Meagan I noticed is more rigid in her earlier drafts and then she softens it up. The transitions in her earlier works do not work as well. This creates a bit of a choppy structure. But as she works her drafts she softens this up. The transistions work much smother and it feels more like you’re riding a river and not looking at a brick building. From her first essay first draft to her third essay first draft there is a big difference in her choppiness. She is becoming more able to create the fluid structure on her first try and not need revisions to help her see it.

Audra D. is different than Katie B. to me in that Audra seems to put herself into her pieces a lot. I see a total investment in her voice. She doesn’t reveal only parts of her life, she reveals all. This is great for creative non-fiction, however Katie has an advantage. Because her voice is more disconnected she has more authority. It is more evident in the first piece. Because Audra is very personal it is harder to be swayed by the logic of her argument while Katie is more disconnected so the reader assumes that she has thought about things and is not giving a rash opinion.

Caitlin F., I like her. I noticed that in her final essay she changed the transition where she talks about how she isn’t a writer in the first draft to the second, but then changes it back. I don’t see this really when a student decides that a previous transition is better than a new one. This shows that she knows what she likes and isn’t afraid to do it. I’m sure she changed this transition due to comments made by other classmates but then changed it back. I find that her voice was different from her first essay and her third essay. The first essay she is more formal more authoritative and in the third she is more vulnerable. But what impresses me is that it is a natural read. I don’t feel like Caitlin is straining to use a different voice, she is able to switch easily.

Steven P. All I can say about him is that he is a pure genius. The paragon of writing and a wonder to all (sigh, if only that were true). I noticed that this semester I took time to got out of the box. I was tired of being told by professor the exact format and content for essays. I was tired of fitting what I wanted to do to what the professor wanted. So since, Dr. A, you gave me an inch, I took a mile. I would like to thank you for allowing me this. I feel that I was able to be consitintly creative with the assignments. I don’t think that my creativity weakened or my voice. I improved upon my transitions throughout the semester and I noticed that my grammar became better. But I think most of all, I was able to be shown what an essay may become. Before I figured the five paragraph essay was it: intro, body, and conclusion. But I learned that there is so much more and that the world of writing isn’t just that. I wanted to learn what I could do with essays and I learned a lot. This was in thanks to you Dr. A. Thank you for not forcing me to write a certain way. Thank you for allowing me to explore options. And thank you for giving me pointers of sweet techniques I could use to enhance my argument. I think that this was the biggest way I impoved. It wasn’t my voice, grammar, organization, or transitions. It was how I view the possibilities of writing. For that I am truly grateful (if you feel like my praise was sarcastic, it was not meant to be because I have been a sheltered writer and seeing what is out there really does me good).

            Back in the second grade, my teacher talked about Martin Luther King Jr. I remember learning that he was killed because he was black. It didn’t make sense to me why he would be killed because he was black. I knew Abraham Lincoln was killed because people didn’t like him and he was in a war, but why die because you were black? The third grade came and I learned that white people hated black people. That white people would hurt and kill black people, because white people were prejudice. I learned that this was wrong. I’m not supposed to hate black people because they are black. I shouldn’t be prejudice to them. The fourth, fifth, and sixth grade years passed as well. My encounters with racism were located exclusively in the classroom when my teacher talked about how white people are still prejudice to black people. Each year I learned that we the white people need to stop being prejudice against black people. I never understood why I was still prejudice. I thought that I didn’t have a problem with blacks. But every year, I was told that prejudice still exists and if I could change how I viewed black people that it would stop.

            In junior high I learned more about the civil rights movement. I learned the tragedies of the south during the 1950’s and 1960’s. I learned about Emmit Till, Burmingham, and the KKK. White people hated black people (sorry I should say African Americans). This hatred was still prevalent today and if I could only change my prejudices then I could stop it. I was being told that I still hold the prejudices of African Americans. I haven’t even encountered an African American, so how do I know if I’m prejudice to them? And how do the teachers know that I still need to change?

            High School began my rebellious phase for the civil rights movement. It was at this time that I learned about the feminist movement. Men were scum, women didn’t need them. I wondered to myself “how am I holding women back too?” I soon realized that I wasn’t holding women back or African Americans and if I wasn’t holding these two groups back then why should I keep learning about how much I need to change and become a better white person. I developed a hate of every feminist that was extreme (i.e. women who believe that men should never exist). Now, before you begin judging me as a “hater,” understand that I was and am for equal rights. I don’t think that it’s fair that white males get paid more than white females or black men. I have always held that no matter the race or gender, we should be treated with the same respect. I have always been ashamed of anyone who believes they are better than someone else based on gender or race. Even though I hold these values, I am still the one that is the bad guy. I cannot begin to count all of the complaints about men I heard during my High School days. Everyday another woman would tell me how much of a scum bag I was and how I need to change to make life more tolerable for her. After eight years of hearing how I need to change my perceptions on the world and that learning that each year I had gotten nowhere to improving conditions for any minority, I got sick of it. Nothing I did ever helped the relations between my kind and the oppressed. So, I rebelled.

