Stalking Shakespeare

Big Fat Bum

2010-05-06T18:17:00.000-07:00

Basically, this post is about me being a total slacker. **insert sticky-outy-tongue-face here, but I won't really type it because the font makes it look creepy** I'm a big, fat bum who enjoys nothing more than promising to work on something, then completely blowing it off to apologize to my audience later. Well, not really "enjoy" - I don't take pleasure in this. There's a hardy bit of guilt involved, and this guilt pressures me into actually doing it... If it's strong enough...
I digress, for that is not all this post is about. This post is also about my reforming this tedious little habit. I will no longer keep myself from doing something simply because a certain condition will have to change.
Example number one:
I recently promised a friend I would write a short fanfiction story for her. This series she loves is one I'm pretty unfamiliar with - so the heart and soul I put into all my other stories was a bit lacking in my first attempt. This lacking was painfully obvious. Painfully. Determined, story-loving writer as I am, I knew I had to try again. I have tried again on other stories, and rewritten them until they worked. They have all worked. But while the determined, confident writer side of my brain insisted I start anew and let the words take me on an adventure, the procrastinating, uncertain side of my brain insisted this was foolishness. After all, who was I to think I could write a story parallel to the writer of Blackbird (the manga my friend loves)?
Then I remembered that this is not what writing is about. This need to prove my skill is not the reason I am writing for my friend. The reason is that I want to entertain her - and as long as my story is fun and easy to read for her, that's all that matters. In the ever-amazing words of J.R.R. Tolkien,
The prime motive was the desire of a tale-teller to try has hand at a really long story that would hold the attention of readers, amuse them, delight them, and at times maybe excite them or deeply move them.
And yes, I'm sure I'll be using this quote several more times in the posts to come. Which brings us to example number two:
I keep having these brilliant ideas for magazine articles, so I, of course, thought of making my own E-Zine. When I addressed Mom with this idea, she asked if I kept up with my blog. I hesitantly replied, "Not really." The reason I don't really keep up with my blog is because I've felt like it's meant solely for school purposes. Which is really lame when it's summer and I have all these awesome article ideas. Every time I thought, "Oh, I should put this on my blog!" I then thought, "Oh, I really shouldn't, since it's only about literature..." Well, no more. This is my blog and I'll write what I damn well please, "Shakespeare" in the title or not.
So now you, as my loving, caring, curse-word-ignoring follower will be spammed with posts that are out of the blue and occasionally totally senseless. I hope it holds your attention, amuses you, delights you, and at times maybe excite you or deeply move you. (Though, frankly, that last one I don't really see happening.)
Either way, thanks for reading!

J.R.R.'s Motives (This Title Is Lame...)

2010-02-26T08:08:00.001-08:00

In the glory of fangirling over Lord of the Rings, I've accomplished a feat that I'v never accomplished before: I finished The Hobbit. Woo!
I'm pretty sure you've heard how amazing it is, how it's adventurous with brilliant details and loveable characters and whatnot. That's all pretty much true. I think the only thing most people leave out is that it's funny. Not the dialogue, like "Ha-ha, good joke" (although there are a some amusing words exchanged) but the way J.R.R. Tolkien writes is funny. He has this frank, classy kind of way of saying things that just makes you smile, and that's part of why I now love this book. The minute I started reading it, I felt like I was listening to a story told by someone I knew, about someone I knew.
Now that you have my two cents on The Hobbit, I'm going to go into novelist mode and give everyone a little update on my story.
Since I finished The Hobbit, and I'm going to work my way through the entire series, I started flipping through the front of The Fellowship of the Ring for a little genre-boost (trying to get myself in the mood, I mean). I came upon the "Foreword to the Second Edition", in which J.R.R. states:

The Lord of the Rings has been read by many since it finally appeared in print; and I should like to say something here with reference to the many opinions or guesses that I have received concerning the motives and meaning of the tale. The prime motive was the desire of a tale-teller to try has hand at a really long story that would hold the attention of readers, amuse them, delight them, and at times maybe excite them or deeply move them.

