Kenya McDuffie
3/31/2019 Time: 9:50 a.m My focus on blog #10 and #11 is about how the argument in these films made me feel (impact on my being), think (impact my knowing) and how it made me want to change (impact my doing) Miss Representation Miss Representation Discussion Guide Miss Representation Script The Mask You Live In The Mask You Live In Discussion Guide In response to watching these films what I felt was a sense of hurt, guilt, anger, confusion and at one point a total lost for our society. I decided to watch The Mask You Live In first, because I kind of already had a general idea of what it’s like to be a woman ( because I am one) living in today's society. The The Mask You Live In showed me how early on in a man’s life that they are conditioned to not show emotions. That they are to be tough and dominate, because if you don’t you’re a pussy, wimp, or you’re less of a man. Boys were being desensitized and deprived of the very thing that makes us human. I had no clue of all the pressure, scrutiny, and emotional abuse and deprivation, that boys had to endure. Anger and hurt consumed my heart. No child should be told not to cry or suppress feelings that will allow them to grow, adapt or learn, especially when they're hurting, scared, angry, or feeling lonely. Those bottled up emotions can be very toxic to oneself and others. To make matters worse the media and vast majority of video games, in some aspect kind of coexist with what boys and young men are being told as child. Shaping and molding them with this hyper masculinity imagery of what and how a man should be. To me this horrifically insane! How are we as a nation allowing this to be “the norm”? It is clearly visible that by continuing to enforce this ideal image of what a man should be, is destroying the true nature of a boy growing up to be a man. Whereas in Miss Representation the media, men and women too are shaming, bashing, and brainwashing young girls, giving false illusions of what a girl or woman should be. The media who I feel and think is the culprit, is sending out an array of distorted messages when it comes to women. Messages that says you being genetically born the way your are is not good enough. Or if God forbid that you are born with good genetics, that that's where your value and worth stop. When the media portrays a woman even just a simple level in movies, ads or commercials it's on an unrealistic aspect. After the ten pounds of makeup is put on, they then go through another process called photoshop. Who real is that? Then young girls see these flawless faces, perfectly shaped bodies and compare them to their own and feel out of place. It's demoralizing to say the least and also causes conflict with self and envy towards other young women, as well as old women too. Not only did women struggle with physical appearance, being intelligent, and independent became a problem as well. Once women wanted to break down the stereotypes, men became threatened. And I truly feel that that only transpired due to the context of how women are portrayed in the world through the media. It's a vicious cycle that's governed by man and media. Taking all of this and more in into prospective, I plan to love myself for who I am, love others for who they are, respect their individuality, differences, and not be entirely influenced by subjective things that the media shows. Because we are all perfectly flawed, born in to the world learn and grow from each other's differences and embrace our own.
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In this blog I will be quoting from these three texts:Our Discourse Community Values, What is Literacy? (James Paul Gee), We Are Many (Pablo Neruda).
