Blog entry #14 - Class #14

Unpredictable Wedding Day

It’s about 10:00 a.m. and I’m daydreaming behind my steering wheel, went down about five blocks; passed the spooky hidden house at the end of my street, the old brick one, and the blue one with the strange star by their attic window that’s usually decorated every holiday. The traffic light on Chandler and 3^rd Ave. must’ve been green because I don’t remember stopping there. That’s how Chandler Ave looks like, having gone down this street almost every day; it has always looked the same. Somehow that morning I didn’t noticed anything.

I don’t know where my mind was. I had just left home, started driving and picked up my phone to quickly call my boyfriend to let him know I was on my way to the salon.

Hi babi I’m on my way to the salon

Ok, just let me know when you are done there

Ok, I’ll talk to you later bye

Bye babi

Our friends were getting married later on that day. The moment I put my phone down next to me, was when I zoned out. Can’t remember what happened after that. What was I thinking? Perhaps I was doing a check list in my head

I have my dress, my shoes, and did my nails. I still have to do my eyebrows and my hair.

Suddenly, at about 10:05 a.m., I snapped out of it by a crashing impact. It’s too late. I ran a stop sign, I tried to break. By the time I went to a full stop a bus had taken my front bumper. I’m in the middle of an intersection; don’t know what to do. Looked around. I’m okay. Nothing hurts. I put my car on reverse, parked by the curve and called my boyfriend again this time to tell him that a bus had just hit me when I ran a stop sign. I tell him where I am, he’ll come soon he says, he lives just a few minutes away. I called the cops and reported the accident.

Two cop cars, several people all spread around the street and sidewalk, my damaged car, a bus with not much damage, a nervous bus driver who was stuttering and whose hands were shaking, along with my confused self, filled the scene. I can see parts from my car lying in the middle of the street. Many questions about what happened are asked but I don’t know what to say.

I can’t remember officer, I ran the stop sign and by the time I noticed, it was too late.

Three seconds after and the bus would’ve hit the side of the driver’s door; that would’ve been you, consider yourself lucky, the cop says to me.

            No one on the bus got hurt. I got a ticket for running the stop sign and lost a front bumper, thank God that’s all that happened.

It’s about 8:00 pm now, I’m wearing a chiffon red long dress with silver rhinestones on the top border, silver heels, soft make up, and the ends of my hair are curled up. I’m ready to wrap my arm around my boyfriends’ warm arm. He is in a black tuxedo, with a beautiful red rose on the left side of his tuxedo jacket; his sharp fresh haircut takes my breath away. Beautiful bright room, white carpet down the aisle, red pedals all over the floor, the music is playing, we walk down the aisle the wedding ceremony has begun, my bumper less car along with my eighty-five dollar ticket wait outside while we are ready to dance our night away.  

Blog entry #13 - Class #13

Bellingham Review

http://www.bhreview.org/

Established in 1977, Bellingham Review has earned a reputation for publishing established and emerging writers.

Bellingham Review is composed of a varied form and subject matter throughout their publications. Since they have no limit on what they accept, this makes this magazine a place where both genders, young adults, and adults can find something they enjoy reading.  They state that they like to have pieces of palpable quality where their readers can relate to it, and feel the essay as they read it. As I read through their issues I felt the stories messages, which were reflective and touching. They, for instance, included topics related to death, wars, and family.

As I clicked through the website and read through their pieces I noticed that most of the pieces didn’t include pictures or graphics, although CNF pieces can be created this way. Most of the pieces were long, only few were about 4-6 paragraphs long.

Here are a couple of examples of their pieces:

http://www.bhreview.org/decadent-music/

http://www.bhreview.org/before-anything/

Their publication frequency is biannual; one Fall Online Edition and one Spring Print Edition.

