I am now two weeks behind in my short stories, and I have not posted anything new for a while. We've been extremely busy at work, which is the place I use the internet to post these (I refuse to get internet at home, thank you). I have also been using a little of my time for Christmas and birthday shopping.
I am going to try to get back into the swing of things, though the holiday season is getting pretty crazy for me.
Also, the lack of response to...anything at all that I post is kind of killing my dreams here. But, that's okay, I guess.
So, the poem I read today was Untangle the Tangle by Blackpooljimmy. He wrote this as an entry to a contest with a picture prompt. I thought it was fantastic. It's a writer's piece, which you'll understand when you read it, which I recommend you do.
I also read The Pleiades at Midnight by Johannes Carsten Hauch. I never grew out of my fascination with night and stars and space, so...the title appealed to me. The poem itself is incredible. It links the stars and time and emotion with incredible fluidity. Highly recommended.
The short story I read was An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge by Ambrose Bierce. Bierce has a way of keeping readers reading. What seems to start out as a mundane scene turns out to be intriguing. In this case, the hanging of a man on the bridge. Quite interesting. In fact, it was turned into an episode of The Twilight Zone.
The essay I read was Of Comets and Meteors by Fred Whipple. I don't even know where to start with this. First of all, this man is the more genius version of Taylor Swift. His accomplishments make the rest of us look lazy and slothful. I was completely impressed by the essay, perhaps to a fault because, as I stated above, I never grew out of a fascination with the darkness beyond. He has made military contributions in the form of inventions, and he has discovered some interesting things in his lifetime. I definitely recommend reading this essay. I loved it.
Monday, November 26, 2012
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
11/14/2012
My deepest apologies for the delayed posts, and the lack of a short story so far for week three. I am currently trying to finish the story I began on Monday, November 12, 2012, but I got stuck. How...me.
Today, the first thing I read was The Great Power Outage by emoxninjaxgone. What a mouthful of a name, huh? His name is actually Joshua Rogers (according to his author page). I was struck by the imagery and the word choices in this. I thought it was a nice tale about the war between, as he puts it, Mr. Brain and Mr. Heart.
The flow was somewhat jarred in the last third of the poem. I can't quite place my finger on why. But I absolutely adored the fifth stanza. I thought it was most powerful. There are deep emotions in this. Great read.
I have to say, though, I think every mention of something being monochromatic is always going to remind me of Erin Morgenstern's Night Circus.
I also read Song of Poplars by Aldous Huxley, who most of you probably know more for his book Brave New World as opposed to his poetry. I have to say, I was completely impressed with his book in high school, and I am completely impressed over a decade later with his poetry. I may be a bit late on this, but I am glad I ran across it.
I just adore the imagery in this. He gives a life and emotion to the poplar. Also, did I mention I adore the imagery in this?
That's all I did today. I was very busy, but I did get to post a new story, The Many Suicidal Deaths of Daphne Sprague, which I hope you enjoy. It's my first attempt at any kind of horror.
Today, the first thing I read was The Great Power Outage by emoxninjaxgone. What a mouthful of a name, huh? His name is actually Joshua Rogers (according to his author page). I was struck by the imagery and the word choices in this. I thought it was a nice tale about the war between, as he puts it, Mr. Brain and Mr. Heart.
The flow was somewhat jarred in the last third of the poem. I can't quite place my finger on why. But I absolutely adored the fifth stanza. I thought it was most powerful. There are deep emotions in this. Great read.
I have to say, though, I think every mention of something being monochromatic is always going to remind me of Erin Morgenstern's Night Circus.
I also read Song of Poplars by Aldous Huxley, who most of you probably know more for his book Brave New World as opposed to his poetry. I have to say, I was completely impressed with his book in high school, and I am completely impressed over a decade later with his poetry. I may be a bit late on this, but I am glad I ran across it.
I just adore the imagery in this. He gives a life and emotion to the poplar. Also, did I mention I adore the imagery in this?
That's all I did today. I was very busy, but I did get to post a new story, The Many Suicidal Deaths of Daphne Sprague, which I hope you enjoy. It's my first attempt at any kind of horror.
Friday, November 9, 2012
11/09/2012
If this is your first time visiting my blog, please read the reason behind it here.
