Peer Response 1, Final Week

Response to Susana's Reportage, Week 7

Susana,

I think you've got the makings of an interesting juxtaposition here, all to do with perception: the gas station attendant's perception of the man with blood on his shirt seems strangely connected to your own perception of Waffle House. Both of you wanted minimal contact with someone or something that you found offensive or dirty or otherwise dangerous. This beginning seems ripe for self-critique of the sort that Davidson has been encouraging of late. You seem hyper aware of the gas station attendant's problematic assumptions, but how can you start to deconstruct your own assumptions? Not that I don't get your feelings about Waffle House--I completely agree. In fact, I won't eat there.

But I wonder if restaurants (or public spots, in general) that appear cleaner than Waffle House are in fact any less in need of a thorough disinfecting. I often think about who touched the ketchup bottle, the salt shakers, etc. How clean is my plate, really, before my order is piled on top? How about that fork? Did the person wrapping my silverware have clean hands?

Even more generally, you might question the idea of standards? The station attendant had his and so do you. Could you play with that and bring in reflection that might give this piece some depth? Maybe show you questioning your own assumptions? Even your son has expectations associated with Waffle House, which you could play with as well. When he says "this was the reason he likes coming to Waffle House," what exactly is he implying? That Waffle House invites interesting characters? If so, it reminds me of one of my own problematic assumptions: I've been in Wal-Mart a few times at 2 or 3am, and caught myself thinking "there are some crazies out at this time at night." But I was there, too, so hmmmmmm. Anyway, I think you have the perfect opportunity here to dig deep with reflection and self-analysis.

Peer Response 1, Final Week

Response to Brett's Prompt, Final Week

Brett,

This prompt is timely for me. I started working on an essay Friday night about the evolution of fear in my life. I started thinking about the odd fear of hell that I had in grade school because I thought I had committed blasphemy, the "unforgivable sin." It was such a scary feeling because I didn't want to talk to anyone about it and ruin their dreams of Heaven for me. Instead I internalized that fear and read all the passages I could find about that particular sin and its consequences. Which, of course, made me a quiet, brooding middle schooler, edging into my second greatest fear--that of being a social oddity.

I hadn't looked at Martin's essay yet, but I think I'll look to it for inspiration now. And to your prompt!

Also, it sounds like you have a "childhood fear" essay asking to be written . . .

Peer Response 1, Week 7

*I'm responding here to Brett's Memory 2, Week 5, which I didn't get a chance to read closely until now.

Brett,

I haven't had the pleasure yet of reading all your posts on Korea, but of the ones I've read, this is easily my favorite. You happened upon, at the risk of my sounding predictable, the "perfect" hitchhike hosts. I'm wondering if hitchhiking is common in Korea, enough so that a family feels comfortable picking up strangers (although you seem nonthreatening enough). Or maybe I've just watched too many movies and have an uninformed fear.

The crux of the piece, for me, is the "gesture of erasure" made right by the idea that we are "contemporary people." Let's not talk about the history; we're concerned these days with "digging for razor clams in the mudflats off the coast," able to change course on a whim to tour Bomunsa. That's such a rich juxtaposition . . . the skirting of the news about the "mass graves of suspected leftists from the Korean War era" in order to live carefree as "contemporaries." But even though the gesture of erasure was made, that historical bit still hangs in the air, maybe like the smeared chalk in Beard's essay. Although you've moved on, the remnants of the moment suggest that you have to come back to it eventually, even if only to contemplate briefly on the significance of the past to the present. I LOVE this!!

Of course, I'm interested in the food, too, the crab on a stick. I don't think you necessarily need to expand on this moment, but I do think the piece benefits from this kind of detail, which you did a nice job of incorporating. Another rich moment is when you craftily show us the odd play between father and daughter, English teacher and student, and how, already, her English surpasses his. Great detail! Fantastically presented!! My best advice? Keep writing. I want to hear what happens next.

Peer Response 1, Week 3

Response to Susannah's Memory 1, Week 3

This story is chock full of interesting, ripe happenings. To start in the middle of the action, you might think of opening with "The house across the street from us was a drug dealer’s mansion" or a brief quip about how your neighbor's tiger crashed your cousin's coming-out party.

Also, you could make this memory pop by streamlining your prose. For example, what if, instead of saying, "I imagine the tiger must have been doped up on some kind of sedative because my father grabbed the chain that hung from its neck and walked it back to the neighbor’s house as if it had been a puppy Labrador that had come to join the festivities and beg for left-over meatballs," you shortened it to: "I suspected animal doping when my father led the tiger back home by its chain, as though it was a puppy Labrador, come to beg for left-over meatballs." That's certainly not the only option for cutting the prose a bit, but I think trimming the language allows the spotlight to remain fixed on this unexpected scene.

I'm fascinated with this background of yours. I imagine you have lots of other stories from this kind of odd neighborhood mingling. I'd love to hear them!

Peer Response 1, Week 2

Response to Brett's "Oddity" Post:

You're right! Gatlinburg is the kitsch capital . . . and certainly the goody-two-shoes relative of Las Vegas. You made smart use of specifics in your post--The Donut Friar, The Happy Shack, and my personal favorite, Cupid's Chapel of Love. Even if I hadn't been there before, I could conjure up a telling image of what to expect should I make the drive. And without saying what a Gatlinburg vacation says about its patrons, you do a nice job of showing us. It's funny because when I think of going to the mountains, I think of spending time in nature. But Gatlinburg, seemingly uncomfortable with its association with nature, promises a kind of steroid-induced culture, a kind of hyperbole culture designed to claim the cash of the bored. Maybe when you swing to an uncanny connection, you could bring in the fake snow and transition to the downplayed beauty that the town attempts to distract from. What do the kitsch and bright lights keep us from seeing?