Journal Entry #15: "Digital Education"

Journal Entry #15: "Digital Education"

It was really impressive to see some EWC students helping Mr. MacDonald's law class get into the 'blogosphere.' I realized that as a group this semester's EWC students have some specialized skills that are likely to serve them well in various contexts (school, work, recreation).

How do you feel about blogging now that you have had an opportunity to develop a history with it over the past two and a half months? Do you feel that you are more or less organized and productive than you would be "the old fashioned way?" What are some of the advantages? What are some of the drawbacks? What advice might you give to students starting the course next semester about how to get the most out of their blogging experience?

In the past few months, I’ve really come to like using the blog to submit assignments. I find that it makes things a lot easier. If I finish an assignment, regardless of when, I can just go online and submit it. I don’t have to wait until the next day, or Monday, which is good considering I’m not very organized and have lost assignments in the past. That’s another reason why I like the blog: I’m not organized. My binder (until today) was full of loose, scrambled papers. The blog allows me to take up minimal space in my binder, which is a definite plus. As a matter of fact, today I organized my binder, and divided all of my subjects into separate binders, instead of the single binder I had prior. I was very surprised to find that, out of the 200+ pages in my binder, only 6 of them were from this course. If only sociology was done online. . . The blog is also very effective because I’m only given the necessary work for the class, rather than a bunch of internet print-offs on the subject (as I can just research information on the subject on the computer during class). I also like how a calendar which contains outlines and information for all our assignments is posted each month. That makes it extremely easy for me to know exactly what to do, how to do it, and when it’s due. I find that I’m also able to get more work done by working online, as I type much faster than I write (I would consider myself to be a fast typer, but a slow writer). The fact remains, working online has definitely helped me stay organized, and on top of my work in this class.

On the other hand, I feel it is damaging my productivity. While I don’t go on Facebook during class, a few other students and I will get sidetracked by looking up things on websites such as Wikipedia. The problem with this situation is that you can’t block every website, as we all explore the internet when we do our assignments (researching writers, looking at poems, etc.). It’s a situation that relies heavily on trust, and some of us abuse that trust.

While an almost entirely online course is a great idea, it's not without it's faults, though they are few in number, and minor. The main problem I find with the online aspect of this course is how frustratingly slow the internet is at times. I’m not sure what causes the internet to work so slowly, but I’m getting pretty sick of reinstalling FireFox every day just so I can use the internet at a decent speed. This is likely just due to the amount of people using the internet at the same time throughout the school, though. Another minor drawback with the online aspect, in my opinion, is using Diigo. Don't get me wrong, I think it is a great feature, and makes it easy for me to check my marks, and view comments. I just hate how I have to search the list of recent activity in order to find comments on my posts. Then, once I find one, I have to do it again for other posts, as Diigo won’t just save a list of all comments on every post of mine in one section. I’m fairly sure that there must be a way to change this, but I haven’t really tried to. The only other problem I find with the online aspect is typing on Blogger. At times, I will try to change a characteristic of certain words, and the whole entry will be affected (becoming a larger size, bolded, etc.). It’s not that I don’t know how to use these features, it’s that they don’t work properly at times. I’ll try to centre a title, and the entire post will centre. No matter what I do to correct it, I can’t. The entire thing will be either centred, or none of it will. There are other times when I’ll try to put spaces between paragraphs, and it won’t let me. There will be spaces on the pre-submitted form, but there will be no spaces once I submit it. If that happens, I have to deal with the annoyance of putting in the HTML code equivalent of hitting the "Enter" key. These are all minor annoyances though, and are small in comparison to the pros of using the internet.

To other students who use a blog in the future, the only advice I could really give is: "don’t get frustrated at the things I just mentioned," "use FireFox" "save your work," and "try to stay on task." The internet can get extremely slow, to the point of sheer frustration, and it’s so easy to get distracted, as you are given more freedom than you would in other classes. Just force yourself to not check Facebook every 10 minutes, and don’t let the little things get to you, because using the internet is so rewarding in the long run for this class. Also, save your work. Nothing is as frustrating as losing something you've written, or having to re-type it. As long as you follow that advice, I can’t see you having much of a problem in this course.

