Welcome to Narrative 2! This is the 7th unit here at Freestyle. The purpose of this project is to answer the question of "How well can you tell a dialogue-driven story?” In each class, we had different tasks, which ranged from short stories and quick writes to HDR photography to animation and website production. Each of the drop downs below constitute a specific class. The subsections include individual productions.
This unit, being the final creative unit of my time here at Freestyle, has been extremely memorable. I’ve not only learned more content-wise, but have learned how to better implement the concepts I have learned.
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English
In English, we wrote original short stories. After choosing one story that we particularly wrote, we then wrote the story 2 more times, from other points of view. Each column tells the story from a different perspective. This gives the reader different ideas of what is going on throughout the story. It also gives us, as authors, a chance to break out of our comfort zone, as often, we tend to favorite a specific perspective. Additionally, we experimented with surrealist writing, another opportunity to expand our writing skills. This consisted of a series of 3 10-minute quick writes based off of a quote given to us.
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Short Story 1
3rd person omniscient:
At every family holiday party, reunion, gathering or dinner, the parents would all sit around on the couches, discussing their children’s newest accomplishments. The younger children circle around, but soon get bored. The older children, the teens, make an attempt to insert themselves in the conversation. Often times, however, their comments are drowned out by an aunt or an uncle speaking over them. Dance competitions, basketball games, academic awards and science fair prizes were bragged about time and time again. The parents would go on for hours about how great their child was. “What about Kelsey?” Her grandma chimed in.
“Kelsey?” Her mother replies. “She does her own thing. Marches to the beat of her own drum.”
“Well, marching to the beat of her own drum isn’t going to get her through pre-med, is it?”
Kelsey was 12 at the time, but had never really found her niche. She dabbled in some dance here, gymnastics there, tried soccer and softball and track, but she was never exceptionally talented at anything. Regardless of talent, she didn’t ever enjoy what she did. She felt as though she was always being shuffled around from one class or practice or meet or recital to the next. This had been going on since she was young, as the case for all the children in the family. However, Kelsey was a different case. When she was compared to her siblings and cousins, she never quite lived up to the family standards.
Feeling distraught after overhearing her mother’s conversation, Kelsey retreated to the back of the house. She walked to the bedroom at the end of the hall, which she always stayed in when she visited her grandparent’s house. Kelsey kicked off her shoes and flopped down on the bed. A few minutes later, her mother knocks quietly on the door and walks into the room. “Honey?” Kelsey doesn’t reply.
“I just wanted to tell you something, something I should have told you earlier.” This sparks Kelsey’s attention, prompting her to sit up and face her mother. “All of your siblings and cousins have always tried to learn the clarinet, but none of them were ever good at it, so we just sort of, well, forgot about it. All the kids just moved forward and tried something new. I should have said something, I really should, but we just thought that you wouldn’t be good at it either.” Kelsey thinks for a few moments.
“Let me try it.” Her mom walks into the next room over and comes back with a small black box. Kelsey opens it, assembles the instrument, purses her lips together, and begins to play.
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Short Story 2
1st Person (Protagonist's POV):
My family is this family of great people, they go on to be star soccer players and basketball players and winners of science fairs and awards and prizes. Every holiday party and birthday party always seems to go the same way. Everyone talks and brags until no one is even listening to each other anymore. I overhear voices rising from the kitchen. I hear my grandmother ask my mom, “What about Kelsey?”
“Kelsey?” I hear my mom. “She does her own thing. Marches to the beat of her own drum.”
“Well, marching to the beat of her own drum isn’t going to get her through pre-med, is it?”
Hearing that struck a chord. I go to the back of the house. I’m so sick of hearing this stuff. I’m constantly being nagged by everyone I know. Do this, don’t do that. Grandma’s talking about pre-med? I’m 12. Check back in a few years please…
At least I have a space of my own. I always stay in the same room whenever I’m here at my grandparents. I even have my own spot in the closet. I kick off my shoes, one goes this way, the other that way. Grandma hates messes. I guess this’ll make sure she won’t come in here.
I flopped down on the bed and buried my head in the mass of pillows and crocheted blankets. After a little while, I hear a knock on the door. I don’t look up, but I know it’s my mom. The sound of her kitten heels on the hardwood floor is so distinct, and I’d recognize her perfume anywhere. “Honey?” I don’t move.
“I just wanted to tell you something, something I should have told you earlier.” This might actually be interesting. I flip over and turn to sit up and face her. “All of your siblings and cousins have always tried to learn the clarinet, but none of them were ever good at it, so we just sort of, well, forgot about it. All the kids just moved forward and tried something new. I should have said something, I really should, but we just thought that you wouldn’t be good at it either.”
How come she never told me that before?