            In truth I never did anything about the complaints made to me. My rebellion was internal. I knew that if I tried to fight back and tell my accusers to lay off and don’t group men/whites like that I would forever be known as a sexist pig and a bigoted man. I’d rather take insults and complaints that had no grounding than begin acting like the stereotypical “white male.”

      A result of my pushing back against the world that kept telling me I was wrong was that I began defending controversial topics. Perhaps not defending, but looking at them from the “other” side to understand their perspective. An example of this was when I heard about a Middle Eastern woman who was stopped at an airport for a “random” check. She became very defensive and started shouting that the only reason she was being searched was because she was Middle Eastern. This conflict ended with her being tazed. Was this racial profiling? Yes. But instead of rushing immediately to her side and sympathize with her plight, I looked at the security guards. These individuals are responsible for the safety of thousands of passengers. I cannot blame them if they see fit to do a not so “random” check. Many past terrorist activities involving plans were taken part by those who looked/were Middle Eastern. If I was in their shoes I would be more inclined to do a “random” check on someone with a Middle Eastern appearance than someone who looked Spanish.

            Because I was use to looking at both sides, I really wanted to be a minority for a change. This opportunity came when I was lucky enough to spend two years on a tropical island called La Reunion. Also I wanted see how prejudice I was against people of color. Despite all my learning about racism as a child, I never encountered African Americans (which incidentally I learned that using this label is offensive to some blacks – I can never be right). I wanted to encounter blacks; I wanted to learn why people hated them and if I would be one of those who are prejudice. The moment I stepped on the island my majorities became minorities. I loved it; for once I was the minority. I didn’t have to worry about being politically correct. I didn’t have to worry about people calling me bigoted and stating that I have to change. I could fling those comments on other individuals that I thought weren’t as good as they could be (not that I ever would, but I liked holding that power). This is what I thought, and I was wrong, yet again.

      There is one experience that proved me wrong which I look back upon and smile. I was at the bus stop and an elderly Chinese man came up to me. His eyes were squinting because of the sun, I looked at him and smiled and I was about to enter the bus when I noticed he wanted to say something to me. I looked at him and politely smiled when he raised his hands. I looked down and they were making a familiar gesture. I never thought that man’s middle fingers could get so straight. After this initial shock the elderly man proceeded to swear at me using the most profane English he learned in school. He rant was about how I was a Bush supporter (President Bush) and that I need to go back to America to tell him to stop attacking other countries. I should’ve known that this was coming, but I was hoping to finally lay to rest my being the majority for a while. However, he proved to me that even in the minority I was still the majority and everything happening in the world was my fault.

            It’s as if everyone who isn’t Male, White, American, and Christian expects that my actions alone will be able to relieve the suffering they feel due to “my kind”. I don’t remember ever hearing one word of encouragement or congratulations for not being a sexist racist pig bigot. The most I ever got was a “you’re not included in the group that we are talking about.” Or in other words, “your still part of them, you just haven’t screwed up yet.”

     As part of the majority I have face much reverse prejudice. I have seen the look in people’s eyes that show fear. Imagine walking down the street, looking at someone and getting the distinct impression that they fear you. This makes you feel like some sort of monster. Now there are people who enjoy this, but I am not one of them. I hate that immediate tension as we talk. The individual is on guard and I feel like I’m stepping on egg shells. He is waiting for an attack and so am I. He waits for me to degrade him, and I wait for him to accuse me. Our conversation remains superficial to avoid giving the other anything to use against us. Our handshake is brief as we say goodbye and part ways. There is relief as we turn our backs upon each other, hoping that our conversation partner isn’t a criminal. This is what prejudice has not only done to minorities, but the majority as well.

            Back in the second grade, my teacher talked about Martin Luther King Jr. I remember learning that he was killed because he was black. It didn’t make sense to me why he would be killed because he was black. I knew Abraham Lincoln was killed because people didn’t like him and he was in a war, but why die because you were black? The third grade came and I learned that white people hated black people. That white people would hurt and kill black people, because white people were prejudice. I learned that this was wrong. I’m not supposed to hate black people because they are black. I shouldn’t be prejudice to them. The fourth, fifth, and sixth grade years passed as well. My encounters with racism were located exclusively in the classroom when my teacher talked about how white people are still prejudice to black people. Each year I learned that we the white people need to stop being prejudice against black people. I never understood why I was still prejudice. I thought that I didn’t have a problem with blacks. But every year, I was told that prejudice still exists and if I could change how I viewed black people that it would stop.

