I love the Bellman. :) Just gotta say that. Lewis Carroll’s “The Hunting of the Snark” shall always and forever be one of my favorite stories told in poem form, or one of my favorite stories altogether.
which reminds me…
For school, I’ve started reading Harper Lee’s first and only novel, To Kill a Mockingbird. I was reading it about an hour ago, actualy, but i had to stop becuase I was getting waaaayyyy ahead of my study guide. Those things are such killjoys. >:(
But still, the novel is quickly becoming one of my all-time favorites, an honor reserved for such masterpieces as grace my most accesible bookshelves. Soon my copy of Mockingbird will be well-worn and dog-eared as the rest. It’s paperback, so I try not to be too rough with it, but I have a habit of taking books everywhere with me: the car, the kitchen, reading while eating or walking, or spinning in circles. Sometimes I catch myself humming tunelessly as I read a very tense part of a book. It’s like my subconscious is trying to relieve my stress or fear a bit by making background noise. Whatever, subconscious.
To Kill a Mockingbird really has no major action yet, but just the characters and everything unfolding is making it so irresistible. I’ve wanted to read the book since I was about seven, anyway. I heard that my older cousin (whom I adore, she’s in college now…) was reading it for school and I thought that it really was about mockingbirds. My whole family tried to explain that it’s not really about killing mockingbirds, and that it was just a metaphor, but I got all hung up on the fact that it was suuposedly a sin to kill a mockingbird, and I was so fascinated by that idea. Like, if a really mean poacher type saw a mockingbird, would he kill it? Or would superstition kick in, causing him mto allow the thing to pass by unharmed? Even if he was starving?
I guess the idea of villains being susperstitious seemed like it happened very often. In my old Madeline movie the bad guys wouldn’t crash into Miss Clavelle’s car becuase she was a nun, and then as I got older I read such books as Inkheart where Basta, an awful character with absolutely nothing good about him, was very superstiious and would not kill a fairy, among his other superstitions. And he seemed like a fairy-killing type!
So… I was very attracted by the cover of my Mockingbird copy. It has oinly like 3 or 4 colors, and it looks both modern and old, which is quite nice. The back just has the simple quote, in stately black letters: “Kill all the bluejays you want, if you can kill ’em, but remember it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.” It seemed so simple and yet so drawing and mysterious. Ooooh! That I could do something like that!
I maybe could. If I keep studying the greats. :)
Speaking of novels….
NaNoWriMo is starting in like fifteen minutes! That’s basically why I came here. I wanted to write, but I’m waiting (impatiently) for midnight to strike before plunging into my novel. So I ate some Halloween chocolate and did juming jacks to keep myself awake, though staying up till midnight is no strange occurence for me. I used to do that every night last year. Now I find myself curling up at about 11:00- 11:30, which I consider early. BBC World News is putting me to bed, instead of beginning my night! Bizarre! I like falling asleep to that, though…. British voices and the weird beeping in the theme song… or I watch POV or Independent Lens, except when they have to keep using subtitles becuase it’s in a completely foreign language. Then I get too tired trying to keep up with them, and I just roll over and listen. Once it was all, totally and completely, in French. They were talking very softly and nicely, though, so it lulled me right to sleep. When Mom woke me up to lead me to bed from the couch, I felt like saying something in french but found I could not, and I was sooo tired, and I think I dreamed in french that night. How glorious to dream in a foreign language. It was probably my brain repeating everything it just heard, but still… oh lovely notion, you inspire me to poetry…. Maybe I will write that poem sometime.
I carry thoughts in my head for a long time before writing a poem about them. Usually. Of course there are exceptions, like when I hear something and then it’s like a firecracker, boom crackle sizzle boom and then it’s up on Apricotpie for all my homies to view. (haha get it? Homies?) But usually it’s like a really good stew. It just kind of sits in there bubbling for days and days, getting botter and hotter, and occasionally new spices are added, and then I’m finally ready to serve it up via that magical box on AP’s website.
That box is magic. I am telling you it is.
If I feel no inspiration, I type within it. Even if I don’t post, I write there. If my mind was blank, I find my fingers flying with ideas that came from– where? I don’t know. Do you know where such things come from? Or if my mind was too full, too burdened or chaotic, I find that the lines of poetry or prose set things in perfect order once again–how? I don’t know. Do you know how such things happen?
I think it’s the box. The fact that it’s completely blank, with no distractions of font and format, color and size. And if you don’t like it, you can just click that convienient little red X at the top right hand corner, and blip! There goes the disarray of sub-standard words, gone forever and not luring on my computer, taking up space. Indeed, there is magic in that little box and the freedom and creativity that comes with it.
Now I’m off to NaNo-NaNo Land. (haha get it? Okay seriously I need to stop making weird jokes. It’s getting late… it is, as my dad calls it, “The Witching Hour.”)
Oiche Shamnha Shona
Good night, everybody!