Events of October

The amount of people she interviewed and spoke with for the book was very striking to me. It gives an understanding of the amount of reporting necessary to capture the full breadth of a story. I found it especially great in the pieces of the book that recreated scene, such as the “This Endless Night” chapter. She accounted for every angle of the story, including even small details. Including the details about what friends were doing in other places on campus on the time gave it a full feel. It was eery thinking about the scene at Dewaters and cop cars rolling through campus while everyone slept and studied. Especially being a K student, this resonated with me.

Thinking about all the reporting brought me back to what we keep discussing: the outline. I’m wondering about the process in taking on a project like this and how she tackled it. With the hours of interviews she had to have, it would seem daunting to begin filing that down to a cohesive unit. I’d like to discuss if she did create an outline for the book and how she found and maintained a structure.

Lastly, I though that at times it was very beneficial to the story that Gail was a professor and member of the K community. She was able to capture subtle details of the college, as well as provide an insight into some of those involved beyond the reporting scene. I am wondering how it may have read differently had someone with no connection to K had written it? Not really sure how I think it would affect it, but some food for thought.

Road to Graduation (First Revision)

Now, she laughs. Sitting on her green leather couch, she reminisces with friends. They speak about their time out at bars last weekend, her last visits ever as an undergrad. Eventually the conversation shifts further back: drunken escapades, classes they shared, how they met. It is a time for looking back. 

Abby came to Michigan State University as an eighteen-year-old in the fall of 2009. Fresh off a 3.9 high school GPA, she turned down the opportunity to swim for MSU and decided to focus on being a student. Living with a girl she knew from home and sharing a bathroom with another good friend, she was excited for the college life.

However, in her first weeks in East Lansing, she began to struggle with a demon from her past: depression.

“Depression and suicidal thoughts began to dominate me,” Abby said.

The depression came first, weighing heavier on her shoulders every day. As she suffered from the pain of it, she bottled up her emotions. Afraid of being viewed as weak, she kept her problems to herself. Her problems were her problems.

“My parents didn’t know. My friends didn’t know. I didn’t want people’s pity,” Abby said.

At 14, Abby’s parents informed her they were getting a divorce. The separation was complete three days before her 16th birthday. Less than a year later, her mom would leave the state and move to Georgia.

“So much of it stemmed from their divorce. I was really depressed my sophomore year of high school when the divorce was happening. I didn’t want to do anything ever,” Abby said.

Similar feelings of not wanting to do anything crept back to her in her first year at Michigan State. Hours would pass as she lay in her bed, engulfed in darkness, crying.

“I don’t even remember what it was really like. I was a different person. Sadness was the norm,” Abby said.

As weeks passed, the feelings worsened. Sadness remained constant, but was joined by thoughts of suicide.

“I thought about it daily. When I drove I would think, ‘I can just hit that wall or a pole,’” Abby said.

Throughout her first semester, the thoughts of suicide remained. On certain nights, she would take five or six painkillers or sleeping pills, hoping to fall asleep and ease her pain, but also consciously thinking, 

“If I don’t wake up, it’s no big deal.”

When her roommate was around she’d hide it. Doing her best to hold back tears and put on a straight face. Anytime she was alone though, the feelings dominated her. 

She returned home for winter break still harboring the negative feelings. Home alone one evening, upset and crying, she took another step in her depression.

“I didn’t think anyone would notice. I thought I could get away with it. I was ready to be done,” Abby said.

That night she ingested upwards of 20 over-the-counter drugs: Benadryl, Tylenol PM, anything she could find. After swallowing the collection of pills, Abby passed out on her bathroom floor.

She would awake in the hospital later that night. Alive thanks to a timely visit from her sister and three stomach pumps in the emergency room. 

“When I first awoke in the hospital, it was like an out-of-body experience. I could see myself doing the terrible things and I was questioning myself, ‘What are you doing? Why are you doing this to yourself?’” Abby said. “I saw what I was doing and I knew that I shouldn’t be doing it, but I couldn’t make myself stop. It was like sane me had lost all control.”

Today, as she sits on the front porch of her final East Lansing residence, 24 hours before her graduation, tears well in her eyes thinking about her “rock bottom.” She lowers her glasses from her forehead, pushing her blond hair from her face.

