Writing Process for Final Piece

I tried to make a lot of changes on this final draft. I interviewed a guy named Mr. Chadderdon. He used to work in the mill (for 50 years. crazy!) and is writing a book on this history of Parchment. I think his interview will be pretty valuable - hope I put good quotes and descriptions of his in the piece.

I wanted to make my friend (Mark) and I larger characters in the story. I included details about K-College so the reader would know why we were there: Mark for his photography class, me for my journalism class.

And then that brings us to audience... When I was trying to get interviews and figure out Parchment's "abandoned factory" situation, I wanted to find out for myself. As a K-College student, who lives mere miles from Parchment, I admittedly knew absolutely nothing of the city. In fact, I had no idea Parchment existed until Mark took me out there to take some photos. Consequently, I think Mark and I are members of our own audience - K-College students. I imagine this being more of an Index-type article, geared towards K-students who oftentimes have no idea of the goings-on outside the K-bubble. I added little details about myself and our class, as well as mentions of K, that I feel relate my character and Mark's character a little better. Hopefully, these details will give our characters a bit more meaning in the profile - bring it a little closer to home for K students who may be reading this.

I am a couple hundred words over the limit on this piece, however. But when I read through my adventures in the factory, the details I've gathered, and the recorded interview I dissected, it didn't feel right discarding certain portions that would've made the piece shorter. I did drop several of the factory details - the locker room scene, "Eazy-E dying from Aids." But I feel i got enough details of the factory in the piece so that the profile was informative, but not overbearing. Hopefully, you all enjoy it. Thanks for a fun quarter.

Final Piece --- Parchment: The Complications of Industrial Rigor Mortis

My friend Mark and I park the car behind a bush and hop the fence. Mark’s got his camera ready – he’s been scouring the outskirts of Kalamazoo for weeks now, searching for artistic inspiration. A week ago he found the plant in Parchment, Michigan. It’s abandoned, has been for years by the look of it. But he didn’t want to go in by himself, so he dragged me along – pulled me outside the K-College bubble for some academic exploring. We walk fifteen feet to the first structure and climb in through a broken window; shards of glass lie on the ground, intermingling with the weeds and shrubs that force their way through slabs of broken concrete underneath our feet. The room we entered smells like rain and insulation, maybe drywall. Trash litters the floor. There are work orders and safety manuals from 1995, grimy 7Up bottles and smashed bricks, what looks like asbestos ceiling tiles piled in a heap near a broken office chair, damp with must and mold. The hallway leading from the room is dark. Mark snaps a few shots for his photography class and we move on. He thinks his professor will enjoy the photos he’s taken of the city’s empty industrial sector. As I follow him into the next room, questions fill my mind – who worked here and what was made; why was this facility abandoned?

A trip to parchment.org – the city’s website – answers a number of my questions. For example, in 1909, Jacob Kindleberger started the Kalamazoo Vegetable Parchment Company a few miles north of Kalamazoo; “The company made parchment paper and hence the City’s name of Parchment,” reports the site. There are photos of employees and old buildings, paragraphs describing Kindleberger’s plans for the community. In 1939, the 184 citizens of Parchment voted to become a 5^th class city – then their history stops. The website has nothing left to say about . . . well, anything that happened after 1939, let alone the circumstances that led to the decline of local mills.

I call the city directly and arrange an interview with Curt Flowers, Parchment’s city clerk. Curt is slightly paunchy, somewhere in his late fifties. He’s bald on top with gray hair lining either temple, has a trim white mustache, and sports a pair of thin-framed glasses. As a young man, Curt worked in the paper mills that gave Parchment its name.

“I think everyone in town worked there at one time or another,” Curt chuckles to himself. He was in the lab for two years with quality control, and made sure that incoming pulp was up to code. I ask him why the mills shut down. “The mill was started by one person and run by one person,” he replies matter-of-factly, “but then when that person died, when Mr. Kindleberger died, the mill combined with another company, and other conglomerates buy it, and then a lot of the equipment gets antiquated. Most of the buildings have been empty since 2000, I think. It just got too expensive.”

