America, the Hypocritical

1935 Germany: Marriages between Jews and citizens of German or kindred blood are forbidden. Marriages concluded in defiance of this law are void, even if, for the purpose of evading this law, they were concluded abroad.
1911 Nebraska: Marriages are void when one party is a white person and the other is possessed of one-eighth or more negro, Japanese, or Chinese blood.

I don't understand.  I don't understand how anyone with a conscience can argue that because of someone's skin color, or religion, or sexual orientation, they don't deserve equality.  I don't understand how our country can stand up and say that Hitler's discrimination violated human rights when parallel laws in America were enforced long before and long after Hitler's Nuremberg laws.  How can Americans criticize the Germans for their medical experiments on Jews but defend the fact that it was okay for them to extract cells and experiment on blacks such as Henrietta Lacks and others?  What is even more confusing is that racism is still alive and well today in America.  This summer some family friends came up to visit from Arkansas.  Collette, the guidance counselor at her children's school in Little Rock, told me that she heard from white parents regularly complaining about "those black kids" causing trouble and how they wanted them removed from the school.  It's not just in the South either.  The other day I was brought to tears as my black friend told me about the horrendous comments he gets every day for the color of his skin.   I don't understand that a country that started as a refuge for those who were discriminated against, that fought for independence and equality for all people, and throughout its history has fought for the equality and freedom of other people around the world, can't even represent and fulfill its "so-called" values.  I simply don't understand.

The Fence Post That Had Scrambled Eggs For Breakfast.

What if Annie Dillard read William Kennedy's story about eggs? She would tell him "All things in the world were interesting, infinitely interesting, so long as you had attention to give them."  I wonder if Annie Dillard's advice would lead William Kennedy's story about eggs to become interesting.  So then I thought, "What is the most boring thing I can come up with and make it interesting?" The first thought that came to mind was the ever-cliche phrase associated with boredom: "watching paint dry."  I immediately pictured a white fence, freshly painted on a bright sunny day.  Though it was a satisfying image, what made it interesting?  So then I thought what if one fence post grew legs and a face formed, smiling at its new-found abilities and laughing at all the other fence posts that could not do anything except stay stuck in the ground?  The fence post would hop away dripping paint as he found his way to the same diner that Kennedy's man ordered scrambled eggs at.  The fence post would then slip onto the bar stool next to the man eating scrambled eggs and ordered the same thing.  The counterman would be so shocked that a wet fence post was sitting at his counter that he would forget to even recommend the goulash and serve the fence post the scrambled eggs he had ordered.  The fence post would eat, pay, and leave, leaving a big white-paint-fence-post-butt-mark on his stool. This image, unexpected, yes, but still boring and forgettable.
Reading all these short stories just emphasized the most important thing about writing that I have learned in AP Comp in two weeks: that writing requires emotion and personality.  Eudora Welty says a writer should not write about what he knows but what he doesn't know about he knows.  So combine this with Annie Dillard's advice and you have the ultimate guiding light of writing, right? Mix emotion and Welty and Dillard all up like it's my grandma's stuffing on Thanksgiving and shove it up that uncooked turkey that is a piece of paper, just waiting to be filled with interesting.  Kennedy knows the man went to the diner to eat eggs, but why? Would he go there every Sunday for breakfast eggs with his Pa, but now Pa is gone? Then make the reader feel his pain and sadness.  Why did the counterman want the man to order goulash instead?  Had he slaved over it all morning, perfecting it, just hoping someone would order and praise it? Then write about that.  Writing takes time, you have to go beyond what you know to find what makes it interesting.  The writing that sticks with people is the writing that makes them feel.  You want them to cry, and laugh, and scream at your words because that is what makes writing memorable, and that, is what makes writing interesting.

Why I Write

If George Orwell was to ask me "Why do you, Caroline Close, write?" I wouldn't be able to answer him right away.  When it comes down to it, there is not one single reason why I write, which I think is the same for almost everyone.  Sometimes, writing feels like a requirement.  I have to write for the teacher when I'd rather tell him/her in words or I have to write my point down in words because I don't know how I would say it out loud.  I think the main reason I write though is what Orwell has coined "aesthetic enthusiasm."  When I write, its all about sharing what I think is important in the world.  Writing is my way of remembering without missing out on any detail.  Writing is my way of telling everyone exactly what I think without them having to know at all.  Writing is my refuge from the storm of my emotions when I'm afraid they might take over.  Writing is my passionate love affair with words that makes other people on the outside cringe and it is the evolution of me as I grow, learn, and mature.  I write because sometimes there is no other way to express me.  Writing makes me feel smart, passionate, and proud.