The sun shone. The sky was that beautiful blue one gets on perfectly clear days: only there on the rarest of days, and all the better for it. It made the straw into spun gold, the grass greener than any emerald, even the roads were bright.
"Storyteller! Storyteller!"
I smiled at the girl who ran towards me, straw shoes smacking on paving stones, hair messily tied back, dress undyed and wrinkled. Her eyes were bright as the sky, and her hair matched the hay. There were ink stains on her fingers, still sharp black against sunburned skin. And, of course, scrolls spilled out of her arms.
"Yes, Prema?"
"I--I got a commission!" She beamed at me. Prema had had some trouble around that. Never cleaning up will lose you quite a few jobs, no matter how well you write or tell.
"Wonderful, little one." I ruffled her hair, to the extent that was possible. "Who's the lucky patron?"
She gave some impressive title that rolled off her tongue as well as one of her first stories told around the campfire did now. My lips twitched. She'd been practicing her patron's name. "And what does she want you to write?"
Prema's eyes were still as bright, but their character changed. "Um, tell, actually." Now she shifted the scrolls to one arm and pushed her hair out of her eyes. "And...it has to be something new." She shifted her weight and licked her lips, suddenly huddling in on herself. "She--she saw some stuff I wrote, and she wanted me to write something for her, then tell it, for her guests at the party."
"And you're getting...?"
"A good outfit, a night around potential clients, dinner and a few silver pieces." She flushed a little at the last, as if accepting food and fine clothing for one of her stories was perfectly acceptable, but money unthinkable.
I nodded and smiled. "Good, for a first commission." Premmy relaxed a little. "And what have you got there to look at?"
"Oh! Well, everything."
"Everything?"
She laughed. "All right, not everything. Everything I've ever written. Unless a muse decides to come around and smack my head with a new idea, I don't have time to come up with a whole new story from scratch and memorize it in time."
"Oh? When's the party?"
She grinned sheepishly at me. "...A week? I know; I know!" was all she said to my look, "but I've got fittings, and...well, I'd get so nervous."
I laughed. "As you wish. So you need to pick one to finish."
"Yes! I've got all of these memorized as far as they go, they just don't end."
"Well, which one did your lovely patron like?"
"Oh...well, this one." She juggled the papers around until she had the right one on top.
"You know, you could put those on the bench." I nodded over and we sat together, keeping all the scrolls between us. When she handed me the scroll I'd asked after, she looked away. It didn't take me long to figure out why. The characters were a little exaggerated at times, and it skipped over some things I wouldn't've skipped, but...
"I didn't know you were writing an autobiography."
She squirmed a little. "I--I mean--I'm sorry! I know I should've asked you before I showed it to anyone, but she wanted to see something and I forgot to take it off the shelf! I--" By then her eyes were starting to fill.
"Prema?"
She flinched. "Yes?"
How to say it... "You wrote beautifully. This is your story. I happen to be in it, but this, as it is written, is your story. As far as I am concerned, you never have to worry about showing this to anyone. If I had been hurt by this, it would have been because you believed something bad of me, not because you had written of it." I squeezed her shoulders and took in the air, tinted with the soft smell of hay and the warm smell of life, in general. "Not everyone will feel that way. But I'm your teacher too, and I'm honored I was there so much."
She looked at me. For a moment, she waited, as if she thought I would tell her it was some joke. Then she wiped her eyes, hugged me, and gathered everything up.
As she dashed away, she called over her shoulder, "I've got an ending!"
I smiled and walked around town. Nothing ever ends. But she'd found an ending, at least, and that would be enough for her patron. Knowing her, it would be fantastic. She wouldn't stop until it was.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Theft, Inspiration and Muses
The moon, a statuette, a loved one, sudden surge of hope, adrenaline rush, sunlight pattering on leaves, dappling, the sunset, fire.
Music. Amusing. Musings...there are doubtless more.
The fun bit in muses is half the effect they have here, now. Then the effect that work has. The Muses themselves inspire words, and the idea of them continues to inspire--is this the Muse yet speaking, or her echoes? Does it matter?
And there is that other piece, where it is no the work inspired that acts a a muse, a font of inspiration, not directly. Think of how often the sunrise or sunset has been described as fire. Who was the first? Who knows? But now it permeates, and describing it as another requires another step in thinking. The sun is fire, far away; the sun at the horizon is fire and fiery.
Some muse, some cue in our collective consciousness says that now. The sky is air; blue is water. Brown is earth, as surely as that warm, damp life with a sprig of green is. Wind whips through our hair, fire warms. Fire kills. Water refreshes; drowns. Earth is home, or have we moved past that?
That gives the tumbling, whirling, downright weird world of Muses, muses, inspiration. What would we be without them? We don't know. We can't, our language relies so thoroughly on being present in this culture that has had them for millenia, at least. Were there someone who could tell us, how would we even begin to communicate? Where did that idea come from?
And we're running into this issue, especially with the advent of the internet. Stealing another person's idea is wrong. But what constitutes stealing? For instance, we can no longer say that saying the sunset is like fire is stealing, because there is no one to steal the idea from. If anyone living tries to claim the idea, then there would be too many quotes to count that anyone could come up with--internet--that predate that author's line by at least a century. It would take a while to sift through all the not-quites, but it doesn't even take a handful to make one's point.
BUt copyright solves that, right? Well...legally, yes. But morally? Trot over to DeviantArt or YouTube. Are those things copyrighted, trademarked...? Well, no (not exclusive). Is it right to take them and claim them as one's own? Well, no.
That, we can probably agree upon. Of course, it is difficult to draw the line. Copying outright is wrong, I guess. But what if you use a similar juxtaposition of scenes to a video you saw? You're not copying, and it's not like this person drew the work in the first place--of course, if the creator did, that's just a whole 'nother can of worms. So, is using a similar way of putting clips together really wrong?
Nnnnno? Or does it depend on how long? Doing it for two minutes, thirty seconds of a three-minute video is probably wrong--it really depends on how similar 'similar' is. Doing it for five seconds is probably better, but what if the 2:30 is using similar clips in a completely different fashion, and the five seconds is outright copying?
That's the difference, to me, between inspiration and thievery. Granted, it's not clear cut in practice. But I'd say it's where someone takes the complete piece and steals part of it. This naturally gets difficult in the contexts of AMVs. After all, one is taking another's work. But it is no more stealing than a karaoke night is. Using another's work for profit, that's where it turns darker gray; claiming you made it is outright theft. These people have editing, acting, drawing, whichever, as a job.
ADDENDUM: For the record, I am not trying to imply that AMV-making is not a true art by comparing it to karaoke. This is so for two reasons: 1) I think the term 'true art' is so subjective as to be useless and 2) ...Wow that's a complex question.
Music. Amusing. Musings...there are doubtless more.
The fun bit in muses is half the effect they have here, now. Then the effect that work has. The Muses themselves inspire words, and the idea of them continues to inspire--is this the Muse yet speaking, or her echoes? Does it matter?
And there is that other piece, where it is no the work inspired that acts a a muse, a font of inspiration, not directly. Think of how often the sunrise or sunset has been described as fire. Who was the first? Who knows? But now it permeates, and describing it as another requires another step in thinking. The sun is fire, far away; the sun at the horizon is fire and fiery.
Some muse, some cue in our collective consciousness says that now. The sky is air; blue is water. Brown is earth, as surely as that warm, damp life with a sprig of green is. Wind whips through our hair, fire warms. Fire kills. Water refreshes; drowns. Earth is home, or have we moved past that?
That gives the tumbling, whirling, downright weird world of Muses, muses, inspiration. What would we be without them? We don't know. We can't, our language relies so thoroughly on being present in this culture that has had them for millenia, at least. Were there someone who could tell us, how would we even begin to communicate? Where did that idea come from?
And we're running into this issue, especially with the advent of the internet. Stealing another person's idea is wrong. But what constitutes stealing? For instance, we can no longer say that saying the sunset is like fire is stealing, because there is no one to steal the idea from. If anyone living tries to claim the idea, then there would be too many quotes to count that anyone could come up with--internet--that predate that author's line by at least a century. It would take a while to sift through all the not-quites, but it doesn't even take a handful to make one's point.
BUt copyright solves that, right? Well...legally, yes. But morally? Trot over to DeviantArt or YouTube. Are those things copyrighted, trademarked...? Well, no (not exclusive). Is it right to take them and claim them as one's own? Well, no.
That, we can probably agree upon. Of course, it is difficult to draw the line. Copying outright is wrong, I guess. But what if you use a similar juxtaposition of scenes to a video you saw? You're not copying, and it's not like this person drew the work in the first place--of course, if the creator did, that's just a whole 'nother can of worms. So, is using a similar way of putting clips together really wrong?
Nnnnno? Or does it depend on how long? Doing it for two minutes, thirty seconds of a three-minute video is probably wrong--it really depends on how similar 'similar' is. Doing it for five seconds is probably better, but what if the 2:30 is using similar clips in a completely different fashion, and the five seconds is outright copying?
That's the difference, to me, between inspiration and thievery. Granted, it's not clear cut in practice. But I'd say it's where someone takes the complete piece and steals part of it. This naturally gets difficult in the contexts of AMVs. After all, one is taking another's work. But it is no more stealing than a karaoke night is. Using another's work for profit, that's where it turns darker gray; claiming you made it is outright theft. These people have editing, acting, drawing, whichever, as a job.
ADDENDUM: For the record, I am not trying to imply that AMV-making is not a true art by comparing it to karaoke. This is so for two reasons: 1) I think the term 'true art' is so subjective as to be useless and 2) ...Wow that's a complex question.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Fire and Ice
Be still; be quiet; be calm.
But--
Be still; be quiet; be calm.
But I need to dance. I need to move or I'm going to--
Be still; be quiet; be calm.
Are you even listening?
Be still; be quiet; be calm.
You're melting, aren't you.
Be still; be quiet; be calm.
That's what you're so worried about. Listen, Ice, you don't need to worry. You can flow. It doesn't have to be so--
Be still; be quiet; be calm.
Listen to me. Please. I know this has worked for you. But it's not working for me. Please, just listen.
There was quiet. Which was about as close to assent as Fire was going to get.
You're cold. I know. I know it's worked for you. But it's not working for me. I can't just sit here; I can't just watch everyone go by and just--stand here. I need to move, to spread, to grow.
You haven't tried.
Yes, I have. I've tried; believe me. I have tried stopping myself, but it's not working. Do you remember when I really got to burn, so bright I was almost blinding, so hot I burned? I have never felt better. Never.
You burned.
Yes. Yes I did. But it didn't hurt anyone.
It scared me.
And it scares me when you're so...cold. But I get it. It's how you work.
Ice trembled. That surprised Fire, truth be told. Ice moved, but Ice moved like...well, a glacier. Ice didn't tremble, any more than Fire truly went still.
I'm melting.
I could move.
No. From the inside out. If something taps me, I'm going to shatter. I'm melting.
Fire paused. Fire knew, on some level, that Ice was melting. But Fire hadn't known how close Ice was to the tipping point. Fire had assumed the heat was melting Ice, and so the melting would be from the outside in. Visible. Showy. The idea of melting from the inside out...
You're burning.
Heating up. Yes.
Fire was, for once, at a loss. Whatever the emotion, Fire could adjust. That was the strength. Fire moved, danced, adapted, and, if it came to it, burned through. But what to do for someone who was so afraid of doing just that...
Try it.
What?
Melting. Flowing. Try it.
What if I can't get back?
Then wouldn't you rather do it now, on your terms?
But--
Be still; be quiet; be calm.
But I need to dance. I need to move or I'm going to--
Be still; be quiet; be calm.
Are you even listening?
Be still; be quiet; be calm.
You're melting, aren't you.
Be still; be quiet; be calm.
That's what you're so worried about. Listen, Ice, you don't need to worry. You can flow. It doesn't have to be so--
Be still; be quiet; be calm.
Listen to me. Please. I know this has worked for you. But it's not working for me. Please, just listen.
There was quiet. Which was about as close to assent as Fire was going to get.
You're cold. I know. I know it's worked for you. But it's not working for me. I can't just sit here; I can't just watch everyone go by and just--stand here. I need to move, to spread, to grow.
You haven't tried.
Yes, I have. I've tried; believe me. I have tried stopping myself, but it's not working. Do you remember when I really got to burn, so bright I was almost blinding, so hot I burned? I have never felt better. Never.
You burned.
Yes. Yes I did. But it didn't hurt anyone.
It scared me.
And it scares me when you're so...cold. But I get it. It's how you work.
Ice trembled. That surprised Fire, truth be told. Ice moved, but Ice moved like...well, a glacier. Ice didn't tremble, any more than Fire truly went still.
I'm melting.
I could move.
No. From the inside out. If something taps me, I'm going to shatter. I'm melting.
Fire paused. Fire knew, on some level, that Ice was melting. But Fire hadn't known how close Ice was to the tipping point. Fire had assumed the heat was melting Ice, and so the melting would be from the outside in. Visible. Showy. The idea of melting from the inside out...
You're burning.
Heating up. Yes.
Fire was, for once, at a loss. Whatever the emotion, Fire could adjust. That was the strength. Fire moved, danced, adapted, and, if it came to it, burned through. But what to do for someone who was so afraid of doing just that...
Try it.
What?
Melting. Flowing. Try it.
What if I can't get back?
Then wouldn't you rather do it now, on your terms?
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Poem 4
The little voice in the back of your head stops talking and you realize how lost you are without it.
I love you.
What is this?
Is this apathy? Truly just not...
Caring?
There's that feeling of...
A lack of a feeling?
Wait, what?
Did you say something?
Oh. Must've been my imagination.
But it's not there
Here.
Everywhere.
Goodness. Light. Virginity. Whatever.
Dark. Home, warm. Soft, gentle, loving.
A familiar little sense runs through me.
I tilt my head back like feeling the rain. Home.
I'm home.
