I just realized that I will be graduating in the spring. It snuck up on me like nothing else has before: I'm graduating. In the spring.
It really does feel like just yesterday that I moved into Juniper Hall for my first year of college. I remember Mom's reluctance to leave, the almost constant sound of giggles echoing down the hall, and the knowing looks when I introduced myself as a freshman theatre student. And now, here I am at the end of the road. I've only got one semester left in my bachelors career.
I don't quite know whether to be excited or terrified.
Part of the process has been a battle to figure out what I want to do with my life, but now the road is clear. I'm applying to graduate programs, looking into my future career, and may even be published soon. Everything is going so well, and I know how blessed I am. I hope I am doing the right thing, but I can't help but be nervous. If I get into the school I want to I'll be moving across the country and will be living by myself. That's a scary prospect in any book, but I bet it would be good for me. I know the school would be.
The beginning of February will mark the opening of The Glass Menagerie, which I'm the assistant director of. It will be nice to have the show open, and I'm sure it will be wonderful. I just never thought I'd get to the point of working in such a high position on a main stage show. When you're in your first year of college that sort of thing seems unattainable, and yet I somehow managed to plop right into it. The process has been very exciting, and it has shown me how much I have grown. If nothing else, I'm shaping up to be a decent director.
I just have to keep my head above water in this last semester, and hopefully all will go well. I bet it will, though. Anything is possible with faith and good hard work.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
In My Salad Days
This past week was very, very busy for me. I was hundreds of miles away from home in the distant land of O-hee-oh (or Ohio as most people know it). I was so far from Utah in order to attend the Ohio Valley Shakespeare Conference, which was held at Owens Community College in Toledo, Ohio.
My paper "The Forgotten Fool: Geoffrey Chaucer" had been accepted for presentation--something that does not often happen when one is an undergraduate. The fact I got accepted while an undergraduate greatly reflected the rest of the conference: it was a very warm, open environment. I was able to make many friends while I was there, mainly professors and doctorate students, and I honestly had a wonderful time.
The best news of all came on Saturday. I was announced as the winner of The M. Rick Smith Memorial Undergraduate Student Essay Prize, which completely floored me. Of all the undergraduates present at the conference I was selected as the best, and even had members of the panel come up to me in order to specifically tell me about how much they enjoyed my paper. Sometime this week, once I get it uploaded, I will be putting up a link to my presentation, which I remembered to record. Until then, I think I am going to go and take a well deserved nap.
My paper "The Forgotten Fool: Geoffrey Chaucer" had been accepted for presentation--something that does not often happen when one is an undergraduate. The fact I got accepted while an undergraduate greatly reflected the rest of the conference: it was a very warm, open environment. I was able to make many friends while I was there, mainly professors and doctorate students, and I honestly had a wonderful time.
The best news of all came on Saturday. I was announced as the winner of The M. Rick Smith Memorial Undergraduate Student Essay Prize, which completely floored me. Of all the undergraduates present at the conference I was selected as the best, and even had members of the panel come up to me in order to specifically tell me about how much they enjoyed my paper. Sometime this week, once I get it uploaded, I will be putting up a link to my presentation, which I remembered to record. Until then, I think I am going to go and take a well deserved nap.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
I'm Lucky
The other day I was talking to one of my friends about everything going wrong in her life, and I realized that I really am blessed. She is suffering from unrequited love, a bad housing situation, and had been diagnosed with fibromyalgia. My little troubles of liking the wrong guy and struggling with my classes really seemed small compared to that. Recently I have been whining too much, and I'm rather ashamed to admit that. I have so many things going right, but I've been ignoring that.
For instance, the other day I found a recording made for me by Grandpa Bone. It's only seven minutes long, but in it he reminds me of his love and reminds me of his testimony. It was made only a few months before his death and is one of the greatest treasures in my life. Literally, it's a miracle that this recording survived, and I've made sure to have it in multiple locations so it stays with me.
I've also been very lucky in my work on my paper. The other day I was absolutely stuck on it, my draft was awful, and I was deeply frustrated. I took a day off, saw a movie with my roommate, and when I came back to my paper I knew where to go. Inspiration is a powerful thing, and because of Heavenly Father's kindness I have finally finished my paper. Now I have two days to edit it, and then I can submit it to the undergraduate contest that is attached to the conference. I'm very excited and confident--I know my work is good and that I am a talented presenter. I have faith that everything will go perfectly.
And lately my testimony has truly been edified. Whether it is my grandmother knowing exactly when to call and make sure I was all right or my mother giving me advice on things she did not know were going on in my life--God has been inspiring the people in my life to make sure I do not fall. The amount of love I have been shown in the past week has truly helped me, and I know I am not alone.
I know God lives and that He loves me.
For instance, the other day I found a recording made for me by Grandpa Bone. It's only seven minutes long, but in it he reminds me of his love and reminds me of his testimony. It was made only a few months before his death and is one of the greatest treasures in my life. Literally, it's a miracle that this recording survived, and I've made sure to have it in multiple locations so it stays with me.
