My skepticism has grown.
I've never really been a prayerful person, and I don't necessarily agree with everything that my religion teaches. Does that make me any less of a Catholic or any less of a Christian?
Are we not taught to question things and keep an open-mind? If so, then why do we define things according to what God says? Who are we to know what God intended? Who are we impose these judgments on others, simply to justify our discomfort with that which is different?
We do not have that right because we're only human. Being "human" is a broad spectrum; we're all effed up in one way or another, so to point fingers and point guns.... it's all a waste. If we continue to cling to our prejudices and our narrowed views of the world, then I'm afraid our lives are wasted.
There is something out there (Holy Spirit, Tathagata-garbha, Kundalini, Tao, etc.) that is also intrinsic to human nature, which makes us want to end the unpleasantness of life - not just the unpleasantness in our lives, but also the unpleasantness in the lives of others.
I don't mean to sound preachy here, but it's just something that's been on my mind lately. I just want people to be willing to give others a chance, to be open to ideas that may contrast vastly from their own, and hopefully reach a greater understanding from suppressing prejudices.
Unfortunately, a prejudice-free world like that would work better in a John Lennon song.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Defending B.o.B.'s "Airplanes" and Searching for Creativity
I was scrolling through the newsfeed on Facebook this morning when I saw that one of my friends had posted a link to some guy on Youtube ranting about how the song "Airplanes" by B.o.B. featuring Hayley Williams of Paramore annoyed him. His main complaint is the song's overwhelming popularity, and he tries to deconstruct the lyrics to point out how "annoying" and "stupid" it is to wish upon an airplane. He made me laugh a little, but he looked like he was being overly dramatic.
I responded to the link on Facebook, and it actually turned out to be quite lengthy. I decided to re-post the Youtube link here, along with my thoughts on the matter:
I happen to really like that song! I agree with this guy... but only on the point that yes, the song is pretty much everywhere. I'm going to try to defend B.o.B. here because the song struck a chord with me.
The only reason why someone would want to pretend an airplane is a shooting star is because they've hit rock bottom. B.o.B. (before his fame and success) felt hopeless that his dream of becoming a music artist would never be realized. He was so depressed and disillusioned that yes, he wanted to make a wish on a shooting star. But since he couldn't see the stars in the night sky because he lived in the city, and the only things he could actually see in the night sky are the tail-lights of aircrafts, B.o.B. was so far gone in his despair that he wished on an airplane.
It may sound stupid, but I assure you, there's more to it than that.
And I guess that figuratively speaking, the airplane represents B.o.B.'s desire to escape from his struggles and his self-doubt. He felt that he could never have that ticket to success, and he found that because his dreams are so out of his reach, it's next to impossible. So yes, it's silly to make a wish on a boeing 747 because that wish will never come true. You could also say that it's stupid to make a wish on an actual shooting star because that never actually produces results. Or that it's stupid for someone to pray to a higher power, despite the lack of evidence that said higher power actually does exist.
But people wish and pray anyway because they feel as if their lives are out of their hands. It may seem childish, illogical, and futile to think that these wishes and prayers actually stand a chance at coming true, but people do it anyway. These behaviors -- wishing and praying -- usually reinforce other behaviors that increase the likelihood of attaining the desired goals (such as persistently submitting demos to a record company or writing query letters to literary agents in the hopes of getting discovered, despite the high probability of ending up in the slush pile).
People may relate to the song because it expresses the feeling of longing. Everyone's longed for something that they felt was impossible to attain, especially if that something is an unrealized dream to become someone who's successful in all of his or her creative endeavors. B.o.B.'s "Airplanes" was written on such a personal level that it's almost as if you're B.o.B. himself, trying to get the music producers and influential people in the music industry to give his songs just one little listen, but feeling invisible and rejected in spite of all his efforts. It stings when you've come so close to achieving your goal, but the opportunity just never turned out the results you were aiming for. And now that he's a success, B.o.B. is thankful to have finally achieved his dream. All those struggles made him the man that he is today.
Some people get so annoyed with something that infiltrates their everyday lives that they vent about their frustrations. That's fine -- everyone's entitled to the freedom of expression. The problem, however, is that people often vent about something without looking at the big picture. This person in the Youtube video, for instance, poked fun at this song and took it so literally that his belittlement of the chorus destroyed any meaning the author meant to convey. If the person in the video didn't like the song, then that's okay because that's his opinion. However, because this person took the lyrics so literally, it becomes obvious to anyone watching this video that he only took the chorus at face value and didn't at least try to dig deeper to uncover any merit that the song might still possibly hold. I can't take his opinion that seriously because he sounds like he's never actually thought the song through, and his outright refusal to at least consider the possibility that someone else might appreciate the song shows that he's biased and not open to views that may differ from his own.
Being annoyed with the song's popularity and its overwhelming salience in pop culture is one thing, but mindlessly poking fun at it without critically thinking about the possible merit and substance (in terms of figurative language, tone, and the overall meaning, etc.) that the song might actually contain is something else altogether. If the song actually lacked substance and meaning, then I would probably hold the same opinion as the person in the Youtube video. However, since there is some meaning and relatability that I can derive from the lyrics of the song, I can appreciate B.o.B.'s efforts as a recording artist. I find that he's really quite talented because of his willingness to share that personal part of his life in a song. That takes guts. For someone to just simply scrape across the surface of the chorus for the sake of belittling B.o.B.'s experiences without at least thinking about the overall meaning of the song is immature. Sorry if it sounds like I'm ranting, but I really think that the guy in that video missed the point completely.
Now if there's one song out there that annoys the freaking hell out of me, it's Usher's "OMG." I don't appreciate a song that contains gratuitous hate and excessive cussing, or a song that obnoxiously objectifies a woman's body as if the totality of a woman's worth is solely determined by men who substitute their brains with their scrotums. Usher's "OMG," in my opinion, falls under the latter category.
Just look at some of the verses in the lyrics:
"I fell in love with shawty when I seen her on the dance floor
She was dancing sexy, pop, pop, popping, dropping, dropping low
Never ever has a lady hit me on the first sight
This was something special; this was just like dynamite
Honey got a booty like pow, pow, pow
Honey got some boobies like wow, oh, wow
Girl, you know I'm lovin' your, lovin' your style...
...Fell in love with honey like my, oh, my
Honey looking wonderful; fly, so fly
Honey like a supermodel; my, oh, my
Baby, how you do that, make a grown man cry?"
Lust in and of itself is not love. If anything, the lyrics of "OMG" suggest lust at first sight, and it's obvious that the guy in the song was so at a loss for words because he's thinking with another body part rather than his brain. Is a woman only deserving of love if she's got the figure of a supermodel? Way to sound like a superficial caveman.
If a guy walks up to you and says any of those lines, you would think he's a total creep who feels as if he's entitled to sex just because he tried to flatter you with how much he thinks you're sexy. It's actually insulting if you think about it -- whether he intended it or not, he's insinuating that the only thing he cares about is getting into your pants, and he doesn't even pretend to like you for your personality. Because anything that has boobs and a butt that happens to be dancing right in front of him is the only thing that warrants his attention. And I'm sure that yes, the emotions that the guy is feeling must be like dynamite... because his efforts of schmoozing any self-respecting woman with his shitty attempt at flattery is sure to blow up right in his face.
So why are songs like "OMG" among the chart-topping songs of 2010? Simple: sex sells.
There is no substance in Usher's "OMG" -- nothing that even remotely qualifies as having depth or creativity with the use of figurative language. Instead, we get a mindless repetition of some horny creep's sexist and unimaginative wet dream. The redundancy and the uninspired diction of the lyrics grate at me so much that they make my ears bleed.
The lyrics of "Butterfly" by Jason Mraz and "Nothin On You" by B.o.B. have more creativity and meaning than "OMG" will ever have. The lyrics of these songs actually sound somewhat poetic, if you consider the diction, syntax, and use of figurative language to create imagery. Usher's "OMG" fails to use any of these. Don't get me wrong. I like some of Usher's other songs -- "Confessions Pt. 2," "Burn," and "My Boo," to name a few. But his latest singles, which have a more club-like ambiance to them, fail to impress me. They sound way too contrived.
A song doesn't need to hold a deep and profound meaning for me to appreciate or like it, but it should have something in the lyrics that shows that the artist or songwriter behind the song made a sincere effort at aiming for creativity.
I responded to the link on Facebook, and it actually turned out to be quite lengthy. I decided to re-post the Youtube link here, along with my thoughts on the matter:
I happen to really like that song! I agree with this guy... but only on the point that yes, the song is pretty much everywhere. I'm going to try to defend B.o.B. here because the song struck a chord with me.
