Happy New Year!
The past year has been one where I've been very unhappy. I don't know if it's been THE most miserable of my life, but it's up there. This year I learned how I look to creditors (like a wet-behind-the-ears child), I felt like a prisoner (had to give up my car for a few months when we lost our second car), I feared losing people I love (friends and family), and I struggled with money (having to support my sister and her brood when she blew through $10,000 and then again when she up and quit her job and didn't get another one for over a month). I've been very stressed out. Normally, I don't talk about my FEELINGS, so I don't really open up to many people. I've always felt a little like my problems are less than others' problems so I bottle myself up. This post is going to be about expressing some FEELINGS and making some resolutions.
First, I wanted to run through the six major emotions and give an example of how I've felt each one in the past twelve months. The six emotions are fear, disgust, sadness, anger, happiness, and surprise. I've said it before (though somewhere else, I believe), those are some depressing emotions. The only chance for happiness is, well, happiness, and possibly surprise. Let's see if I was surprised for the better this year -
1) Fear: This year I've been afraid that I'm just a convenience to most people. I feel this way a lot, in every aspect of my life. From my house, where I feel like a convenient meal ticket, to my job, where I feel like a convenient filler, to my friendships, where I feel like a convenient backup. I wonder what's wrong with me? I fear that people often realize there isn't much to me, that I'm too boring, too shy, too nervous. I fear that I have to admit they're right. In the beginning, I meet new people and they want to go out after work or out to dinner on a weekend. We make plans a few times, we go out. Eventually I ask them to go out and they're busy. Then they aren't busy as long as someone else is coming. Then they make plans with that person right in front of me and don't invite me and that is very painful. But then I think how I'm not exciting. My hobbies are reading and video games. Who the hell would be interested in me? Sometimes later they ask me after they've been rejected and don't realize I was standing right there and now I know they're only asking me for their own convenience. I'm probably not even Plan B.
2) Disgust: I've felt disgusted with several members of my family. From my sister mooching from everyone around her to my niece's "I just tell the truth" piss-poor attitude, I've felt disgusted at a lot of the hypocrisy surrounding me on a daily basis. On Christmas my sister, who got pregnant at seventeen years old, told another niece she was a whore for getting pregnant at twenty-one. ON CHRISTMAS. Then, hours later, several members of my family decided to rant and rail about this WHORE in front of a guest, a somewhat stranger, a ninety-year-old invalid who my sister-in-law takes care of and who has no family and came to our house to celebrate Christmas with someone. I was so embarrassed. My mother was mortified. She tried to get them to stop but, you know, sorry, someone has to tell the truth and they're all just telling the truth. The truth hurts. It's also ugly. And often hypocritical. And disgusting.
3) Sadness: It was sad that my middle sister, who is handicapped but pretty much totally independent, was told she might have to make a choice between death and being bedridden for life. It's been frustrating and sad to see someone punished who is trying, who is taking care of her children, who helps her parents and everyone around her whenever she can. What force in the universe has decided this? I know it's just the luck of the draw, just circumstance, but where am I supposed to scream about the unfairness of it all? I'm somewhat sad that I have nowhere to turn for even cathartic blame. Luck. Fucking LUCK. So far my sister has staved off making this choice. I don't know when her LUCK will run out, though. It's sad that I know in my heart it will be soon.
4) Anger: Anger. I have felt a lot of anger. I'm angry at myself, mostly. I've made my bed. I've relied on my parents for too long and caused the situation where I have no substantial credit history. I've allowed myself to get comfortable in a mediocre job. I've procrastinated. I've wallowed in so-called "writer's block." I've secreted myself away and pushed away my friends. Isn't my sister who lives with me just projecting her internal FEELINGS when she calls people lazy, calls them stupid, calls them WHORES? My anger with her is anger with myself. I haven't saved money. I haven't endeavored for a better job or developed the discipline to turn my talent into something real. I haven't changed my routine of wake up, work, play on the computer, read, sleep. Again, who could be interested in me? Not just socially but financially, career-wise, etc.? Who am I and what am I doing? Where am I going, where have I been? I'll be thirty-four and I can't even FIND my diploma for graduate school. What the hell have I done with it?
5) Happiness: I don't know. There were little moments. I was happy when I got my car back after about six months of never being able to use it. I was happy when I discovered the writer Haruki Murakami. I was happy when I found a Chocolate Orange in a random place at the grocery store because I've searched up and down for them. I was happy listening to Gene Wilder read an audiobook. I was happy when an antibiotic finally cleared up the acne on my face (please let it last). I'm trying so hard to think of something big. To think of a moment that carried me through longer than a day or two. Maybe...maybe happiness is just those little moments? Maybe I should print that out and tape it above my bed. Maybe every day I need to sit down and remember the one thing that made me happy that day, even if it's just the hot UPS man calling me "dear."
6) Surprise: I was suprised to admit to myself it's okay to be unhappy. I've spent so much time being upset when my somewhat happier childhood was brushed off as though I was less of a person for feeling happy. Pain is supposedly what makes us human. I hated the words, "You don't know how that feels," because it was like my life was not valid because I hadn't experienced this or that. I still don't cater to that theory. Everyone, even happy people, are valid. Their opinions and FEELINGS are valid. But...I'm a little less happy than I have been in the past. And that doesn't break my theory. I don't feel stronger. I don't necessarily feel weaker, either. I feel...different. I feel...focused? I feel...exposed? I feel....
So I've made some resolutions. Some I've made before, like reading and writing schedules. It WILL happen. This time (I mean it) I don't have a goal as much as a routine. I will read one book, then take a day off to reflect on that book, then read another book, etc. One thing I've learned about myself recently is that I don't like to read books back-to-back. I like to ruminate. I like to bounce around ideas and uncover flaws and discover wonders. I like to return to particularly intriguing passages. When I was finished reading 1Q84 by Murakami, I tried immediately reading another book and what happened was I hated the newer book because I wanted to return to parts of 1Q84 and think. I know, it sounds like homework, this routine. It sounds like all of the pleasure is being taken out of picking up a book and getting lost in it. But I promise, for me, this is how I can make myself happy.
The next resolution is about money. I'm going to keep a ledger. I want to see where my money goes. I already started an informal one and for the most part my money goes toward the little groceries we need to keep the house running (milk, toilet paper, bread) and I go to the store for those things almost daily. Last week I bought five gallons of milk. FIVE GALLONS. Everyone at my job knows when my parents call me they're going to ask me to pick something up at the grocery store after work. So my resolution is this: I will keep two columns - one where I write down the exact amount I've spent and one where I round up to the next dollar. At the end of the month I will put the difference into a separate account. Also, any money left out of my paycheck at the end of every two weeks will go into my savings account. That's a third account, by the way. I will have two checking accounts and a savings account. The savings account is for absolute - and I mean life-and-death - emergencies. The second checking account is for smaller emergencies, though my plan is to try very hard not to touch it either. These two accounts are secret. I also have a 401(k) and life insurance. I WILL start saving money.
My final (big) resolution is to get out and do something. The local bookstore hosts readings, bands, and other events and I'm going to attend at least one of these events each month. There is a great wood-fired pizza place right down the street and the bookstore has wi-fi, coffee, and well, books. Yeah, I'll need some money. But when I look at how much money I spend getting Subway when I could be making cous-cous and salads that last for several meals and are awesomely fresh-sealed in a jar, I realize that splurging on a $7 pizza and a $10 book once a month isn't what will break my bank. And now that I have my car back, I can go anywhere I damn-well please for as long as it pleases me. And I WILL.
