Originally, this assignment, Totally Normal Room of a Totally Normal Teenage Boy, was 948 words. I am a creative writing major, so this isn’t too shocking. When it comes to the written word, I have a lot to say. But, more often than not, revision in the writing words is cutting. Editing is a process of elimination, not addition. So to rework this assignment, I wanted to edit it. Drastically. I wanted to try to cut it in half, to select and delete 474 words, but that was a pretty high (or low) goal. I ended up cutting out around 422 words, which is a 45% cut. It was pretty brutal, but I definitely like this version better. Even looking back at the original post, why did I think nearly a thousand words was a good length. 

“There is a page on Wikipedia, called Wikipedia:Random, where you can click the link and get brought to a random page on Wikipedia. For this assignment, go to the link and then click on the words Special:Random. Whatever page you get, somehow incorporate it into a short story involving whatever theme your class has…”

Submitted by: Francesca Maisano

The hatch in the floor opened, and the hand pushing it up brought with it the body of a teenage boy. Standing, he put his backpack down, the old burlap of it bulging, mostly filled with cans of food, but also tubes of paint scavenged by grateful townies. Before he unpacked, he crossed his room to the record player, nudging one of the piles of clothes under his bed as he did so. The paper album cover of Schizophrenia: Cantorial Recordings Reimagined was worn near uselessness, he handled it with care. As the dissonance began, before the instruments kicked in, Hastur opened the curtains. 

The sky was gray, a hint of lightest blue at the edges. In another time, the center of the sky might have been white, but here it was tainted with smoke. There was no sun, but light seeped into the landscape anyway. Hastur had come home just in time. Nothing stirred on the deserted landscape, the dusty ground harboring few plants but the odd tree or hardy grass. The vocalist began singing, and like so much of Hastur’s music, he did not know the language, but the message was clear, and it matched the desolation very well indeed. 

He turned to his desk. He had been running out of a lot of colors, and today’s work would be based on whatever paint the townspeople had found. He had long divorced realism, coming to the conclusion that he could only work with what he had, and if that was a tube of bright purple, he might as well use it. The paints were covered in names he did not know, and he was about to begin swatching when the shadows on the horizon stole his attention. 

His heart began to beat faster, outpacing the rhythm of the music. Opening the case under the window, his hands assembled the machine from memory. It clicked into place on the window sill, barrel pointing outward, a single black finger, a warning, but the approaching flock paid it no mind. Hastur fitted his eye into the sight. 

The mess of leathery wings and scraggly hairs was difficult to discern, but as they neared, the individual creatures could be distinguished. He wanted to look away, he had seen enough bulbous faces, bony limbs, and putrefied skin, but he kept his eye unblinking, sighting which one he was going to get first, waiting for them to come within range. It didn’t take long. 

He held his breath and fired in between his heartbeats. The head of the monster exploded and dropped out of sight. He could tell that the other things were crying out, their tooth-filled mouths open, but the percussion-heavy music drowned them out. He fired again and again, taking aim and picking out those in front. He counted in his head. 

Hastur had killed a third of the pack before they screeched and fled. He did not fire in the hope that one day they would realize that retreat was all he wanted. He disassembled his gun and sealed the case back up. He turned back to his desk, ready to see exactly what shade phthalo blue was.

Don was an ordinary dog who loved to voice his opinions to his owners. He had no idea that his owners were able to understand him. Don figured out that he was able to say about ten words. In the early 1900s, he became quite the hit in America, and people paid a lot of money to see him perform. He was even an endorser of a brand of dog treats. Don was living the good life. As his time on Earth came close to an end, Don was happy with the life he lived and went into the light with peace.

Don had no way of knowing that his time in the doggy heavens was short-lived. He had no idea that his body was cryonically frozen. He had no way of knowing that there would be a significant advancement in technology that would allow cryonic to succeed in bringing people back from the dead. Or, in this case, a dog. Scientists figured that there would be side effects in those brought back from their frozen state, but they assumed they would only be in people. They never stopped to consider the impact it could have on a dog.

Don only went in knowing a few words in German. Who could have imagined that he would wake up speaking fluent English? Not the nurse who fainted when Don asked where all the other dogs went. Not the lead scientist who thought they lost their mind when Don asked to use the bathroom outside.