The only reason why someone would want to pretend an airplane is a shooting star is because they've hit rock bottom. B.o.B. (before his fame and success) felt hopeless that his dream of becoming a music artist would never be realized. He was so depressed and disillusioned that yes, he wanted to make a wish on a shooting star. But since he couldn't see the stars in the night sky because he lived in the city, and the only things he could actually see in the night sky are the tail-lights of aircrafts, B.o.B. was so far gone in his despair that he wished on an airplane.
It may sound stupid, but I assure you, there's more to it than that.
And I guess that figuratively speaking, the airplane represents B.o.B.'s desire to escape from his struggles and his self-doubt. He felt that he could never have that ticket to success, and he found that because his dreams are so out of his reach, it's next to impossible. So yes, it's silly to make a wish on a boeing 747 because that wish will never come true. You could also say that it's stupid to make a wish on an actual shooting star because that never actually produces results. Or that it's stupid for someone to pray to a higher power, despite the lack of evidence that said higher power actually does exist.
But people wish and pray anyway because they feel as if their lives are out of their hands. It may seem childish, illogical, and futile to think that these wishes and prayers actually stand a chance at coming true, but people do it anyway. These behaviors -- wishing and praying -- usually reinforce other behaviors that increase the likelihood of attaining the desired goals (such as persistently submitting demos to a record company or writing query letters to literary agents in the hopes of getting discovered, despite the high probability of ending up in the slush pile).
People may relate to the song because it expresses the feeling of longing. Everyone's longed for something that they felt was impossible to attain, especially if that something is an unrealized dream to become someone who's successful in all of his or her creative endeavors. B.o.B.'s "Airplanes" was written on such a personal level that it's almost as if you're B.o.B. himself, trying to get the music producers and influential people in the music industry to give his songs just one little listen, but feeling invisible and rejected in spite of all his efforts. It stings when you've come so close to achieving your goal, but the opportunity just never turned out the results you were aiming for. And now that he's a success, B.o.B. is thankful to have finally achieved his dream. All those struggles made him the man that he is today.
Some people get so annoyed with something that infiltrates their everyday lives that they vent about their frustrations. That's fine -- everyone's entitled to the freedom of expression. The problem, however, is that people often vent about something without looking at the big picture. This person in the Youtube video, for instance, poked fun at this song and took it so literally that his belittlement of the chorus destroyed any meaning the author meant to convey. If the person in the video didn't like the song, then that's okay because that's his opinion. However, because this person took the lyrics so literally, it becomes obvious to anyone watching this video that he only took the chorus at face value and didn't at least try to dig deeper to uncover any merit that the song might still possibly hold. I can't take his opinion that seriously because he sounds like he's never actually thought the song through, and his outright refusal to at least consider the possibility that someone else might appreciate the song shows that he's biased and not open to views that may differ from his own.
Being annoyed with the song's popularity and its overwhelming salience in pop culture is one thing, but mindlessly poking fun at it without critically thinking about the possible merit and substance (in terms of figurative language, tone, and the overall meaning, etc.) that the song might actually contain is something else altogether. If the song actually lacked substance and meaning, then I would probably hold the same opinion as the person in the Youtube video. However, since there is some meaning and relatability that I can derive from the lyrics of the song, I can appreciate B.o.B.'s efforts as a recording artist. I find that he's really quite talented because of his willingness to share that personal part of his life in a song. That takes guts. For someone to just simply scrape across the surface of the chorus for the sake of belittling B.o.B.'s experiences without at least thinking about the overall meaning of the song is immature. Sorry if it sounds like I'm ranting, but I really think that the guy in that video missed the point completely.
Now if there's one song out there that annoys the freaking hell out of me, it's Usher's "OMG." I don't appreciate a song that contains gratuitous hate and excessive cussing, or a song that obnoxiously objectifies a woman's body as if the totality of a woman's worth is solely determined by men who substitute their brains with their scrotums. Usher's "OMG," in my opinion, falls under the latter category.
Just look at some of the verses in the lyrics:
"I fell in love with shawty when I seen her on the dance floor
She was dancing sexy, pop, pop, popping, dropping, dropping low
Never ever has a lady hit me on the first sight
This was something special; this was just like dynamite
Honey got a booty like pow, pow, pow
Honey got some boobies like wow, oh, wow
Girl, you know I'm lovin' your, lovin' your style...
...Fell in love with honey like my, oh, my
Honey looking wonderful; fly, so fly
Honey like a supermodel; my, oh, my
Baby, how you do that, make a grown man cry?"
Lust in and of itself is not love. If anything, the lyrics of "OMG" suggest lust at first sight, and it's obvious that the guy in the song was so at a loss for words because he's thinking with another body part rather than his brain. Is a woman only deserving of love if she's got the figure of a supermodel? Way to sound like a superficial caveman.
If a guy walks up to you and says any of those lines, you would think he's a total creep who feels as if he's entitled to sex just because he tried to flatter you with how much he thinks you're sexy. It's actually insulting if you think about it -- whether he intended it or not, he's insinuating that the only thing he cares about is getting into your pants, and he doesn't even pretend to like you for your personality. Because anything that has boobs and a butt that happens to be dancing right in front of him is the only thing that warrants his attention. And I'm sure that yes, the emotions that the guy is feeling must be like dynamite... because his efforts of schmoozing any self-respecting woman with his shitty attempt at flattery is sure to blow up right in his face.
So why are songs like "OMG" among the chart-topping songs of 2010? Simple: sex sells.
There is no substance in Usher's "OMG" -- nothing that even remotely qualifies as having depth or creativity with the use of figurative language. Instead, we get a mindless repetition of some horny creep's sexist and unimaginative wet dream. The redundancy and the uninspired diction of the lyrics grate at me so much that they make my ears bleed.
The lyrics of "Butterfly" by Jason Mraz and "Nothin On You" by B.o.B. have more creativity and meaning than "OMG" will ever have. The lyrics of these songs actually sound somewhat poetic, if you consider the diction, syntax, and use of figurative language to create imagery. Usher's "OMG" fails to use any of these. Don't get me wrong. I like some of Usher's other songs -- "Confessions Pt. 2," "Burn," and "My Boo," to name a few. But his latest singles, which have a more club-like ambiance to them, fail to impress me. They sound way too contrived.
A song doesn't need to hold a deep and profound meaning for me to appreciate or like it, but it should have something in the lyrics that shows that the artist or songwriter behind the song made a sincere effort at aiming for creativity.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Hoping and Hitting My Head Against the Wall
Well, it's been a while -- about a month -- since I last updated. Time moved on, and I didn't really notice how much closer the days were getting to the start of the new Fall semester. I'm starting classes again on the 26th, so the cycle of mindless morning routines and procrastination begins again. At least it won't be so bad. I've got two days off during the week, so maybe I can use some of that time to watch the TV shows that I'm going to have to DVR throughout the semester. I hope I can also use my free days to grab a cup of coffee with some friends that I haven't seen in a long time.
I still feel sort of guilty over not having spent time with some of my high school buddies this summer, since I'm either usually swamped with chores or my mother just won't let me go out at night. This semester I've really got to get started on planning for grad school and applying for internships. I haven't the slightest idea how to properly create a resume, since I've never actually had a job before. I mean, there was that one internship I had at the Queens district attorney's office about four years ago, but I was only there for a couple of weeks before my junior year of high school. I haven't had any other internships or work experiences since then. Unless you count the times when my mother asked me to type up her paperwork for her or the times when my dad asked me to e-mail some documents to one of his clients. I just... I don't know.
I don't know what to put on my resume.
That scares me. I'm never afraid to write an essay, or to submit my poems to a school literary magazine, or to post my thoughts to the Internet for the world to read. What I'm most afraid to write is my own resume. The main problem is that I don't think I have anything really worthwhile to put down.
Sure, there's that internship from four years ago. And the fact that I've taken leadership roles in the International Order of the Rainbow for Girls for the past couple of years. But I don't know what else I should put down, since I've had no job experience whatsoever. People look at me like I'm a gorgon or something whenever I even mention Rainbow, and they continue to do so even after I try explaining to them that it's a Masonic youth organization that shows girls how to be leaders in their communities and raise money and awareness for charities. Whenever that happens, I start to wonder if I'm even making sense anymore.
You're probably reading this right now, thinking that I'm sweating over nothing. You're right. I need to get over this ridiculous anxiety.