I need to do these things to put myself on some sort of track. These things aren't major life changes but they are what I feel I can do right now. Do what you can with what you have, right? Right.
I WILL have a happier new year.
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
December 31, 2012
May 10, 2012
Sorry Speeches
Whenever I read a review of an author's lifetime work, it often includes certain themes the author revisits time and again. Stephen King, in his earlier work, often wrote about childhood innocence and coming of age. The author I'm reading now, Haruki Murakami, often writes about loneliness. Jorge Luis Borges focused on the labyrinths of time and memory. It's funny, because I think it was in King's memoir On Writing where he talks about hating when people ask him if there's a theme to his writing. That could have been in any number of interviews with various authors I've read over the years, though. Regardless of whether an author realizes it or not, often there is a moral or consciousness the author returns to, and sometimes it isn't recognizable until long after that author is gone.
I think quite often about what the themes of my writing would be. I understand the process of writing to be cathartic, and authors are really working through the issues they have with the world at large, or within themselves. I think one such issue I have is with regret or remorse.
There are often scenes in stories, television shows, and movies where a character, let's name him Bill, hurts the feelings of a second character, who shall be named Sally. Bill makes Sally cry herself to sleep, perhaps unintentionally. Sally shoulders the weight of her feelings for a long time, possibly years. Maybe she only shoulders that weight for twenty seconds, but the point is she shoulders it in a way Bill, at the time, doesn't, because he is most likely unaware or uncaring of how he made Sally feel. Eventually, Sally feels the need to expunge this weight from her chest and so, in a tearful and emotion-filled speech, she unburdens herself in Bill's face. Normally, within the context of storytelling, Bill will reach an epiphany about his actions and apologize, sincerely, to Sally. He will then endeavor to be more careful with Sally's feelings.
I call bullshit.
I call this, because in my own experience no one apologizes even when the injured person shines light on the past behavior. I know I can't base all writing on my own experiences, but personally, whenever I'm the audience for said scene, it just makes me angry and frustrated. I've never received an apology when I've told someone how he or she made me feel. It doesn't matter the situation.
Usually, the other person will instead justify why they performed said behavior. It can never be his fault. Someone else's feelings can never be his responsibility. It has become such a sore point in my life that I actually fear confronting someone who has hurt me because I know it will end in more pain for me. There was a reason said behavior was necessary, and no matter how prepared I am to combat any response, the other person is ready with more justification, or just ends the conversation by walking away, brushing me off, or calling me names. In most instances, instead of confronting the person, I retreat into my bedroom and cry in a ball, mentally enacting the scene from above with that person as Bill and myself as Sally, because the only apology I'll ever receieve is an imaginary one.
Professors in college asked me, time and again, why I had written the stories I had written. Most young authors give a flippant response, or a response that is so intense and pretentious it's almost laughable, because life for them is still a ball of chaos and confusion. I had no idea who I was or what I needed when I was twenty. I still don't completely understrand my own life. Whenever I get a rejection letter from a magazine I often get a hand-written note telling me it's well-written but that something is missing. I'm slowly concluding that something is purpose.
There are other themes I revisit. Imagination, longing, and identity are all tangled up with this idea of regret and remorse. They all seem to go hand-in-hand. I went through a writer's block for a very long time, so long I'm just now recovering from it, because for years I struggled with my identity as a writer, mainly because I was struggling with identity in general. Even now, I regret allowing any other person to try to define me, but that's what happened and why I became blocked. I imagined up a pseudonym, to the point of almost allowing that personality to take over my own personality. I'm leaving that imaginary person behind now and examining what it means to be myself.
I suppose that when I wait for an apology when someone hurts me, really I'm just waiting for that other person to define me. I also suppose I'm waiting to give a definition to that person. I want that person to justify my identity in the same way he or she is justifying his or her own identity by denying the behavior was wrong. The right thing for me to do would be to confront that person, but once I've confronted her, let her own subsequent behavior be what it will be without expectation. But to paraphrase Dumbledore, what is right is seldom what is easy.
I'm sure I will write scenes where Bill apologizes to Sally. I think maybe those scenes are written as some kind of guidance toward what is right. But real people often choose what is easy. But since my writing is, after all, fiction, and in fiction characters don't have to be realistic, I suppose I can try to define a behavior, I suppose I'm really the one defining these fictional people. As a catharsis for defining myself.
I think quite often about what the themes of my writing would be. I understand the process of writing to be cathartic, and authors are really working through the issues they have with the world at large, or within themselves. I think one such issue I have is with regret or remorse.
There are often scenes in stories, television shows, and movies where a character, let's name him Bill, hurts the feelings of a second character, who shall be named Sally. Bill makes Sally cry herself to sleep, perhaps unintentionally. Sally shoulders the weight of her feelings for a long time, possibly years. Maybe she only shoulders that weight for twenty seconds, but the point is she shoulders it in a way Bill, at the time, doesn't, because he is most likely unaware or uncaring of how he made Sally feel. Eventually, Sally feels the need to expunge this weight from her chest and so, in a tearful and emotion-filled speech, she unburdens herself in Bill's face. Normally, within the context of storytelling, Bill will reach an epiphany about his actions and apologize, sincerely, to Sally. He will then endeavor to be more careful with Sally's feelings.
I call bullshit.
I call this, because in my own experience no one apologizes even when the injured person shines light on the past behavior. I know I can't base all writing on my own experiences, but personally, whenever I'm the audience for said scene, it just makes me angry and frustrated. I've never received an apology when I've told someone how he or she made me feel. It doesn't matter the situation.
Usually, the other person will instead justify why they performed said behavior. It can never be his fault. Someone else's feelings can never be his responsibility. It has become such a sore point in my life that I actually fear confronting someone who has hurt me because I know it will end in more pain for me. There was a reason said behavior was necessary, and no matter how prepared I am to combat any response, the other person is ready with more justification, or just ends the conversation by walking away, brushing me off, or calling me names. In most instances, instead of confronting the person, I retreat into my bedroom and cry in a ball, mentally enacting the scene from above with that person as Bill and myself as Sally, because the only apology I'll ever receieve is an imaginary one.
Professors in college asked me, time and again, why I had written the stories I had written. Most young authors give a flippant response, or a response that is so intense and pretentious it's almost laughable, because life for them is still a ball of chaos and confusion. I had no idea who I was or what I needed when I was twenty. I still don't completely understrand my own life. Whenever I get a rejection letter from a magazine I often get a hand-written note telling me it's well-written but that something is missing. I'm slowly concluding that something is purpose.
There are other themes I revisit. Imagination, longing, and identity are all tangled up with this idea of regret and remorse. They all seem to go hand-in-hand. I went through a writer's block for a very long time, so long I'm just now recovering from it, because for years I struggled with my identity as a writer, mainly because I was struggling with identity in general. Even now, I regret allowing any other person to try to define me, but that's what happened and why I became blocked. I imagined up a pseudonym, to the point of almost allowing that personality to take over my own personality. I'm leaving that imaginary person behind now and examining what it means to be myself.
I suppose that when I wait for an apology when someone hurts me, really I'm just waiting for that other person to define me. I also suppose I'm waiting to give a definition to that person. I want that person to justify my identity in the same way he or she is justifying his or her own identity by denying the behavior was wrong. The right thing for me to do would be to confront that person, but once I've confronted her, let her own subsequent behavior be what it will be without expectation. But to paraphrase Dumbledore, what is right is seldom what is easy.
