ENC 1101-B3 & B4: Writing for Discovery

This whole ordeal with my roommate got me to thinking. After analyzing her, this is what I've come up with.

One of the hardest things a person can encounter is– themselves. That’s what I believe. Obviously because, no one can control your story, except for you.

This is the first poem I've written in years, so here goes...


I’ve never been in this kinda slump before
Keep yearning for, the one I adore

I’m embarrassed...by my ways
I’ve been like this for too many days

Where the hell is the light switch? It’s too dark to see shit! How would I know where any of the switches are in this house. Whatever! I want to do this now, while everyone in the house is sleeping.

Ew, what is that. Oh isn’t that cute! Looking up from my steering wheel, I notice a brilliant stream of lovely saliva. “I wonder how that got there!?” I said sarcastically.

This was one of the effects that came about from last night’s horrific events. This story I’m about to reinvent for you, is an unplanned Part Two, a continuation of “The Brute.”

Where the hell is the damn light switch? It’s too dark to see shit! Of course I don’t know where any of the switches are in this house. Whatever! I want to do this now, while everyone in the house is sleeping.

Waking up, I could barely contain myself of the anticipation I was having, for the events of the day. It was Thanksgiving; and you know what that means. . . food, food, and more food.
And when that was done, there was dessert, dessert, and more dessert.

Let me tell you about this girl (roommate) I have to deal with. She’s a good example of a population of people who are referred to as two-faced.

Although one would automatically think I’m about to complain. . . well not really. The truth is, I don’t mind having to deal with this girl. Having no complication in my life, would be boring. I really don’t let her bother me or effect me; I just consider this whole thing an experience, and I learn from it.

One thing im concerned about, is the length of my paper. It’s over a thousand words, but still short. Do you think it should be longer, or it’s fine like it is. I really tried to expand as much as possible, but with my story, I just did what was necessary- make the reader think, get point across, and ended it. There’s no need to bullshit around, when you’re making a point.

Where the hell is the damn light switch. It’s too dark to see shit. Of course I don’t know where any of the switches are in this house. But I want to do this now, while everyone in the house is sleeping.

I was talking on the phone with my mom today. She asked me exactly what I was wanting for Christmas. After replying that I would like the brand new 300 Z convertible, she told me, “No! What do you NEED??”

“Bern, I’m going pee.”
“Ooh, I’m comin too,” she said.

In the bathroom...

“Holy shit, I’m so wasted.”
“Christin! Me too!”
“Hehehohohahahaheheeeehhehehohh!”

As I’m pulling down my pants, to relieve myself of excess fluids, induced by a couple drinks.....“Plop.”

Okay, so did anyone see the special of Britney Spears, on tv last night. It was on ABC right before Monday Night Football (clever)

Anyways I was so. . . oh how can i describe this, in intriquing disgust.

Because I didnt have any dialogue in my first draft, I went back and added some. There wasn’t a lot of revision for me to do in this area. I simply had to reveal hints of my character, through the use of internal dialogue, and reasoning that was going on inside my head.

Searching for the light switch inside the garage, is becoming an arduous task. It’s too dark to see shit. Of course I don’t know where any of the damn switches are in this house. But I want to do this now, while the house is asleep. Reluctantly walking into the garage, I stop, and observe my surroundings. It is a room filled with stacked boxes, and clutter. I see my name on a couple of the boxes, so I head there to them. Anxiously and messily, I tear away the tape, on the first worn out brown box. Uncovering the remnants of the box, I am overcome with child reminisces. I begin to feel emotional, while taking out one of my music boxes. Next think I knew, I had a tear sparking from my eye. The progression of each trinket from the box, soon surfaced upon my cheeks, blankets of tears. Each teddy bear trinket, sprung an image of childhood nights, when in my former room.

With this story I wanted to change my typical style of writing, and do something new. So I made this one without the humor and sarcasm, and went didactic, with forced thinking from the reader.

I’m hoping that with the imagery of the childhood reminiscence, it will automatically portray the reader with an image of something similar to one of their remembrances- therefore drawing in the reader.