Open Campus Creative writing. This was the class that I took this semester in which I learned different ways to improve my writing skills. This course taught me how to be a better writer by teaching me about using different methods of telling stories, planning stories, and conveying emotion through my words.

One of the first things that we did in this class was to learn about what “Free Writing” is, as well as how to do it and use it to help with creating a good story. Free Writing is the process by which the writer places no filter between the brain and their pen. Free Writing is supposed to be the writer’s stream of consciousness being written down as it comes into their mind. With Free Writing, there is no need for any kind of logic or pattern to the words that are being written down.

The process of free writing helps an individual to open their mind, get their creative juices flowing, and kick start their imagination to help them come up with an idea or plot for a story. Free writing can be used as just a warm up exercise before the individual gets started working on a specific idea, or it can be used to help someone who is having difficulty with writers block. However a person chooses to use it, free writing is a valuable tool for anyone to have in their writers toolbox.

I used free writing as a precursor to brainstorming for my “I Am What I Am” and my “Where I’m From” poems. What better way is there for someone to figure out how to accurately portray themselves than by opening up their mind, pouring out its contents, and seeing what is there.

After having utilized free writing, another useful writing strategy that is available is “Brainstorming”. Brainstorming is an organizational tool that can be used to transform someone’s random words and phrases into an outline, or organized layout for the story that is going to be created.

Free writing has no desired outcome in terms of what the person is hopping to have on their paper by the end of the exercise, whereas brainstorming usually has a goal to develop different aspects of the story such as a specific character, characters motives, setting, or plot in general.

I used brainstorming to help me create a more relatable and well-rounded main character in my extended work of fiction. I had a rough idea of how I wanted the main character to come across, but smoothed out my plans by using a bubble chart to describe my protagonist’s physical traits, background, personality, and what his motivation/motivations are for the things that he does.

After free writing and brainstorming, the writer has the shell of their story. They can use that like a framework from which to build off of as they further develop their story. Once they have completed the task of working the information from their brainstorming session into the story in a way that paints a picture of who is doing what, and where it is that they are doing it while at the same time leaving room for the reader to interpret what is happening in the story and use their imagination, it is time for the second to last step. Peer review.

Peer review is the process by which a person of similar status and standing looks at the writers work and makes notes on grammar, punctuation, and spelling, as well as offering suggestions on ways that the story could be improved through the use of better diction or changing the organizational stricter of certain sentences or sections of the paper.

I value peer review very highly because it helps me to tailor my work to my audience in a way that could not be done if I were not accepting criticism from the kind of people that would be reading it. For example, I used notes given to me by another student about my extended fiction work. The student who reviewed it said that it could use come more action, so I added a part where the protagonist knocks his teacher unconscious and sends him flying through an exterior glass window in the cafeteria.

My favorite piece of writing that I have created during this course is my extended fictional story because it gave me a chance to put a lot of ideas that I already had down on paper to create a story.

I enjoyed this class very much. I liked being able to be creative and explore my own imagination. I was challenged by some aspects of this class, and had no problem with others. This was a fun class, and I am glad that I took it this semester.

 Required Content for Class Assignments:

1) One work of non-fiction.  This may include the Personal Narrative or the This I Believe essay.

2) One extended work of fiction.*

3) Two works of micro or flash fiction.*

4) A minimum of four formal poems.  These may include a Cinquain, Villanelle, Haiku, Pantuum, Renga, Ghazel, Sonnet, Ballad, Ballade, Rhyme Royal, Triolet, Skeltonic.*

5) A minimum four free-verse poems.*

1)Martin Hurston

Block OneSeptember 9th, 2014

To Twitch Or Not To Twitch, That Is The Question

I have been different for almost all of my life. This wasn't because I was exceptional

in sports or in school, or that I possessed a savant like gift; I just twitched, plain and simple.

