She walks into the class, full of gray, uenthusiastic students while she displayed the complete opposite, stopping to admire every little thing in the room. First she comes across the shelves upon shelves of typewriters, enough to supply a 1950's publishing company. She knows she'll get annoyed glances from her fellow students if she decides to use the loud, clicky writing tools, but it's not like she has much in common with them to begin with. Besides, she didn't exactly join the class for the students, the only thing they supplied her was that beutiful clickity clack of their creative processes at work. She finds a seat without a computer, wanting to at least have an excuse for using the ancient technology other than that she just wanted to. Sitting in the chair she cringes, knowing the chairs were probably older than her, maybe they even housed a now dead person or two. She pulls out her pocket notebook and begins to write down the idea of this phantom sitter, always finding such ideas more comforting when they can be ripped off and thrown away. She finishes the description, whom turned out to be an aspiring soldier who simply took the class because he had to, but turned out loving it, using as a way to cope during the war. She had been planning on throwing away the idea of the phantom sitter as a form of self-therapy, but now she feels honored to sit where this war veteran once did, the warmth of the seat now feeling like encouragement from a past soul. She looked around from the phantom seat, her thoughts of a dead soldier becoming more and more realistic in her mind as she inspected the numerous examples of aging, the water damage, the yellowed walls, and of course the phantoms chair.

She decides this phantom sitter needs a face to connect with, wouldn't be such a demanding order of character design, simply a young aspiring military officer. First a strong, yet soft face, given he knows of war but not in grim detail. A stron-

The door of the classroom slams shut, in front of it now standing the teacher.

She inspects her mentor for the next six months, noting how militant he looks himself, much like the soldier he wrote of. Then again, her teacher only lgave that impression clothing wise, his hair giving the opposite impression, being wild and unkempt. He walked over to his podium and stood high over her and the rest of the students, giving full view of a coffee stain on the center of his shirt.

"Before you say it, yeah I got coffee on my shirt" He said "It's bound to happen when you're a writer, lot of coffee"

She shaking her head in eager agreement, having had this exact experience time and time again. He takes notice to the little outburst with a chuckle, she buries herself back in her seat in mild embarrassment. He didn't take notice to that, instead went straight into his teaching routine, a lot more fluid and improvised than she was used to.

"My name's Mr. Greene, but you may, though I doubt, know me as R.W.W. Greene" He said, sending schockwaves through the girl. He continued to speak, but the words no longer got to her, she mindlessly fishes through her bag in utter fear. She pulls a weathered book from her bag, worn from mulitple reads, but despite that the front still housed a legible "R.W.W. Greene". She froze up, was she supposed to happy to have her favorite writer as her teacher? Whatever she was supposed to feel, she knew she plain felt anything but. It sure didn't help when he called out her name.

"Abigail Curtis?" He said, forcing Abigails heart skip a beat. She attempted to hide the book as fast as possible.

"You alright? I'm not gonna crucify you for reading or anything, but maybe do this not during a lesson? And from the looks of it you've gone through it enough to recite it" He said, not entirely being wrong.

"Oh, of course, sorry" She said, quickly stuffing the book back inside.

"Oh it's fine, what is it you're reading anyway?" He said. She froze once again, almost having put the book away. Sh looks back up to meet his eyes, while thier was no intensity in them or the question, she couldn't help but feel intimidated.

dialog & description exercises from blue

Shania's revision

Revised: The Mini Mart

"Hey watch where you're walking old man!"

"Pardon me young fellow but your parents should teach you some manners."

"Oh shut up gimpy! My parent aren't around."

They both proceed out of the mini mart.

               "You've really got a mouth on you boy!"

               "At least I have teeth."

               "You listen here boy, I lost these teeth fighting for your safety and I lost my wife while doing it so I'll be damned if you think I'm going to sit here and take that type of disrespect from a stray!"

               "I'm sorry sir."

Revised: Mr. Greene impression

               I clench my books tight in one hand and hesitate to open the door with the other. I take a deep breathe and walk in the coffee scented room. Everyone turns around to see the new girl. My neck feels like fire and my palms begin to sweat.

               "Mr. Greene." One student breaks the silence.

A tall man standing at the white board turns to see what interrupted his lesson.

"Can I help you?" He said.

I felt a lump in my throat and attempted to clear it before I could stutter "I'm Alex."

My stomach feels uneasy as he begins to walk towards me. He placed his left hand on my shoulder firmly. I can feel his ring digging into my collarbone as he introduces me as the new girl, though i had just told him my name.

"Are you going to sit?" He said

I walked to my seat like a dog with his tail between his legs.

