Looking Like People

"Your characters talk and act like people, but they don't look like people," my fiction writing class told me last week.  This constructive criticism has stuck in my head since then. 

It's true: I rarely describe the physical features of my characters.  Maybe it's because even though I'm a visual learned I struggle to describe real people much less made-up people.  There are almost a million 5'4" girls with light brown hair.  Maybe it's because I find writing physical description to be boring.  "Her dyed red hair fell in her face covering her hazel eyes" lameness.  Maybe it's because when I'm reading I envision the characters my own way and don't like being told I'm wrong.
"But we want to see the characters the way you see them," my professor told me.

My question is: Does it matter?  If it's vital that a character has curly, dark brown hair looks like she jumped out of a Jane Austen novel, then, yes, of course I'll mention it.  But does every character, or even the main character, need to be accompanied by a physical description?

Elizabeth says yes.  Otherwise they're just voices.
Nikki says she's stop reading if they weren't described.
Without looking up from the book she was reading, Amy nodded.

I remember as a fourth grader reading The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe before watching the movie.  Afterwards, the teacher asked us what we thought.

One student (I wish it was me...) said, "I liked the pictures in the book better."

I gave my protagonist strawberry blonde hair just to appease my classmates.  But deep down inside I wonder.  Does it matter to you if you know I'm so skinny I disappear if I turn sideways, my hands are so chapped they're bloody, and my not-quite-shoulder-length dirty blonde hair spends a majority of it's time in a three-quarters pony tail?

<>< Katie

The Brownie

Yesterday, Dr. Johnson (of the science department) threw a brownie with green frosting to Chelsea.  Today said Key Lime Brownie made an appearance in our fiction writing class.  Chelsea gave it to Logan.  Logan gave it to me and told me he made it himself.  I asked how he wrapped it in plastic and left it on Dr. Vance's desk.  Saxon decided he wanted to eat said brownie.

Chomp.

Chew.

Chew.

Chew.

"That was disgusting!  It was like coconut.  Yeah, very bad choice."

Dr. Vance refused to eat the remainder of the brownie.  At the end of class, the brownie missing one bite was still sitting on the desk.

"Somebody's going to have to take care of that," Dr. Vance said.

"That was a very bad decision," Saxon repeated.

The class concluded the brownie made out of ginkgo tree berries and injected with poison.  Dr. Johnson knew Saxon would eat the poisonous brownie, thus making him incapable of playing kickball.  He knew Dr. Vance would not refuse a brownie and the poison would make the English department short two vital kickball players.  In the rule book we write, we will have to make sure distributing poisonous brownies is illegal.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is what happens when you give a key lime, coconut brownie to a Fiction Writing class...

When the story got back to Dr. Johnson, he was amused.  He said the brownie came from the bottom of a chemistry test tube.  Saxon said it tasted like that could have been true.

<>< Katie

"Please"- a Pantoum Poem

Backstory: I'm the editor of our English department newsletter; I inherited the problem of trying to get it published online. After a year of gently reminding, pleading, and sometimes even whining, I've decided to be a bit more aggressive. Dr. Vance is in charge of the English website, and he keeps promising to put the newsletters online. He's also my Creative Writing professor who is strongly encouraging me to explore poetry. Dr. Vance wants me to write poems; I want Dr. Vance to put the newsletter online. This is what comes out. (Not a finished product).

"Please"

If only I were clever,
I'd have a poem about viewing the newsletter* online,
but we both know we'll see it never.
Oh, it would be so fine.

I'd have a poem about viewing the newsletter online,
the joy of having a new website,
oh, it would be so fine
to show the newsletter in a new light.

The joy of having a new website,
the PDFs are ready to go,
to show the newsletter in a new light,
but why is the process painstakingly slow?

The PDFs are ready to go,
and every month again I try,
but why is the process painstakingly slow?
This has become my battle cry.

And every month again I try,
but we both know we'll see it never.
This has become my battle cry,
if only I were clever.

<>< Katie

*Author's Note: I edited out the newsletter name for privacy reasons. Since meter doesn't really matter in this pantoum, I don't feel the need to replace it with a two-syllable word. Instead, the word "newsletter" will suffice. However, the real name flows off the tongue better.