english

Hamlet Timed Write

Wed, 22 May 2013 23:23:04 +0100

GEM

Wed, 22 May 2013 22:59:45 +0100

Why am I doing this?
I sit here
She sits there
And she listens
For hours
Long enough to leave an imprint in her aunt's old brown carpet
Only inserting comments every now and again
Even though she is in the same place as me
She never stops me
She just keeps listening
I hate myself for that
That I force her into this
But I am elated at the release
I couldn't count how many times she has done this for me
But I can tell you how many times I've done it for her
Twice
And I've always connected it to my own pain
Instead of just listening
I'm the reason she needs to rant
But I won't listen
Not to to her
Not to my screaming conscience
I keep talking
She keeps listening
As I climb out of this darkest hole
I dig her's deeper
We share the sadness
Mine is vocal
Her's is hidden
Behind her sunshine smile
But she's happy
Always happy
To do this for me
And I let her
Why am I doing this?

It's Really a Man's World

Wed, 22 May 2013 22:53:21 +0100

Go For the Bad Boy

Time and time again there are complaints about most girls going for the bad boy, mysterious types. It is never understood what makes bad look so good. Heathcliff is the epitome of brooding and resentment. Female readers are drawn to his dark personality because they want to fix him and say that they were the ones to do so. That age-old adage that love conquers all needs to be proven.

Many women stereotypically are obsessed with finding the perfect man; but there is a catch – they have to make him that way. Finding a man who will share his feelings, watch chick flicks, and willingly go shoe shopping is no fun. It is much better to train him to be that way. Catherine certainly never trains Heathcliff to be what she wants him to be; she takes the easy way out because high society boys are usually bred with those fancy manners and deep pockets that she was looking for. Her loss.

“It would degrade me to marry Heathcliff now; so he shall never know how I love him…” (Bronte 90). Catherine hides from him her love because she does not understand that love surpasses all of that. Readers empathize more with Heathcliff because it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all but it is much worse to have loved and never shared the feeling with the one it is aimed towards. In keeping her deep emotion to herself, Catherine keeps Heathcliff’s very happiness out of his reach. She rejects him and it makes him take a turn for the worse.

Heathcliff was not necessarily in need of fixing in the beginning of it all; he just needed to be shown love, that he was more than a servant, and Catherine refused him that. Their love was pushed away when Catherine chose Edgar over Heathcliff and both male and female readers alike can only feel sorry for the man. A deep mutual attraction was recognized but shunned for something as silly as status. That is a fear for anyone, to be turned down because some trite thing is more important than that greatest of all feelings. So the reader empathizes, feels sorry, wants to draw Heathcliff in, roots for him to win out in the end even if they know that this story is more reality than fiction and the boy does not get the girl.

Heathcliff is sought after despite his ‘evil’ persona because he does not go after what he can’t handle. Both Heathcliff and Catherine loved each other but Catherine could not get over her search for a higher social grace. There was a need of something more but the want of something greater. Heathcliff is redeemed because he is not searching for that something greater. He did not ask to be adopted by Mr. Earnshaw, he just was. All he really wanted out of life was Catherine and to not be treated as a servant by his adopted brother. He was seen as dark because he saw Catherine as a possession to own but was redeemed because he never wanted to use her for social gain.

There are lonely souls out there, the ones that watch Nicholas Sparks movies, that want to believe that there is a force out there that is stronger than evil, can overpower that dark that likes to linger on through both day and night on this earth. Most turn to love, saying it is the most powerful thing out there, that it can conquer all. Readers hope that the darkness Heathcliff exudes can be tamed by his love for Catherine if only she will return it openly. And even if she does not allow herself to feel the same, that his love will be enough to overcome any lingering broodiness he might have.

This love, however, as it is not openly returned works to make the man darker and more hateful. Heathcliff uses his wife Isabella to get back at Catherine, showing that he can turn his back on them also. This move is neutral on the whole: good because it shows he is a strong individual but bad because he, again, treats a woman as an object he owns and can do what he likes with.

Heathcliff greatly harms Isabella both physically and mentally. She believes that he marries her for love but it is only a play at Catherine in a petty attempt to make the score even in their silly game of emotions. He sees no point in keeping Isabella happy because she is ultimately not what he is looking for. He uses and abuses and goes on his merry way.

Then the reader comes to the point of making excuses for poor old Heathcliff. “He was scorned by his one true love.” “He only acts this way because that is how he was treated by most of his adopted family.” “This is his way at lashing back at Catherine and she deserves it for refusing him.” This is the same as many women in abusive relationships think; that this is not him, this is his circumstances. Heathcliff is redeemable because he himself is not evil; he is only acting in a not-so-good way.