Revised: Observations of the room and Mr. Greene

• A clock faster than the others

• A slight breeze with no source

• Smudges on the board

• Shuffling of chairs and feet

• Typing

• Dust in between the old keys

• Posters

• Staplers everywhere

• Unnecessary amount of sweaters laying around

• Antonio's pen tapping

• Antonia talking loudly about Taylor Swift Lyrics

• Door slightly open

• Monitors making quiet noise

• Scuffs on the dirty floor tiles

Mr. Greene

• Shoulder length hair

• Smells like coffee

• Green button up long sleeve shirts

• Blue jeans

• Tall; about 5'8 5'9

• Wears pens in the pocket of his shirts

• Male

• Cowboy boots

• Mustache, Go-T, and beard

• Wedding ring

• Watch on left wrist

• Blue eyes

• Energetic

Description of room from Mr. Greenes perspective:

He walked into a room at the end of the hall, the smell of dust and spilt coffee in the air.  The seats in front of the computers seen worn, but he didn't want to use the technology yet. He saw typewriters of various shapes and sizes.  He strolled over to the shelves, exploring each one, hoping to learn the stories they held.  Some could be stained by cigarette or could have broken keys.  The whiteboard in front had writing on it, tickling his mind with the endless possibilities as to why it's there.

Dialogue Exercise:

A small child emerges from a dark alleyway, wiping liquid from his face.  He calls for a taxi at the same as an older gentleman did.  The yellow car pulled over.

"Excuse me sir, want to share this cab?  I really need a ride." said Ben

In a heavy, sloppy Southern accent, "Sure thing!  Hop on in!" said Butch

They both get in, with Ben starting the conversation.

"Sir!  You sound funny!  What's with the voice?" said Ben, waiting for a reponse.

"I got no teeth!  See here sonny?" said Butch

"Gross!  What's with the hat?"

"I wear it because I'm a cowboy.  Where are your manners?  Didn't your parents teach you them?"

"They didn't, they're splitting up so I don't listen to them anymore.  They say to go to bed, so I stay up.  They say to not have energy drinks, but I did that today too!  Now I'm going to the airport to escape!"  Explained Ben, now out of breath from a continuous stream of words.

"That's quite a story!  I'm going home, the wife passed recently.  Went here to see my family, but now I have to face my own demons."

Description of Mr. Greene from Mr. Greenes  perspective:

His voice was booming, startling at first when you don't know about it.  However loud he is, it's quite soothing, smooth like butter.  His long hair and goatee with traces of five o'clock shadow are comparable to a modern day Jesus.  An olive green shirt and dark jeans, with a pair of brown leather boots slapping the ground gives you a sense of anxiety.  His eyes are blue with oceans of experience behind them, giving me a sense of awe.  The presence of this man made me take a step back, wary to engage in a conversation with him.     

Kayla Woodie's B2 assignment

Dialogue

"OH! Sorry mister cowboy man!"

"It's ok little man, just be more careful."

"You talk funny. That cowboy hat real?"

"Quit jumpin kid. No siree, my wife made that thing 20 some odd years ago."

"Wow! Wish momma would do something like that for pa, or for me! Your wife, she pretty?"

"Little man, she done was the fairest lass in all the cornfields…"

"Damn it don't you cry! You old and stuff!"

"Yes, yes son I am."

"Huh, are you my pa??"

"No, I don't got no children anymore."

"Oh. Sorry mister cowboy! I won't ever bump into you no more!"

"Thank you, boy."

Description

The class brings a breeze of cold air as I enter. My backpack hangs heavy in this new place. The room was white, but now is yellowed with decay and wear. The tables are filled with the only modern thing- glowing desktop computers, though half of them are broken, and greasy roller seats straight from the seventies are parked at each, but they looked comfortable enough. Clutters of art and papers and posters decorate the wall. In the back, closed blinds glow concealing the outdoor light. Shelves hold typewriters- the kind I've only seen in movies- in dozens of worn colors. People sitting are clicking and tapping away at them or away at the active computers, without noticing me, all writing out things in big chunks. A few are quietly chatting, but most were listening only to their earbuds. The teacher wanders around the room with heavy feet, talking about how he smelled like coffee. And he does. I take a seat, and it seems like it's going to be a pretty cool class.