I've also been very lucky in my work on my paper. The other day I was absolutely stuck on it, my draft was awful, and I was deeply frustrated. I took a day off, saw a movie with my roommate, and when I came back to my paper I knew where to go. Inspiration is a powerful thing, and because of Heavenly Father's kindness I have finally finished my paper. Now I have two days to edit it, and then I can submit it to the undergraduate contest that is attached to the conference. I'm very excited and confident--I know my work is good and that I am a talented presenter. I have faith that everything will go perfectly.
And lately my testimony has truly been edified. Whether it is my grandmother knowing exactly when to call and make sure I was all right or my mother giving me advice on things she did not know were going on in my life--God has been inspiring the people in my life to make sure I do not fall. The amount of love I have been shown in the past week has truly helped me, and I know I am not alone.
I know God lives and that He loves me.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Poetry
It is rare that I really find poems that I like, but I thought I might share the ones I do enjoy with you. I've tried to keep it to the shorter poems, if only because posting all of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight would be a little ridiculous. But, these three poems bring me a little bit of happiness. Hopefully they brighten your day at least a little.
Outwitted
by Edwin Markham
He drew a circle that shut me out —
Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.
But Love and I had the wit to win:
We drew a circle that took him in.
---
The Highwayman
by Alfred Noyes
The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.
He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, and a bunch of lace at his chin;
He'd a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of fine doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to his thigh!
And he rode with a jeweled twinkle--
His rapier hilt a-twinkle--
His pistol butts a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred,
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
Dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim, the ostler listened--his face was white and peaked--
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter--
The landlord's black-eyed daughter;
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say:
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart; I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light.
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
He stood upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the sweet black waves of perfume came tumbling o'er his breast,
Then he kissed its waves in the moonlight
(O sweet black waves in the moonlight!),
And he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon.
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon over the purple moor,
The redcoat troops came marching--
Marching--marching--
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord; they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets by their side;
There was Death at every window,
And Hell at one dark window,
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
They had bound her up at attention, with many a sniggering jest!
They had tied a rifle beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say,
"Look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way."
She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it, she strove no more for the rest;
Up, she stood up at attention, with the barrel beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing, she would not strive again,
For the road lay bare in the moonlight,
Blank and bare in the moonlight,
And the blood in her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain.
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hooves, ringing clear;
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The redcoats looked to their priming! She stood up straight and still.
Tlot tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment, she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight--
Her musket shattered the moonlight--
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him--with her death.
He turned, he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the casement, drenched in her own red blood!
Not till the dawn did he hear it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon, wine-red was his velvet coat
When they shot him down in the highway,
Down like a dog in the highway,
And he lay in his blood in the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.
And still on a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a gypsy's ribbon looping the purple moor,
The highwayman comes riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred,
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
---
I find no more peace
by Sir Thomas Wyatt
I find no peace, and all my war is done.
I fear and hope. I burn and freeze like ice.
I fly above the wind, yet can I not arise;
And nought I have, and all the world I season.
That loseth nor locketh holdeth me in prison
And holdeth me not--yet can I scape no wise--
Nor letteth me live nor die at my device,
And yet of death it giveth me occasion.
Without eyen I see, and without tongue I plain.
I desire to perish, and yet I ask health.
I love another, and thus I hate myself.
I feed me in sorrow and laugh in all my pain;
Likewise displeaseth me both life and death,
And my delight is causer of this strife.
Outwitted
by Edwin Markham
He drew a circle that shut me out —
Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.
But Love and I had the wit to win:
We drew a circle that took him in.
---
The Highwayman
by Alfred Noyes
The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.
He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, and a bunch of lace at his chin;
He'd a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of fine doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to his thigh!
And he rode with a jeweled twinkle--
His rapier hilt a-twinkle--
His pistol butts a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred,
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
Dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim, the ostler listened--his face was white and peaked--
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter--
The landlord's black-eyed daughter;
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say:
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart; I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light.
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
He stood upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the sweet black waves of perfume came tumbling o'er his breast,
Then he kissed its waves in the moonlight
(O sweet black waves in the moonlight!),
And he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon.
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon over the purple moor,
The redcoat troops came marching--
Marching--marching--
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord; they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets by their side;
There was Death at every window,
And Hell at one dark window,
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
They had bound her up at attention, with many a sniggering jest!
They had tied a rifle beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say,
"Look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way."
She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it, she strove no more for the rest;
Up, she stood up at attention, with the barrel beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing, she would not strive again,
For the road lay bare in the moonlight,
Blank and bare in the moonlight,
And the blood in her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain.
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hooves, ringing clear;
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The redcoats looked to their priming! She stood up straight and still.
Tlot tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment, she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight--
Her musket shattered the moonlight--
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him--with her death.
He turned, he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the casement, drenched in her own red blood!
Not till the dawn did he hear it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon, wine-red was his velvet coat
When they shot him down in the highway,
Down like a dog in the highway,
And he lay in his blood in the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.
And still on a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a gypsy's ribbon looping the purple moor,
The highwayman comes riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred,
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
---
I find no more peace
by Sir Thomas Wyatt
I find no peace, and all my war is done.
I fear and hope. I burn and freeze like ice.
I fly above the wind, yet can I not arise;
And nought I have, and all the world I season.
That loseth nor locketh holdeth me in prison
And holdeth me not--yet can I scape no wise--
Nor letteth me live nor die at my device,
And yet of death it giveth me occasion.
Without eyen I see, and without tongue I plain.