When I read this, I literally sighed in relief. With my fantasy novel in the making (I still have a hard time calling it a novel), I've been very intent on why exactly I want to write it. You hear all these authors talking about the deep meanings behind their books, and then there's little amateur me, without some epic reason to write it.
Every time I ask myself why I'm writing this, I come to the conclusion that I just want to amuse people. That's pretty much all I ever want to do. I write this blog, partly because I have to, but mostly because I want to entertain someone. My day will become a lot sunnier (figuratively) if I can make someone else laugh - really laugh. And while this story isn't going to make your sides split with laughter - I doubt it's really all that funny - its main purpose is to entertain, not just whoever reads it, but me, as I write it. (Plus, how great would it look on my transcript to say that I've had a novel published?) (That is, if this story ever reaches a publisher and that publisher decides to risk it.)
With J.R.R. Tolkien as one of my big role models throughout the writing of this story, it is such a relief to know that one of the world's most popular, brilliantly written books was written with the same desires in his mind as mine.
Phew!

Lady Fangirler

2010-02-11T09:51:00.000-08:00

I have definitely been in a medeival mood lately. I would blame watching Lord of the Rings, but I wanted to watch it specifically because of the mood I'm in, so that isn't going to fly.
This would not be so bummerface-ish if I had an idea for a story. I'm obsessed with writing, so I write all the time. If I don't, it's like not going to the bathroom. A natural body function is being ignored and that results in discomfort. Also, when I write, the genre has to match my mood. If I get sick of a certain genre and still only have one more page to write to finish my story, it just doesn't get finished, because that page will have no heart in it, thus sucking.
That "period piece" I mentioned earlier is pretty much going nowhere. I got sidetracked, the dialogue isn't so brilliant, and part of it is pretty confusing unless you're... me.
So, being in the mood for something fantastic (fantasy fantastic, that is) I'm struggling to find a plot to work with. Thus my old motto, "Build the character, plot will come". This is my old motto because oftentimes it's the only thing that's going to help me keep writing instead of give up.
My new studies aren't so brilliant in the writing-encouragement department, either. It's more like read this, answer questions that make you think hard about it. While it gives me the chance to feel philosophical and reflective, it doesn't help my actual writing very much. I'm probably going to scour my library for creative writing books. I might do some research on C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien to see if I can find out how they wrote, what they did while they wrote, etc.
Another thing that spurs on my medeival mood is a little fangirling over one of the Lord of the Rings characters, and we all know that if fangirling is involved, there will be a decent amount of dedication to whatever genre the fangirled subject is in.
So now you know: that's pretty much where I am right now.

New Study

2010-02-01T10:54:00.001-08:00

Studies show that I am currently studying new study materials. While I don't find it so much challenging as provoking when it comes to my writing skills, I do find it challenging my reading skills - in the sense that it's making me view books differently.
Quite frankly, I'm pretty easy to please when it comes to books. I wouldn't call Beige or The Black Sheep (by Cecil Castellucci and Yvonne Colins) great literature - it's a young adult novel, most literature professors would scoff at it - but they're very entertaining and humorous, well-written, and with lovable characters. In my opinion, no book can go wrong if you have strong-willed, independent characters, and let them lead the way through your plot.
The above opinion has been the guideline through every story I've written - "build the character, plot will come". Thus this has been my guideline through every story/novel I've read.
Now, thanks to a lovely lady who was getting rid of new textbooks, instead of just reeling around in my own head for ideas, I've got Glencoe Literature, Course 5, "the Reader's Choice". It has a nice hardback cover, red, with what appears to be a Greek stone sculpture of a man's face on the front. The stone man looks stoned. I digress.
This book has been a lot of fun. It has plenty of short stories and a lot of questions. It also has guidelines on what to look for in critiquing and analyzing a story. Call me closed-minded, but I'd never thought to wonder why a writer wrote the way he/she did. Now I wonder.
I wonder, Cecil, why did you choose to give Beau Ratner a cowboy hat when he picks Katie up from the airport? Is the hat one that Katie's Mom gave to him while they were on tour? Does the hat signify his patriotism? Or his supposedly corny sense of style?
And after I wonder this, I wonder why I'm wondering such mundane things.
The questions, no matter how thought-provoking, often lead me to simple answers.
Why did the author put it into first-person view? Why this character's view? Why this setting?
Given a little amount of information, simple deductions have been made for these somewhat annoying questions.
Somehow, these annoying questions are still good for me. Ignorance that provokes me into snippy sarcasm, I think, gives me enough edge that I want to write more of my stories. And then, of course, it has actually good questions - questions that don't come with simple answers, questions that invoke imagination and skill, questions that make me want to write even more now that I've got sarcasm and imagination going.
So there you have it - I'm enjoying my new literature study material. With it I am sharpening my skills as I write two stories. One is a rewrite one of my older stories, concerning yuppies, pink comforters, and a few adolescents with social issues. The other is a squoogly attempt at a period piece with (what I'd like to call) an arcane, shadowy plot. Whether or not it has any right being called arcane or shadowy, I'm not sure yet. More on this as it develops.