But then I get to thinking that maybe I have some sort of fear of growing up. The quick passage of time freaks me out. It's not that I'm afraid of getting older -- I'm not vain. It's more of the idea of stepping up to shoulder the burden of real-world responsibilties, like getting a job, paying for my grad school tuition, helping pay for my sister's undergrad tuition, moving out when I'm finally stable on my own feet. I just wish that the days would go by slightly slower so that I can take a breath as I keep track of everything going on in my life.
I'm two decades old already, and I have no idea what to do with the rest of my life besides write my stories. That novel I've been working on is nowhere even close to half-way done. That was actually my goal at the beginning of the summer: to get to the half-way mark by mid-August. But instead, what did I do?
Edit like crazy and write myself into corners. I'm still trying to crawl my way out of the plot holes and fill them in with more substance by coming up with ways I can torture my whiny protagonist. I noticed that I get super cranky when I have the burning itch to write but can't produce the results that I want. Writer's block isn't the problem. It's trying to find a clear and strong way to put all my ideas into words -- but never actually finding it -- that makes me want to hit my head against the wall.
With all the upcoming stress from the new semester, I just hope I can still hold on to a thread of tranquility. Good luck to anyone else who might need it. I sure as hell need all the luck I can get.
P.S. I'll try to post a review of Wuthering Heights next time. (SPOILER ALERT!: Is it bad that I only actually started liking the story after Catherine died?)
P.P.S. My family and I are kind of -- well, okay, very -- obsessed with the dramas on TFC (the Filipino Channel). We've been watching TFC all summer. One thing I've noticed -- WHAT IS THE OBSESSION WITH WHITENESS? I mean, really. Is it so bad to have a dark complexion? Why should one's complexion matter when it comes to judging a person? More on this in another post.
I still feel sort of guilty over not having spent time with some of my high school buddies this summer, since I'm either usually swamped with chores or my mother just won't let me go out at night. This semester I've really got to get started on planning for grad school and applying for internships. I haven't the slightest idea how to properly create a resume, since I've never actually had a job before. I mean, there was that one internship I had at the Queens district attorney's office about four years ago, but I was only there for a couple of weeks before my junior year of high school. I haven't had any other internships or work experiences since then. Unless you count the times when my mother asked me to type up her paperwork for her or the times when my dad asked me to e-mail some documents to one of his clients. I just... I don't know.
I don't know what to put on my resume.
That scares me. I'm never afraid to write an essay, or to submit my poems to a school literary magazine, or to post my thoughts to the Internet for the world to read. What I'm most afraid to write is my own resume. The main problem is that I don't think I have anything really worthwhile to put down.
Sure, there's that internship from four years ago. And the fact that I've taken leadership roles in the International Order of the Rainbow for Girls for the past couple of years. But I don't know what else I should put down, since I've had no job experience whatsoever. People look at me like I'm a gorgon or something whenever I even mention Rainbow, and they continue to do so even after I try explaining to them that it's a Masonic youth organization that shows girls how to be leaders in their communities and raise money and awareness for charities. Whenever that happens, I start to wonder if I'm even making sense anymore.
You're probably reading this right now, thinking that I'm sweating over nothing. You're right. I need to get over this ridiculous anxiety.
But then I get to thinking that maybe I have some sort of fear of growing up. The quick passage of time freaks me out. It's not that I'm afraid of getting older -- I'm not vain. It's more of the idea of stepping up to shoulder the burden of real-world responsibilties, like getting a job, paying for my grad school tuition, helping pay for my sister's undergrad tuition, moving out when I'm finally stable on my own feet. I just wish that the days would go by slightly slower so that I can take a breath as I keep track of everything going on in my life.
I'm two decades old already, and I have no idea what to do with the rest of my life besides write my stories. That novel I've been working on is nowhere even close to half-way done. That was actually my goal at the beginning of the summer: to get to the half-way mark by mid-August. But instead, what did I do?
Edit like crazy and write myself into corners. I'm still trying to crawl my way out of the plot holes and fill them in with more substance by coming up with ways I can torture my whiny protagonist. I noticed that I get super cranky when I have the burning itch to write but can't produce the results that I want. Writer's block isn't the problem. It's trying to find a clear and strong way to put all my ideas into words -- but never actually finding it -- that makes me want to hit my head against the wall.
With all the upcoming stress from the new semester, I just hope I can still hold on to a thread of tranquility. Good luck to anyone else who might need it. I sure as hell need all the luck I can get.
P.S. I'll try to post a review of Wuthering Heights next time. (SPOILER ALERT!: Is it bad that I only actually started liking the story after Catherine died?)
P.P.S. My family and I are kind of -- well, okay, very -- obsessed with the dramas on TFC (the Filipino Channel). We've been watching TFC all summer. One thing I've noticed -- WHAT IS THE OBSESSION WITH WHITENESS? I mean, really. Is it so bad to have a dark complexion? Why should one's complexion matter when it comes to judging a person? More on this in another post.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Another Twilight-ish Cover? This Time on Jane Eyre? WTF?!
We are told time and again not to judge a book by its cover.
But we hardly listen anyway.
Let's face it -- we are visual creatures. For the majority of us, the gift of seeing is so centric to our experiences that we would hate to be blind. It's why we make movie adaptations of books or make scrapbooks and photo albums. Just take into account the English language and the way we often substitute the word understand with see. Behold the following example:
"I don't understand the point of creating Twilight-inspired covers for classic literature when these covers have absolutely no relevance to the actual stories."
"I don't see the point of creating Twilight-inspired covers for classic literature when these covers have absolutely no relevance to the actual stories."
See what I mean? (Harr, harr.) The message is essentially the same.
So if we are to follow this logic, it would make sense that the first impression we get of a book is the way that the book's cover is visually presented to us.
I'm incredibly chagrined right now (yes, chagrined... a word in the English language that's been overly abused by SMeyer throughout the Twilight Saga. Hope she doesn't commit the same crime again in her other books). We all know the cover designs of SMeyer's books with the red, white, and black color motifs. In a previous post, I remarked on how annoyed I was that there is a Twilight-ish cover for Wuthering Heights. There are other classics that have fallen victim to this trend, such as Romeo & Juliet and Pride & Prejudice.
Just look at these covers:
Now I'm flipping annoyed at the brilliant morons responsible for trying to market Jane Eyre as THIS:
It has nothing to do with flowers, especially not red flowers. Ditto with the red lips and the red nail polish, and the eerie albino-ish skin. Don't get me wrong. I like this cover -- very much. There's something alluring about the contrasting vividness between red and white. It's pretty. I think this cover might work if the book was some kind of retelling of Snow White. That would be interesting then, to think about the story and how it relates to the cover insofar as symbolism is concerned.
But for a story like Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre?
It is, quite simply, a travesty.
It's like trying to market dangerously seductive blood-drinking demons when there really aren't any to be found in the book (sound familiar?). That would be false advertising.
And okay, I'm sure there's the argument that I should take a chill pill because these are fictional works I'm talking about, not some newfangled miracle drug that is really an epic failure in disguise. I get that there are plot twists that could surprise us, and could even possibly change our whole perspective on a particular thing (like impressionable tweens changing their perceptions of antiquated bloodsucking ghouls as being the ideal soul mate). That's fine, really, because it's fiction. You're allowed to imagine what you want to imagine, so long as you are mentally stable enough to recognize the fine line separating your reveries from the reality of your situation.
None of the female characters in Jane Eyre even remotely resemble the anonymous woman on the cover. Not even the pretty Blanche Ingram (the woman that Jane was jealous of), who was described as having a lovely olive complexion. Bertha Mason was described as being of Creole descent, so I highly doubt that she'd look chalk white. Jane Eyre herself was plain governess (hence the term "Plain Jane") and had simple tastes, so she can't be the woman on the cover. Besides, what would a governess in the 19th century -- who refused to buy or wear purple and pink silk dresses that Rochester picked out for her -- be doing wearing bright red lipstick and crimson nail polish?
It's nonsense.
And what is the red flower supposed to represent anyway? "Bleeding Love," as Leona Lewis would call it?
I don't think so.
Jane certainly isn't as fragile or delicate as a flower, I'll tell you that. She's more like Tsuchi Makino (the protagonist in the Japanese manga/anime/drama "Boys Over Flowers"), whose name means weed. And no, I am not speaking of cannibis here. Rather, no matter how much you try to pull out a weed with your bare hands, it's still there. Persisting. Growing. Flourishing. The weed knows where its roots are and clings to the soil that it's known for so long, just as Jane (and Tsuchi Makino) knows her true self and clings steadfastly to her morality and beliefs despite the adversity she endures. Jane is determined as she is passionate.
