Chapter 8

Alice G. Brand's essay on science of the brain concluded this way: healing is a form of learning. Any gain we make with our minds if technically an alteration-- that's how we might feel confusion about something, and then once we write it out it becomes more clear, or at least easier to handle emotionally.

This reminded me of a book I read in a class called Decisions Decisions Decisions. I forget the name of the book, but the whole argument was that emotion was crucial to making decisions. Humans are can barely objectify fully. Pretty everything we think and say have some sort of feeling towards it. It also explains why some science findings get skewed-- there is the political climate, backed by money and feelings, that can sway us. Sometimes memory (and feeling) can be forgotten, but either way, it has made an impact.

Personally, I've been told to not try to figure out why I feel the complicated feelings I feel. It's too much time and effort and it's full of dissappointment. I should move forward and do what's best for me. Sometimes I feel that as humans we are full of formulas and the one we always try to reach for is to be happy-- read a book, go outside, eat good food, spend time with friends. But is that just a distraction from the real thing? What if we write and we don't feel great about what he taught ourselves? Not to mention that trying to figure out the happy formula or always trying to live up to it is exhausting for many.

Uncomfortable Complicity

I can’t think of any. I know that’s bullshitty to say, but it’s true. All I can think about are going along with a group of friends’ idea, what a restaurant to eat at or a what ride to go on first. Most of these times didn’t feel uncomfortable. If they did, there would be a little feeling of constraint or waiting for an “I told you so” moment while I calculated that staying with the group was better than not. Or if someone was talking shit about somebody, I would add in other qualifiers, “yeah, but he’s generally a good guy. He’s just trying.” I always use “just trying.” I use that because most people can’t make sense of the world they’re in or want to get out so all they can do is try. The result, however, may be mostly out of their hands. I wouldn’t be happy if someone was talking about me so objectively, and I know I do stuff that could bring it up.  The Golden Rule and the “if they jumped off a cliff would you do the same? No, you would not” thing was highly instilled in me from my parents. I watched so much Full House and Step by Step that I don’t have any after school specials of my own for this category. Situations like these are pretty simple—just look at the scene from the camera’s view, and you’ll see yourself looking like an asshole then feeling guilt in Act 2. Guilt for not pointing out what you think should be said and guilt for lying to yourself. You are supposed to be your best friend, after all, and if you lie to your best friend, what kind of person are you?

Who knows, maybe I do have a couple moments deep in my mind. I like to compartmentalize my bad memories. I have a set of them, each with a story arch, and that’s what I tell. So there could be some moment perfect for this prompt somewhere in my history, but I’m too lazy to—or maybe don’t feel it’s personally necessary to—dig up a bad memory at this time.

Chapter 3

On pages 34 and 35 Warnock says, “Indirection is the way we find direction; only rarely do we live by the straight and narrow, travel the direct route, or know where we're going before we begin.” I know everyone has heard something like this before, but I still find it comforting to hear because this happens in life and in writing. And in the case of personal, the story is probably a little messy. The only thing you can clean up is the non-quoted diction and syntax. 

I also highly enjoyed this section on page 36, “You never have to start writing because you are always writing, and you never have to stop writing because you're always working on many things at once. In addition, you're always learning, figuring, and doing rhetoric; your work is never done.” For one, it gives me an excuse to not be someone who is always writing a novel or writes five pages every day or something. I’m a worker writing when I write for school or online, and then I am also a passive writer when I tuck away ideas for later. Either way, there is the constant question to life events or ideas: "how am I going to arch this?" Isn't there a story everywhere?

Another quote on page 37 sticks out, “Our arguments do not rely on claims to truth or on logical absolutes. Rather, our arguments rely on common grounds between writers and readers who are willing to give a little in order to come to terms, since that is the aim of their rhetoric.” This really speaks to the relationship between writer and reader and allows the writer to tell his/her point of view. Many of what we write is about how we feel, and though it is not fact, within the POV lies a certain truth in which the reader can choose to accept, empathize, sympathize, and/or reject.

Voice (Chapter 1 and 2)

As a kid, I didn’t worry about volume or power of my voice because I had to spend too much time trying to form the words correctly. When my mother first told me I had to go to speech class I got nervous because I thought I would have to stand on stage and announce Shakespeare. I was happily surprised when I entered an office with a handful of other kids playing games. So from first to fifth grade I went to these classes, skipping out of other lessons or going very early in the morning. I got “th” and “s” confused and had trouble with “sh” and “ch.” I was also generally a messy speaker. Many times I would say something and kids would never respond, not realizing I spoke or feeling too awkward to ask me to repeat.

I should have been in speech longer, but once I was in middle school the service was only offered after hours. My parents figured that I could get by because I no longer messed up syllables so it wasn’t deemed necessary. Those days I was still asked to repeat, and sometimes I just stayed quiet because I didn’t feel like pronouncing everything. And as time went on, people started noticed my impediments less and instead focused on something else.

Towards the end of eighth grade, two boys made fun of the way I moved my hands when I spoke. I’m half-Italian and when I get very comfortable and excited tend to wave my hands around. They challenged me to talk without them, and naturally, because there was so much hype over this, I had a hard time. But maybe it wasn’t just because I couldn’t; maybe it because I didn’t want to. Though the school was only fifteen minutes from South Philly, lots of kids commented on how I said “wuder” and when “library” became “liberry” because so many of the students in my school were daughters and sons of transferred professors and lawyers. Most of their families came from out of state while most of mine were in the same county.

So during the first week of freshman year at IC when my friends didn’t know what the word “beggle” was (it’s bagel), I wasn’t surprised. My accent has been addressed to me so many times and I’ve learned how to use it to my advantage. Whenever I want to charm someone I suddenly make sparks with my hands and do an almost Fonzie-like “eh” followed by a typical ‘talian “yoo know.” Instantly I become your average Jane—or should I say Janie Marie Palermo.

Sometimes I still get into my mumble pattern and get frustrated when I have to put in so much effort to be understood. And when I do get mad the accent comes out, waving arms and all. 

Whose Voice is it Anyway?

Read Ann Ruggles Gere's article (chapter 2)  "Whose Voice Is It Anyway?"     Write a new blog entry.  Represent her argument and what you find most compelling about it.  Identify what you'd like the class to focus on in response to the essay, and pose a question for discussion.  Post your blog entry by 10 a.m. Thursday morning.


Gere's argument is that a person's voice is made up of multiple influences from people. These influences prove to not only shape a person's voice (both physically and contextually) but also can help to give voice to other people.

I think her argument was interesting but not very compelling because her presentation was muddled. I wasn't sure what I was reading, as it started personal then jumped then had references from literature, some parts without much contribution to her argument.


I found her last quote of Their Eyes Were Watching God very telling and for Gere answers the question: can you tell someone else's story properly? And my question for class is: can you?

Another point of note is the Coles and Vote's quote on page 32.