Kali Justen
Ms. Hollerich
Honors English 9
May 13, 2012
You Can Go Your Own Way
Tuesday, May 12, 2020
Artist Statement
Artist Statement
My
multi-genre project focuses on the theme that it is better to stick to your
convictions and principals than it is to succumb to peer pressure and go along
with the crowd. Sometimes in life, it makes sense to go along with the crowd.
It’s nice to feel like you’re a part of something, like when you’re cheering on
your basketball team at the state championship or when you’re dancing with a
crowd at a show. On the other hand, there are times when you shouldn’t go along
with the crowd, like when someone is being bullied by a group of people, and no
one is standing up for them. Making the decision to go with the flow or to go
your own way is a tough one that we all struggle with regularly.
I chose
the theme of sticking to your guns vs. going along with the crowd because of
all the things we’ve talked about in circles and in English class this year.
We’ve spent a lot of time talking about ideas like how it’s important to
recognize that we all come from different environments and different points of
view and how that affects who we are. We’ve also talked about how sometimes
we’re responsible to ourselves and other times we’re responsible to others. I
think it’s interesting to think that we have to choose every day whether or not
we want to be true to ourselves or to others, and that’s why I chose to explore
this theme in my multi-genre project.
I decided
to explore my theme from the point of view of someone who is an outcast,
someone who is popular, and someone who is in the middle and has to make a
choice. I also wanted to bring up the possibility that the person who is
popular doesn’t always have an easy life, like they have their own problems
too. I thought it would be interesting to show the different points of view,
which are told from a young school girl’s perspective, in genres that a younger
person might use: a graphic representation, a poem, a diary entry, and a
transcript of a phone call. I put the pieces in chronological order because it
made the most sense and allowed them to transition one into the next in a
logical order. They should be read in this order: short story, graphic story, poem, diary entry, phone transcript.
I enjoyed
writing all of the pieces, but I think the two strongest pieces are the poem
and the graphic novel story. I tried to make the graphic novel entry kind of
kid-like and immature in voice but also kind of light-hearted and melancholy in
tone, because I wanted the reader to sympathize with the character who is just
being herself and is really unpopular but kind of doesn’t get it and kind of
doesn’t care. I think that the piece that sounds the most authentic is the
diary entry, which is written in an ongoing rant and presents the idea that
even the popular people struggle with issues that others might not know about;
no one has a perfect life, not even the “cool” kids.
Overall,
I really enjoyed this project, even though it was difficult. I like that I had
creative freedom to try and write in different ways about a common theme. I
also liked having to look at things from different points of view, even the
point of view that I don’t agree with. Ultimately, I hope my reader gets the
message that in the end, it’s always better to go your own way than to go the
way of the crowd.
Fiction genre: Short story (Brenda's perspective)
The New Girl
In fourth grade, I was kind of a nerd, but I didn’t know that I was. I wore glasses and had braces and I didn’t know anything about makeup or about what was cool and what wasn’t, and my dad had lost his job the year before, so we didn’t have much money for designer clothes anyway, so to make a long story short, I was not a fashionable kid. To make matters worse, I had a speech impediment—a lisp—and I had trouble with my Rs, so I didn’t talk much if I could avoid it. I wasn’t shy, but I had a hard time connecting with other kids my age. I looked like a geek and talked like a freak and had peculiar interests like reading and writing and worst of all, I LIKED school… So as you can see, I was a weirdo who didn’t fit in. And most of the time I was okay with that. But sometimes, it got lonely. Mostly, I just wanted to have ONE friend so that I didn’t always have to sit alone on the bus or eat alone at lunch. It would have been nice to have ONE friend to call about homework. ONE friend to have sleepovers with. ONE friend to partner with in class when we had to do group work.
I started to get so lonely that I stopped wanting to go to school at all. I would fake sick in the mornings so I could stay home. I’d tell my mom I felt feverish and I’d warm my forehead with a hot, wet washcloth and then hold the thermometer to a light bulb until it read 100 degrees or higher. One time, I held the thermometer on the lightbulb too long. It read 107 degrees.
My mom said, “Congratulations, Brenda, you’re officially dead. Now why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?”
I finally told my mom why I was avoiding school. “No one likes me,” I said.
She said, “Oh Brenda, I’m sure people like you. You just need to try harder. Extend yourself. Ask someone to sit next to you. Reach out and talk to someone. Muster up your courage! Be brave! I know you can do it.”
That day, I went to school resolved that I would make a friend, and that day, I met Margaret. She got on the bus on the stop after mine and I knew right away that she was new. Here was my chance! She didn’t know me, she didn’t know how big a nerd I was, I had a chance to prove to her that I was...normal. So even though it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, I stepped up and said, “You can sit with me.”