I'm sure I will write scenes where Bill apologizes to Sally. I think maybe those scenes are written as some kind of guidance toward what is right. But real people often choose what is easy. But since my writing is, after all, fiction, and in fiction characters don't have to be realistic, I suppose I can try to define a behavior, I suppose I'm really the one defining these fictional people. As a catharsis for defining myself.
May 7, 2012
The Remedial Honors Class
It may be emerging from my previous posts that I struggle quite a bit with FEELINGS of inadequacy. One constant struggle is the number of books I read in a year. My goal recently has been to read one hundred books or more every year, and to increase that number as time goes by. I've tried diligently to reach this goal, and have almost always nearly succeeded. If you noticed several qualifiers in that sentence, you're a smart cookie. The truth is I've never read one hundred books in a year. The reason is because I can't.
I think I may need professional therapy over this issue more than any other issue I have (some may disagree). Since I just read an article stating the average American reads four books a year, the fact that I read somewhere around sixty should not put me in such a state of anxiety. I read more books each month than an average person reads in a year. Shouldn't that make me feel good about myself?
Well, really, the problem is I'm not out to compare myself to the average person. I'm comparing myself to the average writer, the average scholar, the average "intellectual." I don't know what the average is for those individuals, but I assume it's higher than four. I assume it's higher than one hundred. I know another problem here is with me making an "ass" out of myself at least. Why am I making up an arbitrary average?
I've seen a few websites devoted to clubs where people document the one hundred books they've read in one year, and they form a community with the intention of encouraging each other toward that goal. That's noble and I wish I thought for one second I would be able to carry out that goal, because I would join one of those websites in a second.
A friend once asked me if I read every word. My reply of "of course" shocked her. Her response was that she basically speed-reads through most of the books she reads, and she goes back and reads every word of the ones she finds to be outstanding. She told me her husband reads every word, too, and so it takes him a long time to read, just like me. I wish I could read faster, especially since I find most books to be mediocre. But I can't. Maybe it's the writer in me, searching through the bad and mediocre just as thoroughly as the outstanding, knowing there are lessons in each.
Recently I conducted an experiment where I timed myself reading a page of fiction. I ended up consistently needing nearly two minutes to read one page. When I would try speed-reading I would just end up frustrated that I didn't know what was going on by about two or three paragraphs later, because I have to know what's going on at all given times. I can't just "get the gist" of a novel. Even a mediocre one.
Today I tried to push myself to a certain page goal, because I wanted to be through a certain part of the book I'm reading before I return to work tomorrow. The amount of pages to reach that goal was around 150. It took me nearly six hours. I know a lot of people would glare at me with contempt for whining about this so-called "problem," but it's like when my friend at work complains about having gained ten pounds and so now she has begun needing size 3 pants. It's a problem to her, and though I shush her when someone who is buying, say, a size 16 or so is around, I know that weight gain means something more to her, like it's the symbol of lost youth or the fall of her marriage. For me, the inability to read at a pace I feel is expected is the symbol of medocrity or laziness.
I devoted my entire attention to that book today and still it took me forever to get through it. It isn't the time spent reading that does me in, but my ability to perform. It's like having incredibly high metabolism, so that no matter how much I consume I gain nothing.
I've decided to accept the number of books I can read. I've decided for now to know my limits. That doesn't mean I won't ever challenge them, but I think a major step forward for me right now would be to stop punishing myself, especially for something I've made up in my head. I've decided to try to be happier with myself because ultimately, lately, I've been on a search for whom I'm supposed to be. I don't know entirely yet, but each day I learn a little more.
I think I may need professional therapy over this issue more than any other issue I have (some may disagree). Since I just read an article stating the average American reads four books a year, the fact that I read somewhere around sixty should not put me in such a state of anxiety. I read more books each month than an average person reads in a year. Shouldn't that make me feel good about myself?
Well, really, the problem is I'm not out to compare myself to the average person. I'm comparing myself to the average writer, the average scholar, the average "intellectual." I don't know what the average is for those individuals, but I assume it's higher than four. I assume it's higher than one hundred. I know another problem here is with me making an "ass" out of myself at least. Why am I making up an arbitrary average?
I've seen a few websites devoted to clubs where people document the one hundred books they've read in one year, and they form a community with the intention of encouraging each other toward that goal. That's noble and I wish I thought for one second I would be able to carry out that goal, because I would join one of those websites in a second.
A friend once asked me if I read every word. My reply of "of course" shocked her. Her response was that she basically speed-reads through most of the books she reads, and she goes back and reads every word of the ones she finds to be outstanding. She told me her husband reads every word, too, and so it takes him a long time to read, just like me. I wish I could read faster, especially since I find most books to be mediocre. But I can't. Maybe it's the writer in me, searching through the bad and mediocre just as thoroughly as the outstanding, knowing there are lessons in each.
Recently I conducted an experiment where I timed myself reading a page of fiction. I ended up consistently needing nearly two minutes to read one page. When I would try speed-reading I would just end up frustrated that I didn't know what was going on by about two or three paragraphs later, because I have to know what's going on at all given times. I can't just "get the gist" of a novel. Even a mediocre one.
Today I tried to push myself to a certain page goal, because I wanted to be through a certain part of the book I'm reading before I return to work tomorrow. The amount of pages to reach that goal was around 150. It took me nearly six hours. I know a lot of people would glare at me with contempt for whining about this so-called "problem," but it's like when my friend at work complains about having gained ten pounds and so now she has begun needing size 3 pants. It's a problem to her, and though I shush her when someone who is buying, say, a size 16 or so is around, I know that weight gain means something more to her, like it's the symbol of lost youth or the fall of her marriage. For me, the inability to read at a pace I feel is expected is the symbol of medocrity or laziness.
I devoted my entire attention to that book today and still it took me forever to get through it. It isn't the time spent reading that does me in, but my ability to perform. It's like having incredibly high metabolism, so that no matter how much I consume I gain nothing.
I've decided to accept the number of books I can read. I've decided for now to know my limits. That doesn't mean I won't ever challenge them, but I think a major step forward for me right now would be to stop punishing myself, especially for something I've made up in my head. I've decided to try to be happier with myself because ultimately, lately, I've been on a search for whom I'm supposed to be. I don't know entirely yet, but each day I learn a little more.
March 27, 2012
Writing Strong Women
My latest kick has been watching a marathon of the TV show Criminal Minds. A lot of writers shun watching television programs and prescribe a regiment of reading and writing every waking moment. Well, first of all, I call shenanigans if any writer in the modern day tries to say he doesn't watch television. It's just implausible to imagine he doesn't indulge in guilty pleasures. Second of all, it goes against the study of writing. A high percentage of television shows are scripted (even a good deal of "reality" shows) and particularly scripted television series can teach a writer about pacing, character, and plot.
Case in point: on the show Criminal Minds the main character is an FBI agent named Aaron Hotchner (played by the very handsome Thomas Gibson) who in the beginning of the series had a fairly happy marriage with a baby on the way. During the course of the first few seasons, his wife became more and more disenchanted with his demanding job and his random schedule. Eventually, she filed for divorce and took their son.
I completely understand her feelings. Especially after the birth of their child, it must have been difficult when she needed support and he couldn't be there. It must have been lonely trying to juggle doctor visits and grocery shopping and showering with less help than she would get if her husband had a nine-to-five job. It must be frustrating to plan a family picnic only for her husband to be called away at the last minute and either have to go without him or cancel. I bet it's hard to adjust to that kind of life.
