On writing.
So one of my classes this semester is "Intro to non-fiction writing." This is my first non-required ENGL class, and I think I'm going to enjoy it immensely. The professor is a tad flighty, and has three more cats than me, but the people in the class seem fun and the assignments are pretty interesting. One of the first things I had to read for the class has a really interesting second paragraph:
This is the first requirement for good writing: truth; not THE truth (whoever knows surely what that is?), but some kind of truth - a connection between the things written about, the words used in the writing, and the author's experience in a world she knows well - whether in fact or dream of imagination.
Strangely, this ties in nicely to the "what is fact" theme of my last ENGL class, English 302 for History Majors. Overall, I like where this is going. So, with that, I post my first assignment for the class, just for shits and giggles mostly. The assignment was to write a one-page (non-fiction) story in which you skip the background info and "get straight to the heart of the story"
For you, here, I'll give a tad of background however. It takes place when Mark and I were in LA for the primeire of Matrix 3: Neo becomes Christ, at the after party. The pre-party had only two beverages at the (thankfully open) bar: Midori Sours and champagne.
***********
Ben Davis
ENGL 309
Mistaken Identity
As my friend and I saddled up to the bar, I turned my head to take in our surroundings. We were in a large tent separated roughly in half by a DJ perched precariously on some scaffolding that was moving back in forth not to the time of the terrible drum-n-bass he was playing, but to the frenzied dancing of the DJ himself. At one of the other bars, near the back, I thought I saw Keanu Reeves trying to blend into the crowd. I heard my friend talking (well, shouting over the music) to the bartender: “Do you have more than Midori Sours?” “Yeah, it’s a full bar.” “OK, I’ll have a White Russian.”
I tapped him on the shoulder, pointed to the back bar and said “is that Keanu Reeves?” He shrugged, apathetically. “Not much for stargazing, eh?” I replied as the bartender turned to me. I ordered a screwdriver to balance the disgustingly sweet aftertaste of the four Midori Sours I had already consumed at the pre-party.
I felt a tug on the sleeve of my jacket, turned and saw two skater-looking kids not more than fourteen years old looking up at me. “Aren’t you that guy from Spun?” One of them asked, as he brushed his bangs away from his eyes. I told him no as I took my drink and turned away. I heard the other say “I told you it was him! He just didn’t want to talk to some dumb kids!”
As we walked to the back bar to try to catch a better look at “Keanu,” I wondered if the kid had confused me with Jason Schwartzman because I looked like him or because I looked like the speed freak he portrayed in Spun. I certainly don’t look like his character in Rushmore.
When we got within a few feet of “Keanu,” I noticed a leggy, tanned blonde with way too much cleavage showing drunkenly stumble up to him. “Hey, aren’t you Keanu Reeves?” she asked. “Nope, sorry.” He replied, as he turned away and took a sip of his beer. I chuckled. She slinked away, back to a group of about a half dozen, leggy, tanned girls who had watched her embarrass herself. No doubt they prodded her to do it, and would be teasing her for the rest of the night.
My friend, who had also witnessed the entire scene, pointed over to the group of girls and said “Hey, you should go over there and introduce yourself as “that guy from Spun.”
******
As for "truth": I only removed a bunch of shit that happened in the middle (between the kids and me seeing Neo with the girl) and what mark supposedly said to me I really just thought it to myself. Well, that and I don't remember what I ordered.
This is the first requirement for good writing: truth; not THE truth (whoever knows surely what that is?), but some kind of truth - a connection between the things written about, the words used in the writing, and the author's experience in a world she knows well - whether in fact or dream of imagination.
Strangely, this ties in nicely to the "what is fact" theme of my last ENGL class, English 302 for History Majors. Overall, I like where this is going. So, with that, I post my first assignment for the class, just for shits and giggles mostly. The assignment was to write a one-page (non-fiction) story in which you skip the background info and "get straight to the heart of the story"
For you, here, I'll give a tad of background however. It takes place when Mark and I were in LA for the primeire of Matrix 3: Neo becomes Christ, at the after party. The pre-party had only two beverages at the (thankfully open) bar: Midori Sours and champagne.
***********
Ben Davis
ENGL 309
Mistaken Identity
As my friend and I saddled up to the bar, I turned my head to take in our surroundings. We were in a large tent separated roughly in half by a DJ perched precariously on some scaffolding that was moving back in forth not to the time of the terrible drum-n-bass he was playing, but to the frenzied dancing of the DJ himself. At one of the other bars, near the back, I thought I saw Keanu Reeves trying to blend into the crowd. I heard my friend talking (well, shouting over the music) to the bartender: “Do you have more than Midori Sours?” “Yeah, it’s a full bar.” “OK, I’ll have a White Russian.”
I tapped him on the shoulder, pointed to the back bar and said “is that Keanu Reeves?” He shrugged, apathetically. “Not much for stargazing, eh?” I replied as the bartender turned to me. I ordered a screwdriver to balance the disgustingly sweet aftertaste of the four Midori Sours I had already consumed at the pre-party.
I felt a tug on the sleeve of my jacket, turned and saw two skater-looking kids not more than fourteen years old looking up at me. “Aren’t you that guy from Spun?” One of them asked, as he brushed his bangs away from his eyes. I told him no as I took my drink and turned away. I heard the other say “I told you it was him! He just didn’t want to talk to some dumb kids!”
As we walked to the back bar to try to catch a better look at “Keanu,” I wondered if the kid had confused me with Jason Schwartzman because I looked like him or because I looked like the speed freak he portrayed in Spun. I certainly don’t look like his character in Rushmore.
When we got within a few feet of “Keanu,” I noticed a leggy, tanned blonde with way too much cleavage showing drunkenly stumble up to him. “Hey, aren’t you Keanu Reeves?” she asked. “Nope, sorry.” He replied, as he turned away and took a sip of his beer. I chuckled. She slinked away, back to a group of about a half dozen, leggy, tanned girls who had watched her embarrass herself. No doubt they prodded her to do it, and would be teasing her for the rest of the night.
My friend, who had also witnessed the entire scene, pointed over to the group of girls and said “Hey, you should go over there and introduce yourself as “that guy from Spun.”
******
As for "truth": I only removed a bunch of shit that happened in the middle (between the kids and me seeing Neo with the girl) and what mark supposedly said to me I really just thought it to myself. Well, that and I don't remember what I ordered.