Go Figure

2009-12-01T11:04:00.000-08:00

I have finally finished As You Like It. And, aside from the fact that I have issues capitalizing the “A” in the title without accidentally capitalizing the “S” as well, I’ve no complaints.
It’s a very quirky, sarcastic romantic comedy. I must confess, the first time I read the jokes and/or comebacks, it took me a few more read-overs to understand what the funny part was.

Rosalind: …I was never so berhymed as in Pythagoras’ time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember.

This was the only one that made me laugh the first time I read it, simply because it sounded so random and out of nowhere. Then I realized that Pythagoras taught reincarnation, and in Ireland it was believed rats could be rhymed to death. To which I say, go figure, on both counts. Rosalind’s point was that she’d never been so moved by a poem, except for in her previous life, when she was rhymed to death.

So quite a few fell flat for me because realization came slowly, and the surprise of a joke is half of the fun.
However, I did take a break from dear Rosalind and Celia (or Ganymede and Aliena, whichever way you look at it) for about a fortnight. This is normal for me. Unless it’s very easy to read, I always take a break from my book for about a month. (This habit has left me with some overdue library copies of Jane Eyre.) It seems like unless I drift away from what I’m sinking into, I can’t fully appreciate it.

When I came back to As You Like It after my fortnight-long vacation, I decided to read over a few things again, and it did make me laugh. Not a raucous outburst, but it didn’t fail to make me smile.

I think I’m going to name my daughter Rosalind, if I have one.

Controlling the Cards

2009-10-12T18:22:00.000-07:00

First off, let me say that technically this is English Literature. Not in the conformist way. In the literal way. I am speaking English, and this is Literature. Literature means writing. And I wrote this. So technically it is about English Literature, and it belongs in this blog!

I sit at my computer, staring down the solitare game on the screen. I really want a black four. If I had it, I could put it on the red five, and put on it the red three that covers up a space that rightfully belongs to the black king sitting idly by.
Determined, crossing my fingers, praying for the black four, I click on the deck in the far left corner of the screen. Black four. Black four. Blackfourblackfourblackfourblackfour…..
Red queen.
“Poop,” I think, as I grudgingly click-and-drag the red queen onto my black king. “As if this will make a difference. Why couldn’t you give me the black four, God? I really wanted that black four. I really needed that black four. A red queen? That’s the exact opposite of what I asked for. Don’t you like me anymore?” (I say this last part teasingly.)(Yes, I said I talked to Him teasingly. He doesn’t mind, He usually teases back. I haven’t been zapped with a lightning bolt yet, either. So I’m pretty confident it’s not a sin or anything.)
Focusing back on the screen and my card dilemma, I notice there’s a black jack sitting on top of an empty space. As any avid card played should know, a black jack happens to be playable on top of a red queen. I quickly move the jack on top of the red queen that sits on the oh-so-patient black king, then put the king in his rightful place on the empty spot with his queen and jack. Well, it’s not empty anymore, but that’s not the point.
I was sitting there, begging and pleading and crying for a black four. “Please? A black four. That’s all I need, honest. A black four.”
What did He give me? A red queen. “Red queen? What the french toast!? I don’t need this. You hate me, don’t you? This is not what I wanted,” etc, etc.
A red queen got me what I needed to win. A lousy black four, as it turned out, was needed in another corner of the solitare world (so to speak). I didn’t get what I asked for, I got what I really needed. He knew better than me (shock!).
I’m just glad I can’t control the cards… or I’d be worse off by far.