Okay. Maybe red is supposed to represent passion, such as the passion that Jane and Edward Rochester feel for each other. (If you ask me, Rochester loses himself to passion way too many times to be called rational, given the nature of his misdeeds and his temperament).
Is their love supposed to be represented by the flower? The freakishly white lady on the cover looks like she's giving the flower as a gift, offering it to someone the way she would give them her heart (metaphorically speaking).
On the other hand, I still maintain that flowers represent fragility -- flowers easily wilt if not cared properly, they lose their petals, they can get crushed or shrivel up and die, etc. Just analyze Ophelia and her behavior during her madness speech just before she drowned herself in Shakespeare's "Hamlet," if you're still not convinced.
But I think that Jane and Rochester's love is stronger than that, so much so that they both hallucinated -- hearing each other call out the other's name -- on the same night (freaky coincidence or not?). And despite his misdeeds, Edward Rochester learns his lesson. Jane all the more loves him for it, and loves him even more despite his disfigurement. Meanwhile, Rochester loves Jane for her determination, her fierce loyalty, her honesty, and her sense of individuality. They're both not what most people consider physically attractive, but they have qualities that transcend outer beauty. If that's not true love, I don't know what is.
While we're on the subject of true love, riddle me this: Why do Bella and Edward love each other?
I still don't get that, aside from that Bella smells like flowers and Edward is nothing more than a sparkly, hard (double entendre totally intended, hehe) statue. That's lust, really.
I actually feel cheated, having read the series and the first book twice, that I cannot find any substantial evidence (specific examples) of this love the two supposedly harbor for each other. Edward strikes me as extremely controlling and psychologically debilitating (what kind of boyfriend, praytell, tampers with his true love's truck in order to keep her away from people he does not approve of?), whereas Bella (even though she sometimes rebels) lets him perpetually screw with her mind and whines about how craptastic her life is without her vampire lover. Sure, Edward can't read her mind. But he sure knows how to manipulate someone into following his orders (as in "No, you cannot see Jacob, Bella. I am perfectly capable of holding back my affections from you if you see that guy again. No more make-out sessions, and certainly no sexing until we are married!"). I don't know if Edward is really protecting his "virtue" (saying that he has a "virtue" is kind of debatable, given that I'm accusing him of manipulation). But I commend him for his abstinance views and his belief that sex is the ultimate expression of love. HOWEVER, Edward knew how much Bella was crazy for him and would pretty much do anything to get into his pants. So he traps her into marrying him. Even though she doesn't ever want to get married, given the backstory about her mother marrying straight out of high school and getting pregant (which happens to Bella later on, of course). That, to me, is manipulation at its finest. It's no better than tricking a guy into marrying you because you're pregnant, even though he doesn't love you and he's only doing what he thinks is the right thing.
So if anyone has any insight into why SMeyer's power couple love each other, please enlighten me and cite specific examples. There's nothing more annoying than a Twihard who types in chatspeak and treats the books as if they're the absolute word of God: "B3cuz d3y jusz do, okz?! N if u cnt ex3pt dat, ur jusz jeloz of bellz cusz sh3 got a hot vamp boyfr3n dat spaklz in deh sun n U DUNTZ! TRU LUV RULZ!"
How the heck can anyone take the above statement seriously?
Anyway, the point that I'm trying to make here is that we should strive to keep the integrity of well-loved classics alive. If a publishing company wants to release a new and updated edition of an old classic by changing the cover, then the cover design should at least have a degree of relevance to the heart of the story. Covers shouldn't be there to simply "prettify" the work of literature any more than the use of purple prose to "prettify" one's shitty writing. Covers should complement the written text in some way, and they should serve to supplement our understanding of a story.
Twihard tweens and Twihard moms might not mind buying this particular edition of Jane Eyre, because it reminds them so much of their favorite saga, even though the cover design has nothing to do with the story whatsoever. Sure, literacy rates have probably increased because people are rabidly gobbling up the Twilight Saga and the overly obsessed will want to buy anything that remotely reminds them of the series without blinking twice.
But that doesn't mean good literature should be sucked of its soul (pun totally intended).
This spoils the beloved classic for the rest of us who don't give a bat's guano over Edward's veggie vamp sparkle powers -- we're not that gullible. It is an insult to assume that consumers who buy the new edition (at least those who like to overanalyze what they read, like me) will overlook the significance of the cover art.
Because I do judge a book by its cover. I may not judge the cover when I first see the book, and the cover may not be the reason I purchase a book, but I do judge it. After reading a book, I think about the imagery and the motifs that pop up throughout the story, and I try to explain the significance of the cover design based on my knowledge and understanding of the story. If a book's cover is irrelevant to the integrity of the story, then consider this blogger one greatly disappointed bookworm.
But we hardly listen anyway.
Let's face it -- we are visual creatures. For the majority of us, the gift of seeing is so centric to our experiences that we would hate to be blind. It's why we make movie adaptations of books or make scrapbooks and photo albums. Just take into account the English language and the way we often substitute the word understand with see. Behold the following example:
"I don't understand the point of creating Twilight-inspired covers for classic literature when these covers have absolutely no relevance to the actual stories."
"I don't see the point of creating Twilight-inspired covers for classic literature when these covers have absolutely no relevance to the actual stories."
See what I mean? (Harr, harr.) The message is essentially the same.
So if we are to follow this logic, it would make sense that the first impression we get of a book is the way that the book's cover is visually presented to us.
I'm incredibly chagrined right now (yes, chagrined... a word in the English language that's been overly abused by SMeyer throughout the Twilight Saga. Hope she doesn't commit the same crime again in her other books). We all know the cover designs of SMeyer's books with the red, white, and black color motifs. In a previous post, I remarked on how annoyed I was that there is a Twilight-ish cover for Wuthering Heights. There are other classics that have fallen victim to this trend, such as Romeo & Juliet and Pride & Prejudice.
Just look at these covers:
Now I'm flipping annoyed at the brilliant morons responsible for trying to market Jane Eyre as THIS:
It has nothing to do with flowers, especially not red flowers. Ditto with the red lips and the red nail polish, and the eerie albino-ish skin. Don't get me wrong. I like this cover -- very much. There's something alluring about the contrasting vividness between red and white. It's pretty. I think this cover might work if the book was some kind of retelling of Snow White. That would be interesting then, to think about the story and how it relates to the cover insofar as symbolism is concerned.
But for a story like Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre?
It is, quite simply, a travesty.
It's like trying to market dangerously seductive blood-drinking demons when there really aren't any to be found in the book (sound familiar?). That would be false advertising.
And okay, I'm sure there's the argument that I should take a chill pill because these are fictional works I'm talking about, not some newfangled miracle drug that is really an epic failure in disguise. I get that there are plot twists that could surprise us, and could even possibly change our whole perspective on a particular thing (like impressionable tweens changing their perceptions of antiquated bloodsucking ghouls as being the ideal soul mate). That's fine, really, because it's fiction. You're allowed to imagine what you want to imagine, so long as you are mentally stable enough to recognize the fine line separating your reveries from the reality of your situation.
None of the female characters in Jane Eyre even remotely resemble the anonymous woman on the cover. Not even the pretty Blanche Ingram (the woman that Jane was jealous of), who was described as having a lovely olive complexion. Bertha Mason was described as being of Creole descent, so I highly doubt that she'd look chalk white. Jane Eyre herself was plain governess (hence the term "Plain Jane") and had simple tastes, so she can't be the woman on the cover. Besides, what would a governess in the 19th century -- who refused to buy or wear purple and pink silk dresses that Rochester picked out for her -- be doing wearing bright red lipstick and crimson nail polish?
It's nonsense.
And what is the red flower supposed to represent anyway? "Bleeding Love," as Leona Lewis would call it?
I don't think so.
Jane certainly isn't as fragile or delicate as a flower, I'll tell you that. She's more like Tsuchi Makino (the protagonist in the Japanese manga/anime/drama "Boys Over Flowers"), whose name means weed. And no, I am not speaking of cannibis here. Rather, no matter how much you try to pull out a weed with your bare hands, it's still there. Persisting. Growing. Flourishing. The weed knows where its roots are and clings to the soil that it's known for so long, just as Jane (and Tsuchi Makino) knows her true self and clings steadfastly to her morality and beliefs despite the adversity she endures. Jane is determined as she is passionate.