My focus of this blog is to point out informative information that helped me get a better understanding of Literacy and the characteristics of a Discourse Community. All the books I read lionize dazzling hero figures, brimming with self-assurance. I die with envy of them; and, in films where bullets fly on the wind, I am left in envy of the cowboys, left admiring even the horses. But when I call upon my DASHING BEING, out comes the same OLD LAZY SELF, and so I never know just WHO I AM, nor how many I am, nor WHO WE WILL BE BEING. I would like to be able to touch a bell and call up my real self, the truly me, because if I really need my proper self, I must not allow myself to disappear. - “Pablo Neruda” A socially accepted association among ways of using language, of thinking, and of acting that can be used to identify oneself as a member of a socially meaningful group or “social network.” .- “James Paul Gee” Think of a discourse as an “identity kit” which comes complete with the appropriate costume and instructions on how to act and talk so as to take on a particular role that others will recognize. Some other examples of discourse: being an American or a Russian, being man or a woman, being a member of a certain socio-economic class, being a factory worker or a boardroom executive, being a doctor or a hospital patient, being a teacher, an administrator, or a student, being member of a sewing circle, a club, a street gang, a lunchtime social gathering, or a regular at a local watering hole.- “James Paul Gee” Or a group of people who are trying to achieve specific common goals. Accomplishing these goals through the use of intercommunication among members of the community. Communicate through a number of different ways and develop some specific words and sayings (jargon) unique to that group.- “John Swales”. Discourses are inherently “ideological”, they crucially involve a set of values and viewpoints. They are resistant to internal criticism and self-scrutiny, defines positions from which to speak and behave are not, however, just defined internal to a discourse, but also as standpoints taken up by the discourse in its relation to others, ultimately opposing, discourse. As well as concern itself with certain objects and puts forward certain concepts, viewpoints, and values at the expense of others. Discourse are intimately related to the distribution of social power and hierarchical structure in society. Control over certain discourses can lead to acquisition of social goods (money, power, status) in a society.- “James Paul Gee” Rhetorical is defined as relating to, or concerned with the art of speaking or writing formally and effectively as a way to persuade or influence people. The three elements of a rhetorical situation are audience, exigence and constraints. Audience: who you are writing to. Exigence: the problem you are writing to solve. Constraints: limitations you have to factor into your writing. In relations to discourse community: The members of the discourse community constitute the audience of the rhetorical situation. The exigence of the writing works towards the common goals of the discourse community you are writing for. Constraints include using the genre,lexis and methods of the community. My focus on blog post #5 is how theses three videos Wizard of Oz: If I Only Had The Brain, Heart, Nerve Wizard of Oz: Meeting the Wizard Wizard of Oz: You've Always Had the Power allowed me to travel back to a place and time in my life, and reflect on my Narrative Project. Where I first encountered a life changing moment, as well as emotions.
In my Narrative project I allow you to relive a moment in my life, when at the early age of seven I lost my Mother. I will reflect on what I seen and how it was difficult for me to process that moment as a child, and Illustrate them now as I have a better understanding of what each thought and feeling meant. My Narrative explores the on the emotion of sadness, pain, and grief while finding it confusing to fully process the concept of life and death. And seeing how my Sister, Father and Grandmothers reactions only enhanced the state of emotions that I then became aware of. As I shine the light on those new found emotions, (that I never thought I would have to experience on an personal level) I now know that these emotional experiences are a given that come with life. You have to be strong despite it all, and keep moving forward. Although my narrative focuses primarily on what I witnessed and the emotions that embodied me, I will incorporate symbolisms: such a an object or an image that resonated with me at that giving time. Conflict: me trying to understand what my Mother death meant for me and everyone affected by it. A Theme that gives you an idea of the story you are about to read. An introduction to the main characters whose actions influenced my thoughts and emotions. Along with a setting that will help you visualize and piece together my story. By opening an old wound that nearly took most of my life to close, I am allowing all the memories and emotions to resurface and flow, put me in that space and time in my life where confusion, hurt, pain, being scared, and at one point completely disconnected from the world all came rushing in at once. And by living through it all, braving the storms with what little knowledge I had then intertwined with the courage and wisdom I have now, gives me the strength to tell my story. In this last paragraph, I will reiterate a question that my English Teacher asked me and answer it with my truth and honesty. He asked “What shapes our sense of identity: Life events or the stories we tell ourselves about life events? In my personal opinion it's tricky, but I feel it’s events. Life events allows you to experience that moment, may it be joyous, sad, anger or love. Without life events what stories would we have to tell? Without life events what emotions or thought would there be for us to explore? The events we encounter throughout life can shape us, causing us be more cautious, empathetic, analytical, humble overall more in touch with who we are as a person. My Narrative Project: A Wizard-of-Oz Journey
