Brothers,
The best way to learn how to write is often by immitating the style of published and critically acclaimed authors who display their literary prowess by poetic force.
As you read Crane's novel, notice how rich his language is--especially in his descriptions of setting and his protrayal of the inner turmoil with which the young Henry must deal in the face of battle.
For the weekend, I would like you to find a passage--at least two (2) to three (3) paragraphs in length--that struck you as both profound and poetic.
Immitate the style in which the passage was written and rely upon (or even manipulate) Crane's sentence structure to create the framework for your own passage, while changing the subject matter to suit your purpose.
For instance, you could express the inner turmoil--or even happiness--that you feel during the course of the school day; or while at practice for some athletic team, club, or group to which you belong; or while in proximity to someone you either loathe (despise) or love. You could also take a passage the includes dialogue and set something up in which you are speaking to someone with whom you often associate in the context of academic life, social life, or family life. And even still, you could describe some setting relevant to your own lived experience in which you explore the details of your surroundings.
The point of the activity is to have you enter into your own, everyday psychic (i.e., psychological) experiences and explore them by replicating Crane's style of verse.
Post your "immitations" to the blog by the beginning of class Monday morning (12/18) so that we can review them in class. Please indicate the page number on which we can find the passage you choose to immitate.
Enjoy the experience!
BRob
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Page 3 2nd Paragraph
He had been remnant of war, shed through the memories of his home town. Witnessing the warlike, unpacifist action is the reason for his hatred. He can take it, no more. His instincts told him that he had to take action, no more waiting, his presence was needed and he knew it. He was ready, more power, more feeling, and a willingness to save what he once knew.
From off the fogg came the rising sun. The animals could see thier reflections in the shallow lakes, the reflections moved like rolling hills.The pack of geese stood on the sure for what seemed like an eternity.The goslings grew terrified.The whole flock stood waiting for the pretadtor to flee the lake.It was interminable how long these stalemates lasted
At last, however, he had made a firm stand against the suns rays that were thrown upon the color of his ambition. The newspaper, the coaches, his own ego, had aroused him to an uncheckable degree. He was in truth fighting courageously for the conditions. Almost everday the coaches lambasted him with criticism. Some contructive some not so.
One night, as he lay in bed the winds had carried to him the clangoring church bell as some enthusiast jerked the rope frantically to tell the news of the result of the other semifinal game. The voice of the fans rejoicing in the night had made him shiver in a prolonged ecstacy of excitement. Later, he had gone down to his teamates rooms and had spoken thus: "Bothers, tomorrow we shall play, tomorrow, WE SHALL WIN!"
1st paragraph
The mist passed hesitently from the field, the coming mist revealed a team from the fields, waiting. As the mist rolled over the field, the team began to rustle, and shout as the game was about to begin. They cast their eyes on their foes, who were cowardly hiding in the distance. The field, green-tinted in the fog, fell under the team's shining feet, in the morning dew, when the field was damp, it was the place dreams were made, and hopes where dashed.
page 6
A sufficient time before he would have allowed the problem to linger in the back of his head while he was lazing about, but now he felt compelled to give serious attencion to it.
A little panic-fear grew in his mind. As his imagination went forward to a test, he saw hideous scores. He contemplated the lurking equations of the future, and failed in an effort to see himself sitting in his desk solving them properly. He recalled his visions of highly-graded glory, but in the shadow of the impending tulmult he suspected them to be impossible pictures.
page 1, first paragraph
The heat surrounded the mat harshly. The scorching heat revealed the nervousness and anxiousness of the wrestlers, who waited for their upcoming matches. As the fans began to cool the wreslters and the fans down, the fans began to cheer and shout for the matches they came to see. Each wrestler stared at the wrestler he was going to face, who were all stareing right back at them with intensity. The mat, dark blue, began to be uncovered to preperation for the match, was where pain, failure, and victory were faught.
Page 10 paragraph 3.
This day, however, I began to wonder if I would ever find my place in this unrelenting world. The others are seemingly unconcerned and some slightly frustrated by the mention of these questions. Their faces once again shown with the bright and happy spirit of naïveté like a sunrise no one notices. I stare at them with tired eyes slightly angered that they act in such a way. On the far wall the television screen shown with a blinding whiteness like when the shades to a dark room are opened to its unsuspecting occupants: and behind us, dark and foreboding, the shadows of the men scampered about with no purpose.
