Pleas buy a lit mag when they come out. You owe me that.

Two months. Two months of reading crappy sophomore "voice practices" and "This I believe" essays,   short stories about cutting which have absolutely no punctuation, broken hearted love poetry,  fanfiction about video games, and dozens of "The Road" found poems ( at least 10. Probably more. I know you all submitted them.). This is what Ive read in my creative writing class while we put together the lit mag(School literary magazine that Mullins gave extra credit for submitting to). Needless to say, it was hard to get through sometimes- though better than last year when we received only mushy love poems. Bad mushy love poems. A majority of  pieces submitted were said bad mushy love poems.  Being in AP English made me feel like a horrible writer. Going through that in creative writing made me feel better. Now that we're almost past the poetry unit though,  I again a feel like a bad writer. It was a harsh reminder that "Oh yeah, poetry DOES have purpose..or talent behind it sometimes."
 My overall point is, I really hope people actually buy the new copy of the lit mag (assuming we get it out this year). We need the funds and I don't want to feel like these few months have been for nothing.  There are some really good pieces in litmag- we had a picky class this year and it's the thinnest issue ever- and some..not as good ones, so buy one and either enjoy the writing or feel better about your own writing!

Please.

I love slam poetry

I sincerely LOVE slam poetry and it saddens me that we didn't get a lesson on it in class. I had a class on it in creative writing and just fell in love. It makes it easier to connect and relate when you hear how it is said aloud, and the way people read it purposefully improves or changes the poem, and I find that fascinating. I love how it sounds like rapping, but isn't. I love how it is writing, but also more. I love how it can be a story or a feeling or sound awkward or sound different, and it's all still good, and all still engaging. It plays with not just what words mean but also how words sound. It's using the English language to it's fullest, in a way that I simply can't master.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M6wJl37N9C0

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_tVVuvA_esM

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=znIXyFh6dsI

Literary Cures

http://bookriot.com/2013/03/19/literary-cures-for-whatever-ails-you/

    Reading to cure my emotional problems isn't a new idea for me, though I do it differently than how the above article suggest. Becky Pole suggests ready books opposite of what you're feeling in order to make you feel better, or learn to deal with your problems. It makes sense, it' simply not how I operate. When I read, I don't pick a genre based on my mood- though perhaps a reading level based on my current attention span.  When I read, I do it to escape. If I'm sad, I'm just as likely to read a sad book as I am a happy book- if not more likely, seeing as I have actually letting myself be sad and need to get it out of my system. Its  cathartic to read a sad book when you're sad, you see how  much worse off other people could have it, can still escape from my our own sadness, and just let the tears (if you're a crier) out. If I'm happy, I don't want to be brought down with a sad book. So no opposites there either. Plus, learning to deal with your problems through characters seems like a bad idea. No one writes about perfect, happy lived people. They're boring. Most characters  well developed ones or interesting ones worth reading about anyway- are messed up in some way, aren't normal. Normal isn't interesting, normal isn't written about! So you probably shouldn't take advice on life from a bunch of fictional "interesting" people.Even if the advice is "don't do what I did", you don't know how non-fictional people are going to react in parallels to the fictional ones. In regards to the self help books the article described....yeah...it takes a certain mentality to get through and connect to a self help book. I always just imagine overly chipper old guys bouncing and yelling at me when I see self-help books, so I just can't get through them. The audio books it prescribed for going to bed though, I can relate to. The most dull and silky voiced people record audio books and it puts me to sleep every time I hear one in my grandmother's car. I might invest in those to try to get back on a  normal sleep cycle sometime soon.

We're starting... poetry?

