Lola went to grade school with Frederick. She felt a connection with him the first moment they locked gazes. But, she avoided him. They were both different from the others. Even as a little girl, Lola knew she was strange. Her father reminded her of that as he beat her every night. In an attempt to "fit in," Lola tried to socialize with her female classmates. She wore pink bows, dressed, and giggled delightfully. The game of pretend ended in junior high school. One of the girls found Lola sifting through her vomit. From that point on, Lola stopped wearing bows and dresses. She started having sexual encounters with older boys and began performing puppet shows. Lola never forgot about Frederick.
The first day of sophomore year Lola couldn't stay away from Frederick any longer. He was was hypnotic. She walked right up to him, kissed him on the mouth, and gave him one of her homemade puppets. Frederick and Lola became inseparable. They were together for almost every minute of every day. She shared her food secret, and he seemed just as infatuated with her obsession. Once, Lola thought about telling Frederick she loved him, but she threw up instead.
On June 6th, Lola decided to make love with Frederick. She had waited patiently for this moment. The sex wasn't romantic or sweet. It wasn't in any weird or exotic spot. The only unique aspect of it was the biting. Frederick kept biting Lola. He bit hard and long, drawing blood on a few instances. After the sex, Lola felt strange. She felt like a ghost
-Abbey Lawrence
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Week Twelve, Entry Two: Character Bio
Frederick Lampir was born in Bucharest, Romania on January 11th, 1974. This would make him thirty-six years old. His mother remembered his birth as terrifying. Frederick's father was a nomad, and Frederick was conceived after a night of potions. His father left before Teresa knew she was pregnant. Teresa Lampir was in a grueling thirty-seven hour labor. She wanted a C-section but midwives don't have the surgical capacity to complete such a procedure. When Teresa saw him for the first time, she threw up. Not only was he covered in blood and mucous, but he scared her. He had awful black eyes and black hair. But, worst of all, Frederick wouldn't cry for five hours. The midwife was worried that Frederick's lungs hadn't developed correctly. After the fifth hour, he cried because he was hungry. Teresa refused to have more children.
Teresa did her best as a mother. She provided Frederick with all the necessities: food, water, clothing, shelter, education etc. But she could never truly love him. Teresa told him she loved him, but her stomach would churn. Kisses and hugs were seldom. It was too hard.
Frederick was a quiet boy but a smart boy; he was also a good runner. He excelled in school, but his teachers never wanted to be affectionate or alone with him. It wasn't because Frederick was ugly or cruel or hateful. He just had certain tendencies that made people uncomfortable. Frederick had a way about eating his lunch, feeding classroom pets, licking his lips and fingers, and chewing on his hands that made people squirm. There were a few other children that were kind to Frederick. At recess or lunch, he wasn't physically alone. But mentally and emotionally, he had no one.
The best (and worst) year of Frederick's life was his sophomore year in high school. He had a 4.0, promises for a track scholarship, and he met someone like him. Her name was Lola. Lola was also quiet and kind. She loved to read and put on strange little puppet shows. Lola was obsessed with food too. Sometimes it would take Frederick and Lola an hour to finish a meal just so they could lick, taste, grind, and mash their food. Lola would gag herself after every meal, and then examine each morsel of regurgitated food. Frederick liked that game too. Frederick and Lola had sex on a balmy summer evening. There were no stars that night just a full moon. It was Frederick's first time, but Lola had already had a few partners.
Lola died the next day.
After Lola's death, Frederick appeared to feel nothing. He didn't scream, cry, kick, pout, laugh. The only sign of emotion was a strange smile he made at the funeral. He smiled at a tree, or perhaps something behind the tree. Maybe it was a ghost. Frederick finished high school at the top of his class. He went to a four-year university and got an engineering degree. His mother attended his college graduation but never made contact with him again. He decided he was tired of Romania. Frederick left for New York City.
In New York City, Frederick developed a habit. A cannibalistic habit. He liked eating flesh. It wasn't an easy habit in the sense that murder is not easy to accomplish. Victims scream and cry and whimper pathetically. It was a tedious, annoying process.
