attached to. It can be places, things, smells, or even pictures; for me, 70 Colonia boulevard, Rahway NJ 07065 is the address that was. As said earlier, it wasn't the biggest of houses, but adequate enough. A place where tears were shed, bonds created, and believe it or not, love actually found. I find myself driving by this house almost every day, as I only seem to remember the good memories whenever I drive by. On occasion, i actually drive out of the way to get a glance, with the most recent visit being today on my way home from work. Stopping to think of the holidays we shared there, and having the best neighbor one could ask for, trading gifts and bottles of wine every thanksgiving and Christmas, and just having someone to relax with on warm spring afternoons. Most people have a difficult time with loosing things that have life, such as people, or animals, but i seem to be having the most difficult time saying a final goodbye to Colonia Boulevard. I cant exactly say why, whether it be because we’ve had such terrible luck with houses and neighbors both in our recent searches, or maybe the manner in which we had to leave the house.. i can only laugh at that situation now, but that is not the one at hand. I just cant seem to find the strength to say a final goodbye, but writing this might have helped me understand why i cant say goodbye to it, and why i keep going back to it more than often. Nothing has changed, still blue as ever with the white shutters, and the white with gold trimmed storm door. It is as if it is waiting for me, being loyal, and telling me that it will always be there. I was robbed of something that meant to so much to me. They say everything happens for a reason, and that when one door closes, numerous ones open. HA!, till tomorrow, im still waiting for my reason to be forced to say goodbye, striving to make sense of why things had to end the way they did, and I definitely don’t want another door to open, except for one exception; the doors to 70 Colonia Boulevard
It was not the largest, but it was definitely amongst the prettiest on the whole street. It was sky blue in color, with white shutters that complemented the blue oh so gracefully; Almost made it seem like there was a little piece of the heavens here on earth. A vast driveway and a big backyard were some of the things that I miss about this place. In the backyard was a set of swings and an over the ground pool where there were various cookouts and pool parties with friends and family. In the second part of the driveway was where I had my first huffy basketball rim, and believe it or not, my brother and I assembled it. Funny thing about the rim, my dear and beloved mother bought it for my brother and I, but in order to keep peace, and prevent any type of altercation, she had to say my father bought it for us…what type of man was he??, but that’s neither here nor there. It was on that rim that was put up in the driveway that I learned to dunk, and eventually broke the rim..silly old me.
The neighborhood was peaceful, friendly and quiet with the biggest ruckus, as much as I hate to this, coming from us, mainly from that guy called my father. Nothing in this world is perfect, and he epitomized that statement. My home was the one thing that besides my siblings and mother was very dear to me and also cherished. In all the comfort, safety and happiness I found in my home, my father was the constant reminder that its still just a house. A home is where you feel completely comfortable, while a house, in my perspective, is just a place of shelter. His presence turned my home into a house. Every waking moment with him in the house made me outcast myself to the “play-room” as you get to read later on. He stood against everything a home represented,- wanted no peace, family moments, laughter, nothing of that nature. Everything that brought even the slightest smile across anyone’s face was frowned upon, while he was present in the house that is. He was the ultimate asshole; finding pleasure in our misery. He would eventually due to his actions, the way he treated us, and the eventual loss of my home, seal his fate with me. I found myself beginning to hate him with no way of going back
Loretta was not just a neighbor, but also a friend, a caring one at that. One plenty occasions, she was the one who took the initiative to dial 911 on behalf of my mother as her scream for help traveled through the air to nearest ears that were open. Her and her husband were the friendliest older couple I have ever met. I can’t completely remember the name of her husband so well call him Lorettas husband for now, but Loretta, was a sweetheart. Every holiday, including those nationally celebrated and those that weren’t, we were always trading gifts and wine bottles. by the age of 18, I must have tasted about 25 different types of wine from all corners of the world. And that is not an exaggeration. She opened my eyes and taste buds to Italian food, as we opened hers to Nigerian cuisine also, not to mention, she was gardener, and a great one at that. On frequent occasions, she would bring freshly grown tomatoes and peppers over to us in abundant amounts, and boy, if you cook often, you would be instantly notice that something tasted fresh. During the early days of spring of every spring that I knew Lorettas husband, we would always sit on the chair on his front yard and talk about how shitty the Knicks were, debating and placing friendly wagers that the knicks would have a worse record than the preceding season next season. Ironic thing is that we were both die hard knick fans..its quite funny looking back at those days now and I would give almost anything to have those days/neighbors back, which is part of the reason why I cant let this place go.