Thanks Mr. Greene

-Kayla

Kaylee Vicente

Kaylee Vicente

2/14/18

Block 2

Mr. Greene

The cool air couldn't subside the beads of sweat trickling down Carl's forehead. He sat in the far back row, distancing himself from the others, his eyes averted upwards quickly finding the comforting water stain on the ceiling. He studied the dark rimmed blob and watched the picture change into different shapes with the help of his imagination. The sound of the final bell rung, pulling Carl out of his trance. Swiftly he looked away from the ceiling only to greeted with blue eyes searching for his. Without haste Carl lowered his head and shifted his gaze to his hands that found comfort in between his thighs. "Just ignore him", he told himself. It'd be awfully hard to do so considering Carl was achieving for honor roll this year. The blue eyed man began to speak, his deep voice echoed off the walls and retreated back to Carl. Goosebumps scattered across his body when the man made a sadistic joke about about death, trickery. Finally the voice was replaced silent and was replaced with the sound of fingertips aggressively typing away. With shaky hands Carl slowly unzipped his bag, flinching at the sound it made. His desperate eyes looked up make sure he didn't draw unnecessary attention to himself but his fellow peers were hypnotized  into their screens. Satisfied no one noticed he pulled out his notebook and began writing his story about a crazed man with hard blue eyes.

He was so lost in his writing he hardly noticed the footsteps approaching him, until they came closer to him. His heart felt like it ceased to beat when the steps came to an abrupt stop. Out of the corner of Carl's eye he could see the worn cowboy boots close to his seat. Without warning the owner of the boots squatted down to his level causing Carl to move all attention to his messy writing. The man was so close Carl could feel his hot breath burning the hairs on his arm. The mixture of moist, nervous sweat and a shaking hand resulted in the pencil falling right out of the boy's clutch. "If you want," the dark voice from earlier whispered by his side "You can use my computer. Your hand looks a bit tired." He finished. Carl could feel those blue eyes piercing his hand and he quickly shoved both hands back into the comfort of his thighs. Hesitantly Carl turned his head and looked at the ends of the man's hair thanking any God there was for the length of it. "M-M.. No thank you." His weary voice stuttered out, finally releasing the breath that almost made him blue. The man nodded and walked away, Carl's heart re started beating faster than ever. He had done it, he survived Mr. Greene.

Descriptions & Dialogue

Description one:

I run into my new classroom, nearly colliding with the desks situated just in front of the doorway. Rows of them line the room, each with numerous swivel chairs that I already know will be the most comfortable chairs in the building. Every second chair is accompanied by a computer, each one worn out from being used for so long, which must mean they're trustworthy. It's much like the tv in the front of the room with a line of paper covering the bottom. It must be a special television to have been kept around for so long. The writing on the not-so-white whiteboard, all in different colors and handwriting, must be so important to someone, even if it just looks like useless scribbles to me. Everything is so meaningful here. I can't wait to spend the next semester here!

Description two:

I stared up at the man invading my home. I want to fight him off, but he's so much bigger than me. What could one lonely mouse do to a human like this? Everything about him is dangerous. He could squish me with those cowboy boots and not even notice. His hair is long enough to wrap around my neck at least three times. He could easily crush me in his giant hands. What if he locked me in his left pocket with the two different colored pens? He could click them and stab me. One thing is for sure: this large, flannel wearing human is too much for me. I better just hide in my corner until he goes away.

Dialogue:

"Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!" Benny says, running around the room. He approaches the only man standing nearby, desperate for social interaction. "Hey! Can I have your hat? I want your hat!"

"No."

"But I want your hat!" Benny whines

The man sighs. "Fine, but give it back later."

Benny cocks his head in confusion. "What happened to your mouth?"

"Bar fight."

"Ooh, I wanna see a bar fight!" Benny tugs on the man's hand. "Let's go see a bar fight!"

"It's too dangerous for a boy your age."

Benny cackles. "Dangerouth," he repeats, mimicking the man's toothless sound. "But I got myself a fancy hat to protect myself now! No one's ever gonna notice I'm there!"

"That's not at all how it works."

"Why not?" Benny covers his face with the man's cowboy hat. "You can't see me because I can't see you. Now come on! Let's go see a bar fight!"

The man fixes the hat for him. "That's not going to happen."

Benny takes his hand and attempts to drag him towards the door, his young ten-year-old mind not processing that he's much too small for that. "Let's go! Do you have a horsey? I bet you have a horsey, don't you? Let's to ride a horsey to a bar fight!"

The man pulls his hat off of the boy's head. "We're not going to see a bar fight, so stop asking."

"Why?" Benny whines. "Daddy used to go to the bar all the time! I bet he got o see a lot of bar fights!"

"You ain't your daddy, kid."

"You ain't yo daddy, kid," Benny mimics in a high pitched voice, mocking his pronoun citations.

The man sighs. "Fine, wait here, and I'll be back in five minutes with a horsey just for you."

But, when thirty minutes go by and he still hasn't returned, Benny finally realizes he missed his chance.