-Abbey Lawrence
Teresa did her best as a mother. She provided Frederick with all the necessities: food, water, clothing, shelter, education etc. But she could never truly love him. Teresa told him she loved him, but her stomach would churn. Kisses and hugs were seldom. It was too hard.
Frederick was a quiet boy but a smart boy; he was also a good runner. He excelled in school, but his teachers never wanted to be affectionate or alone with him. It wasn't because Frederick was ugly or cruel or hateful. He just had certain tendencies that made people uncomfortable. Frederick had a way about eating his lunch, feeding classroom pets, licking his lips and fingers, and chewing on his hands that made people squirm. There were a few other children that were kind to Frederick. At recess or lunch, he wasn't physically alone. But mentally and emotionally, he had no one.
The best (and worst) year of Frederick's life was his sophomore year in high school. He had a 4.0, promises for a track scholarship, and he met someone like him. Her name was Lola. Lola was also quiet and kind. She loved to read and put on strange little puppet shows. Lola was obsessed with food too. Sometimes it would take Frederick and Lola an hour to finish a meal just so they could lick, taste, grind, and mash their food. Lola would gag herself after every meal, and then examine each morsel of regurgitated food. Frederick liked that game too. Frederick and Lola had sex on a balmy summer evening. There were no stars that night just a full moon. It was Frederick's first time, but Lola had already had a few partners.
Lola died the next day.
After Lola's death, Frederick appeared to feel nothing. He didn't scream, cry, kick, pout, laugh. The only sign of emotion was a strange smile he made at the funeral. He smiled at a tree, or perhaps something behind the tree. Maybe it was a ghost. Frederick finished high school at the top of his class. He went to a four-year university and got an engineering degree. His mother attended his college graduation but never made contact with him again. He decided he was tired of Romania. Frederick left for New York City.
In New York City, Frederick developed a habit. A cannibalistic habit. He liked eating flesh. It wasn't an easy habit in the sense that murder is not easy to accomplish. Victims scream and cry and whimper pathetically. It was a tedious, annoying process.
-Abbey Lawrence
Week Twelve, Entry One: Short Story Goal
Currently, my short story is in a state of ugliness. I shudder just thinking about it. The story is lurking in its file on my computer, waiting for me to play with it. But, I almost don't want to play. I'm frustrated with it and running low on time and patience. However, with the two others pieces I've written this semester, each draft improves drastically. I'm crossing my fingers.
When I'm finished, I hope to create a story that is enticing and thoughtful. As a writer, I want the piece to be interesting and complex. I don't want to have a story that is straightforward and predictable, but I don't want to confuse the readers either. There is a ceratin medium I must achieve. I just want something different. I want to improve the fluency and manipulation of my language. In previous works, my language use is rather rough, almost immature. Perhaps I am trying too hard. After my readers are finished with the piece, I want them to crave more stories. I want my readers to connect with the main character. I want them to be inside of his head. When they read the last sentence, I want them to be disappointed because there isn't more story left. I know I am probably overreaching, but that's how I feel. If nothing else, I just want to improve and have a little fun. :)
-Abbey Lawrence
When I'm finished, I hope to create a story that is enticing and thoughtful. As a writer, I want the piece to be interesting and complex. I don't want to have a story that is straightforward and predictable, but I don't want to confuse the readers either. There is a ceratin medium I must achieve. I just want something different. I want to improve the fluency and manipulation of my language. In previous works, my language use is rather rough, almost immature. Perhaps I am trying too hard. After my readers are finished with the piece, I want them to crave more stories. I want my readers to connect with the main character. I want them to be inside of his head. When they read the last sentence, I want them to be disappointed because there isn't more story left. I know I am probably overreaching, but that's how I feel. If nothing else, I just want to improve and have a little fun. :)
-Abbey Lawrence
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Week Ten, Entry Number Three: Ideal Life