Ode To The Night

Ode To The Night

The world is a different place at night
As moonlight casts shadows from overhead
I walk the streets in the glow of moonlight
While all the world has long since gone to bed

As these lit streetlights line every street
The stars hang up above, light years away
While we cast shadows clear enough to trace
But what really makes the night seem complete
Is that there are no feelings of dismay
As I wander, wrapped in the night’s embrace

But sooner or later the sun will rise
To signal the beginning of the day
To the dismay of my dilated eyes
It’s a shame that we have to part this way

So, for the moment, I must say goodbye
To the time when I breathe the midnight air
The time when we all look like silhouettes
As the sun begins to crack through the sky
I see it quite fit to simply declare
That I know the night’s as good as it gets

Choice Poem(s)

Choice Poems

Here are three poems I've written over the past two days in class, I'm submitting them as the "Poem[s] of [My] Choice."

Shot For Shot

Shot for shot
These bullets rip through me
And it’s impossible to stand tall through it all
When this back supports a mountain
As the shattering precision in a voice
Pierces with such intent
With such malice, that it could put any bullet to shame

Yet I surrender
To nothing
And run
From no one
“These scars will fade, fight on.”

Believe I’m trying to fight for what I believe in,
But I’ve become near-catatonic
From going through the motions, again and again
I’m trying my hardest, but I know I can’t win.

At what time have you lost the war:
When you first fall,
Or when you can’t get back up?

Yet I surrender
To nothing
And run
From no one
“These scars will fade, fight on.”

Believe I’m trying to fight for what I believe in,
But I’ve become near-catatonic
From going through the motions, again and again
I’m trying my hardest, but I know I can’t win.

Yet I surrender
To nothing
And run
From no one
“These scars will fade, fight on.”


Oh, The Irony

The day is over
But time is meaningless to me
In a drunken stupor, I rehearse this as I walk the streets

So far from sober
Kept company by loneliness
Could you put me back together?
It seems I’ve become quite the mess.

There’s an image burned in the back of my eyes
Second face is failure if you play for first prize
Oh, the irony

The street lights shine over
As if to further mute this silence
And come tomorrow I may forget all these words meant.

I can’t keep drinking
But I think I just might
Because everything’s looking much darker tonight

There’s an image burned in the back of my eyes
Second face is failure if you play for first prize
Oh, the irony

The weight of my words, nothing could compare
But it’s hard to speak when I’m choking on air
Oh, the irony

I feel like I'm walking on a wire
And I feel like no one can relate
I deserve better
But I could care less
I’m getting too caught up in this

I feel like I'm walking on a wire
And I feel like no one can relate
I deserve better
But I could care less
I’m getting too caught up in this

There’s an image burned in the back of my eyes
Second face is failure if you play for first prize
Oh, the irony

The weight of my words, nothing could compare
But it’s hard to speak when I’m choking on air
Oh, the irony

There’s an image burned in the back of my eyes
Second face is failure if you play for first prize
Oh, the irony

Oh, the irony.


Waiting For Things To Change

We’ve all fallen down before
We’ve all landed face first before
We’ve all seen things we didn’t want to see
We’ve all been things we didn’t want to be

Some things just make me sick
And I’m tired of dealing with it
It’s more than I can take
And I’m so tired of staying up late
Waiting for things to change

Everyone’s face is painted
Everyone’s trying to hide themselves
I shouldn’t need paint thinner just to see
What everyone around me is really thinking

Some things just make me sick
And I’m tired of dealing with it
It’s more than I can take

Some things just make me sick
And I’m tired of dealing with it
I’m so tired of staying up late
Waiting for things to change

Journal Entry #14: "Nurturing Your Inner Writer"

Journal Entry #14: "Nurturing Your Inner Writer"

To what extent are people born writers? How much are they able to cultivate the writer within through education and experience?

What activities and experiences can you engage in in order to develop your inner writer? What part of your past has best helped you become the writer you are now? How motivated are you to continue developing your writing ability over a lifetime?