But on the other hand...people like firefighters, police officers, lawyers, doctors, and investigators are everyday heroes. There are women who marry them (and men who marry women in those professions) who can sacrifice that idea of the perfect marriage because they understand their spouses can't just say "No, I won't come help with emergency surgery when there was a ten car pile-up and the hospital needs extra surgeons." If fire spreads to neighboring houses and is raging out of control, how can a firefighter say he won't come help? How can an FBI agent say he can't go save the missing victim of a serial strangler because his wife planned a family birthday party?
One might argue that there are plenty of doctors, firefighters, and FBI agents and that shows like Criminal Minds aren't an accurate depiction of how often one specific person would be called to an emergency. Fires don't really often rage out of control to the point of needing to call in back-ups. Hospitals are usually staffed with the right amount of doctors at any given time for routine emergencies. There are scores of qualified FBI agents who would be sent to a given crime scene and it's silly to portray this set of FBI agents as the only ones who are ever called and who could possibly be trusted to solve a case.
But I think that argument makes the women in these series look even worse. If we take into account the logistics of a TV show, there are on average 20-22 episodes which are usually spread out over about two days of fictional time (because they are often working against a clock where if they don't find the missing person, statistics say she won't be found alive). That means Agent Hotchner is called away from his wife once about every two weeks. He spends approximately forty-four days out of 365 not in a nine-to-five routine (with occasionally longer cases). That's actually pretty normal for anyone who has a job where he travels; he may even spend less time away than, say, a training manager or a high profile insurance salesman.
And to boot, he saves lives. This isn't being called away to Japan on business to close a multi-million dollar corporate deal. This is being called to the scene of a serial rapist whose violence just escalated to smashing the woman's head in. He's the best FBI agent to call for assistance. How would his wife feel if she were one of these women, or the family member of one of these women, and she didn't get the best because his wife feels a little lonely?
I just think it's detrimental to women to paint them as never being able to handle a marriage that isn't perfect. I think it makes women look selfish and weak. He isn't going out drinking with his buddies or intentionally pushing her away. He isn't leaving for days on end with no contact and returning with lipstick on his collar. He isn't abandoning her.
I believe women in her situation have every right to have feelings of frustration, loneliness, and anger. I believe they should express those feelings to their husbands and see if there are any compromises that can be made. I believe they have every right to decide they can't cope with those feelings and need more stability. I believe they have every right to leave that situation and seek a more satisfying marriage.
But for once I want to see a woman who struggles with these feelings but makes the decision to sacrifice herself. I know it's like throwing fuel on the fire to suggest women should sacrifice more than they do, but it takes a really strong woman to be able to make that extra sacrifice. I was reading a blog the other day where a woman said that if her husband of thirty years died she would be fine because she's a strong woman who doesn't define herself by the man she married. I find issue with that statement as one of arrogance instead of strength. I don't see how that will prove how independent she has remained. There will be a hole in her life and it shouldn't matter the gender of the person who occupied it.
But sometimes, being a strong woman is being able to accept the "traditional" role, and the strength is in the fact that she had other options but made a choice to support her husband in his difficult but necessary job. It doesn't make her less than the women who make the choice to find happiness elsewhere. I just...I just want to see a balance between these choices. I want people watching (and when they read or see a movie or any kind of written media) to know all of the options. I want them to know feminism is not defined by hating men - an all too common perception, unfortunately. I want them to know that on one hand a woman can go her whole life without needing a man to "complete" her but on the other hand another woman may feel empowered by giving her husband a loving home to return to when he's seen the horrors of the world.
When I was in college, I had a class about the philosophy of feminism. We read an article about a woman who had decapitated her two children on the lawn in front of her house. In the article, there was a round table with other women where they identified with her, joking about how there are days they feel they could follow in her footsteps. The discussion in class was about the new power women had to express these kinds of feelings - to be able to joke about post-partum depression and their feelings of hatred toward having to be the rock of the family. I'm afraid of this power. This wasn't a woman who shared her feelings of depression; this was a woman who acted on it by murdering innocent children. I expressed this feeling in class and was met with shouts that I have probably felt the same in my life. I argued and argued about the difference between discussing feelings and acting upon them. It isn't feminism to identify with a murderer. It was argued that she was suffering from a common illness and so I couldn't judge her. I understand. But I also don't. I don't feel like the article made any woman who read it go into therapy to deal with her own depression and feelings. I feel like it gave feminist dissenters an article proving that feminism is destructive.
I believe feminism is a move toward options. The woman above had options other than murdering her children. That was proven by the women who had similar feelings but found other options to release those feelings (I just wish that had been clear in the article). I just want there to be more depictions of the decisions women make and why they make those decisions, and why it's okay to make either decision but also why one is not better, more feminist, or a sign of more strength than the other (it will always be a sign of more strength to not murder children, though). I argue with my boss constantly about how people don't have to come to the same conclusions or make the same decisions she has because their lives have led them to different needs or situations. It frustrates me when she uses the phrase, "That's not what I would do if I was her." You're not. If you're worried about her choices help her see her options.
I judge people all the time. I'm not above it and I wouldn't pretend to be. One of the reasons I'm writing this is because I have recently found myself thinking more and more about a book I read last year - The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. In my original review I said "I enjoyed it well enough." I think maybe I enjoyed it more than I understood at the time. It was about the roles women were expected to play, and funny enough, it was about the new kind of woman being just as shocked by women making choices that seemed foreign to the "feminist idea." I think I may change the grade on that book. I may have to dig it out and reread it.
Case in point: on the show Criminal Minds the main character is an FBI agent named Aaron Hotchner (played by the very handsome Thomas Gibson) who in the beginning of the series had a fairly happy marriage with a baby on the way. During the course of the first few seasons, his wife became more and more disenchanted with his demanding job and his random schedule. Eventually, she filed for divorce and took their son.
I completely understand her feelings. Especially after the birth of their child, it must have been difficult when she needed support and he couldn't be there. It must have been lonely trying to juggle doctor visits and grocery shopping and showering with less help than she would get if her husband had a nine-to-five job. It must be frustrating to plan a family picnic only for her husband to be called away at the last minute and either have to go without him or cancel. I bet it's hard to adjust to that kind of life.
But on the other hand...people like firefighters, police officers, lawyers, doctors, and investigators are everyday heroes. There are women who marry them (and men who marry women in those professions) who can sacrifice that idea of the perfect marriage because they understand their spouses can't just say "No, I won't come help with emergency surgery when there was a ten car pile-up and the hospital needs extra surgeons." If fire spreads to neighboring houses and is raging out of control, how can a firefighter say he won't come help? How can an FBI agent say he can't go save the missing victim of a serial strangler because his wife planned a family birthday party?
One might argue that there are plenty of doctors, firefighters, and FBI agents and that shows like Criminal Minds aren't an accurate depiction of how often one specific person would be called to an emergency. Fires don't really often rage out of control to the point of needing to call in back-ups. Hospitals are usually staffed with the right amount of doctors at any given time for routine emergencies. There are scores of qualified FBI agents who would be sent to a given crime scene and it's silly to portray this set of FBI agents as the only ones who are ever called and who could possibly be trusted to solve a case.
But I think that argument makes the women in these series look even worse. If we take into account the logistics of a TV show, there are on average 20-22 episodes which are usually spread out over about two days of fictional time (because they are often working against a clock where if they don't find the missing person, statistics say she won't be found alive). That means Agent Hotchner is called away from his wife once about every two weeks. He spends approximately forty-four days out of 365 not in a nine-to-five routine (with occasionally longer cases). That's actually pretty normal for anyone who has a job where he travels; he may even spend less time away than, say, a training manager or a high profile insurance salesman.