I desire to perish, and yet I ask health.
I love another, and thus I hate myself.
I feed me in sorrow and laugh in all my pain;
Likewise displeaseth me both life and death,
And my delight is causer of this strife.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Self-Issued Insanity
Well, I have survived to the middle of the week, and that is something of an accomplishment. Between being dumped for a date and a root canal, I'm pretty impressed with the fact I have made it this far.
But that is not the point.
Recently I have had a lot of occasion to think--about life, loneliness, and race.
My week started with watching My Name is Khan, an Indian film about a man with autism who has to deal with prejudice against Muslims. For those who can read subtitles and handle intense material, I would certainly suggest watching it. I have never felt quite so uplifted by something that handles the difficult topic of racism. Ironically, this came after being forced to read Amiri Baraka's "The Dutchmen", which also handles the same theme. "Dutchmen" made me feel like I was worthless because I have white skin, and I was beginning to think that there was nothing about racism that would resonate with me. Thank heavens I was wrong. While "Dutchmen" bashed and ranted, Khan showed me a different perspective and allowed me to feel empathy for those I did not understand before. I just wished that everyone came at the topic with that sort of sensitivity and ability to address it peaceably.
Of course, the next day the guy I was supposed to go on a date with pulled me aside. "I'm dating this girl" were the words of doom that began the entire downward spiral. Turns out the day I asked him out he went on to ask another girl out, and things are becoming more serious. In a week. I'm just becoming frustrated with dating in general, if only because it seems like everyone else is getting asked out, engaged, married... It's horribly lonely, especially since I'm going to be turning 22 this fall. I know it's not that old--I tell myself so all the time--but I'm afraid I'm going to end up alone. Guys seem to always go for the girl who is under 5'5" and 130 lbs, which I definitely am not. I just want to scream to the entire male populace that I'm really wonderful and that they should give me a chance...but I don't think there's a megaphone quite that big.
Not even an hour after that charming discussion I found myself in a dentist's office getting a root canal. It was just one of those days. Thankfully the root canal was not that bad, and my dentist seems like a pretty good guy.
Life, though, is a really funny thing. I woke up this morning telling myself that things were only going to go up. "It can't get worse than a root canal and a date-ditch in one day, Kirstin. It'll be great." In some ways I was right--it did not get worse. I've realized that my opinion and perspective has a lot to do with how a day turns out, and the fact that I'm specifically looking for the day to go better has made it work. Scary phone calls and boring classes are nothing in the face of stubborn optimism.
This week is going to go better. I know it is. And if it doesn't? Well, that which doesn't kill you makes you strong, and that which does makes you dead.
But that is not the point.
Recently I have had a lot of occasion to think--about life, loneliness, and race.
My week started with watching My Name is Khan, an Indian film about a man with autism who has to deal with prejudice against Muslims. For those who can read subtitles and handle intense material, I would certainly suggest watching it. I have never felt quite so uplifted by something that handles the difficult topic of racism. Ironically, this came after being forced to read Amiri Baraka's "The Dutchmen", which also handles the same theme. "Dutchmen" made me feel like I was worthless because I have white skin, and I was beginning to think that there was nothing about racism that would resonate with me. Thank heavens I was wrong. While "Dutchmen" bashed and ranted, Khan showed me a different perspective and allowed me to feel empathy for those I did not understand before. I just wished that everyone came at the topic with that sort of sensitivity and ability to address it peaceably.
Of course, the next day the guy I was supposed to go on a date with pulled me aside. "I'm dating this girl" were the words of doom that began the entire downward spiral. Turns out the day I asked him out he went on to ask another girl out, and things are becoming more serious. In a week. I'm just becoming frustrated with dating in general, if only because it seems like everyone else is getting asked out, engaged, married... It's horribly lonely, especially since I'm going to be turning 22 this fall. I know it's not that old--I tell myself so all the time--but I'm afraid I'm going to end up alone. Guys seem to always go for the girl who is under 5'5" and 130 lbs, which I definitely am not. I just want to scream to the entire male populace that I'm really wonderful and that they should give me a chance...but I don't think there's a megaphone quite that big.
Not even an hour after that charming discussion I found myself in a dentist's office getting a root canal. It was just one of those days. Thankfully the root canal was not that bad, and my dentist seems like a pretty good guy.
Life, though, is a really funny thing. I woke up this morning telling myself that things were only going to go up. "It can't get worse than a root canal and a date-ditch in one day, Kirstin. It'll be great." In some ways I was right--it did not get worse. I've realized that my opinion and perspective has a lot to do with how a day turns out, and the fact that I'm specifically looking for the day to go better has made it work. Scary phone calls and boring classes are nothing in the face of stubborn optimism.
This week is going to go better. I know it is. And if it doesn't? Well, that which doesn't kill you makes you strong, and that which does makes you dead.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Color: Me
Color: Me
I’m white
--skin the color of a fine piece of parchment.
The world tells me, orders me, to hate that
To hate myself.
All of the crimes of the past:
A skin color?
Nobody ever committed a gross injustice--
Unless they were white.
White. Caucasian. Trash?
I don’t believe it,
That I’m worthless because of my flesh.
Hate me for my mind,
Disregard me for the words that come out of my mouth,
Loathe me for the things I do--
But never judge me by my skin.