My focus on blog post #5 is how theses three videos Wizard of Oz: If I Only Had The Brain, Heart, Nerve Wizard of Oz: Meeting the Wizard Wizard of Oz: You've Always Had the Power allowed me to travel back to a place and time in my life, and reflect on my Narrative Project. Where I first encountered a life changing moment, as well as emotions. In my Narrative project I allow you to relive a moment in my life, when at the early age of seven I lost my Mother. I will reflect on what I seen and how it was difficult for me to process that moment as a child, and Illustrate them now as I have a better understanding of what each thought and feeling meant. My Narrative explores the on the emotion of sadness, pain, and grief while finding it confusing to fully process the concept of life and death. And seeing how my Sister, Father and Grandmothers reactions only enhanced the state of emotions that I then became aware of. As I shine the light on those new found emotions, (that I never thought I would have to experience on an personal level) I now know that these emotional experiences are a given that come with life. You have to be strong despite it all, and keep moving forward. Although my narrative focuses primarily on what I witnessed and the emotions that embodied me, I will incorporate symbolisms: such a an object or an image that resonated with me at that giving time. Conflict: me trying to understand what my Mother death meant for me and everyone affected by it. A Theme that gives you an idea of the story you are about to read. An introduction to the main characters whose actions influenced my thoughts and emotions. Along with a setting that will help you visualize and piece together my story. By opening an old wound that nearly took most of my life to close, I am allowing all the memories and emotions to resurface and flow, put me in that space and time in my life where confusion, hurt, pain, being scared, and at one point completely disconnected from the world all came rushing in at once. And by living through it all, braving the storms with what little knowledge I had then intertwined with the courage and wisdom I have now, gives me the strength to tell my story. In this last paragraph, I will reiterate a question that my English Teacher asked me and answer it with my truth and honesty. He asked “What shapes our sense of identity: Life events or the stories we tell ourselves about life events? In my personal opinion it's tricky, but I feel it’s events. Life events allows you to experience that moment, may it be joyous, sad, anger or love. Without life events what stories would we have to tell? Without life events what emotions or thought would there be for us to explore? The events we encounter throughout life can shape us, causing us be more cautious, empathetic, analytical, humble overall more in touch with who we are as a person. My blog is going to connect with the reading Hills Like White Elephants (Ernest Hemingway) . I to was placed in a similar situation were it was a little difficult to discuss or even talk about the “elephant” in the room because we both had our own strong personal opinions about bringing a child into this world. And being conflicted on how it would either make my life, our relationship better or worse. The broken and cracked bench is symbolic to the way I felt after the conversation.
If I was to say that that day was just like any other day, I would be lying. “Why do I have to? Why should I? Did she do it? Fuck no!” I shouted through my cellphone as I watched the children getting off the bus, just happy and cheerful without a care in the world. Seeing them in that state with their matching hats and gloves only intensified my emotions.” Because I” was all I heard when I pulled the phone away from my ear and ended the call. Looking out the window across the field, I watched the rest of the kids get off the bus, run to their assigned teachers and head towards the blue double doors of the daycare. A wave of thoughts and mixed emotions was my mood until Mrs. Sweeny walked in. “Oh my word! You sure match the saying of “putting a little elbow grease into it” now don’t you?!” With whatever positivity I had left in me I smiled politely and said “I’m glad your pleased.” My attitude and face changed as soon as turned my back. I heard her clear her throat, my teeth clenched because i just knew she was going to ask for a favor. Something like can I get her blouse from out of her closet that reeked of moth balls or get her gourmet candy that looked wax but tasted old and stale, like it was the first candy ever made. But instead I heard “your so nice and beautiful, you’ll make a perfect wife and have such beautiful little darlings.” As if being nice and beautiful with the ability to clean” was a guarantee that I'll be a wife with children. Not in today's day and age but i guess that’s how things were in her