Today, I began with a poem. I read The Boy Made of Paper by Vex Darkly. I rather like his author page... But that is of no consequence. I do love the poem. I, like others before me, kept returning to the fourth stanza in the piece, for it held a stinging amount of emotion, especially to a mother of 3 boys. It was a fantastic, powerful poem with beautiful imagery and masterful metaphors. If you haven't read any of the other poems I have read and blogged about, read this one. Read it anyway.
Okay. So, via this article on the Scientific American website, I linked to FQXi's 2012 Essay Contest. The topic? The Nature of Time. Whew. I could already tell that whichever essay I chose (for it was a contest), that I would probably not understand a word of it.
The thing is, even though it is an essay, the title means a lot to me. I skipped over the titles "Things Happen" and "Time is Local," eventually choosing A Mystic Dream of Four. I was right, I did not understand most of it. I got that there are two theories that are incompatible. Honestly, this is 10 pages long, and I was lost by the second paragraph.
So. What I am going to do is print it out, read it, have my phone beside me to look up strange words, theories, etc., and get back to you on that. Probably not anytime soon.
Another Oscar Wilde story, anyone? No? I didn't think so.
Today, I chose to read Thank You M'am by Langston Hughes. It was a sweet story about a kid who tries to steal the purse off of a woman. I have to say, whoever put the story up on the website, though, did a lousy job of editing it.
The classic poem I read was A Clear Midnight by Walt Whitman. I must admit that Whitman, like Shakespeare, is one of those writers whom the idea of which is greater to me than the writing. I cannot bring myself to enjoy deciphering their language in order to enjoy the writing. Blasphemy, again. My insincere apologies.
Today, I began with a poem. I read The Boy Made of Paper by Vex Darkly. I rather like his author page... But that is of no consequence. I do love the poem. I, like others before me, kept returning to the fourth stanza in the piece, for it held a stinging amount of emotion, especially to a mother of 3 boys. It was a fantastic, powerful poem with beautiful imagery and masterful metaphors. If you haven't read any of the other poems I have read and blogged about, read this one. Read it anyway.
Okay. So, via this article on the Scientific American website, I linked to FQXi's 2012 Essay Contest. The topic? The Nature of Time. Whew. I could already tell that whichever essay I chose (for it was a contest), that I would probably not understand a word of it.
The thing is, even though it is an essay, the title means a lot to me. I skipped over the titles "Things Happen" and "Time is Local," eventually choosing A Mystic Dream of Four. I was right, I did not understand most of it. I got that there are two theories that are incompatible. Honestly, this is 10 pages long, and I was lost by the second paragraph.
So. What I am going to do is print it out, read it, have my phone beside me to look up strange words, theories, etc., and get back to you on that. Probably not anytime soon.
Another Oscar Wilde story, anyone? No? I didn't think so.
Today, I chose to read Thank You M'am by Langston Hughes. It was a sweet story about a kid who tries to steal the purse off of a woman. I have to say, whoever put the story up on the website, though, did a lousy job of editing it.
The classic poem I read was A Clear Midnight by Walt Whitman. I must admit that Whitman, like Shakespeare, is one of those writers whom the idea of which is greater to me than the writing. I cannot bring myself to enjoy deciphering their language in order to enjoy the writing. Blasphemy, again. My insincere apologies.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
11/08/2012
I don't know where my days are disappearing to, but I am trying to keep up with this along with my full-time job, trying to get overtime to pay for bills and get ahead on Christmas, my three sons, and now, the possibility that one of them, my youngest, may have asthma.
The essay I read today was Short Essay on Asthma. Honestly, this was really more for me to get a better understanding of what we may go through as opposed to any advancement for this blog, so I'm not going to comment on it.
The poem I read was For Whom my Heart was Made by The Rebel Cloud. I clicked on this poem because it was listed in the Featured for Comments section of AllPoetry. I've never read him before or even heard of him. Probably because I don't spend too much time there anymore except for this blog.
I loved the title (don't you?). The poem was also fantastic. He is, apparently, also a musician whose music can be found on SoundCloud, though I have not had a chance to listen, yet. It's a beautiful poem of love. Don't mistake that as being cliche. It was a beautiful read. Great imagery.