     Beloved is finally gone and done- or off hiding in the woods with the Sasquatch waiting for a chance to return, we can't be sure. Maybe Serge could tell us- and next class we are going to start the poetry unit. The...poetry...unit. In part I'm greatly looking forward to this, but for the same reason I'm also dreading it: I don't get poetry. I know I personally dislike most rhyming ones and like ones with lots of imagery, but when it comes to interpreting most poetry, I usually get stuck at "Uh, that sounds...pretty.". I've always thought of poetry as very symbolic or emotional, meaning the most to the author. It's easier to write it than to read it.   Even for the poems I understand the meaning of, I can't place meaning in line breaks or punctuation. I can't separate ideas well either. Ideas in stories have more pages more time for em to sort them out, poetry is so short that it takes me hours longer to piece it together. It could be that I over think it, or psych myself out (Oh  geez it's poetry its going to be ten times deeper than my brain is capable of diving and have weird images and ideas I'll never understand. Better to give up now and save myself the trouble),  or maybe it's just old-English poetry I can't understand, or maybe I really am this inept (thank you 3 years of creative writing classes. At least I can talk pretty to myself sometimes, since I can't talk well to others).
     I googled "most famous poems" out of curiosity, and received a bunch of rhyming poems, most of which I have read before in school. I expect the ones we receive in class will be of higher literary quality (not that rhymes CAN'T be good quality...it's just....I hate them unless it's to music of sorts or written intentionally childish...). I hope in class we break poems down into pieces together before they're simply assigned as homework and quizzed about the next day and are taught how to analyze how purposeful or meaningful line breaks and punctuation are, as well as just overall taught how to understand poetry.



...All I ever do on my blog is complain about how I either don't like or don't get something.  I really need to reevaluate my life.

Anyone up for a rhyme?

http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/top_poems.html

Makeup blog: Reflecting on the past

     My way of dealing with bad memories is somewhat similar to Paul D-and even Sethe- in Beloved. I lock them away, try my very best to pretend they don't effect me. Much like Paul D found though, it's hard to keep them at bay. The more you try to ignore it, the more the smallest things will remind you of said events. I'll be in the middle of class and something someone says reminds me of a time I had a fight with my parents or made of fool of myself while presenting something (this happened quite often actually).  I physically convulse, looking much like a squirrel with turrets  leading people to ask me if something is wrong or if something scared me. With the intensity of my flinching, you'd sooner expected me to have PTSD from war than a simple embarrassing memory. The feeling of boiling magma in my stomach does little to aid my recovery time from the flinching also. I don't handle...emotion well. From nauseating guilt to flinching embarrassment to fall-on-the-floor-while-singing happiness, I just feel intensely. I have no real coping method  to share. My pattern is: try to ignore it, attempt to write a somewhat cathartic poem or story about it, ignore it some more. It's still under revision. The writing thing does helps sometimes however. I wrote a "poem"in creative writing class whilst having a minor panic attach over graduation and growing up, and I feel a lot better about it now (so much better in fact that I cannot wait for school to END).

In attempt to make this post seem more legitiment, I'll post the aforementioned poem on here.
(If you judge me I might very well cry. Do you want me to look upon this blog as a flinch-worthy memory? I'm bearing my soul here people, and Lord knows poetry is not my forte. If I have a forte.)

How do I grow?

Do I grow up?

Up, like a tree

with rings of wisdom

stretching outwards from inside of me?

(But so easily burned?)

Do I grow out?

Out, with echoes of

do this pay that go here move there what.are.you.doing.

Hammering me, like it did others before me

and will others after?

Perhaps I’ll just grow old.

As old as I am competent,

As old as I am independent,

As old as I never wish to be.

Maybe I’ll plant a garden and grow little seeds of lead,

And deal one sided pencils

to the world outside these halls of underaged cinder block,

Where there are no erasers.

(Better for you than me)

No, certainly I shall not grow at all.

I’ll stay ungrown,

Undeveloped

Unknown

until my affair with death becomes so scandalous

that Hell is in awe and children become stunted

and the world’s finger begins to rot as it points towards me and demands

that somehow, I must grow.

Soon I'll hear green paper shackles

singing a lullaby

as they grow like ivy around my wrists,

Coaxing us into their cardboard walls

of cardboard ideas

at the top of the beanstalk.