Inside was three rooms an attic and a play room, which was my favorite part of the house. The playroom, though not the biggest space in the world, but decent in size was where I spent almost all, if not all of my time. It composed of a TV and a kick ass sound system temporarily erased our worries at the time away. We had what was then, the hottest gaming console on the market, a Sony play station 2, a computer, a couch that was just incredibly comfortable, and finally, the most comfortable carpet I ever lay my feet on. Everyday after school, my first stop was the dual door refrigerator to grab a drink, and then off to the playroom to do my homework as I listened to music. Followed by an infinite amount of hours in front of the TV, watching nickelodeon. That room was my getaway from the problems I had to endure cause of that man. That room was also the room where I introduced my first major girlfriend to my mother and the rest of my family, the same room where my father slapped me across my face, the same room where I learned how to do the “heel toe” which was a popular dance at the time. The room that had numerous of my drawings across the whole room as if there was a holiday that designated picture to be hung up like Christmas decorations do. My personal dinning room, and room, though it was a play room, but more than normal, I found myself waking up on the couch during the wee hours of the morning, only to drag myself in a zombie type method to my room, which I shared with my brother.
My sister’s room was right next to the playroom, and boy, was it obvious to tell whose room that was. Barbie dolls everywhere, mix matched colorful shoes all over the place, dresses, skinny jeans, and hair tie things. She was not your normal 13-year-old, but in the best of ways. Bro, can you please help me put this picture on my wall, bro can u help me fix my window, it wont close. The silly rabbit had forgotten she had put the lock on when she opened it. Cant complain though because I loved helping her in any way I could, but I couldn’t figure out if I especially did not care because it was my beloved sister I was helping, or if it was because I just loved being helpful around the house.
Me and my brothers room is next, it was about 16 x 16 in size and was obviously obvious whose room it belonged to just by approaching the door and looking at the sign that was drawn and pasted on the back of the door. “no girls allowed, please knock” in reference to my sister. It was childish if you ask me, but had to be done for my sister had a nasty habit of just barging in the room unannounced or without knocking. The drawings flowed from the walls of the playroom down to the room. Pictures that were drawn of me and my brother, favorite NBA players, cars I loved and would love to own someday were other types of pictures that were on display throughout the room. My bed was on the right and his was on the left. He got what I wanted as I love sleeping by the window. The room had a perfect view to the outside world, but I had to go on to my brothers side of the room to see the outside world, which more than often, got on his nerves.
The living room, was just that, a living room. Though rarely occupied, it was still beautiful. It had fluffy red wall-to-wall carpeting, a huge fireplace, and white walls with dashes of pink. A huge sliding door that led to the backyard, but at the same token gave a view of Lorettas backyard also. Black leather couches, and a surround sound system that had a lot of “HMPH”. The living room was the second thing that you walked into upon entering the house- the kitchen was the first. The living room was where my sister had her major first party, and boy did it turn out good. She had about 30 of her friends over, and it was like running our own chuck e cheese for the day. The one song that I cant seem to forget playing that whole day is by jimmy eat world, and the name was “the middle.” Me and my sister literally grabbed two remote controlls and started singing to each other like some American idol rejects,-
It just takes some time,
little girl, you're in the middle of the ride.
Everything, everything will be just fine,
Everything, everything will be alright. (alright)
Everyone crowded around us and cheered us on.. wow, good ol’ days. That is one particular moment in my life that I will forever be grateful for and also glad I had a chance to experience. As much as I loved this place, it was taken from me within the blink of an eye.
"Ring ring", “is Mr Akinyemi home?”, “no he is not, how can I help you” I replied, “well, my name is Mathew Pavlushkin, and im here to inform you that the new owners will be moving in 3 weeks” “WHAT?!?!?, you cant be serious I replied shocked and hurt. “Yes I am sir, please make sure you deliver the message, have a good day”
He replied in a such a way that in comparison to the coldest day of the coldest winter, it was summer. My so-called father had sold the house without our knowledge, leaving me, my mother, brother and sister to find a house within that time frame. I was shocked, offended, sickened, heated, poignant, aggravated, full of rage, disappointed, and lastly robbed. I never thought the day would come when I had to say goodbye to it. I was in shock for about a week, grief for the second, and tears all through out the third. A piece of me was taken from me. It is fair to say that materialistic things can be replaced or bought back. I beg to differ, memories I had in that house cannot be paid for, or bought, and I know, it was a memory, and as long as I have it, its mine to keep, but for some reason, getting forced to move out doesn’t make it the same anymore. Those memories don’t have as much “BANG” as they could potentially have if we didn’t have to pack up and leave.