“I’ll be right back.” My mom walks out into the hall and pulls down the staircase to the attic. She comes back a few minutes later and hands me a small black box. I open it up, and inside I find an instrument-- a clarinet. There are lots of little pieces; some have little buttons, others have open holes. Confusing, but hey, if I can fake my way through bio, I can fake getting this thing together.
My mom goes back downstairs to the party. I sit on the bed, trying to muster up enough courage to actually try something out. I start to play; first a screech, then another, and another, but on the third time, something comes out that sounds like a real note. I fiddle around for a while. I’ve never really found anything that I could just pick up (literally) and learn how to do. I trip over my feet (goodbye ballet, soccer, and every land sport ever) and I don’t really care that the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell. But this, this I can be okay with.
As I flop back down on my bed, clarinet almost rolling off the bed (oops!), I start thinking about my family. Everyone else is good at something, now I have something of my own: something that everyone before me has tried and failed at. This is a new feeling for me; I’m always the one who fails. I hope Grandma is proud of me for once. I can’t wait to see the look on her face when she hears me playing. And hey, if she doesn’t like it, at least the sound of the clarinet will drown out her voice.
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Short Story 3
1st Person (Secondary Character's / Antagonist's POV):
At every family holiday party, reunion, gathering and dinner I host, my children and their spouses would all sit around on my couches, discussing their children’s newest accomplishments. The grandkids circle around, but soon get bored. The older grandkids (grandteens?), make an attempt to insert themselves in our conversations. Often times, however, their comments are drowned out by an aunt or an uncle speaking over them. Dance competitions, basketball games, academic awards and science fair prizes are bragged about time and time again. My kids would go on for hours about how great their child was. “What about Kelsey?” I chimed in. I’ve heard all about all of my other grandchildren, but Kelsey is never talked about much.
“Kelsey?” Her mother replies. “She does her own thing. Marches to the beat of her own drum.”
Something needs to be done. Kelsey can’t “march to the beat of her own drum.” That won’t get her through pre-med.
Kelsey is 12, but she never really found her niche. She’s dabbled in some dance here, gymnastics there, tried soccer and softball and track, but she was never exceptionally talented at anything. Her grandfather and I used to tease her about her two left feet after her dance recitals. Her parents have enrolled her in countless classes, clubs and teams, but she never seemed to enjoy what opportunities she was handed. This has been going on since she was young, as the case for all the children in the family. However, Kelsey is different. She has never quite lived up to the family standards; all her cousins and siblings have exceptional talents and skills.
I see Kelsey peek out from around the doorframe to the kitchen. She must have overheard my comment. Maybe that was a little harsh of me. Well, nevertheless, maybe this will finally encourage some change in her behavior. Kelsey retreats to the back of the house, I assume to the room she always stays in. I’ve never understood why she likes that room, it’s small and dark and dingy. It’s the room we use to store the junk we never bother going through.
I glance over at my daughter, Kelsey’s mother. She understands my slight head nod, and quietly excuses herself. I see her follow Kelsey to her room. She emerges some time later, but does not rejoin the group. Instead, she pulls down the ladder to the attic, getting dust all over the hall. I cannot believe she’s going up there-- and in her dinner party clothes nonetheless! My daughter comes down from the attic holding a small, black box. I have no idea what she just found. She brings it into Kelsey’s room, and finally comes back to the party.
What could that be? I rack my brain for what the box could possibly hold. No, it can’t be, I think, but just then-- SCREECH. The shrill, ear piercing noise of a clarinet rings out through the house. I hid that thing up in the attic for a reason, and now it’s being brought back down again! The clarinet was the one thing no one in the family could ever master, not my children, not their children. Kelsey won’t be different. After all, she hasn’t been good at anything ever before.
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Design
There were a few tasks presented to us in Design. Firstly, we had to create a book jacket based on our short stories. Next, we created a series of surrealist art. This art was made after a meditation, often following a quick write based on a prompt. We then created one singular piece based off of all of our surrealism work so far.
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BOOK JACKET
I learned a lot in this process. Having the opportunity to freely use InDesign, Illustrator and Photoshop allowed for more flexibility in the creation of this book jacket. Click to view larger.
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Surrealist quick-art
Assignment 2 info
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Surrealist Final
This is the final, larger project in Design. It is tied into our "Blink" unit, a book we read in English on the power of snap judgement.
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Web/Audio Production
In Web, we were assigned two tasks. The first was to create an animation, based on our narrative story. I based mine loosely around the story. I first created an animatic, a rough overview of our plan for our animation. I then made my actual animation. The animation uses simple, almost childlike shapes, which connects to the design of the website. The second task was to create this website. I designed this website based on the book jacket cover that I made in design, matching both the colors and the fonts accordingly.
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Paper Prototypes
These are the rough sketches I made for my original website concept.
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Animatic
The animatic is a useful way to begin the process of connecting our writing to our animations.
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Animation
This is the final version of my animation. Using After Effects was a challenging experience, however, I am proud of what I created, despite the various difficulties.
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