What if I can't climb,

won't climb?

It's easier to watch the fables grow.

Up the fables and up the stalks

will march blue capped porcelain dolls

stretching like jack-in-the-boxes as they

grow and shrink

grow and shrink

with faces of shattered mirrors

that reflect one hundred images of me.

I'll turn away,

and leave the toys to march

onward.

I will laugh at them,

I will envy them,

And they will grow.

Up and out and old.

I shall never

Decay

Or break

Or mature.

How do I grow?

Perhaps, I will grow under.

I can be the roots,

Never hoping

to see the sun

never dreaming

of anything but going deeper and deeper

into my safe dirt prison.

Makeup blog 2/14:The Guilt Trip

     Guilt is an emotion I don't feel often, but when I do, I not only take a trip but an entirely temporarily upheaval of my life to settle in Guilt Land. I feel like flamingo dancers are performing in my stomach, trying to spin fast enough to rise like a helicopter up my throat and vultures cruise through my system as their wings brush against my veins and the circle my heart looking for dead flesh. I try not do or say to things I know are wrong or mean or I would have to lie about, simply because I feel guilt so intensely that I get physically sick. Eighteen or not, lying to my Mother still sends me running to the bathroom and prevents me from sleeping for days on end. I can't do it.   Well intending or not, telling details of a friend's life to another fills my mouth with moths. Yet, I still do these things- though not often. It doesn't help when that on parent wants you to feel guiltier than you already do. It's the whole "oh sure you can go to your friend's. They're obviously more important to you." or "Oh, you'll have to ask someone for a ride. This wouldn't be a problem if you were driving," . Pointed, but true comments. Lucky for them, I already feel bad about those situations, their comments only giving my internal vultures offspring. In the end, I probably need to learn to deal with guilt more effectively than just feeling ill until it passes, or just quit doing anything Id feel remotely guilty for. 

makeup blog: open letter

Dear Backpack,
    Could you please stop killing my poor spine? I spend five days a week with you, trudging around with you on my back to show off to the world that yes, I have school books and yes, I have a picture of an owl. I rely on you greatly, and even take a bit of pride in you- when you don't smell like cheese crackers at least-  but it's becoming increasingly hard to appreciate  your usefulness when I end up with the seven dwarfs  hacking away at my shoulder blades and spine as they sing "hi ho! Hi ho!" every other day. Is there really nothing you can do about that? Shift a little weigh perhaps? "Accidentally" get sick and puke all my books up in the toilet and flush them away? I'm not asking for much, just a little relief. If you could oblige, I'd been infinitely grateful.
                                                                                                  Yours truly,
                                                                                                   Lauren.

Can't wait to get on The Road again...not.

     I have finished reading it, turned in my MWDS(finally), and --shocker-- finished my essay(On time?!What is this madness?! ...don't expect exceptional quality.), so I feel I can safely say that I'm officially and permanently done with The Road. Praise the holy Lord almighty, I'm done with this book. Reading it, I felt as if I should have enjoyed the intricate imagery, I should have enjoyed the unique writing style and how the lack of grammar emphasized the loss of humanity and civilization, and I should have enjoyed the twisted, emotional story of the father and son (it's kind of....my thing?), yet...nope. Nada. No enjoyment. I appreciate and perhaps even admire McCarthy's writing, but I in no way enjoy it. It felt so... repetitive and drab. I would read a passage and not be certain if I had read it already. I would read about the people dying and being eaten and...not care.  When did I become such a  harsh critic? I haven't read a book that I enjoyed in... months, at least. Am I simply not the book lover I was back in middle school? Have I just grown cynical due to the over-all "over-it" feeling I have about school now-a-days? Am I simply too unsympathetic to like characters, and their stories by default? I used to love anything different, twisted and emotional, or simply...beautifully written. For some reason or another, my tastes have changed.  Did anyone encounter similar thoughts when reading this book?