While that winter night may have been her lowest, it was far from the end of her struggles. She returned to school in January, still dealing with overwhelming feelings of sadness. Suicide still lingered in her mind.

“The nights I was really upset, I wished it had worked. I wanted to be dead,” Abby said.

Along with her green gown, Abby will be wearing gold chords when she accepts her diploma to signify to those present that she is receiving her degree with honor. And if her final semester’s grades factored in prior to graduation: high-honor.

Even when contemplating suicide, she found a way to go to class. 

“I remember sitting in the classes, but I can’t remember a thing that happened in them,” she said.

Control of her life was slipping away. School, though, was the one thing she still felt a sense of control over. So even as she went through her days in a haze, she knew she had to get things done.

“I needed to do well. Because [school] was fully on me, I did it,” Abby said.

In March of her freshman year, her niece was born and happiness began to find her again.  

“I remember being really happy around the time she was born,” Abby said.

The depression would not go away though. Negative feelings still ran rampant through her freshman year and would continue into her junior year.

“It became less defining. It wasn’t my whole life anymore,” Abby said

By the time she began her second year at MSU, suicide was barely a thought. However, she still found ways to hurt herself. Knocking her head against the cement wall in her dorm room or burning patches of skin people wouldn’t see with her hair straightener on bad days.

“It was like I was addicted to the pain,” Abby said.

Toward the end of her freshman year, Abby’s walls came down a little bit. Though her parents never knew, her sister was now aware. As was her boyfriend. And they were checking up on her.

Despite the influence of her positive voice urging her to seek further help, Abby steadily resisted professional help.

“I met with a doctor I had seen in high school around March of my freshman year,” Abby said, “it just pissed me off and made me feel worse, anti-therapy.”

For college age students, suicide can be a serious issue. The Internet is plastered with statistics backing up the claim. The American College Health Association estimates that roughly 7.5 of 100,000 college students commit suicide. In a 2002 study, the ACHA estimated that 1 in 12 college students has made a suicide plan at some point and approximately 1.5 of 100 have gone through with the plan. 

“I wanted to keep it to myself. I didn’t like the idea of being another statistic,” Abby said.

The Michigan State Counseling Center offers students the opportunity to speak with counselors and engage in interviews to determine necessary help. The center also offers resources for self-help and an online depression self-assessment.

“I knew they had options, but I just didn’t feel like going,” Abby said. “I was never really interested in it at school. I tried a self-health group once and hated it. No one said anything and it wasn’t mediated well at all. Plus, it was harder to keep it a secret if I was doing that.”

According to Washington University in St. Louis, two-thirds of people who suffer from depression do not seek necessary treatment.

One factor that Arizona State University counselors suggest can help with depression is close-personal relationships. Abby’s newfound support system helped show her this.

“I finally had a positive voice. They didn’t want to lose me,” she said. “In April of my freshman year, my boyfriend told me he loved me. When that happened, I knew he legitimately cared about me. I didn’t want to take that away.”

This help was a turning point for Abby, allowing her to continue on the journey to recovery and eventually reach a point of sustained happiness. In her final days as a college student though, she can’t point to a definite end. And perhaps, she hasn’t reached it yet.

“I still deal with lingering sadness. When I am sad, I’m really sad,” Abby said. “When things go wrong, there are times where I still feel like I’m not good enough, like I didn’t do things right, like I’m stupid.”

A new chapter approaches for her though. And as she closes the books on her time in East Lansing, though sadness may linger sometimes, the lessons learned are engraved within her.

“I’ve been thinking about some of those nights a lot lately and how far I’ve come,” Abby said. “I grew up a lot and I’m glad I allowed myself the opportunity to do so.”

“I was a depressed kid. And now, I’m graduating.”

Week 7 Response

Walt Harrington’s “How I Get to the Point” stood out to me from the reading as it addressed the topic of outline further. Since constructing our dynamic outlines I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about the process. I favored the dynamic outline to the traditional outline, but even so, I’ve been resisting the idea some. I find it to be very helpful in helping to maintain focus, especially later in a piece, but it still feels somewhat mechanical to me. An idea from Harrington struck me though, 

“After writing the first three hundred or so words of an eight-thousand-word piece, I stopped writing, and at that late stage, with the project clearly centered, I finally jotted down an outline of the entire piece.” 