I turn to see the one who spoke. And yes, you spoke, aloud or not.
I love you.
I love you.
What is this?
Is this apathy? Truly just not...
Caring?
There's that feeling of...
A lack of a feeling?
Wait, what?
Did you say something?
Oh. Must've been my imagination.
But it's not there
Here.
Everywhere.
Goodness. Light. Virginity. Whatever.
Dark. Home, warm. Soft, gentle, loving.
A familiar little sense runs through me.
I tilt my head back like feeling the rain. Home.
I'm home.
I turn to see the one who spoke. And yes, you spoke, aloud or not.
I love you.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
I jump through the hoops...
...in the hope that someday I might dance through them.
Should I go to college?
Show of hands, who just said or thought, "Yes," automatically?
Okay, now: I am given the chance to do something I have dreamed of doing since I was in third grade. Throughout that entire time, my interest in it has never wavered, only deepened. Let's take musical theater, since that is something I truly enjoy. I get, not a major role, but a credited one. But, in order to take it, I would have to skip out on college, and I might never have the time to go to a real college or university, because I'll have a career. Should I go to college?
Now, hands up again if the missing out on college schooling sounded like a bad thing.
----
This is the odd mindset I'm running into quite a bit. It's treating school as an end in and of itself, instead of a means to an end. The idea that homework is there, not to reinforce learning, but as an end. That classes are there, not to teach, but to explain again and again. In other words, the idea of spending time on learning something, not to learn it, but to spend time on it.
And that's just a...well, weak way of going through life. Believing that the point of school is learning is one thing, believing that the point of school is school is another. School is a place where one goes out and finds bits and pieces of everything, and then, hopefully, decides on something. Or multiple somethings. Polymaths rock.
I am working to get a career in music. If I got offered a job that helped that, at the sacrifice of some school time...how does it make sense to turn it down? Dropping out of school altogether can be argued against, but say I would need to drop Choir because I'm going out to tour and sing.
Well...that's why I'm taking choir. It would be like asking me to re-take basic algebra when I was offered the chance to learn calculus--and have the skills to survive that course, naturally. I understand algebra. I might gain something from the course, but it makes no sense. If schooling sets you back, it's doing the exact opposite of what it's supposed to. Even if someone were to make the case that it looked good that I stuck with the class, which looks better? Choir in school all four years or going out on tour?
I jump through these hoops today. "Alright, ladies, hop to it! Three, eight, quarter spin, in formation now!"
I jump so that someday, when I have learned how to do that, I can leap, twirl, act and dance through them. So that I can take someone's breath away, or make 'em laugh, cry.
If I get the chance to learn how to dance through them, or the opportunity to do so, I don't see why I should say no simply because there are people still teaching others how to jump. I know how to jump. I also know how to leap and soar. Why shouldn't I?
Read also: Harrison Bergeron
Should I go to college?
Show of hands, who just said or thought, "Yes," automatically?
Okay, now: I am given the chance to do something I have dreamed of doing since I was in third grade. Throughout that entire time, my interest in it has never wavered, only deepened. Let's take musical theater, since that is something I truly enjoy. I get, not a major role, but a credited one. But, in order to take it, I would have to skip out on college, and I might never have the time to go to a real college or university, because I'll have a career. Should I go to college?
Now, hands up again if the missing out on college schooling sounded like a bad thing.
----
This is the odd mindset I'm running into quite a bit. It's treating school as an end in and of itself, instead of a means to an end. The idea that homework is there, not to reinforce learning, but as an end. That classes are there, not to teach, but to explain again and again. In other words, the idea of spending time on learning something, not to learn it, but to spend time on it.
And that's just a...well, weak way of going through life. Believing that the point of school is learning is one thing, believing that the point of school is school is another. School is a place where one goes out and finds bits and pieces of everything, and then, hopefully, decides on something. Or multiple somethings. Polymaths rock.
I am working to get a career in music. If I got offered a job that helped that, at the sacrifice of some school time...how does it make sense to turn it down? Dropping out of school altogether can be argued against, but say I would need to drop Choir because I'm going out to tour and sing.
Well...that's why I'm taking choir. It would be like asking me to re-take basic algebra when I was offered the chance to learn calculus--and have the skills to survive that course, naturally. I understand algebra. I might gain something from the course, but it makes no sense. If schooling sets you back, it's doing the exact opposite of what it's supposed to. Even if someone were to make the case that it looked good that I stuck with the class, which looks better? Choir in school all four years or going out on tour?
I jump through these hoops today. "Alright, ladies, hop to it! Three, eight, quarter spin, in formation now!"
I jump so that someday, when I have learned how to do that, I can leap, twirl, act and dance through them. So that I can take someone's breath away, or make 'em laugh, cry.
If I get the chance to learn how to dance through them, or the opportunity to do so, I don't see why I should say no simply because there are people still teaching others how to jump. I know how to jump. I also know how to leap and soar. Why shouldn't I?
Read also: Harrison Bergeron
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Story 3
A/N: This is something of an experimentation with voice and tone, so please tell me what you think. Warning: Some swearing.
I just--ugh! It's like, there's stuff that sticks with you for years, and it shouldn't be there after a couple days, or even hours. Like you're mind's trying to get back at you or something.
We were having an argument. Whatever. It was a bowling alley, even if we were yelling it wouldn't've carried more than a few feet. She was attacking whatever she could; seeing what stuck. Saying that I was a loser, I had no friends. Again, what-freaking-ever. Like I hadn't been hearing stuff like that since, like, third grade. Most of it since first. I mean, honestly, get some new material.
And then, she got flustered, she stopped thinking, and she hit something.
"I come here in my best clothes, and you come here in--in scraps--"
I really didn't hear anything she said after that. All I could think of was that she had called my very best scraps. This was my new outfit. I'd gotten it for my birthday. I loved it. It felt like she'd hit me, full on and in the chest.
I can tell you, looking back, why it bothered me so much, why I burst into tears--and the girl asked, "Are you getting help? Do you take medication for this?" which was real bright. I can tell you that, though people had insulted my voice, my oddities, my family, my intelligence, and everything else, no one had ever touched my looks. I knew, on some level, that I was pretty. To have someone attack that was worse than anything else she'd said.
Call it shallow. Call it valuing clothes over friends. But it was what I had, and losing that last inch hurt as much as the first time a friend had turned her back and snickered.
And her asking if I had medication...Hell. I know, she was just trying to push the blame off herself, onto some imbalance in my system. Anywhere that made it so she didn't have to feel the guilt. I know. It just doesn't help much. Or, you know, at all. Do people ever think before they speak? Is this so hard it's a step people just skip over, so they can listen to themselves yap insults and compliments, work themselves up some fucking popularity tree?
I put up this big facade. I don't care how I look. I don't care what you think. I don't care I can't seem to keep friends. It's all bullshit. I care. Anyone who bothered to look at me for two seconds would know that. Which means that anyone who doesn't see through this it doesn't bother to look for two seconds, and that makes me feel just wonderful, thank you so very much.
Aw, shit, I'm sorry. I'm unloading all this on you, it's not your fault.
No, it's not a problem, really. I wanted to get to know you better. And...I'm glad you let down the facade.
Hah. Thanks. Glad you saw through it.
Hey, you said it. It only takes a couple seconds. If you ever need someone to talk to...I'm here, okay?
Yeah. Okay. Thanks, J, I'll remember that. I'm probably going to come up with a list long enough to reach the moon for reasons not to, but I'll remember.
Just use a large font.
Ha! Sure, why not?
I just--ugh! It's like, there's stuff that sticks with you for years, and it shouldn't be there after a couple days, or even hours. Like you're mind's trying to get back at you or something.
We were having an argument. Whatever. It was a bowling alley, even if we were yelling it wouldn't've carried more than a few feet. She was attacking whatever she could; seeing what stuck. Saying that I was a loser, I had no friends. Again, what-freaking-ever. Like I hadn't been hearing stuff like that since, like, third grade. Most of it since first. I mean, honestly, get some new material.
And then, she got flustered, she stopped thinking, and she hit something.
"I come here in my best clothes, and you come here in--in scraps--"
I really didn't hear anything she said after that. All I could think of was that she had called my very best scraps. This was my new outfit. I'd gotten it for my birthday. I loved it. It felt like she'd hit me, full on and in the chest.
I can tell you, looking back, why it bothered me so much, why I burst into tears--and the girl asked, "Are you getting help? Do you take medication for this?" which was real bright. I can tell you that, though people had insulted my voice, my oddities, my family, my intelligence, and everything else, no one had ever touched my looks. I knew, on some level, that I was pretty. To have someone attack that was worse than anything else she'd said.
Call it shallow. Call it valuing clothes over friends. But it was what I had, and losing that last inch hurt as much as the first time a friend had turned her back and snickered.
And her asking if I had medication...Hell. I know, she was just trying to push the blame off herself, onto some imbalance in my system. Anywhere that made it so she didn't have to feel the guilt. I know. It just doesn't help much. Or, you know, at all. Do people ever think before they speak? Is this so hard it's a step people just skip over, so they can listen to themselves yap insults and compliments, work themselves up some fucking popularity tree?
I put up this big facade. I don't care how I look. I don't care what you think. I don't care I can't seem to keep friends. It's all bullshit. I care. Anyone who bothered to look at me for two seconds would know that. Which means that anyone who doesn't see through this it doesn't bother to look for two seconds, and that makes me feel just wonderful, thank you so very much.
Aw, shit, I'm sorry. I'm unloading all this on you, it's not your fault.
No, it's not a problem, really. I wanted to get to know you better. And...I'm glad you let down the facade.
Hah. Thanks. Glad you saw through it.
Hey, you said it. It only takes a couple seconds. If you ever need someone to talk to...I'm here, okay?
Yeah. Okay. Thanks, J, I'll remember that. I'm probably going to come up with a list long enough to reach the moon for reasons not to, but I'll remember.
Just use a large font.
Ha! Sure, why not?
Friday, May 7, 2010
Virtue
Mercy.
It had been simple, really. Names here...in English, really...no one really bothered to remember what half of them meant. Even the obvious ones like 'Victoria'. They're after the person, the people, not the word. One things Queen Victoria, not victorious. Though one might associate them, perhaps not. And perhaps it's not her. Perhaps it's a childhood friend or acquaintance, so blond hair, gray eyes, and an old aunt who always brings cookies.
It was all so...random.
And the names that do have something obvious tend to be so mundane: Ruby, May, April, June. A rock. A month.
It's not like there's anything wrong. They can be perfectly good names. But given the choice...choice. Given the right to come up with my own name, there was just something in me that wanted more.
Yet I couldn't stick out. I couldn't pick something like spirit, or soul. English just doesn't do that often enough for one to blend.
Naturally, I gravitated toward virtues. But...Chastity? No. Charity was better, Hope was good. Still. I wanted something different. Charity was nice, but was a reaction to a problem. Hope was something that kept you going, good, but...
I wanted something that would be present if the world were perfect. Charity would not be needed, everyone would just have. You would not need hope, per se, it would just be. One does not really have hope the sun will rise; it is more that one would feel betrayed if it didn't.
But mercy. Yes, I liked Mercy. Even in a utopia, people would still make mistakes, however slight. Perhaps oversleeping. Forgetfulness.
What I really wanted, what I would have taken as a name if it were common, is Forgiveness. But Mercy is...well, fundamentally good, in ways Forgiveness isn't. Even if you cannot forgive, cannot forget, cannot let go, you can be merciful. You can let it pass.
"Name?"
"Mercy."
"Last name?"
I hadn't thought of one. Hm...your last name was your family, right? A connection to blood and earth. And that would not sound nearly so needlessly poetic if we were speaking just about anything but English, trust me.
I smiled. Trust.
John might approve, he might not. Either way. Here I am.
"I am Mercy Johnson."
She nodded, first in recognition and then to where I should go. "Third door on the right. Eleanor Wright will see you."
I nodded in recognition back and went to see Ms. Wright.
It had been simple, really. Names here...in English, really...no one really bothered to remember what half of them meant. Even the obvious ones like 'Victoria'. They're after the person, the people, not the word. One things Queen Victoria, not victorious. Though one might associate them, perhaps not. And perhaps it's not her. Perhaps it's a childhood friend or acquaintance, so blond hair, gray eyes, and an old aunt who always brings cookies.
It was all so...random.
And the names that do have something obvious tend to be so mundane: Ruby, May, April, June. A rock. A month.
It's not like there's anything wrong. They can be perfectly good names. But given the choice...choice. Given the right to come up with my own name, there was just something in me that wanted more.
Yet I couldn't stick out. I couldn't pick something like spirit, or soul. English just doesn't do that often enough for one to blend.
Naturally, I gravitated toward virtues. But...Chastity? No. Charity was better, Hope was good. Still. I wanted something different. Charity was nice, but was a reaction to a problem. Hope was something that kept you going, good, but...
I wanted something that would be present if the world were perfect. Charity would not be needed, everyone would just have. You would not need hope, per se, it would just be. One does not really have hope the sun will rise; it is more that one would feel betrayed if it didn't.
But mercy. Yes, I liked Mercy. Even in a utopia, people would still make mistakes, however slight. Perhaps oversleeping. Forgetfulness.
What I really wanted, what I would have taken as a name if it were common, is Forgiveness. But Mercy is...well, fundamentally good, in ways Forgiveness isn't. Even if you cannot forgive, cannot forget, cannot let go, you can be merciful. You can let it pass.
"Name?"
"Mercy."
"Last name?"
I hadn't thought of one. Hm...your last name was your family, right? A connection to blood and earth. And that would not sound nearly so needlessly poetic if we were speaking just about anything but English, trust me.
I smiled. Trust.
John might approve, he might not. Either way. Here I am.
"I am Mercy Johnson."
She nodded, first in recognition and then to where I should go. "Third door on the right. Eleanor Wright will see you."