What you need to know to submit your work:

• Bellingham Review publishes primarily poetry, nonfiction, and fiction 
• They accept submissions from September 15^th through December 1^st
• They have no limitations on form or subject matter
• Their word limit is roughly 6,000 (So, this is a good place for your long CNF pieces)
• They ask to please not submit additional work until you hear back from the editors (So, you have to submit one piece at a time)
• Reporting time normally varies from one to six months
• There is a $2.00 submission fee that covers production and promotion costs only 
• They claim that no staff members receives anything from this fee

On my research I learned about a contest that they typically run annually:

• The 2014 contest period is currently running, so you can actually submit your pieces now (December 1, 2013 to March 15, 2014)
• They ask to please, send them your best work for a chance at winning $1,000 and publication in their Spring 2015 edition
• Submission fee for this contest is $20.00
• From their home page, if you click on “General Submissions Guidelines” you can actually see how to submit your work: http://www.bhreview.org/general-submissions-guidelines/ 
• From there, click on “Submittable”: https://bhreview.submittable.com/submit (this is the only way you can submit your work)
• Scroll down to the CNF section, click submit, create an account (first time users only) then, you’ll be able to submit your work
• They require a Tittle, and a brief Cover Letter attached to your file
• Acceptable file types: doc, docx, txt, rtf

Blog entry #12 - Class #12

[Tentative Tittles] What Happened On a Wedding Day or

Unpredictable Wedding Day

           It’s about 10:00 a.m. and I’m daydreaming behind my steering wheel, went down about five blocks; passed the spooky hidden house at the end of my street, the old brick one, and the blue one with the strange star by their attic window that’s usually decorated every holiday. The traffic light on Chandler and 3^rd Ave. must’ve been green because I don’t remember stopping there. That’s how Chandler Ave looks like, having gone down this street almost every day; it has always looked the same. Somehow that morning I didn’t noticed anything. I don’t know where my mind was. I had just left home, started driving and picked up my phone to quickly call my boyfriend to let him know I was on my way to the salon. Our friends were getting married later on that day. The moment I put my phone down next to me, was when I zoned out. Can’t remember what happened after that. What was I thinking? Perhaps I was doing a check list in my head I have my dress, my shoes, and did my nails. I still have to do my eyebrows and my hair.

Suddenly, at about 10:05 a.m., I snapped out of it by a crashing impact. It’s too late. I ran a stop sign, I tried to break. By the time I went to a full stop a bus had taken my front bumper. I’m in the middle of an intersection; don’t know what to do. Looked around. I’m okay. Nothing hurts. I put my car on reverse, parked by the curve and called my boyfriend again this time to tell him that a bus just hit me when I ran a stop sign. I tell him where I am, he’ll come soon he says, he lives just a few minutes away. I called the cops and reported the accident. Two cop cars, several people all spread around the street and sidewalk, my damaged car, a bus with not much damage, a nervous bus driver who was stuttering and whose hands were shaking, along with my confused self, filled the scene. I can see parts from my car lying in the middle of the street. Many questions about what happened are asked but I don’t know what to say. I can’t remember officer, I ran the stop sign and by the time I noticed, it was too late. Three seconds after and the bus would’ve hit the side of the driver’s door; that would’ve been you, consider yourself lucky, the cop says to me. No one on the bus got hurt. I got a ticket for running the stop sign and lost a front bumper, thank God that’s all that happened.

It’s about 8:00 pm now, I’m wearing a chiffon red long dress with silver rhinestones on the top border, silver heels, soft make up, and the ends of my hair are curled up. I’m ready to wrap my arm around my boyfriends’ warm arm. He is in a black tuxedo, with a beautiful red rose on the left side of his tuxedo jacket; his sharp fresh haircut takes my breath away. Beautiful bright room, white carpet down the aisle, red pedals all over the floor, the music is playing, we walk down the aisle the wedding ceremony has begun, my bumper less car along with my eighty-five dollar ticket wait outside while we are ready to dance our night away.

