Musings on life and Melville's Bartleby

What to do? What to do?

Lately, in my life, I have been caught between the things I want to do and the things I need to do. I have been thinking in a very Melville-esque way. To explain this, one would need to know that I have been reading Herman Melville's novella "Bartleby, the Scrivener: A Story of Wall Street" in my English class. This text has, in a way, gotten under my skin and engraved itself there. So a correction, or a better way of stating the first sentence would be to say that I have been thinking in a very Bartleby-esque way.

For those who do not know the story of "Bartleby, the Scrivener" I highly suggest you run, don't walk to your nearest bookstore and pick up a copy. The text is short but full of all sorts of imagery, a few paradoxes, and a lot of subtleties and ambiguities.

The title character, Bartleby, is often asked to do things by the narrator. These things may be work (to go over his copy), to leave the office, to divulge information about himself and his life prior to meeting the narrator. His response is always "I would prefer not to."  The line is always said calmly without any hesitation or trepidation. I find it very interesting that he can say the line that way, without even worrying what the reaction might be.

I would say that I find it notable that he can refuse to do things so calmly. But the line "I would prefer not to" raises many questions. One of them being it's intention and meaning. Is it really a refusal?  Does "I would prefer not to" mean that he would not do the work at all, just that he'd prefer to do something else?

In some ways, I think I am becoming like Bartleby. I do work. But there are many things I'd prefer not to do. I'd prefer not to do math, I'd prefer not to have class at 8:30 in the morning (but I go partially because it's a required class and I adore the professor). I'd prefer not to need glasses for reading. There are so many things I'd prefer not to do. So, does that make me a Bartleby? Or does Bartleby belong in a different category altogether?

Is preferring not to do something as unproductive as not doing it at all?

An Open Letter to Alan Rickman

Those of you who know me personally know that I love Alan Rickman. I think he is a fantastic actor who is truly versatile and is just....amazing. Here is an open letter to him for you all to read. A couple months ago it was brought to my attention that people on the Twilight imdb message boards were hoping that Alan Rickman would play a vampire in the film. There were "rumors" that he was being offered a part. I sincerely hope that he was not offered a part in the film. It is not that I want him to be out of work, it is that Twilight is, simply put, bad.

As a big fan of Mr. Rickman's I feel inclined to see almost every film that he is ever in. If he were in Twilight, I would have to break that obligation, or at least try to. It would be very difficult. I would be torn. So, THANK GOD, Alan Rickman is not playing a sparkly Vampire.

Dear Mr. Rickman,

Thank you so much for not starring in any Twilight movies. I love you even more for that. That is all.

Sincerely,
Heather

Zombies.

I'm not sure if many of you have heard of the game humans vs. zombies, but I'm pretty damn sure you've heard of it in passing. Especially if you live on a college campus or if you go to Goucher.

Humans vs. zombies is, basically, a modified game of tag. One person starts out as the main zombie. When the main zombie tags someone, that person (originally a "human") then becomes a zombie and joins his or her zombie friend in the quest to eat the brains of all the humans. Sound yummy? Well, maybe in a metaphorical sense at least.

Humans can protect themselves against the zombies by using nerf guns or throwing socks at the zombies.

It's all in good fun.

If you have not played the game (like I have not) it can be very interesting to watch. I might play next semester. We shall see.

Deepest Fear

Even though I have not updated this blog in a while, I am still writing. I sent two poems out to a literary magazine yesterday. In three to six months I will get a response. I want them to say yes. If they do, I will scream. I will be so happy. I have been trying to publish my poetry for three years.

Now, onto a more serious matter. Sometimes I have this recurring dream where I have a story to tell, but I can't. I literally can't pick up a pen and write down whatever it is that is on my mind. Sometimes, my hands are paralyzed or I have no hands. I worry when I have these dreams. If I cannot write, what will become of me? Writing is one of the only things I know how to do so well. Everything else is mediocre. Without writing, I am mediocre. Sure, I am getting better at acting. I am sure that I would find a way to write without hands, I would get a voice activated thing for Microsoft word. I saw that in a movie once. But what do I know about how I would handle a hypothetical situation? I won't know anything until I find myself in that situation. And I hope I never have to experience that.