I nodded in recognition back and went to see Ms. Wright.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Musing #6: Truth, Honesty, and Stories
Truth: facts
Honesty: straightforwardness, adhering to facts; see also honor, integrity
Story: Ha. Anything told. An anecdote, a fiction piece, a lie.
Oh, and of course.
Lie: something that is untrue that the speaker knows is untrue, but is reporting as truth.
WARNING: Opinions contained from here on.
Occasionally, I go through and try to figure out oxymorons. Most of the ones people bring up are fairly obvious, e.g. jumbo shrimp are large in comparison to shrimp, military intelligence is military wisdom/knowledge, information gained pertaining to the military.
For today: an honest liar, a truthful liar, a lying honest person and and lying truthful person.
The simplest is a lying truthful person. Stating facts, but only the facts one wants to. Nothing factually inaccurate is being presented, but the image created in the listener's mind is false.
A lying honest person is also fairly easy, though a bit harder to wrap one's mind around. If honesty is related simply to telling the facts, then it would be the above. But it is not--at least, not how I'm using it.
One can mislead by telling only the facts. But there are also times when this very exclusion can serve for greater honesty. If a person has genuinely reformed, then bringing up his or her past serves to do nothing but mislead. So that might get swept under the rug.
Or it might be someone asking if person X said, "Jane Doe needs to lose a few pounds." If the technical answer is yes, but it was said in a joking tone and meant to be taken as a joke among friends, then the honest answer is no. If X doesn't know Jane, or Jane is particularly sensitive about her weight, it gets trickier. But if it is given and taken as a joke, then saying yes is dishonest, even if it is factually accurate.
And, of course, it could also be taken that the honest or truthful person is being deceitful just this once.
A truthful liar is someone who regularly tells the truth and regularly lies. This would almost certainly imply the above example, using facts to mislead. But where the above implies doing so once, this implies doing it as a matter of course.
An alternative is much simpler, and therefore less fun to work out. It is simply someone who regularly lies and regularly tells the truth. This is probably the most dangerous type of liar, as people tend to ignore him/her--and 'Boy Who Cried Wolf' aside, it is rarely just the person misleading who suffers for this. Imagine, if you will, that the flocks are kept close together. The shepherds have to keep taking their sheep away, and finally when the wolf shows up, they don't. They lose their sheep, get injured, etc., etc.
An honest liar. This has the same deal as a truthful liar; it can be someone who tells factually inaccurate things for the sake of the true picture regularly, or someone who is honest and dishonest as a matter of course.
But because of how honest can be used, it has another way to take it. It would be someone who lies, but will not mislead on particularly big stuff. So, for instance, would say, "They went that way!" to get someone off a (friend) thief's trail, but wouldn't do anything that would end up killing someone. Or killing someone 'important', though what that means varies. More commonly referred to as a trickster, scalawag, or playful/mischievous [noun].
And, of course, it could just be a poetic way to refer to a storyteller. One who says things that aren't true, but in such a way that s/he doesn't expect anyone to believe them.
Honesty: straightforwardness, adhering to facts; see also honor, integrity
Story: Ha. Anything told. An anecdote, a fiction piece, a lie.
Oh, and of course.
Lie: something that is untrue that the speaker knows is untrue, but is reporting as truth.
WARNING: Opinions contained from here on.
Occasionally, I go through and try to figure out oxymorons. Most of the ones people bring up are fairly obvious, e.g. jumbo shrimp are large in comparison to shrimp, military intelligence is military wisdom/knowledge, information gained pertaining to the military.
For today: an honest liar, a truthful liar, a lying honest person and and lying truthful person.
The simplest is a lying truthful person. Stating facts, but only the facts one wants to. Nothing factually inaccurate is being presented, but the image created in the listener's mind is false.
A lying honest person is also fairly easy, though a bit harder to wrap one's mind around. If honesty is related simply to telling the facts, then it would be the above. But it is not--at least, not how I'm using it.
One can mislead by telling only the facts. But there are also times when this very exclusion can serve for greater honesty. If a person has genuinely reformed, then bringing up his or her past serves to do nothing but mislead. So that might get swept under the rug.
Or it might be someone asking if person X said, "Jane Doe needs to lose a few pounds." If the technical answer is yes, but it was said in a joking tone and meant to be taken as a joke among friends, then the honest answer is no. If X doesn't know Jane, or Jane is particularly sensitive about her weight, it gets trickier. But if it is given and taken as a joke, then saying yes is dishonest, even if it is factually accurate.
And, of course, it could also be taken that the honest or truthful person is being deceitful just this once.
A truthful liar is someone who regularly tells the truth and regularly lies. This would almost certainly imply the above example, using facts to mislead. But where the above implies doing so once, this implies doing it as a matter of course.
An alternative is much simpler, and therefore less fun to work out. It is simply someone who regularly lies and regularly tells the truth. This is probably the most dangerous type of liar, as people tend to ignore him/her--and 'Boy Who Cried Wolf' aside, it is rarely just the person misleading who suffers for this. Imagine, if you will, that the flocks are kept close together. The shepherds have to keep taking their sheep away, and finally when the wolf shows up, they don't. They lose their sheep, get injured, etc., etc.
An honest liar. This has the same deal as a truthful liar; it can be someone who tells factually inaccurate things for the sake of the true picture regularly, or someone who is honest and dishonest as a matter of course.
But because of how honest can be used, it has another way to take it. It would be someone who lies, but will not mislead on particularly big stuff. So, for instance, would say, "They went that way!" to get someone off a (friend) thief's trail, but wouldn't do anything that would end up killing someone. Or killing someone 'important', though what that means varies. More commonly referred to as a trickster, scalawag, or playful/mischievous [noun].
And, of course, it could just be a poetic way to refer to a storyteller. One who says things that aren't true, but in such a way that s/he doesn't expect anyone to believe them.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Short Post the Second: Grammar!
They're/There/Their: Okay, yeah. This one just bothers me. If one is using, "they're," it can be replaced with, "they are." If one is using, "there," it is a place. "Their" is a possessive.
"They're going to put their things over there."
"They're from Kentucky."
"Their gifts arrived just last night."
"The gifts are over there."
Usually, the difference it clear. However, it is not always clear by the time the reader has reached the word, meaning s/he has to reread the sentence, and that's no fun!
"They're going to put their things over there."
"They're from Kentucky."
"Their gifts arrived just last night."
"The gifts are over there."
Usually, the difference it clear. However, it is not always clear by the time the reader has reached the word, meaning s/he has to reread the sentence, and that's no fun!
Short Post
Storyteller, Trickster, riddle me this:
What's the price on the head of a hiss?
Above or below a wonderful bliss...
Can you even put a price on something like this?
So people wonder, and people want,
And search for money, and those with it flaunt.
Because deep down, we all know:
Nothing beats that first throw.
There are those who would kill
For one last thrill
But leave you alive, so you might thrive.
What's the price on the head of a hiss?
Above or below a wonderful bliss...
Can you even put a price on something like this?
So people wonder, and people want,
And search for money, and those with it flaunt.
Because deep down, we all know:
Nothing beats that first throw.
There are those who would kill
For one last thrill
But leave you alive, so you might thrive.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Grammar and Punctuation
Today's Lesson: Endangered Species
Parentheses: The text can be read with or without the text contained.
Example: "Have you ever been sent to school with the same old (empty) bag lunch?"
This means if you have gone to school with the old bag lunch, whether it is empty or not, you would say yes. You might clarify, but it is not necessary.
Spoken as: "Have you ever been sent to school with the same old--possibly empty--bag lunch?"
In other words, parentheses should almost never be used in dialogue--excluding reading aloud. They can be used in any written mode, but cannot be pronounced. There are ways to indicate parentheses if you are reading a quote, but to properly 'enunciate', one would need to say "Parentheses [blah blah blah] close parentheses."
It is also worth noting that some people use parentheses when they mean to use dashes. Dashes are these:--. These are both quite useful punctuation marks, but are different.
Begging the Question: Okay, let's start here, because I love that site. tl;dr: Begging the question is assuming something is true with no proof but the assertion of the statement.
Examples: "I think he's unattractive because he's ugly." (Any tautology fits here, really)
"I can't see why this is so hard. Anyone with a brain could figure it out." "Ah, but that's begging the question. You assume he has a brain."
Misestimated/Underestimated: Misestimate is to misjudge an estimation. Underestimate is specifically to estimate too low.
In explaining that the former is losing its use, I must point out that my spellcheck does not recognize it. I really think that's all I need to say on the point.
Examples: "I appear to have misestimated." "Over or under?" "I'm not sure..."
"You underestimated me."
Lay/Lie: I do this so much. Lay is to put/place. Lie is to recline.
Examples: "Chickens lay eggs."
"I'm going to lie down."
However, and here's the tricky part: "I lay my head down."
This actually has a fun meaning if used correctly: It can imply a feeling of separation from one's body.
Okay. How many grammatical errors did I make? Oh, and feel free to add any others that Just Bug You (TM) in the comments section.
Parentheses: The text can be read with or without the text contained.
Example: "Have you ever been sent to school with the same old (empty) bag lunch?"
This means if you have gone to school with the old bag lunch, whether it is empty or not, you would say yes. You might clarify, but it is not necessary.
Spoken as: "Have you ever been sent to school with the same old--possibly empty--bag lunch?"
In other words, parentheses should almost never be used in dialogue--excluding reading aloud. They can be used in any written mode, but cannot be pronounced. There are ways to indicate parentheses if you are reading a quote, but to properly 'enunciate', one would need to say "Parentheses [blah blah blah] close parentheses."
It is also worth noting that some people use parentheses when they mean to use dashes. Dashes are these:--. These are both quite useful punctuation marks, but are different.
Begging the Question: Okay, let's start here, because I love that site. tl;dr: Begging the question is assuming something is true with no proof but the assertion of the statement.
Examples: "I think he's unattractive because he's ugly." (Any tautology fits here, really)
"I can't see why this is so hard. Anyone with a brain could figure it out." "Ah, but that's begging the question. You assume he has a brain."
Misestimated/Underestimated: Misestimate is to misjudge an estimation. Underestimate is specifically to estimate too low.
In explaining that the former is losing its use, I must point out that my spellcheck does not recognize it. I really think that's all I need to say on the point.
Examples: "I appear to have misestimated." "Over or under?" "I'm not sure..."
"You underestimated me."
Lay/Lie: I do this so much. Lay is to put/place. Lie is to recline.
Examples: "Chickens lay eggs."
"I'm going to lie down."
However, and here's the tricky part: "I lay my head down."
This actually has a fun meaning if used correctly: It can imply a feeling of separation from one's body.
Okay. How many grammatical errors did I make? Oh, and feel free to add any others that Just Bug You (TM) in the comments section.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
"Stars, hide your fires."
Macbeth, Act 1, Scene 4, Line 50-51:
Stars, hide your fires;
Let not light see my black and deep desires:
Now mine:
I walk upon hot coals.
I fear not.
I know it is fire, and it calls to me, but I fear not.
I feel the sun shine down on me and burn me rose red.
I fear not.
I know it is warmth, and it calls to me, and I answer; I fear not.
I see the lamp burn too-bright white.
I fear not.
I know it blinds, and it calls to me, but I do not look.
I look at the moon.
I fear not.
She is mother and giver. I know her power over tides, but that power is a part of me, so I fear not.
I look at the stars.
I see fires, pinprick suns far off.
I see something I know.
I look between them.
I see black velvet.
Darkest night.
Blackest dawn.
Not clouded. Not lost. Present, and dark, always dark.
I see something of myself.
I see my demon, and I see my angel.
I see what Freud called superego and id.
I see what is my self.
And I see something that scares me.
I see myself, not thinking.
But I do not look.
I fear to, should I look, examine, what should I see?
But I press my will and I make myself.
I know that not thinking is a greater sin than any I would find.
I know.
...
I smile and might chuckle.
I thought.
I fear not.
Stars, hide your fires;
Let not light see my black and deep desires:
Now mine:
I walk upon hot coals.
I fear not.
I know it is fire, and it calls to me, but I fear not.
I feel the sun shine down on me and burn me rose red.
I fear not.
I know it is warmth, and it calls to me, and I answer; I fear not.
I see the lamp burn too-bright white.
I fear not.
I know it blinds, and it calls to me, but I do not look.
I look at the moon.
I fear not.
She is mother and giver. I know her power over tides, but that power is a part of me, so I fear not.
I look at the stars.
I see fires, pinprick suns far off.
I see something I know.
I look between them.
I see black velvet.
Darkest night.
Blackest dawn.
Not clouded. Not lost. Present, and dark, always dark.
I see something of myself.
I see my demon, and I see my angel.
I see what Freud called superego and id.
I see what is my self.
And I see something that scares me.
I see myself, not thinking.
But I do not look.
I fear to, should I look, examine, what should I see?
But I press my will and I make myself.
I know that not thinking is a greater sin than any I would find.
I know.
...
I smile and might chuckle.
I thought.
I fear not.
Breaks
In a story--and any time you communicate an event, that is a story--one has to separate breaks. First, the simplest way I do:
1) Meta breaks: In a written format, this would be paragraphs, chapters, line breaks, or whatever else; when speaking, it is a pause or change in tone; in acting, a scene break, act change, or any in the previous; in movies a fade to black or any in the two previous categories. This list is not exclusive.
2) In-story breaks: Times when the character took some time. Examples are taking a break from whatever the character is doing, be that in writing, reading, fighting, or anything else. This may overlap with the above.
What is fascinating is exactly how much difference separating these two breaks makes. Say an author goes through a day in the life of one of her* characters. In the first telling, she put down everything that happens, and the character's feelings about all of it.
...
Wow. That is boring.
Okay, she goes back. Looks it over. And she asks herself that most important question in all of fiction, nay, in all of storytelling:
"What am I trying to write?"