In my opinion, people really aren’t born writers. Nobody is born to do anything. While it would be an interesting concept, that certain people were destined for a certain thing, I just don’t believe it. Rather, I believe that people can show a knack for doing a certain thing early in life, something they become passionate about, and nurture throughout their life through practice in order to become extremely talented at it. The things a writer experiences in life can become the greatest influence in their writing. There is no doubt that the things we experience influence who we are and what we do, so it is only natural that this would also be an influence on what someone writes. However, it is also important that a writer is educated on how to write properly. While it is important for a writer to forge their own path, why bother if the person wasn’t taught how to walk down that path properly? Anyone who is good at anything had to be taught how to do it first.

There are several activities that I engage in in order to develop my inner writer. First of all, I took this course. I figure spending about 300 minutes a week focusing on writing is a great way to become better at it, especially when that is the entire purpose of the class. Another way I try to develop my inner writer is by asking people what they think of my writing. I constantly have people look over the things I write, asking for things I could improve on. I’m also very critical of my writing. Even if people compliment the things I write, I typically don’t agree. While that’s not necessarily a good trait of mine, there is no doubt in my opinion that it helps me nurture my inner writer, by forcing myself to always strive to produce the best writing I can.

There aren’t many things in my past that have helped me become the writer I am now. I was never encouraged to write, it was just something that I decided to do on my own. However, like everyone, there are past experiences that give me something to write about. While it may not always be positive things I write about, I find that most people like what I write regardless. Some of my writing isn’t even from my perspective. For example, the majority of the poetry I’ve submitted is from others' perspectives of situations, and one of the poems I’m considering submitting comes from the perspective of someone who is intoxicated at the time (though I obviously don’t get drunk and write poetry). My point of all this being, I’m never left with nothing to write about, be it about me or not.

I’m extremely motivated to continue my writing ability throughout my life. I started writing on my own time as early as grade 3, maybe even earlier. I remember my class would write stories back in grade 3 that we would read to the rest of the class, and I would have twice as many written compared to the rest of the class. Thinking of how much my writing has developed since then, I look forward to seeing how much more I can develop it. I’d love to become known for my writing, though that may be more of a pipedream. Lately though, I find my life has been too hectic to take time to write, which is very unfortunate. I hope I am able to get everything together so that I am able to continue strongly in this course, and with my writing in general.

Found Poem: Left In The Cold

Left In The Cold

I’m trying to manoeuvre,
Trying to survive
In a cold-hearted world.
I’m lost,
And it isn’t very subtle.
It’s obvious that I can’t decide where to go.
I once was a person who could find himself,
But lately, I’ve seemed strangely muted.
I need to be rescued from the sounds of silence.



Words acquired from The Review and The New York Times.

Journal Entry #13: "Writing As A Lifestyle"

Journal Entry #13: "Writing As A Lifestyle"

I heard Philip Roth being interviewed yesterday. He is a Pulitzer Prize winning novelist and very successful writer now in his late 70's. Interestingly, when asked if he had his life to live over again whether he would choose to write again, he said he would not.

Writing, he explained, is a monumentally difficult task. It is a profession in which no one can help you. According to Roth, you have to reach deep inside yourself in order to pull out a novel and the beginning can be monumentally frustrating. He described the first six months of writing a novel as a matter of trying to assemble something substantial out of fragments. And when you are finished, he continued, you have to start over again with nothing. He also discussed the very solitary nature of the work. Writers spend a great deal of time alone. Many live in poverty before they get their start.

On the other hand there are many attractive dimensions to the job. Successful writers become very well known (Dan Brown once boarded a plane having left behind his driver's license when the man behind him in line was able to show the security guard Brown's author photo in The Da Vinci Code). They appear on television and the radio. They travel and set their own work schedules. They get to meet and socialize with other famous and influential people.

What do you think about the writer's lifestyle? How much of it appeals to you? Which aspects least appeal to you? Can you envision yourself doing the job? Describe how writing might either fit into your lifestyle or become your lifestyle in the future.