A day in my ideal life would start between 10:30 a.m. and 11:00 a.m. My master suite would be ridiculously lavished with gorgeous, comfortable furniture. It would have a sitting area, fireplace, California king bed, and an attached bathroom. I would specifically want to live with Tyler and our three future (I am not having kids until I’m at least twenty-seven) babies. But, my loved ones and peers could exist in my ideal world. My three-story home would be about three or four miles from town. The kitchen would drip in granite, stainless steel, and glass tile backsplash. I would have wood floors throughout my home, with the exception of the bedrooms (they would be carpet). I would have one room dedicated to reading and writing. It would be filled with books, over-sized armchairs, a cherry-wood desk, a computer and a window seat. The rest of my home would be filled with equally beautiful furniture. Every room would have crown-molding. After waking up, I would be able to run on the winding trail behind my home. I could run for hours and not be winded. Throughout the day, I could lounge, pet, cuddle, and take care of my pets. I would have a St. Bernard, a Tea Cup Yorkshire Terrier, an American bulldog, a Siamese cat, a Tuxedo cat, chickens, penguins, and hedgehogs. During the early afternoon hours, I would read to my heart’s content. Then, I would work on my foundation that raised money, awareness, and change in orphanages. During the early evening hours, I could watch (in silence) whatever TV show I wanted, without judgment. I would have a Diet Coke fountain that tasted fresh 100% of the time. At night Tyler and I would cook dinner together, and then lie together on the patio furniture and talk until we simply couldn’t talk anymore.
Week Ten, Entry Number Two: Conversation Piece Re-visited
Brian: Karl, I need to tell you something.
Karl: Err- Okay. What is it?
Brian: I don’t want to go with you to the football game this weekend. I don’t like anything about football. I hate the game, the psychotic fans, just everything. I’d rather do something else that’s in my hometown.
Karl: I didn’t mean to make you feel that way, Brian. I just thought maybe we’d try something different. Try to expand our friend base. What do you want to do?
Brian: I thought maybe we could go this comic book convention for Invaders of the Cerebellum. The storyline is fascinating; plus, there’s a girl there a want to see.
Karl: A girl? Are you shitting me?
Brian: It’s Molly. She e-mailed me and asked me if I would be at the convention. I miss her, Karl. I haven’t found anyone else here that I care about. She’s still single.
Karl: You look desperate. It’s pathetic. Man up.
Brian: I need your help. I need your guidance. Be my Yoda.
Karl: God, you’re weird. But, I suppose I’ll take you under my wing, young Jedi.
Week Ten, Entry Number One: An Interview with my Husband
I enjoyed An Interview with my Husband, despite the fact it was about a failing marriage. I thought the play of the dialogue was amusing, touching, and significant. The interview viewpoint shows the apathy and lack of full-blown emotion in the relationship (at least on the husband's part). The author’s voice was blunt but full of underlying passion. She loved her husband but was aware of the fact that he may not love her in the same manner. He loved the physical relationship; she loved the physical and emotional relationships.Her intelligence and perception are astounding but sad. I liked the switches from dialogue to narrative to reflection to lists. It kept my interest throughout the entire piece. I also think that the switches were able to better explain the background information of the piece. My favorite aspect of the piece was the honesty flowing from the narrator. She was honest with herself and her readers. Even though she discussed sexual intercourse, love, and disappoint, she didn’t censor anything. I connected with her; I felt like I was in her head.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Entry Number three, Week Nine: 50 Things I'm Proud Of...
1. I am proud of my fiancé. He is a wonderful person, the “package deal”: generous, loyal, compassionate, hardworking, terribly funny, and handsome. I have never met anyone else who would jump in a bath tub, fully clothed, to console me when I was hysterical after reminiscing about my “glory days” in high school track. He then proceeded to sing me, “Too Shy” and washed my hair. It sounds weird, but it I think the “weird moments” are the ones that make our relationship unique and worthwhile. Did I mention he has excellent taste in jewelry? J
2. I am proud of my immediate family. Because I am in college, my parents and siblings have suffered financially. Christmases and birthdays aren’t as plentiful and extravagant. There are no more family vacations. My dad can’t replace his worn-out truck. My mom had to go back to work. Yet, no one complains, groans, and acts resentful. They are the epitome of sacrifice.
