[stylist] creative non-fiction "snapshot" no language, no adult content

Mon Sep 6 18:23:53 UTC 2010

JC,

You are right, I meant averting.  I have gone through the piece about 20 times, and I can't believe I missed that!  *smile*  Glad I posted it here first.  Thanks.

Bridgit

> From: stylist-request at nfbnet.org
> Subject: stylist Digest, Vol 77, Issue 5
> To: stylist at nfbnet.org
> Date: Mon, 6 Sep 2010 12:00:08 -0500
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> Today's Topics:
> 
> 1. creative non-fiction "Snapshot" no language, no adult content
> (Bridgit Pollpeter)
> 2. Re: creative non-fiction "Snapshot" no language, no adult
> content (James H. "Jim" Canaday M.A. N6YR)
> 
> 
> ----------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> Message: 1
> Date: Mon, 6 Sep 2010 04:21:23 -0500
> From: Bridgit Pollpeter <bpollpeter at hotmail.com>
> To: writers division <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> Subject: [stylist] creative non-fiction "Snapshot" no language, no
> adult content
> Message-ID: <SNT136-w646C2D35961CF77A0F5FAC4700 at phx.gbl>
> Content-Type: text/plain; charset="Windows-1252"
> 
> 
> Dear List,
> 
> Happy Labor Day to all. I am posting a piece I just worked on for a class. Before it is workshopped, I thought I would let you lot deconstruct it, and let me know what you think.
> 
> Bridgit
> 
> Snapshot
> 
> Reaching the bottom steps of the basement, an observer would notice the following scene: A naked lightbulb emanates a harsh yellow brilliance stifled by the dark windowless, cinder-block walls and open-rafter ceiling. The grey painted floor resembles hard, cold stone. Separating the basement from the large family-room-sized space, should be a plaster wall, but now just the wall studs remain leaving a clear view into the large room converted into a bedroom. A skinny, blonde, young woman, Bridgit, sits in the middle of the room surrounded by scattered piles of photographs. Leaning against the wrought iron footboard of her bed, she studies a picture. With knees drawn up against her slender body, she stares at the image of a young woman. The small window above the bed shoots sunlight like a spotlight onto the section of floor the young woman sits upon. Bits of light reflect off the pictures littering the beige carpet around the young woman.
> The pictures relay a moment modern technology has frozen in time. A small-town family wedding snapped for the centuries. Bridgit is twenty-one in the pictures. A single year ago. She remembers the day, she remembers the feelings. Happiness that weddings evoke, but sadness that the occasion is not her own to celebrate. Joy to see relatives gone for too long, but restlessness to explore the world too. It was a third cousin?s wedding, but the whole clan showed up to celebrate the nuptials. A panoramic shot included a large portion of family members gathered at a long table enjoying the home-cooked meal of chicken-fried chicken and gravy with mashed potatoes and green bean casserole topped with real onion-rings. Bridgit smiled demurely, picking at the food before her, while Uncle Lance, to her right, intently shoveled mashed potatoes in his mouth, and Tami, her mother, held a bit of chicken mid-air with her fork, talking, most likely saying how, ?Fried-chicken is not a very elegant choice for a wedding, but I guess that is what you are use to in small towns.? Another picture displays Bridgit in her black dress with a deep V in front exposing a boney, but well tanned chest. Bronzed arms connected with another?s, she stood next to her fourteen-year-old cousin, Colin, already taller than her. Her blue eyes gazed into the camera as she flashed her one-dimpled smile. The focus of the next photo captured the wedding party and guest doing the Bunnyhop. Clustered of to the right, Uncle Doug and Aunt Becky grill her about college. She smiled quietly as, ?What are you studying?? ?Still music?? and what are your plans after graduation?? were fired at her. Years of dance training and etiquette school have taught her to stand erect with head held high. With her confident demeanor and three-inch heels, she appeared taller than her average five-foot height. Later in the evening, the camera snapped Bridgit laughing wildly as Uncle Brent whipped her across the dance floor like Ginger Rogers. Another moment captured Bridgit and Uncle Brent posing for the camera as he dipped her low. Another shot has Bridgit kicking her black strappy heels off as she prepared for a new round of dancing. Each photograph is handled with care and placed in a tree creating a timeline beginning with a picture of Bridgit?s immediate family dressed in their wedding attire posing for the first time in years, to a snapshot of straggling dancers waltzing to the final song of the night, ?I Will Always Love You.? Each picture displays a happy, smiling young woman, but one single shot captured the truth. One solitary picture alone shows her with the mask off. It is the photo she now sits and studies intently.
> Staring at the picture of herself, her expression is quizzical and worn. Her gaze is intent as though she will discover some truth about herself. A rare moment exposed displaying a part never meant for public consumption, yet here it is for all to see. She cradles the picture in her thin hands as if breaking it will destroy some part of her. The camera revealed Bridgit resting her head on a propped arm. Escaped tendrils of hair framed her tanned face, and her blue, almond-shaped eyes looked off into the distance. Her expression contained longing, dreams and hopes unrealized, mingled with restlessness and deep sadness. Sitting alone, tucked away in a corner of the reception hall, she believed herself unnoticed, but the camera caught her. An X-ray imprinting her soul lay bare. Always so careful to wear her mask. Never letting her guard down, only to be trapped by a modern marvel.