That dream is my darkest, deepest fear. I fear who I will be without writing. Writing is how I express myself. If I cannot do that, will I explode? Will emotions build up inside of me until they just can't take it anymore?

I fear who I will be if I cannot write.

Writer's block, please don't kill me

Writer's block, please don't kill me

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Berlin

If one were to call one city a chameleon, that city would have to be the great, and often tragic city of Berlin, Germany.  At one point the city was the center of the Nazi regime, then at another time the city was literally divided into two, somewhat unceremoniously and awkwardly.  Imagine if you lived among the citizens of communist East Berlin and found that one day that you could no longer visit your boyfriend, girlfriend, father, mother, sister, brother, friend or cousin.  Families and loved ones were separated by the wall.

I have literally met people, en route to different locations in europe and the world.  Upon mentioning that I am traveling to Berlin, many mention that they have not been to Germany since it was divided.  It is interesting to think that there are people who only know one side of the city I am learning to love, and may one day want to live in for a brief period of time. There are those who only think of Hitler and the Nazis when they think of Germany and there are those whose thoughts unconsciously drift to communism.

In many ways, it is important to distinguish between East Berlin and West Berlin. Yet in my opinion, one must not paint the two parts of Berlin in black and white, or "capitalism" and "communism."  Where there is knowledge of sin and how to sin, there will be corruption.  That said, East Berlin was full of corruption. Sure, the West had it's share of corruption and misdemeanors.

Perhaps my favorite part about the Berlin wall is the contrast, through art.  On the western side one saw graffiti and all sorts of colors adorning the wall.  The Eastern side, however, depicted a much more somber setting, very drab and discomforting. I do not mark one side as good or bad, yet I do believe that one should not have to fear their government and the East German police brought fear into the hearts and minds of East German citizens and the Stasi (the secret police) often coaxed and often forced citizens into becoming informants which tore families apart.

That is my two cents for tonight. :)

The Art of Writing

For the past five to seven years of my life, probably more (I've lost count) I have wanted to be a writer.  Over the course of these years I have found myself wondering how one becomes a writer. Of course, they write. They sit at a desk, or on their bed, wherever they feel most comfortable and they write. Some writers work better on the computer while others prefer to write longhand. I, for one, am a mixture of the two.

Yet, how does one truly become a writer? For, surely not everyone who writes is a writer. If one does not feel moved, sometimes to tears, by the power of the stories entrusted to them, in my opinion they are not writers. Any fool can sit down and write. Only a true artist manipulates words, weaving them so that real characters and real emotionas surface onto the page.  Does Stephanie Meyer do this? Don't make me laugh. "Edward is dreamy" and "Edward is sexy" does not count as good writing.

Jane Austen, Harper Lee, Leo Tolstoy, J.K Rowling, Ray Bradbury. These are good, if not great, writers.  When I first read Jane Austen, I wanted to share it with my friends. The pure beauty of the words on the page captivated me. There are few authors who can achieve such power, such emotional intensity in a reader's response.

Writing is a craft that gets better through time and practice. I cannot say that I have always been a great writer. However, I can say that I have always had passion.

Mission Accomplished, sort of

So yesterday I officially finished my freshman year of college.

In a way, completing my freshman year feels good, great even. Spectacular. But would I live it over? I'm not sure. I made great friends, learned from some mistakes (luckily not too many) and came out relatively unscathed.

I finished my freshman year, yet there is so much I want to accomplish. There are more paths to blaze and more goals to make and reach.