The simple truth is, if the author can't figure out an answer to the question, the editing process is going to go nowhere. In Rapunzel, you will almost never hear what happens to her mother and father after she leaves in anything but the scantest of detail. The same goes for the witch. Why? Because the story is about Rapunzel. Adding all that information just breaks from the main action, the main story. It is not about her parents, or the witch, or even her prince. It is about her. So those are the details that got passed down.
Not knowing where your story is going when you write it? Fine! There's no problem with that. But trying to edit a story when, when it comes right down to it, no one knows who or what it is supposed to be about it going to end in disaster. If someone didn't know the story was about Rapunzel, would that person cut the description of the Prince's childhood, her parents', hers? Has to cut at least one, all these things are cluttering up the book and we don't get 90% of the loose ends tied up! We're breaking from the main action in half the book; I don't even know what the main action is supposed to be.
So, what is the story? Is it about Rapunzel? Her Prince? Their love? The witch? Her parents? A young boy who watches some or all of it happen and his response? Something completely esoteric?
There is no need for that to be the only thing in the story--no matter what the response is, all of those will be affected by the environment. But the majority of the book should be based around the focus of the book. The rest are breaks. A book without breaks makes no sense, a book that is mostly breaks is just plain weird. Though that can be done well, in order to do weird things well one has to be A) really lucky or B) aware of the weirdness.
[announcer voice] Step right up and try your luck!
* I dislike saying him or her.
1) Meta breaks: In a written format, this would be paragraphs, chapters, line breaks, or whatever else; when speaking, it is a pause or change in tone; in acting, a scene break, act change, or any in the previous; in movies a fade to black or any in the two previous categories. This list is not exclusive.
2) In-story breaks: Times when the character took some time. Examples are taking a break from whatever the character is doing, be that in writing, reading, fighting, or anything else. This may overlap with the above.
What is fascinating is exactly how much difference separating these two breaks makes. Say an author goes through a day in the life of one of her* characters. In the first telling, she put down everything that happens, and the character's feelings about all of it.
...
Wow. That is boring.
Okay, she goes back. Looks it over. And she asks herself that most important question in all of fiction, nay, in all of storytelling:
"What am I trying to write?"
The simple truth is, if the author can't figure out an answer to the question, the editing process is going to go nowhere. In Rapunzel, you will almost never hear what happens to her mother and father after she leaves in anything but the scantest of detail. The same goes for the witch. Why? Because the story is about Rapunzel. Adding all that information just breaks from the main action, the main story. It is not about her parents, or the witch, or even her prince. It is about her. So those are the details that got passed down.
Not knowing where your story is going when you write it? Fine! There's no problem with that. But trying to edit a story when, when it comes right down to it, no one knows who or what it is supposed to be about it going to end in disaster. If someone didn't know the story was about Rapunzel, would that person cut the description of the Prince's childhood, her parents', hers? Has to cut at least one, all these things are cluttering up the book and we don't get 90% of the loose ends tied up! We're breaking from the main action in half the book; I don't even know what the main action is supposed to be.
So, what is the story? Is it about Rapunzel? Her Prince? Their love? The witch? Her parents? A young boy who watches some or all of it happen and his response? Something completely esoteric?
There is no need for that to be the only thing in the story--no matter what the response is, all of those will be affected by the environment. But the majority of the book should be based around the focus of the book. The rest are breaks. A book without breaks makes no sense, a book that is mostly breaks is just plain weird. Though that can be done well, in order to do weird things well one has to be A) really lucky or B) aware of the weirdness.
[announcer voice] Step right up and try your luck!
* I dislike saying him or her.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Song Analysis
All my own opinions, I have not seen anything Idina said. If we're going by the school of whatever the artist says is right, I'm probably way off.
Also, note: the she I refer to is the speaker, not the author. Idina may share some or none of these traits, I wouldn't know.
My Own Worst Enemy
Idina Menzel
In the roses
In the spring
Innocence, specifically in the sense of ignorance. Roses are used as signs of love, and spring of new life; everything has its own little realm and you see the world through new, bright eyes.
I remember
Immediately implies that that time has passed. If you still are innocent, you do not remember, it simply is. This is particularly true with innocence, those truly innocent (using it as partially synonymous with 'ignorant') do not even know that it can get worse.
There was a time
I wasn’t afraid of anything
Emphasizes the innocence/ignorance again. People talk about having no fear flippantly occasionally, when discussing bravery. But, in context, this seems to imply a literal lack of fear. A lack of fear is caused by either a lack of experience or a lack of imagination. Considering the idyllic setting, it is probably the former.
But with the lilacs
And the rain
Direct link drawn back to the roses and the spring, mentioned earlier. This time it includes an obvious reference in the spring vs. rain parallel, rain comes later in the year and we assume it to be slightly worse. Not necessarily in the long run, but in the here-and-now? Yeah.
This draws us back to the innocence/ignorance, as looking to the future is a sign of wisdom, but you have to earn that.
The roses vs. lilacs is more interesting. There is nothing particularly bad about lilacs--they are also used for love, they bloom in spring, all that good stuff. But it's also just a bit less mainstream. On the other hand, combine it with rain and you could get tears on lilacs--very easily a loss of innocence, when you consider the juxtaposition of love and tears.
One day you went away
Loss of innocence, realizing you can lose people.
I remember
I forgot everything
Can be seen as a first freak out. You spend your entire life learning how to fit into society, learning every rule, probably learning how to manipulate them and then BAM. You lose it. The first time this happens can be liberating, surreal or both, making the opposites above very appropriate.
Chorus:
My mother’s always trying to tell me
How to be grateful how to believe
May be just me, but I always heard "believe" as "be free". One could see this as showing how to trust even in the face of bad things, and how to survive on one's own, either way.
My father’s always trying to say
Baby you’re beautiful in every way
Classic good dad. He's saying that everything she does is alright, everything she is is beautiful. The multiple meanings of beautiful--outer, inner and actions--make this an interesting set of lines. It could just be out there to show how she has no reason to be scared/hurt, or it could be that he has trusted her and helped her every step of the way.
My lover’s always got me in his arms
Trying to protect me keep me from harm
She has a close relationship with her lover. By this point it is clear that these three sets of lines are a unit, establishing that she has people helping her, people who care about her, every step of the way.
It's also worth noting that, in all three instances, the word "trying" comes up. Her mother and father are trying to teach her, her lover is trying to protect her. This means it ultimately comes down to her, and...
So why do I always have to be
My worst my own worst enemy
She clearly feels she isn't living up to this. She feels she is holding herself back, hence her bit about being her own worst enemy. There is also a not-quite-pause between My worst and the rest of the line. This makes the line being spoken, however briefly, into, Why do I always have to be my worst? This takes us back to tears and the freak out, few people would want either of those things to be someone's first impression of him or her.
In the shadows in the grays
First off, shadows is very loaded. We have a long history of associating darkness with evil, making it impossible for it to be otherwise.
The grays has a bit of duality because it's gray. Just as we've associated dark with evil, we've associated light with good. Gray stays solidly in the middle of that spectrum, meaning that it is both not what one would hope for in good nor what one would expect in evil.
In the lonely
There is a place
Where we can all hide away
Being lonely is bad.
We're pack animals. We can handle being alone, but loneliness automatically has a number of stigmas against it, to the point that those who remain alone by choice or necessity are seen as odd.
But hiding can be a comfort, and it is often necessary to be alone if one wishes to hide. So we have a wish and a necessity noted in this line.
But in the windows of the soul
There is nowhere we can go
If we keep running
Running from our destiny
Back to being alone. If you are alone, you have to deal with...yourself. You naturally can't run. It is worth noting that the speaker knows there are things you can run from (see above), but running from the bad bits of something will also run from the good parts of it.
So you can run, but there are things you cannot run from. And I suppose it makes as much sense as anything else to call those things your destiny.
Chorus:
My mother’s always trying to tell me
How to be grateful how to believe
My father’s always trying to say
Baby you’re beautiful in every way
My lover’s always got me in his arms
Trying to protect me keep me from harm
So why do I always have to be
My worst my own worst enemy
The chorus, this time can be seen as the things that keep her from running. Her mother, who helps her remember the things she is grateful for and so should stick around for. Her father, who helps her remember she doesn't need to run. Her lover is the most forward in this interpretation, he is actively holding her from running and trying to stop the things that are making her want to run.
But still, we have trying. Are they succeeding?
You say I walk on water
You say I walk on the moon
But it’s never enough
(no it’s never enough no it’s never enough)
The former is downright divine, and the latter is widely established as a turning point in American history. But still, no matter what she does, she is not good enough. Usually this would be a way to make the character sympathetic and the person who is creating this feeling unsympathetic. But the speaker is neither asking for sympathy nor blaming someone else. In the context of the song, it is clearly never enough for herself. Everyone else is supportive, but she never feels like she's worth it.
You say I’m only human
It’s all in my head
But it’s never enough
(no it’s never enough no it’s never enough)
Emphasizes that the above things are all but impossible for humans, doing them at all is impressive. Any claim otherwise is just her trying to be more than anyone would reasonably expect of her.
One day I’ll find
My alibi...
An alibi is only used when someone has done something wrong. The idea that she cannot do these things is, to her mind, a crime.
Chorus:
My mother’s always trying to tell me
How to be grateful how to believe
My father’s always trying to say
Baby you’re beautiful in every way
My lover’s always got me in his arms
Trying to protect me keep me from harm
So why do I always have to be
My worst my own worst enemy
Now the chorus takes on a feel of people trying to convince her that she has nothing to be sorry for. They're trying to say that she's done enough, and her lover in particular is saying he can help her through the rest, if she just lets him.
Also, note: the she I refer to is the speaker, not the author. Idina may share some or none of these traits, I wouldn't know.
My Own Worst Enemy
Idina Menzel
In the roses
In the spring
Innocence, specifically in the sense of ignorance. Roses are used as signs of love, and spring of new life; everything has its own little realm and you see the world through new, bright eyes.
I remember
Immediately implies that that time has passed. If you still are innocent, you do not remember, it simply is. This is particularly true with innocence, those truly innocent (using it as partially synonymous with 'ignorant') do not even know that it can get worse.
There was a time
I wasn’t afraid of anything
Emphasizes the innocence/ignorance again. People talk about having no fear flippantly occasionally, when discussing bravery. But, in context, this seems to imply a literal lack of fear. A lack of fear is caused by either a lack of experience or a lack of imagination. Considering the idyllic setting, it is probably the former.
But with the lilacs
And the rain
Direct link drawn back to the roses and the spring, mentioned earlier. This time it includes an obvious reference in the spring vs. rain parallel, rain comes later in the year and we assume it to be slightly worse. Not necessarily in the long run, but in the here-and-now? Yeah.
This draws us back to the innocence/ignorance, as looking to the future is a sign of wisdom, but you have to earn that.
The roses vs. lilacs is more interesting. There is nothing particularly bad about lilacs--they are also used for love, they bloom in spring, all that good stuff. But it's also just a bit less mainstream. On the other hand, combine it with rain and you could get tears on lilacs--very easily a loss of innocence, when you consider the juxtaposition of love and tears.
One day you went away
Loss of innocence, realizing you can lose people.
I remember
I forgot everything
Can be seen as a first freak out. You spend your entire life learning how to fit into society, learning every rule, probably learning how to manipulate them and then BAM. You lose it. The first time this happens can be liberating, surreal or both, making the opposites above very appropriate.
Chorus:
My mother’s always trying to tell me
How to be grateful how to believe
May be just me, but I always heard "believe" as "be free". One could see this as showing how to trust even in the face of bad things, and how to survive on one's own, either way.
My father’s always trying to say
Baby you’re beautiful in every way
Classic good dad. He's saying that everything she does is alright, everything she is is beautiful. The multiple meanings of beautiful--outer, inner and actions--make this an interesting set of lines. It could just be out there to show how she has no reason to be scared/hurt, or it could be that he has trusted her and helped her every step of the way.
My lover’s always got me in his arms
Trying to protect me keep me from harm
She has a close relationship with her lover. By this point it is clear that these three sets of lines are a unit, establishing that she has people helping her, people who care about her, every step of the way.
It's also worth noting that, in all three instances, the word "trying" comes up. Her mother and father are trying to teach her, her lover is trying to protect her. This means it ultimately comes down to her, and...
So why do I always have to be
My worst my own worst enemy
She clearly feels she isn't living up to this. She feels she is holding herself back, hence her bit about being her own worst enemy. There is also a not-quite-pause between My worst and the rest of the line. This makes the line being spoken, however briefly, into, Why do I always have to be my worst? This takes us back to tears and the freak out, few people would want either of those things to be someone's first impression of him or her.
In the shadows in the grays
First off, shadows is very loaded. We have a long history of associating darkness with evil, making it impossible for it to be otherwise.
The grays has a bit of duality because it's gray. Just as we've associated dark with evil, we've associated light with good. Gray stays solidly in the middle of that spectrum, meaning that it is both not what one would hope for in good nor what one would expect in evil.
In the lonely
There is a place
Where we can all hide away
Being lonely is bad.
We're pack animals. We can handle being alone, but loneliness automatically has a number of stigmas against it, to the point that those who remain alone by choice or necessity are seen as odd.
But hiding can be a comfort, and it is often necessary to be alone if one wishes to hide. So we have a wish and a necessity noted in this line.
But in the windows of the soul
There is nowhere we can go
If we keep running
Running from our destiny
Back to being alone. If you are alone, you have to deal with...yourself. You naturally can't run. It is worth noting that the speaker knows there are things you can run from (see above), but running from the bad bits of something will also run from the good parts of it.
So you can run, but there are things you cannot run from. And I suppose it makes as much sense as anything else to call those things your destiny.
Chorus:
My mother’s always trying to tell me
How to be grateful how to believe
My father’s always trying to say
Baby you’re beautiful in every way
My lover’s always got me in his arms
Trying to protect me keep me from harm
So why do I always have to be
My worst my own worst enemy
The chorus, this time can be seen as the things that keep her from running. Her mother, who helps her remember the things she is grateful for and so should stick around for. Her father, who helps her remember she doesn't need to run. Her lover is the most forward in this interpretation, he is actively holding her from running and trying to stop the things that are making her want to run.
