My Baby (in that I love it and I helped to build it) Harp

I spent my federally-mandated-school-holiday being productive (thank you for that, and so much more, MLKJr!) and we assembled my harp. All that's really left at this point is stringing and tuning it. Unless I'm forgetting another step.

Anyway, here are some pictures from that day.

This is all the unassembled pieces. 

Me squishing into a small place to help square pieces before we drill the pilot holes. 

More squaring. Plus, my hair from the back. It doesn't look half bad for something just thrown up that morning.

Applying epoxy to seal and hold all the pieces together. 

I made Amber take this picture of me. I don't really know what I was thinking. Look, gloves!

Fitting the soundbox together. 

The back of the soundbox sliding in. 

Screwing the last few holes in. 

Me and my little ginger baby.

Just a Normal Conversation*

*names have been changed to protect the people we talk about.

Friend:

I had an interesting thought today. So, Wilhemina gave me back the short
story thing where the mom dies, and she just didn't get it. She said
she couldn't figure out why the main character ran away and was on a
boat. She said she thought it should be more sympathetic to the dad,
not just the main character. Some of the stuff she brought up was
good, like there's no clear indication whether the main character is a
boy or a girl. But yeah, there was a lot of stuff she didn't get.

Did any of that bother you?

Anyway, I was thinking about it and this is not the first time that
has happened. She didn't understand my war poem. Some of my essays
seemed to confuse her. I'm starting to wonder if the way she reads and
the way I write is just incompatible. I don't think it's a problem
with the way she reads, because she understands other stuff just fine,
and I don't think it's necessarily a problem with the way I write
because other people usually understand my writing. I think it's just
that they aren't compatible.

I think she wants me to tell her what to think. And that's not
something I'm good at. I can't get across a clear message. I do not
write for the purpose of getting a main idea across. I think she wants
main idea and believes story for the sake of story doesn't have any
value. She wants it to mean something. She wants me to tell her
outright to feel sorry for the dad, when I want her to decide whether
or not to feel sorry for him. She wants to see the steps my character
took between his mother's death and his sitting in a boat crying about
it while I just want to tell about his mother's death and that he ran
away and leave the rest to imagination. I want her to fill in the rest
of the story from her own head. I don't want to tell her what to
think. I flat out refuse to tell my readers what to think. I want them
all to make their own judgments and look at both sides of the argument
without me telling them exactly what to think. I want people to read
my writing and have their own thoughts about it, not my thoughts.

I guess it's fine the other way. Maybe some authors want everyone to
think the same thing when they read those authors' books. Maybe that's
what significance means: the author tells you what to think. Some
people like that. Wilhemina likes that. But I don't like it. It's about
taste. I like those books that take you to new worlds where you have
to start over learning the rules and thinking and it's so new and
different and impossible to explain in full that each person will have
an entirely different view of it. Utter Chaos. I love that. Some
people, though, want books that take everyone to exactly the same
place, that tell the exact same story to each person, provided the
person can understand what the author wanted them to think. Those
books get a message across. Those books tend to expose some sort of
human or societal flaw.

In any case, Wilhemina doesn't understand my writing, and maybe it's just
because we're on opposite ends of the spectrum. She keeps looking for
what I'm trying to tell her to think, and I'm not trying to tell her
to think anything. Or maybe I'm wrong and my writing really is
confusing, but most people just don't mind enough to point it out.

What do you think?

My reply:

First, sorry for not getting to this sooner, I wanted time and a computer keyboard when I replied to this. 

None of the stuff that Wilhemina mentioned bothered me when I read the story. I don't know. Maybe Wilhemina's never wanted to run away when things got bad in her life? I know I have. But I also know that the feeling of wanting to run away, especially when you're young and your life is falling to pieces, is rather universal. Kids run away lots. The boat thing I just assumed was part of the running away. I don't see why it would have to be more sympathetic to the dad, I think that would make the narrative out of character. Your protagonist is grieving, and blames the father for what happened. Sympathy is asking a bit much out of a kid. (more like a pre-teen, but you get my point). It's out of character, and I think that would make your story weaker. Adults can comprehend why they should feel sympathy and show it, but even when we grieve we don't tend to do that. Empathy and sympathy are some of the first things to go when we get hurt, especially emotionally. And the boy/girl thing doesn't really matter, I always thought it was a boy, but I know you tend to write with boys. Just like I really didn't need time tags in my story until now, you really don't need gender tags. It's not important. 

I think you also made some very good points. Actually, after reading this email, I was on twitter and I found this really cool quote: "I think it’s important to leave spaces in a story for readers to fill in from their own experience." Annie Proulx. 