Since I was in second grade I had an almost unexplainable compulsion to do certain things,

in a certain way, and at certain intervals of time; because of this I had very few friends. I

didn't understand what was happening or why I had to do the things that I did, but

eventually I got a diagnoses and from there things began to get better. As I got older and

better understood what and why was happening, I was better able to deal with other kids at

school and in the neighborhood. Because of what I dealt with I want to help share with

those who would read this what Tourette Syndrome is and how to deal with it.

Starting in second grade I began to twitch, I would squeak, blink, and worst of all

jump and kick myself in the butt. Try and remember when you were in gym class as a young

child and had to do warm ups. Do you remember the one in which you would run around the

gym and jump up, bend your knees while keeping them together, and kicking yourself in the

butt with the heels of your feet? If so, now try imagining some little kid doing that

everywhere he went after every ten or twenty steps. Looks pretty funny doesn't it? Well

everybody else thought so to, so they called me “hop frog” and “Squeak freak”. The doctor

thought that it might be OCD but said that it was difficult to diagnose such conditions in

children as young as I was.

Because of how obviously different I was, I was bullied a lot. I only had two friends,

Paule and Rylan. This trend of only a few friends and a lot of bullies continued over the

course of the next five years, two moves, and spanned two different continents and a string

of islands. Even though I was still disliked by many and friends to few, things did get a little

bit better after moving from Hawaii to Germany. After moving to Germany I was diagnosed

with Tic Disorder by a military Pediatric shrink. Tic Disorder is similar to Tourette Syndrome

except it's just not as bad, and that is how I would try to explain it to people. Even after

being diagnosed with Tic Disorder and explaining it to people I was still made fun of.

I remember one specific time when my sixth grade teacher Ms. Mathias made me sit

out recess on the bench for rolling my eyes at her, when in fact I was just twitching. I even

had an IEP that said that I had Tic Disorder, but the teachers just didn't care. I walked over

to her to ask a question which I can no longer remember, and when she answered I

twitched. “Did you just roll your eyes at me Martin?” she asked.

“No, I'm just twitching,” I replied.

“Yah right, you think that you can be disrespectful and get away with it just because

you have a problem? Well not with me you won't,” she said with a tone of anger and great

indignation.

“No really, I promise I was only twitching,” I said with a catch in my throat that I use

to get whenever I got yelled at for something involving my twitching or for something that I

didn't do.

“Don't lie to me Martin! Do you think that I am stupid? Go away and sit on the bench

for the rest of recess,” she shouted at me in front of all of the other kids on the playground.

That wasn't the first, nor would it be the last time that I would get in trouble for

twitching, or at least for what they mistook my twitches to be. I have been sent to the office

for “trying to cheat off of another student's test” when I was actually just craning and twisting

my neck and head in seventh grade. I got punched in the gut for what some jackass thought

was me winking at his girlfriend when I was only doing my blinking twitch. There are other

things that have happened to me as a result of twitching which I cannot remember at this

time but that I know have happened.

But when I moved to Pennsylvanian something great happened, I was diagnosed

with full blown Tourette Syndrome. I know saying that a diagnosis of Tourettes being great

sounds crazy, but it was truly a great thing. Being diagnosed with a commonly recognizable

condition makes it easier for people to understand what is is that makes me do what I do.

When I told people that I have Tourette Syndrome the most common reactions I get are:

“Wow! Do you just randomly start cussing?”

“Awesome, I've never met anyone with Tourtettes before!”

“Ohhh, so is that why you do all that weird shit? If you don't mind me asking, what

causes Tourettes?”.

I did research on the causes of Tourette Syndrome so that I would be able to better explain

it to people.

The way people reacted to me twitching improved so much after I began to be

forward about my condition that I began to change the way that I introduce my self to new

people. I now introduce myself to people by saying something like, “Hey, my name is

Martin. Just a heads up, I've got Tourettes so I'm probably gonna' be twitching and making

some weird noises. I just didn't want you to think that I was choking or dying or something”

This usually gets a few laughs as well as avoiding the awkwardness of them not knowing

what's going on with me but not asking because they didn't want to offend me.