I am not a portrait of the past.
I am the present, the future, the inside--
Me.
I’m white
--skin the color of a fine piece of parchment.
The world tells me, orders me, to hate that
To hate myself.
All of the crimes of the past:
A skin color?
Nobody ever committed a gross injustice--
Unless they were white.
White. Caucasian. Trash?
I don’t believe it,
That I’m worthless because of my flesh.
Hate me for my mind,
Disregard me for the words that come out of my mouth,
Loathe me for the things I do--
But never judge me by my skin.
I am not a portrait of the past.
I am the present, the future, the inside--
Me.
Friday, August 27, 2010
School = Stress
So, here we are at the end of the first week of school. I feel quite proud of myself to still be alive, especially considering how much homework I've had in the past four days.
It looks like I am going to be nothing if not busy. To start with, I am working on two different plays this semester. I will be working as dramaturge for "Love's Labors Lost" (which means I look up the words they don't know and make sure they stay accurate to the world of the play), and I will also be assistant directing "The Glass Menagerie". Those all by themselves would be enough to make life exciting, but I never know when to stop. I'm also taking a Methods of Theatre Education class with Michael Bahr, who directs the Utah High School Shakespearean Competition; three English classes; my theatre capstone; and, I'm also taking a math class. If I survive to the end of the semester I will probably be very happy, not to mention highly prepared for the next phase of life.
In all actuality, this semester does not scare me. I am very excited to get to work on all of the projects that await me, and I really feel like this is the time to prove myself to myself. The fact that I get to go to Ohio for the Shakespearean Conference and do so much hard work with my classes is the sort of challenge I live for. Besides, it just goes to prove that I am ready for the things that are coming in my career. Speaking of which, it looks like I will get to do an assistantship in the spring and be able to help teach the Shakespeare Drama Lit class, which would be horribly exciting.
I'm just... so enthused about this semester. I can't wait to take it on, tackle it, and conquer it.
It looks like I am going to be nothing if not busy. To start with, I am working on two different plays this semester. I will be working as dramaturge for "Love's Labors Lost" (which means I look up the words they don't know and make sure they stay accurate to the world of the play), and I will also be assistant directing "The Glass Menagerie". Those all by themselves would be enough to make life exciting, but I never know when to stop. I'm also taking a Methods of Theatre Education class with Michael Bahr, who directs the Utah High School Shakespearean Competition; three English classes; my theatre capstone; and, I'm also taking a math class. If I survive to the end of the semester I will probably be very happy, not to mention highly prepared for the next phase of life.
In all actuality, this semester does not scare me. I am very excited to get to work on all of the projects that await me, and I really feel like this is the time to prove myself to myself. The fact that I get to go to Ohio for the Shakespearean Conference and do so much hard work with my classes is the sort of challenge I live for. Besides, it just goes to prove that I am ready for the things that are coming in my career. Speaking of which, it looks like I will get to do an assistantship in the spring and be able to help teach the Shakespeare Drama Lit class, which would be horribly exciting.
I'm just... so enthused about this semester. I can't wait to take it on, tackle it, and conquer it.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Chaucerian Cavorting
It's kind of funny, but the more I read about Chaucer the more I like him. He's sardonic, self-deprecating,and horribly silly, but he was a man who really shaped his world. As a writer he was able to influence kings and ultimately served as the foundation for an entire language--the most widely used language in the world. If I could be half so influential in my writing I would consider my life more than successful. I'm just grateful to have had a chance to learn so much about a great man, and I look forward to learning even more about him.
Friday, June 25, 2010
General Awesomeness
Well, I got my paper accepted to the Ohio Valley Shakespearean Conference! So long as I get help from UGRASP (the undergraduate research assistance program here at SUU), I should be heading to Toledo, Ohio this October to present. This does mean I am going to try and find Klinger, and hopefully my friend Olivia will be able to be found as well.
Lately my time has been taken up with writing--in fact, there are many days where it seems like it is all that I do. At this point I have a solid 3032 words on my high fantasy novel, which I am very excited about. I am so excited, in fact, that I am going to be just a little silly and post a bit of it for you. After all, if I can't share with you what's the point in writing? It's still got a lot of editing to go through, but I'm happy with it. This is just a segment of the first chapter.
Well, that's it for the moment being. Let me know what you think?
Lately my time has been taken up with writing--in fact, there are many days where it seems like it is all that I do. At this point I have a solid 3032 words on my high fantasy novel, which I am very excited about. I am so excited, in fact, that I am going to be just a little silly and post a bit of it for you. After all, if I can't share with you what's the point in writing? It's still got a lot of editing to go through, but I'm happy with it. This is just a segment of the first chapter.
He had not expected to die.
Not that way, at least. Taking his own life or dying in the war sounded a great deal more palatable than the mockery of an execution that awaited him. Then again, most anything seemed better than being drawn and quartered.
With his hands caught in the strangely reassuring grip of the manacles, he could not even tap his fingers to match the rhythm of the horse’s deliberate pace. The tightly shuddered walls of the carriage prevented him from having much of a view--there was not even enough light for him to see the myriad of bruises and cuts that transfigured his pale skin into a macabre parody of lace. He did not even have the benefit of a sneering guard to give strange looks to since the vehicle was practically a moving cell. No, the only company he had on his final ride was sound: the clomping and chomping of the horse, the shifting of the chains, and then there was Selen Plaza. At first the roar of the crowd was nothing more than a distant ripple at the very edge of his perception. Slowly it expanded into a furious rainstorm of noise until at last sensation exploded into his world with the opening of the carriage door.