3. I am proud of my sister’s (Allison’s) athleticism. It is amazing to watch her play volleyball and basketball. She has a grace, confidence, and mastery of fundamentals that I envy. But she is not the stereotypical “dumb jock.” Allison is extremely intelligent.
4. I am proud of my brother’s (Alex’s) discipline. This is majorly applicable in extracurricular activities like football, basketball, and track. But, he trains so diligently and passionately. Alex has a focus and drive that is admirable for an eighth grade boy.
5. I am proud of my brother’s (Aaron’s) inventive nature. He is crafty and transforms random household objects into weapons, traps, and other apparatuses that I will never understand. Once, I was lucky enough to help him whittle arrows for a cross bow. He was only seven at the time.
6. I am proud of the drawings and crafts from my preschool students.
7. I am proud of my raggedy teddy bear, Emily.
8. I am proud of breaking up with my ex-boyfriend. However, I’m not proud of the last line of my break- up speech: “I hope you get hit by a bus.”
9. I am proud of my obsession with monsters.
10. I am proud of my 2003 Ford Focus.
11. I am proud of my addiction to Diet Coke.
12. I am proud of reading the entire Twilight Saga.
13. I am proud of my babies: Dominik and Addisyn. Biologically, they aren’t mine, but I was a nanny/single parent for these two kiddos all summer. If my children are half as beautiful as these two, then I will be lucky.
14. I am proud of keeping the same best friend and not being wishy-washy.
15. I am proud that I do not always have to be around people. Being alone does not bother me.
16. I am proud that I sleep with a night-light. Guess what? I’m scared of the dark; I know what lurks in it.
17. I am proud that I held a penguin. FYI: they are NOT soft and snuggly.
18. I am proud that I went to Falmouth, Jamaica.
19. I am proud that I saw the Lion King and Phantom of the Opera on Broadway.
20. I am proud that I have a strange link with the Holocaust. My best friend thinks I died in the Holocaust and am reincarnated. I am starting to believe her.
21. I am proud that I never got passed in the 4x400 meter relay.
22. I am proud that I have three huge birthmarks on my back.
23. I am proud that I am in love with Stephen King.
24. I am proud that I saw The Lion King: 3D in the movie theatre and drank chocolate milk while I watched it.
25. I am proud that I am a crybaby during movies.
26. I am proud that I have finished a 1,000 page book: Stephen King’s It.
27. I am proud that I have been through one of Kansas City’s famous haunted houses. I am not proud that I swore loudly in front of small children.
28. I am proud that I watch HGTV, TLC, E!, and Bravo.
29. I am proud that every year I watch AMC’s Fear fest.
30. I am proud that I was good at track and cross country.
31. I am proud that I kept a secret for a whole year.
32. I am proud that I competed in Forensics for a year.
33. I am proud that haven’t skipped a class.
34. I am proud that I love wearing sweats.
35. I am proud that I am CERT certified.
36. I am proud that I have written three children’s books.
37. I am proud that I love Mizzou and the Royals.
38. I am proud of my cousins that work for the State Department.
39. I am proud that I am liberal.
40. I am proud that I am from Rock Port, MO.
41. I am proud that in the fourth, fifth, and sixth grades I used to stay up until two or three in the morning to read books.
42. I am proud of my engagement ring.
43. I am proud of the scars on my legs.
44. I am proud that I’m not a size 0.
45. I am proud that I am flat-chested.
46. I am proud of my future home at 511 Parkeast Drive.
47. I am proud of my pets: my Boston terrier and two cats.
48. I am proud of loving the Randy Rogers Band.
49. I am proud of owning the Disney Vault.
50. I am proud of my old pair of running shoes.
-Abigail Lawrence J
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