This is interesting because at this point, your piece would already have a sort of foundation. You are grounded somewhere. Having centered yourself and begun to tackle the piece, you can become filled with ideas. For me, as I write, more things come to mind or I realize something isn’t working, so I change it; however, from the beginning I am preparing my plan for the piece within my head. An early post-beginning outline could be very beneficial to me in helping to keep my thoughts organized as I go. I think that this is something I may try to do in the future. The benefits of an outline are clear to me, but finding the exact right process for it is something I still need to achieve.

Road to Graduation (profile)

“I knew I was supposed to be having the time of my life, but I couldn’t.”

Abby came to Michigan State University as an eighteen-year-old in the fall of 2009. Fresh off a 3.9 high school GPA, she turned down the opportunity to swim for MSU and decided to focus on being a student. Living with a girl she knew from home and sharing a bathroom with another good friend, she was excited for the college life.

However, in her first weeks in East Lansing, she began to struggle with a demon from her past: depression.

“Depression and suicidal thoughts began to dominate me,” Abby said.

The depression came first, weighing heavier on her shoulders every day. As she suffered from the pain of it, she bottled up her emotions. Afraid of being viewed as weak, she kept her problems to herself. Her problems were her problems.

“My parents didn’t know. My friends didn’t know. I didn’t want people’s pity,” Abby said.

At 14, Abby’s parents informed her they were getting a divorce. The separation was complete three days before her 16th birthday. Less than a year later, her mom would leave the state and move to Georgia.

“So much of it stemmed from their divorce. I was really depressed my sophomore year of high school when the divorce was happening. I didn’t want to do anything ever,” Abby said.

Similar feelings of not wanting to do anything crept back to her in her first year at Michigan State. Hours would pass as she lay in her bed, engulfed in darkness, crying.

“I don’t even remember what it was really like. I was a different person. Sadness was the norm,” Abby said.

As weeks passed, the feelings worsened. Sadness remained constant, but was joined by thoughts of suicide.

“I thought about it daily. When I drove I would think, ‘I can just hit that wall or a pole,’” Abby said.

Throughout her first semester, the thoughts of suicide remained. On certain nights, she would take five or six pain killers or sleeping pills, hoping to fall asleep and ease her pain, but also consciously thinking, “If I don’t wake up, it’s no big deal.”

When her roommate was around she’d hide it. Doing her best to hold back tears and put on a straight face. Anytime she was alone though, the feelings dominated her. 

She returned home for winter break still harboring the negative feelings. Home alone one evening, upset and crying, she took another step in her depression.

“I didn’t think anyone would notice. I thought I could get away with it. I was ready to be done,” Abby said.

That night she ingested upwards of 20 over the counter drugs: Benadryl, Tylenol PM, anything she could find. After swallowing the collection of pills, Abby passed out on her bathroom floor.

She would awake in the hospital later that night. Alive thanks to a timely visit from her sister and three stomach pumps in the emergency room. 

“When I first awoke in the hospital, it was like an out-of-body experience. I could see myself doing the terrible things and I was questioning myself, ‘What are you doing? Why are you doing this to yourself?’” Abby said. “I saw what I was doing and I knew that I shouldn’t be doing it, but I couldn’t make myself stop. It was like sane me had lost all control.”

Today, as she sits on the front porch of her final East Lansing residence, the day before her graduation, tears well in her eyes thinking about her “rock bottom.”

While that winter night may have been her lowest, it was far from the end of her struggles. She returned to school in January, still dealing with overwhelming feelings of sadness. Suicide still lingered in her mind.

“The nights I was really upset, I wished it had worked. I wanted to be dead,” Abby said.

Along with her green gown, Abby will be wearing gold chords when she accepts her diploma to signify to those present that she is receiving her degree with honor. And if her final semester’s grades factored in prior to graduation: high-honor.

Even when contemplating suicide, she found a way to go to class. 

“I remember sitting in the classes, but I can’t remember a thing that happened in them,” she said.

Control of her life was slipping away. School, though, was the one thing she still felt a sense of control over. So even as she went through her days in a haze, she knew she had to get things done.

“I needed to do well. Because [school] was fully on me, I did it,” Abby said.

In March of her freshman year, her niece was born and happiness began to find her again.  

“I remember being really happy around the time she was born,” Abby said.

The depression would not go away though. Negative feelings still ran rampant through her freshman year and would continue into her junior year.