That Was Laid On With a Trowel

2009-09-30T07:26:00.000-07:00

It would seem as though everything I've mentioned in past blog posts is finally coming together.
I am finally reading As You Like It. I am finally breakthing through my dry spell, which is basically writer's block but I call it that because it seems to happen every 6 months. And finally, the books I'm reading don't cut off the end of the pieces it presents. Since As You Like It isn't in Adevntures In English Literature - which should really be named Boring Editorials On English Literature That We Won't Let You Finish Reading - I've decided to delve into a book on Shakespeare's plays and sonnets.
As You Like It is everything the movie depicted and more. Rosalind and Celia are cuter and wittier than I ever realized. Orlando fell for Rosalind harder, and Oliver's even more obnoxious than I recalled. This either shows a lack of emotion in the movie as compared with the play (which is likely enough; it happens all the time), a lack in my memory (also very likely; that happens all the time, too), or I'm just getting very into reading the play, so much that I decide it's better than the movie.
Which, the book (or play, in this case) is always better than the movie. If you've read a book and go see the movie they've made of it (as I'm sure any Twilight-er knows) you'll probably - scratch that, you will be disappointed. However, if you criticize the movie as though it weren't based on a book - that is, if you judge the movie on its own, not by the book or your imagination's standards - oftentimes it's pretty good, because of where the inspirtation came.
But it's not about the quality of the story I'm referring to, it's the emotion. Whether or not I can really empathize with the characters is very important, I believe. Without the emotion in a plot, there's nothing to give it that magic that makes you feel as though you're really in the story. Being able to transport yourself to various other worlds is the brilliance of a good story, or movie.
Even though I haven't read much of As You Like It just yet (I'm just beginning Act II), I'm in love with it. Its clever dialogue and loveable characters make it a must, and I'm going to go change my "favorite books" section on MySpace and Facebook.

ACT I, SCENE II
**Rosalind and Celia (cousins) talking in front of the palace with Touchstone (a jester)**

CEL. Here comes Monsieur Le Beau.
ROS. With his mouth full of news.
CEL. Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young.
ROS. Then we shall be news-crammed. [Enter Le Beau] Bon jour, Monsieur Le Beau. What's the news?
LE BEAU. Fair Princess, you have lost much good sport.
CEL. Sport! Of what color? [Pretending he said "spot"]
LE BEAU. What color, madam! How shall I answer you?
ROS. As wit and fortune will.
TOUCH. Or as the Destinies decree.
CEL. Well said. That was laid on with a trowel.
TOUCH. Nay, if I keep not my rank --
ROS. Thou losest thy old smell.

I Promise, I won't Cut Off the End Of This Blog.

2009-09-23T12:05:00.000-07:00

Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments. Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove. O, no, it is an ever-fixed mark, that looks on tempests and is never shaken. It is a star to wandering barks, whose worth is unknown though its mark be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief time and weeks, but bears it out ev'n to the edge of doom. If this be error, and upon me proved, then I never writ, no nor man ever loved.

Know what? I memorized all that. ...Well, most of that...
But I always wondered what exactly that was called. It is simply titled "Sonnet 116" (so sayeth this book of mine, anyway), by William Shakespeare, the man in the title of this blog.
I've been reading a lot of his stuff lately, especially after reading a few of the sonnets my book provided. It also provides the entire play Macbeth, which seems to me just a tad biased. I mean, Beowulf got cut off into a summary, why shouldn't Macbeth? It's unfair to the Anglo-Saxon age.
Also, the fact that I'm not particularly interested in Macbeth and skipped it after Scene V, but I was deeply intrigued by Beowulf, that doesn't help my opinion with Harcourt, Brace and Company's Adventures in English Literature, either.
Sonnet 116 is one of my favorite works by Will. (Will is easier to type than Shakespeare, and most people appreciate a sense of relaxation and fellow humanity when you talk to them or about them, so I'm going to start calling him Will. Okay?)
Another favorite of mine is As You Like It, although I have to admit I haven't read the play yet. I saw the movie of it, with Bryce Dallas Howard (who also played in Lady in the Water and the Village) as Rosalind and David Oyelowo ("Danny Hunter" in the TV show Spooks) as Orlando. I absolutely fell in love with that movie.
I once attempted to read the play itself (we have a book of Shakespeare's work), but it was about 11 at night, my head hurt a little (shock!) so I decided to leave it for another day. However, I believe that day is quickly approaching. It might even be tonight. But right now I'll tell you more about what I've already read.
Another definite favorite of mine is George Wither's poem Shall I, Wasting In Despair. It's the only poem by him that the book gives, but thankfully they didn't just throw out a summary of the poem for you to read.

Great, or good, or kind, or fair,
I will ne'er the more despair!
If she love me (this believe!)
I will die, ere she shall grieve;
If she slight me when I woo,
I can scorn and let her go;
For if she be not for me,
What care I for whom she be?

