After: Revision/Hemingway

The essay I chose to revise was an in-class, timed essay in response to a biographical video about Ernest Hemingway. Because of the time constraints, I wasn’t too concerned with fluidity. The organization could have been better and the transitions were pretty much nonexistent. My biggest weakness in writing has always been coming up with a decent introduction and conclusion, and this was the epitome of a crappy intro. Basically, I just focused on making a more interesting introduction and organizing my thoughts in a more effective manner. In performing this revision, I only rediscovered the fact that for me, good organization is not natural, so timed essays will always be an enemy of mine.

The setting sun’s bright colors seeped harmoniously through the seams of cotton candy clouds. The sun danced playfully over the beckoning horizon before surrendering to its charm, gently kissing the water’s edge with orange light. Then, like a hiding child, it slowly dipped below the horizon with a laugh that faded like its brilliant colors, while the evening tucked the sun’s rays beneath covers of darkness.

Veins of red cracked the sky, a bleeding laceration cut abruptly through a pair of clouds. The stubborn sun was drawn slowly below the horizon as blue-grey clouds diluted the blotched bloodstains in its wake. Then, with a sharp, angry hiss, the last sliver of sun disappeared and a sultry evening replace a burning summer afternoon.

Horses dodged and reared along the banks of the white-capped river.
Shots rang out all around the fortress, felling men like dominoes,
until a final merciful whiny and a painful scream pierced the air.
A horse’s twisted body rose above the crowd, then landed with a quaking thud.
A silence ensued only to be slowly drowned by the roar of a hundred victorious men.

There is something about French words that makes a sentence sound more sophisticated. The example in the notes was the word “faux” in place of “fake.” “Fake” is often associated with undesirable words such as “cheap” and “tacky.” “Faux” on the other hand, has an exotic air to it, which is attributed to its being a French word that made itself at home among a bunch of familiar, boring English ones. Another example would be “forte” as opposed to “specialty” or “talent.” Any old Joe-lunch-pail can claim to have a talent or two, but only a pretentious old rich guy with a fake (or should I say faux?) accent will boast of his “forte” (which is likely to be croquet or golf). Therefore, French words should only be placed in an otherwise English sentence if the speaker is willing to try to impress someone at the expense of his dignity.

I kind of feel as if everything in my head is a swirling tempest of scraps of thought. Kind of like a tornado tearing through a town, picking up random objects that are incorporated into its flow. Because of this there only seem to be brief glimpses of each thought, just enough to recognize its presence, but not enough to fully comprehend or describe it. In order to analyze a particular thought I’d have to specifically call it forth as if drawing into a white light or underneath a microscope. Does it count as stream of consciousness if I am describing the concept itself by utilizing it? I hope to. Or not. Maybe its kind of a double negative that cancels out. Or maybe the fact that I’m thinking about it means I am in a way directing and manipulating the flow into a certain direction, which doesn’t strike me as very “stream-of-consciouness”-like. Maybe Decker was right about 1/∞ being equal to 0, but nevermind because I swear the inverse of infinity isn’t 0. ∞ ≠ 0 ergo 1/∞ ≠ 0. Chyeah. Except I just made that up with my tornado of a mind.
*AFTERTHOUGHT: Any number divided by zero would be undefined anyway, not 0…? (Right?)