I read A Poison Tree by William Blake. It's a well-told warning about the dangers of bottling your anger inside. I have to say, however, as a first hand witness to people who don't bottle their anger and let it out every single day, they don't appear to be any better for the wear than someone who might bottle things inside. On the other hand, I may be wrong. Health seems to be in good condition. Physical, anyway...
I returned to the short story The Model Millionaire by Oscar Wilde yesterday as I watched The Raven. As Edgar was riding away from Emily's father to find her and rescue her, I thought I bet her father will let Edgar marry Emily now, which led my mind back to the story. Though this was more heroic than some eccentric fellow giving someone $10000 pounds to buy his lover's father's acceptance...
So I decided to read another Wilde story. I chose The Nightingale and the Rose. It seems to me that Wilde was a very dark person. His humor seems to extend from the desire to build someone up on expectation, then drop them from quite a height. This is a perfect example of why I don't like Oscar Wilde. Even more than the last story, which had some redemptive qualities, this story had a wretched ending that made me wish I had not read the thing at all. For the entire build up was fantastic. Indeed, as I was reading it, my mind was changing about Wilde like a slowly opening rose bud. But, like the rose in the story, he threw my hope in front of a carriage and it was trampled upon. I'm sure he's laughing is his musty grave.
I also want to add that I watched The Raven last night, which is a (fictionalized) movie about the last days of Edgar Allan Poe, which speculates that he had a copycat murderer who used his stories as inspiration for murders. I loved it. I love his stories, I love the movies that are inspired by his stories (i.e., Murders in the Rue Morgue, 1932). This was every Poe fan's dream. Speculative fiction that incorporated his stories into the plot. Agh! I was so happy.
The essay I read today was Short Essay on Asthma. Honestly, this was really more for me to get a better understanding of what we may go through as opposed to any advancement for this blog, so I'm not going to comment on it.
The poem I read was For Whom my Heart was Made by The Rebel Cloud. I clicked on this poem because it was listed in the Featured for Comments section of AllPoetry. I've never read him before or even heard of him. Probably because I don't spend too much time there anymore except for this blog.
I loved the title (don't you?). The poem was also fantastic. He is, apparently, also a musician whose music can be found on SoundCloud, though I have not had a chance to listen, yet. It's a beautiful poem of love. Don't mistake that as being cliche. It was a beautiful read. Great imagery.
I read A Poison Tree by William Blake. It's a well-told warning about the dangers of bottling your anger inside. I have to say, however, as a first hand witness to people who don't bottle their anger and let it out every single day, they don't appear to be any better for the wear than someone who might bottle things inside. On the other hand, I may be wrong. Health seems to be in good condition. Physical, anyway...
I returned to the short story The Model Millionaire by Oscar Wilde yesterday as I watched The Raven. As Edgar was riding away from Emily's father to find her and rescue her, I thought I bet her father will let Edgar marry Emily now, which led my mind back to the story. Though this was more heroic than some eccentric fellow giving someone $10000 pounds to buy his lover's father's acceptance...
So I decided to read another Wilde story. I chose The Nightingale and the Rose. It seems to me that Wilde was a very dark person. His humor seems to extend from the desire to build someone up on expectation, then drop them from quite a height. This is a perfect example of why I don't like Oscar Wilde. Even more than the last story, which had some redemptive qualities, this story had a wretched ending that made me wish I had not read the thing at all. For the entire build up was fantastic. Indeed, as I was reading it, my mind was changing about Wilde like a slowly opening rose bud. But, like the rose in the story, he threw my hope in front of a carriage and it was trampled upon. I'm sure he's laughing is his musty grave.
I also want to add that I watched The Raven last night, which is a (fictionalized) movie about the last days of Edgar Allan Poe, which speculates that he had a copycat murderer who used his stories as inspiration for murders. I loved it. I love his stories, I love the movies that are inspired by his stories (i.e., Murders in the Rue Morgue, 1932). This was every Poe fan's dream. Speculative fiction that incorporated his stories into the plot. Agh! I was so happy.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
11/06/2012
I finished reading Inkheart this weekend, and have posted the review here, on my To Judge a Book blahg. I also started reading The Night Circus by Emily Morgenstern. I love it already.