            In junior high I learned more about the civil rights movement. I learned the tragedies of the south during the 1950’s and 1960’s. I learned about Emmit Till, Burmingham, and the KKK. White people hated black people (sorry I should say African Americans). This hatred was still prevalent today and if I could only change my prejudices then I could stop it. I was being told that I still hold the prejudices of African Americans. I haven’t even encountered an African American, so how do I know if I’m prejudice to them? And how do the teachers know that I still need to change?

            High School began my rebellious phase for the civil rights movement. It was at this time that I learned about the feminist movement. Men were scum, women didn’t need them. I wondered to myself
“how am I holding women back too?” I soon realized that I wasn’t holding women back or African Americans and if I wasn’t holding these two groups back then why should I keep learning about how much I need to change and become a better white person. I developed a hate of every feminist that was extreme (i.e. women who believe that men should never exist). Now, before you begin judging me as a “hater,” understand that I was and am for equal rights. I don’t think that it’s fair that white males get paid more than white females or black men. I have always held that no matter the race or gender, we should be treated with the same respect. I have always been ashamed of anyone who believes they are better than someone else based on gender or race. Even though I hold these values, I am still the one that is the bad guy. I cannot begin to count all of the complaints about men I heard during my High School days. Everyday another woman would tell me how much of a scum bag I was and how I need to change to make life more tolerable for her. After eight years of hearing how I need to change my perceptions on the world and that learning that each year I had gotten nowhere to improving conditions for any minority, I got sick of it. Nothing I did ever helped the relations between my kind and the oppressed. So, I rebelled.

            In truth I never did anything about the complaints made to me. My rebellion was internal. I knew that if I tried to fight back and tell my accusers to lay off and don’t group men/whites like that I would forever be known as a sexist pig and a bigoted man. I’d rather take insults and complaints that had no grounding than begin acting like the stereotypical “white male.”

      A result of my pushing back against the world that kept telling me I was wrong was that I began defending controversial topics. Perhaps not defending, but looking at them from the “other” side to understand their perspective. An example of this was when I heard about a Middle Eastern woman who was stopped at an airport for a “random” check. She became very defensive and started shouting that the only reason she was being searched was because she was Middle Eastern. This conflict ended with her being tazed. Was this racial profiling? Yes. But instead of rushing immediately to her side and sympathize with her plight, I looked at the security guards. These individuals are responsible for the safety of thousands of passengers. I cannot blame them if they see fit to do a not so “random” check. Many past terrorist activities involving plans were taken part by those who looked/were Middle Eastern. If I was in their shoes I would be more inclined to do a “random” check on someone with a Middle Eastern appearance than someone who looked Spanish.

            Because I was use to looking at both sides, I really wanted to be a minority for a change. This opportunity came when I was lucky enough to spend two years on a tropical island called La Reunion. Also I wanted see how prejudice I was against people of color. Despite all my learning about racism as a child, I never encountered African Americans (which incidentally I learned that using this label is offensive to some blacks – I can never be right). I wanted to encounter blacks; I wanted to learn why people hated them and if I would be one of those who are prejudice. The moment I stepped on the island my majorities became minorities. I loved it; for once I was the minority. I didn’t have to worry about being politically correct. I didn’t have to worry about people calling me bigoted and stating that I have to change. I could fling those comments on other individuals that I thought weren’t as good as they could be (not that I ever would, but I liked holding that power). This is what I thought, and I was wrong, yet again.

     There is one experience that proved me wrong which I look back upon and smile. I was at the bus stop and an elderly Chinese man came up to me. His eyes were squinting because of the sun, I looked at him and smiled and I was about to enter the bus when I noticed he wanted to say something to me. I looked at him and politely smiled when he raised his hands. I looked down and they were making a familiar gesture. I never thought that man’s middle fingers could get so straight. After this initial shock the elderly man proceeded to swear at me using the most profane English he learned in school. He rant was about how I was a Bush supporter (President Bush) and that I need to go back to America to tell him to stop attacking other countries. I should’ve known that this was coming, but I was hoping to finally lay to rest my being the majority for a while. However, he proved to me that even in the minority I was still the majority and everything happening in the world was my fault.