Curt shows me several architectural sketches that illustrate the city’s plan to build new neighborhoods where the empty buildings stand. Within the next five years, bulldozers and cranes will tear down the longstanding monuments of Parchment’s industrial past, and for the first time in its 101 year history, the factories – withered husks though they may be – will be gone. As he speaks, I can’t help but feel Curt’s confliction. Like other citizens of Parchment, he has a strong empathetic connection to the city’s namesake. The mills are more than empty buildings.

“Suddenly, it was just quieter in town, there was always the hum of the mill there,” he smirks in fond remembrance. “I remember laying in bed at night, cause I live just up there, a couple blocks up the hill, and if it’s summer and you had the windows open, I could hear the guys driving the mill trucks, and you could hear them “beep beep” at semis and stuff like that. Some people would say it’s noise, ‘It’s disturbing me,’ or ‘It’s bothering me,’ but now I wish I heard that again, because that would mean the place was up and running.”

I ask Curt if he knows anyone in town that could have more information regarding the history of the mill. He refers me to an older gentleman named Joseph Chadderdon. I arrange an interview with Mr. Chadderdon at his home on the outskirts of Parchment. He answers the door in faded jeans and a collared shirt; his eyes are milky blue, cloudy. Mr. Chadderdon is 90 years old; he worked as a lab technician in the mill for 50 of those years, and is writing a book about the history of Parchment that he hopes will be available sometime this summer.

“Kindleberger treated his employees like family,” Mr. Chadderdon says, “and if you got a job here, you had a job for life. He planned the city, expanded the plants – there was nothing out here before he came.” I ask Mr. Chadderdon about the decline of the mills, and what that meant for Parchment, “The Paper City.”

“Well, Kindleberger died about 1950, and then his assistant, Ralph Hayward, had a heart attack less than a year later, and no one else was ready to run the plant. The board of directors hired Dwight Stocker as manager – he was an outside hire, I’m not very kind to him in my book,” he smirks. “He partnered the plant with another paper company, then a gravel company out in California. These other companies pulled the plant into debt, then unions got involved. Ultimately, bad business and shoddy management cost us the mills. I’m gonna miss the buildings; I think a lot of people are. But times change and people move on. I’ve lived a long life, I’ve seen a lot of changes come and go –that’s the way life is.”

After our interview, I drive back to the abandoned plant and hop a fence; feels like I need to see it one more time before I write an article. I think my journalism class will like the piece; details of a city they never knew existed, just miles from campus. This part of the mill is full of offices – maybe upper management? I find a photo album sitting in a cubicle. It’s filled with pictures of a company picnic. There’s a shot of a woman in a yellow shirt with Urkel glasses standing next to a pig roast. Another with children playing outside; one child has a water balloon in his hand. As I move further into the album, the pictures become more damaged; water and dust makes the photos look like someone’s colored in the rims with waxy crayons – oranges, yellows, reds, and purples. Someone left these photos behind – packed up their things, left their cubicle, and abandoned them. I can only assume they’ve forgotten about them by now, that they don’t dwell on lost possessions like an album, or a mill. I suppose Mr. Chadderdon’s right – times change and people move on; that’s the way life is.

Tim Cutting: The Face of Monaco Bay (multimedia presentation)

Small note - the video is only 2:30 minutes, not the entire 25 minutes that are displayed on the video timer. Sorry about the confusion. My bad. Enjoy.

Response to Simona's "A Course in Michigan's Migrant Housing"

Simona has a great intro that flows really well into the background of her excursion - great combination of narrative and necessary information. Man, and once Mike's character is introduced, the suspense just builds and builds, especially after talking about the vicious dogs and deserted buildings. I wish we would've had some quotes from Mike. meh. Regardless, excellent narrative. I'm very impressed.

Ultimately, Simona's piece does more than tell a story and relate facts; it exposes a relevant, timely issue that affects the community - the safety, physical health, and socioeconomic conditions of migrant workers. I have few negative things to say - that's a first.