The writer’s lifestyle is indeed a unique and interesting one. It is certainly one that would not appeal to everyone, for a variety of reasons. Like what was stated above, writing can be an extremely difficult task, and not everyone is cut out for it. People will get an idea in their head, and decide "I could write a book about that," then get 30 pages in, and come to the harsh realization of "I can’t write a book about that." It requires a lot of passion and determination, as writing has the potential to be one of the most frustrating experiences one will ever have to deal with. "Writer’s block," be it real or just an "urban myth," is beyond aggravating at times. On the other hand, writing could become extremely beneficial, such as the previously mentioned case of Dan Brown, who is both well-known (though not by me until now, I must confess), and no doubt excessively wealthy.

I think the writer’s lifestyle is a great lifestyle, and one that would appeal to me very much. I just like the idea of creating something that is entirely unique and my own. It would be great, having that free flow of ideas and actually being able to craft something remarkable out of it. I also don’t mind spending long periods of time in a rather solitary nature, a trait I’ve discovered in myself which is gradually become a larger part of my life (not to say I’m becoming anti-social by any means).

However, with the aspects that appeal to me about this lifestyle, there are also aspects that are slightly less appealing to me. The first is more of a personal flaw rather than a flaw in the lifestyle itself. In my (limited) writing experience, I have discovered that my perfectionist qualities tend to shine through. In every piece of free written poetry that I’ve submitted for this class (sonnets included) is some sort of flaw I’ve found in it, something I’m dissatisfied with. However, due to sheer inability to improve upon them, I will include them to my dismay, as I rarely omit lines. I view that as a potential downfall of me as an author. It would be extremely irritating to not be entirely satisfied with anything I’ve written, constantly having to improve upon it. While that would ultimately lead to a better finished product, I imagine I would just never be entirely satisfied. How would I be able to submit a book for potential publishing if I find flaws every few pages? This is a trait I hope I am able to come to terms with. In addition to this, my mind is always working, and coming up with new ideas. I find that I try to include all of these ideas in my writing, which can sometimes distract from what I’m trying to say.

One key unappealing aspect of being a writer is how well known these authors truly become as people. I find that most authors aren’t known, their books are. I didn’t know who Dan Brown was, yet I knew what The Da Vinci Code was. This is the case with many books, as I could name dozens of books, yet only a few authors. I don’t like the idea of not being known for what I’ve done, though that may sound selfish. Also, not to sound greedy, but in most cases, the lifestyle is very unrewarding financially. An author is a drop in the ocean, a face in the crowd. There are thousands like them, with similar ideas, and most only achieve minor success. How am I supposed to stand out enough to actually make a living off of this, when I’m just a drop in the ocean? I’m also very dissatisfied with the idea of not having a popular book, purely because I would have put so much effort into the book, only to have few people read it. That being said, by no means would I write strictly to be remembered, or to get famous. I would write because I want to. But it's like talking in a crowded room, you feel like no one hears what you have to say.

With all that negativity being said, it would seem that I do not want to be an author. Yet, in all honesty, I can still envision myself doing this job, though it would likely be forced to find it’s own place in my life. I feel that I would not be able to support myself enough financially to have it consume my life entirely, though I would try to make it as big of a part of my life as possible. I am determined to write a novel in my life, and while it would be great to be able to write it (and other things) and live off the profits of what I’ve written, I can’t see it happening. But who am I to predict the future? Anything is possible.

Journal Entry #12: Free Write

Journal Entry #12: "It Ain't Nothin' But Music"

Write about a topic of your choice.

If you’ve ever seen me before, you’ve probably seen a pair of headphones in my ears. If you’ve ever spent an extended period of time with me, you’ve probably noticed that those headphones stayed in my ears the entire time. I love music. It’s become a huge aspect of the person I am. I figured, since I spend so much of my time listening to it, I could probably spend around 500 words talking about it.