Vicious sunlight slammed its way into his unexpecting eyes, causing the poor man to try and pull his head back into the comparative safety of the dark half of the carriage. The Sentinel in front of him gave a harsh command that could not be heard over the soundless screaming of the masses--only the movement of his lips suggested he had said anything at all. Confusion turned the skeletal lines of the prisoner’s face--he did not know what the guard wanted--but the answer became clear as he was yanked to the cobbled street. Ahead of him stretched what seemed to be a writhing tunnel of humanity, and at the end he could see a point where the crowd gave way to what looked to be blessed freedom. But that was not the case. At the end of that tunnel waited the horses, the chains, and the executioner.
With the half-hearted resistance of one hopeless of salvation, he let his feet drag as the police escort of fifteen Sentinels formed their ranks around him and tried to hurry the man to his death. “I wonder if they will run on time,” the prisoner wondered. “It would be awful if they were late getting home to lunch.” And yet his pace remained agonizingly slow.
The semidarkness of the gauntlet was nothing compared to the absolute brilliance of the stairs. Breaking free of the crowd was like surfacing from beneath a wave: there was simultaneously too much and too little going on around him. With no crowd to protect him from the sun, he was basked in the unforgiving noon sunlight and even more thoroughly blinded. A soft silence subdued parts of the crowd: prisoners had been brought to die at Selen Plaza countless times, but few had looked to be so near death upon arrival as the man standing before them. Everything from his glassy blue eyes to the traces of fresh blood on his clothing suggested the most extreme violence--both mental and physical--which was a new level of soullessness for the Politicians to have reached.
The prisoner did not care for the audience’s newfound awe for their government as he had a different battle to face in the form of a sharply angled staircase. He squinted at the faintly blurred shapes of the steps in an attempt to see them better, but misjudged his next step by a few inches. Biting pain--the one constant in his life since his arrest--crackled its way up his arm as the lip of the wooden step gnawed at his palm. Oxygen struggled through his bruised lungs as he tried to push himself upright, but the world seemed to twitch violently to one side at the simple attempt. Fighting back a gasping laugh, he lifted his gaze in order to share the cruel joke with the crowd.
But they did not matter. Nothing did in that moment--even the pain melted away. Caught by a certain green gaze, the prisoner felt everything fall away from his bony shoulders. “Why did you come?“ he was tempted to yell, scream, cry, anything to get his friend to flee to safety. Slowly, panting like a dog caught in the summer heat, the man pushed himself upright and stood tall on the creaking step.
Silence.
For a timeless moment he felt free. But, as always, Lord Time shoved his way back into the forefront, this time in the form of a rough push from one of the Sentinels. As he stumbled up the remaining stairs he lost sight of who he considered to be the most important person in the entire world. The sliding clarion call of trumpets was nothing in speed compared to the flickering of his gaze as he tried to find that one face among hundreds. Left, right, near, far--nowhere. Words proclaiming his crimes were ignored in favor of hunting for that beloved face, and his heart seemed to double the time of its beats with every fruitless moment that passed. Sweat streaked its way through the dirt and gore on his face as the executioner attached the chains first to each ankle and then to each wrist.
And then, there towards the left of the fountain, the man found his refuge. His breathing slowed, and his hands fell limp in the executioner’s cold grip. Even as the growing roll of drums filled the air and the chains bit into his skin, the man smiled just a little. The whiny of a restless horse punctuated the din, and then his world erupted into a myriad of sensations yet again.
Anything.
Everything.
Nothing.
Well, that's it for the moment being. Let me know what you think?
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Twiddle and Twitch
At the end of the day it always comes down to business. The business of breathing, the business of living, and the business of business.
I figured I'd let you all know what I'm up to at the moment, if only to make certain I am in fact living. Currently I am waiting to hear back on my abstract submission to the Ohio Valley Shakespeare Conference. I submitted a paper that would explore why Chaucer was not in William Shakespeare's "Richard II", and hopefully I will hear from them by the end of the month. I'm also working on two books at this exact moment: a Steampunk retelling of "Beauty and the Beast" and a high fantasy mystery. They are keeping me busy, in their own way, and I'm hoping to have the fairytale done by the end of June if things keep on schedule. I'm also making jewelry, which is fun. I've found the long hours of arguing with wire and chain is very soothing to me. My mind is able to take a break, I am able to relax, and my day generally goes better after taking the time to de-stress. It's great.
Hopefully things go well for all of you in the coming week.
I figured I'd let you all know what I'm up to at the moment, if only to make certain I am in fact living. Currently I am waiting to hear back on my abstract submission to the Ohio Valley Shakespeare Conference. I submitted a paper that would explore why Chaucer was not in William Shakespeare's "Richard II", and hopefully I will hear from them by the end of the month. I'm also working on two books at this exact moment: a Steampunk retelling of "Beauty and the Beast" and a high fantasy mystery. They are keeping me busy, in their own way, and I'm hoping to have the fairytale done by the end of June if things keep on schedule. I'm also making jewelry, which is fun. I've found the long hours of arguing with wire and chain is very soothing to me. My mind is able to take a break, I am able to relax, and my day generally goes better after taking the time to de-stress. It's great.