Response to Steven's "Sunday Morning"

I really enjoy the detail. From the opening of this piece, the descriptions of the church and the saints, the fellow church-goers and the priests are very telling. In a religious context, I feel like I'm getting to know these people.

Curious - if this piece were written by a religious person, and not by an atheist, I wonder if such intricate details would've been captured. I think Steven's disjuncture with organized religion is what makes this piece relevant, the inherent conflict of the story.

I'm curious to see what Steven gathers from Greek-fest, but I hope he doesn't throw away some of his more intricate descriptions. I felt like I'm saw the details as he saw them - I don't want the piece to lose that feeling.

Response to Marina's "Women and the Arts at Kalamazoo College"

I'm intrigued by Marina's explanatory narrative - she uses Shakespeare's "the tempest," Fox, and Marshall as a way to narrow her focus -- feminism/female strength on campus. As a reader, I'm conflicted; I saw the tempest, I've even discussed the reversed gender roles in several of my classes, but we never included feminism in the discussion. Should I probe into the focus, question its relevance or its truth - as a reader, I'm able to do so, but as a classmate, should I just comment on her organization ... or... whatever?

I suppose, because the statements I'd want explained are quotes, I can't question the focus itself. These quotes aren't Marina's, they are her subjects. I guess I'd want more explicit details of how "the tempest" was an example of feminism. More specifically, how the roles were played differently than the male versions would've been, or how the relationships between the characters had changed. For example, changing Prospero from male to female, doesn't necessarily explain how Prospero changed from a "tyrant" to a "strong, female matriarch"; gender change doesn't explain such an incredible transformation...

Response to Andrea's profile rough draft

I enjoyed Andrea's profile, but it led to several intriguing questions. First, I wanted to know who else is a part of Lisa's life, besides her daughter of course. She must have had friends before she was unable to work. Where are they; have they abandoned her as a result of her condition? Also - falling out with her sister? Living homeless with a daughter in tow? There's a lot of rich information here, a million stories to delve into. I know that's difficult, especially considering the 1,000 word limit, but it feels like this profile is barely scratching the surface of something deeper, greater.

Also, for the majority of the article, I was unsure of Mira's age. The reader has a general understanding near the end of the profile, since it's revealed that she's currently attending KVCC, but I wish it would've been addressed earlier.

I appreciate the quotes; I feel that they're well placed. I really like the primary focus, that Lisa has a masters degree but is unable to work. She has fallen incredibly far, and now her daughter is conflicted. Interesting. Very interesting. I look forward to reading the final draft.

Response to Claire's Michigan Smoking Ban: All Fire and No Smoke?

Claire's piece is really fleshed out - multiple interviews from smokers and cafe owners, descriptions of local venues; I really enjoyed reading this piece. One of the things that I enjoyed was that it didn't feel like Claire was trying too hard. In some of my pieces, when I really want someone to get a certain feelings or a certain opinion from my writing, I tend to force it upon them. This piece, however, just tells the story plain and simple, gathers the information, and spits it out on page. I really admire how relaxing the piece was. The transitions in between quotes and sections, the switches between different bars and cafes, was almost unnoticeable - beautiful.

I think part of this is due to the fact that Claire injects herself into the story. She kind of did the same thing with dialogue and description that I tried to do - revealing them in present tense so that the reader has the opportunity to "see" it with you, to experience the piece as she's experiencing it. I really appreciate that, especially since I feel she did a better job of it than I did.

The smoking ban is also a timely and relevant issue. It makes sense to talk about it now and get immediate responses from smokers and owners alike - makes the piece resonate more with the reader. If Claire were to write this piece in two years or so, it wouldn't make for as much of an engaging read. Good stuff. Looking forward to the final draft.

Response to Anna's Park Trades Center

Pretty cool stuff going on in the Park Trades Center. I like how Anna organized the piece: she opens with a few details so that you can begin imagining the building itself, then gives a brief backstory/history, and concludes with multiple descriptions and observations of the various art studios/projects housed within the building. Honestly, I have very little to add.