If anyone reads this, would you please recommend me a book? Something either funny or gut-wrenching, and absolutely no cheesy romance ( I swear if I see one more book with a love triangle with mythical creatures...I just might cry. Or hit my head on a wall).

Also, Mr. Mullins, would you please put in my late/makeup blogs I did last week? My grade could really use it...

My experience in Pre-writing

     The moment I hear a teacher say "pre-writing", I feel a black knot begin to form in my stomach. It's sticky tentacles reach up and threaten for gag me from within, oozing it's slimy hatred out my mouth.  Pre-writing. I hate it. The idea of it is good, planning out you ideas before you write them SHOULD make them easier to write about and organize. Should. The problem for me however, is that I don't even know what I'm writing or where I'm going until about halfway through a paper. I don't even usually write my thesis at first if I can avoid it(aka we don't have to turn them in early-say- on turnitin.com making me very miserable and at a loss for words as I struggle to condense my entire unwritten paper into one line).  I just let words come and hope they make sense. My words tend to say what they want regardless of what I intend anyway.  Pre-writing for me is just a hassle, it takes up precious time for times writing and often isn't follow when I write the actual paper so it is indeed pointless.
        The contradicting thing however, is that in creative writing I am a  meticulous pre-writer. In a short or long fiction story, I must write down  every event that will occur in order, interesting lines I plan on using, and physically plan out every character(though that's mostly because I am terrible at characters....). My pre-writing is not to help me organize though, more so to help me remember all my ideas until I  have the attention span to actually write them- which, sadly, isn't often. The only time it is ever used for organization or planning purposes is for novel length ideas, not one of which I've ever bothered to go back and write, be it because I lack the focus, or the motivation once I see how the whole story is going to go(its simply not exciting any more....).
     In the end, prewriting doesn't help me much. I might draft a thesis or topic sentences a few times as I come to them, but more so to get wording rather than ideas right. I do not enjoy having to plan what Im going to do. It feels...restraining.  I need the freedom to write what comes to me, as it comes to me. I can't force my ideas to cleanly plan themselves out before I have a chance to fully understand what my ideas even are.

So Long and Good Night

      What must it be like, to live in a constant hell? Awake or asleep, you never escape the pure misery and purposelessness chasing you. The man said it was good to have bad dreams given their situation, for it meant they haven't given up, aren't simply longing for a release.  I suppose I can understand that statement to some degree, but I don't agree. When we have reoccurring bad dreams, it usually means something is wrong (which it obviously is with the characters given their situation),  and is more of an indicator of depression and suicidal tendencies than good dreams are... Does the man not realize that? To never have good dreams means that you have nothing left that can make you happy, nothing left to look forward to, enjoy or hope for. If they never have good dreams, do they really have nothing to live for? Why do they go on? Have they truly so deeply accepted that they'll never experience happiness again that not even their subconscious can imagine it?

The Road:I DON'T Believe You.

       The Road is by no means a poorly written or uninteresting novel, yet I couldn't quite find it engaging.  I simply can not accept the Man's character. Perhaps it's because  I'm not a parent, or because I've never been starving and running for my life after experiencing the apocalypse, but I cannot understand the Man's mindset.
        "We carry the fire,"
       Are these just words to him? It appears so to me. For someone who lives solely to protect his son and keep "good" alive in the world, I can't see him as... righteous. He lacks conviction too much for me to understand why he keeps living, why he keeps his son living.  His "We carry the fire" speech is his only excuse to keep living, but just because you don't eat people, doesn't mean you're a good person or carrying the fire. If he was truly a kindhearted person, why is only the son the one always pressuring him to help people? He may be the lesser of two evils, but he is by no means a good guy. If it were up to him, he'd leave every starving man or animal they pass. I don't blame him for that though, it's every man for himself if you want to survive in his world. There is no fire left for him to carry.
      So that disregards his reason for living of "carrying the fire"...he certainly isn't doing it. But if he lives solely for his son, how come he couldn't muster up enough courage to overcome his sorrow and shoot his son when he died? A small act of compassion to save his son from dealing with the cannibal ridden, lonely and broken world he tried to hard to protect him from wasn't able to break through upon his death. (it was pure luck and by no knowledge of the father that the veteran was able to take in his son after his death). I can't believe his character because I don't understand why he was even there.

