Experimental Writing

I. Homolinguistic Translation

 

Alliteration: Twilight Terrors

            The toddler, tonight togged in turquoise trousers, thrashed temperamentally in trepidation.   Twisted trolls and traumatizing titans transfused her thoughts tonight, taking her into a terrifying trance.  Toxic tarantulas, theatrical tricks, and tragic trapdoors threatened the tiny tot.  The troubled toddler tossed and turned, tangling the thick, threaded throw and toppling it with a tsunami of transudation.  Tense and tear-stricken, she traveled to the teenager and translated these troubling thoughts.  The teen tranquilized and tickled the thrilled tot ‘til the tears terminated, and they then traversed toward the tot’s trundle.  The thoughtful teen tested the tank-top trunk for trolls, then tucked the thankful toddler tightly under the throw.  The teen told tall tales ‘til the toddler tapered off at twilight.

Fury: Red slip

            It was fucking 3:49 a.m. and I still could not fall asleep.  It was Ms. Dowling’s fault, the rotten brat.  What a sorry excuse for a teacher.  I was only five freaking minutes late.  Five freaking minutes!  That was all it took for her to fucking hand me the red detention slip.  Red, bright red.  Well, I’d show her.  I wouldn’t go to detention.  Fuck it.  Fuck school.  Fuck Algebra.  Fuck the red slip.  It had looked almost like a shredded animal carcass, ripped open and torn into raw strips of red flesh.  Littering the garbage can with tattered skin and splattering it with bloody tissue.  Red tissue.  Red blood. Perhaps Ms. Dowling’s even.

            I lay there cursing Ms. Dowling under my breath when all of a sudden Jaclyn banged on my freaking door.  At bloody 3:49 a.m.  Was she fucking kidding me?  A nightmare? Really?  That’s why you’re fucking smacking my door like there’s no God damn tomorrow.  Why couldn’t she knock on Mom’s door for bloody once?  No wonder I was always late to school.  How the hell could I wake up on time when I was up until freaking four in the morning every mother fucking night?  I walked her back to bed just so she would finally stop pounding on my door so loudly.  She even made me check her dresser for monsters and tell her a story.  What kind of kid gets that scared over a dream anyway?  I told her the shortest story I knew before slamming her door shut and locking mine.

            4: 06 a.m. That inconsiderate, selfish bitch of a sister.

 

 

Omitted Vowels: Erase the E

            It is January sixth around four a.m.  Jaclyn is tossing and turning drastically on a small cot in shock and alarm.  Night visions of daunting goblins and ghosts haunt this girl.  Disturbing trolls and titans shock and alarm this child too.  Waking quickly in panic, Jaclyn darts to Danny’s room for comfort.  Danny calms his sibling so the noisy sobs and shouts finally stop.  Danny walks Jaclyn back to the pink room with the tiny cot, looks for villains and mammoths in a drawer flowing with tank-tops, and tucks this child back in.  Jaclyn asks him for a story, so Danny says a quick myth and walks back to his own room.  It is almost dawn as Danny’s lids finally shut.

 

 

Commentary:

            For my piece, I mimicked the literary technique Raymond Queneau used in Exercises in Style.  I tell the same basic narrative in three different forms: Alliteration with words beginning with the letter “T,” “Fury,” a style that captures emotions like rage and anger, and “Erase the E,” in which I restricted myself to using words that do not contain the vowel “e.”

It was fascinating challenging myself to see how I could write the same story in different forms and styles, as well as from different perspectives.  Imposing restraints was an especially enjoyable, yet difficult, task for me.  The two restraints I used were alliteration and exclusion of the vowel “e.”  It was interesting to see how these restrictions altered the context of the story, as well as the tenses and vocabulary I could use.  As a result, very different stories came about, all including different descriptions and details, but based on the same basic plot.  New details came to light with each version, and I was able to portray several extremely diverse points of view concerning one event.