I have also posted my second (!! squeeee !!) short story, Of Books and Daisies. I would appreciate honest feedback (such as...you need to fix this or you spelled this wrong or your grammar sucks...). But if you liked it, I would love to know that, too. Wink, wink.
I read Why TV Lost by Paul Graham. Before reading this essay, I had not realized that television was in it to win it for anything. However, I can see how the essay makes sense, or rather, how the author would think so. In short, the internet is going to kill tv the way CDs killed cassettes, cell phones killed land lines. He throws up some strong arguments, such as almost everything on tv can also be found online. However, I think that this is less an extermination as it is an addition to. More like music video killed radio. Because, as we all know, they didn't really. I still listen to radio. There are new types of radio, such as Sirius, iHeartRadio, and Pandora. Radios still come standard in vehicles. Plus, as far as I know, while many people I know no longer have land lines, I don't know a single person who has opted to throw out their 52" Flat Screen HDTV because they can watch all their shows on their 18" computer monitor or their 15" laptop monitor. So, nice try.
Zenith Star by pabruce is the poem I read. It was one of those tale poems. Don't get me wrong, it was not long at all, but it was a poem that told a story rather than an emotion. I liked the poem, with it's rhyme and almost-rhyme and it's imagery. However, I have never been able to identify with story poems like I do with emotion poems. I like my stories in prose, even poetic prose, but prose nonetheless.
I read The Temple by J D C Fellow. I've never read him or heard of him before (or her). I looked this person up on Google and found nothing. The poem was fantastic. It's about a tree. Great imagery. I wish I knew who this person was so I could read more. Any information would be appreciated. Mentioned, too, if you like, in a subsequent blog. I feel like I'm offering a bounty...
I started reading The Model Millionaire by Oscar Wilde. Blasphemy be damned, I have never had a thing for Oscar Wilde, and this certainly didn't change my view any. I was going to stop after the first few sentences, but decided to give him the whole enchilada to redeem himself.
:: Jeopardy theme song while I read the rest ::
You can't see me making a face right now at the computer screen as I write this. I still don't much care for Wilde, no matter how great this story was, or the fact that it had a moral. I can imagine him laughing as he wrote this. However, I cannot deny it ended up being quite a nice story, even though meanness still has a strong voice in this. I know I should choose a more poetic word rather than "meanness," but that's all that came to mind, and I am not going to thesaurus.com it just to make this more flowery.
I have also posted my second (!! squeeee !!) short story, Of Books and Daisies. I would appreciate honest feedback (such as...you need to fix this or you spelled this wrong or your grammar sucks...). But if you liked it, I would love to know that, too. Wink, wink.
I read Why TV Lost by Paul Graham. Before reading this essay, I had not realized that television was in it to win it for anything. However, I can see how the essay makes sense, or rather, how the author would think so. In short, the internet is going to kill tv the way CDs killed cassettes, cell phones killed land lines. He throws up some strong arguments, such as almost everything on tv can also be found online. However, I think that this is less an extermination as it is an addition to. More like music video killed radio. Because, as we all know, they didn't really. I still listen to radio. There are new types of radio, such as Sirius, iHeartRadio, and Pandora. Radios still come standard in vehicles. Plus, as far as I know, while many people I know no longer have land lines, I don't know a single person who has opted to throw out their 52" Flat Screen HDTV because they can watch all their shows on their 18" computer monitor or their 15" laptop monitor. So, nice try.
Zenith Star by pabruce is the poem I read. It was one of those tale poems. Don't get me wrong, it was not long at all, but it was a poem that told a story rather than an emotion. I liked the poem, with it's rhyme and almost-rhyme and it's imagery. However, I have never been able to identify with story poems like I do with emotion poems. I like my stories in prose, even poetic prose, but prose nonetheless.
I read The Temple by J D C Fellow. I've never read him or heard of him before (or her). I looked this person up on Google and found nothing. The poem was fantastic. It's about a tree. Great imagery. I wish I knew who this person was so I could read more. Any information would be appreciated. Mentioned, too, if you like, in a subsequent blog. I feel like I'm offering a bounty...