Final 2012 Post:I Can't English.

   Blogs. Stupid blogs. At the beginning of the semester , the idea of writing a blog for our grade seemed brilliant. It was so open ended and gave me the chance to say what ever I wanted. By now, I know better, it is simply a tool to bring our grade down.  It's hard enough to remember to actually do them, but then our classmates get to read (and judge...) our words? Then I realized the teacher would get to see our  opinions...and realize how stupid they are. The freedom seemed to be too much for me. I had no idea what to write about, no idea how to make it sound intellectual and contain proper reflection and analysis. I still don't know, actually. The last blog of the semester and I am still simply ranting and complaining,  and hoping for the best. What should I be writing here? I felt better once we received weekly blog suggestions, but even then I was at a loss on how to articulate it as such that I don't sound like I'm copying everyone else's posts or am just plain dumb. This inability to communicate my ideas seems to have bled into my class work as well. I loved reading and watching everything that we were given, but couldn't for the life of me properly explain or analyse it in class!  I got to a point where I just told my friends,
      "Don't ask me, I can't English."
   Why is it so hard to write a good essay? Why is it that I feel I can now justly call The Importance of Being Earnest one of my favorite films but can't explain it's humor to my mother?  Why can't I ever rewrite a passage for the warm-ups? Why can't I English?  In no other class besides my Junior and senior English have I ever felt so entirely shallow-brained and useless. Yet I dare say I enjoy reading and writing? Blasphemy.
   I hope that next semester I will feel more secure in my interpretations and usage of the English language and it's works.

Mullins, I don't blame you. You're a fine teacher. I blame myself. I hope my work wasn't really as bad as I felt it was.

How I've felt quite often:

Blog makeup 12/06

Students Rave at Literary Genius of Hamlet!

     Upon completion of Shakespeare's Hamlet, students in Mr. Mullins AP English class are in a frenzy of excitement. The literary work brought up several issues which- according to recent films, school discussion and many studies- are very relevant in students lives, such as suicide, depression, sex and, f course, procrastination. These reoccurring ideas in Hamlet, really helped the students be able to relate to the characters. The shallow characters too helped students to picture the story line happening in their very lives. the work proved to be a perfect selection for High school students. It even had an abrupt ending to keep them interested and on their toes while still teaching them valuable lessons, such as the importance of extracting revenge,  how patriarchal prevails - the females in the class often felt relieved at the sight of the weak willed Ophelia and Queen, making their own dependence on their significant others or family seem more normal- and  obvious all great works must have everyone important in the plot die at the end- plus some. One student remarked,
     "At first the confusing language left me a little lost, but so does most AP English grade writing so I took it as a chance to learn a life skill of effectively utilizing all resources at hand (not cheating) by looking it up on Sparknotes. A lot of the words still sounded weird though, like they were made up, but I liked it because it reminded me of Doctor Seuss- it was like being a kid again!"
     Overall, Hamlet has proved to be a literary masterpiece and impressed the students a great deal. I'm sure that after reading this, all students will come away with a new respect for Shakespeare.
   

