Oh Wes…


Only a few hours ago I saw the new Wes Anderson film, Moonrise Kingdom. Anderson hit another home run.

Moonrise Kingdom is a love story, the best love story I’ve seen portrayed in a while because it is an innocent love, and to me the purest kind. Anderson brought to life the feelings I’ve missed out on for quite some time, those feelings of first love.

Don’t worry, Anderson hasn’t gone soft on us. The characters are unique as you would expect and the star-studded cast makes the depressing adult world so perfect.

The love story is between two pre-teens, just barely coming into puberty. While all the adults portrayed in Moonrise Kingdom are, for lack of a better word, pathetic. There is no soul left in any of them, they’ve lost the whimsy that these kids see in life. This same whimsy is what Anderson does so well in expressing through his films.

I love that Anderson has original ideas that emphasize his strange and wonderful style rather than taking-away from it. Unlike Tim Burton, Anderson maintains both originality and his own style with his films.

Moonrise Kingdom may be my favourite Wes Anderson film yet, although The Royal Tenenbaums is certainly a tough one to beat. I throughly recommend this movie to anyone who is looking for a good chuckle, a smile, and just a little oddness.

The Heart Is Not in Your Chest


I’ve been having a contemplation day. Ok, I’ve been having an extremely lazy day, avoiding my studying, and I have not left the comfort of my pyjamas all day. But, it’s been since about September when I had pneumonia that I’ve had one of these days, so I’m going to let it slide.

Because I’ve left my brain mainly on autopilot some things have been stewing in the back of my consciousness. As I sit watching whatever random TV show I’m currently watching I doodle. I’m not just any old doodler, I doodle words. Mostly because I have no artistic abilities what-so-ever, but mainly I just love writing words. The strength of one word written down, all its meanings, all its facets, all its intricacies blow me away.

One word I find that I tend to scribble down a lot is “Love.” I found myself wondering what this word really means. Being the nerd I am I looked it up in the Oxford English Dictionary and found far too many meanings:

1. Senses relating to affection and attachment

2. To have or feel love towards (a person, a thing personified) (for a quality or attribute); to entertain a great affection, fondness, or regard for; to hold dear

3. To praise, extol (God, a person, etc.)

4. The benevolence and affection of God towards an individual or towards creation

5. Strong predilection, liking, or fondness (for something)

6. An intense feeling of romantic attachment based on an attraction felt by one person for another

7. Sexual desire or lust, esp. as a physiological instinct; amorous sexual activity, sexual intercourse

8. Any one of a set of transverse beams supporting the spits in a smokehouse for curing herring. (This one threw me off.)

As you can see there are far too many meanings to go through, needless to say they all involve some kind of affection (except for that last one). Even with this insight into the meaning of “Love” I still can’t define it. I don’t really think I ever will be able to. Love is one of those concepts, those emotions that language falls short of. Being a writer I find that there are few things in this world that can’t be expressed in the right words, you only have to look hard enough to find the right combination to get across what it is you are expressing.

But “Love” is clearly not sufficient for this overwhelming sense of emotion it attempts to represent. I, like many others, use this word lightly. For instance, on countless occasions I’ve uttered the sentence, “I love soup.” Soup is indeed my favourite food, but I don’t feel that rush of emotions when I look at soup, I don’t think I would take a bullet for a bowl of soup, nor would I cry if I saw soup being poured down the drain. It’s just an expression that I use to explain that I throughly enjoy eating soup.

Love is not something I believe can ever be defined because there are too many kinds and I wish that we had more words to define this infinite concept. Eskimos have about eight different words for snow and we have only one for a concept that is so much bigger than us. As much as I admire and live by the written word, it has a tendency to fall short.

We’ve all experienced Love in one form or another. I love my family, even though sometimes I don’t particularly like them, but they’re blood and no matter what they’ll always be a part of me and I will love them for that every day. I love my friends and not the “Oh my God I totally love you!” kind, but the kind where I would do anything in my power to make these people happy, even if it means I’ll get hurt in the process. This kind of Love is forged from years of trust and loyalty. This kind of Love is chosen and I think one of the most beautiful forms. I’ve also been in Love. We’ve all felt the butterflies, the shakes, the tongue twisters, the anxiety induced stupidity, at least if you’ve been in Love you have. I’ve also felt the gut-wrenching pain of losing Love. Where you feel your insides have been torn out and when you never want to leave from under your comforter, when the world seems completely unliveable because a piece of you has been torn away.

This little four letter word has the power to make you feel invincible and the power to make you feel as if you’ve been torn open and left to bleed out. This little word doesn’t live in your chest, it doesn’t reside in the muscle that pumps blood through your veins, it lives in our minds. We Love because we feel something. We Love because we crave that connection with another human being. You could say that Love is just another chemical in our brains, but so is our consciousness and yet, they’re both so much more.

Words have strength, but they can’t define everything. I’m going to keep trying though, I hope you don’t mind.

Today


I’ve done it again.

I’ve started ANOTHER novel idea. I haven’t even hit half-way in my first novel which I’ve been working on sporadically for over 5 years!

Muses, why must you overcome me with a million different ideas? Is it too much to ask you ladies to just give me enough motivation and inspiration in regards to the first, unfinished project? It would appear that the Muses are just as unpredictable as most women. Although, I’m sure to them their actions make perfect sense.