"Publish or Perish"

Dialog Exercise

Jimothy and Steve

Jimmy ran out of his house. Of course, his parents didn't chase after him, but instead locked to door behind him. Jimmy ran all the way through town and into the next. The next town over was more of a farming town, which Jimmy enjoyed looked at. He would watch the cows and horses run around in the fields. He would also sometimes run into the fields of corn and steal some for dinner.

Jimmy was admiring the baby cows to his left when he hit the ground. He got up immediately, "Watch it! I was running!"

"Why?" the man on the horse said. It took Jimmy a solid minute and twenty-three seconds to realize what the man said. Jimmy just couldn't get over the man's funny hat.

"My dad told me to do my homework and I didn't wanna do it but he said he would take away my gameboy and so I went to go get a pop from the fridge and I saw that there was no pop so I just took one of my dad's drinks and it was real good so I took another and did my homework and then my momma asked me how I did it so fast and then I took the cigarette out of her mouth and smoked it like she does and she yelled at me so I ran out of the house and now I am here."

Jimmy said this all without taking one single breath. The man on the horse was amazed at the little jittery boy he had just hit with his horse. The man was going to say something, but Jimmy chimed right back in.

"Why are you dressed like that?"

"Because," Jimmy didn't really hear what he said, but he didn't want any space in between the man's words and his.

"What's your name?"

"Vincente."

"Why?"

"Why what?"
"Why is your name Vincente?"

"Because that's the name my mother gave me."

"Well, I don't like it. I'm going to call you Steve,"

"That's not my name,"

"Steve, don't cut me off." Steve looked at Jimmy waiting for him to continue. It wasn't like he was going to say much anyway.

"Aren't you going to ask me what my name is?"

"What's your name?"

"Jimothy. Most people just call me Jimmy. I don't know why my name is Jimothy, but there was this kid in the fourth grade with a name Timothy. We called ourselves 'Jimothy and Timothy' and we wanted to have a television show, but my dad told me to grow up."

"Well, that's a nice name."

"Why do you talk funny?" Steve stared at Jimmy as the old memories passed through is head.

"When my wife and I were robbed, I tried stopping them and they knocked all my teeth out. When I realized what had happened, it was too late for my wife." Jimmy hesitated.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"She's dead." Jimmy's eyes widened.

"That's real unfortunate. I'm sorry, Steve." Silence filled the open fields.

"Shouldn't you be heading home?"

"No."

"What do you mean no?"

"My dad will probably shoot me in the side of the head...figuratively."

"That's not something you should joke about."

"Why can't I come where you're going?"

"Because that's not a place where little boys like you should be."

"Why? Will there be guns? Or bombs!"

"No." Steve pat the side of his horse and whispered in its ear. Jimmy had never seen someone talk to a horse and command it that way. But, the horse did what Steve must have wanted it to, because it began to move along the road.

"Where are you going?" Jimmy called out. Steve didn't answer, but instead left Jimmy alone in the middle of farming fields. It was getting dark, and as much as Jimmy tossed around the idea and the possible dangers,

Jimmy ran after Steve.

Description Exercises

The Writing Room

The walls were so off-white it was as if they let a bunch of second graders come in and put their dirty hands on them. The computers seemed too old to use, but that didn't bother me too much because my hands were too small for the keyboards anyway.

The lighting was dim and the lack of sunlight made me feel like it was raining outside. To add to that, it was extremely cold in the room. It was excessively cold outside to begin with, but now inside too? Forget rain, it was fucking Antarctica.

One of the things that I admired about the room was the lack of noise. I am one of those people who cannot stand it being too quiet, but this kind of silence was more tolerable. It was quiet enough to concentrate, but not too quiet where I felt alone.

As I glanced around another time I knew that this was the perfect place to write my great

American novel.

The Coffee Man

I hadn't heard much about him before. I had seen him once when my friend left her water bottle in his class, but that was about it. The only thing I had heard was from her and she said he was a little...out there.

As we piled into the room, he just stood in the front behind his computer. Music was faintly coming out from the medium sized laptop's speakers. From a distance, I only noticed that his clothes were dark and his hair was longer.

When the last bell rung, he stopped the music and began to stroll around the room. No one really spoke, so all you could hear was the heavy steps he took.

His voice was deeper than I expected, and the closer he got, the more I wanted to sink

into my seat.

As he got closer to me, I noticed that he had a cup of coffee in his hand, and that his shoes had heels on them. He probably needed the heels because the coffee caused him to stop growing. Or that's just how he was. I decided I would listen to my first idea about his height, so I could tell myself that he wasn't as scary as I assumed.