Prelude to Midterm Portfolio

I am constantly trying to better myself in any way possible, be it in character or skills. I understand that improvement only comes as a result of time and effort. In efforts to further my growth as a writer, I have revised and reflected upon three pieces I have written in the last month, which you can find below. Since I seem to have difficulty delving into details about my personal experiences and thoughts when I am all too concerned with my unfamiliar with my audience, or when I am acutely aware of an academic setting, rectifying my dissociation with my writing is my main focus in my revisions.

More Than a Grade: Introduction

"More Than a Grade" introduces me as a writer, providing my background ethnic background and how this affected my growth. It details the struggles I faced in the past regarding my understanding of—or lack, thereof—the education system and, consequentially, my confidence in my writing and communication ability. 

My first draft included many statements describing how others impacted me without providing details. I explain that “I realized that my writing was not garbage” in high school, but I do not elaborate on how. In my revised version, I recall my first essay experience in freshmen English in high school to explain how I became aware of the way my writing compares to others. I also recall other memories of my experiences leading up to that point, as well as some emotions I’ve battled with over the years and thoughts I found myself repeating.

I am also known by my friends and previous classmates for my somewhat lengthy introductions, which, while eloquent, wade into a topic. My original post about my writing experiences delved quickly into the topic of my English scores and how my test results affected my opinion of my writing. While I was able to jump into the subject more quickly, it simply was not my style. 

Upon re-reading, I cannot say I am fond of my original draft at all. It feels as though the piece does not belong to me. In my revision, I embrace my style and the strength in my introductions. The addition, however, is not frivolous: I use my introduction to paint a better image of my life and my relations with my parents so that my reader can better understand my parents’ views on my education and the views I, myself, adopted.

While the revised version is substantially longer, I do not believe it is verbose, but provides more substance than the original. It is a personal narrative rather than a summary and comparison of then and now. The original draft is included after my revision for comparisons sake.

More Than a Grade

Revised:

The stereotypical picture of a Chinese household is pair of "Tiger Parents" and a child pressured into learning to play a musical instrument and vigorously studying for exams, either alone in the comfort of his home or in a stifling exam-preparation classroom. This stereotype is based on true scenarios common throughout the Asian-American population—myself included.

I come from a Chinese household that values education as a means of securing my prosperous future. According to my parents, test results could make or break my future. I needed to test well so that I could attend and graduate from a prestigious university and find a job immediately after that would provide financial stability and prosperity. Years ago, I let myself believe in the same line of thought, and test results came to measure my worth. If I wanted praise, if I wanted to feel proud of myself, I had to do well—I had to score in the top percentile.

As a child, I lived my life in blissful ignorance of test performances. Once I became aware of them in third grade, however, I let define me. I remember English was my worst subject in elementary school. My standardized English scores were never on-par with other subjects. Thus, I must have been terrible at communicating and writing. I was embarrassed that my English was so lacking compared to my Mathematics, which were at the top of my game. 

"How come you didn't get 100%?" my parents would ask me after a Language Arts test. I was left staring at them with large eyes, unable to answer. Why? Why was I struggling to do well? I didn't know. I didn't know what I needed to improve or how. I came to dread English tests; I knew I would not be able to get a perfect score like I would in Math. 

I remember how absolutely certain I was that English was my worst subject, despite seeing my grades represented in numbers—despite English topping my History scores in middle school. The numerical data did not matter this time. My writing was terrible because of my parents' initial reaction to my standardized test results. As an impressionable child who did not understand how standardized testing worked, this became my reality. I let it lower my confidence in my writing.

After entering high school, I realized that my writing was not garbage as I had previously been led to believe. When I wrote my first essay for 9th grade English, I did "well" when I turned in my first draft. Even without revising my papers for my teachers, my initial scores were passing. My classmates would catch a glimpse of the "70" on my paper to regard me in awe. I was confused before my teacher began explaining the revision process, telling us not to worry about the average scores of 20%. In fact, I received compliments for my essay from my teachers and peers, when my work was shared. My teachers' words of encouragement and praise throughout high school mended the wounds to my self-esteem I had inflicted upon myself over the years. I am no longer afraid to share my work.

I realized that I express myself better through written word than spoken word as a result of my lifelong hearing impairment. My sentences are more elegant; my thoughts are clearer, more profound and sophisticated. When I am writing, I no longer find myself fumbling to find the right word or worrying about my pronunciation or accidentally derailing my train of thought.