Poetry genre: Sonnet (Brenda's perspective)
Mourning
Dove
by Brenda Medeiros
Alone on my own in the morning light
I’m hoping for a better day at school
I’m just not ready for another fight
Between what I am and what’s seen as cool
I find myself reaching out for a friend
Who will like me for who I am at heart
Who doesn’t care about the latest trend
And does not expect me to play the part
Popularity is not what I seek
It is just not that important to me
I know that others say that I’m a freak
But all I ever want to be is ME
At night I dream of acceptance and love
I awake with sadness, a mourning dove
Non-fiction genre: Diary (Lisa's perspective)
November 3rd
Dear Diary,
I
hate my stupid life. Rick was a half hour late picking me up from school AGAIN
today because he totally doesn’t even care about me—and by the way, Mom’s mad
at me AGAIN because I WON’T call him DAD because he’s NOT my dad—I swear he
only puts up with me because he thinks my mom is HOT, which is SO GROSS. So
anyways, there I am, standing outside of school all alone like a total loser
like stupid BWENDA Medeiros whose dad picks her up every day ON TIME and gives
her hugs like she’s a big baby… And MY stupid dad hasn’t even called me in TWO
WEEKS!
And
what DOUBLE SUCKS is that I got my poem back in English and I got a C, which is
totally lame because I worked forever on it and Miss Hanson said I didn’t use
enough syllables or something, and then she took stupid BWENDA’s poem and read
it out loud in front of the class saying something like, “This is a great
example of a play on words,” or something I didn’t understand and all I wanted
to do was punch BWENDA in her stupid BWENDA face. She doesn’t even have to
study and gets straight A’s and all the teachers LOVE her because she can write
a perfect SONNET, whatever THAT is-- what a LOSER. I bet she doesn’t even know
the difference between a glue stick and lipstick! And her hair is SO GREASY!!!
I HATE HER!!!
And
another thing, I don’t know what’s going on with Holly, Jessica, and Karlie,
but all of a sudden, they’re like telling secrets about me or something because
every time I come around they stop talking and I *THINK* that Karlie’s having a
birthday party that I’M not invited to but that Jessica and Holly are, which is
so unfair, because I’M the reason they’re all friends in the first place. So
whatever, there’s this new girl named Maggie who just came to our school and I
totally saved her from BWENDA cooties, so maybe she can be my new BFF and
Jessica and Karlie and Holly can all go to hell. I’m gonna call Maggie now. See
ya, diary.
As Always,
Lisa
Non-fiction genre: Transcript of a phone call (Brenda's and Margaret's perspectives)
<ring ring>
Brenda:
Hello?
Margaret:
Hey, Brenda, it’s Maggie. I mean, Margaret.
Brenda:
Oh, hey.
Margaret:
So, um, I really liked your poem!
Brenda:
Really?
Margaret:
Yeah, really! It was super good!
Brenda:
Thanks!
Margaret:
Yeah, so um, I was just wondering, how come you’re wearing a cast?
Brenda:
Um, it’s really embarrassing.
Margaret:
Well, what happened?
Brenda:
But it’s SO embarrassing! Are you going to tell Lisa and those guys about this?
Margaret:
No, Lisa’s kinda lame… What happened? I won’t tell.
Brenda:
Promise?
Margaret:
Swear.
Brenda:
Okay. So I was playing my dad’s guitar that he has, and I was jumping on the
couch, and then my dog ran in because he was chasing the cat, and then the cat
jumped onto the couch, and then the dog knocked me onto the ground.
Margaret:
Ouch! That sucks! <beep beep>
Hold on, I have another call . . . Ugh.
It’s Lame Lisa. I don’t want to
talk to her. So, wait, you play the
guitar?
Brenda:
Yeah! I’m not real good yet, but I kinda like it. But I really wish I could
play drums, but my parents said I have to learn a real instrument first. Wait,
I thought you were friends with Lisa?
Margaret:
Well, I WAS, but like, those guys are kinda mean. And all they talk about is
clothes and make-up and boys and each other. And I’m not really into all that
stuff. They’re kinda haters.
Brenda:
Lisa used to be okay. We were friends in first grade and then Karlie came and
then Lisa got all weird.
Margaret:
Yeah, people are lame sometimes. I don’t even want to talk about those guys
anymore… So anyway—you like drums?
Because my big brother has a set in the basement, and he never lets me play
them, but he’s going away to college, and then I can play whatever I want.
Brenda:
NO WAY!
Margaret:
YEAH WAY.
Brenda:
Can I come over and play them sometime?
Margaret:
Totally. Can you bring your dad’s guitar?
Brenda:
Prolly. He’s pretty cool.
Margaret:
Awesome! We should totally be in a band!
We could use your poems and stuff!
Brenda:
Really? That would be so cool! What should we call ourselves?
Margaret:
How about “Middle School Mash Up”?
Brenda:
Ummm, that’s…okay.
Margaret:
“Hormonsters”?
Brenda:
Maybe we should keep working on it.
Margaret:
Ha! Yeah, you’re right. Let’s talk about it at lunch tomorrow.
Brenda:
Cool!
Margaret:
Can I sign you cast then?
Brenda:
Totally.