Hopefully things go well for all of you in the coming week.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Summertime Blues
There is something about summer--be it the endless stream of vacationing friends, the hazy days, the heat, or the general lack of school--that makes time just drift away. Days begin to blur together until you look at your phone and realize "what, it's Thursday already?" I think this strange, disheartening state is why I dislike summer so much. Oh, certainly, it has its appeal in its freedom and fun events, but that driving passion we experience for it during the winter seems to fade during the first month of summer.
I know that I've been struggling this week, if only because I feel so little motivation. My stories are growing healthily and my writing is only improving, but as a person I feel kind of... flat. Even with my days gaining more structure I always feel like there is more that I could do--then again, that may have something to do with my lack of a job. So, I keep plugging away with applying for jobs, writing, and making jewelry, but I just can't wait for school to start again.
I know that I've been struggling this week, if only because I feel so little motivation. My stories are growing healthily and my writing is only improving, but as a person I feel kind of... flat. Even with my days gaining more structure I always feel like there is more that I could do--then again, that may have something to do with my lack of a job. So, I keep plugging away with applying for jobs, writing, and making jewelry, but I just can't wait for school to start again.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
My Theatre
At this exact moment I am sitting in the library wondering "Where has time gone?" It seems like just yesterday that I was telling Dad I would post a blog after I got done with Spring Break--that was two months ago. Ironically the past two months have been both wonderfully difficult and mildly heartbreaking, which is how things always seem to go for me.
The reason I have not written until just now is that I am a perfectionist. Crazy, right?
For my directing II class I decided to go the route less taken and do a classical play. Professor Marotta thought that I was absolutely insane for picking "The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus", but I was determined to show him that I was the best person for the job. I spent all of March cutting the play down to being only thirty minutes long and containing only three characters, and I managed to cast three fantastic actresses to play the parts--and yes, I changed the three characters to being girls. Professor Marotta was still dubious of my doing such a "talky" play, but I knew it was going to work.
All through April I spent nearly every night either in rehearsal, production meetings, or finding the pieces of costume and set that I needed. Days began to blur together, but slowly a beautiful piece began to emerge from the stinted lines and rounds of laughter. By the time Professor Marotta saw one of my rehearsals--an admittedly rough day--it looked like my play was going to be absolutely wonderful. He was excited to see what I managed to pull out, and I was excited because I knew we were doing something wonderful.
When the night of the performance came everything went beautifully (especially considering that I spent only $20 on the production). The audience seemed to follow the story, and I couldn't have been more proud of my actresses.
Then came the talk-back with the directing class.
Professor Marotta spent a few minutes telling me how many things I did wrong--only one or two things being "theatrical" enough for his taste--before moving on to discuss the other pieces. I was... heartbroken. While we struck the lights and the set I was moments away from tears, and all because I thought that I had failed.
After we were done clearing things away I talked to Dad. It's amazing, but there is nothing like a good talk with your dad to make the world a better place. He reminded me that I had accomplished what I had wanted to do: I did a good play in almost the exact style I had set out tell the story with. Literally, the scenes I had seen going on in my head when I was cutting the script had been brought to life, and he reminded me how difficult that was to accomplish. The best thing he said to me, though? He reminded me that Heavenly Father was pleased with what I had done. In the night of theatre in which my company performed my piece was the only one that did not drive the spirit out.
Because of the opinion of one class I had almost let myself toss the experience off as a failure when I had succeeded in most every way. I've learned that standing up for what you believe in and doing good, honest theatre is not going to get you very many standing ovations. What it does get you, instead, is a stronger testimony and a warmth of soul that nothing else can give. Theatre can touch the heart, inspire the mind, and uplift the soul--when it does that it is my theatre.
The past two months have been hard for me--that much work is draining, especially when taking other classes along with it--but it was worth it. I know who I am and what I want to do, and I'm not afraid to do it anymore.
Look out world; I know scummy theatre isn't the only answer.
The reason I have not written until just now is that I am a perfectionist. Crazy, right?
For my directing II class I decided to go the route less taken and do a classical play. Professor Marotta thought that I was absolutely insane for picking "The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus", but I was determined to show him that I was the best person for the job. I spent all of March cutting the play down to being only thirty minutes long and containing only three characters, and I managed to cast three fantastic actresses to play the parts--and yes, I changed the three characters to being girls. Professor Marotta was still dubious of my doing such a "talky" play, but I knew it was going to work.
All through April I spent nearly every night either in rehearsal, production meetings, or finding the pieces of costume and set that I needed. Days began to blur together, but slowly a beautiful piece began to emerge from the stinted lines and rounds of laughter. By the time Professor Marotta saw one of my rehearsals--an admittedly rough day--it looked like my play was going to be absolutely wonderful. He was excited to see what I managed to pull out, and I was excited because I knew we were doing something wonderful.
When the night of the performance came everything went beautifully (especially considering that I spent only $20 on the production). The audience seemed to follow the story, and I couldn't have been more proud of my actresses.
Then came the talk-back with the directing class.