I think it's important too. And I like your definition of significance, because honestly in all my years of english classes, I never really got what defined what was significant or not. Wilhemina would get mad at me because what I thought was significant she didn't think was significant, or I didn't like what she thought was significant, because I felt like it had no bearing on what I got from the story. 

I feel like... I don't know. What I do know is that what I write for english teachers I don't write in the stories I really want to write. I would let all my english teachers read my blog in a heartbeat. I know they would like it. I'm really proud of it, and I use a lot of what I learned in english in my posts. Wilhemina would get a kick out of it, it's essentially what she assigns for essays just I get more leeway in what I want to write about. But I wouldn't let Wilhemina read Shades. Or my fanfiction or that other story I finished or angsty love story or Soul of Death. She wouldn't like it. 

Because as much as I ragged on your short story today for not filling in all the blanks in the story, I really love when a story has some well-placed blanks. I get to decide what happened, until more information comes in and says what happened, but until then, I, the reader, get the power of writing a portion of that story. 

Ok, and now I have to go on a rant, because I agree with you, Wilhemina's showing signs that she wants you to tell her how to think. And I have some issues with that. Sooooo many issues. One big one being that she's a teacher, and the point of education (at least, my opinion on the point of education) is that the goal of it is so I can learn how to think for myself. NOT to tell me what my thoughts should be. If I wanted that, I'd stay ignorant and dependent on others for what my opinions should be. And she's a teacher. She's supposed to be expanding her student's knowledge and critical thinking skills, but she can't utilize them herself in reading a honestly very simple short story. We learn best when we are not taught merely what to think, but how to think for ourselves. That's a purpose stories serve, is to teach us how to think. They open our minds and show us that there's more than what we're told. They remove limits, not put them in place. 

Also, I feel like your writing, as well as lots of other writing I like reading for all the reasons mentioned above, appeal to the readers in a more emotional fashion than logically. I mean, both are entwined in a story, obviously, but your story was very emotional. All the supposed blanks Wilhemina saw were easily filled with emotion. To explain in words would take away the emotion that the lack of words places. Writing isn't just knowing what to write, it's also knowing when to not write, and just to let it live on paper. 

And yes, I agree, some books are more logical and tell you what to think. I think that those books, while they may be very well written and done and significant have a heavy risk, in that there's a good chance if no one understands what the point is, that the story will have lost all meaning. Because what means one thing to one person doesn't mean the same thing to other people, and that's why stories are so amazing, because you can get so many different interpretations, and they're all right. Each one individually is right for that person. And exposing flaws is fabulous, I mean, look at the blog post I just wrote about the Dark Knight. I loved the story, and there was a huge societal flaw exposed, but it didn't tell me how to think. The flaw was exposed by the bad guy, I mean, why would you listen to what the bad guy has to say? Really? He's the bad guy. People aren't going to listen to a bad guy to better themselves. 

But the story wasn't told with just logic and with the express purpose of exposing the flaw that people are selfish and sometimes stupid with moral ambiguity problems. It was about Batman, and the transformation he underwent during the course of the movie. With lots of blanks in that story, that we could only fill in with imagination and some phenomenal acting. 

I think, overall, that Wilhemina is a twitchy teacher who might need a crash course in the creative part of creative writing. I'd also like to see her write a story instead of grading it, so that she can be more in touch with what you're all trying to do. I think that your writing is fine. It's not perfect, and I will never tell you that it's perfect, because you can always improve. I think that story was good and well-told. I feel there is a sort of inevitability to your clashing, but who changes what remains to be seen. You might want to sit down and talk with her about it, if it's really bothering you, or write her a letter (you'll feel more eloquent that way, and won't have to deal with her interrupting your speaking) and give it to her, detailing your feelings on the gap between your writing and her understanding. I've yet to find your writing confusing me, which is the opposite with the grades I got in Wilhemina's class, most of which confused me to no end. She had trouble finding the points I wanted to make as well. 

And finally, don't let her get to you. She's just a high school english teacher. The unique position of being both highly important and trivial at the same time. Your education is what you make of it. What you learn is more important than what they teach, and if they match, all the better for you. If they don't quite match, rest assured that you're getting a life view sadly few people get nowadays--learning beyond the curriculum. Even if all you learned was that when you email me really long emails like this you get even longer ones back because I like to talk about writing and education. 

This is a totally normal conversation between two totally normal girls.... yeah... completely normal. 

A slice of sunshine.

Midafternoon. Lazy, lethargic, preceded by a productive morning. The sun is shining for the first time in a week or so.

The winter semester has started. My mind is kept busy with homework and classes. One of my favorite states to be in. Learning.

My mother comes in, feeling a burst of productivity. She suggests we take the dress I bought the other week and take it in so I can wear it. I try it on and she pins it, then takes it upstairs to sew. I follow her, chatting, the way we do when we have free moments.