Once people began to understand and accept my twitching as just a part of me and

my life my confidence shot through the roof, myself image improved by leaps and bounds,

and I gained an all new and much more positive outlook on the world. I found out that its

best to just make it known (as if I could hide it right?) and own it. That’s the most important

part, owning it.

Understanding and sharing information about my condition allowed me to become

more self-confident and be more outgoing, and hey, some girls have even told me that they

think its cute. I went through seven years of bullying and insecurity before I figured out how

to best deal with it, and I don't want anyone else with this condition to go through life not

knowing how to deal with what's happening, so remember this: the biggest thing that I know

now that I wish I knew when I was in second grade is just two words. Own it.  

2) 11-8-2014

The Givers Name is Bill My name is Bill Duplin. I was born 1955 in Portland Oregon. I was raised by my

aunt until I was fourteen because when I was born my mom didn't want me. I only saw her on holidays, even though she lived next door.

When I was fourteen years old my father died of a heart attack right in front of me. It was the first day of my life that I had ever spent the whole day with him. After that I left. I moved out of my aunt’s house and stayed with a friend for a little while until I got a motel room.

I worked in a mechanics shop down the road from the motel where I was living. The shop was owned by some guys that had been teaching me about mechanics since I was about eleven. I made alright money for a fourteen year old kid living on his own.

I became a father when I was only sixteen. I married my wife at seventeen, and divorced her when I was twenty-three.  

I worked at the shop with the guys for a couple of years. After that I started a slightly not so IRS approved mechanics shop of my own when I was about seventeen years old. My dad had owned a four car garage with work space that I didn't know about until my aunt called me and told me it was mine now. I had been working on cars since I was eleven so I knew what I was doing. I had people in their twenties and thirties bringing me their cars to work on when I was seventeen. I did body damage repair, paint, engine tuning, and I even completely rebuilt cars sometimes.

A year after I started my first (not so legal/licensed/under the table) business I went legit. I got licensed and taxed. I had paid employees and everything. by the time that I was twenty-three I had three fully operational and successful businesses. How many people do you know that can say that at age eighteen they owned and operated their own business that would expand to two more locations within the next five years, while being a father and still going to school.   

Growing up as an independent and self-sufficient teenager who went to school, owned a business, and had a kid all by the age of seventeen I’ve seen a lot. I am now sixty years old and have plenty of stories that I want to pass down to a young friend of mine named Roy. Roy is more like a Son than a friend to me, and that is why I am writing these stories down now.  Just think of me as The giver, passing down stories and memories from a past that no longer exists. I want him to know how things used to be so that he will be able to see what is happening in his lifetime.

Mutt and my rideA few months after moving into the motel I ran into this guy who’s sister I had

nailed a few weeks earlier (remember that this is the 70’s). I don't think he knew about it though, not that it would matter if he knew. The dudes name was John hound, but we all called him Mutt cuz’ of how ugly his mug was. He said that he had gotten tossed out of his house by his parents and didn't have a place to bed for the night. Being the kinda’ guy that I was I told him that he could crib with me at the motel since there were two beds in the room. I told him, “you can crib at my place tonight, but tomorrow you look for another place to stay.” He said that would work, and we went on about our day which

consisted mostly of finishing  something that I was doing on a car, getting stoned, and drinking cheap ass wine.

Mutt and I hung out the next day and when it started getting late I asked him where he was gonna’ be spending the night, he told me that he hadn’t gotten a chance to to find another place to bed down since we had been chillin’ all day.

I told him that that didn't matter and to find somewhere else to stay. He said that it was too late and that even if it wasn't so late it would have been hard finding someone who would let him stay at their place.