Today, I started something. Something much darker than I thought was in me. I didn’t realize how this would come out, I thought I would turn it around at the last moment, end up making a joke of it. It came out too dark to be any joke. This heroine’s strength is unique, nothing that I’ve encountered in any of my others.  She’s not someone I could ever relate to on any deep level, and yet I want to see her survive, I want to see her fight, I want to see her win. She has more strength than I ever would in her situation. Where did she come from?

I surprised myself today, I don’t ever remember such a shadow in my writing, such a linger gloom. I don’t know where it was going or where it will end in the future, all I know is I want to see this nameless girl survive, I want to see her live. I want to give her the chance anyways.

One Lovely Blog, Who me?

Aside


So I was nominated for the One Lovely Blog Award by Lea At Sea, a while ago and the procrastinator that I am is just getting around to nomination people and accepting the award. Thank you very much my dear friend for nominating me. 

To accept this award:

  1. Link back to the blogger who nominated you.
  2. Paste the award image on your blog.
  3. Tell 7 facts about yourself.
  4. Nominate 15 other blogs that you would like to give the award to.
  5. Contact the bloggers that you have chosen and let them know about the award.

Nominees:

(I would nominate Lea At Sea again, but as someone else already has I cannot)

writing in the water

Here I Stand, Smiling Darkly

Quips & Quiddities

The Librarian Who Doesn’t Say “Shhh”

Jason Alan, writer

FutureWorld

Tea Leaves and Dog Ears

“Deja Vu” Cook

(I realize this is only 8 and not 15, but just go with it.)

7 Things About Me:

1 – I am currently living in a half-packed up room anticipating my move into independence.

2 – I have a tough time living without a furry creature of some kind.

3 – I am obsessed with all things green, yet I own very few articles of green clothing.

4 – I would much rather wear my geeky t-shirts everywhere I go, but people assume I’m 15 so I don’t.

5 – My heart belongs to the writers that fill my shelves.

6 – I’ve never been able to snap my fingers.

7 – I could live off of miso soup, as long as there’s no seaweed in it.

Bouncing Red Curls


Last night I went out and saw the new Disney movie Brave.
It did not disappoint in the Disney category of things, it satisfied the nostalgia in me as a kids movie and had both heart-breaking and heart-warming moments. I got misty eyed near the end. I will not spoil any details, but the storyline is not what I had thought it would be. Keep in mind that I had walked into this movie with no influence other than movie posters. 
That being said, the title “Brave” did not in my opinion sought the main story line. Yes, the main character Merida had to be a brave girl to do what she did, but her character didn’t develop bravery through the movie, nor did she have to overcome her fears at any point to do the things she did. Merida is instinctually brave throughout the movie. Her mother did not have to develop bravery really either, she had to adapt to the situation rather than be brave. Now, I realize Disney doesn’t have to think up any sort of amazing titles for their movies, but at least make it more relevant to the plot line. Finding Nemo hit it right on the nose, as does The Lion King, Monsters Inc. and countless others. So I pose the question, why settle on “Brave?”
I know that I can’t be too critical of Disney in the literary sense as it’s target audience is children and teenagers. My only real annoyance with the movie was the title, other than that I did enjoy myself.
So, if you feel like warming your heart and wanting to hug your mom by the end, Brave is a good choice.

3.


I lost my 3.

How? I’m not quite sure, but it’s lost.
Have you seen my 3? No matter where I look for it, it’s not there.

I thought I saw it on my keyboard, but it wasn’t there. I checked my wallet, but it wasn’t there either. I even looked at my watch, but sadly my 3 was no where to be seen.

I’m not quite sure what to do without my 3. I tried to put 1 and 2 together so that I would have a new 3, but 1 and 2 refused. They told me I had to find my 3, that they could not make a new 3 just because I asked. “You can’t just replace a number,” they told me. I had to agree and I continued to look for my 3.

I didn’t realize how lost I would be without my 3. My 3 made up the first digit of my birthday, now I was born on 0. I lost my 3, and without it I don’t have a birthday. Do I still exist if I don’t have a birthday? Am I just as lost as my 3?

I became frantic, “WHERE IS MY 3?!” I screamed. But only an emptiness replied with a sigh. I’ve lost my 3, and in doing so I’ve lost that part of myself that my 3 was made up of.

I’m not sure when, or if I will ever find my 3. Has my 3 run off without me? I can’t be certain. I’ve looked everywhere I think a 3 may have run to, or may have gotten lost.

I must be patient and hope my 3 finds it’s way back. I’ll wait for my 3, I’ll hold down this fort. I’ll be here when my 3 decides to come back.

I’m lost without my 3.

Dark, as you would expect it to be.


I had intended to finish reading We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson a few days ago, but life got in the way. Anyhow, I finished reading it last night. I’ve read Jackson’s short story “The Lottery” many times, and it’s some what of a high school classic.

ImageJackson has a very dark way of writing, however the darkness is all in her style rather than her diction. When taken apart, her work doesn’t sound all that dark at all, but some how she pieces it together to create a chilled feeling throughout your body. As I read, I had predicted the answer to the burning question, “who put the arsenic in the sugar bowl?” I had my suspicions, and they were confirmed but Jackson was able to play off the shadow of a doubt that I had about my theory.

Jackson is a terrific writer, her eerie tone makes this novella a great quick read if you feel like being creeped out and looking into the mind of quite a different kind of girl. Her style reminds me a little of Poe, but not as depressing.

I absolutely loved the way Jackson had her main character Mary Katharine, or Merricat personify the things around her. It was beautifully done.

I would recommend this novella to anyone looking for a good quick read. It’s only 146 pages, or at least the version I have is.