The devotion that Heathcliff shows to Catherine, even after her death, is also very endearing though a tad creepy. He can’t keep his mind off her and that is something most women crave from a man: his undivided attention. “…for what is not connected with her to me? And what does not recall her?” (Bronte 286) He sees her everywhere; he is so consumed by Catherine that readers realize that his love runs deep and will do so forever. “The entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did exist and that I have lost her!” (Bronte 286) Heathcliff is sorry for his actions and only wishes to have Catherine with him. His redemption comes from the wishing that he could take it all back and find a way for Catherine to love him openly.

Heathcliff might be bad but that only makes him mysterious which in turn makes him wanted, desired. There must be a recall, a turn around, a concession of his bad side. Everyone is redeemable. No one is truly evil. Heathcliff could be cruel but he loved Catherine to the end. That is what makes him worthy of people’s attention; he was hurt but he still cared for that one girl, his dear Catherine. There was a light in the darkness and that is all a person can hope for.

Works Cited

Bronte, Emily; Wuthering Heights; 1847

Final Reflection

Wed, 22 May 2013 22:49:14 +0100

I really like this paper. It is longer than most essays I have written for this class and I am sure that there is not a whole lot of fluff inserted in its paragraphs. I think I captured quite nicely the reasoning behind Heathcliff’s character and actions. I supported my claims with references from the text and gained ideas from those quotes that took my essay even farther.

I could have kept my thought process better laid out. I feel that I jumped around a bit too much and things did not flow as well as they could have. My mind often goes in multiple directions at each thought but I could have found a better way to make everything fit together. Writing an outline for future essays would probably help a lot with this problem.

In writing this paper I have learned that textual references really do help the merit of a paper and can give multiple ideas to lengthen an essay. I would use a quote in one way and then think of another way to use it that would add another paragraph or two to my essay that would further and better explain my claims.

I have improved in my use of a larger vocabulary and finding better academic words to say what I mean. I have learned to expand on my meaning without throwing useless content into my papers. I have not used as many contractions in this essay either and I think that it adds a more serious tone to the content of the essay and makes the reader take it more seriously as an academic paper.

I find that this paper is much better on an academic scale than when I started out the year. I think that maybe it does not contain much of my voice as I am not an entirely serious person but they are my ideas explained in an academic setting and it works.

It's a Woman's World

Wed, 22 May 2013 22:36:07 +0100

Why She Killed Her Man

It does not seem that often in the literary world that a woman would kill her man. More often than not, if there is a murder, it is a female character killed by an outside source. There must be something different about these women to have them do something so far out of the ordinary in the already strange literary reality. They must have quirks and characteristics that make them capable of such an act and set them apart from other ladies in the literary world.

One characteristic that killer women poses is an inability to act in normal society. Both the women in "A Rose for Emily" and "A Jury of Her Peers" had strange social graces, or lack thereof. Miss Emily, before she died had not accepted a visitor for several years. When men from the town visited her she was rather sharp with them and interrupted often while refusing to listen to a word they had to say.

Similarly, Mrs. Wright was also strange in the way she treated people, as explained by Mrs. Hales to the Sherriff's wife. Mrs. Hales was never comfortable in the Wright's home, even before it became the married couple's house and just belonged to Minnie. Not even Mrs. Wright's close neighbors would visit and that was probably the way she wanted it.

Another reason these women differ from their male counterparts is how women are ultimately viewed. Most often women are seen as the more fragile of the two sexes, unable to commit cold blooded murder. The stereotypical female with frail bones and a sweet disposition

couldn't do anything like that. Martha Hales and her newfound friend Mrs. Peters even think the same way about the poor suspect of this crime. Minnie Wright nee Foster is remembered as the darling member of the county choir, all dressed up in white and blue bows. How could she possibly be capable of killing her husband? The two females find excuses for the other woman, even hiding the dead canary to keep more evidence of what must be true because they do not believe the nervous woman could have done anything so horrendous even though they have evidence that says otherwise. If we are to believe stereotypes then Minnie was a sweet housewife that could not have killed her husband, she needed to be protected from those who would think to prosecute her.

On the other hand, we have to stereotypical-killer-housewife. The one who cannot take her husband and the everyday tasks that are expected of her anymore. The one who just snaps on what anyone would think was a normal day, but was just one day too many. Mrs. Wright also fits into this category as evidenced by the many half finished tasks she left lying around. She could not finish anything because she did not want to, she could not handle it. She snapped, killed her husband, and stopped caring about what she needed to finish.