            It’s as if everyone who isn’t Male, White, American, and Christian expects that my actions alone will be able to relieve the suffering they feel due to “my kind”. I don’t remember ever hearing one word of encouragement or congratulations for not being a sexist racist pig bigot. The most I ever got was a “you’re not included in the group that we are talking about.” Or in other words, “your still part of them, you just haven’t screwed up yet.”

As part of the majority I have face much reverse prejudice. I have seen the look in people’s eyes that show fear. Imagine walking down the street, looking at someone and getting the distinct impression that they fear you. This makes you feel like some sort of monster. Now there are people who enjoy this, but I am not one of them. I hate that immediate tension as we talk. The individual is on guard and I feel like I’m stepping on egg shells. He is waiting for an attack and so am I. He waits for me to degrade him, and I wait for him to accuse me. Our conversation remains superficial to avoid giving the other anything to use against us. Our handshake is brief as we say goodbye and part ways. There is relief as we turn our backs upon each other, hoping that our conversation partner isn’t a criminal. This is what prejudice has not only done to minorities, but the majority as well.

Back in the second grade, my teacher talked about Martin Luther King Jr. I remember learning that he was killed because he was black. It didn’t make sense to my why he would be killed because he was black. I knew Abraham Lincoln was killed because people didn’t like him and he was in a war, but why die because you were black? The third grade came and I learned that white people hated black people. That white people would hurt and kill black people, because white people were prejudice. I learned that this was wrong. I’m not supposed to hate black people because they are black. I shouldn’t be prejudice to them. The fourth, fifth, and sixth grade years passed as well. My encounters with racism were located exclusively in the classroom when my teacher talked about how white people are still prejudice to black people. Each year I learned that we the white people need to stop being prejudice against black people. Never understood why I was still prejudice. I thought that I didn’t have a problem with blacks. But every year, I was told that prejudice still exists and if I could change how I viewed black people the it would stop.

In junior high I learned more about the civil rights movement. I learned the tragedies of the south during the 1950’s and 1960’s. I learned about Emmit Till, Burmingham, and the KKK. White people hated black people (sorry I should say African Americans). This hatred was still prevalent today and if I could only change my prejudices then I could stop it. I was being told that I still hold the prejudices of African Americans. I haven’t even encountered an African American, so how do I know if I’m prejudice to them? And how do the teachers know that I still need to change?

 High School began my rebellious phase for the civil rights movement. It was at this time that I learned about the feminist movement. Men were scum, women didn’t need them. I wondered to myself  “how am I holding women back too?” I soon realized that I wasn’t holding women back or African Americans and if I wasn’t holding these two groups back then why should I keep learning about how much I need to change and become a better white person. I developed a hate of every feminist that was extreme (i.e. women who believe that men should never exist). Now, before you begin judging me as a “hater,” understand that I was and am for equal rights. I don’t think that it’s fair that white males get paid more than white females or black men. I have always held that no matter the race or gender, we should be treated with the same respect. I have always been ashamed of anyone who believes they are better than someone else based on gender or race. Even though I hold these values, I am still the one that is the bad guy. I cannot begin the count all of the complaints about men I heard during my High School days. Everyday another woman would tell me how much of a scum bag I was and how I need to change to make life more tolerable for her. After eight years of hearing how I need to change my perceptions on the world and that learning that each year I had gotten nowhere to improving conditions for any minority, I got sick of it. Nothing I did ever helped the relations between my kind and the oppressed. So, I rebelled.

 In truth I never did anything about the complaints made to me. My rebellion was internal. I knew that if I tried to fight back and tell my accusers to lay off and don’t group men/whites like that I would forever be known as a sexist pig and a bigoted man. I’d rather take insults and complaints that had no grounding than begin acting like the stereotypical “white male.”

A result of my pushing back against the world that kept telling me I was wrong was that I began defending controversial. A recent example of this continuous behavior was when I heard about an incident that took place in an airport. A Middle Eastern woman was stopped for a ‘random’ check. She began yelling at the employees stating that the only reason she was receiving this treatment was because she was Middle Eastern. She became rather unruly and was incapacitated by a tazer. My thoughts were directed towards the woman and they were as follows:

Duh, of course you were stopped. This may be racial profiling but it is smart law enforcement. Think about it, if someone wanted to catch a person with a bomb, and the only thing you had to go off of is looks, who would you think is more likely to try to place a bomb on an airplane? A middle eastern or a white person? I’ll give you a hint, so far terrorist attacks/attempts involving aircraft have been predominantly Middle Eastern lately. Why get upset over something that makes sense. If bank robbers seemed to have blue eyes in common I would expect to be detained. Inconvenient, you bet. But I won’t blame them.