I started reading The Model Millionaire by Oscar Wilde. Blasphemy be damned, I have never had a thing for Oscar Wilde, and this certainly didn't change my view any. I was going to stop after the first few sentences, but decided to give him the whole enchilada to redeem himself.
:: Jeopardy theme song while I read the rest ::
You can't see me making a face right now at the computer screen as I write this. I still don't much care for Wilde, no matter how great this story was, or the fact that it had a moral. I can imagine him laughing as he wrote this. However, I cannot deny it ended up being quite a nice story, even though meanness still has a strong voice in this. I know I should choose a more poetic word rather than "meanness," but that's all that came to mind, and I am not going to thesaurus.com it just to make this more flowery.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
11/03/2012
Today, I read Newspapers as Historical Sources by James Ford Rhodes. I didn't get all the way through it, I'm sorry. My attention span is wanting today. I was busy ordering Night Circus for my Nook and looking up the cheapest but best quality versions of Inkspell and Inkdeath, for I am in the final chapters of Inkheart.
I did read a good portion of the essay, though. It seems to me it is a perfect example of how nothing changes. People will read a certain paper or watch a certain news channel because they align with their political views and not watch another because they don't; people whine and moan about the biased opinions of others but pay no mind to their own biases. The essay was mainly about how, regardless of biases, newspapers are still excellent sources of history.
The poem I read was incredible. I loved it. I recommend reading it, so you can see how the author, Mark, or, Cerulean, made something painfully mundane into something poetic and personal. It's incredible. Dear Death.
I also read If You Forget Me by Pablo Neruda. I suppose saying "it's Pablo Neruda" is insufficient in a blog. It's a wonderful piece about love, albeit in a way I prefer not to think of it. The subject's love for another is clearly dependent on that person's love for him. I think that's a sad way to consider it, however I am sure that it is more real than my fairy tale, pink-glasses version that I prefer to believe.
I am not going to read a short story today. I mainly use the internet at my job, or on my phone at home if I have to. I am on a short day since it is Saturday, so... I will (maybe) review two short stories tomorrow, though most like I will review one plus give my response to Inkheart.
Have a spectacular Saturday!!!
I did read a good portion of the essay, though. It seems to me it is a perfect example of how nothing changes. People will read a certain paper or watch a certain news channel because they align with their political views and not watch another because they don't; people whine and moan about the biased opinions of others but pay no mind to their own biases. The essay was mainly about how, regardless of biases, newspapers are still excellent sources of history.
The poem I read was incredible. I loved it. I recommend reading it, so you can see how the author, Mark, or, Cerulean, made something painfully mundane into something poetic and personal. It's incredible. Dear Death.
I also read If You Forget Me by Pablo Neruda. I suppose saying "it's Pablo Neruda" is insufficient in a blog. It's a wonderful piece about love, albeit in a way I prefer not to think of it. The subject's love for another is clearly dependent on that person's love for him. I think that's a sad way to consider it, however I am sure that it is more real than my fairy tale, pink-glasses version that I prefer to believe.
I am not going to read a short story today. I mainly use the internet at my job, or on my phone at home if I have to. I am on a short day since it is Saturday, so... I will (maybe) review two short stories tomorrow, though most like I will review one plus give my response to Inkheart.
Have a spectacular Saturday!!!
Friday, November 2, 2012
11/02/2012
Good morning! I have recently updated my other blogs, if you'd like to take a gander. I find myself mildly amusing. (Actually, I was laughing at my own jokes on my way to work and glancing sideways at other drivers to see if they thought I was having a mental breakdown.)
Lost in the Shuffle. This is my personal blog about me. Today...it was about a bloody highway. That's right. A bloody highway.
React/Respond. This is basically just my blahg on current events.
Dreams. An ongoing dream journal. Feel free to peruse my crazy nightscapes.
So, I didn't post yesterday. I was feeling down since no one responded to my first short story. Not a single person. Kind of dampened my spirits, but... Hey. I'm back. I get knocked down! But I get up again!
The essay/article I read was Raising Successful Children by Madeline Levine. I have my own theories on psychology, but we'll leave those out for now. I don't know why I chose this essay, I just couldn't think of any other subjects to look in (my head is cloudy with lack of sleep and a stubborn cold). It was good. I agree with most of what is in it. All of it, actually. I didn't disagree with anything. I don't really have too much to say about it, though. Sorry.
