Tag Archives: Literature

Waiting

Standard

I have little patience. Concentration is a challenge, and waiting rooms are nothing short of torture.  I pace when I’m thinking, I doodle in class, and I tap my foot when it takes too long for someone to come to the point. Inactivity is my Kryptonite. I share the “I want it NOW!” attitude of much of my generation.

Every once in a while, though, I’ll find something worth waiting for. In such cases, my patience is endless. I’ll keep waiting for something I should have given up long ago.

Right now, I’m in one of my waiting periods. I’ve found something that I want desperately. So I wait. And I’ll admit there’s a part of me that wants to burst into action, to do something. But it’s one of those cases where action would case more harm than good.

It’s so hard! There’s a little voice screaming at me, telling me that inactivity is passivity. A wiser, calmer voice reminds me of all the times I acted when I should have just sat down. It plays memory after memory of me running my mouth, doing the wrong thing, or causing damage that could have been avoided if I’d just given myself time to let emotion cool.  I’m such a passionate person that I tend to regret what I say in the heat of the moment.

And it’s not as though I’ve done nothing. If this whole situation were chess, I’ve done the equivalent of placing my opponent’s king in check. Now I just have to wait for their next move, and that’s the difficult part.

September was an emotional month, and so far, October seems to be following suit. To lighten the mood, here are my (unedited) journal entries from the past two days:

Oct. 1, 2012

OMG! It’s OCTOBER!!!! How????? I don’t even know…. So you can see, I am a deep individual.

Oct. 2, 2012

I’m shrouded in a cloud of apathy. Bleh.

 

I know, right? My journal is the most unintelligent piece of writing I have ever had the misfortune of reading (or writing, for that matter!). But I have a theory that if I get out all my bad writing in my journal, then my writings here and for school will be nothing short of literary gems.

Yep.  See you soon.

What Even Is This?

Standard

“When you experience uncertainty, you are on the right path – so don’t give it up. You don’t need to have a complete and rigid idea of what you’ll be doing next week or next year, because if you have a very clear idea of what’s going to happen and you get rigidly attached to it, then you shut out the whole range of possibilities.”

– Deepak Chopra

  My world is shifting in so many ways. This isn’t a complaint, just a statement of fact. I’m a senior in high school AND in my second year of college.  Dynamics with old friends are completely different. There are new friends I never saw coming. And I doubt freshman me with her Jane Austen, braids, and mousy demeanor would even recognize senior me with her brazen attitude, pixie cut, and Walt Whitman.

I’m working through the agonizing process of deciding where to transfer. There’s one school in particular that interests me…and it’s on the other side of the country. Part of me feels like that’s a good thing. I feel ready to severe my old ties and start new ones, to find myself, to go in pursuit of my Great Perhaps. But quite recently, there have been some changes that have made me consider whether leaving is such a good idea. There’s an opportunity to share a house with friends, a good scholarship from a local school, and yes, there is a boy.

I’m at the point where movies like Lost in Translation and Reality Bites seem surprisingly relevant and watching the prom and graduation episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer make me cry. There are moments when I surprise myself with my maturity and others where I behave like a child. I think this is what they call growing up.

Hope you’ve had a great summer and good luck to those of you headed back to school (or already in classes!).

Standard

Tell me if this is a normal person thing or just a weird me thing. I’m not really sure.

Do you guys ever fall in love with an idea? I mean, hardcore, heart in your mouth, butterflies in your stomach, nervous, sweaty in love with an idea?

Does it become some kind of driving force behind your thoughts, a kind of background music to your day? Is it something that you just can’t shake, something that seems to bubble up from inside of you? And, even though it’s crazy, you find that this idea is on par with food, water, and shelter when it comes to the list of things you need to survive?

It’s not being OCD. It’s not like being on some kind of maniac trip. It’s just this all-abiding passion for one singular idea.

No? Just me? Ok.

Sigh

 

Things I Love Today…

Standard

I haven’t done one of these in a while!

1. Come Along, Chelsea Lauren- http://comealong-chelsealauren.tumblr.com/

This is my favorite nerdy fashion blog. Chelsea is always so inspiring. She takes characters from shows, books, and movies and then recreates the looks.Here’s an example. This is based on Hazel from The Fault in Our Stars:

2. This video. I’ve had it on replay.

I just recently saw Robin Hood: Men in Tights. I thought it was hilarious, if a bit crude at times. It’s my first foray into the dangerous world of Mel Brooks.

3.