The sun is still shining. I lay on my mother's bed, wearing only jeans and a black tank top. My hair is messily thrown into a bun on top of my head, and it threatens to fall at any moment. My earrings are a creeping vine of leaves and flowers, dangling from my ears.

She sews, and we chat. We discuss my upcoming birthday. Clothes. Shopping, whales, fashion, doodles, whatever comes to our mind is free game. I find a drawing app on her iPad and start playing with it.

After a few moments we hear my little brother, arriving home from school. I go down to open the gate for him, bare feet walking through the mud as I open the fence. Moments like these make me feel... simple.

A little group of houses in a jungle. Women hanging out their laundry to dry in the sun. Children biking home from school, coming in and out of the houses freely. Moms gathering in the parking lot to talk to each other while their children play, bare feet running on the ground still damp from days of rain.

Music comes from houses as I walk by. The chatter of talking, of cooking and cleaning. A gaggle of adolescent girls passes me, gossiping about whatever they can get their hands on. Several people wave as they see me. The sun is shining. I can hear the yells as boys play in a field behind the houses.

A door slams. I can hear a radio turn on, and the talking intermingles with a mother scolding her child. The grass is soft beneath my bare feet, a welcome change from the tiny rocks in the parking lot. There is a cry as one child unfortunately crashes his bike into his older brother's. However, all is well as he gets back up to go back to riding again.

A car comes through the parking lot, prompting mothers to look for their children to make sure they're not in harm's way. There's a cat curling around my ankles, and I can hear the distant clucks of a family of chicks nearby.

I shake myself out of my daydreaming and shut the fence gate, heading inside. I've still homework to do.

HAPPY CELEBRATION TIME with wildlife.

GUYS. This is my 50th post on this wonderful blog.

Which means that it's time for a celebration.

BUT NOT JUST THIS IS MY 50TH BLOG POST OH NO.

Because also my blog has reached 2000 views.

2000 VIEWS. You guys are all the best. And not just the Americans who read it.

I can't forget all the people in Russia and the UK and Canada and Germany and South Korea and Israel ok all you people are wonderful and lovely.

And my method of celebrating is to show you guys something I've been waiting for to post.

A few months ago, I was just sitting in my room when I looked at my window, and to my surprise was a lizard sitting there. But he looked really funny, so I walked up for a closer look.

The reason the lizard looked funny was because he had a gecko in his mouth and was in the process of eating it.

This upset me something terribly. I yelled at the lizard to spit out the gecko (I really don't know why, looking back, because I don't think it would have helped). However, with that totally not working, and the lizard ignoring my flicking the window screen, there was only one thing to be done. I had to get out my cellphone and take pictures of it, so that all my blog viewers could feel the same terror and grief I did as I watched the lizard slowly eat the gecko.

So now you all have to watch it. Guys, science and the circle of life! Yey!

The pictures turned out way better than I expected. Unfortunately, I can't say the same for the video, but hey. Here you go.

Movie Whimsy: The Dark Knight

Stop. Stop right now, all you people reading this, and let me make one thing very clear to you.

Yes, I had not seen The Dark Knight in its entirety until a few nights ago. I caught the tail end of it a while ago, but I hadn't seen the whole thing. Mostly due to the large amount of smallish people in our house who really don't need to watch it, and also a mother who doesn't like dark movies.

I have to give her props, though, because she did sit through most of the movie, except when she was taking little children back to bed after they snuck down the stairs.

After the movie was over, she turned to us and said, "I don't like it."

To which I immediately replied, "You're not supposed to."

She was confused.

But you're not supposed to like The Dark Knight.

First of all, it's the second movie in a trilogy. There is an unspoken rule about trilogies, especially for dystopian ones, but it goes for almost all of them. There's a form it goes through while taking shape. The first book/movie starts with a bad situation and ends with a victory for the good side. The second one takes that victory and shows people that not all victories end in a happily ever after. Usually the protagonist doesn't complete his/her goal, or if they do, it's at far too high a cost. And the antagonist does complete his/her goal, no matter what happens to the protagonist.

Now why would people like the second part of any trilogy that way? You watch the protagonist go from the safe countertop into the frying pan, then at the very end jump in the fire. But that's the wonder of the third part of the trilogy, wherein we get to watch the protagonist get out of that fire. (No, I haven't watched the Dark Knight Rises yet, so I don't know how exactly it plays out with Batman.) That's the general rules for a trilogy. There are always exceptions (Peter Jackson and The Two Towers ends on an uncharacteristically happy note, but that's easily rectified in the beginning of Return of the King) .