I suppose I'd like to hear about the flow of the building. Sometimes, when I think "art studio," I think of somewhere quiet, like a museum almost. With so many different studios, I'm left wondering about the foot traffic or the inter-artist relationships between workers/volunteers/artists. Is the place busy? Are there a lot of people? Does it feel vibrant, alive, so creative that it's bursting with energy and enthusiasm, or is it more the museum/collection kind of feel.

Regardless, an excellent draft.

Response to Joel's Meeting the Band draft

I've always like pieces about music. Having played in a couple high school/local bands, I really miss that scene; reading about it is always fun. There were a couple questions I had, however.

1. How many members are in the band, what are their names, and what instruments does each band member play. Because this band seeks to remain undefined/uncategorized, I think knowing their instruments would help give the reader a feel for their kind of music. Maybe.

2. How old are the band members? Are they in school? Are they full-time musicians? Maybe they have part-time jobs. I think I lot of what goes in to maintaining a local band is all the background stuff - all the side jobs and meager checks that allow a band like this to survive in the local music scene.

3. I'm also curious about what kind of venues they play in or where they're from. I assume they're from Kalamazoo, but I'm not sure. I could guess which Kalamazoo venues they prefer, and as I'm imaging said venues, I can try to categorize their sound, their style. If, however, they're playing shows in Grand Rapids or Ann Arbor or Lansing, then I'm lost.

Overall and interesting piece. I'm really excited for Joel to flesh some of this out, maybe include a link to their myspace or purevolume??? If they have one that is.

Response to Jessica's Explanatory Narrative First Draft

Jessica's piece is fantastic. I was carried along through the story, thought the quotes were really indicative of Streeter's personality, his passion - or at least what I believe his personality and his passion to be - and that the overall layout of the paragraphs and the quotations were wonderfully done. There are so few things I'd want to change about this piece. Honestly, I'm not sure I'd want to change any of it.

There are a few things i'm curious about, however. Not necessarily things that should be added or subtracted, but things that make me think - "Wow. I need to know more." First, I really wish I knew what Streeter looked like. I picture him behind a desk. For some reason i put glasses on his face. Who knows? That could be right, but I wish there were some more indications of his person in the piece. Also, since the focus is half on him and half on the acceptance rates/school choices/students/et., I want to know how he has so many connections to these different places, professors, and academics. For example, did he just happen to randomly meet the reader for Michigan or the Dean for Dartmouth? I doubt it - a little bit more on his backstory, maybe his personal education, would be appreciated - not necessary, but appreciated. Unfortunately, even as I'm typing this, I remember that Jess always scraps her first draft and starts all over again. Hopefully these comments will still help. Great job.

writing process for profile 2 - factory

For this piece, I wanted to do another profile, but this time I wanted it to focus on a place instead of a person. A friend of mine wanted me to go explore some abandoned factories with him over in Parchment. I went and was amazed by what I saw - so many football-field sized abandoned mills and factories just waiting to fall down. Seeing that there were so many, had to be fairly important to the people of Parchment. I guess I wanted to bring some of those images to the page.

I wanted to try incorporating myself into the piece as well. I didn't necessarily want to make myself a character, but I wanted to be present. That was fairly difficult. I didn't write it in the past tense, I wanted to write it as if the reader was experiencing things with me. I'm not sure that works out. For example, with dialogue, it was difficult not putting the accompanying text in past tense.

"I had a good day today," Bob said. -vs.- "I had a good day today," Bob says.

Just felt weird is all. Another thing I found difficult was the history of the town. I wanted to make the piece just about the abandoned buildings themselves - what led to their decline, if they still have a purpose in town, what will become of them, etc. I didn't want to make the piece about the city itself - I wasn't really interested in the city, just in the phenomenon of the empty mills and warehouses. At times, it felt like I was cheating my reader out of valuable information, like how Mr. Kindleberger started the factory or his life/work philosophies. Then again, those didn't have immediate relevance with the story. I didn't really care about Mr. Kindleberger, I just cared about how awe-inspiring/creepy/eerie those structures were. I'm sure someone in workshop will want me to have more background information on the subject, but I didn't feel that knowing every historical fact would give the reader a better feeling of the place. Again, that was difficult. I'm not sure how my piece will be received as a result.