But still, we have trying. Are they succeeding?
You say I walk on water
You say I walk on the moon
But it’s never enough
(no it’s never enough no it’s never enough)
The former is downright divine, and the latter is widely established as a turning point in American history. But still, no matter what she does, she is not good enough. Usually this would be a way to make the character sympathetic and the person who is creating this feeling unsympathetic. But the speaker is neither asking for sympathy nor blaming someone else. In the context of the song, it is clearly never enough for herself. Everyone else is supportive, but she never feels like she's worth it.
You say I’m only human
It’s all in my head
But it’s never enough
(no it’s never enough no it’s never enough)
Emphasizes that the above things are all but impossible for humans, doing them at all is impressive. Any claim otherwise is just her trying to be more than anyone would reasonably expect of her.
One day I’ll find
My alibi...
An alibi is only used when someone has done something wrong. The idea that she cannot do these things is, to her mind, a crime.
Chorus:
My mother’s always trying to tell me
How to be grateful how to believe
My father’s always trying to say
Baby you’re beautiful in every way
My lover’s always got me in his arms
Trying to protect me keep me from harm
So why do I always have to be
My worst my own worst enemy
Now the chorus takes on a feel of people trying to convince her that she has nothing to be sorry for. They're trying to say that she's done enough, and her lover in particular is saying he can help her through the rest, if she just lets him.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Hey
Just popping in to wish everyone a happy last day of march. So, even if blogspot won't let me put it, happy 3/32/10 everybody!
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Poem #2
Forgive me if this seems disjointed. It can be difficult to tell ones own story, especially when it didn't 'happen'.
I have a moment.
But no moment stands alone.
Imagine you have fallen, because you stumbled, you tripped.
You fell off the side of the castle. Your fortress. Your family’s.
But you caught yourself. You climbed back up. One step, one handhold, one foothold, one at a time.
Then, as you reached the top, the footholds fell away. Your hand slipped. You hang there by your fingertips.
Don’t worry. Look. You’re friend’s there. You friend will help you up.
Crack.
That was your fingers breaking under a hard boot. Your heart breaking under a hard smile.
No.
And now…now you can’t catch yourself.
How could you?
How could your friend?
Here is the moment. It is that brief frozen moment in the fall. The one where you decide to let yourself fall. The one where you stop fighting, because you don’t care.
But you don’t freeze there.
You hit the water and cry out from the sharp smack on your back, the ice covering your skin.
And you can’t fight. You already decided. You’ll drown, crying.
Sobbing, gasping down lungfuls of water until you drown.
…
You wake. It’s bright, so bright. You think it might be someplace good…but the light is blinding, everything hurts…
Not the good place.
Tears well up again. You tried, damn it. You tried.
A sob tears through your chest.
Why? An enemy killing you, that would have been fine…you would have understood.
But not that one. Not the one you’ve loved like family since you were a child.
A curtain is pulled away and the light hurts even more, you whimper in the middle of a sob.
And then you hear your name. Not in anger, not in satisfaction, but almost in reverence. You hear it again, in exultation.
“You’re alive!
“Guys! Guys, guess who woke up!”
That’s the other moment. When you realize it hurts because you’re alive. Because someone cared.
You don’t recognize the one who woke you. Apparently you barely know each other.
It didn’t matter. This one saved you.
Well?
Aren’t you going to do anything?
I have a moment.
But no moment stands alone.
Imagine you have fallen, because you stumbled, you tripped.
You fell off the side of the castle. Your fortress. Your family’s.
But you caught yourself. You climbed back up. One step, one handhold, one foothold, one at a time.
Then, as you reached the top, the footholds fell away. Your hand slipped. You hang there by your fingertips.
Don’t worry. Look. You’re friend’s there. You friend will help you up.
Crack.
That was your fingers breaking under a hard boot. Your heart breaking under a hard smile.
No.
And now…now you can’t catch yourself.
How could you?
How could your friend?
Here is the moment. It is that brief frozen moment in the fall. The one where you decide to let yourself fall. The one where you stop fighting, because you don’t care.
But you don’t freeze there.
You hit the water and cry out from the sharp smack on your back, the ice covering your skin.
And you can’t fight. You already decided. You’ll drown, crying.
Sobbing, gasping down lungfuls of water until you drown.
…
You wake. It’s bright, so bright. You think it might be someplace good…but the light is blinding, everything hurts…
Not the good place.
Tears well up again. You tried, damn it. You tried.
A sob tears through your chest.
Why? An enemy killing you, that would have been fine…you would have understood.
But not that one. Not the one you’ve loved like family since you were a child.
A curtain is pulled away and the light hurts even more, you whimper in the middle of a sob.
And then you hear your name. Not in anger, not in satisfaction, but almost in reverence. You hear it again, in exultation.
“You’re alive!
“Guys! Guys, guess who woke up!”
That’s the other moment. When you realize it hurts because you’re alive. Because someone cared.
You don’t recognize the one who woke you. Apparently you barely know each other.
It didn’t matter. This one saved you.
Well?
Aren’t you going to do anything?
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Rant: "Well, Yeah, But You're Not Gonna Win That Fight."
One of my teachers actually said that to me. Someone who is meant to be teaching students how to deal with the world actually said that if it looks like you might not win, you should stop trying.
Context:
The set-up was that this generation is over-tested. Everyone agreed. Then, to continue the conversation, I said that I thought we were also being given too much homework in elementary school.
(As a brief aside, no one present had any connection to elementary school teachers, so none of this was a personal attack nor could it be construed as such. Well, it could, but you can also say, "Hitler liked puppies!")
She agreed with me that we were over-homeworked. She did not have any reservations there, she just flat-out agreed. Then...well, see title. She said I was not going to win because everyone has always been over-homeworked, in her own words, "Every generation has had seven hours of homework."
I stared at her for a beat. She had just said, in front of her entire classroom, the people under her authority, that she believed something bad should not be stopped because it has been going on for too long. This is a bad idea for two reasons. 1) "Don't fight if the odds are against you" kills just about every major human achievement. Why should we change? Because new ways are, occasionally, better. And the, "It's tradition" argument is always wrong. It may be more efficient, easier, people may be more comfortable...but those are the arguments. Not some random thing about how it was good enough for my thirty-times-great grandfather and so it's good enough for me. 2) If the amount of time the policy has been in place is the thing that is messing people up, then adding more time to the equation is not going to help.
Forget tradition. If someone else has a good idea, listen to it, and if you have time debate, then that's probably a good idea. But the fact that it was good yesterday doesn't mean it's good today. It just means it was good yesterday.
Context:
The set-up was that this generation is over-tested. Everyone agreed. Then, to continue the conversation, I said that I thought we were also being given too much homework in elementary school.
(As a brief aside, no one present had any connection to elementary school teachers, so none of this was a personal attack nor could it be construed as such. Well, it could, but you can also say, "Hitler liked puppies!")
She agreed with me that we were over-homeworked. She did not have any reservations there, she just flat-out agreed. Then...well, see title. She said I was not going to win because everyone has always been over-homeworked, in her own words, "Every generation has had seven hours of homework."
I stared at her for a beat. She had just said, in front of her entire classroom, the people under her authority, that she believed something bad should not be stopped because it has been going on for too long. This is a bad idea for two reasons. 1) "Don't fight if the odds are against you" kills just about every major human achievement. Why should we change? Because new ways are, occasionally, better. And the, "It's tradition" argument is always wrong. It may be more efficient, easier, people may be more comfortable...but those are the arguments. Not some random thing about how it was good enough for my thirty-times-great grandfather and so it's good enough for me. 2) If the amount of time the policy has been in place is the thing that is messing people up, then adding more time to the equation is not going to help.
Forget tradition. If someone else has a good idea, listen to it, and if you have time debate, then that's probably a good idea. But the fact that it was good yesterday doesn't mean it's good today. It just means it was good yesterday.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
And as She Runs Away
She Fears She Won't Be Followed.
Because no matter what they've done, if they're all you've got...
That's why people will still love abusers. That's why Stockholm's Syndrome exists. Humans are pack animals. Deprive us of a pack, and we'll find one. Deprive us of any part of that pack--even an imagined part--and we'll search to the ends of the earth. Doesn't mean it'll be pretty.
But it doesn't mean it'll be ugly. The same instinct for pack leads us to protect and defend. The same feeling makes you band together with people you never thought you could. The same feeling meant Catholics, Protestants, Muslims, whatever prayed together after the WTC fell.
When what you have is all you've got...
Well.
It's amazing what you'll do to keep it.
Musing #5
Because no matter what they've done, if they're all you've got...
That's why people will still love abusers. That's why Stockholm's Syndrome exists. Humans are pack animals. Deprive us of a pack, and we'll find one. Deprive us of any part of that pack--even an imagined part--and we'll search to the ends of the earth. Doesn't mean it'll be pretty.
But it doesn't mean it'll be ugly. The same instinct for pack leads us to protect and defend. The same feeling makes you band together with people you never thought you could. The same feeling meant Catholics, Protestants, Muslims, whatever prayed together after the WTC fell.
When what you have is all you've got...
Well.
It's amazing what you'll do to keep it.
Musing #5
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Nazi Propaganda
Oh, wow. I think I'd have trouble coming up with a more loaded phrase if I tried.
I am currently taking a history class in which we are studying the buildup to World War II. This includes watching some propaganda films. These are scary, because if I let myself forget what the solution he is talking about is, I want to follow him. I genuinely feel community, family, interdependence and independence blended to make a nation. It's a good feeling, like being back at Girl Scout camp, or on a choir trip.
But that is not what scares me the most by a long shot.
What scares me the most is the people around me who refuse to look at these films as anything but Nazi propaganda. They talk about how stupid these people were to follow, how obvious it is. When asked what makes it obvious, none of them have an answer better than looking offended and/or saying, "So what, you'd follow him?"
If my kids are dying? If I don't know what he's going to do to all those people? If he's turning the economy around, genuinely helping? Oh hell yeah.
The problem with these people is not that they want to do horrible things--a lot of people do. The problem is that dictators like Stalin, Mussolini, Hitler got people to follow them. Especially Hitler. Refusing to admit that those who followed him could be intelligent people, even good people, however rarely, is dooming yourself to repeat these mistakes. Because someone who refuses to believe that someone can be evil without a glaring mark is going to believe that the next charismatic malevolent despot isn't bad. It doesn't matter whether he or she is up to Hitler's level. I hope with all my heart none will be.
If someone is showing old propaganda, it is probably not so you can laugh and feel superior. It is probably so you can look at life through those people's eyes. Refusing to do so is refusing to learn the lesson. And when the lesson is on the Holocaust, it is an important lesson.
(Incidentally, good people can be charismatic, too. Charisma and morality are independent.)
I am currently taking a history class in which we are studying the buildup to World War II. This includes watching some propaganda films. These are scary, because if I let myself forget what the solution he is talking about is, I want to follow him. I genuinely feel community, family, interdependence and independence blended to make a nation. It's a good feeling, like being back at Girl Scout camp, or on a choir trip.
But that is not what scares me the most by a long shot.
What scares me the most is the people around me who refuse to look at these films as anything but Nazi propaganda. They talk about how stupid these people were to follow, how obvious it is. When asked what makes it obvious, none of them have an answer better than looking offended and/or saying, "So what, you'd follow him?"
If my kids are dying? If I don't know what he's going to do to all those people? If he's turning the economy around, genuinely helping? Oh hell yeah.
The problem with these people is not that they want to do horrible things--a lot of people do. The problem is that dictators like Stalin, Mussolini, Hitler got people to follow them. Especially Hitler. Refusing to admit that those who followed him could be intelligent people, even good people, however rarely, is dooming yourself to repeat these mistakes. Because someone who refuses to believe that someone can be evil without a glaring mark is going to believe that the next charismatic malevolent despot isn't bad. It doesn't matter whether he or she is up to Hitler's level. I hope with all my heart none will be.
If someone is showing old propaganda, it is probably not so you can laugh and feel superior. It is probably so you can look at life through those people's eyes. Refusing to do so is refusing to learn the lesson. And when the lesson is on the Holocaust, it is an important lesson.
(Incidentally, good people can be charismatic, too. Charisma and morality are independent.)
March Madness
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
Oh, sorry. I've got two honor choirs and a choir trip in four weeks. The other week is testing.
I'll be out for a while, unless a creative mood strikes.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
Oh, and it's my birthday month. I'll be in Disneyland for one of the aforementioned choirs.
YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!!!!!!!!!
Oh, sorry. I've got two honor choirs and a choir trip in four weeks. The other week is testing.
I'll be out for a while, unless a creative mood strikes.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
Oh, and it's my birthday month. I'll be in Disneyland for one of the aforementioned choirs.
YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!!!!!!!!!
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Story
There once was a man named Achilles. He was given a choice by a prophetess: live a long life and be happy among his children, or fight a war and be remembered forever.
You know his story. You know his choice. This is not his story. This is not his choice.
A man sits by the beach. He has been called back to war; the generals all know what a morale boost he would bring--The great warrior, fighting on our side! How could we lose?
He's been greeted by a young woman, one he knows to be a prophet. He does not fully understand her powers, he does not need to. He trusts.
And she has given him a choice. She did not create this choice, she simply laid out all the consequences for him and...left. Left him to decide.
On the one hand: Go out to war. Be remembered forever, but die, soon.
On the other: Stay. Raise a family. Be happy. Live a good, long life amongst his offspring and loving wife. But be forgotten.
And as he watches the sun set, he wonders what he should choose. Life, now, or life, forever, among memories.
There's no easy way to choose this. It's not like when he was young, and had nothing much at home to interest him except learning to fight. Of course he was going to be a warrior then. What else would you be, when only fighting held your interest?