This got me thinking, “here’s the deal, if you can go to the store and pick up three bottles of Firebird (cheap ass wine) and bring you sister back with you, you can stay just one more night.”

This dude came back about a half an hour later with three bottles of Firebird and some bitch in a jacket whose face I couldn't see. His sister was named Sarah Lou, but Sarah Lou wasn’t the broad in the jacket.

Now you have to know that Mutt was ugly, but he was also as funny as he was fugly. Being unable to find his sister, Mutt found this slutty chick he knew named Merry Lou and brought her back with him as a replacement for his sister.

When I said, “who is this? I thought that I told u to bring your sister”. He said, “I couldn't find Sarah Lou, but do you think that Mary Lou will do?”

I lost my shit completely and totally. I laughed so hard that tears started to form in my eyes and my lungs began to burn. The way that he said it was so funny that even the chick in the jacket laughed her ass (the only aesthetically pleasing feature about her) off.

For the next two or three hours, the three of us just sat around drinking our cheapo wine and passing a doobie from person to person. After a while Mutt passed out on his bed and started snoring, HARD! Just about this time Mss.-sack-of-hot-nickels -to-the-face decided to start making moves on me. The combination of booze, raging teenage hormones, and a general ‘Ah fuck it’ attitude resulted in me having sex with this girl in every way possible that allowed me to avoid looking at her face.

After we finished, I smoked a cigarette, got dressed, walked over to and opened the door , and said, “see ya later” and closed the door with her on the outside and went back to sleep.

The next morning Mutt was gone, and so were my shirts, jeans, shorts, and my car. My twenty five dollar car! (Yes, I did say Twenty-Five) That ungrateful little bastard stole all of my shirts, almost all of my jeans, and some of my shorts. I let him into my home (as much of as home as a motel can be) and he steals from me.

I call up my buddy Todd Pond and said that I needed him to pick me up and give me a ride to Mutts house after I told him the situation. I took a shower, found a pair of jeans and a T-shirt to wear, got some breakfast, and stood outside and smoked a cigarette while I was waiting for my ride.

As we are driving past Mutts house I see the back end of my car sticking out from behind this barn in his backyard. I tell puddle, (pond, but we always told him that he was too small to be a pond so he’s got to be a puddle on accounts of how short this dude was) “Stop, back up and go down that way.”

“down his back driveway?’

“Yah, down his goddamn back driveway. I’m gonna’ get my mother f*****g car back.”

After we had driven a little way down the little dirt back driveway I got out of his car to get mine. There was a big, mean looking German Shepherd chained up to my car, can you believe that?! He tied that ugly dog to MY car to try to keep ME away from it!

I was pissed and didn't give a shit. I walked up to that dog and my car, shoved that snarling dogs face away and into the dirt without a single hint of a f**k to be given, unchained the dog from my car, and tied it to Mutts porch. Dogs can sense fear, and when they don't sense any, they know not to mess with that person.

I had to get a SlimJim out of Puddles to unlock my car, and since I didn't have the keys to unlock it I also didn't have the keys to start it. I had to hotwire my own car to get it back to the motel. The clothes weren't in the car so he must have taken them inside.

I didn’t hear from or see Mutt for a while after that, but when I did, I messed his shit up. I messed it up bad.

Sleepy Teacher

So there was this chick that I was layin’ the meat to right, and I was on my way to her house, but I only knew the apartment building, not the apartment number. I figured that I’d just ask someone if they knew which apartment was hers, so I knocked on a door. When the door opened I saw one of my schools English teacher in his robe and another teacher from my school putting her robe on in the background. Now, they were married ya see. Just not to each other.

I wish you could have seen the look on his face when he saw me standing at the door. He looked at me, looked behind him at the woman in the robe, looked back at me, and with a look that said, “ahh shit”, he slammed the door closed in my face with neither one of us having said a single word. I just stood there thinking about what I just saw and the first thought that came to my mind was, “well damn, good for min. She was hot”.