And to boot, he saves lives. This isn't being called away to Japan on business to close a multi-million dollar corporate deal. This is being called to the scene of a serial rapist whose violence just escalated to smashing the woman's head in. He's the best FBI agent to call for assistance. How would his wife feel if she were one of these women, or the family member of one of these women, and she didn't get the best because his wife feels a little lonely?
I just think it's detrimental to women to paint them as never being able to handle a marriage that isn't perfect. I think it makes women look selfish and weak. He isn't going out drinking with his buddies or intentionally pushing her away. He isn't leaving for days on end with no contact and returning with lipstick on his collar. He isn't abandoning her.
I believe women in her situation have every right to have feelings of frustration, loneliness, and anger. I believe they should express those feelings to their husbands and see if there are any compromises that can be made. I believe they have every right to decide they can't cope with those feelings and need more stability. I believe they have every right to leave that situation and seek a more satisfying marriage.
But for once I want to see a woman who struggles with these feelings but makes the decision to sacrifice herself. I know it's like throwing fuel on the fire to suggest women should sacrifice more than they do, but it takes a really strong woman to be able to make that extra sacrifice. I was reading a blog the other day where a woman said that if her husband of thirty years died she would be fine because she's a strong woman who doesn't define herself by the man she married. I find issue with that statement as one of arrogance instead of strength. I don't see how that will prove how independent she has remained. There will be a hole in her life and it shouldn't matter the gender of the person who occupied it.
But sometimes, being a strong woman is being able to accept the "traditional" role, and the strength is in the fact that she had other options but made a choice to support her husband in his difficult but necessary job. It doesn't make her less than the women who make the choice to find happiness elsewhere. I just...I just want to see a balance between these choices. I want people watching (and when they read or see a movie or any kind of written media) to know all of the options. I want them to know feminism is not defined by hating men - an all too common perception, unfortunately. I want them to know that on one hand a woman can go her whole life without needing a man to "complete" her but on the other hand another woman may feel empowered by giving her husband a loving home to return to when he's seen the horrors of the world.
When I was in college, I had a class about the philosophy of feminism. We read an article about a woman who had decapitated her two children on the lawn in front of her house. In the article, there was a round table with other women where they identified with her, joking about how there are days they feel they could follow in her footsteps. The discussion in class was about the new power women had to express these kinds of feelings - to be able to joke about post-partum depression and their feelings of hatred toward having to be the rock of the family. I'm afraid of this power. This wasn't a woman who shared her feelings of depression; this was a woman who acted on it by murdering innocent children. I expressed this feeling in class and was met with shouts that I have probably felt the same in my life. I argued and argued about the difference between discussing feelings and acting upon them. It isn't feminism to identify with a murderer. It was argued that she was suffering from a common illness and so I couldn't judge her. I understand. But I also don't. I don't feel like the article made any woman who read it go into therapy to deal with her own depression and feelings. I feel like it gave feminist dissenters an article proving that feminism is destructive.
I believe feminism is a move toward options. The woman above had options other than murdering her children. That was proven by the women who had similar feelings but found other options to release those feelings (I just wish that had been clear in the article). I just want there to be more depictions of the decisions women make and why they make those decisions, and why it's okay to make either decision but also why one is not better, more feminist, or a sign of more strength than the other (it will always be a sign of more strength to not murder children, though). I argue with my boss constantly about how people don't have to come to the same conclusions or make the same decisions she has because their lives have led them to different needs or situations. It frustrates me when she uses the phrase, "That's not what I would do if I was her." You're not. If you're worried about her choices help her see her options.
I judge people all the time. I'm not above it and I wouldn't pretend to be. One of the reasons I'm writing this is because I have recently found myself thinking more and more about a book I read last year - The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. In my original review I said "I enjoyed it well enough." I think maybe I enjoyed it more than I understood at the time. It was about the roles women were expected to play, and funny enough, it was about the new kind of woman being just as shocked by women making choices that seemed foreign to the "feminist idea." I think I may change the grade on that book. I may have to dig it out and reread it.
March 18, 2012
Random Updates
I've been sick for the past four days. Just a little flu bug that knocked me out. Luckily I had the past four days off from work and was able to leave early Wednesday, the day I first felt signs of being under the weather. The bad part was my work called me both Friday and Saturday, basically trying to convince me that I should be well enough by now to fill in and they needed someone to fill in. Well, too bad, because I didn't feel well enough, I wasn't scheduled, and I can tell you no anytime I want to for any reason I want to. Today I had my first cup of coffee in three days and I'm high as a kite right now. They said I should be able to make it through since I would have been sick Wednesday and Thursday and would have recovered Friday and Saturday. Well, unfortunately illness doesn't work on a set schedule for the conveniences of retail.
This happens frequently at my work. Someone will need to call off, so all the other employees not already working get called to see whether they can fill in. If anyone says no, their reasons are grilled to the point of ridiculousness. You know, if they weren't scheduled when the schedule was posted (and initialed as complete) they don't have to give any reason whatsoever as to why they can't fill in. I've tried to tell my boss this on several occasions but she argues that part of their job descriptions is flexibility. I say, yes, but not spontaneous flexibility. The agreement is the schedule is posted two weeks prior to the dates it covers and at that point becomes a contract. We argue constantly over whether we should sign the schedule when it's posted (agreeing to work the days scheduled) or after it has transpired (agreeing it accurately depicts the hours we worked). While the handbook states the latter, I think I'm going to start practicing the former.
As stated in my previous post, I'm just an idiot when it comes to commenting on anything on the internet. I've received several replies to my statement that I didn't like the comedian, including one that just said, "god ur dumb." I let myself get roped in, wasting precious moments of my life trying to convince all of these people that I'm entitled to say I don't like him and they should just agree to disagree. Of course I'm going to get a thousand emails saying people have responded to my comment and even though I will probably ignore them, I know they're all going to just continue the insanity and I'll be tempted to see just how much hate I can possibly cause. Am I a troll?
Also while sick, I've been reading some back issues of Poets and Writers. One thing I've learned - I can't be interested in every article and should just skip the ones I'm not interested in after the first paragraph. One article I loved, though, was about book lists (with commentary from Tony Doerr!). The author of the article (not Tony Doerr!) talked about how he realized one day that he would never, ever be able to read all the books on his list and how this had depressed him greatly. Eventually, he was able to come to grips with the fact that it is impossible to read even a fraction of the books that are published in even a given year (thousands upon thousands), especially in the growing market of self-publication through e-readers. He also talked about the guilt many writers feel when they think a so-called canon masterpiece is crap. He had to convince himself it's okay to put down that masterpiece and pick up something more personal - and that whatever an individual chooses to read is just fine as long as she is reading. Tony Doerr(!) said something along those lines as well. This is a constant issue I struggle with, often not feeling these masterpieces are really all that masterful and are really more pieces of.... Anyway, the author of the article suggested making a list of the ten or so books we enjoyed reading the most every year and see if there's any theme. I liked this idea very much.
My sister is in the hospital with an infection in her spinal cord. She had a bed sore at her tailbone that became infected and spread up her entire back, and is now swollen to the size of a basketball. She will need surgery to try to remove the infection and plastic surgery to repair her back. Part of her tailbone is actually sticking through the bed sore. We don't know when the surgeries will happen or what exactly all of the surgeries will entail, so I'll keep updating.
I know all of this seems a bit random, but my mind is a bit addled right now and I was just writing as things came to me. I'm hoping I'll be able to drink some coffee tomorrow and not feel like I'm floating on a cloud. I have to pick up my new glasses tomorrow morning (with transitions lenses, thankfully) and then spend my evening at work, so I'm just hoping I won't be this loopy. I guess it will be a fun evening if I am.