Blog entry #11 - Class #11

For my second draft I am thinking on writing about a car accident I experienced on the day my friend was getting married. (I was one of her bridesmaids). That day was a day FULL of different emotions. I was scared, terrified, confused, nervous, happy, joyful, in love, and so on all on the same day. I had never been on a car accident and it was terrible the fact the it occurred on such special day. This is the topic that I feel I would write about the most.

Writing about my learning driving experience is still an option for me I feel like it was a big step I took in my life. I learned after I graduated high school and learning gave me a sense of independence. It took me a long time to learn, my boyfriend taught, which it was great. It gave us a bounding experience and memories that we will always look back too. We can tell out kids in the future that daddy taught mommy how to drive, they'll probably laugh.

Picking a topic is usually tough for me since I always second guess myself about how I really feel about sharing some experiences I've had. 

Blog entry #10 - Class #10

            We were kids when we met and would play together every now and then. I moved to the U.S. so I didn’t see her again until she moved here, to the U.S. We were teenagers by then so I noticed our friendship had changed. Here we became high school friends, just like our moms were back in the day. We became such closed friends that we started telling people we were cousins. We would go together everywhere, we were the best of friends.

About two years after we graduated high school, something happened along the way, something unexplained. After all the movies we saw together, all the pictures we took, all the secrets we shared, all the late night conversations we had, we were just growing apart. There were so many memories but as years went by it was as if we weren’t on the same page anymore. Things just weren’t the same anymore.

We both went our separate ways; I wasn’t there for her wedding, so I didn’t get to see how beautiful she looked on her wedding dress. I didn’t get to fix her dress, her makeup, her hair. I didn’t get to tell her how happy I was for her. I wasn’t there when she found out she was pregnant. I never saw her belly or went shopping with her for the baby. I wasn’t there for the baby shower or when she gave birth. We used to be the best of friends.

September 27^th, 2013 her second baby was born. My boyfriend and I went to see her at the hospital. We entered the lobby and announced ourselves as her cousins, our relationship seem to be getting back to what it used to be. We are sitting in the lobby with the baby’s gift, waiting. “God’s Little Princess” is the name of the book that we got her and a huge balloon tie around it to welcome her.  While I held that beautiful angel in my arms we would remember high school times. We talked about how time had passed, how she was already married and a mother of two. We shared our plans for the future. Everything seem like our friendship was slowly building back. She shared her feelings about being a mom for the first time and I was looking forward to spending more time with her, her adorable toddler and her new baby girl.

A couple of weeks after the baby was born I texted Gabby’s mom to ask her when could I go see Gabby, since Gabby’s phone was disconnected. Her mom replied telling that I could go see her anytime but soon because Gabby was moving to Puerto Rico on 0ctober 23^rd. When I read that text I was surprised, I told my boyfriend right away, whom I was sitting next to in the car. I couldn’t believe it! I got so sad. I started to cry, but I also didn’t understand why. Questions like when would I see her again? and would I see her kids grow? went through my head. Only time will tell, I haven't talk to her since she left. 

Blog entry #9 - Class #9

                                                     The Irony of Life

           It was a white Christmas day and I was landing at Newark International airport after a long flight coming from Venezuela; where I was born. I was coming to the U.S. to live but didn't quite understand that fact at that moment. All I could concentrate on when I was in the plane was the excitement of seeing my mom, who was going to be picking me up at the airport, after three long months of being apart from each other. It felt like it had been longer since I was only 9-years-old then and I had never been away from her that long before. I was wearing black jeans and a blazer since it was winter time here, I thought that blazer was going to be warm enough but apparently it wasn't  I was surprised by that because I had no idea how cold the weather was like here during the winter. My mom was waiting for me with a pink coat for me to wear before going outside. When I put it on, I felt uncomfortable wearing it; the coat was too thick compare to the light sweaters I was used to wearing in Venezuela. I guess I just had to get adjusted to it; little did I know that there were many other things I had to get adjusted to.