I knocked on a different door and found what apartment the girl that I was going to see lived in and went there. But this story isn’t about what happened with the chick, this story is about what happened later on because of what I had seen in that first apartment.

From that day forward that English teacher that I caught boning the other teacher was always messing with me and trying to bust my chops for shit I did, and even for shit that I didn’t do. He thought that he could keep me from telling anyone by trying to intimidate me whenever he had the chance.

There were also these two dudes that had always had a problem with me ever since I could remember the two of them. One of em’ was a tall twig with a rich ass dad,

the other was this big dumbass called root, why they called him Root I have no clue, who was more like the tall guys goon than his friend.

So one day during my freshman year I was walking through the lunchroom with my tray of food and these two stood up and started coming towards me. When they got within three or four feet of me the tall one said, “Hey Duplin, we’ve got some shit to take care of. Root and me are gonna’ mash your face in”.

“Man, get the hell out of here” I said, “I aint in the mood to deal with your crap today. I just wanna eat my lunch and get the hell out of here.”

Just then the English teacher that I caught boynkin’ the other teacher walks up and says, “Hey, we got a problem here?”

“yea” says the tall guy, “Duplin here says that he’s gonna hit us”.

“Man, get the hell outa’ here” I told him, “you’re the one who stood the f**k up and started flappin’ your gums about wanting to mash my face”.

The teacher turns to me and says, “Oh really? You wanna hit someone? Hit me”

“I don’t want to hit anybody man. I just want to sit down, eat my lunch, and get out of here”

“No. Really. Hit me if you wanna hit somebody” he said as he poked me in the center of my chest with his pointer and middle finger.

Now, like I said before, I was a big dude. I was six feet tall my freshman year and was putting car transmitions in by hand since I was about thirteen. This guy was a little bit shorter than me but he was broad. This guy wasn’t your regular high school English teacher. He looked more like a weight lifting coach.

I told him to back the hell off and let me get on with my lunch. Instead of leaving me alone, he pokes me in the chest again. This time it was harder.

I dropped my tray and slugged him square in the jaw. My hands were big and tough. My fist covered probably half of his cheek and jaw.

He went up and back. His feet were probably a solid four to six inches off of the ground and he flew backwards about two of three feet before his feet touched the ground again. He was unconscious before his feet touched back down, but his legs kept moving, reflexes I guess. He went through an exterior wall made of those glass brick things.

He laid there for a solid fifteen seconds before he began to come too again. “Well shit” I said. I put down my lunch trey down on the closest table and walked myself to the principal’s office.

They expelled me, but two weeks later they called me back to school because other students, and even other teachers, came out and said that he was always harassing me for no reason. So I went back. I knocked out a teacher and they called me back. How awesome is that?!

3) Martin Hurston

Forging Plans In A Furnace

The men truly honored their homeland, but could not bring themselves to believe what they were being told. They had watched one travesty after another, unable to stop it, unsure how to correct the effects.

But as time flowed by ever so steadily, the men became more resolute in their belief that the land that they loved was being defiled by those who had risen to power. They found others who bore similar beliefs and held similar ideals. They found alias.

They prepared in secrecy, forging plans in a furnace fueled by the heart and soul of a revolutionary. From within the furnace appears battle plans, created for the purpose of reclaiming their beloved homeland from those who defile its foundation and turn it to sand. The cogs of the Machine break free to be used in the construction of a revolutionary force.

They correct the effects of caustic leadership and irresponsibility by those in power. They act. They shall succeed. The men of integrity shall prevail in their quest to halt the degradation of their homeland. They all think in silence while thinking about the future. Success.

Tech Death

As he sits at his computer he cringes. He hates computers. He can’t stand using them but he can’t escape them. He needs them for school, he needs them for work, and when he gets home, he has to het on one to do more school work. He just can’t get away from them.