P.S. I've edited this to add that it's Poets & Writers magazine. One of the articles was all about the ampersand, and how certain poetry editors think it's just so annoying and basically would pause before considering a poem just because the author used an ampersand. That's ludicrous. It's a symbol. A well known one. It means "and." Get over it.
This happens frequently at my work. Someone will need to call off, so all the other employees not already working get called to see whether they can fill in. If anyone says no, their reasons are grilled to the point of ridiculousness. You know, if they weren't scheduled when the schedule was posted (and initialed as complete) they don't have to give any reason whatsoever as to why they can't fill in. I've tried to tell my boss this on several occasions but she argues that part of their job descriptions is flexibility. I say, yes, but not spontaneous flexibility. The agreement is the schedule is posted two weeks prior to the dates it covers and at that point becomes a contract. We argue constantly over whether we should sign the schedule when it's posted (agreeing to work the days scheduled) or after it has transpired (agreeing it accurately depicts the hours we worked). While the handbook states the latter, I think I'm going to start practicing the former.
As stated in my previous post, I'm just an idiot when it comes to commenting on anything on the internet. I've received several replies to my statement that I didn't like the comedian, including one that just said, "god ur dumb." I let myself get roped in, wasting precious moments of my life trying to convince all of these people that I'm entitled to say I don't like him and they should just agree to disagree. Of course I'm going to get a thousand emails saying people have responded to my comment and even though I will probably ignore them, I know they're all going to just continue the insanity and I'll be tempted to see just how much hate I can possibly cause. Am I a troll?
Also while sick, I've been reading some back issues of Poets and Writers. One thing I've learned - I can't be interested in every article and should just skip the ones I'm not interested in after the first paragraph. One article I loved, though, was about book lists (with commentary from Tony Doerr!). The author of the article (not Tony Doerr!) talked about how he realized one day that he would never, ever be able to read all the books on his list and how this had depressed him greatly. Eventually, he was able to come to grips with the fact that it is impossible to read even a fraction of the books that are published in even a given year (thousands upon thousands), especially in the growing market of self-publication through e-readers. He also talked about the guilt many writers feel when they think a so-called canon masterpiece is crap. He had to convince himself it's okay to put down that masterpiece and pick up something more personal - and that whatever an individual chooses to read is just fine as long as she is reading. Tony Doerr(!) said something along those lines as well. This is a constant issue I struggle with, often not feeling these masterpieces are really all that masterful and are really more pieces of.... Anyway, the author of the article suggested making a list of the ten or so books we enjoyed reading the most every year and see if there's any theme. I liked this idea very much.
My sister is in the hospital with an infection in her spinal cord. She had a bed sore at her tailbone that became infected and spread up her entire back, and is now swollen to the size of a basketball. She will need surgery to try to remove the infection and plastic surgery to repair her back. Part of her tailbone is actually sticking through the bed sore. We don't know when the surgeries will happen or what exactly all of the surgeries will entail, so I'll keep updating.
I know all of this seems a bit random, but my mind is a bit addled right now and I was just writing as things came to me. I'm hoping I'll be able to drink some coffee tomorrow and not feel like I'm floating on a cloud. I have to pick up my new glasses tomorrow morning (with transitions lenses, thankfully) and then spend my evening at work, so I'm just hoping I won't be this loopy. I guess it will be a fun evening if I am.
P.S. I've edited this to add that it's Poets & Writers magazine. One of the articles was all about the ampersand, and how certain poetry editors think it's just so annoying and basically would pause before considering a poem just because the author used an ampersand. That's ludicrous. It's a symbol. A well known one. It means "and." Get over it.
July 13, 2011
To Be Continued...
In the morning, when I've had some sleep...and...when I might not sound so crazy as I did in my last post. But I did come to a conclusion.
July 12, 2011
They're Comin'
So says Johnny Vegas.
So, I think something, as far as writing, broke in me today. Could you tell? I think my writing philosophy is forming. I think I'll probably be up until 5:00 a.m. sorting out what the hell my problem is here.
I was just getting ready for work and it occurred to me how I took extreme offense at Goodreads to the person who made assumptions about me because of a book I didn't like. Like what I'm doing to this poor recapper. Food for thought to distract me from the next five hours of mundanity.
I'll also probably jump between this blog and my writing blog. I have a lot to catch up on. This is actually me just "thinking out loud" so it may be boring. It may be angry. It may be irrational, ugly, and frustrating. See you later!
So, I think something, as far as writing, broke in me today. Could you tell? I think my writing philosophy is forming. I think I'll probably be up until 5:00 a.m. sorting out what the hell my problem is here.
I was just getting ready for work and it occurred to me how I took extreme offense at Goodreads to the person who made assumptions about me because of a book I didn't like. Like what I'm doing to this poor recapper. Food for thought to distract me from the next five hours of mundanity.
I'll also probably jump between this blog and my writing blog. I have a lot to catch up on. This is actually me just "thinking out loud" so it may be boring. It may be angry. It may be irrational, ugly, and frustrating. See you later!
Doctor Who?
So, like every doomed relationship in the history of the world, I've gone back to a website that occasionally makes me angry to give other shows another shot - because not only are the recappers different and therefore deserve a chance, I at times encounter a whole new community of posters. For the most part, I've enjoyed the Glee fandom because it's usually more carefree, being a comedy show, and at least one of the recappers - it's split between two who alternate weeks - isn't a whining, venom-spitting asshole. The other is. But I can deal.
My other new obsession is Doctor Who. I haven't ventured into the forum because I'm catching up on the episodes via Netflix, but I've been reading the recaps after watching each episode. Why do I need a recap, you might ask? Because sometimes the recappers, who are all fairly smart, catch something I didn't. And vice versa, but I won't get into that here. The point of this post is really to talk about levels of intelligence.
The guy who recaps Doctor Who is quite obviously a super genius. Vast knowledge of religious literature, literary theory, linguistics, etc. Great, I love all of those things. The problem? His knowledge is overwhelming. He doesn't know how to hold back. There are three - five refereneces or allusions or angry tangents on every single page of the recap. What spurred me into this post was his complete inability to laugh at common physical humor. I'm the first person to roll my eyes at The Three Stooges and whatnot, but sometimes, sometimes, it's funny. I love Benny Hill. Ridiculously familiar sight gags are often funny, and I think it's because we don't feel any need to explain what we're supposed to be getting out of the gag. Mr. Bean doesn't do anything for me, but I don't use my "superiority" to humiliate others for laughing at "lowbrow," "common," "lazy" writing. Actually, sometimes "lowbrow" is far superior to "intellectual" writing.
My friend NGS bought me a book a few years ago because I had it on my wish list at Amazon. It was called The Origin of Stories and was vastly interesting. However, I struggled incredibly trying to read it. Why? The author couldn't just say what he needed to say. I would never shy away from three-dollar words with more than seven letters, but I also don't feel some kind of alpha-male-pissing-contest need to shove an "academic" word into every single sentence. It was a hard day's work weeding through the bullshit to get the heart of the story.
The Doctor Who recapper is intent on this phenomenon called "subtlety." Great - I love to connect the dots and consider it one of my strengths in life. I, like the recapper, hate to be hit over the head with explanation of what I'm supposed to be seeing/feeling/doing. Unlike the recapper, I don't see that happening in the show. If I did, I wouldn't be able to watch it. What I do see is intelligent writers who know how to marry every level of cognitive ability into an organically told story. I don't like to use the word intelligence here - again, the reason is a whole other entirely therapeutic post - but the fact is some people aren't able to see or interested in seeing the symbolism behind certain images/themes/repetitions. Should the authors care? Are they sacrificing artistic integrity by descending into the "lowbrow?" Are they perpetuating the dumbing-down of society by not making the audience work to understand allegory?