So he had gone out and fought. And fought well, earned respect, earned rank, earned--he smiled a little to himself--more than a few admirers.
But now...now he knew he could settle down. Fighting wasn't all he was anymore, just a part of it. He actually enjoyed the idea of settling down, not with that passion that he enjoyed fighting, but enjoyed it, nonetheless.
He closed his eyes and listened to the beach; heard, off in the distance, the sounds of the village. The calm, quiet place he had been so bored with as a youth.
He made his choice.
Hm? What was his name? I don't know. We've forgotten it.
You know his story. You know his choice. This is not his story. This is not his choice.
A man sits by the beach. He has been called back to war; the generals all know what a morale boost he would bring--The great warrior, fighting on our side! How could we lose?
He's been greeted by a young woman, one he knows to be a prophet. He does not fully understand her powers, he does not need to. He trusts.
And she has given him a choice. She did not create this choice, she simply laid out all the consequences for him and...left. Left him to decide.
On the one hand: Go out to war. Be remembered forever, but die, soon.
On the other: Stay. Raise a family. Be happy. Live a good, long life amongst his offspring and loving wife. But be forgotten.
And as he watches the sun set, he wonders what he should choose. Life, now, or life, forever, among memories.
There's no easy way to choose this. It's not like when he was young, and had nothing much at home to interest him except learning to fight. Of course he was going to be a warrior then. What else would you be, when only fighting held your interest?
So he had gone out and fought. And fought well, earned respect, earned rank, earned--he smiled a little to himself--more than a few admirers.
But now...now he knew he could settle down. Fighting wasn't all he was anymore, just a part of it. He actually enjoyed the idea of settling down, not with that passion that he enjoyed fighting, but enjoyed it, nonetheless.
He closed his eyes and listened to the beach; heard, off in the distance, the sounds of the village. The calm, quiet place he had been so bored with as a youth.
He made his choice.
Hm? What was his name? I don't know. We've forgotten it.
Memory
You could live your whole life and never know if anyone will remember you. You never can know how long people will remember you after death.
It gets even worse when you look at our very old legends: all the ones that still have the name attached tend towards war, violence, and heroism (I'm thinking Achilles)...pretty difficult combination to justify today, unless you're fighting the next Hitler.
And this has scared me more and more as I grow. That I will be forgotten, that people, ultimately, won't remember more than a few years after I'm dead. A generation, tops. And that relies on me having children, who will remember me because I'm they're mom--don't get me wrong, a mom is a great thing to be, it's just not all I want.
And then I start trying to figure out why this scares me so much. Not because it seems an illogical fear, or a logical one, simply to figure it out, dissect it. Why does being remembered matter so much?
And I come to the conclusion that it's to have an effect. If I am not remembered, what effect can I possibly have? And the idea that I would be nothing after death is terrifying. It is no coincidence that these doubts tend to align with when I think about what might happen if I just disappear after death.
And so I want to make my mark. And I look around and try to find where I can mark, and find...I have. I have helped others understand things. I have gone out and put myself out there, leaving a line of fire written along people's souls--and regardless of whether the fire flashes for but a moment or burns a permanent mark, a permanent memory, a dream, I have been an artist and a muse.
This isn't enough. I doubt anything ever will be. But it's enough, for the moment.
It gets even worse when you look at our very old legends: all the ones that still have the name attached tend towards war, violence, and heroism (I'm thinking Achilles)...pretty difficult combination to justify today, unless you're fighting the next Hitler.
And this has scared me more and more as I grow. That I will be forgotten, that people, ultimately, won't remember more than a few years after I'm dead. A generation, tops. And that relies on me having children, who will remember me because I'm they're mom--don't get me wrong, a mom is a great thing to be, it's just not all I want.
And then I start trying to figure out why this scares me so much. Not because it seems an illogical fear, or a logical one, simply to figure it out, dissect it. Why does being remembered matter so much?
And I come to the conclusion that it's to have an effect. If I am not remembered, what effect can I possibly have? And the idea that I would be nothing after death is terrifying. It is no coincidence that these doubts tend to align with when I think about what might happen if I just disappear after death.
And so I want to make my mark. And I look around and try to find where I can mark, and find...I have. I have helped others understand things. I have gone out and put myself out there, leaving a line of fire written along people's souls--and regardless of whether the fire flashes for but a moment or burns a permanent mark, a permanent memory, a dream, I have been an artist and a muse.
This isn't enough. I doubt anything ever will be. But it's enough, for the moment.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Phrases
There are a couple new ones at the bottom.
From the World:
The only constant is change.
-Lots of people. It's a common thought.
A witty phrase proves nothing.
-Voltaire
What's the point of a good quote if you can't misquote it? [paraphrased. No, really.]
-?
Build high the walls; build strong the beams...take strength from those who need you.
-Tarzan, Two Worlds
The opposite of a correct statement is a false statement. But the opposite of a profound truth may well be another profound truth.
-Niels Bohr
When outmatched...cheat.
-Batman, Batman: The Brave and the Bold
No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.
-Eleanor Roosevelt
That's not just bluffing when you have bad cards, that's bluffing when you have no cards at all.
-Sergeant Colon of Discworld
“I’m not surprised. It is easy to forget that good things can happen just as unexpectedly as the bad things!”
- http://www.missmab.com/Comics/Ab_090.php
From My Life:
PLEASE COMMENT.
-Me
When sightsinging, sing as if you know the piece.
-My Choir Teacher
From the World:
The only constant is change.
-Lots of people. It's a common thought.
A witty phrase proves nothing.
-Voltaire
What's the point of a good quote if you can't misquote it? [paraphrased. No, really.]
-?
Build high the walls; build strong the beams...take strength from those who need you.
-Tarzan, Two Worlds
The opposite of a correct statement is a false statement. But the opposite of a profound truth may well be another profound truth.
-Niels Bohr
When outmatched...cheat.
-Batman, Batman: The Brave and the Bold
No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.
-Eleanor Roosevelt
That's not just bluffing when you have bad cards, that's bluffing when you have no cards at all.
-Sergeant Colon of Discworld
“I’m not surprised. It is easy to forget that good things can happen just as unexpectedly as the bad things!”
- http://www.missmab.com/Comics/Ab_090.php
From My Life:
PLEASE COMMENT.
-Me
When sightsinging, sing as if you know the piece.
-My Choir Teacher
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Outdoor Ed. Travel Log
I was a Cabin Leader. Everyone thought I was twenty-one.
2/1 Monday
The buses were early, which never happens; no one forgot anything that needed to be brought from home (one forgot a handbook, but it wasn't realized until everyone was at camp and he survived without it), which never happens; everyone who had signed up showed up, which never happens; and someone actually realized that my nickname was Wren with a 'W', which yeah.
My co-cabin leader (who was nice and a ball of energy--nice when watching 12 fifth-grade boys) and I met our naturalist for the week, who is basically the adult on deck. This was immediately followed by some productive time working on a skit we needed done by Thursday.
And I had a sudden fear of dying and being forgotten for no apparent reason. It went away after taking a break from the kids.
2/2 Tuesday
This was our beach day, meaning the entirety of the morning went wake up->get dressed->have breakfast->beach. I tried to pay attention to what I was smelling. That last was actually quite interesting, I usually just smell enough to vaguely identify and then ignore the scent or actively block it out. During this time, I found that skunk actually doesn't smell that bad. It's not good, but it's no worse than, say, burnt food. Different, naturally, but no worse.
And I had a sudden fear of dying and being forgotten for no apparent reason. It went away after thinking about what was bothering me and coming to the conclusion that it wasn't really as bad as my hype.
We went to the Earth Dance, which during the past few times had been crazy time, and this time was learning other cultures' dances. We actually ended up incorporating one into our cabin's skit, it was a dance that was used as an alternative to beating each other up. I believe that the belief is that the person who is able to dance it correctly for longer had the better precision/agility/stamina and would have won anyway. And hey, you don't have to send anyone to be stitched up, and probably no one dies! (Deaths by exhaustion are still rarer than deaths by being repeatedly hit over the head while still exhausting yourself.)
2/3 Wednesday
We got a giant sock for being quiet.
On our hike, one of the first things we did was look into treetops, and it was early enough that the sunlight filtered down through them without blinding us, giving that dappled sunlight look to the surrounding forest. We also learned that, in addition to the term family circles, another way to refer to those groups of redwoods is fairy rings.
Oh, and just to add to the world-upside-downedness established Monday, the boys' bathrooms were in better shape than the girls'.
This part is important, to me at least: I saw Orion. Not a grouping of stars making up a rough outline of his corners, or something like that, actually saw what would make someone look up into the sky and say, "Hey, there's a person up there." The trick is to realize that the stars are not markers of corners, but where the light would shine off his armor. That's why there's nothing around his arms, there's nothing to shine there. It was a pretty spectacular feeling, though I doubt I'm communicating it well.
2/4 Thursday
We got another giant sock.
We went to the Emerald Forest--a buckeye grove where almost everything was emerald, since moss covered what other plants didn't. Then we went up to the garden, a short but vertical hike, and I sang a bit to keep the kids from getting to loud and rowdy. There were mentions of American Idol, but I just told them I lacked a video camera and left it at that.
Then there was skit night, wherein almost everyone forgot their lines and quite a few people exited, pursued by a bear. Yes, the same bear.
2/5 Friday
I had to (temporarily) confiscate a small, black, stuffed dog named Scruffy. The owner kept yelling "Scruffy attack!" and throwing him at people. Even after being told several times not to do anything that could be described with the word "attack," he yelled, "Wood cookie attack!" Yes, it was a small, short cylinder of wood. Yes, it connected. Yes, it connected with the back of a kid's head. He got in trouble for that one.
We watched a slideshow of what had happened, and I got an odd sort of memory. One was the intended, remembering everything that had happened that week. Another was of the last time I had seen the slideshow. And a third was a vague memory from about six years ago, when I had been at Outdoor Ed. as a kid and watched the slideshow of my week.
Someday, when I've got some fans, I'll care enough to edit these things more thoroughly.
...
Nah.
2/1 Monday
The buses were early, which never happens; no one forgot anything that needed to be brought from home (one forgot a handbook, but it wasn't realized until everyone was at camp and he survived without it), which never happens; everyone who had signed up showed up, which never happens; and someone actually realized that my nickname was Wren with a 'W', which yeah.
My co-cabin leader (who was nice and a ball of energy--nice when watching 12 fifth-grade boys) and I met our naturalist for the week, who is basically the adult on deck. This was immediately followed by some productive time working on a skit we needed done by Thursday.
And I had a sudden fear of dying and being forgotten for no apparent reason. It went away after taking a break from the kids.
2/2 Tuesday
This was our beach day, meaning the entirety of the morning went wake up->get dressed->have breakfast->beach. I tried to pay attention to what I was smelling. That last was actually quite interesting, I usually just smell enough to vaguely identify and then ignore the scent or actively block it out. During this time, I found that skunk actually doesn't smell that bad. It's not good, but it's no worse than, say, burnt food. Different, naturally, but no worse.
And I had a sudden fear of dying and being forgotten for no apparent reason. It went away after thinking about what was bothering me and coming to the conclusion that it wasn't really as bad as my hype.
We went to the Earth Dance, which during the past few times had been crazy time, and this time was learning other cultures' dances. We actually ended up incorporating one into our cabin's skit, it was a dance that was used as an alternative to beating each other up. I believe that the belief is that the person who is able to dance it correctly for longer had the better precision/agility/stamina and would have won anyway. And hey, you don't have to send anyone to be stitched up, and probably no one dies! (Deaths by exhaustion are still rarer than deaths by being repeatedly hit over the head while still exhausting yourself.)
2/3 Wednesday
We got a giant sock for being quiet.
On our hike, one of the first things we did was look into treetops, and it was early enough that the sunlight filtered down through them without blinding us, giving that dappled sunlight look to the surrounding forest. We also learned that, in addition to the term family circles, another way to refer to those groups of redwoods is fairy rings.
Oh, and just to add to the world-upside-downedness established Monday, the boys' bathrooms were in better shape than the girls'.
This part is important, to me at least: I saw Orion. Not a grouping of stars making up a rough outline of his corners, or something like that, actually saw what would make someone look up into the sky and say, "Hey, there's a person up there." The trick is to realize that the stars are not markers of corners, but where the light would shine off his armor. That's why there's nothing around his arms, there's nothing to shine there. It was a pretty spectacular feeling, though I doubt I'm communicating it well.
2/4 Thursday
We got another giant sock.
We went to the Emerald Forest--a buckeye grove where almost everything was emerald, since moss covered what other plants didn't. Then we went up to the garden, a short but vertical hike, and I sang a bit to keep the kids from getting to loud and rowdy. There were mentions of American Idol, but I just told them I lacked a video camera and left it at that.
Then there was skit night, wherein almost everyone forgot their lines and quite a few people exited, pursued by a bear. Yes, the same bear.
2/5 Friday
I had to (temporarily) confiscate a small, black, stuffed dog named Scruffy. The owner kept yelling "Scruffy attack!" and throwing him at people. Even after being told several times not to do anything that could be described with the word "attack," he yelled, "Wood cookie attack!" Yes, it was a small, short cylinder of wood. Yes, it connected. Yes, it connected with the back of a kid's head. He got in trouble for that one.
We watched a slideshow of what had happened, and I got an odd sort of memory. One was the intended, remembering everything that had happened that week. Another was of the last time I had seen the slideshow. And a third was a vague memory from about six years ago, when I had been at Outdoor Ed. as a kid and watched the slideshow of my week.
Someday, when I've got some fans, I'll care enough to edit these things more thoroughly.
...
Nah.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
"Gay Marriage"
Not the issue, the term. Hence the quotes.
I understand the desire to have a simple term, but it surprises me that in this age of political correctness, no one has noted that this term technically excludes bisexuals. It is clearly not the intent, and I will accept that, but...well, show of hands if you've seen womyn (or another variant), or heard someone complain about 'man'ual labor (which comes from Latin manos, meaning hand, but that's rather my point).