As we see, animals and humans are not the only things that people can get emotionally attached to. It can be places, things, smells, or even pictures; for me, 70 Colonia boulevard, Rahway NJ 07065 is the address that was. As said earlier, it wasn't the biggest of houses, but adequate enough. A place where tears were shed, bonds created, and believe it or not, love actually found. I find myself driving by this house almost every day, as I only seem to remember the good memories whenever I drive by. On occasion, i actually drive out of the way to get a glance, with the most recent visit being today on my way home from work. Stopping to think of the holidays we shared there, and having the best neighbor one could ask for, trading gifts and bottles of wine every thanksgiving and Christmas, and just having someone to relax with on warm spring afternoons. Most people have a difficult time with loosing things that have life, such as people, or animals, but i seem to be having the most difficult time saying a final goodbye to Colonia Boulevard. I cant exactly say why, whether it be because we’ve had such terrible luck with houses and neighbors both in our recent searches, or maybe the manner in which we had to leave the house.. i can only laugh at that situation now, but that is not the one at hand. I just cant seem to find the strength to say a final goodbye, but writing this might have helped me understand why i cant say goodbye to it, and why i keep going back to it more than often. Nothing has changed, still blue as ever with the white shutters, and the white with gold trimmed storm door. It is as if it is waiting for me, being loyal, and telling me that it will always be there. I was robbed of something that meant to so much to me. They say everything happens for a reason, and that when one door closes, numerous ones open. HA!, till tomorrow, im still waiting for my reason to be forced to say goodbye, striving to make sense of why things had to end the way they did, and I definitely don’t want another door to open, except for one exception; the doors to 70 Colonia Boulevard
Monday, December 7, 2009
Blog #22
Who We Are
NIDUS
Board of Editors
Don Strange
Managing Editor
Karin Lin-Greenberg
Fiction Editor
Jonathan Loucks
Poetry Editor
Heather McEntarfer
Creative Nonfiction
Editor
Marshall Warfield
Art Editor
Nidus accepts submissions of poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction, with a 5000 word limit year-round and simultaneous submissions are acceptable, but in that scenario, would prefer to know if the piece of work has been accepted elsewhere.
Nidus was my choice for my presentation, and by definition, is a" breeding place; a place where something originates, develops or is located". Their journal strives to be a foundation and core for talented writers and judicious readers where the works of both established and up-and-coming writers are featuredAfter re-reading my first essay about my brother and i, noticed a few similarities between my essay, and those that were accepted in Nidus. In the creative non-fiction essay, "catch Scratch Fever" found in NIdus, it is a story about two brothers, though, not related by blood, but rather than by marriage. Carl in this particular story would represent me differently then, and now. Towards the end of the story, the main character saw the woods as the genesis in realizing that life could end at any moment. his care for life began in the woods when he almost had his head blown to smithereens by a shotgun. My beginning point would be at my boarding school in which i attended with my brother who was my best friend. This particular cursed ground would be where my uncaring attitude towards my brother would begin. Years of friendship washed away within what seemed like the blink of an eye
NIDUS
Board of Editors
Don Strange
Managing Editor
Karin Lin-Greenberg
Fiction Editor
Jonathan Loucks
Poetry Editor
Heather McEntarfer
Creative Nonfiction
Editor
Marshall Warfield
Art Editor
Nidus accepts submissions of poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction, with a 5000 word limit year-round and simultaneous submissions are acceptable, but in that scenario, would prefer to know if the piece of work has been accepted elsewhere.
Nidus was my choice for my presentation, and by definition, is a" breeding place; a place where something originates, develops or is located". Their journal strives to be a foundation and core for talented writers and judicious readers where the works of both established and up-and-coming writers are featuredAfter re-reading my first essay about my brother and i, noticed a few similarities between my essay, and those that were accepted in Nidus. In the creative non-fiction essay, "catch Scratch Fever" found in NIdus, it is a story about two brothers, though, not related by blood, but rather than by marriage. Carl in this particular story would represent me differently then, and now. Towards the end of the story, the main character saw the woods as the genesis in realizing that life could end at any moment. his care for life began in the woods when he almost had his head blown to smithereens by a shotgun. My beginning point would be at my boarding school in which i attended with my brother who was my best friend. This particular cursed ground would be where my uncaring attitude towards my brother would begin. Years of friendship washed away within what seemed like the blink of an eye
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