“It became less defining. It wasn’t my whole life anymore,” Abby said

By the time she began her second year at MSU, suicide was barely a thought. However, she still found ways to hurt herself. Knocking her head against the cement wall in her dorm room or burning patches of skin people wouldn’t see with her hair straightener on bad days.

“It was like I was addicted to the pain,” Abby said.

Toward the end of her freshman year, Abby’s walls came down a little bit. Though her parents never knew, her sister was now aware. As was her boyfriend. And they were checking up on her.

“I finally had a positive voice. They didn’t want to lose me,” she said. “In April of my freshman year, my boyfriend told me he loved me. When that happened, I knew he legitimately cared about me. I didn’t want to take that away.”

With her newfound support-system, Abby was able to continue on the journey to recovery and eventually reach a point of sustained happiness. In her final days as a college student though, she can’t even point to a definite end. And perhaps, she hasn’t reached it yet.

“I still deal with lingering sadness. When I am sad, I’m really sad,” Abby said. “When things go wrong, 

there are times where I still feel like I’m not good enough, like I didn’t do things right, like I’m stupid.”

A new chapter approaches for her though. And as she closes the books on her time in East Lansing, though sadness may linger sometimes, the lessons learned are engraved within her.

“I’ve been thinking about some of those nights a lot lately and how far I’ve come,” Abby said. “I grew up a lot and I’m glad I allowed myself the opportunity to do so.”

“I was a depressed kid. And now, I’m graduating.”

Week 5 Response

“Frank has a Cold” really drew me in and did a great job of combining elements to create a strong overall piece. I enjoyed the use of physical descriptions and felt they did a good job to paint a scene. I found it especially useful that the writer captured everyone’s presence; the other people in the story are as important to the whole piece as Sinatra is. Getting to see them alongside Sinatra was nice. The details about all these people and his interactions with them allowed readers to understand Sinatra more. For example, the inclusion of his toupee-woman and her weekly pay. 

The writer did a good job of incorporating present events with memories. Stories such as the one about the Jeep’s paint-job allow readers to see more of Sinatra, something beyond the four or five days the reporter may have spent with him. This is addressed somewhat in Telling True Stories by Malcolm Gladwell. Reporters can’t hope to define the complexity of a person through just a couple days of conservations. These backstory memories about Sinatra and his friends give the reader more. The dialogue used by the author does this further. A writer can say how someone was acting, but the only way to truly get an idea for yourself is to hear exactly what someone is saying. The writer does this well by combining dialogue with a plethora of descriptions about the surrounding scene and action.

One thing I wondered about in the MacFarquhar piece is the idea of never talking about yourself in an interview. She describes it as a “source of power” to not reveal information about yourself. I agree that in some interviews it would not make sense to do so and obviously the focus should be on the subject. But, I don’t necessarily think reporters need to always stonewall themselves. Some people will be more willing to open up after seeing others do the same. In some cases, sharing information about yourself could break down any existing awkward dynamic.

Moving Out (revised w/outline)

I made the decision to not return to my dad’s house for the summer during the spring term of my sophomore year. My older sister, Audrey, had offered me the opportunity to live with her and her husband for the summer. Their house was no more than two miles from my dad’s, the only place I had ever lived besides my college dorms.

I wanted to break the news to my parents in a designed way; a calculated conversation to not only explain, but also to talk-up the decision I had already made. Audrey, however, was not so deliberate. She let the news slip before I could say anything. For some reason, having my parents know the decision before I spoke to them freaked me out. My anxiety took over; and I was struck with fear about facing my decision.

Mom’s conversation came first. I knew she wouldn’t be ecstatic about the choice. She had proposed me living with her before, but I never viewed it as a real option. For one, she lived too far away. And two, I simply did not want to live with her. Since my parents divorce eight years earlier, and her subsequent move out, I had steadily grown more distant from my mother.

I called her from my dorm room and knew exactly what was coming: “Why are you moving out of your dad’s to live with Audrey? Why don’t you live with me? Can you even live there? I have a bed for you. A real bed.”

She actually said that. A real bed. My sister and I had a great laugh about it later; as if our mother was the only person around with an actual bed. And one that I could sleep in nonetheless. Her irrationality exceeded expectations.