> Placing this final picture in its proper spot in the visual timeline, Bridgit looks around the room. A blue ?Happy-birthday? balloon hangs deflated on the wall surrounded by pictures from high school and college. Bridgit, Tera and Jessica smiled in their red-and-white cheerleading uniforms. Bridgit standing at the grand piano in the choir room, mouth opened as she belted ?On My Own? from Les Miserables. Bridgit engulfed by Ryan, her boyfriend, the boy she thought she would marry. Bridgit and Tera, arms clasped around each other?s shoulders, grinning on graduation day. Bridgit sitting on Joe?s knee during a cast party for Cinderella. A letter pokes out from behind the balloon, a love letter sent by a friend who never forgot her, but that Bridgit could not muster the necessary feelings for. The letter is a reminder that some one in the world thinks she is special. A poster hangs on the opposite wall displaying Kate and Leo at the bow of a ship, and next to this stands a tall bookshelf lined with books from Little Women to I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. Across the room a butter-colored dresser-drawer reflects her image in its large mirror framed by carved flowers. Quickly adverting her eyes, she takes in the glass bottle of Miracle perfume and the organized assortment of make-up compacts and brushes. A Shabby-chic-style jewelry box is arranged on a corner of the dresser top, and necklaces hang on a pink heart-shape with tiny hooks protruding from the lace-overlay front. The open closet reveals clothes hanging from shortest sleeve length to longest as well as being color coordinated. Directly to the left of the entrance into her room, sits the thirty-two-inch TV purchased by Ryan, the ex, disguised as a Christmas present, but intended for the use of video games. Taking in years of memories and keepsakes, Bridgit finally turns back to the reflection in the mirror. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a long, wispy ponytail, an attempt to hide the sections of hair that have fallen out with portions of scalp still attached. Head settled on boney knees, she wonders at her compactness. Chest, stomach and waist are hidden behind skinny legs, and rail-thin arms wrap around just beneath the pale, gaunt face. Her eyes haunt her as they hold the longing and sadness grown deeper by another year.
> 
> 
> ------------------------------
> 
> Message: 2
> Date: Mon, 06 Sep 2010 09:10:39 -0500
> From: "James H. \"Jim\" Canaday M.A. N6YR" <n6yr at sunflower.com>
> To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
> Subject: Re: [stylist] creative non-fiction "Snapshot" no language, no
> adult content
> Message-ID: <201009061410.o86EAjd3005661 at smtp.sunflower.com>
> Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii"; format=flowed
> 
> Hi Bridgit,
> descriptions are very good in this.
> 
> I could be wrong but I think "adverting" you meant "averting."
> jc
> 
> 
> At 04:21 AM 9/6/2010, you wrote:
> 
> >Dear List,
> >
> >Happy Labor Day to all. I am posting a piece I just worked on for a 
> >class. Before it is workshopped, I thought I would let you lot 
> >deconstruct it, and let me know what you think.
> >
> >Bridgit
> >
> >Snapshot
> >
> >Reaching the bottom steps of the basement, an observer would notice 
> >the following scene: A naked lightbulb emanates a harsh yellow 
> >brilliance stifled by the dark windowless, cinder-block walls and 
> >open-rafter ceiling. The grey painted floor resembles hard, cold 
> >stone. Separating the basement from the large family-room-sized 
> >space, should be a plaster wall, but now just the wall studs remain 
> >leaving a clear view into the large room converted into a 
> >bedroom. A skinny, blonde, young woman, Bridgit, sits in the middle 
> >of the room surrounded by scattered piles of photographs. Leaning 
> >against the wrought iron footboard of her bed, she studies a 
> >picture. With knees drawn up against her slender body, she stares 
> >at the image of a young woman. The small window above the bed 
> >shoots sunlight like a spotlight onto the section of floor the young 
> >woman sits upon. Bits of light reflect off the pictures littering 
> >the beige carpet around the young woman.
> >The pictures relay a moment modern technology has frozen in time. A 
> >small-town family wedding snapped for the centuries. Bridgit is 
> >twenty-one in the pictures. A single year ago. She remembers the 
> >day, she remembers the feelings. Happiness that weddings evoke, but 
> >sadness that the occasion is not her own to celebrate. Joy to see 
> >relatives gone for too long, but restlessness to explore the world 
> >too. It was a third cousin's wedding, but the whole clan showed up 
> >to celebrate the nuptials. A panoramic shot included a large 
> >portion of family members gathered at a long table enjoying the 
> >home-cooked meal of chicken-fried chicken and gravy with mashed 
> >potatoes and green bean casserole topped with real 
> >onion-rings. Bridgit smiled demurely, picking at the food before 
> >her, while Uncle Lance, to her right, intently shoveled mashed 
> >potatoes in his mouth, and Tami, her mother, held a bit of chicken 
> >mid-air with her fork, talking, most likely saying how, 