Something else that can be seen from these types of women is the search for something more, something that can no longer be, never was, or is refused to be filled by the men in their lives. But sadly these women are stuck with their men, they cannot just up and leave. The only solution seen was the murder of their male friends. Abigail Williams from The Crucible is almost an example of this. She wanted something better than her puritan existence and convinces John Proctor to commit adultery with her. When he figured out how stupid that was and he left her, she needed a way to get him back. To get what she wanted she first testified against John's wife in hopes that he would turn back to her when he was no longer tied down after his wife's

inevitable death due to being accused of witchcraft. When that did not work she had to turn to killing him because if she could not have him, no one could.

Miss Emily was another prime example of this. She was in love with Homer and in reality he was probably the only man that would have her. However, Emily was not exactly what Homer was looking for; he enjoyed her company I am sure but he did not want the sort of relationship she was looking for. Though she somehow convinced him to not totally abandon her, it was not in the way she wanted, so she made it that way. She ended his ability to leave and fight against her; made it so she could totally and absolutely be in control of how they were together. Emily left him in her bed, what she considered 'their' bed, had them sleep in an embrace he couldn't pull out of. She received and illusion of what she wanted through his death.

Murderous literary women are differentiated from the men by motive. Men kill violently, with anger. Women are more methodical with their reasoning; they aren't going to just kill, they're going to think it through. Or at least it will be a build up and not a random act, as it usually is with literary men. Women are softer with their kills, more manipulative in what the effects are. They're not so vindictive or cruel, they're more effective. Women usually make plans, gather weapons, figure out how to make it come out best for them.

Male murderers in the literary world are also more likely to be serial killers than their women counterparts. Women get what they want from the first kill but for men it seems that the kill becomes the need. The woman's world of murder shows a dynamic that people don't normally look at: the dark, sad, mean side of the female gender.

References

Faulkner, William; A Rose for Emily; 1930

Glaspell, Susan; A Jury of Her Peers; 1916

Miller, Arthur; The Crucible; 1953

Journey (Rough Draft)

Mon, 14 Jan 2013 23:31:24 +0100

Moving Forward and Moving Higher

“I will show you fear in a handful of dust.” T.S. Eliot

Sitting for a moment before trudging on I saw how much dust there really was. It was everywhere: covering our tarps, coating my hair, and after three days it was deep in every pore. But it wasn’t mud, that sticky brown mess that caught in our wheels and the bottom of our shoes making it hard to move. And it wasn’t sand, sinking the moment we stepped onto a patch, seeping its way into our shoes with its grating fingers, making things even more uncomfortable.

I, of course, had blisters. Jake laughed at my choice of socks that first day as he slapped a Band-Aid on my ankle as Ma grabbed me a pair of her extra-long socks. My pride smarted as I realized I should have just bought a new set before coming out to this valley. My attempt at comfort had been futile, leading me in the opposite direction, making what was to come next even more daunting.

I’d had reservations before the trip even after being told how amazing it would be, the experience I would gain. I wasn’t prepared for what we were going to do. My life was conflicted and confusing. There were things I couldn’t get rid of. I was scared the dark that I was carrying

in me wouldn’t mix well with the overpowering light I was going to be surrounded with for four full days.

We start off, the boys already moving across another path to meet with us later. That first hill is probably the worst things we’ve faced in our three days of pushing and pulling. The sand doesn’t want to let us on and some of the girls have given up before we’ve even started. But we all press on. No one really wants to talk but we all sing. As my family leads with every push there’s a note, a word to make us stronger and to keep us pressing on.

At first we all have trouble agreeing on a song or remembering the verses but as we progress we just sing, whatever comes to mind. We find the breath to sing and the will to carry on. Nearing the end we sing one song over and over, putting everything into one sentence repeated over and over again.

“I am a child of God.”

Six words I have heard so many times, but I’ve never really listened to, never understood what they mean about me and who I am. Now I do, even if sometimes I forget. There are things in my life bigger than myself that I won’t be able to handle alone, and I don’t need to. There are so many people just waiting for me to ask for help. I have people that care for me and there are people that I can care for. I’ll get hurt and I’ll hurt others but that’s the way of things and I just need to move forward.

The boys run to catch us, taking over the carts, and now I’m higher than I have ever been before; physically, mentally, and spiritually. There is nothing I can’t do because I know exactly who I am and how I fit into things. I don’t worry about what other people think or what I have to

do but what I want to do. I am comfortable with myself so others will be comfortable with me too.