Don was happy to be alive again. Although he missed his owners, he also missed entertaining people. Now, Don could bring smiles to the faces of everyone in the world without leaving the lab. He couldn’t believe the new technological advancements society had made since 1915. Then, after a few days for everyone in the cryonics lab to get used to the idea of a talking dog, they shared their miraculous scientific discovery online. A video of Don introducing his furry self soon went viral worldwide. So while Dona and the scientists thought the video received astonishment and praise, quite the opposite occurred.

The world was horrified to see a dog talking. Sure, people adored talking animals in cartoons and low-budget CGI films, but in real life, Don was horrifying. So what had the cryonic chamber done to make a dog talk? And if it made a dog come out talking, what would it do to humans? People were playing God. They were going far beyond the powers humans are capable of harnessing. Humanity relied on cryonics to live longer, survive long distances in space travel, and wait out for cures for deadly diseases. People grew frantic as this was not what they wanted. They did not want to go into these frozen chambers one way and come out without guaranteeing who they would be then. Don had proved a point. Society was not ready.

Fear and panic spread quicker than wildfires in a drought. Just days after the lab posted the video, humanity began to crumble. Cities and towns soon went into anarchy. The ethical and moral problems of cryonics tore society apart as they couldn’t handle the implications of the technology.

A month later, the bombs dropped. The age of humanity had come to an end. Nothing of society remained except for Don. Don was placed back into his frozen chamber before the mushroom-shaped cloud of death had reached the lab. As Don began to feel sleepy, he heard the lead scientist say, “the world wasn’t ready for you, Don.”

Don was happy to be back in doggy heaven, although some dogs were not happy to have their time on Earth shortened drastically by Don’s impact on it. Still, he enjoyed running with the other dogs on the soft, bouncy clouds until he fell through one.

Don opened his eyes and was shocked to find that he was alive once again. Humanity had been wiped out, who woke him up. He shook the sleep away and got a clear look at the figures in front of him. They looked like humans, but their skin was purple, and their eyes were a bit bigger than the average human’s. Don looked around the room and noticed that their technology was much more advanced.

A figure in a lab coat captured Don’s attention. They put a warm towel around Don and gave him a bone. The figure then gently scratched his ears. As Don’s leg started to bounce, the figure said, “we are ready for you, Don.”

This story has got to be the weirdest piece I have ever written. I honestly believe that something as stupid as a dog talking would send society into a tailspin. The inspiration was from a random Wikipedia article about a German dog in the 1900s named Don, who could speak eight words in German. One of my favorite dogs in film and tv is Dug from UP, who could talk about a translating collar he wore. I had a group of aliens rescue Don in the end because Don deserved some love after all he went through. Since humans could not appreciate what made him special, they did not deserve to have him.

Here is a link to the Wikipedia article and I hope you enjoyed my short story!

Wow, ok, this was definitely a shorter wiki post than what I was expecting. My assignment was to write about a randomly-selected Wikipedia page.

The time, 1960. The place, Rome, Italy. Birgit Jensen had prepared for this event for a long time. The Olympics K-2 500 m sprint canoe event. I’m not sure how many of my readers have experienced rowing, but it is the pinnacle of cardiovascular exercise and can take a lot out of a person who is not prepared. Unfortunately for Birgit, she did not fare well in this event and placed 5th. However, I like to think about how Bob Ross handles failure, and I believe that most people training for such a difficult challenge can take defeat in a positive light. It is always a learning opportunity!

Personal growth comes from taking chances and staying out of one’s comfort zone. I like to think that Birgit saw her experience as a fantastic opportunity despite her loss, as many people have never achieved a chance to compete at her level.

I honestly felt like clicking the random button again when getting this page, but I keep reminding myself that even if a task may not be appealing at first, there is always something positive I can learn from it.

Unfortunately, after doing some more research on Birgit, I could not find any pictures of her. I did find records of information on the Olympics site, but that was it. I wonder how she is doing today?

I hope someone finds this short post as a source of inspiration to do good with their day and spread some happiness!

Written Assignment #1

https://assignments.ds106.us/assignments/random-wikipedia-writing/

There is a page on Wikipedia, called Wikipedia:Random, where you can click the link and get brought to a random page on Wikipedia. For this assignment, go to the link and then click on the words Special:Random. Whatever page you get, somehow incorporate it into a short story involving whatever theme your class has…

Submitted by: Francesca Maisano

The room looked about how you’d expect the room of a teenage boy to look. Grubby carpet on the floor, walls painted a basic neutral tone hardly visible behind the scores of posters taped to it, a bed never made, piles of clothes littered everywhere, mixed in with books and bits of technology and wires, plates of half-eaten food on the desk, cups in places no cup should venture. The stacks of canvases leaned up against the desk might not be so stereotypical, but not strange for an art student. In any case, the room was almost normal, but the thing about this room was that it did not have a door. All the walls were solid, with windows on every side, but no door. 