After arriving to the U.S. and Christmas; along with the rest of the holiday’s being over, I was enrolled in school. I was in the middle of 5^th grade in my homeland and it wasn't really until I was enrolled in school that I fully understood what coming to a foreign country was all about. I was in a new school, a new country, and with no friends. I was terrified; there was no going back. I couldn't grasp the idea that I wasn't going to go back to my country, my school, and my friends. I was here with my family and that gave me comfort but I was faced with the fact that I had to learn a new language. I also had to learn new ways of doing things differently from Venezuela, for instance once I was enrolled in school, I learned that math problems were solve differently in this country, along with the different measurements that I had learned. I felt as if things couldn't get any worse.

I remember being in school, my teacher spoke Spanish to all the class since I was in the bilingual program. That was very nice actually I felt like I could breathe a little bit more, it helped me feel in place, where I belonged and better about being in a different world as a foreigner at least my teacher and classmates spoke my language but I still had to learn the English language and that was a huge struggle for me. It took me a long time to get the hang of things, and I always felt behind. You would think children learn faster or pick things up pretty quickly but it wasn't the case with me. Besides the language itself I had to deal with security, confidence, fear, and possibly trauma.

Things were so frustrating that even the smallest things made me feel terrible and that led to a huge task for me to overcome. I remember being in 5^th grade in my math class with my Spanish speaking teacher and during that time she was teaching us how to divide. Is all numbers right? How hard could it be? Well, at that moment I realized that it was actually different. What I mean by that is that here they divide backwards; when you are solving a division problem manually you have to draw a line, plug in the numbers and then you subtract and eventually solve the division problem. Well, in my country they draw the line opposite to the line in the U.S., there is no subtraction written and eventually you get the answer.

So, I was sitting in class and this impacted me to the extent that I can picture myself sitting in that class like if it was yesterday. My teacher said to me not to worry and to just solve the way they do it in my country and that with time I’d get the hang of how it is done here. So, I am sitting there, starring at the numbers because guess what? I was in the middle of the school year and I hadn't fully learned the way they do it in my country either. Besides those differences I was confused with the types of measurements they used here. Here in the U.S. inches, feet and miles are the normal measurements instead of centimeters, meters, and kilometers; what a crazy country! I thought. I felt horrible, stuck and I didn't know how to tell my teacher in front of everybody that I didn't know how to solve a division problem or understood the measurements in the math book. So I wasn't only struggling with English, but with Math as well.

As classes came and went I had to practice more at home, probably extra than the regular student. I tried really hard I practice and practice until I finally knew how to do these problems. I remember wanting to go outside and play but being unable to because I had to practice Math problems at home. I was glad at the end that I learned how to solve the division problems. I now think that is actually easier to do it the way we do it here but I also think that, that might be because I never got to fully learn how it is done in Venezuela.

I was very shy and intimidated by all these changes so I was moving forward very slowly. I stayed in the bilingual program for a long time, from the middle of 5^th grade all the way up to senior year in high school; that’s more than average I would think. I stayed for that long because I refused to learn the language, or acknowledge it and practice it, I was in the bilingual program after all. I faked not knowing the language at times because I was refusing to move forward. My teachers and classmates spoke Spanish so I thought I could get away with it. After so long you learn some things regardless so I understood a lot of what people would speak around me but I was so afraid of speaking. I refused to speak or make an effort because I was so intimidated by what was going on around me.

I recall being in 8^th grade and being asked by several teachers different questions in English. They were trying to evaluate how much did I understood the English language because years had passed and I was still in the same E.S.L. level. Questions simple like: what’s your name? how old are you?, although I was already at the level where I knew how to answer these questions I faked not knowing. I stood quite the whole time pretending I had no idea what they were asking me. I refused to move further, I was so afraid of moving to a higher level. I didn't want to learn more.  Time went on and I continued in the bilingual program.