> >"Fried-chicken is not a very elegant choice for a wedding, but I 
> >guess that is what you are use to in small towns." Another picture 
> >displays Bridgit in her black dress with a deep V in front exposing 
> >a boney, but well tanned chest. Bronzed arms connected with 
> >another's, she stood next to her fourteen-year-old cousin, Colin, 
> >already taller than her. Her blue eyes gazed into the camera as she 
> >flashed her one-dimpled smile. The focus of the next photo captured 
> >the wedding party and guest doing the Bunnyhop. Clustered of to the 
> >right, Uncle Doug and Aunt Becky grill her about college. She 
> >smiled quietly as, "What are you studying?" "Still music?" and what 
> >are your plans after graduation?" were fired at her. Years of dance 
> >training and etiquette school have taught her to stand erect with 
> >head held high. With her confident demeanor and three-inch heels, 
> >she appeared taller than her average five-foot height. Later in the 
> >evening, the camera snapped Bridgit laughing wildly as Uncle Brent 
> >whipped her across the dance floor like Ginger Rogers. Another 
> >moment captured Bridgit and Uncle Brent posing for the camera as he 
> >dipped her low. Another shot has Bridgit kicking her black strappy 
> >heels off as she prepared for a new round of dancing. Each 
> >photograph is handled with care and placed in a tree creating a 
> >timeline beginning with a picture of Bridgit's immediate family 
> >dressed in their wedding attire posing for the first time in years, 
> >to a snapshot of straggling dancers waltzing to the final song of 
> >the night, "I Will Always Love You." Each picture displays a happy, 
> >smiling young woman, but one single shot captured the truth. One 
> >solitary picture alone shows her with the mask off. It is the photo 
> >she now sits and studies intently.
> >Staring at the picture of herself, her expression is quizzical and 
> >worn. Her gaze is intent as though she will discover some truth 
> >about herself. A rare moment exposed displaying a part never meant 
> >for public consumption, yet here it is for all to see. She cradles 
> >the picture in her thin hands as if breaking it will destroy some 
> >part of her. The camera revealed Bridgit resting her head on a 
> >propped arm. Escaped tendrils of hair framed her tanned face, and 
> >her blue, almond-shaped eyes looked off into the distance. Her 
> >expression contained longing, dreams and hopes unrealized, mingled 
> >with restlessness and deep sadness. Sitting alone, tucked away in a 
> >corner of the reception hall, she believed herself unnoticed, but 
> >the camera caught her. An X-ray imprinting her soul lay 
> >bare. Always so careful to wear her mask. Never letting her guard 
> >down, only to be trapped by a modern marvel.
> >Placing this final picture in its proper spot in the visual 
> >timeline, Bridgit looks around the room. A blue "Happy-birthday" 
> >balloon hangs deflated on the wall surrounded by pictures from high 
> >school and college. Bridgit, Tera and Jessica smiled in their 
> >red-and-white cheerleading uniforms. Bridgit standing at the grand 
> >piano in the choir room, mouth opened as she belted "On My Own" from 
> >Les Miserables. Bridgit engulfed by Ryan, her boyfriend, the boy 
> >she thought she would marry. Bridgit and Tera, arms clasped around 
> >each other's shoulders, grinning on graduation day. Bridgit sitting 
> >on Joe's knee during a cast party for Cinderella. A letter pokes 
> >out from behind the balloon, a love letter sent by a friend who 
> >never forgot her, but that Bridgit could not muster the necessary 
> >feelings for. The letter is a reminder that some one in the world 
> >thinks she is special. A poster hangs on the opposite wall 
> >displaying Kate and Leo at the bow of a ship, and next to this 
> >stands a tall bookshelf lined with books from Little Women to I Know 
> >Why the Caged Bird Sings. Across the room a butter-colored 
> >dresser-drawer reflects her image in its large mirror framed by 
> >carved flowers. Quickly adverting her eyes, she takes in the glass 
> >bottle of Miracle perfume and the organized assortment of make-up 
> >compacts and brushes. A Shabby-chic-style jewelry box is arranged 
> >on a corner of the dresser top, and necklaces hang on a pink 
> >heart-shape with tiny hooks protruding from the lace-overlay 
> >front. The open closet reveals clothes hanging from shortest sleeve 
> >length to longest as well as being color coordinated. Directly to 
> >the left of the entrance into her room, sits the thirty-two-inch TV 
> >purchased by Ryan, the ex, disguised as a Christmas present, but 
> >intended for the use of video games. Taking in years of memories 
> >and keepsakes, Bridgit finally turns back to the reflection in the 
> >mirror. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a long, wispy ponytail, 
> >an attempt to hide the sections of hair that have fallen out with 
> >portions of scalp still attached. Head settled on boney knees, she 
> >wonders at her compactness. Chest, stomach and waist are hidden 
> >behind skinny legs, and rail-thin arms wrap around just beneath the 
> >pale, gaunt face. Her eyes haunt her as they hold the longing and 
> >sadness grown deeper by another year.
> >
> >_______________________________________________
> >Writers Division web site:
> >http://www.nfb-writers-division.org <http://www.nfb-writers-division.org/>
> >
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> End of stylist Digest, Vol 77, Issue 5
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