I explained to her that Audrey’s house did in fact have a real-life bed for me to sleep on and how it wasn’t personal and the location was better. On and on, I said anything to get her off the phone, my go-to move when talking to her. She will keep me on the phone for hours nodding and yes-ing along as she talks to herself about anything she can think of. I can set down my phone and do anything relatively quiet with my hands (my personal favorite: surf the internet) and not miss much of our conversation. I know to come back as soon as I hear, “Daniel?”

“Yes, Mom, I’m still here.”

The full-time-mother role is not exactly her style, but she never misses an opportunity to criticize. And while I missed out on some of the more necessary maternal roles growing up, I will admit that my mom loves to brag about me. Probably the two main reasons she really wanted me to live with her, it would give her the chance to brag about taking me in (the wonderful accomplishment it is) and maybe show me off to some neighbors. So like I said, I never considered living with her and she probably knew it. That simple fact made the conversation easier to tackle for me.

Butterflies were much more rampant for Dad’s conversation. Some people might move out for freedom’s sake or to escape their parents, but it was never about that for me. Ever since about 13 years old when my friends had to be home for the streetlights, I’ve only had to follow a self-prescribed “respectable” curfew.

For me, what met me at the door had me running. I’d return home at 2 A.M., ever so slightly opening and closing the front door, tip-toeing creaky wooden floors as I dodged a collection of toys and clothes not touched in weeks. Then the attempted stealth trip up the never-quiet stairs. My dad sleeps at the top; no room of his own, just the space the stairs open up to. His small bed softened by a collection of futon pads and flanked by piles of books about many religions. Most nights he’d greet me in a half-sleep mumble: “Dan?”

Also in the house were my brother, his girlfriend, their daughter, my sister and her daughter. Each morning, I would wake to my oldest niece prodding me awake, a collection of crying nieces downstairs or an argument between my brother and sister about the unnecessary topic of the day. I rarely brought people over. The uncertainty of what might occur was enough of a deterrent, but I must admit shame was a factor. 

The dreaded conversation was short. I saved it for my last day at school before returning home to the east side of Michigan for the summer. My stomach did flips as I dialed my one-and-only landline phone number.

“So you’re going to live with Audrey?”

“Yeah, that’s the plan.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“Yeah, I think it will be fine.”

“Ok, do you need anything from me?”

“Not that I can think of. But I will probably come by tomorrow to pick some things up from the house when I get home.”

“Ok, well I’ll be at work till 6.”

Simple. To the point. And little emotion. My dad and I were definitely cut from the same cloth. He seemed slightly put-off by my choice, but his lack of any real emotion showed me he was at least on board with my decision to this point. Hiding emotion is not my dad’s style. I learned swear words at a young age sitting at the top of our basement steps. When something upset him, I could hear him throw a barrage of words I knew I was never supposed to say at his many stacks of books. I was relieved to not play the role of the books that day. 

The following day, I returned to the east side to stack my clutter into a new room. Laying in my new real-bed, I couldn’t help but be excited: no two-year old would be waking me up before noon tomorrow.

Intended Publication: Lives

Words: 1,010

Outline:

Complication: Daniel makes choice.

Development: Daniel call Mom.

Memories cause uneasiness

Dad eases fears

Resolution: Daniel moves out. 

Week 4: Franklin

     Most textbooks or “informative” books come off as very bland, so I was pleasantly surprised by the tone at some points of the book. While his inner-monologue was slightly off-putting at times, it helped me stay engaged and made it an easy read.

     The “English Teacher’s Revenge” was a great way to discuss the outline. I knew exactly what he was talking about and identified with it a lot. As a whole, the Formal Outline sucks. Throughout my education, I’ve done my best to avoid them. Even when required, I’d sketch a quick outline of some paper, but probably not anything I would ever actually write. Franklin’s dynamic outline seems like something I would use though. It’s simple and it defines a path or idea to follow, but it doesn’t seem definite, there is room to stray and create.

     I also enjoyed the section about the “saga form.” The idea of writing in segments, each with a sort of cliffhanger is great. I’ve never really thought about it, or rather, never thought about it in my own writing. But you see it everywhere. Franklin’s example of Star Wars and movies made to have sequels is a perfect example. Something else I thought of was the feeling you get when reading a book and you just can’t put it down, you must read the next chapter. I’m interested to look and think more about the structure within smaller pieces, such as “Mrs. Kelly’s Monster.”