creative writing

Chae
alienanthroexamples-1.docx

Below are several examples of how previous students in this class have completed the Alien Anthropology assignment. These are not necessarily perfect examples to model, but they do highlight most of the important assignment requirements that many students do not follow through on. In particular, note how the following examples:

· Are not written in well-crafted, polished sentences. They’re true “field notes,” or they are quickly-written, unrevised, “raw” sentences. You should be focusing on the “something” you’re describing, not on how pretty you can make your sentences.

· Incorporate lots of sensory details—as many of the five senses in each entry as the authors are able to include.

· Offer some sort of reflection on the deeper or larger significance of the “something” being observed. Sometimes the reflections are questions, sometimes they’re observations, but they always try to look deeper into the “something” being observed to come away with curious thoughts, ideas, or questions to ponder.

· Aren’t written from the point of view of an actual alien. “Alien Anthropology” doesn’t mean you should write as a literal alien. It means you should be in the world but not of it. It means you should view your familiar world with the eyes of a thoughtful, curious visitor to your world. Step outside your own skin and see your familiar world in an unfamiliar way. See it again for the first time.

9/8/17 6:09 am - A Cup of Coffee

The container is red and taller than it is wide. It has a square-shaped base and a projection from the left side that is not heated by the contents as the rest of the container is. The black liquid reaches almost to the dimple on the inside of the container where the top of the projection inserts. The container is heavy for its size. The liquid has a woody sweet smell. Tastes bitter. When the mug is moved the liquid laps at the top of the container, but does not spill over. A small plume of steam leaves the top of the liquid and quickly dissipates. The light above reflects off of the black surface, creating some pockets of black that are lighter than others. The liquid looks and feels heavier than water, but appears to have the same viscosity.

This square mug filled with coffee represents calm. It does not make noise, does not cause pain or worry or excitement. It just is. The way the surface of the coffee jumps each time there is a movement elsewhere on the table, as well as its warmth and soothing smell, make it calming for an observer to watch.

7/14/2018 Giant trash disposal behind my job

It sits on the hot concrete that is covered in spilled food from the food court. Covered in a moldy, body odor, cardboard smell. The base color of the trash disposal is beige-yellow. There are red and black paint scrapes after being loaded and unloaded onto trucks. It feels like it was sanded by a giant piece of rust. As I run my hand near the doors latch I am reminded that I am grateful to be up-to-date with my tetanus vaccine. I hear the mall cops driving through the parking lot. So loud going over the potholes that probably made them wince. When you turn the key to start the compaction process, it sounds like a loud clothes dryer. This object grabs my attention because of its ability to carry so much weight without breaking. Half of the stores in the mall use this dumpster and each time you use it you cannot tell how many loads of trash have been thrown in it. This trash disposal could be symbolic of a depressed person. This disposal gets loads of trash thrown in it daily but compacts it all so the next person to approach can’t actually tell how much it has dealt with. Like how a depressed person suppresses the loads they deal with so nobody can see the pain.

4 September 2017. House with bike in front. Outside of my childhood home.

I found myself parked outside of my old childhood home. It still looks the same with its red bricks and green shutters, door, and mailbox. The friendly black metal rooster weathervane still perched on top of the garage. The wind is blowing northeast. I roll down my car window and a breeze that smells like home meets my face. Like the first breeze of spring, or oxygen straight from a tree. The familiar Japanese Cherry Blossom tree waves at me through the wind, like it wants me to climb it again. The song of cicadas and crickets everywhere. Remembering their unconventional pattern of chirps as I drifted off to sleep each night. My eyes shift out of focus as I see myself, 15 years ago, running carelessly from the front door into the open fields of green. I see myself laying on the rocky driveway as I gazed up at the stars. Now, there is a small bike laying on its side in a sea of grass that is the front yard. The bike had a vibrantly pink shade along the handles and body of the bike. It was littered with glitter that made it hard to look at in the sun. It had a white basket with purple flowers blooming from the side. The basket was so small that you couldn’t even fit a small book inside. Must be for decoration. Everything about the house fit my memories perfectly besides this bike. This bike belongs to the family who now resides in my childhood home. They are making new memories on top of our old memories. Do the halls still remember echoing my laughter off its walls? Does the kitchen still smell of warm apple pie in the summer? Does the living room still have a crater in the wall from when my brother and I played baseball inside? Why is our childhood home the capital of our memories?