Okay. Maybe red is supposed to represent passion, such as the passion that Jane and Edward Rochester feel for each other. (If you ask me, Rochester loses himself to passion way too many times to be called rational, given the nature of his misdeeds and his temperament).
Is their love supposed to be represented by the flower? The freakishly white lady on the cover looks like she's giving the flower as a gift, offering it to someone the way she would give them her heart (metaphorically speaking).
On the other hand, I still maintain that flowers represent fragility -- flowers easily wilt if not cared properly, they lose their petals, they can get crushed or shrivel up and die, etc. Just analyze Ophelia and her behavior during her madness speech just before she drowned herself in Shakespeare's "Hamlet," if you're still not convinced.
But I think that Jane and Rochester's love is stronger than that, so much so that they both hallucinated -- hearing each other call out the other's name -- on the same night (freaky coincidence or not?). And despite his misdeeds, Edward Rochester learns his lesson. Jane all the more loves him for it, and loves him even more despite his disfigurement. Meanwhile, Rochester loves Jane for her determination, her fierce loyalty, her honesty, and her sense of individuality. They're both not what most people consider physically attractive, but they have qualities that transcend outer beauty. If that's not true love, I don't know what is.
While we're on the subject of true love, riddle me this: Why do Bella and Edward love each other?
I still don't get that, aside from that Bella smells like flowers and Edward is nothing more than a sparkly, hard (double entendre totally intended, hehe) statue. That's lust, really.
I actually feel cheated, having read the series and the first book twice, that I cannot find any substantial evidence (specific examples) of this love the two supposedly harbor for each other. Edward strikes me as extremely controlling and psychologically debilitating (what kind of boyfriend, praytell, tampers with his true love's truck in order to keep her away from people he does not approve of?), whereas Bella (even though she sometimes rebels) lets him perpetually screw with her mind and whines about how craptastic her life is without her vampire lover. Sure, Edward can't read her mind. But he sure knows how to manipulate someone into following his orders (as in "No, you cannot see Jacob, Bella. I am perfectly capable of holding back my affections from you if you see that guy again. No more make-out sessions, and certainly no sexing until we are married!"). I don't know if Edward is really protecting his "virtue" (saying that he has a "virtue" is kind of debatable, given that I'm accusing him of manipulation). But I commend him for his abstinance views and his belief that sex is the ultimate expression of love. HOWEVER, Edward knew how much Bella was crazy for him and would pretty much do anything to get into his pants. So he traps her into marrying him. Even though she doesn't ever want to get married, given the backstory about her mother marrying straight out of high school and getting pregant (which happens to Bella later on, of course). That, to me, is manipulation at its finest. It's no better than tricking a guy into marrying you because you're pregnant, even though he doesn't love you and he's only doing what he thinks is the right thing.
So if anyone has any insight into why SMeyer's power couple love each other, please enlighten me and cite specific examples. There's nothing more annoying than a Twihard who types in chatspeak and treats the books as if they're the absolute word of God: "B3cuz d3y jusz do, okz?! N if u cnt ex3pt dat, ur jusz jeloz of bellz cusz sh3 got a hot vamp boyfr3n dat spaklz in deh sun n U DUNTZ! TRU LUV RULZ!"
How the heck can anyone take the above statement seriously?
Anyway, the point that I'm trying to make here is that we should strive to keep the integrity of well-loved classics alive. If a publishing company wants to release a new and updated edition of an old classic by changing the cover, then the cover design should at least have a degree of relevance to the heart of the story. Covers shouldn't be there to simply "prettify" the work of literature any more than the use of purple prose to "prettify" one's shitty writing. Covers should complement the written text in some way, and they should serve to supplement our understanding of a story.
Twihard tweens and Twihard moms might not mind buying this particular edition of Jane Eyre, because it reminds them so much of their favorite saga, even though the cover design has nothing to do with the story whatsoever. Sure, literacy rates have probably increased because people are rabidly gobbling up the Twilight Saga and the overly obsessed will want to buy anything that remotely reminds them of the series without blinking twice.
But that doesn't mean good literature should be sucked of its soul (pun totally intended).
This spoils the beloved classic for the rest of us who don't give a bat's guano over Edward's veggie vamp sparkle powers -- we're not that gullible. It is an insult to assume that consumers who buy the new edition (at least those who like to overanalyze what they read, like me) will overlook the significance of the cover art.
Because I do judge a book by its cover. I may not judge the cover when I first see the book, and the cover may not be the reason I purchase a book, but I do judge it. After reading a book, I think about the imagery and the motifs that pop up throughout the story, and I try to explain the significance of the cover design based on my knowledge and understanding of the story. If a book's cover is irrelevant to the integrity of the story, then consider this blogger one greatly disappointed bookworm.
Um, yeah...
The dreamy guy chewing on his pen up there is Dean Winchester from the tv show Supernatural (played by Jensen Ackles).
Sorry, I couldn't resist posting it. :D Found it in someone's signature on this particular forum (be forewarned: you can get lost reading up on the posted topics for hours).
I haven't really kept up with that show since the episode where Sam and Dean found their father (I forgot which season). Life got in the way and from then on, I gave up on trying to catch up because there were too many episodes and not enough time for me to watch them all. But I still sort of wish I kept on watching.
This was just an impulsive post, so... um, yeah. ;)
More later.
Aiming for the 'Rock of Hope' When You're Stuck in the 'Reservoir of Go the Hell Home'
Yes. You read the title correctly.
"About 200 yards ahead, to your left, is a huge boulder. That's where you want to be. That's what us folks here at Delacorte theater call the 'Rock of Hope.' But where we are right now, where you guys are on the line -- you're in the 'Reservoir of Go the Hell Home.' "
That's what thecute John Krasinski look-a-like staff member at Delacorte Theatre said to us and to all the others at the back of the line hoping to score free tickets to Shakespeare in the Park's production of "The Merchant of Venice," starring Al Pacino as the moneylending Shylock.
The boulder was nowhere in sight (at least from where we were standing), so we were stuck in the "Reservoir of Go the Hell Home" and had absolutely no chance of getting those tickets. This reminded me so much of last year, when a few friends and I tried to watch "Twelfth Night" with Anne Hathaway cast as Viola of Messaline. The same guy kept telling us that we wouldn't be able to get tickets from that far back in the line (he was right). And yes, just like last year, people camped out in the middle of the wee early morning hours just to see a big-name actor perform in a free play in Central Park.
Mr. Pacino, why'd you have to be so legendary and iconic The Godfather and in Scarface?
Oh, well. The month's not over yet, so at least there might still be a chance.
We (Amy, Liliana, Liliana's sister, and I) decided to leave the line and GTFO. But we decided not to waste the day, so we sat in the grass for a while and just talked, catching up here and there on each other's lives and wishing that we could all study/vacation abroad. We didn't exactly have a Plan B, but thank goodness I always carry the Cool Pass (free admission for up to 5 people to almost any museum in NYC) with me, so we could spend the day trying to be productive.
We walked all the way to Whole Foods from 86th to 60th on the West Side (not as tiring as it sounds, trust me) and ate lunch there. We browsed a couple of stores afterwards. The conversation (thanks to Amy, hehe) kept bouncing back and forth between clothes and food (mostly food). Especially sushi, buffalo wings, and Jamba Juice. Even after we ate our lunch, the cookbooks at Borders just added more to our passion for food and encouraged us to at least try to have a well-balanced and healthy diet. I'm not so sure I could do without my cheese puffs addiction so soon. Baby steps, I guess.
I bought a book, too. Not a cookbook, but a rather funny retelling of 'Sleeping Beauty' that involves some sort of time traveling or dimension jumping or something like that. I have yet to read it, so I can't really say what's going on between the pages. But it sounds refreshing, and I'll try to give it a review later in another post.
We walked back up to 82nd, to the American Museum of Natural History, where we met up with my sister and got in with the Cool Pass. We strolled through the cultural anthropology exhibits. I never get tired of these exhibits -- even though I've been to that museum way too many times to count, there's always a new angle that comes along with thinking critically about the artifacts on display, especially when you think about perspective. For instance, why do the descriptions for some of the Plains Indian costumes in the Plains Indians exhibit sound like an ignorant and racist historian wrote them? A Wikipedia entry could probably have more substance and objectivity (har, har).
Anyway, the guy at the park was right. He was trying to be funny, but I thought he came up with a pretty neat metaphor. You could apply it to anything, really -- if you're looking for a new job or internship, if you're trying to overcome your fear of bungee jumping, if you're in the process of writing a book, or if you're trying to analyze something and think outside the box.