time, I thought to myself. With a faint smile I waved her goodbye and made my way out the apartment. I had a strong craving for butter pecan ice cream while walking to my next cleaning job in the same apartment complex but just a few doors down. Checking my watch I seen that I still had roughly around twenty minutes to spare. The chandeliers were extremely dusty which made the light that shined look dim and the once pretty white walls look cream. The hallway carpet had been removed due to the new renovations the apartment complex was undergoing. But the smell of vitamins and cheap perfume lingered throughout the hallway and it made me nauseous. Making my way out the building I could see the construction workers pulling up to get their day started. Walking to the smoker’s station felt like I walked a mile, when it was only fifteen feet or so away. Taking a pull on my cigarette usually calms my nerves but instead I spit up last night meal all over the ground. Spitting the rest of the acidic, tart tasting vomit out my mouth I felt my phone vibrate. I waited for it to vibrate again to cause i just knew for a fact that it was him that was calling. But it didn’t, so I knew it was a text or even more likely an email. Reaching into my tight khaki uniforms pants that i just out of the blue started to hate and grabbed my phone. Sure enough it was a text that read “call me now please?” Five minutes of the conversation was light hearted with a little laughter here and there. “So you still want to keep the baby? Just think about how altered your life would be?” I would never get to see you right, cause you will be working all week, and the day you have off is committed to sleep right?” The voice that spoke so boldly just a day ago now sounded soft and confused. “How are you to care for a baby and your grandma? We have limited time now with each other so if you do we’ll never have time for each other.” All I’m saying is your, were so young and have so much more life to live. I promise next time around will be different we will be ready.” Are we not ready now? If it wasn’t meant to be here why did this happen? It’s called a mistake Kenya they happen, but you going through with it doesn’t take all the good in you, and it deserve our best at our best. Don’t you agree? Picking away at the old bench that had all types of marks on it I replied “I guess.” Blog Title: Composing an Emotional Scene
When I touched my object, it took me back to the morning of September 7, 1992. I remember lying in bed feeling the warmth of my brother Kenzie skin against mine, giving me comfort and keeping me warm as if he was my very own personal heating blanket. The sun light gave an eerie orange hue that made the living room look hazy and surreal. Before my brain could send a signal to my body to stretch, Kenzie threw the blanket off him frantically and dashed towards my mother who was sitting to the left of us on the couch. Mom! Mom! Kenzie shouted, but it was the sheer panic and distress that I heard in his voice that drew a type of sacredness that my body freeze. My breaths were short and fast, the darkness from the that blanket Kenzie threw on me only seem to enhance the state I was in. My hands shaking as can feel almost each thread in the rigid blanket as I quickly pulled them off my face. To my surprise Kenzie was sitting on the lifeless body of who use to be my Mom’s lap, slapping her, screaming wake up, wake up, please wake up! Kenzie turned to me with eyes as red as blood with tears running down his mournful face, in the most pitiful way saying, “close your eyes.”. I felt the pain in the corners of my eyes as the tears started to form giving me a blurred vision, making it impossible to see the hands that used to caress my cheeks every morning to wake me up, cook family meals, help me write my name, tie my shoes, wash me, grab me and pull close when I was afraid, and comfort me lay lifeless. COVER YOUR EYES! Everything went black. Screams of OH MY GOD, LORD NO, FUCK, GET HELP, CALL THE AMBULANCE, GET THE KIDS seemed to come from every direction. Sitting in the middle of the pull-out bed putting so much pressure on my eyes to cover them I can start to feel a light pulse, bump, bump, bump. I was almost in a trance like state. For a moment it became quiet, as if I was in a dark room all alone with no way for sound and light to enter. Suddenly a grip that was aggressive and strong reached under my underarms lifted and pulled me fast that when my feet scrapped the side of the wall it left a brush burn on the of it. Not knowing who was holding me, I wrapped my arms around their neck and buried my face deep into their shoulders it was almost impossible for me to breathe. My body bounced a few times before I noticed we were outside. The arms that held me tightly swung from side to side and I could hear their heart beat. The heart beat was so clear so loud you could almost hear the blood pumping through it. The security from this embrace gave me a sense of calmness, but in the same breath worry. Finding the courage to lift my head up I see the front door wide open with people running in and across the living room in a frantic and petrified state. The orange hue was even brighter outside. It seem to zoom in on the screen door making it look the house had no windows, walls, steps or foundation. Just a door. I will be taking quotes from three authors processes of writing. I will add my own quotes of my process of reading. All quotes are written in a scene as if we were having a conversation.