Professor Marotta spent a few minutes telling me how many things I did wrong--only one or two things being "theatrical" enough for his taste--before moving on to discuss the other pieces. I was... heartbroken. While we struck the lights and the set I was moments away from tears, and all because I thought that I had failed.
After we were done clearing things away I talked to Dad. It's amazing, but there is nothing like a good talk with your dad to make the world a better place. He reminded me that I had accomplished what I had wanted to do: I did a good play in almost the exact style I had set out tell the story with. Literally, the scenes I had seen going on in my head when I was cutting the script had been brought to life, and he reminded me how difficult that was to accomplish. The best thing he said to me, though? He reminded me that Heavenly Father was pleased with what I had done. In the night of theatre in which my company performed my piece was the only one that did not drive the spirit out.
Because of the opinion of one class I had almost let myself toss the experience off as a failure when I had succeeded in most every way. I've learned that standing up for what you believe in and doing good, honest theatre is not going to get you very many standing ovations. What it does get you, instead, is a stronger testimony and a warmth of soul that nothing else can give. Theatre can touch the heart, inspire the mind, and uplift the soul--when it does that it is my theatre.
The past two months have been hard for me--that much work is draining, especially when taking other classes along with it--but it was worth it. I know who I am and what I want to do, and I'm not afraid to do it anymore.
Look out world; I know scummy theatre isn't the only answer.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
My Thoughts on Web 2.0
It's fascinating how computers have changed, even within the past ten years. Our society has gone from only the elite using computers to their use and functions being a required class for every college student at my university to take. Instead of being all about the companies online, computers are about the people using them. Social networks of all kinds are springing up, damaging the ability to communicate in person but allowing millions to connect in newfound ways. Web 2.0 is a good move in that it is not so focused on the money but instead the content; but, at the same time it is a movement that is making my generation become socially incompetent.
(By way of note, this is for my CSIS 1000 class)
(By way of note, this is for my CSIS 1000 class)
Sunday, January 31, 2010
How to Eat an Elephant
So I don't know how many of you know, but my apartment currently has a dog named Evie (or Flower, as my Dad likes to call her). She's a bit of a spaz dog, and since she's a Chinese Crested she's got... very little hair. One of my roommates, Jamie, decided it would be absolutely hilarious to get our little ten pound dog a rawhide bone that is... almost as big as she is.
Since Evie is a rescue dog she has a few interesting quirks, and we discovered one when Jamie threw her the bone. Our dog actually started to warble at the bone and bark at it and paw at it in a sort of terror. It was hilarious! She eventually tried biting it, after five minutes of examination, but tried to bite it the long way, which meant her mouth did not fit. Well, truth be told her mouth doesn't fit no matter which way she goes. Since I have neither a baby or a spouse, I figured I would share pictures of Evie and her bone instead. Sorry they are low quality, since it's night my phone was somewhat fail at taking pictures.
Since Evie is a rescue dog she has a few interesting quirks, and we discovered one when Jamie threw her the bone. Our dog actually started to warble at the bone and bark at it and paw at it in a sort of terror. It was hilarious! She eventually tried biting it, after five minutes of examination, but tried to bite it the long way, which meant her mouth did not fit. Well, truth be told her mouth doesn't fit no matter which way she goes. Since I have neither a baby or a spouse, I figured I would share pictures of Evie and her bone instead. Sorry they are low quality, since it's night my phone was somewhat fail at taking pictures.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Within the Self-Truth
You know, for as long as I can remember I have always been a loner by nature. I have only ever had one or two main friends at a given time, and whenever I've had more than that things... just tend to go badly. More importantly, though, I have always felt as if I have never needed someone else to stick up for me. Nothing (in my mind) could match the sharpness of my own tongue, and no one knew quite enough to save me from the "monsters" of the world--except myself, of course.
And then this semester hit.
It started off with quite the assignment from my Directing II professor, Anthony. He wanted us to tell him "This is my theatre. This is what I have to say." in five to ten minutes--beyond that he gave us no real idea of what the assignment was supposed to be. Since I'm such a loner, it took me maybe half an hour to decide that I could do the project all by myself, which would eliminate the need to rely on other actors. Without quite realizing it I decided to do something.. very personal: Richard III's opening monologue (from Shakespeare's Richard III) and a piece of my own crafting, "And They Call Me A Freak". When I practiced this particular piece it was like clockwork--I did not have to do much by way of emotion and did not feel even the slightest inclination towards crying.
The day dawned when we were to present our pieces, and I was still confident that I would be able to do mine without really having to invest in it emotionally. Everything was fine right up until I had cleared my stage and turned to look at my audience. I realized in that moment that I was exposing a part of my soul that I had not really showed them before, and... these people were not ones that I trusted on any particular level. In fact, for the most part I had gotten along very well drifting at the edges of their awareness and suddenly I was putting myself, and my personal demons, front and center. The ensuing performance was more emotional than I can ever truly explain. Pain, anger, fear, and a myriad of emotions all came to a boiling point together, and I let slip more of myself than I think I have ever shown to anyone in a five minute period.
It taught me something, though. Though these people were strangers, I was able to share my soul with them because that is what I want to do with my theatre. I want people to see that there is a beauty that exists beyond the mortal facade, and I want them to know that truth exists in pain just as it exists in joy. Oddly, now that I have been so frank with them, I've noticed that my life, my perceptions of the world and the people in it, are changing.