Regaining my confidence in writing, whether conversational for correspondences via email or academic essays or storytelling, makes me feel more at ease for the future. I am confident that I can present myself professionally. I know that my writing ability will be a useful asset in the future for storytelling and game design. Because I am confident in my writing, I do not feel limited by my skill; I am free to create as much as my imagination allows and share it with the world.

My Affection: Introduction

As a human being with interests—as a nerd who is, as John Green states, "unironically enthusiastic about stuff"—it is only understandable that I would find myself enthusiastic about writing and discussing "My Affection," or my obsession.

In my original discussion post, I purposely kept my descriptions vague, despite knowing that vagueness created a barrier, a distance between my audience and me. I was talking about myself without allowing the reader to see into my passions. I mentioned the things I do when I find myself invested in a fandom, a series I am obsessed with, without ever mentioning the series or why I loved it, specifically. 

When I wrote my original post, I was fully conscious of the fact that if I began talking about my current obsession, I would be opening floodgates and babble on about why I love Yowamushi Pedal. In my revision, I remove this limiter on my writing. I retain the majority of what I wrote originally, but then continue on to explain how Yowamushi Pedal falls into the pattern of my obsessions. I provide examples of characters that I love and use their stories to explain why they are likeable and what emotions they inspire from me. While I regard my revision with criticism for its length, I do believe that the length and description I provide serve to illustrate my obsession with the series and the characters. Both the revision and the original post are included for comparison's sake.

My Affection

Revised: 

Obsession generally carries a negative connotation, as though unhealthy. Google defines an obsession as something that "preoccupies or fills the mind continually, intrusively, and to a troubling extent." I simply define an obsession as something that inspires vibrant emotions and consumes my time by choice—something I not only enjoy, but love.

The things I become obsessed with exist in the realm of fiction. While I have previously been embarrassed by this because I was afraid that others would look down on me for my passion for something that is "not real," they do exist. Fiction has just as much influence as a real experience. The characters in a game or a cartoon reflect characteristics found in mankind.

I embrace my obsessions with video games, cartoons, and anime for the stories they tell and the lessons they teach. Whichever series speaks out to me the most will push itself to the forefront of my mind; it consumes me, relating all of my thoughts back to the series. This becomes my obsession of the moment. 

I know I love a series when I love each character despite his flaws. I know I am obsessed with a series when I find myself particularly attached to an antagonist, acting as an apologist for this warped character. I know when I am consumed by a series when I invest the time and money to cosplay (i.e. costume play) my favorite characters. I know I am taken with a series when my hand itches to draw, even when I do not have an idea or composition in mind, and I absentmindedly default to doodling my favorite characters. I know I am particularly smitten by a character when I draw him over and over without ever growing bored. 

My current obsession is Yowamushi Pedal, a Japanese anime about competitive cycling. As a common theme in sports anime, the characters have a one-track mind for their sport of choice, constantly pushing themselves to train harder and grow stronger, mentally and physically.

I have several favorite characters that reflect traits that I appreciate: Shunsuke Imaizumi and Akira Midousuji. 

Shunsuke Imaizumi is a character on the protagonists' team who is naturally talented and smart. He is an ace, excelling in every field of cycling (sprinting, climbing, endurance). Imaizumi's weakness, however, is his inability to mentally overcome his losses. He allows himself to be dragged down, dejected, when his ultimate rival—the main antagonist, Akira Midousuji—is able to surpass his abilities with ease, despite his training. Imaizumi is eventually able to move past this mental block with the help of his teammates, who continue to support and trust in his abilities and carry them to victory despite losing to Midousuji. 

Imaizumi does not allow his repeated losses to Midousuji prevent him from trying to grow; he does not allow himself to become so consumed by Midousuji that he cannot focus on any other opponent for what he may be worth.

Akira Midousuji is the main antagonist, a manipulative character who cares little about discarding his teammates for victory. When his teammates are no longer useful, he abandons them, leaving half of his team to drop out while he continues on ahead. In Midousuji's mind, there is no "foul play" in cycling, only a means to winning. He even goes so far as to lie to Imaizumi to cause Imaizumi to falter; he tells Imaizumi that his mother was run over by a road racer going 60 or 70 kilometers per hour and killed during the race.

