Sentence into Paragraph

Description and Metaphor ---> an exercise

She was a big woman.

Or

The party was filled with tiny waists and barely there boobs. My eyes were unimpressed by all their glitter and glam attempts to get noticed. But it wasn’t until she arrived that I actually started to pay attention. She was trying to sneak in a side door but when your curves are that vivacious there really is no way to sneak in through a small door. The dress she wore was black, probably an attempt at hiding the bumps and plumps of her figure but it wasn’t doing a very good job. In fact I was grateful to it for showing her off. Her cleavage was heaving to escape the top of her dress and this was only greatly emphasized by her breathing as she must have been running to get here in time. Her hips grazed tables and chairs as she sidled through them, looking for a familiar face. When finally her eyes met mine I winked and the rosy color already on her plump cheeks deepened and she smiled. When she reached me she extended a hand to mine and I took it and kissed the back, its softness not diminished but amplified by its oversize. “Darling, you seem to have brought the party with you. Shall we?”

It was a scary neighborhood

Or

Walking down the sidewalk just before my street at night was kind of like walking through a horror movie. White picket fences and trees make shadows on the sidewalk that could be Freddy or Jason; scary clown hands creeping out from the sewer drains under the sidewalk to grasp your ankles. But the worst part is the last house before you turn onto my block. It’s huge gaping windows swallow the light from the street like an obese man and a plate full of hamburgers. Usually I pass it on the opposite side of the street so I don’t have to feel the air around me cool when I pass into the shadow of the house. Instead of a picket fence the owner’s had installed a stone fence with metal spikes on top. If they were going for a gothic look they had achieved it in spades.

The wreck happened quickly

or

I was driving down the street when it happened. In the movies it’s always a slow motion scene with glass showering artistically around the passengers in the car and their heads flopping around like rag dolls. But that’s all a lie. My accident happened so quickly that I barely remember the details. It felt to me like the truck that hit my passenger side door drove right through me. And the next thing I know there is blood trickling down my face and I’m brushing glass off my legs.

first memories

What's the earliest thing I can remember?
Probably one of the earlier memories I have is of my brother and sister. I remember them fighting over where I would sleep at night. Some nights I would sleep on the floor in my sisters bedroom, other nights I would sleep in my brother's room next to the heater vent. Probably around the same time I remember playing outside in the lilac bush with my cousins. We would dig holes and make tents and pretend that we were a family living on the run. My cousin always named himself Peter Built (mostly because he liked semis). I remember waiting by the flagpole in the yard for my brother and sister to come home from school on the bus.

John Updyke - A&P

First initial post here is 3 reactions to the short story A&P by John Updyke. Click John's name to read it first.
Each reaction is written after it's corresponding read. After reading it once, twice and then three times.

#1 – What first stood out to me about A&P was the main character’s testosterone take on the three girls. He immediately picks out their physical flaws and lets the audience know exactly what part of his body he is thinking with. So my initial thought about the story is that Sammy is just your typical guy. Even with his chivalry at the end he still doesn’t impress me that much.

#2 - One specific paragraph that really sings of Updyke’s talent is the following;

“I thought and said "No" but it wasn't about that I was thinking. I go through the punches, 4, 9, GROC, TOT -- it's more complicated than you think, and after you do it often enough, it begins to make a lttle song, that you hear words to, in my case "Hello (bing) there, you (gung) hap-py pee-pul (splat)"-the splat being the drawer flying out. I uncrease the bill, tenderly as you may imagine, it just having come from between the two smoothest scoops of vanilla I had ever known were there, and pass a half and a penny into her narrow pink palm, and nestle the herrings in a bag and twist its neck and hand it over, all the time thinking.”

He shows the sort of dance and rhythm that you get when you work a register or a counter for awhile. Not only is he able to write it, he is able to show that same rhythm through the text. The whole paragraph has that flow as well. One other story telling weave that I really enjoy is the irony of the ending. The girls walk in and put on a show for Sammy, but when our chivalrous main character tries to put on his show for them they have already moved on.

#3 -Between the dialogue and narration there is an imbalance. Most of Updyke’s story is narration. I would put it about 80/20 if we are talking percentage. Updyke is right to do it that way as the narration is much more important to the story than the dialogue. Even without Sammy saying he quits you would know he is quitting as he takes his apron and tie off and puts in on the counter and walks out. The movement into dialogue is almost forced. Almost like Sammy is more comfortable in his head than he is in his words.