I have yet to run across anyone talking about this. I haven't done particularly extensive research, but satire is one of my favorite genres, I frequent TV Tropes, I read news magazines, one would think I would have at least read some snark on it by now.
And it's particularly odd in that it's not like the black people/African-Americans, where the latter rules out blacks who aren't of African descent and living in America, not to mention being long. Same-sex marriage is a perfectly reasonable term, and is all of one syllable longer. It removes, simply by being used, any exclusion of bisexuals (or for that matter, asexual people who are romantically inclined towards people of the same gender--human sexuality is complex), and any Us and Them mindset.
Of course, something that bothers me more is that, despite actually being bisexual, it took me this long to think of this. What else am I missing?
Feel free to post some guesses in the comments section, along with whatever else.
Addictive Interestingness (TV Tropes)
Word Power
I understand the desire to have a simple term, but it surprises me that in this age of political correctness, no one has noted that this term technically excludes bisexuals. It is clearly not the intent, and I will accept that, but...well, show of hands if you've seen womyn (or another variant), or heard someone complain about 'man'ual labor (which comes from Latin manos, meaning hand, but that's rather my point).
I have yet to run across anyone talking about this. I haven't done particularly extensive research, but satire is one of my favorite genres, I frequent TV Tropes, I read news magazines, one would think I would have at least read some snark on it by now.
And it's particularly odd in that it's not like the black people/African-Americans, where the latter rules out blacks who aren't of African descent and living in America, not to mention being long. Same-sex marriage is a perfectly reasonable term, and is all of one syllable longer. It removes, simply by being used, any exclusion of bisexuals (or for that matter, asexual people who are romantically inclined towards people of the same gender--human sexuality is complex), and any Us and Them mindset.
Of course, something that bothers me more is that, despite actually being bisexual, it took me this long to think of this. What else am I missing?
Feel free to post some guesses in the comments section, along with whatever else.
Addictive Interestingness (TV Tropes)
Word Power
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Help for Haiti
Don't know how many people will actually read this, but I've donated and I hope you will, too.
The easiest ways to donate are probably to text “QUAKE” to 20222 to charge a $10 donation to the Clinton Bush Haiti Fund (the donation will be added to your cell phone bill), or HAITI to 90999 to donate $10 to the Red Cross.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Being Broken
"They can't break me, as long as I know who I am."
-I'm Still Here, from Treasure Planet
-I'm Still Here, from Treasure Planet
This occurred to me a little while ago. I don't know when I finished the thought, but I do know what it came out to. We say someone is broken, or talk about breaking someone, but it's treated like this thing where you have to go through x, y, and z, and each must be done perfectly, without hesitation, and only by this manipulative mastermind.
And that's not it. Breaking someone is simply what the full phrase suggests: Breaking someone to your will (singular or plural you). If you have a specific idea in mind for what to do to someone else, then yes, you need to be a genius to pull it off properly, at least one in the ways of the human psyche. But you do not need to be up against a genius to be broken. You don't need to be strictly up against anyone. It can just be a group of neutral people who push you, pull you, shape you, until you fit their idea of what you should be.
The easiest way to break someone I've seen is erosion. You have different people in different groups with no connection, and you just hammer and wash and blow across them until they aren't themselves anymore. You're annoying, be like this. You're stupid, leave me alone. You like what? Ick.
And the thing is, once you realize that, it becomes much harder to be broken. Because, whether another person is trying to or not, if you can spot what would break you, you can fight against it. You stand up and you push back, instead of just being pulled. It won't always work--humans are social animals, so we're supposed to listen to the pack--but it helps. Who are you, where are you going, and why do you care what they say?
Tropes (as per usual, thought of afterward) (Oh, and addictive)
Break The Cutie
Broken Bird
Earn Your Happy Ending
The Woobie
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Musing#4: Friendship
Loyalty is when someone turns to you and tells you to run, then you say, "No," and help them.
Friendship is when someone tells you to run, and you say, "Hell no. You run," and you both stay.
Loyalty is when you follow someone to Hell and back, fighting and watching her back all the way.
Friendship is when you follow someone to Hell, and watch her back as you know she watches yours.
Loyalty is when you follow someone because he's right.
Friendship is when you stand by someone who's not.
Loyalty is a solid, honorable duty to stand by someone.
Friendship is when you can leave at any time, and don't.
Loyalty is a trait.
Friendship is a bond.
Hope is when you can see a light at the end of the tunnel, and go to it.
Faith is when you see no light but follow it anyway.
Hope is when everything you know is destroyed, then you see something you don't know.
Faith is when everything is destroyed, so you look for something that isn't.
Music is emotion and pitch weaved together until we barely know how we can separate it.
Magic is that which you allow it to be.
Goodness is doing what helps.
Evil is doing what hurts.
Now, riddle me this: Which of these do I believe?
Friendship is when someone tells you to run, and you say, "Hell no. You run," and you both stay.
Loyalty is when you follow someone to Hell and back, fighting and watching her back all the way.
Friendship is when you follow someone to Hell, and watch her back as you know she watches yours.
Loyalty is when you follow someone because he's right.
Friendship is when you stand by someone who's not.
Loyalty is a solid, honorable duty to stand by someone.
Friendship is when you can leave at any time, and don't.
Loyalty is a trait.
Friendship is a bond.
Hope is when you can see a light at the end of the tunnel, and go to it.
Faith is when you see no light but follow it anyway.
Hope is when everything you know is destroyed, then you see something you don't know.
Faith is when everything is destroyed, so you look for something that isn't.
Music is emotion and pitch weaved together until we barely know how we can separate it.
Magic is that which you allow it to be.
Goodness is doing what helps.
Evil is doing what hurts.
Now, riddle me this: Which of these do I believe?
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Poem
When You Must
There are times when you run or hide.
This is not that time.
This time, we stand.
This time, we fight.
This time, we go hand in hand.
We will not go gentle into that good night.
We will fight so long as we may move,
As long as we may breathe,
As long as our heart may beat.
We fight.
And when we stop...
We lay down our arms.
For to do otherwise is to be the next threat that must be fought.
There are times when you run or hide.
This is not that time.
This time, we stand.
This time, we fight.
This time, we go hand in hand.
We will not go gentle into that good night.
We will fight so long as we may move,
As long as we may breathe,
As long as our heart may beat.
We fight.
And when we stop...
We lay down our arms.
For to do otherwise is to be the next threat that must be fought.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Musing #3: The Year 2010
Not originally a musing, but got that way as I wrote.
Whether you pronounce it twenty-ten or two-thousand-ten, it's here. And with it, something else, at least to my mind.
There are important years in our life. As an American, at least, I've gotta say ten, thirteen, sixteen, eighteen, twenty-one. As myself, I'll say five, six, twelve, and sixteen. That last one is coming up.
How many of you just did the math in your head there? Yeah. I've been writing the year as dd/mm/0y since I was six. It's...almost jarring to realize how much I've grown in that time, and how long it's been since 199x. I have grown from incapable of always keeping my letters straight to--well, I won't say my writing style is amazing, but the technique is there. And I've started to make it my own. I've figured out my main interests, I have a pretty good idea of what I want to get as a job. At six...I wasn't even sure who I was, in any way. Now, I may not know everything about myself, but I know that I want to sing. It hasn't come across on this blog very strongly, but music is my life. Singing, listening, playing...it's such a huge part of me, it's odd to look back at my self when I was so young I didn't know that. Even if I somehow was unable to get a job in music, I would sing.
I don't know if anyone reading this who doesn't know me will understand that. But now I feel like music is something that's written on my soul. And I didn't even think of it then.
I'm sixteen in a few months. I'm learning how to drive, which is an entirely new experience in and of itself. I have never had a form of movement that wasn't intuitive. Scooters? Turn the top thing the way you want to turn, push forward with your foot to move. Skateboards, pretty close, but it's weight distribution to turn. Bikes? Pedal and turn, clutch the brake to brake. But in a car, you've got all this stuff between you and the wheels, and you've got the gearshift, and then there's the fact that you can't see where the car is just by turning around, you have to memorize it by...well, hitting stuff. One hopes they're 2-liter soda bottles.
So, I guess the point is...I didn't realize I was growing up. It was there at the back of my mind, but I didn't feel it. I'm sixteen soon, and I remember not turning fifteen too long ago. I remember being, learning, teaching, seeing, knowing, changing, but not growing. I don't think I really have ever noticed that. I know what all of the others are, and how you do them. But what is growing? It's just something that happens. If I were in a cave and living, I'd be growing. I'm here in my nice, warm house and I'm growing. Growing is what you do when you're living.
...Huh. I guess that's it. Growing is everything you do when you're living. Growing is the adjustments to your environment, large or small, that allow you to keep moving. And whether those adjustments are to yourself pushing inward or other things pushing outward doesn't matter. Because changing others changes you. It might lead to introspection or direct action, but it changes you.
Whether you pronounce it twenty-ten or two-thousand-ten, it's here. And with it, something else, at least to my mind.
There are important years in our life. As an American, at least, I've gotta say ten, thirteen, sixteen, eighteen, twenty-one. As myself, I'll say five, six, twelve, and sixteen. That last one is coming up.
How many of you just did the math in your head there? Yeah. I've been writing the year as dd/mm/0y since I was six. It's...almost jarring to realize how much I've grown in that time, and how long it's been since 199x. I have grown from incapable of always keeping my letters straight to--well, I won't say my writing style is amazing, but the technique is there. And I've started to make it my own. I've figured out my main interests, I have a pretty good idea of what I want to get as a job. At six...I wasn't even sure who I was, in any way. Now, I may not know everything about myself, but I know that I want to sing. It hasn't come across on this blog very strongly, but music is my life. Singing, listening, playing...it's such a huge part of me, it's odd to look back at my self when I was so young I didn't know that. Even if I somehow was unable to get a job in music, I would sing.
I don't know if anyone reading this who doesn't know me will understand that. But now I feel like music is something that's written on my soul. And I didn't even think of it then.
I'm sixteen in a few months. I'm learning how to drive, which is an entirely new experience in and of itself. I have never had a form of movement that wasn't intuitive. Scooters? Turn the top thing the way you want to turn, push forward with your foot to move. Skateboards, pretty close, but it's weight distribution to turn. Bikes? Pedal and turn, clutch the brake to brake. But in a car, you've got all this stuff between you and the wheels, and you've got the gearshift, and then there's the fact that you can't see where the car is just by turning around, you have to memorize it by...well, hitting stuff. One hopes they're 2-liter soda bottles.
So, I guess the point is...I didn't realize I was growing up. It was there at the back of my mind, but I didn't feel it. I'm sixteen soon, and I remember not turning fifteen too long ago. I remember being, learning, teaching, seeing, knowing, changing, but not growing. I don't think I really have ever noticed that. I know what all of the others are, and how you do them. But what is growing? It's just something that happens. If I were in a cave and living, I'd be growing. I'm here in my nice, warm house and I'm growing. Growing is what you do when you're living.
...Huh. I guess that's it. Growing is everything you do when you're living. Growing is the adjustments to your environment, large or small, that allow you to keep moving. And whether those adjustments are to yourself pushing inward or other things pushing outward doesn't matter. Because changing others changes you. It might lead to introspection or direct action, but it changes you.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
New Year's Resolutions for 2010
I need to post these somewhere, and I can copy/paste from here, but not to here, so this seems the most logical starting point.
1. I will not read my webcomics until I have both finished my homework and practiced harp for the day. I can always catch up on them later.
2. I will genuinely try to finish my homework on time--this means I may take breaks, if necessary, but not surf TV tropes.****
2a. This does not allow for checking on "just a few" webcomics, or "just one" TV tropes page, as I know full well there is no such thing.
2b. Y'know what? This extends to any wiki. The power of the Wiki Walk is too great to underestimate.
3. I will not try to write a story on such a break. Past behavior has shown that this will extend the break to about as long as a TV tropes break. Breaking to write down a story that has popped into my head is another matter.
3a. Summaries are helpful, especially for the specific types of stories. I know the ones I mean.
4. I would make this one about finishing one book before starting another, but really, this is never going to happen. So, I'll just say...I will keep all books I am reading on the shelf, directly next to my bed, save for one I will keep in my backpack for school reading. This last will probably be an encyclopedia or classic of some sort, because I tend to be reading one, and I might as well give my teachers a good impression. Anyway, they are more likely to keep a random book after class than Dracula*, Frankenstein**, Little Women*** or Pride and Prejudice***.
[At Time of Post]
* Reading
** Read
*** On list of books I plan to read
****[Later] In the interests of doing so, I should probably not set up firefox so that opening it will lead to a TV Tropes page being open. It...it's a bad idea.
1. I will not read my webcomics until I have both finished my homework and practiced harp for the day. I can always catch up on them later.
2. I will genuinely try to finish my homework on time--this means I may take breaks, if necessary, but not surf TV tropes.****
2a. This does not allow for checking on "just a few" webcomics, or "just one" TV tropes page, as I know full well there is no such thing.
2b. Y'know what? This extends to any wiki. The power of the Wiki Walk is too great to underestimate.
3. I will not try to write a story on such a break. Past behavior has shown that this will extend the break to about as long as a TV tropes break. Breaking to write down a story that has popped into my head is another matter.
3a. Summaries are helpful, especially for the specific types of stories. I know the ones I mean.
4. I would make this one about finishing one book before starting another, but really, this is never going to happen. So, I'll just say...I will keep all books I am reading on the shelf, directly next to my bed, save for one I will keep in my backpack for school reading. This last will probably be an encyclopedia or classic of some sort, because I tend to be reading one, and I might as well give my teachers a good impression. Anyway, they are more likely to keep a random book after class than Dracula*, Frankenstein**, Little Women*** or Pride and Prejudice***.