So don't settle for the Reservoir of Go the Hell Home. Go out and do something that will bring you closer to that Rock of Hope.
It sounds kind of corny, but it could pass off as a decent mantra, couldn't it?
"About 200 yards ahead, to your left, is a huge boulder. That's where you want to be. That's what us folks here at Delacorte theater call the 'Rock of Hope.' But where we are right now, where you guys are on the line -- you're in the 'Reservoir of Go the Hell Home.' "
That's what the
The boulder was nowhere in sight (at least from where we were standing), so we were stuck in the "Reservoir of Go the Hell Home" and had absolutely no chance of getting those tickets. This reminded me so much of last year, when a few friends and I tried to watch "Twelfth Night" with Anne Hathaway cast as Viola of Messaline. The same guy kept telling us that we wouldn't be able to get tickets from that far back in the line (he was right). And yes, just like last year, people camped out in the middle of the wee early morning hours just to see a big-name actor perform in a free play in Central Park.
Mr. Pacino, why'd you have to be so legendary and iconic The Godfather and in Scarface?
Oh, well. The month's not over yet, so at least there might still be a chance.
We (Amy, Liliana, Liliana's sister, and I) decided to leave the line and GTFO. But we decided not to waste the day, so we sat in the grass for a while and just talked, catching up here and there on each other's lives and wishing that we could all study/vacation abroad. We didn't exactly have a Plan B, but thank goodness I always carry the Cool Pass (free admission for up to 5 people to almost any museum in NYC) with me, so we could spend the day trying to be productive.
We walked all the way to Whole Foods from 86th to 60th on the West Side (not as tiring as it sounds, trust me) and ate lunch there. We browsed a couple of stores afterwards. The conversation (thanks to Amy, hehe) kept bouncing back and forth between clothes and food (mostly food). Especially sushi, buffalo wings, and Jamba Juice. Even after we ate our lunch, the cookbooks at Borders just added more to our passion for food and encouraged us to at least try to have a well-balanced and healthy diet. I'm not so sure I could do without my cheese puffs addiction so soon. Baby steps, I guess.
I bought a book, too. Not a cookbook, but a rather funny retelling of 'Sleeping Beauty' that involves some sort of time traveling or dimension jumping or something like that. I have yet to read it, so I can't really say what's going on between the pages. But it sounds refreshing, and I'll try to give it a review later in another post.
We walked back up to 82nd, to the American Museum of Natural History, where we met up with my sister and got in with the Cool Pass. We strolled through the cultural anthropology exhibits. I never get tired of these exhibits -- even though I've been to that museum way too many times to count, there's always a new angle that comes along with thinking critically about the artifacts on display, especially when you think about perspective. For instance, why do the descriptions for some of the Plains Indian costumes in the Plains Indians exhibit sound like an ignorant and racist historian wrote them? A Wikipedia entry could probably have more substance and objectivity (har, har). Although, some of the exhibits (and the descriptions of artifacts within them) weren't that bad.
Still, it always makes you think twice about whether to take something at face value or continue to question it. Critical thinking is a craft that must always continue to be honed. Our brains are muscles, too.
Anyway, the guy at the park was right. He was trying to be funny, but I thought he came up with a pretty neat metaphor. You could apply it to anything, really -- if you're looking for a new job or internship, if you're trying to overcome your fear of bungee jumping, if you're in the process of writing a book, or if you're trying to analyze something and think outside the box.
So don't settle for the Reservoir of Go the Hell Home. Go out and do something that will bring you closer to that Rock of Hope.
It sounds kind of corny, but it could pass off as a decent mantra, couldn't it?
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Telenovelas and Rewrites
I'll be honest. I haven't really gotten that far with recapping Wuthering Heights. At this point, I'm not sure I want to continue with it because it's a lot of work. Yes, I am getting very lazy.
But I assure you, there are other reasons.
Like getting totally immersed in watching Filipino telenovelas. My mother decided to try out TFC (The Filipino Channel) from a friend who happened to be a dealer of the network. So we started watching some shows.
Anyway. Enough about that. ;)
I've also been writing, working on new chapters in that novel I'm working on. So far, I've finished writing two chapters -- I'm currently working on another one while also trying to edit a horribly written chapter filled with purple prose.
What is purple prose? It's when you refer to the thesaurus so often to try to "prettify" your writing, so much so that your sentences end up looking like this:
"One smoky tendril lingered, a fragile wisp shining and reflecting the sun’s rays with a translucent sheen of its own. It relinquished its forceful embrace on my wrist, and almost reluctantly, sailed silently away from my arms. It spiraled delicately upwards, stirring the dust motes in the air, and seemed to dissipate."
I kid you not -- that up there was actually from the draft I've been working on. Horribly wordy, ain't it? I hate it, too. I'm going to have to rewrite that entire chapter, especially because it seems so strange and so out of character coming from my protagonist. She's usually blunt and speaks her mind a lot, so it doesn't make sense that she'd be narrating as if she was reciting poetry.
Besides rewriting that horrible purple prose disaster, I actually referred to the Twilight phenomenon in another chapter. The series goes by a different name (that I made up) in my story, but the idea that it's currently so ingrained in the cultural and social consciousness is still there. I used it to further the plot and to provide some sort of dramatic irony, dropping a certain hint about a certain character. But it still doesn't cross the protagonist's mind. If you're keen enough to find the hint (which I'm pretty sure you are), you'll have no problem figuring out its meaning. Not sure if I'm going to share that part of the book yet because I'm still in the middle of writing it. But if I do decide to share it, I'll keep you posted. ;)
In the meantime, enjoy this song called "Finish Line" by Fanfarlo. It's not on my story soundtrack right now, but I think I'm going to add it. The song makes me feel happy; it has that optimistic feeling to it. That's the feeling that I want to convey once I reach the end of the story. :)
"Finish Line" by Fanfarlo
Until next time, friends!
But I assure you, there are other reasons.
Like getting totally immersed in watching Filipino telenovelas. My mother decided to try out TFC (The Filipino Channel) from a friend who happened to be a dealer of the network. So we started watching some shows.
I never thought I'd say this, but I'm hooked! So far I've finished watching "Crazy For You," and "My Cheating Heart." I actually started watching "Crazy For You" (a story about overseas Filipino workers who find love in Spain) years ago, on Youtube, but I only got 1/3 into the series because I couldn't find the other episodes online. So I was pretty bummed out about that. Now I sort of wish I didn't finish it because the ending just sucked the life out of me. After investing so much emotional energy in cheering for the lead couple and thoroughly enjoying the comically romantic moments, it ended on such a sad note (one of them died). My sister and I came up with an alternate ending, just to feel less depressed. "My Cheating Heart" (a story about a girl who does everything for her childhood best friend in the hopes of winning his heart) on the other hand, had a much better ending. The tables were turned, and there were so many plot twists that played out really nicely once you got toward the final episode.
My favorite right now, though, is a show called "Lovers In Paris" (based on a Korean drama). Usually, remakes aren't always that great, but in this case, I'll make an exception. Because it's exceptional! It's about this young woman who dreams of becoming a film director and making it big in Paris, who also falls for a rich businessman while working as his maid. I assure you, it's much more than just another Cinderella story. It's so breathtaking, the way the story is told and the complexity of each character, not to mention the awesome chemistry between the characters portrayed by KC Concepcion and Piolo Pascual (he's so dreamy!). I think they're dating in real life (so far as I've heard, hehe). They make a really cute couple. :)
[EDIT: There's a deux ex machina at the very end of the last episode, and while I'm thrilled -- hell, freaking ECSTATIC -- that there's a happy ending for the leading couple, I had to wonder if the screen writer for this telenovela just shot himself/herself in the foot and had to inhale a snuffbox of opium.]
[EDIT: There's a deux ex machina at the very end of the last episode, and while I'm thrilled -- hell, freaking ECSTATIC -- that there's a happy ending for the leading couple, I had to wonder if the screen writer for this telenovela just shot himself/herself in the foot and had to inhale a snuffbox of opium.]
Anyway. Enough about that. ;)
I've also been writing, working on new chapters in that novel I'm working on. So far, I've finished writing two chapters -- I'm currently working on another one while also trying to edit a horribly written chapter filled with purple prose.
What is purple prose? It's when you refer to the thesaurus so often to try to "prettify" your writing, so much so that your sentences end up looking like this:
"One smoky tendril lingered, a fragile wisp shining and reflecting the sun’s rays with a translucent sheen of its own. It relinquished its forceful embrace on my wrist, and almost reluctantly, sailed silently away from my arms. It spiraled delicately upwards, stirring the dust motes in the air, and seemed to dissipate."