Profile 2 - Parchment's abandoned factories (working title)

The factory’s abandoned. My friend and I park the car behind a bush and hop the fence. We walk fifteen feet to the first structure and climb in through a broken window; shards of glass lie on the ground, intermingling with the weeds and shrubs that force their way through slabs of broken concrete underneath our feet. It’s an overcast day; our eyes take a moment to adjust to the natural light. The room we entered smells like rain and insulation, maybe drywall. Trash litters the floor. There are work orders and safety manuals from 1995, grimy 7Up bottles and smashed bricks – what looks like asbestos ceiling tiles piled in a heap near a broken office chair, damp with must and mold. The hallway leading from the room is dark. At the other end there’s a brighter room – must have broken windows like this one. My friend snaps a few photos for his photography class and we move on. He thinks his professor will enjoy the photos he’s taken of Parchment, MI, of the empty industrial sector. He wants the photos to be eerie and quiet; he wants them to awe, to subdue the onlooker into silent disbelief.

Subsequent rooms reveal a variety of objects and images. There’s a wooden ceiling half caved-in near the factory’s south end; looks like there was a fire – ash and blackened wood lie on the floor and cake the walls. On the second floor, a small roof is supported by an intricate web of thin steel beams; light from windows overhead makes the rust look almost vibrant, on fire. A small tree grows outside a second story window, peeking in at us as from its perch atop a first floor roof. Then we find the locker room. Some of the lockers are open; a few have posters or newspaper clippings inside. Others are filled with centerfolds from old nudie-magazines. You can see the outline of her legs, her hips; her eyebrows are visible, and above that her dark hair pools in elegant waves across her right shoulder, but you can’t see her face. The poster must have gotten wet; a navy blue stain of faded magazine print masks her expression, takes her eyes. I can’t tell if she was pretty. The next locker features a newspaper article about the death of Eazy-E. Although the edges of the paper are browned and curling, you can still read the title: “Gangsta’ rapper with AIDS dies.” We leave the building and walk towards another abandoned factory several blocks away.

The buildings, offices, and warehouses in this part of the mill were more recently abandoned. I find a photo album sitting in a cubicle. It starts with pictures of a company picnic. There’s one shot of a woman in a yellow shirt with Urkel glasses standing next to a pig roast. Another with children playing outside; one child has a water balloon in his hand. He’s three or four years old in the picture – must be in his late teens now. As I move farther into the album, the pictures become more damaged; water and dust makes the photos look like someone’s colored in the rims with waxy crayons – oranges, yellows, reds, and purples. We make our way into a tall building framed by smokestacks. As I walk inside, I feel as though I’ve stepped into a Tim Burton film. The metal beams supporting the structure are dark and rusted. The center of the building is left open, looking up towards broken windows five stories overhead. Yellow stairway railings pop against the darkness; they climb from the floor to the ceiling, no breaks leading into other rooms or offices, just upwards into nothing. I am astounded; it's almost frightening - the magnitude of this particular building, the men who worked here, the machines. We leave through a pair of large bay doors. The hinges are rusted through, forcing the door to remain perpetually open – industrial rigamortis, I suppose.

A week later I have an interview with Curt Flowers, the city clerk of Parchment, MI. Curt is somewhere in his late fifties and is slightly paunchy. He’s bald with patches of gray hair lining his temples, has a trim white mustache, and sports a pair of thin framed glasses. As a young man, Curt worked in the paper mills that gave Parchment its name.

“I think everyone in town worked there at one time or another,” Curt chuckles to himself. He was in the lab for two years with quality control. As pulp was shipped to the factories to make paper, Curt would check them and make sure they were up to standard. I ask him how the mills shut down. “Labor is cheaper in the south" he replies casually ", and a lot of the equipment gets antiquated. Eventually, they decided it was just not an optional thing.”

