Baca wants to pull his readers into the enrapturing web he weaves within the vivid pictures he paints and somewhat relatable stories of the sting of pull and tug. 3. I cannot pick just one, but there are two I hold above the others: vivid detail and physical description. Baca paints such an arresting picture with the way he wields words so unorthodoxly. "My tongue would not move, saliva drooled from the corners of my mouth. I had been so heavily medicated I could not summon the slightest gesture. Yet inside me a small voice cried out, I am fine! I am hurt now but I will come back! I am fine (Baca 10)! I can relate to the desperation in that expression of raw emotion, "I am fine! I am hurt now but I will come back!" We rise and we fall. Nature can be unrelenting. What causes your world to wither and die can be the same thing that causes your world to burst into life again. "I wrote the way I wept, and danced, and made love" (Baca 11). Baca's descriptions bring me back to the words in Cherry Wine by Hozier, how the sound of someone's fingers rake across the guitar strings and his voice pierces through my
Baca wants to pull his readers into the enrapturing web he weaves within the vivid pictures he paints and somewhat relatable stories of the sting of pull and tug. 3. I cannot pick just one, but there are two I hold above the others: vivid detail and physical description. Baca paints such an arresting picture with the way he wields words so unorthodoxly. "My tongue would not move, saliva drooled from the corners of my mouth. I had been so heavily medicated I could not summon the slightest gesture. Yet inside me a small voice cried out, I am fine! I am hurt now but I will come back! I am fine (Baca 10)! I can relate to the desperation in that expression of raw emotion, "I am fine! I am hurt now but I will come back!" We rise and we fall. Nature can be unrelenting. What causes your world to wither and die can be the same thing that causes your world to burst into life again. "I wrote the way I wept, and danced, and made love" (Baca 11). Baca's descriptions bring me back to the words in Cherry Wine by Hozier, how the sound of someone's fingers rake across the guitar strings and his voice pierces through my