[At Time of Post]
* Reading
** Read
*** On list of books I plan to read
****[Later] In the interests of doing so, I should probably not set up firefox so that opening it will lead to a TV Tropes page being open. It...it's a bad idea.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Musings #2
Being a musing, this isn't quite breaking the hiatus.
If angels can fall, why can't they rise?
This, being the phrase that popped into my head that spurred this musing, is not actually that related to the post. Yeah, I know.
I have been thinking about stories we see. And we see stories where this ignorant person figures something out--that's a basic story, the protagonist changes for the better, or just changes. An especially common variant would be a coming-of-age story, which, given the above musing-starter, immediately makes me think Adam and Eve. They gain knowledge, and so they have to leave paradise and wear clothes and work for their food and place in the world.
And we sometimes have theses intricate stories about The Fall of X. Or The Rise of X. But unless X is a place or society, we don't see both. Or rather, we do, but the Fall is horribly oversimplified. Let's say John's an angel (don't look at me like that, Michael's an angel). John fell to the sin of lust. He will, naturally, fall in love to reclaim his virtue, and we will learn all about him and this new girl, let's call her Charlotte. Charlotte will be a well-rounded character, and so will John. We will sympathize with them, and maybe even come to think of John's banishment as unfair--it will probably at least cross Charlotte's mind, even if she's knows it's wrong while she's thinking it. But this girl he fell in lust with--even if they fell in love and spent her entire life together--this girl? Who's she? Do we even have a name for her? Oh. Hm. Says the author was considering calling her either Jessica or Diane, but decided it wasn't important.
(You can see why I told you up front the blog post was going to be pretty separate from the starting phrase.)
So it is easy to fall, and difficult to rise, as it is with all things. Makes sense, right? I mean, you see something, you want to sin, you sin, you're done. Right?
Right?
I hope not. If it's that easy, then anyone hoping to save any souls has an even harder job than it appears. If it's just see it, want it, sin it, then the soul will surely be lost tomorrow. If it is so easy, then it must be lost...
Of course, the point of the ordeal is that the person rises out of it stronger. It's supposed to be all about how John was weak enough to sin, and is now strong enough to resist. That may be the reason why the story of how he spent, oh, let's say twenty years with this other girl is left in the shadows--can you imagine making a story where the guy wants the girl for reasons of solely lust, they stay together for any amount of time, and you have to keep him sympathetic? There are things an audience will forgive, and things it won't...and there are a great many things they will forgive off-screen that they won't forgive if it happened on-screen. Imagine the Deathstar blowing up a planet where we have seen the people, the children, playing. Or there were some sympathetic characters, maybe even one that had a plan to stop Vader. It's suddenly a lot harder to stomach. How can you convince the audience he's changed if you've let him, in your story, do something unforgivable?
And so we get this vague idea of what John's done wrong, enough to know it was terrible, not enough to feel spiteful towards him (taking into account the character the author is showing us).
The other way around would actually be a pretty nice way to introduce a villain with a good reputation. Imagine: we know every detail of what John's done wrong, but his atonement is glossed over. So we know (to grab a few things out of my hat of mustache-twirling villainy) that John faked feelings for Diane--yes, she has a name now. We know that Diane was an innocent little thing he led down the wrong path that ended in her dying young, cold and alone, in a dark little alley, her throat cut by his blade, by his choice, by his coins, but not by his hands, because he wouldn't dirty them. And we know she deserved so much better. And his atonement? A little thing. He fell in love--but again, this is glossed over, so could be interpreted as lust--and got the girl of his dreams? That is his atonement? Oh, sure, he fought for her, but when compared to all those horrible things he did to Diane, how can we believe he deserves one ounce of the joy he feels with this nameless girl? Is she horrible enough to think that this is okay, or is she stupid and he's leading another innocent down this path?
So we gloss over parts of the history. Not because they're not important. Because they were very important. It was very important that they were overcome, and so it is very important that the audience acknowledges them. However, John is not that man anymore. You cannot blame him for sins anymore than you could blame a child. It's not that he was cruel, it's that he was lost, and there was no one there to lead him. He has found himself, and there have been years of atonement--or there haven't, but there have been years where he was not that person. A child is not given a pass because of age. A child is given a pass because the person you are moving against the next day is not there anymore. When John is reinventing himself, yes, he has to take responsibility for his past actions. But we do not show them because they are no longer defining character moments. If the author put something there in the story, there's a reason, so if there isn't a reason, it doesn't belong there.
This post started on one note and ended on another. It needs another phrase, and I think I have a good one:
"Keep in mind that people change, but the past doesn't."
-Patch in Hush, Hush by Becca Fitzpatrick (pg. 305, hardcover)
Oh, the tropes for this are fun...
Politically Correct History (This wouldn't've happened this way, but if I show it as it would have, the audience will hate this guy!)
*The Women Are Safe With Us (The heroes' men don't rape, even if they're mercenaries in medieval times.)
Deliberate Values Dissonance (Remember my note about not showing stuff unless you want the audience to hook onto it? This is when the author doesn't do that--because, at the time, this behavior was normal.)
Good Flaws Bad Flaws ("One major exception to this trope is this: A character who has a "bad" flaw is allowed to be the hero if the experiences of their journey inspire them to cast off this flaw.")
*Good Smoking Evil Smoking
If angels can fall, why can't they rise?
This, being the phrase that popped into my head that spurred this musing, is not actually that related to the post. Yeah, I know.
I have been thinking about stories we see. And we see stories where this ignorant person figures something out--that's a basic story, the protagonist changes for the better, or just changes. An especially common variant would be a coming-of-age story, which, given the above musing-starter, immediately makes me think Adam and Eve. They gain knowledge, and so they have to leave paradise and wear clothes and work for their food and place in the world.
And we sometimes have theses intricate stories about The Fall of X. Or The Rise of X. But unless X is a place or society, we don't see both. Or rather, we do, but the Fall is horribly oversimplified. Let's say John's an angel (don't look at me like that, Michael's an angel). John fell to the sin of lust. He will, naturally, fall in love to reclaim his virtue, and we will learn all about him and this new girl, let's call her Charlotte. Charlotte will be a well-rounded character, and so will John. We will sympathize with them, and maybe even come to think of John's banishment as unfair--it will probably at least cross Charlotte's mind, even if she's knows it's wrong while she's thinking it. But this girl he fell in lust with--even if they fell in love and spent her entire life together--this girl? Who's she? Do we even have a name for her? Oh. Hm. Says the author was considering calling her either Jessica or Diane, but decided it wasn't important.
(You can see why I told you up front the blog post was going to be pretty separate from the starting phrase.)
So it is easy to fall, and difficult to rise, as it is with all things. Makes sense, right? I mean, you see something, you want to sin, you sin, you're done. Right?
Right?
I hope not. If it's that easy, then anyone hoping to save any souls has an even harder job than it appears. If it's just see it, want it, sin it, then the soul will surely be lost tomorrow. If it is so easy, then it must be lost...
Of course, the point of the ordeal is that the person rises out of it stronger. It's supposed to be all about how John was weak enough to sin, and is now strong enough to resist. That may be the reason why the story of how he spent, oh, let's say twenty years with this other girl is left in the shadows--can you imagine making a story where the guy wants the girl for reasons of solely lust, they stay together for any amount of time, and you have to keep him sympathetic? There are things an audience will forgive, and things it won't...and there are a great many things they will forgive off-screen that they won't forgive if it happened on-screen. Imagine the Deathstar blowing up a planet where we have seen the people, the children, playing. Or there were some sympathetic characters, maybe even one that had a plan to stop Vader. It's suddenly a lot harder to stomach. How can you convince the audience he's changed if you've let him, in your story, do something unforgivable?
And so we get this vague idea of what John's done wrong, enough to know it was terrible, not enough to feel spiteful towards him (taking into account the character the author is showing us).
The other way around would actually be a pretty nice way to introduce a villain with a good reputation. Imagine: we know every detail of what John's done wrong, but his atonement is glossed over. So we know (to grab a few things out of my hat of mustache-twirling villainy) that John faked feelings for Diane--yes, she has a name now. We know that Diane was an innocent little thing he led down the wrong path that ended in her dying young, cold and alone, in a dark little alley, her throat cut by his blade, by his choice, by his coins, but not by his hands, because he wouldn't dirty them. And we know she deserved so much better. And his atonement? A little thing. He fell in love--but again, this is glossed over, so could be interpreted as lust--and got the girl of his dreams? That is his atonement? Oh, sure, he fought for her, but when compared to all those horrible things he did to Diane, how can we believe he deserves one ounce of the joy he feels with this nameless girl? Is she horrible enough to think that this is okay, or is she stupid and he's leading another innocent down this path?
So we gloss over parts of the history. Not because they're not important. Because they were very important. It was very important that they were overcome, and so it is very important that the audience acknowledges them. However, John is not that man anymore. You cannot blame him for sins anymore than you could blame a child. It's not that he was cruel, it's that he was lost, and there was no one there to lead him. He has found himself, and there have been years of atonement--or there haven't, but there have been years where he was not that person. A child is not given a pass because of age. A child is given a pass because the person you are moving against the next day is not there anymore. When John is reinventing himself, yes, he has to take responsibility for his past actions. But we do not show them because they are no longer defining character moments. If the author put something there in the story, there's a reason, so if there isn't a reason, it doesn't belong there.
This post started on one note and ended on another. It needs another phrase, and I think I have a good one:
"Keep in mind that people change, but the past doesn't."
-Patch in Hush, Hush by Becca Fitzpatrick (pg. 305, hardcover)
Oh, the tropes for this are fun...
Politically Correct History (This wouldn't've happened this way, but if I show it as it would have, the audience will hate this guy!)
*The Women Are Safe With Us (The heroes' men don't rape, even if they're mercenaries in medieval times.)
Deliberate Values Dissonance (Remember my note about not showing stuff unless you want the audience to hook onto it? This is when the author doesn't do that--because, at the time, this behavior was normal.)
Good Flaws Bad Flaws ("One major exception to this trope is this: A character who has a "bad" flaw is allowed to be the hero if the experiences of their journey inspire them to cast off this flaw.")
*Good Smoking Evil Smoking
Friday, December 25, 2009
Holiday Hiatus
In fact, not to avoid insulting people, but merely for the alliteration. I celebrate Christmas, so it's a Christmas and New Year's Hiatus if you want to get really technical (along with finals).
And so:
Merry Christmas!
Happy Hanukkah!
Joyous Kwanzaa!
Celebratory Winter Solstice!
And if I somehow haven't covered you yet (or, y'know, you just don't celebrate): Have a nice day!
And so:
Merry Christmas!
Happy Hanukkah!
Joyous Kwanzaa!
Celebratory Winter Solstice!
And if I somehow haven't covered you yet (or, y'know, you just don't celebrate): Have a nice day!
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Revenge and Interesting Torture
My two inspirations: 1) My history teacher talking to us about how people would go out and watch executions and have what amounted to a picnic. Also bringing up the violent entertainments that seem to do so well (for instance, the Saw franchise). 2) My brother's blogpost wherein he describes the advantages humanity has over most animals. He comes up with seven, including vengeance.
And a little connection clicked in my head. Vengeance has a purpose. If we kill things that hurt us, they don't breed. So, perhaps, when we think there is a purpose behind killing something, there is a part of us that wants to see him/her/it hurt/killed. This sort of thinking could spread fairly easily to other types of inflicted pain, especially since this would make it similar to something our bodies want us to do. Or, more simply, it feels good.
The interesting thing about this is that while when this instinct is confused it causes bad things (feuds going on for eternity and such), at it's base it's for good reason. There is a threat to me/my family/my pack/my tribe/etc., and so I must remove that threat. So revenge in and of itself is not a bad thing. It is only when it is taken to the point that it controls the person that it becomes bad--just like any other drive or emotion.
The interesting thing about this is that while when this instinct is confused it causes bad things (feuds going on for eternity and such), at it's base it's for good reason. There is a threat to me/my family/my pack/my tribe/etc., and so I must remove that threat. So revenge in and of itself is not a bad thing. It is only when it is taken to the point that it controls the person that it becomes bad--just like any other drive or emotion.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Musing #1
Overeating and hyperventilating are oddly similar. Both result in the taking on of something your body needs to an extent that your body becomes confused and wants more of it, and both tend to fix themselves if you stop, either holding your breath or stopping eating (for a limited time, of course).
I thought of this and found it interesting, then tried to link it to more things. For instance, if you sleep too much you want to rest more, but if you drink (water) too much you don't want to drink more. And it can work in the reverse, too--becoming hungry the majority of the time can make you want less food, pulling an all-nighter or three can make you feel as if you have no need for sleep (until you lie down), etc. Perhaps it is simply because, evolutionarily speaking, we would pass out if we hyperventilated too long, eating too much usually wasn't an option for a long period of time, and sleeping a lot wasn't either. And if we were hungry a lot or staying up a lot, there was probably a reason we needed to do, and being distracted could end up deadly. Living in a harsh environment where food is scarce requires diligence, and nodding off or a growling stomach could hurt your chances.
So, looking at it that way, it makes sense. Sort of.
(Musings will not be summarized at the right, due to being so short.)
I thought of this and found it interesting, then tried to link it to more things. For instance, if you sleep too much you want to rest more, but if you drink (water) too much you don't want to drink more. And it can work in the reverse, too--becoming hungry the majority of the time can make you want less food, pulling an all-nighter or three can make you feel as if you have no need for sleep (until you lie down), etc. Perhaps it is simply because, evolutionarily speaking, we would pass out if we hyperventilated too long, eating too much usually wasn't an option for a long period of time, and sleeping a lot wasn't either. And if we were hungry a lot or staying up a lot, there was probably a reason we needed to do, and being distracted could end up deadly. Living in a harsh environment where food is scarce requires diligence, and nodding off or a growling stomach could hurt your chances.
So, looking at it that way, it makes sense. Sort of.
(Musings will not be summarized at the right, due to being so short.)
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