Curt shows me several architectural sketches and designs that illustrate the city’s plan to build new neighborhoods and houses where the factories now stand. Sometime within the next five years, bulldozers and cranes will tear down these longstanding monuments of Parchment’s industrial past; for the first time in its 101 year history, the factories – withered husks though they may be – will be missing. As he speaks, I can’t help but feel Curt’s confliction. Like other citizens of Parchment, he has a strong empathetic connection to the city’s namesake. The mills are more than empty buildings.

“Suddenly, it was just quieter in town, there was always the hum of the mill there,” he smirks in fond remembrance. “I can remember laying in bed at night, cause I live just up there, a couple blocks up the hill, and if it’s summer and you had the windows open, I could hear the guys driving the mill trucks, and you could hear them “beep beep” at semis and stuff like that. Some people would say it’s noise, ‘It’s disturbing me,’ or ‘It’s bothering me,’ but now I wish I heard that again, because that would mean the place was up and running.”

Response to Anna's "Of Mormons and (Gay) Marriage"

I really like the opening of this article - giving an engaging mystery-like opening to the issue of Mormons and gay marriage, and using said issue to introduce Karger; I was fascinated/intrigued from the outset.

It's crazy that Karger was once the bad guy behind the scenes in Republican politics, but now he's using that knowledge to aid gays and fight against Mormons. wtf. you really can't make that kind of stuff up ... maybe they should make a movie. Anyway, Mencimer does a great job of bringing all of these aspects into the article; she captures the heart of the story within the first several paragraphs and never lets go.

Mencimer also does a great job of injecting certain details into the piece that may or may not be incredibly relevant, but that flesh out the story as a whole; for example, Nancy Reagan being very "gay-friendly" or Karger's attempts to save the Boom Boom Room. Mencimer really captures Karger's personality through small details and anecdotes like these. She chooses her quotes with care; they shed light on Karger's humor, his relative disposition towards certain subjects - "Karger may be a gay man fighting a movement that considers him an offense to God, but he is first and foremost a political operator. He shook Brown's hand and joked with NOM's lawyer about his impending deposition. Afterward, leaving the building, Karger was buoyant. 'If I had a budget, I'd be dangerous,' he said with a big smile." A genuinely good read.

Response to Simona's "Roulette Russian"

This article was amusing. Not so much in a "ha ha" sort of way, but because I've read to very few avid descriptions of websites, blogs, or in this case, chat roulette. I've never been on chat roulette myself, but Ioffe explains the system quite well.

It's difficult to write extensively on such a subject, so Ioffe's piece turns into a profile of Andrey, the creator of chat roulette. That's when things get interesting - when human interactions/motivations are brought to a piece, the personality of an individual. I feel Ioffe does an excellent job characterizing Andrey and his family, his history, and his trip to America. At the end of the profile, however, I was left without a sense of Andrey's decided purpose. Obviously, he's going to take chat roulette and coding as far as it will take him in the states, but now that he's here, I want to get details on the difficulties he's faced and the interactions he's had, not just phrases like "the sunshine was heaven" or he went to "visit Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore." What was that conversation like between Andrey and the celebrity couple. Details like that would be intriguing and may flesh out the remainder of the story.

Reading Response Week 8

Mark Kramer's "Access" was an interesting read. I was intrigued by his personal involvement with the story - his use of the personal "I." I believe this is one of the first pieces we've read that follows the writer's journey, his own experience as an individual; Kramer is a not simply a guide through the piece, he is a fully-formed part of it, a character the reader is forced to deal with. Interesting.

In the midst of all his information concerning agriculture, economic structure, and Soviet vitality, I was pleased to find Kramer had an engaging voice. His descriptions are very detailed, but it never feels like he's trying too hard. For example -

"Vitaly Karpovich . . . [was] nearing sixty, he had a bit off fair hair remaining, framing tired blue eyes. A brown rumpled suit hung from his thin shoulders . . . his smile came slowly. He had a way of issuing it, first holding back, then relenting. It ended up warm when it finally arrived, which threw off the assumptions I'd been developing about his demeanor. A considerable smile." (Kramer 355).