I first started listening to music in grade 7. I mostly listened to rock music that I’d heard in video games, which I find hilarious now. My first favourite band was Simple Plan, and I don’t really know why, considering I can’t stand listening to those songs now. Again, hilarious. Anyway, in grade 8, my entire musical preference changed drastically when my friend told me to listen to a metal song he had on his mp3 player. It was Hand of Blood by Bullet For My Valentine, and I still remember how awesome I thought it was. From then on, Bullet For My Valentine became my first favourite band, and I started listening to several bands like them. Over the years, my "favourite band" has changed frequently, as I’ve come to appreciate and enjoy practically every genre of music. I have 2386 songs on my iPod at this moment, with 30 new ones being added within the last 2 weeks. My most listened to song has been played over 500 times, with another being played almost 500 times, and others over 300 times, etc. I’m sure some of those plays can be attributed to forgetting to turn off my computer and/or iPod on numerous occasions, but the numbers don’t lie, the songs have been played that many times.

I don’t know what it is that draws me so much to music. I don’t really have an explanation for it, I just like it. Maybe it’s that I have songs that can cheer me up, or songs that can make me feel bad, and can really add to however I feel. Maybe it’s that there are songs that remind me of certain things. I remember a few weeks ago, you mentioned how poetry can make you feel a certain way when you read a certain line. That certain line can resurrect the feelings you felt when you wrote it. I understand what you mean exactly, because some songs have that effect on me. I may not have written it, but hearing a certain song can instantly bring back feelings from a certain time I’d listened to the song. For example, music by The Ataris always reminds me of summer, and gives me an indescribable feeling, one that I remember feeling during summer, while music by The Almost reminds me of my vacations to Sauble Beach, and can make me feel very content and at ease. That’s just two examples, and I have about 400 bands on my computer, and I’m sure at least half of them I associate with something.

This semester, we’ve all written poetry, and I’m sure that it has some sort of significance to most of us, just like I’m sure it does to everyone who writes a song. I think music is a great way to capture emotion. I wish I’d learned how to play an instrument, or was able to sing (sing well, I mean, ha ha!) so that I could play music. There’s just something about adding a musical aspect behind most words that makes them so much more amazing in my opinion. I’m not saying that Robert Frost poetry would go great with "a groovy bass line," nor am I saying that the only thing the poetry of Edgar Allen Poe is missing is "a sick guitar riff." I’m saying that songs sound better when they are heard, rather than read.

Back to the topic of "certain lines" from a few sentences ago, what I really like is finding a song with lyrics that are clearly heartfelt. I’m sure nearly anyone that reads this would be able to recite some line from a song that they find very emotionally touching. Personally, my favourite lyricist is Kristopher Roe, from my favourite band, The Ataris. One of the highlights of my short life is getting to meet him last summer, and actually getting to have a conversation with him, though I still regret not getting him to autograph the merchandise I bought! It really turned The Ataris into my favourite band, and I listened to them daily for the entire summer, they practically became the only band I listened to! I find what he writes to be spectacular, as he gets his point across very effectively, without being packed full of metaphors, or coming off as particularly "life sucks"-esque. One of my favourite lyrics by the band that come to mind are from "When All Else Fails, It Fails," "The demand to be loved is the greatest arrogance, and I can never make you love me again. And when all else fails, it fails. Did I fail you? Will you fail me too? Because there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do to hold on to you, but you give me nothing to hold on to. And maybe it’s too late to keep the one I love from giving up." That may just pass as another line in a song to some people, but it really stands out to me. I guess what is considered "good" music is all a matter of perception.

All opinion aside, the fact remains that it’s 1:40am, so I’ll finish on that note (no pun intended, seriously.). I’ll take a wild guess, and say that I’ve written over 500 words, if not twice that. I guess it’s extremely easy to write about something you really enjoy.

Dramatic Monologue: Victim Fourteen

Victim Fourteen

You must believe this wasn’t my intent
But at this point, it’s useless to repent
And although to most I’ve remained unseen,
Right now, I’m murdering victim fourteen.

I’ll tell you why I committed my first
‘Cause by no means could I call that my worst
No, that one was tame, compared to the rest
‘Cause now even butchers would be impressed
With the way I slaughter each one of them
But if others knew, they'd no doubt condemn

Well, it all began a few months ago
I had a big house and a wife, you know
Until my wife exposed my deepest fears
What she said brought me to the point of tears

She loved me no more, that’s the end of it
I wanted to talk, she wouldn’t have it
After she said that, I started grieving
But she wouldn’t listen, she was leaving
I knew deep down, I could never leave her
I left the room, and grabbed the meat cleaver
Snuck up behind her, went in for the kill
If I can’t have you darling, no one will.