Margaret:
Cool, see you tomorrow!
Brenda:
Okay, bye!
Margaret:
Bye!
<click>
Fiction genre: Fairy tale (3rd person point of view - no specific person's perspective)
The
Big Bad War
Once upon a time, in a land
not so far away, lived a man and his wife, who lived in a tiny brick cottage,
which was nearly bursting at the seams with their nine, exuberant and joyfully
energetic children: Jim, Penny, Karen, Jeanne, Mickey, Alan, Peter, Paul, and
Terry. Although the family did not have much money, they were happy and spent
their days playing games, making up skits and acting them out, singing,
dancing, playing pranks on one another, tearing around the neighborhood, and
more than anything else, laughing. Because they were such a large family, they
all had to pitch in and help out around the house, cleaning, cooking, sewing,
and caring for each other. The big kids took care of the little ones, the
little ones took care of the pets, and they all lent a hand when a hand needed
lending. They were indeed a happy bunch, until…the BIG BAD WAR came.
Jim Jr., the oldest of the
nine children, enlisted immediately.
“I’m going to fight for my country!” he said
proudly.
The man’s wife, who had
lost a tenth child in infancy, felt a part of her heart break on the spot. The
daughters, Penny, Karen, Jeanne, and Mickey, wept.
The sons, Alan, Peter, Paul,
and Terry exclaimed, “But who will give us airplane rides and piggy backs when
you’re gone???”
The man said, “I’m proud
of you son.”
Jim Jr. put on his brand
new soldier’s uniform, gripped his pistol with shaky hands, and shipped out
far, far away to a foreign land full of people he didn’t know who spoke a
language he didn’t understand and fought a fight he didn’t know much about. He
was gone for three years. When he returned, he wasn’t the same.
Penny, Karen, Jeanne,
Mickey, Alan, Peter, Paul, and Terry were overjoyed to see him, but when they
threw their arms around him, he didn’t respond. The children didn’t know what
to make of it.
“Come play, Jim,” they
said.
But he wouldn’t.
“Come sing with us.”
But he wouldn’t.
“Tell us what happened,”
they begged.
But he wouldn’t.
Jim Jr. didn’t want to
play games. He didn’t want to make up a skit or act it out. He didn’t want to
sing. Or dance. Or play pranks. Or tear around the neighborhood. And he
certainly didn’t want to laugh.
The man and his wife (and
Penny, and Karen, and Jeanne, and Mickey, and Alan, and Peter, and Paul, and
Terry) continued working, and pitching in and helping out around the house, and
cleaning, and cooking, and sewing, and caring for each other. The big kids
continued taking care of the little ones, the little ones continued taking care
of the pets, and they all continued to lend a hand when a hand needed lending.
They tried to be a happy bunch, until… a notice came in the mail for Alan.
“You have been invited to
be a soldier in a foreign land far, far away full of people you don’t know who
speak a language you don’t understand to fight an AMAZING AND WONDERFUL
FIGHT!!!” the notice read.
The man’s wife felt the
rest of her heart break on the spot. The daughters, Penny, Karen, Jeanne, and
Mickey, wept.
The rest of the sons,
Peter, Paul, and Terry exclaimed, “But who will give us airplane rides and
piggy backs when you’re gone???”
Jim Jr. said nothing.
The man said, “I’m proud
of you, son.”
But Alan said, “I’m not
going.”
Poetry genre: Verse (my grandfather's perspective)
Confession
By James Senior
Bless me Father, for I have sinned,
it’s been one week since my last confession.
My rebellious son is in the wind,
and I can’t forgive his cowardly transgression.
He was called to war but will not fight
and chose instead to run away.
I told him that leaving wasn’t right,
and so began our greatest fray.
He screamed at me about right and wrong,
and I responded in kind,
“A man has a duty to be strong
in heart, and soul, body and mind!
When our country calls, we must serve!
(I did, as did my oldest son),
Despite your fears, you should muster the nerve
How else will our wars be won?”
“But dad,” he yelled, “I believe in peace,
I don’t want to be forced to kill a man!
If we refuse to fight, all wars will cease--
just think, no wars, a world-wide ban!”
I told him, “Son, you’re American, be proud of
who you are!
Show thanks for your freedom by going to fight,
be brave, square your chin, be a star!
You’ll survive the war both day and night
as I did, through blood, sweat, and tears,
You’ll make me proud, and your country too,
if you do your duty despite your fears,
and bleed honor that’s red, white, and blue.”
He said, “Dad, I can’t, I have to leave, can’t
you see?”
I said, “If you do, you’ll be dead to me.”
Visual Art genre: Illustration (my perspective)
Please note that this project is not done. I'd really like to add another piece that kind of wraps it up and gives it an ending, but I'm not sure yet how I want to do that. I think I might add a diary entry or a letter from my grandmother's perspective telling Alan that his father has died. I'm still thinking about this though. I also need to write and post my Artist Statement explaining my project and why and how I made the decisions I made when creating it.
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