Space L Clottey

UK system

Stanford Tuffs Dartmoth

“Cornocopia”, standard ideas for students coming to work with them

Really focus on the extracurriculours

Second Meeting

-— — — —

Thingy. Thingy. Thingy.

Essay we planned:

2. every person has a creative side, and it can be expressed in many ways: problem solving, original and innovative thinking, and artistically, to name a few. describe how you express your creative side.    

**

Actual writing of that essay:

FIRST DRAFT

Until recently, I wasn’t aware that stories had to have… well.. a point. I’ve been writing stories since I was eleven, but when I look back at those “stories”, they a lot more closely resemble assorted bags of the ideas swirling through my brain at the time of creation. In that sense, they almost act as a timecapsual of who I was at the time.

For example, when I was twelve I wrote the story “Craving Your Poison”, a x-word motel-based murder-mystery starring grape-hating Cloud Helix. It’s not his fault, his whole family is allergic to grapes. That’s how he learns that Hawkes, the resident homeless guy, is indeed a part of his family, when he swallows a grape and dies before Cloud’s eyes. Why would he do that? Spoiler alert — it was the motel’s lead, injecting every food item with a hyper-addictive food formula to drive business towards his new motel, one whose ingredients list predominantly featured… you guessed it… grapes.

The plot, of course, is kind of a mess. But five years later, what’s clear about the novel isn’t it’s timeline, or character motivations (far from it). No, what’s clear is the site of me grappling my own everpresence of a multitude of food allergies from an extremely excaggerated angle, culminating in the far too fictitious “death by grape”. And though my characterisation and plotting have since improved, the way I write is still, excactly like this, a reflection of my soul.

My most recent piece is “Quote Mania”, a coming-of-age sci-fi centred around Heye, a teen who loves to repeat quotes from his favourite cartoons. He’s drawn through a portal to an alien planet where everyone speaks in quotes and adores it. Except there’s one man who doesn’t speak like that, w

My most recent piece is “Quote Mania”, a book that on the surface is centered a boy called Heye who is whisked away to an alien planet, and has to stop a tech-powered outsider from changing the brains of every alien on the planet who love to speak in quotes — including Heye. On the surface, it is a classic Hero’s Journey Isekai. But as the story moves further, you learn the villain’s motivation wasn’t really the explicit reasoning about the downsides of quotes to the quoter, but really how he was driven crazy through isolation and the inconsiderate behaviour of those who quoted around him. What it’s really about is me, realising over the course of a year how I had been unintentionally driving people around me crazy through my inability/refusal to read subtle soial cues, and learning to be better on that front.

What’s really unique about Quote Mania is that it, as a story, is itself a conclusion to another story, two that were taking place simultaneously but entirely separate within my mind. While I was making mistakes and learning how to become a better social creature, I was also exploring this new thing my brain had started to do in 2021, pulling up quotes from cartoons left right and center. In August of 2021, I wrote a blog post titled “Quote Therapy” in an attempt to codify this practice, and in December I adapted this into a podcast. The process of creating these and interacting with the ideas made me want to adress quoting from another angle, the downsides, and as such the impotetus for Quote Mania was born.

Writing is inherently creative not just because of the work you do, forging parts of the story into existence through necessity, and following these parts as they continue to exist indepedent of you, but because of the inspiration that goes into everything you make. Writing feels like channeling the world, thoughts, everything, through myself and into something I can understand, pick up, and work with. It doesn’t even matter that I’m not allergic to grapes, it still comes to mind that this killed my friend, my brother and son whenever I pick one up.

— What I love most about writing is how each part of the story is first forged into necessity via constraints, and these forced story beats then lead and become so much more, making your story something far more unexpected than you thought going into it. —

SECOND DRAFT

Until recently, I wasn’t aware that stories had to have… well…. a point. I’ve been writing stories since I was eleven, but when I look back at those “stories”, they a lot more closely resemble assorted bags of the ideas that were swirling through my head at the time of creation than carefully plotted pieces. In that sense, they almost better act as timecapsules of who I was at the time.

For example, when I was twelve I wrote “Craving Your Poison”, a ten-thousand-word motel-based murder mystery starring grape-interolant detective Cloud Helix. It’s not his fault, his whole family is allergic to grapes. That’s actually how he learns that Hawkes, the Hostel’s resident hobo, is actually a Helix too: he swallows a grape and dies right before Cloud’s eyes. Why would he do that? Spoiler alert, the motel manager was injecting every item of food with a hyper-addictive formula to drive business towards his motel, a formula which predominantly featured… you guessed it… grapes.

But fives years later, what’s clear about the novella isn’t its timeline, or what on earth the femma fatal character was supposed to be doing between pages three and fifteen becuase why would she be hiding out ready to capture Cloud if the manager didn’t alread—!?

Sorry, what is clear in the novel is the sight of me grappling with my everpresence of food allergies in a fictictious funbox of a world I control, culminating in death by grape. And though my characterisation and plotting have since improved, what I write is still always reflections of whichever fragments of my soul are yearning loudest to be processed.

For example, take my most recent novel, “Quote Mania”, a story of a boy who loves to speak in quotes from cartoons, who is whisked away to another world where everyone speaks in quotes; a world on which he must face off against Floop, an alien who intends to use his technology to wipe away everyone’s quoting.