Midousuji's focus and hard-work inspires me, but his backstory also makes my heart ache. Midousuji's personality and his goals does reflects his past. He was bullied as a child for being no good at any other sport. His sick mother died during one of his races. He was told by another, older cyclist, that anything to ensure victory was fair play. His obsession for winning is the result of a promise to his deceased mother: he will win every race and get the gold at Tour de France. I can especially appreciate him for the nuances of his character—his quirks and desires are tied to his past. He rides his bike with his body leaned so far forward his chin nearly meets the ground, his body away from the seat, so that his mother could sit on his bike as he pedaled forward. He displays his teeth often because his mother told him that it was his charm point. He manipulates others because he learned the tactic from someone else. His favorite color is yellow because yellow is the color of happiness, which reminds him of his time with his mother.

I have found myself drawing characters from Yowamushi Pedal repeatedly since I watched it. I have a predilection for drawing Midousuji, whether I am driven because of his unique character design, exploration of his character, or my desire to make him happy. I have bought a jersey to use for cosplay for my favorite overall team. It feels as though as more time passes, I find myself even more attached to the series than I was the day before. I am obsessed.

Stepping Stones: Introduction

“Stepping Stones” is my first official essay of university, and the piece that has given me the most grief. It is a personal narrative on a piece of writing advice that influences me, but I do not particularly feel as though writing advice resonates with me as “writing advice” as much as it does with my art.

I revised several other pieces of my writing to speak more about myself before attempting to revise “Stepping Stones” again. I hoped to build upon my ability to talk specifically about myself with more deliberately conversational pieces and find a balance between my usual authoritative and academic tone and my conversational tone. While I frown upon their length, each piece helped me focus on writing more specifically about myself, conveying my emotional states in a given situation and recalling specific memories as evidence and description. I could certainly revise “Stepping Stones” further, but I feel as though I have achieved the best product I can provide at this given time without simply scrapping it altogether and starting over. I hope that I have succeeded in achieving a better median.

My original introduction—not just the first paragraph, but the introduction to the piece of writing advice—was much longer. After several revisions with the goal of cutting my writing to make it shorter and make the information more pertinent in mind, and after enough time passed so I did not feel emotionally attached to my writing, I finally managed to cut my introduction to half its original length.

The problem with my original introduction was largely due to the fact that it followed my usual desire to explain my train of logic. I am particularly fond of writing meta-analysis and psycho-analysis about characters in the series I find myself obsessed with (see: “My Affection”), and thus I am used to explaining every detail that typically go disregarded or forgotten so that I can build credibility in my premise, and I can easily refer to one particular detail later on in my analysis.

The most difficult part about revising my essay, however, was shedding my strictly academic tone in favor of writing about myself and using my personal experiences as evidence. While I have nothing against talking about myself in a conversational tone, my writing always takes on an authoritative tone when I set out to write with a goal or message in mind. Approaching the piece as an academic essay only served to further stilt my personal narrative, so I struggled with inserting myself in my paper.

Stepping Stones

Alyssa Gu                                                                  Responses by: Kirsten Kaschock,

Dr. Kirsten Kaschock                                                   Kevin Brady, Brennan Busza, Reed Cornish

English 101-006                                                          Julian Mayers, Alex Varsik

26 October 2014

Stepping Stones

Earth’s population growth in the last century has fostered the growth of larger societies. Surrounded by a sea of people, people who have a tendency to create groups or labels and overgeneralize, the individual has become obsessed with making himself known.

As a result of the internet, the world has simultaneously made itself larger and smaller, expanding each user’s reach to a global scale with instantaneous accessibility and exposure. Individuals recognize this phenomenon and find themselves longing to be recognized, to influence, and to be remembered. With so many people in the world, each person finds himself struggling to discover what makes him unique and how to leave a lasting impression on society.

When searching for what offsets him from others, the individual exams what he is passionate about. Often times, he falls back on his natural gifts. Society celebrates and glorifies each other’s visible artistic expression or athletic distinction; the time and effort dedicated to developing these abilities integrate them into his identity. They become labels to be worn proudly—defining attributes. I introduce myself as an artist, but as I pursue my preferred mediums, I find myself in a global competition to make my mark.