Sherlock and Watson: Ponies by Vondell Swain

Sherlock and Watson: Ponies by Vondell Swain

4.  The fact that I get to read The Hobbit, Frankenstein, and Slaughter-house Five for my science fiction and fantasy literature class.

5.  Guys, I make some mean chocolate Oreo cupcakes, if I do say so myself

More Poetry

Standard

So, for those of you who don’t know, I often think in poetry. (I can also have entire conversations in iambic pentameter so…) Basically, what this translates to is a notebook full of poems that may or may not be relevant to anyone, including myself. But through the magic of the internet, I now have a place to share my work and victims…er readers to enjoy it. Bwahahahahaha. So without further ado, a poem:

I love the way you smirk when I say “Perhaps”

It’s a lapse in my reason, treason to my heart

Starting a revolution, full of convolutions, pollution

Of my freedom, ending a reign of sending suitors flying

Replying, “I’m better off alone.”

 

I love the way you expertly play at my heart-strings

Ringing them like a bell. I’m no hard sell, I’m gone

Belonging to you wholly, lulling my mind

Into kind thoughts of mankind, a blindness I despise

And realizing the double face I’ve placed over

The common sense I held dear.

 

You’re a sore boring into the core of me.

Is it a tragedy, this strange malady claiming me?

No turning back. I lack rearview mirrors. And tears

Pour from my eyes, a surprise when you know

The passionate joy within.

Anna and the French Kiss

Standard

“So what do I wish for? Something I’m not sure I want? Someone I’m not sure I need? Or someone I know I can’t have?”

You may remember that I promised you a review of “Anna and the French Kiss” a long time ago.  Here it is. Sorry!

Boy meets Girl. Boy and Girl fall in love. And, despite everything thrown in their way, Boy and Girl are able to be together in the end. This is the typical plot of a young adult romance book. It’s predictable and more than a little clichéd. So, it can be a bit of a challenge for a writer to take this concept and breathe new life into it.

Stephanie Perkins manages this challenge quite well. Anna and the French Kiss is a story about a girl transplanted from Atlanta, Georgia to Paris, France for her senior year of high school. Her parents are divorced, and her wealthy novelist father has decided that a year at a boarding school is just what Anna needs before heading off to college. Anna isn’t so sure. After being befriended by an eclectic group of boarding school veterans, though, Anna feels like she may have found a place to belong. And where she belongs is with St. Clair, a “English French American Boy Masterpiece.”

Of course there’s a problem. Although St. Clair and Anna are friends, he has a girlfriend and she has a boy she’s sort of interested in at home. But as things become more complicated between the two of them, Anna is forced to question what she really wants.

The book was good but did border on cheesy at times. However,  as much as I loved the romance,  my favorite part was Anna. She was a narrator that I felt connected to. Her experiences were raw, real, and poignant.  Another thing that made this book special was the way the author wrote about Paris. It was real Paris, not the way it looks in guidebooks, but it still retained its magic.

So that’s that.

What’s Up with Poetry?

Standard
The Old English epic poem Beowulf is written i...

Poetry isn't about dead, boring old men jabbering in a foreign language.

So, I write poetry. Poetry has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. Because of this, it is strange to me when I hear people saying they dislike poetry. Dictionary.com (oh how I love thee) defines poetry as: “the art of rhythmical composition, written or spoken, for exciting pleasure by beautiful, imaginative, or elevated thoughts.”

How could anyone dislike that?  I mean, I understand disliking a particular poem, poet, or type of poetry, but I do not understand how anyone can dislike the genre as a whole.  It’s like saying that you hate art or that you hate music. It doesn’t make sense.

I think that the reason people feel like they hate poetry is because they associate it with classrooms, syllables, rhyme patterns, and analysis. It’s something you have to “get” in order to pass a test.  But if that’s all you see, that isn’t poetry at all.

Poetry is “the measured language of emotion.” It’s a way of taking what you feel and turning it into something that others can understand. It’s about using language as a sieve through which you filter the messy existence of yourself and see what you find.

In the words of poet Babette Deutsch, “Poetry is important. No less than science, it seeks a hold upon reality, and the closeness of its approach is the test of its success.”  But I think Elizabeth Dew describes it best.

“We read poetry because the poets, like ourselves, have been haunted by the inescapable tyranny of time and death; have suffered the pain of loss, and the more wearing, continuous pain of frustration and failure; and have had moods of unlooked-for release and peace. They have known and watched in themselves and others.”

I don’t know if that makes sense, but I hope that you “get” poetry a little better.