It's got a certain snarkiness yet contentedness to it that I just love.
The poem directly after this one is by Robert Herrick, Counsel to Girls. It's basically saying that you should get married while you're young and look lovely and someone will want to marry you. Which, in that time period, (1600's) I suppose it makes sense to say that. That's just how it rolled back then. Even so, it's very insulting to adults. I could've done without reading that one. They cut off Beowulf, but give us history on some guy who's only noted for one poem, and it's not even a good poem? No, every poem doesn't have to be cheery to make my "good writing" list, but I think I proved that in my last blog post. Anyway.
The last thing I read today was by John Milton, who titled his (long, detailed) poem L'Allegro (an Italian word for quick, or lively). He dedicated this poem to his three daughters, as he did with all his "epic" poems. (Yes, that's really the word the book uses, "epic". I got a kick out of that. Not sure why.)
And now I must say farewell, my fellows (and fellowettes). I've got a few things to take care of. So I leave you with a recommendation: Rent the movie "As You Like It", with Bryce Dallas Howard (made in '06), and listen to the song "Life Is Strange" by The Gallery. They're amazing.

That time of year thou may'st in me behold
When yellow leaves, or few, or none, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
**...sonnet 73...**

A Snazzy Introduction (Because Everything Needs a Snazzy Intro)

2009-09-21T16:39:00.000-07:00

First things first. I started this blog for three reasons:

I'm reading a book titled Adventures In English Literature that was published in 1965, and instead of just writing down a short description of what I read in the notebook designated to that portion of my education, I thought up this idea.

I've been wanting to start a blog for a while.

I've got writer's block and this came to mind. I'm trying to explore any ideas that are coming to me, because lately, they're getting few and far between. Dang it.

So here I am to entertain you. With all my thoughts on Shakespeare, Chaucer, or just about any author I come across... All my thoughts on beating (or rather, suffering through) writer's block... All my thoughts on trying to actually write a story...

This should turn out to be an interesting ride.

One more thing, before I go on. It's called "Stalking Shakespeare", but only because he's a great literary figure, and when people think of Shakespeare they think of English literature. I'm not specifically stalking Shakespeare, I'm "stalking" the literary works of that time period. The name sounded snappy. Bear with me, or this isn't going to work.

Enjoy.

The River of Stars (A Tale of Niagra), by Alfred Noyes

This was the first piece of writing in "Adevntures in English Literature" that really struck me, and even though I read it earlier this month, I'll start from the beginning. I've never been really crazy over the Niagra Falls, much less consider them the setting for a bittersweet poem about a young Native American woman saving what's left of her tribe. Somehow, Noyes managed to put beauty and romance into a heartbreaking tale set at the Niagra Falls.

After escaping from her camp where the Mowhawks had attacked, and mourning the death of her love, she calls out the triumphant death cry of her tribe. The rival tribe surrounds her in an instant, and she bargains with them that if they let her live, she'll show them the way to the rest of her tribe's camp.

Follow! They chuckled, and followed like wolves to the glittering stream.

Shadows obeying a shadow, they launched their canoes in a dream.

Alone, in the first, with the blood on her breast, and her white-milk crown,

She stood. She smiled at them, Follow,

Then urged her canoe to the darkness...

The river broadened and quickened. There was nought but river and sky.

The shores were lost in the darkness. She laughed and lifted a cry-

Follow me! Sa-sa-kuon! Swifter and swifter they swirled-

And the flood of their doom went flying,

Flying away to the darkness,

Follow me, follow me, Mowhawks! Ye are shooting the edge of the world.

So it's not exactly a feel-good poem, when a girl canoes over the edge of Niagra to kill the Mowhawks. But I'd rather have a beautifully written sad story than a horribly written happy story, and even though the snippits I gave you may not seem so beautiful, the poem truly is a piece of art. I love it.

After reading this three or four times, I decided it was time to move on. I read an article on England's World War II bombings, and an Englishman's opinion of America, before skipping ahead to the good stuff; the Anglo-Saxon age.

The only thing that chapter of the book had to offer was a nice chunk of history on England in the Anglo-Saxon Age, which I skipped (who cares about history? I want to read literature), but the only notable piece of literature the Anglo-Saxon age had was Beowulf.

Don't get me wrong, I love Beowulf. (Especially the third tale of Beowulf, with the fire-drake. That's my favorite.) And not to mention that there was a hefty amount of Beowulf in that chapter, so I can't complain about a lack of interesting reading. But was that all the Anglo-Saxons really had to offer? There had to be some sort of other poem, hadn't there? If there was, they didn't mention it. Just a bunch of history, and then the glorious Beowulf.

His hearth-companions

Called him the best among kings of the earth

Mildest of men, and most beloved,

Kindest to kinsmen, and keenest for fame.

Go, Beowulf. You defeated monsters, respected your fellow men, and gave a literary aspect to the Anglo-Saxon age.