Some people look at my drawings as if I magically learned anatomy and color theory overnight. They see “talent” without considering the hours spent over the years to train my artistic eye and hand-eye coordination. Ignorantly, a viewer may ask, “How do you draw so well?” or “How are your lines so clean?” I often answer the second question by providing a video of myself drawing the same line five times over, undoing the stroke before trying again. Each try allows my hand to produce line quality closer to my goal—what I envision. It takes time to produce results.  

Neil Gaiman is plagued with the question “How does one get published?” The answer to that question is simple: “You do it. You write. You finish what you write” (Gaiman). Becoming a recognized and respectable writer is not achieved overnight. If there was a tutorial anyone could follow to churn out a book overnight, artistic mastery would no longer be venerated. It takes time to brainstorm and give an idea a form, sculpting it daily until it finally takes on a recognizable shape, touching it up until it finally becomes a work of art.

As an artist, I have spent my entire life learning to see beauty and reality. Still-lifes, landscapes, figures. I study anatomy, observe the mechanics of machines and infrastructure, follow the form of an apple on the table in efforts to comprehend the physics behind it all so I can accurately translate three-dimensional reality to two-dimensions. I have produced countless doodles in efforts to train my muscles to move as my imagination dictates. Hours upon hours of my life have been dedicated to recreating my own vision and bringing my art to life, constantly striving to improve so that my art is distinguishable and can become another’s inspiration. 

One cannot simply develop a lifetime’s worth of imagination or mechanical coordination overnight. One cannot simply become a master of linguistics without observing the melody and cacophony of speech. One cannot suddenly have an epiphany and be enlightened with the knowledge garnered through years of trial and error without having spent those years tasting, hearing, smelling the words he produces.

The top two rules to Neil Gaiman’s “8 Rules of Writing” are simple: “Write. Put one word after another. Find the right word, put it down” (Popova). Writing is simply the art of stringing a set of words together—stringing words into phrase after phrase—and forming a coherent train of thought—or incoherent. One learns what works well and what does not through practice.

“I’m not good enough,” I find myself spitting out sourly. Dissatisfaction and bitterness creep their way into my words, written in my scowl, upon the realization that there are always people better than me. Feeling inadequate is not uncommon; my successes are preceded by failures. I once spent hours drafting Christmas poster designs for Sci-Fi club, creative exhaustion slowly pushing me to experiment with sillier ideas in order to meet my minimum goal of ten drafts. In the end, the jokes I proposed were the most interesting, and I drew R2-D2 as a Christmas ornament. Each draft taught me what works well and what to avoid. I practice. I experiment. Accidents happen. My attempts may be disastrous or they may be inspiring.

Rule number six of Gaiman’s list states to fix the failures but remember “you will have to let it go and move on and start to write the next thing” (Popova). Perfection is impossible, but expertise is a continuous struggle of growth, jumping hurdle after hurdle. “Perfection,” as Gaiman states, “is like chasing the horizon. Keep moving” and expand your horizons.

Write a word. Take a step forward. Then another. Another. Put down words, draw lines. Draw another. Take another step along the road; be willing to step back and change your course of action, but in the end, “Finish what you’re writing,” Gaiman advocates. I have a habit of leaving works in progress sitting, collecting dust, but I always try to finish what has been started, eventually. Even if I loathe a piece, I force myself to salvage what you can, even if it is just the idea. When I try, I give myself an opportunity to stumble upon something great, or simply move on.

Malcolm Gladwell explains in Outliers that it takes roughly ten-thousand hours of practice to become a master. To become a master wordsmith, a writer puts in ten-thousand hours of work. To become a great artist, I will put ten-thousand hours into sketching, painting, observing. Once I have spent ten-thousand hours drawing people, I will be able to draw figures from any angle and any expression without reference with full understanding of how shadows and lights fall on the contours of the body.

I cannot take shortcuts to become a great artist. Results are not, as much as each person wishes for them to be, instantaneous. Results are produced from time well spent. Mastery is a lifelong struggle—always with room for improvement. Greatness comes as the result of ten-thousand hours of labor, one step at a time.

Works Cited

Gaiman, Neil. "Advice to Authors." Neil Gaiman. Harper Collins Publishers, n.d. Web. 30 Sep. 2014.

Popova, Maria. "Neil Gaiman’s 8 Rules of Writing." Brain Pickings. N.p., n.d. Web. 30 Sep. 2014.