Creative Writing Essay On Lolita: Fate of the Faded
Professors instructions:
Nabokov breathed life and complexity into a pedophile, making us feel Humbert Humbert's humanity even while knowing HH was doing something reprehensible. When Nabokov wrote Lolita, traveling across the USA, he kept a tight rein on his own son Dimitri, making sure no harm would come to him from some "predator." In other words, Nabokov created a character quite opposite from his own life, morals, and beliefs. Your challenge in your final paper is to create a character completely opposite from your own ethics and make that character sympathetic. In other words show us his/her humanity while doing something you personally would find distasteful to downright horrific--a suicide bomber, for example. In the critical component of your paper you can draw from any of the books we've read this semester.
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About the course:
Teachers instructions:
The paper itself should be four pages plus at least one additional full page of critical commentary. Please note these are not complete stories—this is not a workshop—but rather pieces (scenes, “glimmers”) highlighting your explorations with craft. The paper grades will depend on your insight into the readings, in particular how an author's “unlikeable” characters are developed, made complex and “humanized,” along with how your creative piece addresses this. You should discuss these things in your critical commentary along with citing examples from our reading. This paper should be 4 pages plus a full page or more of critique.
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Critical commentary: After the 4 page creative writing is finished, the assignment asks for a 1 page critical commentary. This is what she said about it in class: Connect your own writing to the book we read. (Lolita). Use specific examples from one of the books, such as a particular story or scene, what the author did in that scene and mention how you did something similar in your own writing. Such as "Like -insert author here- I, in my piece, also wrote about a character in the landscape that reflected this and that." Describing the authors style/your style, etc.
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My instructions:
This is a 400 (senior) level creative writing class at a top university. This should be a creative writing essay (lots of description) allowing the reader to visualize the story you are telling. The professor does not allow for any spelling or grammatical errors, so a NATIVE English speaker is required.
Fate of the Faded
As the sky meets the morning once again, the hustle and bustle of the city come to greet me like an alarm you can never turn off. The buzzing sound the cars make as they whiz by bothered me more today than other days. I put my foot one in front of the other, making my way to the curb. A bus stops to my right. The scissor-like doors open with the all too familiar sound of wear. I get up on the steps as other passengers rush up as if they all were late for a company meeting, making it appear as if their time was so much more precious. I find an empty seat, then I notice a boy sitting right across me. He was wearing a white button down shirt and khaki shorts. "He probably goes to Lincoln," I whispered to myself. He stares at me with a sense of knowing. For some very odd reason, I can't bring myself to look away. He shook his head from left to right. I mimic, bewildered. He smiles, takes his hand, shapes it into a gun and points it at his temple. He jerks it and lays his head on the railing next to him.
I can still smell the smoke from the exhaust of the bus as I stepped down on my stop. I walk to the nearby 7-11 and buy myself a pack of cigarettes. Red. Marlboro. My head still in a bit of whiplash as I keep on remembering the image of that boy in the bus. "He was weird, wasn't he?" As I was about to light my cigarette, this old man came up to me and asked for a light. He rode a mustang. He wore a leather jacket to match his tattered jeans - way too hot an outfit for a summer day. His jacket had patches all over, the stitching was sloppy. He had oil splatters on the ends of his jeans. The bags under his eyes suggest to me that he's had his fair share of misery. He probably has a lot of stories under his belt. All this before my first stick. Great. Out of nowhere, he asks me, "can you get me some cocaine?" It came to me like second nature. I said I could, but I left my car at home. "I'll take you."
I've never been in a convertible before. There's a part of me that dislikes the way the wind hits your face, nor do I like to hear the honking all the louder. After the longest ten minutes and three awkward country songs in between, we've arrived. This was the other side of town, known for its not-so legal activity. My ears are still ringing from the air that rushed into my ears as he was driving us to the place. I couldn't hear properly until he shouted it into my ear, "Well, hurry up, kid, I haven't got all day." The image of the boy almost alternating in my head with the ringing.
My heart was pounding. I didn't do this often. Not here. But I'll do whatever it takes to get my heroin. I had no money and no way to get my fix for the day. I don't think I can afford a day without it. The crash will be painful. It will. This will have to suffice. Suck it up. Living off a stranger will have to suffice. Go to the door. I knock on it, twice. Then, I wait. Three more times. I slid the money under the door. It opens. The first thing I saw was an eye, blue but bloodshot. He sneaks his tatted hand through the small slit on the doorway. I noticed an eye tattooed on his palm. The door slammed shut.
With the goods secured in my pocket, my mustang friend offers to drive us to the nearest train station. He says it's the most secure place to shoot up. I would have preferred the supermarket, but I obliged anyway. We raced down the stairs, as if being chased. Paranoia struck me hard. He kept pace. I got to the restroom first so I got first pick of the stalls. I chose the last one because I wouldn't want to have both sides of me exposed. He chose the stall next to me. I give the cocaine, a spoon and a needle. I prepare my heroine when he interjects by saying "give me some of that!" He did pay for the lot so I gave him what was left.
I place the needle onto the visible vein on my left arm. This is it. I can almost the blood pulsing through my skin. I flick my finger on it. So close. It tears a hole and I push. I push in the heroine and I know th...