He hates computers not just because he doesn’t know how to use them, if that was the only problem he could deal with that. He would learn. But he can’t. He can’t just learn how to use the computer because the computers hate him too.

His brain sends out pulses that confuse and disrupt a computer’s systems. Its not the computer. Its him.

He gets fed up with the machine and destroys it. He punches a hole through the screen, slams it closed with a brick between the keyboard and the screen, then he takes out the brick and beats the last bit of functionality that remained out of it.

Once he has ended its electronic, degenerate, and enraging life he walks to the window. With one quick motion he unlatches the window and throws it out. It flies through the air and falls three floors to the concrete bellow. With a menacing smile on his face he steps up to the window. He unzips his pants, pulls out his piece, and pisses.

The stream travels, uninterrupted, three floors to where the mangled remains of the computer awaits. He smiles as the guards grab and pull him away from the window. He is executed right then and there for the destruction of technology. The cyber war claimed one more life. What a shame.

4) 1.

Wolf Pack

The wolf pack is one

It’s all or it’s none

If you’re part of the group

They all fight for you.

The wolf pack is family

The wolf pack is pride

If one member’s in trouble

They’ll rush to his side.

Like brothers they run

Like brothers they fight

They’ll be at your side,

Midday or midnight.

We hunt as a pack

We hunt as a tribe,

But at the bar or the club

We just can’t decide.

The wolf pack,

The Bro-dom,

They’re one in the same.

What it’s called doesn’t matter,

Because it’s not just a name.

What we are is a family

A group of cool dudes,

Together we prosper

And that’ll be a hard thing to change.

2.

The Boat Builder

The rain pours down

And pelts the ground, if we don’t build an arch we might just drown

So spread the word around

That we all must build,

For the prophecy to be fulfilled.

We need animals, two of each kind

But you might bunk with a goat,

I hope The rain pours down

And pelts the ground, if we don’t build an arch we might just drown

So spread the word around

that we all must build,

For the prophecy to be fulfilled.

We need animals, two of each kind

But you might bunk with a goat,

I hope you don’t mind.

We’ve gotta’ go, gotta get it afloat,

Noah’s my name

And boat building’s my game.

3.

For All You Mean To Us

Like a god, you’re meant for all

Your presence unknown until you’re missing

Believed by many to never fall

But when you do for you we’re wishing.

The wrecking ball has now been placed

Put there by those who wish you gone

Your supporters will not let you be defaced

To keep you alive, our own lives we shall pawn.

But despite our devotion

You may still be in danger

The destroyers plans remain in motion

Now our tactics must get stranger.

Fear not dear freedom, we shall defend

All they’ve done we shall amend.

4.

Like always, you fail,

You never get it correct,

You suck at your job.

5) 1.

Twitch

Standing, walking, skipping, hopping

Seeing, smelling, tasting, talking

No matter what, I always twitch

People look, they hear me sniff.

They see me make faces

They see me count paces

And most do not know the reason for the show.

The reason for this, is that I have a disorder

Cuz’ the wires in my head are all out of order.

And it’s not like I like it

It’s a thorn in my side

A never ending burden

An ever shifting tide.

I’m telling you this

Because it’s nothing to hide

And nothing to laugh at

Or mock or deride.

2,

The once free nation,

Land of racial compilation,

Is now a free man’s prison,

With its own censorship division.

Everything said,

And everything done,

Is up for inspection,

WE are up for revision.

3.

Unlike any other

You are a person unlike any other

I have ever meet before.

You are indeed, a rare kind of person,

A kind that I’ve never seen before.

Where you come from I know not,

I have no way to imagine

But it must be somewhere special

To bare someone like you.

Perhaps a crystal palace

Or a gemstone laden cavern.

For it had to a place of splendor

To bare this world the gift of thee,

And whether or not this is clear to you,

It’s more than crystal clear to me.

4.

Sex with her

Is the fire of the night,

A naked woman

Is the Champaign of life.