I realize that by making this statement in writing will most likely affect your viewpoint of me. Either you will agree or view me as a racist. Frankly, I’ve done a lot of things to try to make it so I am not prejudice. I’ve acted in strange ways to avoid plausible insult but have instead been seen as eccentric and confused. Every year I get people accusing me of being a sexist pig, or bigoted individual. So go ahead and label me however you want. I’m tired of trying to please you people who keep telling me I need to change. And you know what? Get off your high horses and look into your own souls for a change. You’d be surprised how much prejudice you hold again me. I’ve always wanted to be a minority so that I could be free of this constant criticism. Funny, as I look back now even as a minority I was still the majority.

 I was lucky enough to spend two years on a tropical island called La Reunion. I looked forward to this experience because of many things. One of which was that I could see how prejudice I was against people of color. Despite all my learning about racism as a child, I never encountered African Americans (which incidentally I learned that using this label is offensive to some blacks – I can never be right). I wanted to encounter blacks, I wanted to learn why people hated them and if I would be one of those who is prejudice. The moment I stepped on the island my majorities became minorities. I loved it, for once I was the minority. I didn’t have to worry about being politically correct. I didn’t have to worry about people calling me bigoted and stating that I have to change. I could fling those comments on other individuals that I thought weren’t as good as they could be. This is what I thought, and I was wrong, yet again.

There is one experience I look back upon and smile. I was at the bus stop and an elderly Chinese man came up to me. His eyes were squinting because of the sun, I looked at him and smiled and I was about to enter the bus when I noticed he wanted to say something to me. I looked at him and politely smiled when he raised his hands. I looked down and they were making a familiar gesture. I never thought that man’s middle fingers could get so straight. After this initial shock the elderly man proceeded to swear at me using the most profane English he learned in school. He rant was about how I was a Bush supporter (President Bush) and that I need to go back to America to tell him to stop attacking other countries. I should’ve known that this was coming, but I was hoping to finally lay to rest my being the majority for a while. However, he proved to me that even in the minority I was still the majority and everything happening in the world was my fault.

It’s as if everyone who isn’t Male, White, American, and Christian expects that my actions alone will be able to relieve the suffering they feel due to “my kind”. I don’t remember ever hearing one word of encouragement or congratulations for not being a sexist racist pig bigot. The most I ever got was a “you’re not included in the group that we are talking about.” Or in other words, “your still part of them, you just haven’t screwed up yet.”

I was reading a book, and there was someone named Baruch Spinoza in it (that’s a weird name). He is an ancient philosopher from 300 years ago. And he talks about why I love my stuff. I love my stuff because it makes me happy. But he also says that I love my stuff because it makes me “more fully themselves”.  I guess that means that it makes me who I am. I think that this is true.  I don’t know if he gots it all right, but he’s close. I wouldn’t love my T.V. as much if it didn’t make me happy. Mr. Spinoza also says that we will protect the things we love. We do this cause we want to keep us “more fully themselves”.  And if our stuff is destroyed then we won’t be happy anymore. I know I’ll protect my stuff from other bad people.

Now, if you had done the reading assignment that I gave you up top, you would see a stark contrast in the Frankfurt’s passage and the paragraph above. The above paragraph says the same thing as Frankfurt. It holds the exact same content, but isn’t the voice different? Frankfurt uses academic vocabulary and compound sentences with many modifiers. The paragraph above uses simple words, short sentences, and is much more personal by using personal pronouns. The difference in voice completely changes how you feel about the subject. Frankfurt is able to convey authority in his passage. The paragraph above makes you chuckle and is easily dismissed as have little persuasive value.

Voice is a wonderful tool in writing. But what is it? It is style. Voice is changed easily by changing the vocabulary, word order, and grammar. To help prove my point, look at the following three examples. They state roughly the same thing, but the voice is different.

What is this thing called voice? Is it style? Is it substance? This voice, this voice is about style. Voice is style, Voice is syntax, Voice is Grammar.

Some say that voice is content, but when you look at it in a different manner (not necessarily through a looking glass) you can see that it is comprised of style. The words are what give voice the unique twist – much like an actor. Of course voice changes quickly (this is a reason that beginning writers have trouble establishing voice, they use more than one). It is easy to say that voice is style (word choice), syntax (word order), and grammar (punctuation).

I wonder what voice is? When I write my papers it is easy to see that my voice can change quickly but I still say the same thing. I see voice as style, syntax, and grammar.