As I sat in the sports bar waiting for a couple of friends to arrive, I pulled my phone out of my pocket to check my messages to make sure no one flaked out on me at the last minute. As I sat there waiting anxiously I over heard a very interesting conversation about the processes of writing taking place behind me. And when I turned around to get a look at the people that was having the conversation, it was Don Murray, Mary Karr and Anne Lamott. I did not hesitate to make my presence known. I got up out of my seat nearly tripping over my own feet as I made my way to them. As I got closer Karr say "Every writer I know who’s worth a damn spends way more time “losing” than “winning”—if success means typing a polished page that lands in print as is. Hello my name is Kenya and I couldn't help but t come over after hearing the topic you guys were discussing. I myself is facing some road blocks when it comes to writing. Its like I have the thoughts and everything but when I start to write I become so concerned about the audience that's going to read it, and how my work should please them, then the pressure builds, anxiety creeps up and thoughts get distorted and I become stuck. Karr gives a smirk and says '' I’ve heard three truths from every mouth: (1) Writing is painful—it’s “fun” only for novices, the very young, and hacks; (2) other than a few instances of luck, good work only comes through revision; (3) the best revisers often have reading habits that stretch back before the current age, which lends them a sense of history and raises their standards for quality''. Almost immediately Don chimes in and say "prewriting usually takes about 85 percent of the writer's time. It includes the awareness of his world from which his subject is born. In prewriting, the writer focuses on that subject, spots an audience, chooses a form which may carry his subject to his audience. Pre writing may include research and daydreaming, note-making and outlining, title-writing and lead-writing. Lamott places her salad fork on the plate and adds '' very few writers know what they are doing until they've done it. Nor do they go about their business feeling dewy and thrilled. They do not type a few stiff warm-up sentences and then find themselves bounding along like huskies across the snow. As I stood there agreeing with what they were saying a part of me stayed focused on the struggles of it all. So I asked how do you deal with the rough draft, I mean go about it all? I can't help but to find myself stumbling even in that area. Lamott went on to say " the first draft is the child's draft, where you let it all pour out and then let it romp all over the place, knowing that no one is going to see it and that you can shape it later. You just let this childlike part of you channel whatever voices and visions come through and onto the page. The idea is to get some scenes down. Let your mind roam down some alleys that may land in dead ends—that’s the nature of the process. For Lit, I spent maybe two years writing about short stints in California and Mexico and the UK and some old boyfriends before I realized that those stories—by then hundreds of pages—lacked emotional gravitas said Karr. Wow, and here I was so absent minded about it all! Thinking that it was a natural born talent, that it was as easy as breathing for you guys. I always thought that it had to be textbook work material. Lamott popped a dinner mint in her mouth and went no to say " E. L. Doctorow once said that " writing a novel is like driving t night. You can see only as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way. "You don't have to see where you're going, you don't have to see your destination or everything you will pass along the way. You just have to see two or three feet ahead of you. This is right up there with the best advice about writing, or life, I have ever heard. Don raised his finger to say " the writer, as he writes, is making ethical decisions. He doesn't test his words by a rule book, but by life. He uses language to reveal the truth to himself so that he can tell it to others. it is an exciting, eventful, evolving process. He went on to say " the suspense in the beginning of a writing course is agonizing for the teacher, but if we break first, if we do the prewriting for our students they will never learn the largest part of the writing process. I heard the bells jingle as my two of my three friends walked in laughing and pointing fingers at each other and by the looks of it they had already had a few drinks before getting here. I focused my attention back to the trio that had enlightened me on a subject that seem so daunting and difficult to over come. I extended my hand and shook each one and said "thank you so much for the info and letting me in on the conversation, I'll let you guys enjoy the rest of your evening.'' I met up with my friends and proceeded to carry on with our night plans. |
Kenya McDuffie
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