A hatch in the floor opened inward, the hand pushing it up pulled with it the body of the teenage boy who resided in this room. He climbed the last stairs and sat on his floor, turning to lower the hatch back down, its carpeted top blending in almost imperceptibly. Standing, he put his backpack down on his desk, the old burlap of it bulging with the early morning findings. Mostly filled with cans to refurbish his dwindling stockpile, but also several tubes of paint, scavenged by grateful townies who knew he painted. Before he let himself investigate his newest colors, he crossed the room to stand in front of the record player, kicking a pile of clothes under his bed as he did so. He bent, the movement smoothed by routine, selecting the vinyl from the shelves below the player. The paper album cover of Schizophrenia: Cantorial Recordings Reimagined was worn on the sides, the yellow paper showing through. He placed the disk on the turning point and gently placed the needle down. As the general dissonance began before the instruments kicked in, Hastur opened the curtains. 

The sky was gray like always, a hint of the lightest blue at the edges. In another time, the center of the sky might have been white, but here it was tainted with smoky wisps of gray, the remains of a polluted world. There was no sun to see, but light seeped into the landscape anyway. Hastur had come home just in time. Nothing stirred on the deserted landscape, the dusty brown ground harboring few plants but the odd tree or particularly hardy grass. He knew that the outpost-town was just behind his own room, but from this vantage point, nothing living could be seen. He wished it would stay like that, but he knew it would not be so. The vocalist began singing, and like so many of Hastur’s music, he did not know the language they spoke. But the message was clear, in tone and melody and lyric, it was clear. And it matched the desolation of the world very well indeed. 

Keeping the smaller details of the landscape in his mind, he turned his attention to his desk, unpacking the paint. He had been running out of a lot of his normal pallet, and the tones of today’s work would be heavily impacted by whatever colors the townspeople had found. He had long divorced realism, though he sometimes slipped back for certain pieces. Hastur had come to the conclusion that he could only work with what he had, and if he was given a tube of green, he might as well use it despite the pointed lack of it in the actual landscape. The tubes were covered in names he did not know, and he was about to begin swatching when the shadow on the horizon stole his attention. 

Though his heart began to beat a faster rhythm, outpacing the music, he willed it slower, knowing that it would only interfere. Moving quickly, he opened the case under the window, his hands assembling the machine from memory. It clicked into place on the window sill, the barrel pointing outward, a single, black finger, straighted into a warning. The approaching flock paid it no mind. Hastur fitted his eye into the sight, tucking the butt under his arm, taking stock of the Mephistos. 

The mess of leathery wings and scraggly hairs was still difficult to discern even with the added magnification. But as they neared, the individual creatures could be seen. Hastur wished they weren’t. He had seen enough to be familiar with the bulbous faces, bony limbs, and putrefied skin. 

He wanted to look away, but he kept his eye unblinking on the Mephistos, waiting for them to come in range, choosing which one he was gonna get first. It didn’t take long. 

He held his breath and fired in between his heartbeats. The head of the monster exploded and dropped out of sight before Hastur could see much of the gore. He could tell that the other Mephistos were crying out for their fallen companion, their tooth-filled mouths open, but the percussion-heavy music reverberating around in his room drowned them out. He fired again and again, taking aim at whichever beast was in front. Then as they got closer, picking out those about to run into his own abode. He counted in his head, every bullet found its mark. 

Hastur estimated he had killed nearly a third of the pack before they screeched retreat and fled. He did not fire at their retreating forms in the vain hope that one day they would realize that the quicker they turned around, the quicker he stopped shooting. He disassembled his gun, careful to position his fingers around the parts still scorching hot, and sealed the case back up. He turned back to his desk, ready to see exactly which shade was phthalo blue.