Take a look at these examples. Isn’t it remarkable that you can see three distinct people all saying the same thing? The first voice presented is a Captain Kirkish character. He has short sentences that are choppy and asks rhetorical questions. The second voice loves to talk. This is evident by the way he keeps adding on to his sentences with parenthesis and hyphens. The third voice is personal. He uses the pronoun I, which gives the reader a connection with him. Writers use many ways to establish and maintain voice. Think of them as voice rules. The major ones that I have encountered are word choice, word order, and grammar.

Allow me now to devote a paragraph explaining each part of voice. First we have word choice, or in other words, vocabulary. Certain words belong in the same category. Here are some examples:

            however, therefore, due to this, since

            society, human race, collective, aesthetic, nominal

            totally, wacked, dirty, okay, gots

Each of these groups of words have a different voice. There are many words that overlap into different voices, but when you have a voice but throw in a word to make everything lucid, but doesn’t fit the vocabulary, you wonder who is talking now.

Then there is word order. The example most recognizable is the phrase “Do or do not, there is no try.” The great master Yoda often mixed up his word order giving a distinct voice. Can you imagine him saying “Since there is not trying; do it or don’t.” At the beginning of the sentence, I place many modifiers to establish my personal voice. As you change word order you create a new voice.

 Lastly there is grammar. Isn’t it weird when all of a sudden the author uses a semicolon; highlighting a phrase in the sentence? Then this writer has the nerve to never use a semicolon again? What if there were many questions? If they came often? You couldn’t get away? What is in the author’s mind? Why does he torment you? Or never use a comma and keep talking and talking and talking when you have a run on sentence and it is annoying and hard to follow but this has been used to create a distinct impression of rambling for the reader. Grammar is important in establishing and maintaining voice.

So there are all these traits and qualities in voice. The trick to establishing voice and keeping it is to have rules. Think of a set of rules for the voice you use and stick to them. The easiest way to establish a voice is for the reader to notice consistency in the voice. When voice is no longer consistent the reader gets confused. To create unique voices of my own, I use about three rules total. These rules could all be about word choice in a paper, or a rule from each of the categories I mentioned. But to be effective you need to be consistent. This is what voice is: consistency in style, syntax, and grammar.

In imitating Frankfurt and performing a bit of a study in the development of this paper (the study was rather humorous; in that for a rough draft I used different voices in a comical fashion to see if my peers could recognize the voice) I learned a lot about voice. If I want my voice, I write what I think. Every once in a while I will catch myself breaking a voice rule, and rewrite something because it isn’t in the voice I use. My voice consists of starting with modifiers. Not only will I explain a rhetorical concept in my writing, I use the concept as I write it. Sarcasm is a staple as I write. A trick that I use to create voice which cannot be done by all (purely due to individual differences) is that I imagine the person speaking. If I want a pompous jerk then I imagine a pompous jerk speaking to me and write what he says. I’ve learned that unless there is a break or sudden change in the way the words appears on the paper, it is difficult to recognize that there are different voices. I tried to place three voices together in the same paragraph, but alas, it didn’t work out. I learned from reading other’s work that when voice is lost it is because they were not consistent in their writing. I had a lot of fun using different voices.

Another thing dawned upon me as I was writing this paper. A humorous trick that humorists will use is to give an established voice, say a kid, and then have it break character suddenly. For example:

So I was, like reading a magazine. And there was this totally hot guy drinking some beer. He was surrounded by all these chicks who most likely had surgery done on them. Anyway, it totally hit me why they like made this ad. You see, when guys see this, they totally have, like, a chemical reaction in their pituitary gland. This gland like releases a bunch of hormones and these hormones cause tachycardia and make the dude like feel good. Well, his brain doesn’t realize that the chicks are making him hot and so his brain thinks “Wow, check out that beer, I like it.” how stupid is to think that, you know?

Since much humor is based on surprise, breaking one of your voice rules will have a positive effect on your target audience. Man I do love voice.

Defining Voice

     What is this thing called voice? Is it style? Is it substance? I wonder if it could be substance. I mean you need to listen to the message of it.  However, when you look at it in a different manner (not necessarily through a looking glass) you can see that it is comprised of style. The words are what give voice the unique twist – much like an actor. So this voice, this voice is about style. Voice is style, Voice is syntax, Voice is Grammar. I can believe this. It is easy to see that voice can change quickly but say the same thing. I see voice as style, syntax, and grammar. Of course voice changes quickly (this is a reason that beginning writers have trouble establishing voice, they use more than one). It is easy to say that voice is style (word choice), syntax (word order), and grammar (punctuation).