I read The crumbling silhouette by Ephemerality. What a powerful write. I ended up almost crying at my desk again. It's also very personal.
Today, I read various poems by Leonard Cohen. I am a huge fan of his newer stuff. I am not too much of a fan of his younger music. I don't know why. I don't think he had a golden voice in his youth, but I am definitely glad he never stopped singing. I can't wait to get his new album, Old Ideas. If you know Cohen at all, you know he can be one dirty dog, but even when he's being so, he always does it with...class? Something that resembles it, anyway, for I can't equate being a dirty dog with being classy, no matter how hard I try. One of my favorites, though, was Poem 1 from Book of Mercy...being about angels granting a voice.
For a short story, I read The Star by Esther Claes. It was a pre-dystopian read about the day leading up to the end. It was a good read about a horrible person. I imagine that there are people out there like this, and that thought is deeply disturbing.
I got my first short story up after the end of the first week, and as we are nearing the end of the second week, I still haven't started my second short story. I am chalking this up to having 3 boys, a full time job, and being helplessly addicted to Inkheart, which I am currently reading, but not being able to read it fast, because I am chewing it over slowly, savoring it to the fullest extend. After reading reviews of the book, it seems I am alone in my thinking, as people seem to like the quotes in the book and the idea of the book rather than the book itself, but I love it. I can't wait to get Inkspell and Inkdeath. Every cell that remained of my childhood in me loves the book and you can't change that.
Stay tuned for the To Judge a Book blahg on it.
Yes, I am fully aware that I am spelling blog wrong. But...
Blah blah blah + blog = Blagh. So there.
Lost in the Shuffle. This is my personal blog about me. Today...it was about a bloody highway. That's right. A bloody highway.
React/Respond. This is basically just my blahg on current events.
Dreams. An ongoing dream journal. Feel free to peruse my crazy nightscapes.
So, I didn't post yesterday. I was feeling down since no one responded to my first short story. Not a single person. Kind of dampened my spirits, but... Hey. I'm back. I get knocked down! But I get up again!
The essay/article I read was Raising Successful Children by Madeline Levine. I have my own theories on psychology, but we'll leave those out for now. I don't know why I chose this essay, I just couldn't think of any other subjects to look in (my head is cloudy with lack of sleep and a stubborn cold). It was good. I agree with most of what is in it. All of it, actually. I didn't disagree with anything. I don't really have too much to say about it, though. Sorry.
I read The crumbling silhouette by Ephemerality. What a powerful write. I ended up almost crying at my desk again. It's also very personal.
Today, I read various poems by Leonard Cohen. I am a huge fan of his newer stuff. I am not too much of a fan of his younger music. I don't know why. I don't think he had a golden voice in his youth, but I am definitely glad he never stopped singing. I can't wait to get his new album, Old Ideas. If you know Cohen at all, you know he can be one dirty dog, but even when he's being so, he always does it with...class? Something that resembles it, anyway, for I can't equate being a dirty dog with being classy, no matter how hard I try. One of my favorites, though, was Poem 1 from Book of Mercy...being about angels granting a voice.
For a short story, I read The Star by Esther Claes. It was a pre-dystopian read about the day leading up to the end. It was a good read about a horrible person. I imagine that there are people out there like this, and that thought is deeply disturbing.
I got my first short story up after the end of the first week, and as we are nearing the end of the second week, I still haven't started my second short story. I am chalking this up to having 3 boys, a full time job, and being helplessly addicted to Inkheart, which I am currently reading, but not being able to read it fast, because I am chewing it over slowly, savoring it to the fullest extend. After reading reviews of the book, it seems I am alone in my thinking, as people seem to like the quotes in the book and the idea of the book rather than the book itself, but I love it. I can't wait to get Inkspell and Inkdeath. Every cell that remained of my childhood in me loves the book and you can't change that.
Stay tuned for the To Judge a Book blahg on it.
Yes, I am fully aware that I am spelling blog wrong. But...
Blah blah blah + blog = Blagh. So there.
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