A Short Story : The Story Of Dorothy Allison's Story

Trista had always been a normal kid except for her stories. It wasn't that they were disturbing or horrific, they were just unusual. Sometimes they seemed exactly like the kind of thing you'd expect from a kid, but other times, I'd have to look at her and wonder how she came up with such things. It started when she was four, shortly after our dad split, leaving the two of us on our own.

“By telling stories, you objectify your own experience. You separate it from yourself. You pin down certain truths. You make up others. You start sometimes with an incident that truly happened, like the night in the shit field, and you carry it forward by inventing incidents that did not in fact occur but

“Most times the stories were little more than anecdotes, short of breath and short of life.”

With this statement, Jacobs specified her purpose for writing and her intended audience.  This insight gives readersan understanding of why she chose to include what she did in her story as well as why she chose to exclude other details.  Although this work is presented as a narrative of

Yet while she worked hard to achieve her academic goals, a part of her was upset.

Florence’s Uncle said “you’ll have a happy life here at Crutchfield Hall, I promise you”. Florence thought to herself “I did not say it, but the prospect of a happy life with Aunt seemed uncertain at best”. As Florence held it in, I reflected back on myself, because I have no filter, I say what I think all the time and I will straight up tell someone that I do not like them. So reflecting back on me to Florence, I can tell that she is too nice to tell the bad truth to someone. Florence is that kind of person that holds deep secrets, especially with deep feelings, with everything that she is going through just would cause her to blow up one day because she is that kind of girl that has those sad eyes. Florence has a very troubled life but she

I was never very interested in my grandmother’s stories about her childhood. The stories were long and the only thing that they taught me were how to smile and nod so the elderly woman in front of me did not feel bad. Her voice was the only reason that I came to her house anymore. The melodic tone that danced around the room filling it with happiness and golden mellifluous sound that once adorned these gray white trimmed walls, but the woman sitting in front of me was not the one in that pictures that adorned these walls. No, the woman sitting in front of me was a wrinkled and defeated version of the great woman that is featured in thee pictures. She sat there just staring at me with her glazed over eyes that showed her age. She opened her mouth and the sonorous words began to come out, but I payed no attention. All I cared about was that wonderful voice.

When my mom married my step-dad, Jon, in 2009, I was only eight. I had to move and I was getting a whole new family that I had never even met before, so of course I was scared. I met Mabel Hickman a little while after the wedding. She was a family friend that my step-dad had grown up with. Mabel was the nicest person I had met in my life and she made me feel very welcome. She was born on December 25, 1923 in South Bend, Indiana. She met her husband, Marvin, at Fort Custer when she was in her late teens. They got married not too long after meeting each other on October 31, 1940 when Mabel was only 17. Unfortunately, Mabel died last year when she got sick. Mabel Hickman is my hero because she never stopped being nice to people, even though she went through a lot or even if the person didn’t deserve her kindness. Not only was the nicest person I had ever met, but she was amazingly talented.

Dorothy Allison starts off by lying to deceive and bring out a false impression of her childhood. She reminisces about the past and does not tell her girlfriend Jesse that the stories she tells are actually about her growing up in a brutal and unpleasant family in South Carolina. Unlike Jesse who was raised in a higher class she was not able to experience a regular childhood and it had created many conflicts within herself psychologically. Jesse saw her life as a fairytale and believed everyone else did as well . When Jesse would ask about the

I am writing this letter to tell you how much you are meant to me. From the moment that I saw you, you steal my heart. Oh, my dear Edna, you do not know how much I am dying here in Mexico. I missed you so much. You know, it is warm and hot here, but my heart only has light when I thought about you, my dear Edna. I missed your eyes, the sparkle of your smiles, and your soft touch.

One of the antagonists in my screenplay is Josh Camp’s mother named Dorothy Camp. She is a skinny red headed woman with marble green eyes, whose main objective is to make sure her son is successful in life. Her birthday is June 15th of 1977, which makes her a gemini. This is important to note because she is constantly changing her mood and the way she decides to handle situations. She is aware that she is a Gemini and constantly uses it as excuses for her bipolar lifestyle. Furthermore, she grew up during disastrous events such as the Chernobyl nuclear disaster and challenger space shuttle disaster, which contribute to her stress and anxiety.

She’d alway had a bad reputation. Every new school ended with her being expelled. It wasn’t her fault, it never was. She had a habit of always being at the wrong place at the wrong time. She was bullied at the third school she went to. People tired her so she went under the bleachers on the football field. A few guys were there, making fun of the football players and… smoking weed. She started to walk pass them, the smell of the smoke was killing her lungs. One of the boys grabbed her short hair and tugged her over in his direction. He forced his mouth to hers and pushed a puff of smoke down her throat and into her lungs. She gagged as he sent another puff down her throat. She had no idea how long he had been forcing her to smoke but then

As the ground shook, everyone already knew who, and what was coming. She was born and raised by an old white country woman in deep Mississippi. Her real mother was killed by 10-foot-tall southern slave owners who accused her of stealing cloths. Margery was only three when she was taken in.

There once was a mischievous and self centered girl who was only fifteen which was very old during her time in The 20th century, her name was Vera. She was an only child and lived with only her mother. One day after being homeschooled, she ran out her doors and sang obnoxiously to annoy her neighbors.

Today was Olivia’s least favorite day of the year, the first day of school. She didn't hate school but she really enjoyed summer. Olivia loved waking up at twelve in the afternoon practically everyday not needing to brush her teeth and just having the freedom to do whatever she want with no structure or schedule. Now she is back on schedule waking up at six in the morning with clean teeth and out the house by 6:20 sharp. Olivia is pretty much a pro at this school thing now. She has moved up to the upperclassmen as a third grader and is ecstatic about it. She was tired of all the big kids calling her and all her classmates babies, she was officially a big kid. Olivia walked to her kitchen to see what her father made for breakfast. Of course, her favorite whole grain toast with apple butter and her dad's famous scrambled eggs. “good morning love bug” her dad says which he has said every single day since kindergarten. “Dad I am not a little kid anymore stop calling me that please? I am a third grader now” Olivia's dad ignores the comment and calls her love bug the rest of the morning during the drive to school.