Reader Response Three
1. Using paragraph four of Michihiko Hachiya’s “Hiroshima Diary”, from the text, The Writer’s Presence, pp. 107-112 as a model, I hope to write a description of a room in my home.
My office was a tiny room with too many things in it. It was crowded by a large desk and bookshelf at one end of the room, a treadmill, and a couple of filing cabinets along the other end wall. It was dark, cramped, and filled with unnecessary items. The room’s transformation from dark and cluttered, to bright and useful, simply due to the need for a more useful space is complete. The renovation started on a Saturday morning, and by Sunday afternoon the room was a completely different space. Giant corner desk, with an abundance of wasted space, was replaced by a floating shelf set neatly on the wall. Filing cabinets became end tables, and the treadmill, still present, is resting in a corner, far from interfering with the room’s chi, yet still entirely accessible.
2. Using paragraph eleven from George Orwell’s “Shooting an Elephant,” from the text, The Writer’s Presence, pp. 180-186 as a model, I wish to convey a description of my usual morning routine.
Without fail, the alarm I set last night goes off at exactly the time I had it set to wake me from my slumber. The noise of the alarm crashes into my sleep like a runaway train into the station. Noisy, uncaring, just crashing and doing what an alarm does, waking people from a restful slumber. I toss a balled up fist at the alarm, hopefully hitting the snooze button on the first try. Peace and silence returns to the room and in darkness I lie in bed thinking “must I?” The question being whether I must get up and go to work, or might I lie here with my wife sleeping gently next to me, in the cool, silent darkness of our bedroom. Finally, with a grunt, I rise from bed and feel my way to the bathroom in darkness, so as not to wake my bride. I close the door behind me, hoping to shield her eyes from the glaring obscenity that is my routine. Once in the bathroom, door closed, the assault begins. The light and fan turn on, eyes still closed, trying to deny the light any recognition of its presence, ears ringing from the noise of the exhaust fan. I turn on the faucet to the shower; eyes still closed, and begin to disrobe. Once in the shower, the hot water running over my head, shoulders and back, the blood begins to surge within me. I begin to feel alive and alert. My muscles tighten, and prepare themselves for the day ahead. My brain begins to play the schedule ahead of me as visual pictures. I stand in the shower long enough that the water begins to run cold. Hurriedly I wash, hoping the hot water lasts long enough for my final rinse. Finally, hot water exhausted, I emerge from the shower, eyes wide open, brain on fire, excited to begin my day. Slowly I open the door to the bedroom, letting the light creep across the floor to my personal Snow White. She stirs as the light crosses her face. I lean over...