On the surface it’s a classic Hero’s Journey, but as the story moves further, you learn that what the villain’s motivation was really about wasn’t even mostly about his philosophical objections to quoting, but really how he was driven crazy through isolation, and the inconsiderate behaviour of those around him. What the story is really about is me, realising over the course of a year how I had been unintentionally driving people around me crazy through my inability and subconcious refusal to respect subtle social cues, and learning to be a more socially competent individual on that front.

Quote Mania isn’t just the conclusion to the story of how I came to respect social cues, but also of my exploration of this bizzare new thing my brain started to do in the dawn of 2021, where it would pull up quotes from cartoons I had seen years ago and work them into my thoughts and speech. In August of 2021, I wrote a blog post titled “Quote Therapy” in an attempt to codify this practice, and in December I adapted this piece into a podcast. The process of creating these kept the idea of quoting in my head, making me want to adress quoting from the entirely other side. Its ugly, dark, annoying side.

Hence, Quote Mania was born.

Writing to me isn’t just the delightful fun of weaving plots together, and crafting a world, and foreshadowing and clues and tropes and the lot. It’s also funelling parts of my life into characters, into worlds, into morals and into conflicts rich on the page. Funelling these fluffy, ephemeral lessons into something I can understand, pick up, work with, and consume.

Just like a grape.

And finally of course you get the experience the joy of watch others consume your work, as though they are eating a delicious, delighfully addicting, non-poisoned grape.

unelling these fluffy, ephemeral lessons into something I can understand, pick up, work with and keep with me for the rest of my life.

Writing is inherently creative not just because of the work you do, forging parts of the story into existence through necessity, and following these parts as they continue to exist indepedent of you, but because of the inspiration that goes into everything you make. Writing feels like channeling the world, thoughts, everything, through myself and into something I can understand, pick up, and work with. It doesn’t even matter that I’m not allergic to grapes, it still comes to mind that this killed my friend, my brother and son whenever I pick one up.

as long as I don’t die by grape as long as I’m not poisoned by grapes.

end with “death by grape” somehow, that’s a fucking essay. and tease it in the middle.

GRAMMARLY

Until recently, I wasn’t aware that stories had to have… well…. a point. I’ve been writing stories since I was eleven, but when I look back at those “stories”, they a lot more closely resemble assorted bags of the ideas that were swirling through my head at the time of creation than carefully plotted pieces. In that sense, they almost better act as time capsules of who I was at the time.

For example, when I was twelve I wrote “Craving Your Poison”, a ten-thousand-word motel-based murder mystery starring grape-intolerant detective Cloud Helix. It’s not his fault, his whole family is allergic to grapes. That’s actually how he learns that Hawkes, the Hostel’s resident hobo, is in fact a Helix too: he swallows a grape and dies right before Cloud’s eyes. Why would he do that? Spoiler alert, the motel manager was injecting every item of food with a hyper-addictive formula to drive business towards his motel, a formula which predominantly featured… you guessed it… grapes.

But five years later, what’s clear about the novella isn’t its timeline, or characterisation, or what on earth the femme fatal character was supposed to be doing between pages three and fifteen because why would she be hiding out ready to capture Cloud if the manager didn’t alread—

Sorry, what is clear in the novel is the sight of me grappling with my ever-present food allergies in a fictitious funbox of a world I control, culminating in tragic death by grape. And though my characterisation and plotting have since improved, what I write is still always a reflection of whichever fragments of my soul are yearning loudest to be processed.

For example, take my most recent novel, “Quote Mania”, a story of a boy who loves to speak in quotes from cartoons, who’s whisked away to another world where everyone speaks in quotes; a world in which he must face off against Floop, an alien who intends to use his technology to wipe away everyone’s quoting.

On the surface, it’s a classic Hero’s Journey, but as the story moves further, you learn that the villain’s motivation wasn’t really even mostly about his philosophical objections to quoting, but really stem from how he was driven crazy through isolation, and the inconsiderate behaviour of those around him. What the story is really about is me realising over the course of a year how I had been unintentionally driving people around me crazy through my inability and subconscious refusal to respect subtle social cues, and learning to be a more socially competent individual on that front.

Quote Mania isn’t just the conclusion to the story of how I came to respect social cues, but also of my exploration of this bizarre new thing my brain started to do in the dawn of 2021, where it would pull up quotes from cartoons I had seen years ago and work them into my thoughts and speech. That August I wrote a blog post titled “Quote Therapy” in an attempt to codify this practice, and in December I adapted this piece into a podcast. The process of creating these kept the idea of quoting in my head, making me want to address quoting from the entirely other side. Its ugly, dark, annoying side.

Hence, Quote Mania was born.

Writing to me isn’t just the delightful fun of weaving plots together, and crafting a world, and foreshadowing and clues and tropes and the lot. It’s also funnelling parts of my life into characters, into worlds, into morals and into conflicts rich on the page. Funnelling these fluffy, ephemeral lessons into something I can understand, pick up, work with, and consume.

Just like a grape.

Tammy

Brown (RISD affiliation for animation)

Cornell (best Computer Science program & highest acceptance rate in the Ivies)

Princeton* (in New Jersey on a beautiful campus, but NYC is very accessible)

Amherst College*

Tufts, Brandeis, Boston University, and Boston College (all Boston) (mostly secure)

UChicago

Pratt Institute (NYC)                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

Chapman University (California) (secure option)

Harvey Mudd (California) (fairly secure option)

Emory (Atlanta, Georgia – could be an aspirational option)