These are my comments about Twitterives that were not presented in class.

Kelly McLaughlin - Reading With Analisa
I love this. Right from the well-written prologue, I was emotionally involved. But with each new chapter, my investment grew stronger and stronger. The organization is spot-on relevant: content grouped in chapters alternately scientific and romantic. Clicking though them was like reading the pages of a book. The parts based on research reinforced my conviction that reading to children is important, and the pages with personal stories brought the concepts life in an emotional climax--almost like a story!

I was impressed with the screen captures of tweets in the prologue. They have rounded corners and shadows behind them, and I want to know how to do this. The page with the book covers was such a good idea and well executed. In Chapter 4, I loved the detail of the narrative, like the bookmark that came from Chuck E. Cheese. These details really help create a realistic and poignant scene.

My only thoughts on revision: 1) I really hope that the interview to come is with Analisa. I feel like I almost know her, but want more. And if it is to be with her, I think putting it at the end is the right idea, like reading a book before you see the movie. And 2) I wanted to see a picture of you reading to her, or at least a picture of her face. This video would serve this purpose, and that might be enough. I like the pictures in the beginning, but they are distant and I kept remembering the picture that you have on your "About Me" page.

Pauline Tazewell - Love and Forgiveness
Wow, forgiveness is powerful stuff. I like the inclusion of "forgiveness is an action word" and that it is mentioned 145 times in the bible. This part of the Twitterive is powerful, and I can tell that the writer has experience talking about forgiveness. I think the repetend is strong: "I never gave up."  But I wonder if it sets the right tone for forgiveness. It seems like there are maybe two sides to the story, the struggle and the release. "Love and Forgiveness" is perhaps the second part of the story; maybe the first part is naivety, deception, or bitterness. Maybe these themes would be better organized on two pages.

I like the inclusion of the soon-to-be husband. It serves as a happy ending of sorts, but I had two questions. First, what is the reasoning for including a "current" diary entry at the beginning? And second, I want to know more about Reeves. Maybe this isn't the point of the story; I don't know. Maybe including too much about him would detract from the forgiveness theme; however, I thought that he got brushed over: a quick diary entry at the beginning and a wedding invitation at the end.

Ashley Pfaff - Letters to God
Using the repetition of letters is an effective way of telling the story here. I like that, while most seem semi-fictionalized, a photo of a "real" one is even included. This technique reminded me of the way the classic young adult novel "Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret" uses letters to God to set off chapters. I can follow the dynamic main character's transformation from "non-believer" to "uplifted" through the letters. I also like the comments under "Symptoms of Depression:" they're almost like tweets! Running thoughts, add another dimension.

I think my favorite part of this twitterive is the small instance of three photos. It looks like it's the same photo, only each is progressively darker, like sinking into depression. I was wondering: might this be repeated towards the end, only in reverse? A picture gets lighter and lighter? Lastly, I noticed just a few common mistakes ("you're/your," "are/our," "christian's/Christians") that once corrected, will keep the reader from being distracted from the story.

Lindsay Jones - Car Crash
The images here are effective; we see phone screens, a smashed car, a girl in the hospital. They illustrate the narrative so I could understand what it felt like a little better. When the pictures of the smashed car appear in the story, the crash has just happened and it is night. However, the pictures are taken in the daylight. It shows the aftermath, but not the moment. Obviously, no one is going to recreate a car crash to take pictures, but it would be interesting to experiment with some photography of fragments of the night: a blurry traffic signal, the torso of a man running to help. It might take readers further into the story instead of daylight photos that might take them further out.

Two other thoughts: 1) There might be too much back story. There are a lot of events leading up to the crash that seem irrelevent. One possibility is to try leading off with the crash itself and work in details as needed. In lieu of extended backstory, the recovery seems ripe for expansion. I wanted to know more about getting back in a car, what it was like to conquer that fear. 2) The story doesn't really have an ending. I wanted to know: Does Monica heal? Do they remain friends? What is it like to drive again?

Ahh, to reflect on the writing process. It seems like all I do is reflect. This post will discuss my writing process so far in this class.

Approaching Twitter to begin "making notes" was easy. I had no problem, at first, using text messages in lieu of a pen and paper to make observations. After a while, I noticed two things. First, a lot of my observations were internal. As much as I described the physical world I was experiencing, I tweeted about thoughts that occurred to me, revelations that appeared only in my head. Second, as I amassed a collection of followers, I became more and more aware of the people who were reading what I wrote. Gone were the carefree inaugural days of using a new social media platform. My notepad was now a glass slate with the world on the other side. My tweets became more focused on real things (promoting events, etc.) and less about ideas.