Blog makeup 11/29

Words Words Words Words Words
When shall I use you?
I could lie and say  I love vocab quizzes and admire their ability to enhance  my every sentence to a degree such that people are left utterly speechless, but I'm sure my adulation would quickly be sensed as sarcastic.
This not to say that I believe they are completely useless and are teacher is a dunce for assigning them, now that is a calumny if I could ever identify one.
I recognize they are useful to my understanding of advanced texts and writing at an AP level. But I wish I could see the words used more often in text, to see examples as to how they are properly used.  I would quit complaining so much if said examples were given, I would  happily capitulate to those terms.
In fact, I find that arrangement beneficial to all parties. Students would better remember the terms if they see them used and could grasp a better understanding of them, what more could a teacher wish for? I see no reason for one to censure the simple suggestion of providing real life examples of our vocabulary words.
I do not mean to dissemble  the nature of my complaints, for I admit that I will be wary of these vocab quizzes regardless.
I believe myself not to be too much of a pusillanimous individual, so I will say honestly that I find vocab quizzes to be utterly horrid, nor do I mean that in any  light-hearted or droll sense, I  find them, no joke, horrid.
Mullins, if you read this I hope you don't find my statements offensive, or my suggestion peremptory, but I stand by my suggestion. If we can not trash the vocab quizzes, please at least let us see them in a first hand source so we know we aren't learning made-up words. Also, please don't be angry at my calling them horrid. If I get scolded for voicing my opinion then I just might go home and sob on my couch, with a surfeit of junk food surrounding me- true to stereotypical female way of dealing with things.

Sadly, I can't think of a way to incorporate palpate. :(

Blog makeup 11/08

If English class has taught me one thing thus far, it is that the main characters in all old famous plays are all emotionally unstable and illogical. Oedipus's pride  and ignorance led to him stabbing out his own eyes, now Hamlet is suffering from depression and can't seem to force himself to act. Hamlet also demonstrates a sense of pride, much like Oedipus in that he assumes he CAN extract revenge, and that he CAN depend on Oephelia, and at the end, that he CAN trust his friend and that he CAN  beat anyone in a sword match.  he doesn't want to do any of it, but has no doubts that he can pull off whatever plan he thinks of. Oedipus too never questioned his own logic or guilt until it was undeniable. Though the plays are hundreds of years and lands apart, they bear the same basic ideas. What about arrogance did these people find so appealing? What about fate and helpless tragedy enraptured people for so many centuries?

blog makeup 10/18

In my sophomore year English class we were taught about Oedipus Rex, so I knew basically what to expect upon starting it in class. However, knowing the story line had given me this predisposition to find everyone ignorant- which reading it has only reinforced. Perhaps it truly is due to my aforementioned bias, but I fail to see any character exhibiting a logical thought process. I fail to see how Oedipus could solve the riddle of the sphinx when he is simply so...dumb. Can he not see reason? Why would his friend and brother in law ( and Uncle) betray him, and take his accusations so calmly? Why would the oracle lie,knowing know one would believe him and he'd get in trouble anyway? Why does Jocasta not realize he is her son?? Why didn't Kreon figure out the oracle was telling the truth, when he obviously trusts him so? Sophocles has set up his characters to be so cripplingly  daft that I find it to be a huge inconstant of character to also describe them as wise and loved leaders. 

Is he crazy or is he not? That, is the question.

Because I love David Tennant: (Any Doctor fans out there?)

In the opening act Hamlet warned us that he would begin to act crazy- for, who would view a crazy man as a threat to their crown?- but it has become my belief that he is also quite actually, cracking up. His rude - and downright crude- behavior towards Ophelia is what finally convinced me so. In what way does it further his plans to push her away? Would it not be beneficial to let his uncle and others believe his madness is due to love and has nothing to do with his Fathers death? It would be complete distraction and would make his story more believe after he enacts his revenge -and reveals the truth to everyone- if he could prove it was not an act of distraught madness. Perhaps he really no longer cares for Ophelia, but then why, when he first learned of the truth from the ghost, did he run to Ophelia and simply sigh into her arms? His logic and actions are inconsistent- like that of a true mad man. He has full grounds to be mad also. He lost his Father, has met a ghost, has to kill the king of his kingdom and be betrayed by his family, then re-earn his kingdom's trust to rule it once they are again without a ruler and prove he is not mad, all the while not being able to trust hardly anyone and find a way to execute his plan AND lose the girl he may care for but can never be with anyway. In the end, I believe the stress got the best of Hamlet.