07.12.18, headaches, at home

My head is throbbing. I hear my dad scraping up the floor below. My stress relieving candle from Bath and Body works seem to be doing no good. At least it smells nice. I cannot find words to describe how it smells. I will get back to you on that though. I have the sweet taste of a homemade buckeye in my mouth that won’t leave despite the gallons of water I drink to wash it away. I just finished a book. It was pretty epic and kind of life changing. With each letter I type my head pulsates a little bit harder it feels like. The flowers on my dresser look more sad than normal. I wonder what kind of life journey they had. Where did they come from? Who hand picked them? And how in the world did they end up in my room? They remind me of my Nanny. Oh Lord, whenever I think of my Nanny I can smell moth balls. I associate moth balls with old people now if you were wondering. Flowers and moth balls. I can almost taste the moth balls now. Yep, there goes another gallon of water to wash down that mothball and buckeye taste. I feel myself slipping under my covers, the candle flickering, the smell of it filling the room, and my body is demanding me to rest. I think I will reread that book. That life changing book. What is it about reading that makes you want to up and change everything. The smell of the crisp new pages gliding through my fingers makes me feel at home. So, I think I will read again until I fall deep into a trance. Goodnight.

9-6-17, leather with five dollars and my license, the chair in the corner

I don’t know why, but I just took my wallet out to check how much money I have in it. I’m not even at a restaurant or store, and I'm not planning to go to one either. So I don’t know why I got this thing out. Anyways, it caught my attention. Opening it up brings familiarity. I expand the separate “pocket” for cash—not impressed. Five bucks. Not even a five dollar bill. Just five lonely ones that all came from separate owners. All crumpled up and folded in every direction. None of them look the same, but they all have the same value—just like us, I guess. I closed up the “pocket” in disappointment. I’m broke—waiting on my paycheck from my new job: Skyline Chili. It doesn’t pay much, but it’s enough to keep me going and I’m able to save some for my travels. I have a tri-fold wallet. Black. Leather. I’ve had this wallet for three years now and it has held up quite nicely in my opinion. Taking a sniff, I can still smell the aroma of leather. Well, aged leather with a small hint of mystery. The inside—two pockets on the left fold and two on the right. They are empty. At one time, they were filled with gift cards and business cards to various restaurants and stores. Now they’re gone. Used up. Disappeared. The inside has changed over the years. The middle section holds my license. I hate my license. The picture is so disgusting. I’m not even smiling and my hair, electric blue at the time, was styled over to one side. I hate this thing, but it’s important; so I have to keep it. It’s a normal I.D., I guess—all of my info displayed clearly to see. Apparently, by looking at this thing, you can get a general synopsis of who this person (me) is. Well, I don’t think it does a very good job. All it shows is my outward appearance and I’m more worried about what’s on the inside: the true me. I guess the BMV thinks no one is interested in that. I closed my wallet back up. What was once long and spread out is now small. Compact. Closed up. The outside is a little tore up, I guess. A couple of scratches here and there and few loose threads in the small stitching. One might look at it from the outside and think it is useless. Too beat-up. But they don’t see the inside. The inside is what’s important. It opens up; revealing all the important things. We are so quick to judge based on outward appearance, aren’t we? Why do we focus on the things we can see from a distance when all it takes is a little unfolding to reveal much more. What do I think? Opening this old pal of mine gives me a unique aroma. It reminds me of all my travels: Canada, New York City, France, England, Oklahoma. It was there; providing everything I needed. It has my license. It has my five dollars. That’s it. Not a lot. But still five dollars and a license. Important things. It’s enough for now. And that is enough for me.