By about sophomore year in high school I was speaking English only when I had to, like to some teachers, personnel in the cafeteria or if anybody needed help translating. But I still didn't feel all that comfortable. I would in a way practice the language in my head or when I was alone. All my friends spoke Spanish and I spoke Spanish at home so there was no need to put into practice what I had learned. When senior year started the school transferred me to regular classes, meaning I was no longer in the bilingual program. So my classmates weren't the same anymore. A couple of the students from the bilingual program were transferred to regular classes as well so I wasn't all that alone.

When I was transferred off the bilingual program I started to put into practice all I had learned silently over the years. I had always enjoyed writing and had personal journals that I kept and use as a hobby. These weren't written in English but the love for writing was always in me. When I graduated high school and went into college, I was confused about what career I wanted to pursue. I was an undecided major for a while until I decided to become an English major since I enjoyed writing so much. How ironic the fact that I had spent my life up to that point refusing to learn the language and I was then deciding to make that as my career. So that brings me to think that maybe the things you refuse the most are those that are going to give you a huge surprise. None of the other careers really capture my attention and I didn't want to go to school for something I didn't fully enjoy. As I was growing up my family moved several times; when we came to this country, when I was in the middle of 7^th grade, when I was in the middle of my senior year in high school, after I graduated high school, when I was a freshman in college… and so on so, all this made me unable to be stable about my decisions. It was only writing what felt like it was that one special thing that wasn't going to change. I always enjoyed it so I couldn't be happier when I finally decided to pursue it as my career.

These learning experiences were tough on me but I have to say that it’s great knowing all I know and seeing who I've become. After overcoming tough challenges in my life I believe I can overcome what’s ahead. From the biggest challenges of my life, great things have been the outcome. Although when I first came to this country I didn't want to learn the language, now is something that I love. I moved several times but when I moved in the middle of my senior year in high school, I am happy to say now that I met my current boyfriend in the High School where I was transferred to at that time. So, I am currently and happily an English Writing Option major; I am pursuing a career that I love and I have met my boyfriend whom I have plans for the future, including getting married and forming a family. I love the fact that I am able to speak two languages and help those who are still in the process of learning the language. I love the fact that I was able to overcome the challenge of learning a new language and learning new ways of solving math problems. Looking back I feel like these experiences inspire me to overcome the new challenges in my life because since I know I was able to overcome it then, I’ll be able to overcome them now. I am happy about where I am now and I look forward to what the future brings. I understand that God has a perfect plan for my life even when I think things don’t make sense. Who would've thought that I was going to become an English Major after not even wanting to speak the language? After all I went through and all the tough changes I would've thought that I was going to be traumatized by these situations but I instead think that the best came out of these experiences. I am a stable person, pursuing a career I love, with an amazing boyfriend and clear about what I want in the future. I greatly look forward to what the future may bring and hope for the best out of my toughest situations. 

Blog entry #8 - Class #8

For my short essay I’ve been thinking about writing about when I dislocated my left wrist. I was about 10 or 11 years old and when I playing around with my siblings and neighbors (mostly BOYS) I felt and dislocated my wrist. If I decide to write about this, I will be writing it in basically one straight scene describing the moment when I was playing, following the moment I felt, our way to the hospital – which was a terrible experience – our time at the hospital and when I finally got home. Throughout the whole time I was terrified and in huge pain. I will be describing in detail the whole process and the emotional effect that it had on me. I never dislocated or broke any other bone again; perhaps I was traumatize and knew the pain that I had gone through so I never played crazy again.

Another option for me is writing about the process of getting my driver’s license and learning how to drive is also an option for me since it was a very emotional experience. Writing about this will have to be in deferent sets of scenes since it occurred throughout an extended period of time as oppose to writing about when I dislocated my wrist. Picking a topic for these pieces has been somewhat difficult for me because I feel like I have to dig into my memories to be able to find something my audience can relate to or understand.