The other girls around me must have understood this too because we all found someone to talk with, to understand with. We all came back to the simple innocent beings that we were long before our trip, before the complications of life and teenagerdom piled on us. Everything was stripped away from us when we walked our way across that field and things were simple and beautiful again.

It’s been a while and I’ve stepped back along that road into the dark parts of my life but those visits are fleeting and far between. I no longer find the need or will to cave into myself anymore. I keep faced forward with the rear-view mirror down. There’s no need to dwell on past memories and mistakes, the crushing pain of things gone wrong. In the words of Walt Disney we all need to just “keep moving forward.”

Journey Reflection

Mon, 14 Jan 2013 23:24:46 +0100

My composition, to me, was rather good but maybe behind what I should be doing. This was the essay that I should have written for my narrative in AP Language but still adds more emotion and less story than what was meant to be brought up in that previous essay. I found something for this paper that I never would have been willing to show my teacher last year. I was able to put myself and my feelings from that day out there on the line and, hopefully, bring someone along with me. I put memories to paper but also the emotions I keep connected with those memories. This essay brought me back to that summer and what I endured and the climb to happiness I made through it. I tried to express Universal Human Truths that I found on my trip.

One of the themes I tried to relay in my narrative was that loving yourself is more important than what others think. Dr. Frankenstein did not care what others thought of him and he was absolutely OK with what he did (until, of course he realized the insensibility of it all). Victor is obsessed with the creation of this being and others’ opinion on this, had he told them his ideas, would not have swayed his need to complete his task.

I am like this, where when I find something or some idea that I love I become obsessed with it, trying to find as much information on it as possible. Dr. Frankenstein shows this through his love for electricity. He is enchanted by it and what miracles it can perform. He works with all the knowledge of this natural phenomenon that he can find until he patterns a way to use it to bring life to this being he has put together.

Another Human Truth was that forgiveness starts with ourselves. If we do not find wrong with our doings then there is going to be no fight for redemption. We have to verify our mistakes and understand what we did wrong before healing and resolution can begin. After his young brother’s death Frankenstein realizes that his creation was most likely not the best decision he has ever made. He made choices that ultimately lead to the death of William. Life had become complicated for Victor after his monster came to life that night.

Like Frankenstein, I had to get to the root of my problems. I had to realize what I had done to bring myself to that darkness that had surrounded me for almost three years. I had to backtrack to the decisions I had made that lead me down the path of despair I was on. I needed a 180˚ that could only come through forgiving myself for the mistakes I had made because I was the only person at fault for my general displeasure at life, there was no one else to blame. This is the same for Victor; he has to forgive himself before he can expect to be forgiven for his accountability in all of his misguided endeavors.

While Dr. Frankenstein and I share some characteristics we are also different. One of these differences is that I can tell where the line needs to be drawn. Frankenstein did not know where to stop when it came to his experiments. He overstepped with his successful attempt at reanimation and the creation of life.

Another distinction is how we act around people we do not particularly care for. I can usually hold in my disdain and act with civility through the time I must spend with those I would rather not spend any time with. While I am sure that Victor is graced with the manners of that time period he does not always show it, especially with his own creation, the one that looks to him almost as a father. He cannot control himself and his ‘monster’ can easily pick up on the fact that he is not welcomed as more than a successful check mark on Victor’s life to-do list.

Through writing this paper and reading this book that it is alright to express one’s self and to share profound experiences. Frankenstein held back news of his success and I have also withheld major accounts from friends and especially family. Putting yourself out there with self-confidence is good and it will garner respect from those around you. Hiding away is not a good idea.

Modeled Composition

Mon, 14 Jan 2013 22:00:59 +0100

The Rebellion (Modeled on The Possessive by Sharon Olds)
My mother - as if she
owns me - scrutinizing my required
all-black outfit, requested by my
musical theater conductor, that tempo pusher,
to keep attention from myself
down in that pit.
My leggings under my sport shorts
match my v-neck tee,
white socks peeking above
my matching black shoes
almost keep me home
as her only fashion disaster.
My design. Her disapproval.
Let's see what she says
When I wear it again tomorrow.

