"I" am sitting at my desk and let my slide view through the window outside. The clouds hang low. It is gray, cold and wet. This can be seen. But also felt. The sunlight hardly penetrates through the clouds and it begins to dawn again. I am glad that the stove is burning behind me. The heat reached me. Unfortunately I can not write that the sky is blue and the world is white - I would have liked to. But I've made today to not put me into the world of literary imagination, but I deal with earthly and real facts to share.
What are my literary ego, perhaps I would have to even put in the plural form (...), and my everyday life I have in common? As they go forth apart? When I discussed with students a work that is in the first-person writing, for example, "Stiller by Max Frisch, then often is a very special silence occurred when the students have actually understood that it is the self- narrator is not the author, but that the narrative "I" and the author are two different instances.
A first-person perspective is provided nearby. Between author and reader - the text content. Before all, between the I-figure and readers - because between these two starts to vibrate slightly. If the reader of a story that is written in first person perspective, connects with the content, he is very close to the action. He is there. Inside. The power of thought, imagination and settle pass into the incident. It's something that the reader is part of the story. The literary self and the ego of the reader to merge with each other. I - as a reader - I read through the story and I travel with the literary with - whereas it is always on the go - I come and I are, for the story, very close.
The students have noticed how infinite Opportunities we have as human beings in our conception of life to let things come to be constructive, bold and unsubstantiated - far beyond the physical reality of a people. We can be creative and produce something set up, draw, create, constitute, construct. Not infrequently, relaxing at these moments of consciousness a conversation about truth. to put on reality, reality, about the power of imagination and the ability with words mountains. It was the "cut point man" in the center. Between heaven and hell. Between the so-called reality and the world of poetry. Between me and you. Between inside and outside.
If any person perspective would relate solely to the author or the author, there would be no open literary space. The writing I would not be a creator, it could not produce I described. There were no wounds between you and me, no point of contact. Creativity would be limited, restricted, nothing new could happen. In this context, I am a supporter of constructivism.
"You" is at her desk and her look makes its way through the window outside. Not a cloud to be seen. The sky is blue, the air looks warm and dry. What to feel connected to a new reality, what is true remains open. She does not know what she sees. The sunlight reached them with force and it is light, bright light and again She is glad that it's so warm, it needs no stove - but she's cold. Especially now when they write that the sky is gray and the world is dark - but she does not want, it almost refuses. Because before you today to tell something of their literary self - fantasy and facts of real life are there not to keep them apart, prospects do not make sense anymore.
questions from me to you
What I touch you, when I talk about me?
I Tell me if I am looking tell?
questions of you to trust me
Why reader and author?
What does the reader for the author?
observer questions
How would describe the situation from a different perspective?
How can comment on word games?
content issues
if what remains is only the AS variable - does this change the content?
What happens when subject and object exchange their places?
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