Salem

      The Drama departments production of Salem was pretty much exactly how I expected to be. I've heard a lot of people say they were surprised by the fact that they- God Forbid- enjoyed the production. Am I the only one who expects them to put of decent productions? Yes I enjoyed it, though it didn't blow me away. NO matter how I try to silence it my inner critic still feels the need to point out every time an actor seemed to "hide" behind the puppets or didn't fee very sincere in a scene. Analyzing them though, defiantly helped me think about the play more from an unbiased standpoint. I tried to picture their lines as written in a script vs how they acted ti so see how much they actors interpreted for themselves. Since I haven't seen the script myself, I won't know for sure how much they came up with on their own. From what I could tell though, it seemed to be quite a lot. These characters focused a lot on stereotypes but still managed to break them. The over concerned goth girl seemed almost bubbly(while still not "giving a damn") which I cant picture written as a direction in the script. I would assume a typical Gothic character to be more apathetic in her reactions. The janitor too had several physical cues that he must've come up with on his own. Overall it was a good production and the actors impressed me more than the script.

Of Tempers and Scandals

      One thing I found quite odd in this weeks reading of Oedipus Rex was Oedipus's temper.  The people of  his city adore him and aren't afraid to sit on his steps to wait for him and to tell them what they feel.  For someone so loved though, he has an awfully short fuse. He was killed Liaos and his men over a simple dispute of asking him to move in the street, he yells at the old blind oracle when he doesn't like his words, tries to exile or even kill his friend/brother-in-law/adviser(/uncle) for suspicious of plotting against him thought he has no proof or motive, he yells at his wife when she tries to get him to leave the Shepard alone, and he has the old Shepard man physically restrained when he doesn't think he will cooperate. This is a man with definite anger issues. Furthermore, they aren't even fits of rage, they are calm and controlled according to his brother -in-law. He described him as calm as he tried to accuse him of treason when Oedipus's attendant tries to say that Oedipus wasn't in his right mind when he spoke. If he is so quick tempered and impulsive, how did he become such a successful and beloved leader? In our group discussion, my group suggested he wears a mask in public and only lets his temper out in private. It makes sense, but what is “private”? There is obviously many people around when he is with is wife and is confronted by the messenger, and then later the Shepard and Oedipus's guards are also present. Does that seem “private” to you? Do people simple accept Oedipus's temper or is it the pressure of searching for the king's killer and finding out his past simple causing his mask to shatter?

Flannery O'Connor, May I have your hand?

 


   When I saw we were reading Flannery O'Connor stories this week, I'm not going to lie, I was thrilled. I had read her work before in my Creative Writing class so I knew what to expect. She takes people down to their lowest place, then kicks them in the face with the holy foot of God. Her stories have a sort of emotionally purging effect as she takes these characters down so low that they can finally look up and see God's face, can notice their own flaws.
     Of the two stories we read, I can't say which I preferred. In A Good Man is Hard to Find, the twisted character of Manly Pointer breaking the arrogant Hulga/Joy and stealing her prosthetic leg is just...appealing to me. Not in a way that I want to meet this character, but in the sense that this is a moment that stays with you after you read it. It makes you step back and just say "What?!" or even "Wow". In Good Country People I was struck by how even in such a short story, each character had such a distinct personality and flaw... And how even the Misfit was someone I could see my own qualities in.
     What a writer this woman is. I wish I could write like her, with the ability to both engross and shock people. Alas, my hand doesn't seem to let such words flow. Perhaps I could just borrow her hand, let something so profound and grotesque become my own creation with her fingers and words. Perhaps she'd even get a kick out of that- rolling over in her grave as I talk about stealing her twisted stories by twisted means. (Though it also sounds a bit like Im asking her to marry me...)

     As a final thought, I found a few short films based off her stories. Of course as the saying goes, the book is better. But The actors portray the characters differently than I imagined so I enjoy the new perspective(even with film's questionable quality)