Imitation

     I was reading a book and there was someone named Baruch Spinoza in it (that’s a weird name). He is an ancient philosopher from 300 years ago. And he talks about why I love my stuff. I love my stuff because it makes me happy. But he also says that I love my stuff because it makes me “more fully themselves”.  I guess that means that it makes me who I am. I think that this is true.  I don’t know if he gots it all right, but he’s close. I wouldn’t love my T.V. as much if it didn’t make me happy. Mr. Spinoza also says that we will protect the things we love. We do this cause we want to keep us “more fully themselves”.  And if our stuff is destroyed then we won’t be happy anymore. I know I’ll protect my stuff from other bad people.

Reflection

      Honestly, I’m not sure if I can say that I have learned a lot at this point. I would like to think that I was able to get the readers to see three distinct voices in the introductory paragraph. Thereby proving that, I am a god of writing. Yes, to the rest of you in this class bow to me. I am your superior, I am your paragon. As I have now allowed for you all to become my worshipers, I have a few demands. To the one known as Dr. A; You are to give the following individuals the grade of A: Meagan, Noel, Chelsea, and David. Why, you ask? DO NOT QUESTION ME!! To Maria, Richard, Matt, and Kayla, you will now provide me with entertainment. If I do not laugh when you entertain, you will be punished severely. Ian, Brianna, Eric, and Sarah, I demand tribute from you. I require one poem, two essays, and a novel every week. Failure will result in me using my Shining Silver Pen of Justice to judge you. Audra D. and Audra V. will be in constant competition to determine who the rightful owner of the name Audra is. Katie B. and Katie M. will also compete for ownership of that name. Once I choose the winners the losers will be known as Snugglefluffy.

            As much as I would love to believe this scenario I don’t think it is the case. Although a Shining Silver Pen of Justice would be freakin’ awesome.

            But then again I doubt I’m on the other side. Where I don’t think I’m all that good. And I hope that the class will appreciate my writing. I know that I’m not the best writer, but I try very hard. I wish that I could organize like Brianna or Jacqueline. They are so good at organizing. I, I wish I could be like them. I hope that you all were able to see three voices in my introduction. I worked so hard on them, but I know I failed. The first voice was kind of like Captain Kirk. You know, in a roundabout way. And the second was sort of like a personal voice, like a regular person. Oh, I don’t know if that is a good name for it. I wish I could use good names like Kara or Rachel, or even Merida. But it never works for me. Then the third voice was like someone who had a lot to say, so he explained a lot. I could have been really good at doing this, but I doubt it. Oh, and I thought that the imitation was okay. Probably the best, I think. It was suppose to be a kid talking about truth. If you didn’t understand that then I’m sorry. I would like to be able to have a stronger voice, you know. Nicole and Melanie are so good at voice. I try to do it like them, but, well you know. Please let me know how I could be better. I want to be the best writer I can be someday, but I’m still not very good.

            That really isn’t how I think I did either. So why did I make you suffer through two paragraphs that had little to do with reflection. Honestly, I don’t know. Perhaps I did it to fill space, but most likely to just entertain myself. My real reflection will begin when I receive the feedback upon my paper. I need to know how well you see the voices I’ve put in this paper. If you see them then I did my job and know that I did what I wanted to do. If you don’t see them then I need to figure out why you didn’t, and realize that on the spectrum I’m not as close to being a god as I want.

     Assuming I have to clean; I'd rather do it sooner than later.

George Orwell, Burmese

     There she stood; beauty radiating all around and permeating through my soul

Robert Lewis Stevenson

     The assignment which made me curl into the fetal posistion was the one assigned by my english teacher

James Joyce

     Because he was going to have a good night of it, he muttered to himself that they could all go to hell and he quickly went through the narrow alley of the Temple Bar

     Nimbly he slipped through the small backway of the Temple Bar. "To hell with you" he wispered; planning for a pleasant night.

     What?! Bartholomae tells me that in order to write I need permission from someone to do so? If authority in writing is needed, where do we get the authority from? Does it come from ‘Academics’ who have spent years studying good writing and then through many years and tests allow the young writers to begin to write on their own without supervision? Does authority come from the popular writers, who wrote and everyone loved? Therefore they are the ones who allow for writing to continue? But then, how did they gain permission to begin writing?

     Of course, authority comes from a piece of paper a writer receives from an accredited institution. Once this piece of paper is obtained it is our license to write.

     O Golly, I only hope one day that I may gain my license from any of the ways you told me; so that I may begin to contribute to the world of writing.