Anyway, so now you know the literary reasons why you're not supposed to like The Dark Knight. But there's more reasons than that. This movie lets Christopher Nolan show us the darker side of human nature, where the ends justify the means and sometimes there is no end, just means, and they're all nasty and gross and repugnant.

And oh, how much do we poor humans rationalize our actions.

"You know... you know what I've noticed? Nobody panics when things go 'according to plan', even if the plan is horrifying! If tomorrow, I tell the press that, like, a gang banger will get shot, or a truckload of soldiers will be blown up, nobody panics, because it's all 'part of the plan'."

We watched the Joker prove himself right, making the movie bitter.

A choice between a lawyer's life or a hospital getting blown up? We sat there and watched as Reese's life was saved only due to the quick actions of law enforcement and Batman. An empty hospital got blown up. Normal citizens, doing what they thought was best for society, attempted to kill Reese because they didn't want innocent sick people to die. Never mind that Reese was innocent as well, he hadn't done anything wrong. All he did was attract the attention of the Joker, who decided he wanted to see who people would place above the other, one innocent man or several.

The ferry scene. Two ferries, one filled with convicted felons, and the other with ordinary citizens. Both rigged to blow, and the trigger to the other ferry placed in the hands of the people on the other boat. Told that unless one of them blew up the other one, they would both be blown up at midnight. The people on the citizen's ferry tried to solve this dilemma by democracy. The tally came in, with an overwhelming majority voting for the massacre of the other boat. Then someone pointed out that the other ferry hadn't blown them up yet. In the convicted boat, one man stood, offering to take the trigger from the captain and do what he should have done 10 minutes ago. The captain hands him the trigger. The man throws it out the window and sits down.

Two ferries, both full of people, saved by the brave actions of a determined convicted felon, and the fear of ordinary citizens at massacring a mass of people.

I was reading an article the other day, and this quote stood out to me. "You shouldn't torture people because it's wrong, no matter your view of its efficacy. Consequentialism is a false approach to ethics."

The Joker pointed out that so many people do use the ends to justify the means.

Sure, Batman's a renegade vigilante, but look at what he's done for the city, making the bad guys afraid to act.

Sure, we might be killing a man. But we're saving a hospital.

Sure, we're torturing people. But we might be getting answers to save our country.

Sure, Gordon might be working with people bought by the mob, but he's working to make the city better.

Sure, the aspartame in fake sugar might be slowly mummifying my bones, but I'm losing weight.

Sure, I might be voting to blow up an entire boat full of other people, but I won't die.

Sure, people might be dying daily, but Batman's identity, and therefore his symbolism, is preserved for Gotham.

Sure, I might be procrastinating getting ready for the new school semester, but I'm writing a blog post about ethics. And Batman.

Overall, though, The Dark Knight was a phenomenal movie with great writing and acting, and I enjoyed it, as much as I disliked Joker winning. A very good, thought-provoking movie.

Happy New Year

Well, it appears 2012 has come and gone. Perhaps not surprisingly, the majority of humanity has survived and we continue to live on.

It was a big year.

I graduated high school, one of eleven valedictorians of my class.

I helped my We The People team win at the state level and continue on to nationals, as we all went to Washington, D.C. and had the time of our lives.

I started this blog.

I celebrated the one-year anniversary of my job at McDonalds.

I went out with (and later ended up breaking up with) a really great guy.

I wrote a fanfiction. And finished it.

I (and my friend) wrote a story. And finished it.

I started my first semester of college.

I voted for the first time ever.

I survived my first semester of college.

I started building a harp. (Can't say it's finished yet, but we're close.)

I made some fantastic friends.

I kept some fantastic friends.

I attempted to do NaNoWriMo. Started revising my own manuscript for the first time ever.

I learned a lot about art. Film, books, human nature, life.

I got a lot more comfortable in my own voice, sharing my own opinions.

I learned that being alone and free is far more fulfilling than being with a crowd stuck in a box.

I learned that sometimes being alone and free is lonely and sad.

I learned people are sometimes really really stupid.

And then sometimes they're also really awesome.

Disagreeing doesn't always mean you don't love someone, and sometimes preserving a friendship is more important than being right.

I'm awfully inconsistent, occasionally tactless, vain, willful, stubborn, prideful, provocative, and impulsive.

I'm also witty, smart, funny, willing to listen, loyal, honest, hold myself to high standards, determined, and working on seeing the best in people instead of the worst.

I learned to not be so quick to judge people. I learned to question even my judgements, for I am sometimes wrong.

I learned that the best way to learn is to ask questions.

I didn't die.

Perception is stronger than reality, so if you think the world is a certain way, it is, at least until you learn to see it differently.

Laughter is better than crying any day, and if it's good enough laughter, you'll get to cry as well.

Happy New Year my dears, and I hope 2013 is good to you and yours.