I don't care whether the answer to those questions is yes or no. I laughed when an alien was trying to run away from The Doctor, kept teleporting itself out of the situation, but The Doctor just kept teleporting it back because he has the ability to reverse teleportation devices (just go with it). It was just plain a funny sight gag. Now switch to reading the recap. Basically, it made me feel as though I didn't deserve to be considered intelligent because I laughed at something meant for the lower classes. I mean, the recapper was seriously appalled by this so-called "humor." It's the same in every recap whenever there is any kind of toilet humor. I HATE farting jokes, but even I was slightly amused at the episode where aliens who were compressed into suits of human skin kept farting because the gasses used in the compression needed to be released. Did I love it in every scene? No. But I appreciated the ability of the writers to insert as much comedy as they often do into a series which could, without it, be incredibly heavy-handed. I mean, in one episode (a powerful one, I'll give you), atomic-sized bacteria bring a little boy back from the dead and basically "heal" the whole human race in Blitz-torn London. Sorry, but I need humor there. I need dark and at times "lowbrow" humor to make it through something so heavy. Not that I don't hold horrific, true-to-life stories of that time period, like This Way for the Gas, Ladies and Gentlemen in the highest esteem.
I think I often bristle at this recapper because he just seems so sure that his opinion and his level of intelligence are better than Joe Average's. Is he right? Maybe. But even though I know quite a bit about literary theory I don't sit watching television or reading a novel trying to apply literary theory to every fucking scene. The recapper once noted that he used to just let his story tell itself from the inside out - he used different language, more literary and academic, but he used to let his stories revel in their own cleverness. He's too mature and learned for that anymore. Why? I get the feeling he writes stories that try so hard to do everything literary theory thinks is brilliant. You KNOW how I feel about that.
I mean, the scene he became a permanent pearl-clutcher about went something like this: The Doctor + three go to confront aliens. Each are posted at a door. One of The Doctor's companions is just Bubba Nobody who used to be another main character's boyfriend but who isn't "clever" enough for the adventures in time. He's just an earthling along for this particular mission because he happens to live in that time period and has a connection to the characters. He's a bumbling idiot - at times, I will admit, to a frustrating degree. In this scene he gets his foot caught in a mop bucket and therefore isn't where he needs to be and the alien gets away (sort of). But - BUT - isn't that necessary because later he's going to be exactly where he needs to be and no one is expecting that out of him? Doesn't that make him complex, that he's not completely reliable and therefore not perfect? Do we want everyone to be a Mary Sue with perfect timing and always ready with the right solution? No. Characters need flaws. Writers need flaws. I think, I swear, I've talked about this before.
But anyway, another long, boring, angry post where I sound just like those recappers. Who's critiquing the critics? Infinite mirrors to the face of God.
Why do I keep going back? For the nuggets where I see something I didn't see before. For the tasty nut in the elephant poo. For the chance to bitch about the literati. Should I begin capitalizing that? I guess I feel like they're my Dalek race, genetically bred to kill anything different or inferior. If you don't get that reference, I won't judge you. It's just from a stupid British TV show, anyway.
My other new obsession is Doctor Who. I haven't ventured into the forum because I'm catching up on the episodes via Netflix, but I've been reading the recaps after watching each episode. Why do I need a recap, you might ask? Because sometimes the recappers, who are all fairly smart, catch something I didn't. And vice versa, but I won't get into that here. The point of this post is really to talk about levels of intelligence.
The guy who recaps Doctor Who is quite obviously a super genius. Vast knowledge of religious literature, literary theory, linguistics, etc. Great, I love all of those things. The problem? His knowledge is overwhelming. He doesn't know how to hold back. There are three - five refereneces or allusions or angry tangents on every single page of the recap. What spurred me into this post was his complete inability to laugh at common physical humor. I'm the first person to roll my eyes at The Three Stooges and whatnot, but sometimes, sometimes, it's funny. I love Benny Hill. Ridiculously familiar sight gags are often funny, and I think it's because we don't feel any need to explain what we're supposed to be getting out of the gag. Mr. Bean doesn't do anything for me, but I don't use my "superiority" to humiliate others for laughing at "lowbrow," "common," "lazy" writing. Actually, sometimes "lowbrow" is far superior to "intellectual" writing.
My friend NGS bought me a book a few years ago because I had it on my wish list at Amazon. It was called The Origin of Stories and was vastly interesting. However, I struggled incredibly trying to read it. Why? The author couldn't just say what he needed to say. I would never shy away from three-dollar words with more than seven letters, but I also don't feel some kind of alpha-male-pissing-contest need to shove an "academic" word into every single sentence. It was a hard day's work weeding through the bullshit to get the heart of the story.
The Doctor Who recapper is intent on this phenomenon called "subtlety." Great - I love to connect the dots and consider it one of my strengths in life. I, like the recapper, hate to be hit over the head with explanation of what I'm supposed to be seeing/feeling/doing. Unlike the recapper, I don't see that happening in the show. If I did, I wouldn't be able to watch it. What I do see is intelligent writers who know how to marry every level of cognitive ability into an organically told story. I don't like to use the word intelligence here - again, the reason is a whole other entirely therapeutic post - but the fact is some people aren't able to see or interested in seeing the symbolism behind certain images/themes/repetitions. Should the authors care? Are they sacrificing artistic integrity by descending into the "lowbrow?" Are they perpetuating the dumbing-down of society by not making the audience work to understand allegory?
I don't care whether the answer to those questions is yes or no. I laughed when an alien was trying to run away from The Doctor, kept teleporting itself out of the situation, but The Doctor just kept teleporting it back because he has the ability to reverse teleportation devices (just go with it). It was just plain a funny sight gag. Now switch to reading the recap. Basically, it made me feel as though I didn't deserve to be considered intelligent because I laughed at something meant for the lower classes. I mean, the recapper was seriously appalled by this so-called "humor." It's the same in every recap whenever there is any kind of toilet humor. I HATE farting jokes, but even I was slightly amused at the episode where aliens who were compressed into suits of human skin kept farting because the gasses used in the compression needed to be released. Did I love it in every scene? No. But I appreciated the ability of the writers to insert as much comedy as they often do into a series which could, without it, be incredibly heavy-handed. I mean, in one episode (a powerful one, I'll give you), atomic-sized bacteria bring a little boy back from the dead and basically "heal" the whole human race in Blitz-torn London. Sorry, but I need humor there. I need dark and at times "lowbrow" humor to make it through something so heavy. Not that I don't hold horrific, true-to-life stories of that time period, like This Way for the Gas, Ladies and Gentlemen in the highest esteem.
I think I often bristle at this recapper because he just seems so sure that his opinion and his level of intelligence are better than Joe Average's. Is he right? Maybe. But even though I know quite a bit about literary theory I don't sit watching television or reading a novel trying to apply literary theory to every fucking scene. The recapper once noted that he used to just let his story tell itself from the inside out - he used different language, more literary and academic, but he used to let his stories revel in their own cleverness. He's too mature and learned for that anymore. Why? I get the feeling he writes stories that try so hard to do everything literary theory thinks is brilliant. You KNOW how I feel about that.