I kid you not -- that up there was actually from the draft I've been working on. Horribly wordy, ain't it? I hate it, too. I'm going to have to rewrite that entire chapter, especially because it seems so strange and so out of character coming from my protagonist. She's usually blunt and speaks her mind a lot, so it doesn't make sense that she'd be narrating as if she was reciting poetry.
Besides rewriting that horrible purple prose disaster, I actually referred to the Twilight phenomenon in another chapter. The series goes by a different name (that I made up) in my story, but the idea that it's currently so ingrained in the cultural and social consciousness is still there. I used it to further the plot and to provide some sort of dramatic irony, dropping a certain hint about a certain character. But it still doesn't cross the protagonist's mind. If you're keen enough to find the hint (which I'm pretty sure you are), you'll have no problem figuring out its meaning. Not sure if I'm going to share that part of the book yet because I'm still in the middle of writing it. But if I do decide to share it, I'll keep you posted. ;)
In the meantime, enjoy this song called "Finish Line" by Fanfarlo. It's not on my story soundtrack right now, but I think I'm going to add it. The song makes me feel happy; it has that optimistic feeling to it. That's the feeling that I want to convey once I reach the end of the story. :)
"Finish Line" by Fanfarlo
Until next time, friends!
Friday, July 2, 2010
"I am no bird; and no net ensnares me..."
Okay, just as an aside, I took this quiz to see which classic female literary character I most resemble, and this is what I got:
I'm so glad I didn't get Catherine Earnshaw or Scarlet O'Hara!
Anyway, if you would also like to take the quiz, here's the link:
Which Classic Literary Female Character Are You?
I'm so glad I didn't get Catherine Earnshaw or Scarlet O'Hara!
Anyway, if you would also like to take the quiz, here's the link:
Which Classic Literary Female Character Are You?
Tackling 'Wuthering Heights' -- Chapter 7
I kind of read ahead, past Chapter 7, so I'm going to try to be as brief as possible here.
Cathy didn't come back to Wuthering Heights (I think I'm just going to refer to it as "the Heights" from here on out) until five months later, around Christmastime. She was able to walk again, healed from the dog bite injury on her ankle.
I'm guessing this is sort of where SMeyer also wants us to draw a comparison between Cathy and Bella. Because Cathy had come back, all right. She came back all decked out and purrrrty so everyone fawned over her and admired her for the beauty that she was. Just like all the guys in the Twilight Saga fumble and get all worked up over Bella because of how speshul she is as the New Girl.
If Bella's so plain, why do all the guys think she's so hot and date-worthy, to the point where it's like a competition between them? She doesn't have much of a remarkable personality, really. Her hobbies include scrubbing her dad's house spotless, watching marathons of Romeo and Juliet and wishing she was Juliet, admiring the way Edward sparkles, and of course, riding on Edward's back like some kind of infant monkey.
Well, this looks familiar:
At least Cathy had a penchant for exploration, what with her running around and masterminding (together with Heathcliff) pranks to get old Bible-spewing Joseph cranky. And, Emily wrote that Cathy really was pretty, instead of playing it off as though plainness was a flaw as SMeyer did. So it's logical to think that people admired her greatly for her beauty, and that Edgar Linton and Heathcliff would develop mondo crushes on her.
Though, Bella and Cathy are both bratty in their own respective ways. You can argue that Cathy's youthful spunk can turn into impetuous and impulsive vanity, whereas Bella is just (because she lacks that youthful spunk, having been "born thirty-five years old") ungrateful whenever Alice (who's really the most awesome character in Twilight) takes her on a shopping spree or throws parties in her honor.
So just how bratty can Cathy get? You'll see what I mean soon.
So while everyone kept fawning over Cathy, Heathcliff kept his distance. Even if Hindley and the Lintons always shooed him away, Heathcliff probably would have stayed away anyway. He would have felt extremely inferior, having spent the entire day working in the fields and never getting the opportunity to freshen up. Maybe he thought his B.O. would gravely offend Cathy.
Anyway, here's where Cathy seems a bit... how shall I call it?
Two-faced.
Try to imagine Cathy as the rich, most popular girl at your high school, and Heathcliff as the hot loner dude that everyone thinks is poor. Cathy, of course, will hang out with the other popular people and pay Heathcliff no mind because her peers don't think that he matters. Then when everyone's left and no one's looking, Cathy would seek out Heathcliff and tantalize him with the hope of spending some alone time together.
Poor Heathcliff! No wonder he's all screwed up!
Okay. Maybe I'm being too harsh on Cathy (and okay, so I've also been pretty harsh on Bella). Peer pressure is a persuasive fiend that seduces you into wanting to fit inside its lukwarm half-open embrace. But it's just as ready to toss you aside if you cross it.
(I'm skipping Lockwood's interruption of Mrs. Dean's storytelling. It's not that important.)
TO CHAPTER 8... AND AWAY!
Cathy didn't come back to Wuthering Heights (I think I'm just going to refer to it as "the Heights" from here on out) until five months later, around Christmastime. She was able to walk again, healed from the dog bite injury on her ankle.
I'm guessing this is sort of where SMeyer also wants us to draw a comparison between Cathy and Bella. Because Cathy had come back, all right. She came back all decked out and purrrrty so everyone fawned over her and admired her for the beauty that she was. Just like all the guys in the Twilight Saga fumble and get all worked up over Bella because of how speshul she is as the New Girl.
If Bella's so plain, why do all the guys think she's so hot and date-worthy, to the point where it's like a competition between them? She doesn't have much of a remarkable personality, really. Her hobbies include scrubbing her dad's house spotless, watching marathons of Romeo and Juliet and wishing she was Juliet, admiring the way Edward sparkles, and of course, riding on Edward's back like some kind of infant monkey.
Well, this looks familiar:
Aww... how cute!
At least Cathy had a penchant for exploration, what with her running around and masterminding (together with Heathcliff) pranks to get old Bible-spewing Joseph cranky. And, Emily wrote that Cathy really was pretty, instead of playing it off as though plainness was a flaw as SMeyer did. So it's logical to think that people admired her greatly for her beauty, and that Edgar Linton and Heathcliff would develop mondo crushes on her.
Though, Bella and Cathy are both bratty in their own respective ways. You can argue that Cathy's youthful spunk can turn into impetuous and impulsive vanity, whereas Bella is just (because she lacks that youthful spunk, having been "born thirty-five years old") ungrateful whenever Alice (who's really the most awesome character in Twilight) takes her on a shopping spree or throws parties in her honor.
So just how bratty can Cathy get? You'll see what I mean soon.
So while everyone kept fawning over Cathy, Heathcliff kept his distance. Even if Hindley and the Lintons always shooed him away, Heathcliff probably would have stayed away anyway. He would have felt extremely inferior, having spent the entire day working in the fields and never getting the opportunity to freshen up. Maybe he thought his B.O. would gravely offend Cathy.
Anyway, here's where Cathy seems a bit... how shall I call it?
Two-faced.
Try to imagine Cathy as the rich, most popular girl at your high school, and Heathcliff as the hot loner dude that everyone thinks is poor. Cathy, of course, will hang out with the other popular people and pay Heathcliff no mind because her peers don't think that he matters. Then when everyone's left and no one's looking, Cathy would seek out Heathcliff and tantalize him with the hope of spending some alone time together.BUT when everyone else from the in-crowd comes back, Cathy leaves Heathcliff. She pretends not to know him at all while entertaining the vain inanities of her so-called "friends." Cathy's really no better than a mean girl.
Okay. Maybe I'm being too harsh on Cathy (and okay, so I've also been pretty harsh on Bella). Peer pressure is a persuasive fiend that seduces you into wanting to fit inside its lukwarm half-open embrace. But it's just as ready to toss you aside if you cross it.
(I'm skipping Lockwood's interruption of Mrs. Dean's storytelling. It's not that important.)
TO CHAPTER 8... AND AWAY!
Tackling 'Wuthering Heights' -- Chapter 6
It's been a bit of a while, and I've been multi-tasking. Reading some chapters, recapping them, and working on my own story, as well as convincing my sister to paint my toenails red in between. It's a doozy! But anyway, I got them done.
So, without further ado, Chapter 6 of Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights...
Hindley, Cathy's brother, came back to Wuthering Heights for the funeral. And he brought his new little wife with him. He's feeling really high and mighty now because the estate now technically belongs to him, thereby making him the new "master."
