My English Inquiry Project: Obsession/Where I'm from Poem!

Hey, everyone! I'm in the process of finishing up the book I'm reading now, Flat Out Love by Jessica Parker and I don't think I'm gonna have enough time to review it today. Hopefully, I'll have it finished by tomorrow afternoon so I can review it for you guys tomorrow!

So, instead of a review I thought I would show you guys my video and poem I made for my final English Literature and Composition project!

In the middle of the year we were told to choose an inquiry topic where we would ask the question, "What is the nature of..." My topic I chose was obsession, making my question, "What is the nature of obsession?" We were also supposed to find a book that related to our topic. I chose Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer. For our final project we had to use our inquiry in a creative way. We could make a video, make a collage, make a diorama, have a photograph essay, stuff like that. I chose to make a photo video based on my topic. This took me FOREVER to do but I think it turned out really great. So here it is:

















For another part of our project we were to make a "Where I'm From Poem" based on a character that was in any of the novels/ short stories we read this year. I chose the little boy, Doodle from the story, The Scarlett Ibis by James Hurst. In my poem I am the voice of him. Doodle was born with a caul which makes him handicapped. I wanted to write about him because I thought it would be interesting for people to see how he deals with his struggles, especially since the story was told in Doodle's brother's view. So, here's my poem:

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Where I'm From

I am from go carts,

 from Paris green, and shade from the trees. 

I am from a cautious home. 

(paranoid, worry-some, it smelled like grave yard flowers.)

I am from the wild violets, 

the wire grass, 

that me and Brother would use to weave into necklaces. 

I am from walking celebrations and signs of rain frogs, 

from my doubtful Mama and my pessimistic Daddy 

and over-religous Aunt Nicey.

I am from the frequent doctor visits 

to my every wobbly step being watched. 

From he won't live and being invalid.

I am from strict Christian beliefs, 

where I am believed to become a saint.

I am from North Carolina and cotton fields,

iced tea and fried chicken.

From Daddy building me a little coffin,

and keeping it in the barn loft,

to Brother teaching me to walk.

I am from the Old Woman Swamp,

where I could do and believe in anything.

I am from those memories- 

knowing that I would be gone before I could enjoy life to the fullest,

but still trying anyways. 

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I hope you liked both of my pieces for my projects! Let me know in the comments what you think about them! I'd love to hear your feedback!

Hope your day is filled with *SPARKLES*!

Day in the Life (Creative Writing Assignment for Eng. Lit. and Comp.)

For my English Literature and Composition class, we had to write a day in the life of our first day of high school. The catch was, though, that it had to be melo-dramatic. I fought and fought to find what to write about. I kept telling myself, "This shouldn't be too hard, you're already extremely dramatic." And I'm telling you straight up, I like to over exaggerate things. It's what I do. I just COULDN'T come up with anything. Then finally I thought of something. What if I made my school an actual jail? So I did, and this is the product of that idea:

"Julia, can I watch TV???" This is what I wake up to almost EVERY morning. It usually starts around 6:00 AM. This morning, though, my little brother, Ryan, woke me up around 4:30. I had to get out of bed, find the remotes (since we're always losing them left and right), turn the TV on, flip through the channels until I actually find a show Ryan likes, then I finally got to go back to sleep. Unfortunately, Once I lay down, I realize I'm no longer tired. Oh how lovely.

When I've actually gotten myself up, gotten ready, and have finally gotten to my high school, I couldn't believe my eyes. The whole entire school is surrounded by a chain link fence and barbed wire, and there are men with weapons surrounding the whole perimeter of the school. At that moment I realize, my high school isn't even a school at all, it's a correctional facility.

I walk into my school and I automatically notice the color; a dull gray. It also has a terrible smell of mildew. The only color is the clothing of the unsuspecting students that fill the halls. Little did we know what kind of place we were about to spend the rest of our ninth grade year learning in. I was hoping maybe this would be a case of Matilda. Scary school, dull halls, but exceptionally kind teachers.This was most definitely not the case. I walk down the halls and all the teachers are outside their doors, faces in a scowl, arms tight across their chests, and their backs up straight.

In every single one of my classes, the teachers paced at the front of the room, holding their wooden sticks, just waiting for someone to smart off at them. One class out of all of them, though, was the must terrifying. We were in Algebra going over our notes. My teacher was looking at the seating chart and randomly picking people to answer. Sounds normal, right? Wrong. What was really scary is when the boy my teacher picked on got the answer wrong. All of a sudden, my teacher ran to the wall where a gigantic red button was, and slammed her hand into it. Then, all chaos broke loose. Four men ran in, grabbed the boy, and ran out. He was never seen again.

Lunch wasn't much better. We were watched so closely you could feel the guard's eyes burning into your neck. It felt like you had to clear your mind of everything just in case they could some how read it.We were served slop that was almost paste- like. Just like the school, this food was gray. Stripped of all color. We sat at long tables that never seemed to end. We were sat boy, girl next to each other forced to eat in silence, and stare at the dull, molding wall in front of us.

Finally, the school day was over and I could go home. It was time to get on the bus and leave this prison until the next day. I thought all of the petrifying events were over, of course until I stepped onto the bus. In every single seat there was a camera watching your every move along with a guard who's look dripped acid.

An hour later, I reach my stop and I'm thoroughly winded. I can't wait to sink into my favorite chair, read my book, and escape to a different world where my problems don't matter. Unfortunately, when I get to my door I notice that it is locked. Locked! I could not believe that on top of everything else, this was happening.

Thankfully, my mom wasn't gone for too long and she let me in. I couldn't wait to tell her what happened, and beg her to transfer me. When I finally tell her about my day, my mother thinks that it's my over-dramatic self taking over, and I'm over exaggerating. If only I was.

...I hope you enjoyed my story. I'm not half as good as my mother is. But, I think I did pretty well for my first creative writing assignment this year. (Let me tell you I STILL have not gotten my grade on this project, yet, and we did it the first week of school. I am probably in the 7th week of school, now. *sigh* I WANNA KNOW MY GRADE!)

Anyways, thanks for reading! I thought I would do something a little different, considering that I didn't have a book to review this week!