I mean, the scene he became a permanent pearl-clutcher about went something like this: The Doctor + three go to confront aliens. Each are posted at a door. One of The Doctor's companions is just Bubba Nobody who used to be another main character's boyfriend but who isn't "clever" enough for the adventures in time. He's just an earthling along for this particular mission because he happens to live in that time period and has a connection to the characters. He's a bumbling idiot - at times, I will admit, to a frustrating degree. In this scene he gets his foot caught in a mop bucket and therefore isn't where he needs to be and the alien gets away (sort of). But - BUT - isn't that necessary because later he's going to be exactly where he needs to be and no one is expecting that out of him? Doesn't that make him complex, that he's not completely reliable and therefore not perfect? Do we want everyone to be a Mary Sue with perfect timing and always ready with the right solution? No. Characters need flaws. Writers need flaws. I think, I swear, I've talked about this before.
But anyway, another long, boring, angry post where I sound just like those recappers. Who's critiquing the critics? Infinite mirrors to the face of God.
Why do I keep going back? For the nuggets where I see something I didn't see before. For the tasty nut in the elephant poo. For the chance to bitch about the literati. Should I begin capitalizing that? I guess I feel like they're my Dalek race, genetically bred to kill anything different or inferior. If you don't get that reference, I won't judge you. It's just from a stupid British TV show, anyway.
June 14, 2011
Urban Fantasy
I had never heard of this genre of writing before, but it perfectly encapsulates the kind of writing I have always loved. While I enjoy fantasy here and there, knights and elves and witches and the like, I've really really always enjoyed books where our modern world and fantastic phenomena coexist. It's why I love magical realism.
A book Amazon recommended to me, Switched, by Amanda Hocking, is described as this kind of "urban fantasy." I LOVE this term. It is perfect for the kind of writing my favorite authors write. I would even put Harry Potter in this category because it is set in the modern world but deals with fantastic events. LOVE. Harry Potter most likely spawned this genre, or at least was the breakout star of it.
I'm excited to be able to tell people what I write when the ask, because they always stare blankly at me when I say magical realism and they roll their eyes when I say fantasy. "Urban fantasy" might at least get their attention.
A book Amazon recommended to me, Switched, by Amanda Hocking, is described as this kind of "urban fantasy." I LOVE this term. It is perfect for the kind of writing my favorite authors write. I would even put Harry Potter in this category because it is set in the modern world but deals with fantastic events. LOVE. Harry Potter most likely spawned this genre, or at least was the breakout star of it.
I'm excited to be able to tell people what I write when the ask, because they always stare blankly at me when I say magical realism and they roll their eyes when I say fantasy. "Urban fantasy" might at least get their attention.
November 9, 2010
Series Reading
Ever since I was little, I've read book series...es. It started off with The Sleepover Friends and a little of The Babysitters Club and from there graduated on to series...es with multiple authors like Star Trek: The Next Generation and Dragonlance. Of course, you know how much I love The Dark Tower Series, not to mention The Dark Is Rising and Harry Potter.
Oh, and there's The Chronicles of Narnia and The Lord of the Rings. But not so much, really.
I just enjoy, more than anything, becoming attached to these characters. A friend of mine in college said he couldn't get into Harry Potter (during the time our entire magazine staff was passing around my copy of The Goblet of Fire) because it involved getting committed to the characters. Of course, he had at that time a reputation for dating all the women in the department. I remember another friend saying she was going to be the one who changed him, and then he dumped her like a month later. What does it say about our characters by the books we choose?
I also get attached to celebrities. Vehemently. And always older men. It started with strange small crushes when I was little...like Ed Begley F...ing Jr. You read that. Transylvania 6-5000 anyone? While my sisters were swooning for Jeff Goldblum I was in love with Ed. Begley. F...ing. Jr. (I still, stupidly, get butterflies when I see him.)
Then it was Garth Brooks. Then Jay Leno. Now it's Tim Gunn. Attached.
The heroes of my favorite books are all men. Roland from Dark Tower. Commander Riker and then Lt. Commander Data from Star Trek. Not just from series...es, but also from novels in general. Aureliano Buendia from One Hundred Years of Solitude. Agamemnon from The Iliad. The author Jorge Luis Borges (most brilliant mind in all of literature). What does this obsession with men say about me?
I know what one person out there is thinking. And, well, yeah, I do. But I've been thinking a lot about what one of my college professors asked me about my writing: "Why don't you ever have female characters?" My main characters are always men. My book series, the one I'm writing, has two male leads and one female lead. She isn't the main character (although close). When her parts were a separate (somewhat autobiographical) novel, I felt like it would get critical acclaim but that I wouldn't love it. The series I'm writing is one I feel like I could love, like I could write it forever, but I think it's going to get a lot of flack. It's...grand, and I mean that in the sense that magical shit along with preposterous shit is going to happen, but...it's my fantasy. Even though the female character is in a sense me plopped down into my own fantasy I feel closest to the two men. I don't know how to describe it, which is my job, you know?
I'm just trying to make heads or tails with what I'm doing as I plug along in my writing. I feel like it's silly to feel like I have to justify why I'm writing this series. It goes back to what one of my favorite professors asked me once, somewhat painfully, "Why would anyone ever write this story?" I think now that he was trying to get me to answer important questions about my purpose in my own writing - was I in it for entertainment or critical acclaim or what - but at sometimes I worry that he meant the story was just plain awful. I don't know.
Oh, and there's The Chronicles of Narnia and The Lord of the Rings. But not so much, really.
I just enjoy, more than anything, becoming attached to these characters. A friend of mine in college said he couldn't get into Harry Potter (during the time our entire magazine staff was passing around my copy of The Goblet of Fire) because it involved getting committed to the characters. Of course, he had at that time a reputation for dating all the women in the department. I remember another friend saying she was going to be the one who changed him, and then he dumped her like a month later. What does it say about our characters by the books we choose?
I also get attached to celebrities. Vehemently. And always older men. It started with strange small crushes when I was little...like Ed Begley F...ing Jr. You read that. Transylvania 6-5000 anyone? While my sisters were swooning for Jeff Goldblum I was in love with Ed. Begley. F...ing. Jr. (I still, stupidly, get butterflies when I see him.)
Then it was Garth Brooks. Then Jay Leno. Now it's Tim Gunn. Attached.
The heroes of my favorite books are all men. Roland from Dark Tower. Commander Riker and then Lt. Commander Data from Star Trek. Not just from series...es, but also from novels in general. Aureliano Buendia from One Hundred Years of Solitude. Agamemnon from The Iliad. The author Jorge Luis Borges (most brilliant mind in all of literature). What does this obsession with men say about me?
I know what one person out there is thinking. And, well, yeah, I do. But I've been thinking a lot about what one of my college professors asked me about my writing: "Why don't you ever have female characters?" My main characters are always men. My book series, the one I'm writing, has two male leads and one female lead. She isn't the main character (although close). When her parts were a separate (somewhat autobiographical) novel, I felt like it would get critical acclaim but that I wouldn't love it. The series I'm writing is one I feel like I could love, like I could write it forever, but I think it's going to get a lot of flack. It's...grand, and I mean that in the sense that magical shit along with preposterous shit is going to happen, but...it's my fantasy. Even though the female character is in a sense me plopped down into my own fantasy I feel closest to the two men. I don't know how to describe it, which is my job, you know?
I'm just trying to make heads or tails with what I'm doing as I plug along in my writing. I feel like it's silly to feel like I have to justify why I'm writing this series. It goes back to what one of my favorite professors asked me once, somewhat painfully, "Why would anyone ever write this story?" I think now that he was trying to get me to answer important questions about my purpose in my own writing - was I in it for entertainment or critical acclaim or what - but at sometimes I worry that he meant the story was just plain awful. I don't know.
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