1st paragraph of !st Chapter
The lights come on, the heat is unbearable, and its the nightcap of the doubleheader has come, and suddenly it's just you the catcher and the batter. Your in your own game now, the game within the game. Suddenly your not even thinking about the summer night's unbearable heat, the 10 college scouts in the stands mean nothing to you. It's just you and him now, no crowd, no coaches, no boundaries. Your own your own now, what are you going to do? You both wonder what each other is thinking, your thinking im blowing him away with three straight high inside fastballs, and the batter is thinking, if he comes inside with the heat he has got to be out of his mind because im bombing it out of here. In this at bat everything will be on the line, emotions will run high, intestity will be out of this world, and tensions will flair. But who will come out on top?
Page 1, Paragraph 4 & 5
To his eager team the coach instructed his race plan. When the coach dismissed his team, the unisuited rowers gathered around their boats. An excited coxswain began to prepare his boat for the race. The rowers took their oars and sat readily in their boats. Confident in their training the boat shoved off toward the starting line.
"Pull! your walking on them-Pull!" cried the coxswain. The rower's face was burning red, his muscles burning as he rips the oar through the water. The coxswain congratulated his team as they pulled across the finish line. "We've done it. We've won. Great race and let's go get our medals."
2nd page last paragraph
Surprised to hear of my acceptance into future greatness, I was astonished to discover they would perhaps need me to partake in an upcoming battle. There would most certainly be competition amongst our enemies, and I was excited at the opportunity to help the team achieve success. I had a feeling the imminent struggle would be one to remember and I could only hope I would be a part of it.
page 2 paragraph 2
They many fans argue over the coaching that has been displayed. One of the men argued over his coaching strategy. Others argued over his leadership job. They all yelled and disagreed with each other, many joined in. The man who started the argument talked about it with great significance.
it was the championship,the fourht quater, no time left and one free throw to go. The game was in his hands, it was up to him. the pressure was on him the crowd's eyes locked upon him. his sweat dripping. He was tire. he takes the shot...
Page 10: Paragraphs 3-4
He shuddered in the moonlight. Stories such as these have been told before. They weren't the most exhilirating you'd ever hear, but still they frightened us all out of our skins. He heard the tales of misfortune, of anger, of disobedience, and plight, but he just ignored them. His mind was like a bee-hive that night, thoughts rushing in and out like the winged buzzers themselves. The choices were simple enough, but he didn't know how to decide.
Mom had always worried about him. She thought she was always right when it came to his life. She would respond to his simple questions with hundreds of unnecessary elaborations on her implicit desires to keep him safe at home. She had subtle flaws in her evasive manner of speaking that told him exaclty where her thoughts were coming from. Nonetheless, in his mind, was the intesifying desire to pull away and be lost and never found.
second page, paragraph two
Many of the players argued about the refs. one complained that the ref was playing for the other team. He was opposewd by players of the other team.they yelled at eachother, we all joined in now. in the mean time, the player who had started all the fuss eaplained it too many.
From the sickly, pale, pungent water, he lifted himself out of the pool. The early morning sun shined through the thick glass windows as he refreshed himself with a cold drink--the last break for what seemed to be an eternity. Not more than 30 seconds later, he was back in the pool with a quick, smooth dive, that tingled his skin. All that was to be seen infront of him was pounding water and rising steam from the pool's surface--this was utter quality and perfection. The water had been thrashed, churned, and spun for the last 2 hours by the team so much that the swimmer's legs had turned numb, and their skin turned to sandpaper. With an entire hour of practice still to be finished, the swimmers went into a deep trance. Mindgames settled in, unimaginable pain sunk into every part of the body, and brutal screams were heard from below the surface. Ripping and tearing of every muscle had been acheived. A sudden blast from the coach's horn vibrated through the water...this only meant one thing. Freedom had at last been found--the end of a morning practice.
He passed the street reluctantly. The retiring mist revealed a school sitting behind a thicket of trees waiting for his entry. As the moonlight changed to sunlight, the school awkened eager to start the day. The school cast its eyes upon the road, upon him, demanding him to come. He was reluctant, but he knew he had no other choice and went into its hallways.
It was the bottom of the ninth, two outs, down by three, and the bases were loaded. This here is your typical end of a championship series. The batter can feel sweat starting to soak his gloves while he stares into the pitchers eyes waiting for this pitch. This would make or brake his life. The pitcher begins to wind-up. "Timeout", calls the batter. He knew he wasn't ready. He steps back in the batters box and awaits for the pitch. Here it comes, looks to be a slider low and away, he lets it go past. "Strike three!" yells the ump. The game is over, he has just lost the game looking at a pitch. His life is now over and his face and name will be all over the paper and people will no longer respect him.
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