In my second version, in particular, I tried to convey an entirely different and somewhat surprising view of the story.  While the older brother, Danny, is represented from a positive light in the first and third version, I tried to portray him as an irritable character in the second story, helping his sister reluctantly and only out of self-interest to stop her from loudly knocking on his door.  My favorite part of this exercise is that the reader does not know which version is the most accurate.  Though the first and third story are told in the third-person and from seemingly neutral perspectives, the reader cannot simply conclude that these two versions are any more realistic than the second.  Also, certain details are purposefully left out, such as why the sister knocks on her brother’s door over her parents’.  Like Queneau, using different styles and narrators helped me to translate the text in very diverse ways, even though all three versions are in English.

 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

II.  Recombination (1):

 

 

Painted White

 

The frosted air leaks through her unsealed window

Chapping her knuckles raw and dry

Outside voices carry above the wind,

But she remains upstairs, watching

the runny-nosed children gleefully pass her by.

Flurries pepper the pavement, coating the asphalt in a cloud fleece

Red mittens interlock leather gloves, sleigh riders’ grins warm red cheeks

The dim-lit buildings glow softly under a veil of white

Troubles past are glossed over as the town slides into night.

 

Flurries pepper the pavement, coating the asphalt in a cloud fleece

Red mittens interlock leather gloves, sleigh riders’ grins warm red cheeks

The dim-lit buildings glow softly under a veil of white

Troubles past are glossed over as the town slides into night

The frosted air leaks through her unsealed window

Chapping her knuckles raw and dry

Outside voices carry above the wind,

But she remains upstairs, watching.

The runny-nosed children gleefully pass her by.

 

 

Commentary:

            After I finished writing Painted White, I realized that the instructions for the assignment significantly affected the way I structured my poem.  I knew that I would ultimately divide the poem in half and switch the order of the lines before I began writing.  I thus wrote my fifth line so that it could also be used to end the poem.  I was thus careful not to leave off with a fragment, and worked to fulfill the traditional conception of an ending statement.  I also strived to construct two endings that left the reader in very diverse emotional states.  In the first poem, I try to convey a sense of promise for a hopeful future, where troubles are “glossed over” by nightfall and snow.  In the recombination, I try to portray feelings of separation and loneliness.  In order to do this, I split up the fourth and fifth lines into two separate sentences.  I felt that this really emphasized her position as an outsider, watching from the window in an isolated location.

 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

III: Recombination (2): Doubling

           

1, 2, 4, 8, 16.

 

 

I do fear becoming self-destructive.

           

I do fear becoming self-destructive. I do seek constant reinterpretation.

 

I do fear becoming self-destructive. I do seek constant reinterpretation.  I do want

original characterization. I do face barriers enthusiastically.

 

I do fear becoming self-destructive. I do seek constant reclassification.  I do want

original characterization. I do face barriers enthusiastically.  I do know passion’s

indispensability.  I do feel timeless interconnections.  I do make absolute

rationalizations.  I do want uncommon reinterpretation.

 

I do fear becoming self-destructive. I do seek constant reclassification.  I do want

original characterization. I do face barriers enthusiastically.  I do know passion’s

indispensability.  I do feel timeless interconnections.  I do make absolute

rationalizations.  I do want uncommon reinterpretation.  I do make atypical

reconstructions.  I do fear devilish shortsightedness.  I do fret shameful

underperformance.  I do seek avoiding non-communication.  I do hate improper

responsibilities.  I do hate enduring disillusionments.  I am just learning

internationalism.  I am just becoming multidimensional.

 

 

 

Commentary:

For this poem, I constructed each sentence by doubling the amount of letters in each word.  I started each sentence with a one-letter word, then a two-letter word, then four-letter, eight-letter, and finally, a sixteen-letter word.  I also doubled the amount of sentences in each paragraph, and repeated the sentences from the prior paragraphs in each new one.  This exercise was the most difficult of the three, since I had to follow extremely rigid rules and find words that fit precise letter lengths.  The result was that many of my lines repeated certain fragments, such as “I do make” and “I do fear,” since there were very few combinations of words that made logical sense and adhered to these word length patterns.