I drove to the park to dump the body
And just my luck that somebody saw me
So I had to kill that poor woman too
Sad, but what did you expect me to do?
I buried them both that very same night
Got back in my car, and vanished from sight.

From that moment on, my mental state changed
I became more than a little deranged
There’s something I like about spilling blood
I spill the equivalent of a flood

I seemed upset at the loss of my wife
So no one would suspect I took her life
They couldn’t have guessed what I had in store
That I was going to kill many more.

After a few weeks, I got my third kill
I almost forgot the feeling, the thrill
In the next few months, I killed seven more
And buried them all underneath my floor
Then I murdered three, all on the same day
They kicked, and they screamed, but none got away.

The cops say all my victims had brown hair
I hadn’t noticed, it’s not like I care.
They say I’m a psychopathic killer
And have given me the name “The Thriller”

The chief vows to catch me, and he just might
One thing’s for sure, he won’t catch me tonight.
But until that day comes, I’ll stay quite keen
To finish my work on victim fourteen.

Lyric Poem: Fact Turned Fiction

Fact Turned Fiction

I’ve never walked on a wire,
But I’ve been left hanging by a thread.
And my only problem is,
That I don’t know where to stop, or where to begin.

It’s all so clear in my head,
But what’s that saying?
My head feels like some sort of hell, hosting a house of horrors,
While I’m just a helpless hypochondriac, held in a hospital.
Anyway, all ailments aside,
I feel I’ve found few facts fit for further alliteration.
Than this small set of facts,
Of fact turned fiction.

It’s moment of truth, to those choking on lies.
It’s the moment in death where it all comes alive.
It’s a glance, turned a look, turned a smile, turned a kiss,
Turned a touch, turned a word, turned a lie, turned a miss.
Turned a stab, a stab straight to the heart.
But one cut is all it takes.

I expire, holding the wound,
Oh so tightly

Holding my breath, until my lungs wither to dust.
When I know full well that I’ve wasted my time,
As I’m wasting away.

All the things left unsaid, I'm rehearsing them.
And I can’t keep blotting them out,
Like ink spilled on paper.

I made an attempt,
The best I ever could,
To keep it all together,
As everything fell apart.
It’s hard to say you tried,
When you can’t look me in the eyes.
As these memories grow vague,
As too little turns too late.

As I'm left to dream forever,

Solely for my own sake.

Oh, my epidemic,
My favourite terminal disease,
I'm infected.
I wish this was my fault.
All these nights, without your presence,
I’m not comfortable in my skin.
Now, in your absence, I tremble.
Without the comforting warmth of that radiant glow,

The one that used to shine in your eyes,
I’m left to freeze in the cold.
And I desperately need to be warm.

These days, I can’t believe my eyes, let alone my mind.

Amidst an ocean of thought, the same thought emerges..
The past, what was left behind, in those nights,
Every night, I crumble to the ground,
With no foundation left to support this structure.

Believe I tried.

We’ve reached the end of the road,
And now there’s nowhere left to go.

Imitation Poem: Monster Monster

For my imitation poem, I chose to imitate Stopping By Woods on A Snowy Evening by Robert Frost.

Stopping By Woods on A Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound's the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

For my imitation, I wrote a poem called Monster Monster. It's about a boy who thinks there's a monster under his bed.

Monster Monster

Beneath the light of the moon’s glow,
These midnight shadows creep in slow.
Creaking sounds sneak into my ear.
I think a monster hides below.

Beneath my bed, I know it’s here.
I feel it slowly coming near.
And now my chest begins to ache,
Because my heart is full of fear.

My sweating hands begin to shake,
As if I’m a human earthquake.
Though I refuse to make a peep,
My life, this beast is sure to take.

Although I still have yet to weep,
This monster continues to keep,
This little soul from counting sheep.
And so I cannot fall asleep.