Frances -- Hindley's wife, if you recall from Cathy's diary entry -- became the talk of the neighbors. Apparently, funerals really freak her out (my mom would probably concur, since she hates watching horror movies and hates thinking about anything that's dead). Frances confided in Mrs. Dean, aka "Nelly" (a new nickname that we learn in this chapter), that she was afraid of dying because of her coughing fits. Maybe Frances has tuberculosis? It's either that, or she's a hypochondriac who just can't help but fret over every little health issue. Who knows? Nelly proably thought the case was the latter.
Turning our attention back to Hindley...
He's out of shape. And he's meaner. Hindley bossed the servants around ("My daddy's not here anymore, so that makes me the new master, and you have to follow me even though I'm being a douchebag bully to you, otherwise I'll throw you out and you'll have no home whatsoever! Mwahahahahaha!"). He told them to sleep in the back kitchen and leave the house for him and his wife. Hindley wanted to redecorate, but Frances liked things the way they already were, so he dropped all plans of fixing the place up. If Martha Stewart had already been born, then I bet Frances would have jumped at the chance.
Frances loved doting on Cathy -- she treated her like a little doll. But then this would get old and Frances would get "peevish," while Hindley grew "tyrannical." The lovebirds really do deserve each other, don't they?
Anyway.
Hindley forced Heathcliff into the servants' quarters, denied him of getting educated, and insisted that Heathcliff work in the fields like a common farm hand. Heathcliff, meanwhile, handled his situation well because Cathy would teach him what she learned and would would spend time with him in the fields. Whenever they got into trouble with Hindley, they would run away into the moors together and spend the entire day there, only to return very late. It was as if being together was the cure for their misfortunes.
It sounds very sweet at first. Until something happens that changes everything, turning Heathcliff's world inside out and upside down, as he then tells Nelly what happened...
They heard Cathy's and Heathcliff's snickering laughter. The two pranksters then proceeded to make "frightful noises to terrify them still more."
Edgar and Isabella alerted the servants. As Cathy and Heathcliff tried to run away, Cathy's foot got caught in the guard dog's mouth. She told Heathcliff to run ahead without her. (The guard dog's name, by the way, was Skulker... that sounds scary, but way cooler than just calling it "Rex" or something ghastly cliched as "Spot." I wonder if Emily had a dog named Skulker.)
Then a servant came out, carried Cathy inside, and told Mr. and Mrs. Linton what all the hubbub was about. The Lintons recognized Cathy as servants tended to the girl's bleeding foot and ankle. They were shocked to find out that her BFF was an unruly-looking gypsy boy. LIKE, OMG, GASP!
"They dried and combed her beautiful hair, and gave her a pair of enormous slippers, and wheeled her to the fire; and I left her, as merry as she could be, dividing her food between the little dog and Skulker, whose nose she pinched as she ate; and kindling a spark of spirit in the vacant blue eyes of the Lintons -- a dim reflection of her own enchanting face."
Maybe the Lintons felt guilty that their stupid Skulker (which I imagine to be a rowdy pitbull or rottweiler) bit little Cathy's foot and might possibly give her rabies or some awful canine disease. Perhaps Cathy might never walk again! Then she can no longer go outside and explore the moors with Heathcliff, leaving the poor guy all alone with no one decent to talk to! OMG! And then she'll fall for Edgar Linton instead, breaking Heathcliff's already overly-abused and battered heart!
NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!
Okay. I managed to get a grip. But it's clear that Heathcliff has a bad feeling about how things are going down, and you can sense the depth of his bitterness:
"I saw they were full of stupid admiration; she is so immeasurably superior to them -- to everybody on earth, is she not, Nelly?"
From then on, the Lintons and Hindley and his trophy wife Frances tried to keep Cathy and Heathcliff apart.
I'll say it again: Poor Heathcliff!
TO CHAPTER 7... AND AWAY!
So, without further ado, Chapter 6 of Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights...
Hindley, Cathy's brother, came back to Wuthering Heights for the funeral. And he brought his new little wife with him. He's feeling really high and mighty now because the estate now technically belongs to him, thereby making him the new "master."
Frances -- Hindley's wife, if you recall from Cathy's diary entry -- became the talk of the neighbors. Apparently, funerals really freak her out (my mom would probably concur, since she hates watching horror movies and hates thinking about anything that's dead). Frances confided in Mrs. Dean, aka "Nelly" (a new nickname that we learn in this chapter), that she was afraid of dying because of her coughing fits. Maybe Frances has tuberculosis? It's either that, or she's a hypochondriac who just can't help but fret over every little health issue. Who knows? Nelly proably thought the case was the latter.
Turning our attention back to Hindley...
He's out of shape. And he's meaner. Hindley bossed the servants around ("My daddy's not here anymore, so that makes me the new master, and you have to follow me even though I'm being a douchebag bully to you, otherwise I'll throw you out and you'll have no home whatsoever! Mwahahahahaha!"). He told them to sleep in the back kitchen and leave the house for him and his wife. Hindley wanted to redecorate, but Frances liked things the way they already were, so he dropped all plans of fixing the place up. If Martha Stewart had already been born, then I bet Frances would have jumped at the chance.Anyway.
Hindley forced Heathcliff into the servants' quarters, denied him of getting educated, and insisted that Heathcliff work in the fields like a common farm hand. Heathcliff, meanwhile, handled his situation well because Cathy would teach him what she learned and would would spend time with him in the fields. Whenever they got into trouble with Hindley, they would run away into the moors together and spend the entire day there, only to return very late. It was as if being together was the cure for their misfortunes.
It sounds very sweet at first. Until something happens that changes everything, turning Heathcliff's world inside out and upside down, as he then tells Nelly what happened...
One evening Cathy and Heathcliff were out in the moors when they decided to spy on Edgar Linton and his sister, Isabella (mmhmmm... Is this where SMeyer subconsciously got the name for her protagonist?). It was really all just for the "lulz." Just for laughs. And boy, was this a pathetic sight!
Edgar and Isabella had been fighting over a dog, over who deserved to cuddle with it. These kids were like, pre-teens (age 11 or 12), mind you. They'd nearly ripped the poor, yelping puppy into two. Savage!
One moment they were sniveling, and the next, you could have sworn their ears pointed up like this fellow, masquerading as an overly alert bunny rabbit:
They heard Cathy's and Heathcliff's snickering laughter. The two pranksters then proceeded to make "frightful noises to terrify them still more."
Edgar and Isabella alerted the servants. As Cathy and Heathcliff tried to run away, Cathy's foot got caught in the guard dog's mouth. She told Heathcliff to run ahead without her. (The guard dog's name, by the way, was Skulker... that sounds scary, but way cooler than just calling it "Rex" or something ghastly cliched as "Spot." I wonder if Emily had a dog named Skulker.)
Then a servant came out, carried Cathy inside, and told Mr. and Mrs. Linton what all the hubbub was about. The Lintons recognized Cathy as servants tended to the girl's bleeding foot and ankle. They were shocked to find out that her BFF was an unruly-looking gypsy boy. LIKE, OMG, GASP!
Heathcliff, being the sweet little romantic rascal that he was as a pre-teen, refused to leave Thrushcross Grange without Cathy by his side. But they sent him off on his own into the cold, windy night with nothing but a lantern to guide his way. The moors probably look extra creepy at night.
Poor Heathcliff (I dare you to count off how many times I say "Poor Heathcliff" throughout my other chapter recaps)... I really do feel sorry for him. I want to hug him and tell him to kick to those mean people in the shins the next time he sees them.
Meanwhile, the Lintons were all over Catherine. In Heathcliff's words:
Maybe the Lintons felt guilty that their stupid Skulker (which I imagine to be a rowdy pitbull or rottweiler) bit little Cathy's foot and might possibly give her rabies or some awful canine disease. Perhaps Cathy might never walk again! Then she can no longer go outside and explore the moors with Heathcliff, leaving the poor guy all alone with no one decent to talk to! OMG! And then she'll fall for Edgar Linton instead, breaking Heathcliff's already overly-abused and battered heart!
NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!
Okay. I managed to get a grip. But it's clear that Heathcliff has a bad feeling about how things are going down, and you can sense the depth of his bitterness:
"I saw they were full of stupid admiration; she is so immeasurably superior to them -- to everybody on earth, is she not, Nelly?"
From then on, the Lintons and Hindley and his trophy wife Frances tried to keep Cathy and Heathcliff apart.
I'll say it again: Poor Heathcliff!
TO CHAPTER 7... AND AWAY!
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