Journey (Final Draft)

Mon, 14 Jan 2013 21:53:34 +0100

Moving Forward and Moving Higher

“I will show you fear in a handful of dust.” T.S. Eliot

Sitting for a moment before trudging on, I saw how much dust there really was. It was everywhere: covering our tarps, coating my hair, and after three days it was deep in every pore making me itch. But it wasn’t mud – that sticky brown mess that caught in our wheels and the bottom of our shoes making it hard to move. And it wasn’t sand, sinking the moment we stepped on a patch, seeping its way into our shoes with its grating fingers, making things even more uncomfortable.

I, of course, had blisters. Jake laughed at my choice of socks that first day as he slapped a Band-Aid on my ankle, Ma grabbing me a pair of her extra-long socks. My pride smarted as I realized I should have just bought a new set before coming out to this valley. Trying to keep as much fabric off my body to allay the heat of the boisterous sun had been a mistake that I would regret for the rest of the week. My attempt at comfort had been futile, I was disheartened, and it made what was to come next even more daunting.

I’d had reservations before the trip. Contrary to what others had told me about how amazing it would be and the experience I would gain, I could not look forward to the ‘adventure’ before me. I was not prepared for what we were going to do. I was twisted between something I almost wanted and what I honestly thought I truly deserved. My life was conflicted and confusing. There were things I just could not get rid of. I was scared the dark that I was carrying in me would not mix well with the overpowering light I was bound to be surrounded with for four full days. And this part was to be the worst because it was meant to be the most enlightening. I figured in that time of need I would be deserted, left to my own devices while angels lifted the others up. I didn’t deserve the help so facing it alone was going to be hard.

We watch the boys already moving across another path to meet with us later before turning to our own sandy stretch. That first hill is probably the worst thing we’ve faced in our three days of pushing and pulling. The sand doesn’t want to let us on and some of the girls have given up before we’ve even started. But we all press on. No one really wants to talk but we all sing. As my family leads with every push there is a note, a word to make us stronger and to keep us pressing on.

At first we all have trouble agreeing on a song or remembering the verses; but as we progress we just sing, whatever comes to mind. We find the breath to sing, the will to carry on. Nearing the end we sing one song over and over, putting everything into one sentence repeated over and over again.

“I am a Child of God.”

Six words I have heard so many times, but have never really listened to, never understood what they mean about me and who I am. Now I do. There are things in my life bigger than myself that I won’t be able to handle alone, and I don’t need to. There are so many people just waiting for me to ask for help. I have people that care for me, and there are people that I can care for. I will get hurt and I will hurt others but that’s the way of things and I just need to move forward.

The boys run to catch us, taking over the carts, and now I am higher than I have ever been before; physically, mentally, and spiritually. There is nothing I cannot do because I know exactly who I am and how I fit into things, I see the bigger picture. I don’t worry about what other people think or what I have to do but rather what I want to do. I am comfortable with myself; so others will be comfortable with me too.

I was elated and care-free; happier than I had been in years. Instead of crushing me into nothing, the light filled me and infused itself within me. I was lighter than air and I need to share it with someone. The other girls around me must have understood this too because we all found someone to talk with, to understand with. We all came back to the simple innocent beings that we were long before our trip, before the complications of life and teenagerdom piled on top of us. Everything was stripped away from us when we walked our way across that field and things were uninvolved and beautiful again.

It’s been some time since that day and I have stepped back along that road into the dark parts of my life but those visits are fleeting and far between. I no longer find the need or will to cave into myself anymore. I keep faced forward with the rear-view mirror down. There is no need to dwell on past memories and mistakes, the crushing pain of things gone wrong. In the words of Walt Disney we all need to just “keep moving forward.” And that is what I’ll do: I will move on, because there is no point in bringing myself down when I can be lighter than air.

Crime and Punishment (Reflection)

Tue, 30 Oct 2012 22:33:00 +0100

I’m pretty sure this is the longest essay I have ever written but also the easiest. Even easier than those wonderful ‘About Me’ I tend to get every year which I think make me seem very boring. I liked my voice in this essay; it didn’t hand out fluffy facts or nonsense sentences. It told you about the character and what Sonia went through, how it affected her, and what she did about it. There was no beating around the bush.

Something I learned through writing this essay was how to see through someone else’s perspective. I thought about why Sonia did things and how things and events made her feel. I looked at motives instead of just facts. I got deeper into her head than I do normally with characters in other books I read. I liked being able to see through her eyes and putting it down in words to show others what I got from it.

For my next paper I hope that I’ll have a better use of grammar and I can clearly state theme and how it relates to the text. I hope I can cut down on run on sentences I get my point across in fewer words while people can still understand what I’m trying to say. I hope that no one will have to dig through long sentences to find my meaning.