Writing on Weebly has had its own share of difficulties. I was initially scared to compose directly onto the internet. I try to be organized as much as possible, and I'm used to keeping Word documents in folders on a hard drive. It's a way of keeping everything central. But I don't really know what's more reliable: files scattered over an array of external hard drives that may someday stop working, or work scattered on the internet where I can find it always (probably). I suppose it's a wash, but it feels like I'm just adding to the digital noise. It feels like these words are cheaper per pound than Microsoft "Words."

Once it came to actually working on the twitterive, I didn't know where to "enter" the "story." I didn't know if it was a story, and I didn't know what form it could or should take. I needed restrictions, but I didn't want to limit myself before I knew what was possible. Finally, in distressed phone call to my girlfriend, I articulated that "if it was just a double-spaced thing on paper, I could do that, I could write a shitty draft." She replied, "Then do that. Start there. You can add things later." This now seems like the most obvious thing, which is usually how our conversations go.

Writing my micro fiction pieces was really kind of fun. I found a tweet I could work with, and then totally removed myself from the situation in which I tweeted it. It was like being forced into a backseat with a blind fold on, driven out of state, and left to fend for myself. I had to write myself out of it. Of course, familiar places crept back in. But I was able to keep them at an arm's length to avoid bogging down with unnecessary detail. After writing three such pieces, I didn't think it was helping me arrive at my twitterive. I thought maybe I was going the wrong way. I got discouraged and stopped working. This is the worst thing to do. Once I stop working, it allows for a whole host of unsubstantiated thoughts to creep in.

Finally, I told myself to just write something and go from there. I wrote a scene. I noticed rust on light poles. I noticed rust on coffee pots. I thought about what rust implies: neglect, desertion. I thought about the desert, and how nothing rests there. I thought about the necessity of water, how it functions in growth and decay. This was enough to convince me that maybe there was something to this. But I'm still not convinced.

So here are five questions to those who read my twitterive in progress:
1. Is this at all interesting to you, do you have a reason to care?
2. What does rust make you think of?
3. What are the implications of living in an emotional desert?
4. What do you do when you feel like no one cares?
5. What other kinds of modes or genres would work here?

P.S. Someone called me a deconstructionist. Part of me is hopeful that maybe there is a pattern to what I'm doing. And that the pattern reaches across modes. It's also kind of fun to think that maybe there is a name for it.

First of all, I can never make up my mind. I don't know what I want to "do with my life." I don't know where I should focus my talent, what I should practice more than another. I consider myself a musician, songwriter, photographer, filmmaker. I dreamed of a multimodal project before I knew there was a word for it. In high school, I began recording voicemails to use as sound collages for songs I was writing. I envisioned a tightly-woven concept album, complete with my own photography, scans of hall passes and notes from girls, screen names scrawled on diner napkins. Of course, in the midst of recording this project, the borrowed computer I was using started having problems. I poured a lot of work into the project, but it was never finished. Also, I was tired of being stopped by the cops for photographing public spaces. I gave up on multimodality. I retreated.

A lot of places were really important to me during this time. I used to have to escape a lot. First, it was to my headphones, absorbing a cannon of rock, roll, and confessional poetry. I taught myself guitar. Then, there was the diner. We would escape in numbers, misfits and outcasts, to where we thought it was okay to only order a cup of coffee and stay for three hours. When I needed to be alone, I could drive to Apple Pie Hill, the highest point in South Jersey. From the top of the fire tower, on a clear day, skylines of both Philly and Atlantic City are visible. When it looked certain that my parents were divorcing, it got ugly. Escape became essential. I bonded with others (kids, really) who couldn't go home. The ultimate escape was moving to Minnesota, alone. The ultimate defeat was moving back.

One common thread through all of this is my car. I've had the same car for more than seven years and 100,000 miles. I feel at home in my car, and (though somewhat morally opposed to the environmental and social havoc it may cause) I feel weird (for lack of a better word) when I haven't driven in a while. I can click on the radio, practice my singing, and if I'm lucky enough to have a passenger, engage in some philosophical conversation.

Then there is "The Space Between Mom and Dad." It has been tricky to navigate. After two years of not speaking to my dad, I reconnected, served as his best man in his wedding, and produced for him a campaign video when he ran for town council. Forgiveness, however, is a complicated process. I remember he canceled my phone number in my first semester away at a college, well into the post-pay-phone era.

And finally, speaking of phones, is this week's development. My girlfriend, who is living in Tennessee, told me that she needs a break from talking on the phone. We can't seem to communicate long distance. My earliest memory is when my parents left to go on a date, and I became hysterical. I remember locking myself away from my well-intensioned grandmother and crying myself to sleep. I have this other memory of being told never to call. Maybe I was just destined to be insecurely attached. Anyway.

There are so many places, physical, mental, spiritual. What do I do?