Today... I had a genuinely strange dream. For one reason I was at the mall with one of the girls from my Directing II class (one I've known since my first semester here but have never been close to). She wanted to stop in a shop with someone else that was there with us, and I told them I was just going to window shop a little further down the way. Well, I noticed a beautiful costume shop and decided to go in--I did not intend to be more than a moment or two. Once inside I explored a little, and suddenly this guy told me I had no right to be in the store. That beasts were not allowed near such fine things. Long story short, I got chased out of the store. But the people did not stop there. The next thing I knew I was surrounded by people telling me that I had no right to live and that monsters should be killed... I tried to tell them that I was a human being just like them, but they would not listen. One of them hit me, and soon I was on the ground just... sobbing my little heart out. And then the strangest thing happened. Suddenly my classmate broke through the circle and told the people around me that they were the monsters.
At first I was just... disturbed by this dream. Usually when I go out to defend myself people are either stunned that I am capable of intelligent thought or are absolutely frightened of me, but it did not work... And then I realized something more miraculous: I was able to accept the help that someone offered me. It might have just been a dream, certainly, but I believe it is more than that.
I think, for the first time in my life, I am at a point where I do not have to always defend myself. I can step back and let other people fight the real monsters in my world and not feel upset about it. This is such a weird place that I simply do not know how to handle it, but I think it's a good thing.
And to all of you who have wanted to stand up for me... Thanks. And to those who have stood up for me? You mean more than I have ever bothered to say. Thank you. Hopefully I can become someone worthy of your help and friendship.
And then this semester hit.
It started off with quite the assignment from my Directing II professor, Anthony. He wanted us to tell him "This is my theatre. This is what I have to say." in five to ten minutes--beyond that he gave us no real idea of what the assignment was supposed to be. Since I'm such a loner, it took me maybe half an hour to decide that I could do the project all by myself, which would eliminate the need to rely on other actors. Without quite realizing it I decided to do something.. very personal: Richard III's opening monologue (from Shakespeare's Richard III) and a piece of my own crafting, "And They Call Me A Freak". When I practiced this particular piece it was like clockwork--I did not have to do much by way of emotion and did not feel even the slightest inclination towards crying.
The day dawned when we were to present our pieces, and I was still confident that I would be able to do mine without really having to invest in it emotionally. Everything was fine right up until I had cleared my stage and turned to look at my audience. I realized in that moment that I was exposing a part of my soul that I had not really showed them before, and... these people were not ones that I trusted on any particular level. In fact, for the most part I had gotten along very well drifting at the edges of their awareness and suddenly I was putting myself, and my personal demons, front and center. The ensuing performance was more emotional than I can ever truly explain. Pain, anger, fear, and a myriad of emotions all came to a boiling point together, and I let slip more of myself than I think I have ever shown to anyone in a five minute period.
It taught me something, though. Though these people were strangers, I was able to share my soul with them because that is what I want to do with my theatre. I want people to see that there is a beauty that exists beyond the mortal facade, and I want them to know that truth exists in pain just as it exists in joy. Oddly, now that I have been so frank with them, I've noticed that my life, my perceptions of the world and the people in it, are changing.
Today... I had a genuinely strange dream. For one reason I was at the mall with one of the girls from my Directing II class (one I've known since my first semester here but have never been close to). She wanted to stop in a shop with someone else that was there with us, and I told them I was just going to window shop a little further down the way. Well, I noticed a beautiful costume shop and decided to go in--I did not intend to be more than a moment or two. Once inside I explored a little, and suddenly this guy told me I had no right to be in the store. That beasts were not allowed near such fine things. Long story short, I got chased out of the store. But the people did not stop there. The next thing I knew I was surrounded by people telling me that I had no right to live and that monsters should be killed... I tried to tell them that I was a human being just like them, but they would not listen. One of them hit me, and soon I was on the ground just... sobbing my little heart out. And then the strangest thing happened. Suddenly my classmate broke through the circle and told the people around me that they were the monsters.
At first I was just... disturbed by this dream. Usually when I go out to defend myself people are either stunned that I am capable of intelligent thought or are absolutely frightened of me, but it did not work... And then I realized something more miraculous: I was able to accept the help that someone offered me. It might have just been a dream, certainly, but I believe it is more than that.
I think, for the first time in my life, I am at a point where I do not have to always defend myself. I can step back and let other people fight the real monsters in my world and not feel upset about it. This is such a weird place that I simply do not know how to handle it, but I think it's a good thing.
And to all of you who have wanted to stand up for me... Thanks. And to those who have stood up for me? You mean more than I have ever bothered to say. Thank you. Hopefully I can become someone worthy of your help and friendship.
Monday, January 4, 2010
To The Past
I feel tangled
When you look at me
Like my skin and my heart are
Trying to get away from me
I hate it
You have no place in my life,
No corner of my heart or
Window in my soul
To creep inside of
Just go away
The past is passed
And should stay that way
Why
Why are you trying to break my heart?
When you look at me
Like my skin and my heart are
Trying to get away from me
I hate it
You have no place in my life,
No corner of my heart or
Window in my soul
To creep inside of
Just go away
The past is passed
And should stay that way
Why
Why are you trying to break my heart?
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