I wonder how intently Kramer watched him smile; would he stare directly at the man and take notes, or is this something he noticed without much effort? I often wonder, in detailed descriptions like this, how accurate the descriptions are. For all I know, Vitaly never smiled - he hated smiling... but Kramer invented a description so telling that I believe his smile "ended up warm when it finally arrived."

I really enjoyed Orwell's "Why I Write." I always find myself wondering about various writers and their unique motivations. I think every famous/acclaimed/accomplished writer should be required to pen a similar essay. For so many writers, however, there seems to be some kind of inner conflict/issue that compels them to write. I wrote about this in a previous class:

Hemingway, man amongst men, blew his head off with a shot gun. Edgar Allen Poe had a lot of issues; he was found delirious in the streets of Baltimore, Maryland. No one really knows how he died but he certainly had problems. Charlotte Perkins Gilman suffered “exhaustion of the nerves.” She penned the short story, “The Yellow Wallpaper,” a piece illustrating the effects of “temporary nervous depression” – an window into her person. Kafka turned himself into a beetle. His family life was shit; he thought sex was gross and troublesome; he wasn’t comfortable in his own skin; he escaped into his pen and paper; he wrote stories we’ll remember. Coleridge penned “Kubla Khan” after an opium-induced nap. Crazy, depressed, bothered – how many artists were damaged and suffering? How many artists are damaged and suffering? I wonder if that’s what it takes to be a good writer; I think about it all the time. Should I be more crazy? Should I be bothered more often? If that’s what it takes, then I’ll expose myself to more depressing things – not a problem.
I must admit, it was refreshing to read Orwell's version. He might've been a little troubled, but not unusually so. Still, he knew from five or six years old that when he grew up he should be a writer. Who has thoughts like that? I'm sure some people have similar thoughts, and then fail altogether as an author or a producer or an actor... Crazy. I wish I had that kind of direction. I feel like I'm floating - I want to be an accomplished writer, but I don't KNOW I'm going to be an accomplished writer. What if fate plays me different cards?

I do love the way Orwell talks about writing, however. I really like his second paragraph on page 311:

"I wanted to write enormous naturalistic novels with unhappy endings, full of detailed descriptions and arresting similes, and also full of purple passages in which words were used partly for the sake of their sound." (Orwell 311).

Damn. George really knows what he's talking about. He's an artist, a master of the craft . . . "full of purple passages" . . . it's hard to dissect writing like this, but I can feel it. As I read it fills my head with images and immediate understanding, even if I can't express that understanding. That's how I want to write. Guess I have a lot of work to do. But is that kind of flow something you can work for? Even if I work at writing for the rest of my life, I may be able to trick some people into thinking I'm legit, but I'll never be able to convince myself. Sometimes I feel certain people are just blessed with a particular skill. Thank God some of those people - not all, but some - have realized their talent and utilized it efficiently.

Profile 1 final draft - Tim Cutting: The Face of Monaco Bay

Small paper squares litter the stage. Some lie crumpled on the floor, others are strewn across the top of the piano; each carries the name of a popular song. Tim sifts through the requests with his right hand, while his left hand runs the bass line to “Lady Madonna.” His legs are restless – one sits on the electric pedal at his feet, pumping up and down in rhythm with the song. The other moves in no sequential order, bouncing anxiously in preparation for his set. Tim shoots a glance around the room, then at the drummer to his left. He half smiles and turns his gaze towards the second baby grand across the stage. The song ends. The crowd applauds and whoops. The other player meets his eyes and leans in towards the mic.

“Alright, folks – Tim Cutting,” he says in introduction.

Tim smirks and drops his head. He looks at the scribbled requests one last time, then peeks out at the crowd and pounds the first, heavy chord.

Tim stands about five feet ten inches tall. He’s thirty years old with dark brown hair and eyes to match. His permanent five o’clock shadow fades into tight knit sideburns; his hair’s started thinning in a cropped swirl atop his head. Tim wears his everyday clothes to work – loose fit jeans, a t-shirt, and a pair of suede Puma Cabanas. Monaco Bay relaxes the dress code for its musicians; not so much for the rest of the staff, who work in black pants and collared shirts. The pianists are the mainstays, the venue’s attractions; a little personality in their outfits is good, and Tim’s outfit screams . . . well, nothing. On the street Tim is just another guy. But seated behind a piano he’s an expert, a virtuoso, an artist.