When I saw this assignment, I was like, “Yes! A short story assignment with a random prompt, sound like great weird potential, I’m in.” I didn’t have many expectations because, obviously, it was random, lack of expectations is the point, but this was quite out of left field in the best way possible. The page I got was Yoshie Fruchter – Wikipedia. I decided to listen to some of his music and see what kind of story it brought up. I really love creative writing, especially as I find that my inspiration comes from everywhere and anywhere, with a huge variety in results, themes, tones, subjects, and yes, quality. I am always down to try something new and see what happens. I suppose you just read the result, and I would encourage you to give it a listen to the album Schizophrenia: Cantorial Recordings Reimagined as well, so you can understand the source material. (the whole album is on Spotify, but I left a short youtube video below) I think it’s very good music, even though it’s not what I would normally listen to. For incorporating the theme, that was a little harder. Our theme is The Joy of Painting by Bob Ross and it took me a little bit to figure out how to get it to fit in with the strange world that the album had summoned. But then I thought of Hastur. What better way than to make the main character a fellow creative mind, and a landscape painter no less! And of course, I had to add in a little easter egg in the form of name-dropping phthalo blue, one of Bob Ross’s own colors.

For help, when the words wouldn’t come, I employed butterscotch lollipops, donated by a person whose picky tongue would not have them.

May the road rise up to meet you,

It was a cool summers night in the big apple, but just like any other night there was always a reason to go to the club. A young man known to his family and friends as Frederick Anthony Jackson, recently came off a dismal spell of bad luck outside his home. The reason he moved out west to begin with was to follow his passion for music. Two years in Hollywood would amount to be a dreadful era for in his budding music career. Like many people before him and after, Freddy would return home to salvage whatever he could to continue and make the music that he loves.

Thankfully the New York City club scene was a more forgiving stage to him. Years before he left on his journey he started to make a name for himself by performing one offs here and there at various night clubs. One evening Freddie was asked to perform at a club which coincidentally was named “Freddie’s.” That night Freddy would sing his heart out in front of the club patrons of whom thought they had never heard anyone quite like him. Unbeknownst to Freddy, a certain catalyst in his career explosion happened to be sitting in a booth thinking to herself “My god, what a voice.”

This was my submission for the Random Wikipedia Writing assignment. Thankfully I was able to find one that stayed on topic in the 80’s. The random page I got was about Freddy Jackson an R&B/Soul singer who’s career blossomed in the 80’s. The certain catalyst towards the end of the story was Melba Moore who was already a Tony winning/Grammy nominated artist at the time. There seemed like a lot of once in a lifetime occurrences that happened to Freddy Jackson. The fact that his career was able to takeoff at a place called Freddie’s is ridiculous. Thankfully we have multiple sources that documented these happenstances.

I decided to attempt the random wikipedia article writing challenge and my article is

Nealcidion brachiale

or, a species of beetle in the family Cerambycidae. This is the whole article. I will now tie it to my character.

Irri was always afraid of bugs. When he was younger, he was stung by two wasps at the same time while playing on a swing set and ever since has been terrified. This also turned into severe arachnophobia, which was heightened whenever he saw a spider move. On his walk to work one day, Irri saw what he thought was a spider and screamed. Upon closer examination, however, he realized that it wasn’t a spider, it was simply Nealcidion brachiale, a species of beetle in the family Cerambycidae. Relieved, but still afraid, Irri continued his walk to work.

It was a hot day in the beginning of June, 2015. Daniel Fields was nervous, he could feel his heart jumping up and down inside of his chest like he had just drank three Monster energy drinks. Two days prior he had been told that he was being pulled up to the majors, from the Toledo Mud Hens to the Detroit Tigers and that he would most likely be getting a chance to bat. When his coach told him he felt like he was going to faint. He had been waiting all of his life for this opportunity and had put countless hours into catching, throwing, and batting in preparation for his shot in the majors. He was sitting in the dugout, and the game was tied with only one more inning to go. The Tigers needed a win today in order to have a shot at the conference title, and everyone knew it. It was Daniel’s turn in the batting order. His batting coach told him that it was his turn to go, and he said, “Alright Danny! You’re up kid. You’re getting paid a lot of money to take this at bat, and you’ll get paid even more if you actually get a hit”. Daniel sighed to himself as he recalled all of the times he had hit in practice, and with his father at home in their backyard. He looked at his coach and said, “honestly coach, I would take this at bat for free” and walked out onto the field. He recorded his first major league hit, which was a double off of Dan Otero for the Oakland Athletics.

This assignment had the potential to be very difficult depending on the page but thankfully I got a page on a baseball player, Daniel Fields. It was a simple thing to think of a story that would refer back to his first major league at-bat. I had fun with this assignment as I’m a huge fan of most sports. Baseball I have the least amount of experience with, so I just used my personal knowledge of emotions when it comes to sports and achieving in sports in order to put together a short story. Great assignment!

Just Zaying…