     I find the idea that writing can only be done on someone else’s authority to be derogatory to the idea of writing itself. David gets his authority from past authors and professors. David tells us that authority in its nature can only come from others and you only have as much authority as others give you. They in turn gain their authority from previous authors. This chain continues onward and onward and onward, correct? Wrong! It has a beginning; somewhere there was that solitary man who wrote without the influence of others. This man wrote and shared his thoughts. Who gave him authority to share his opinions? I dare say no one gave him any permission to write. He wrote. So why am I any different?

     But there is a process to help us in today’s world, not that ancient realm. In the world of writing there is a continent called Scientific Writing. This continent is far away from where we live. It has many countries like psychology, biology, chemistry, math, etc. Each country has many explorers discovering more about that country. Each explorer has to leave from where we live (the continent of Life Writing) to get there. They write, and explain to the rest of the world what that country has to offer. However, there are false explorers. These explorers have either never been to the country or do not know how to explore it properly. They write and the rest of us who have never been there assume that there is a mountain range that leads to a river of gold (e.g. the world is flat). So this discovery is passed around by the rest of us, and we believe. At this point the other explorers let us know that what was previously written is false and the mountain range actually leads to a river of silver (e.g. the world is round). We are confused why the first explorer deceived us. Well, after many years of false explorers we decided that in order to trust an explorer they need to prove that they know how to explore and that they’ve been to the country. So the PhD passport was created to let the rest of us know that we may believe what these explorers write.

     Okay, but let us return to the continent that we all live in, the continent of Life Writing. This huge continent is really just a large country with many states. Each state has a different name: Essay, Fiction, Poetry, Creative Non-Fiction, Personal Essay, etc. But they have one thing in common: every state deals with the individual, with life. It is a continent/country where human opinions, thoughts, and observations of humans exist. While each state has its own rules that we must abide by, they all have this in common: we are all citizens of this country. The only passport we need is that of existing. We are allowed to write our experiences and opinions. Depending on the state that we’re in, we may write it differently, but we are allowed to write.

     Writing is our given right. I will not accept that I am not allowed to express my opinions and that they hold no validity because I did not live long enough on my continent. I will not accept the idea that my ideas on the world are not valid because I have yet to receive the passport to get into my own country. Where are they going to send me if I refuse to get a passport to the continent I was born in? I argue that as long as we think, and we can place our thoughts into written form: we are allowed to do so. This will allow others to read our thoughts and determine if they like what we write and accept it.

     Now the idea of people accepting what we write is completely different. They may like what you write and they may not like it at all. If you want to be accepted and influence their ideas, you must pass the initiation and become accepted by them, and that includes getting your passport.

     But you can still write, and you’re ideas/opinions/stories are just as valid as the writers with the PhD passport. I can tell you that the explorers - the writers with a PhD passport - learned from explorers who didn’t hold a PhD passport. Take Sigmund Freud for example. He received his PhD passport for the countries of chemistry and physics. He however, decided to cross the border into the country of psychology; resided as an illegal alien; then developed theories of how the human brain worked. He introduced the idea of psychoanalysis. Later his theories were disputed by others like H.J. Eysenck, but Freud provided a springboard for their research. The ‘false explorer’ as you dub them still push for discovery. Even Dr. David Bartholomae has contributed to the country of Rhetoric as an illegal alien. His passport was for the country o f Literary Analysis.

     The passport has just been recently introduced for the continent of Scientific Writing. But since we all are born on and live on the continent of Life Writing, who is to dispute our claim? I would love to meet the man (David) who tells me I do not exist on the continent I’m standing. David argues that teachers know best. They know what writing is and how to teach it. Hey, David, I’m the student; I think I know what I need and what I can do. I’m the one who is learning, so I’m the one who knows the best way to teach me. I’m the one who knows my goals in life, so I’m the one who knows how to achieve them. This is what aggravates me most about David; he and others who adhere to his ideas tell me that I do not exist upon the continent that I am standing. They want to ensure that we have a Certificate of Birth that can only be obtained through their methods and ‘living’ long enough.

     But you need your certificate of birth for the continent of Life Writing. We need to know who you are and what you represent. You may be an imposter or not exist at all. And this will create confusion. We only want those who live to write or are real individuals. To live or prove that you are real; you need that Certificate of Birth; otherwise you don’t live.

     No David, I live, I know I live because I’m talking right now. And I know who I am. If you don’t think I am me, then that is your problem. Guess what! You can’t silence me, I’m here. Don’t worry; I won’t upset your attempts to make a Certificate of Birth mandatory for all who wish to write. But I won’t get my Certificate anytime soon, yet I still plan on writing and existing and being me. Good luck proving that I’m not me, and I don’t exist.

I think I have the upper hand on this.