Seven years ago, Tim auditioned for a job at Monaco Bay Piano Bar and Grill as a dueling pianist. The pianists don’t really duel; they play requests and sing popular songs. Tim’s only issue was playing songs and singing simultaneously, that took some practice. After several weeks, however, Tim had become a staple of the show. He knew how to work the crowd, how to cater to their needs; he could get them singing and dancing to his cascading glissandos and fervent vocals.

“Tim is just so easy to talk to, to get along with,” said a waiter at Monaco Bay. “For me, I guess I’d say that Tim is the face of the bar, and now that he’s leaving,” the waiter paused, looked at Tim onstage, and shook his head. “Now that he’s leaving, we need to find that face again.”

Tim’s parents are professional pianists. He took up the instrument when he was seven years old.

“When I was a kid, I practiced six hours a day. I never did my homework,” Tim mused, “I just played piano.”

In high school, however, things began to sour; Tim had grown weary of the practiced repetition and called it quits. For an entire year, he didn’t touch a piano. Then, one afternoon while driving with his father, he heard Beethoven’s “Sonata Pathetique” on the radio. Tim was inspired – he realized he missed piano and resumed playing. After graduating high school, Tim joined Western Michigan’s music department and studied composition. He never finished his degree – after taking a semester off during his sophomore year, Tim was forced to re-audition. He passed easily, and began studying choral arrangements. Soon enough, however, Tim took another break – this time, indefinitely. Monaco Bay was his next stop.

But Tim won’t be an employee there much longer. In two weeks he’s leaving for Chicago; he’s got another job lined up as a dueling pianist for a larger restaurant chain, Howl at the Moon. After seven years in Kalamazoo on the same stage in the same bar, Tim is ready for a change.

“I’m lookin’ forward to the Chicago scene ‘cause it’s part of the reason I’m going down there,” Tim said. “It’s the same kind of concept, but I’m gonna be the new guy. I’m gonna have to step up my game a little bit.” His new job, however, is more or less the same as his current one. Similar setup, same popular songs – the setting is unmistakably familiar. Regardless, he’s still the newbie – the little fish in the huge, metropolitan pond. For Tim, it’s all about avoiding stagnation; he wants to be challenged.

Tim’s top 5 favorite songs to play onstage are as follows: (1) Possum Kingdom – the Toadies, (2) My Hero – Foo Fighters, (3) Ice Cream Man – Van Halen, (4) Africa – Toto, and (5) New Age Girl – Dead Eye Dick. He said the order’s different on different days. His least favorites are Great Balls of Fire, Sweet Caroline, Piano Man, Don’t Stop Believing, and Brown Eyed Girl. These are the songs that get requested every night, and that’s when things get stale.

Sometimes Tim will watch the Tigers game while he’s playing a set. Other nights when he’s waiting for a song to end, he stares out into empty space.

“I see a couple older guys doing this stuff, and they hate their lives,” Tim frowns. “Sometimes I feel like I just can’t connect with anybody in the crowd.”

Despite these brief introspections, Tim rarely has an off night. Sickness, physical exhaustion, bad break-ups, and tired songs be damned – Tim packs his troubles up and gets onstage, ready to perform.

It’s one o’clock in the morning on Tim’s last night as a Monaco Bay pianist. It’s also the weekend of Western’s graduation, the only time Tim gets nervous for a show. The bar is packed, the college kids are out, and Tim is moving with the crowd, electrifying them, engaging them, inviting them to celebrate his final songs. Sweat glistens on his brow, his fingers glide through songs he’s played a million times.

“I can promise you / You'll stay as beautiful / With dark hair / And soft skin . . . forever / Forever,” Tim sings into the microphone. The Toadies’ lyrics carry through the bar. He looks out at the crowd and rails out a few more chords before continuing the verse. In this moment, in this place, and although he’d modestly disagree, Tim is absolute; he is the face of Monaco Bay.