This summer, I am editing the fantasy novel that I wrote. The book is a story in itself. I've been writing it for about 6 years now. Since I was 14. I'll be 20 in July. At this point in my life, the book is both an accomplishment and a nuisance. Sometimes, while editing it, I feel as if it's mocking me. I know that sounds crazy. But it's true, it's like the fact that I sometimes don't know what to do with it gets me sometimes.

I am also working on another book this summer.

One day, I will be published. I promise myself that much.

I am asking people, everyday people--my peers--to give me their thoughts on human trafficking. So far I have collected a fair amount of thoughts. The nature of their thoughts can be summed up in three words: WTF?

We live in a world where we learn about slavery in the past tense, because American slavery is over. Yet, what about the other slaves in the world? Human trafficking occurs on a daily basis, even here in the United States.  In foreign countries, girls as young as five ares sold for sex. Young boys are sold for slave labor.

Imagine what kind of world you want to live in.  I am pretty sure that your ideal world has nothing to do with human trafficking, or slavery of any sort.

Proud Death

Here's one thing I've always wanted to do: write a novel in verse. So that's exactly what I'm going to do. This novel won't be "fluff". It won't be about a teenage girl and her teenage angst issues. It will be about death.

I am going to write a novel written from the perspective of "death". I have always wondered, if you could have a conversation with death, what would it say? Also, what would you say? Could you speak, even if you were able to?

I am going to write from the perspective of death, as well as the perspectives of those affected by this "death character".

As you can see, I've got a lot of thinking to do. This is no doubt a work in progress.

Who are you calling disabled?

I've recently started thinking about the person I want to become. I am not saying that I do not know who I am. But at one point or another, one realizes that the music you like, the actors you prefer, the books you have read only make up a small portion of who you really are. It's only a small bit of your genetic make-up.

What people see, and I can attest that this does matter to others, is how you treat others. But, most importantly, what matters most in the eyes of others is how you treat yourself. Now, I understand that not everyone reading my blog is going to be Christian, but the bible states that "your body is a temple". Live up to this. Doing this does not have to be literal. You can do drugs, you can do...whatever. After all, it is your body and it's your life. I cannot take that away from you. But you can learn that your life is valuable. Most importantly, YOU are a unique, multi-faceted human being. You have thoughts, ideals, dreams, plans.

If you are like me, you may have a disability or handicap that prevents you from doing some things that others can do better. If you are like me, hard of hearing, you might have to ask someone to repeat something several times before you can actually comprehend what is being said. Sometimes, I can hear someone clearly but still have to ask them to repeat it because I haven't quite comprehended what was being said in the first place. It's an annoyance, a nuisance.

While having to wear a hearing-aid, and having a mental health condition, may make me disabled, I beg to differ. Sure, according to the U.S Congress, this fact would be true. This, however, is the same congress who passed the Patriot Act, without reading it. In many ways, this same congress has not read me, either. They do not know me. No congressman (or woman) came to door, interviewed me and made a list of the places where I was deemed disabled, or not disabled.

The word "disability" is such a negative word. It implies that one cannot do something, and in some ways implies that one should never even attempt to try, either.

During my freshman year of high school, I saw a speech therapist, for only 3 weeks. I even remember her name. She took one look at my report card and declared (with shock) "I can't believe you have good grades." According to her biased judgement, I should be failing because of a stutter. How ridiculous is that? That my stutter (which is now virtually gone) should literally handicap me, make me unable to earn the grades of an honor student? I only saw that woman for 3 weeks. One day, she just stopped showing up. Go figure.

Freedom: One Word

Demanding.

This is the word that describes "freedom". One word. Demanding, but it's not exactly a bad thing. I will explain why in a poem.

Explain, for me, will you,

your right to receive this education

that you so blatantly throw to the dogs,

which children in other countries and places

pine for.

Is it deserved?

Not for them, but for you.

This thing that every human should receive?

Freedom is not a right, but an obligation.

Those who have it should use it, not abuse it.

The world needs to see and needs to understand why,

every mouth should be fed,

every child given healthcare,

and every family given their needs.

It is demanding, talking to a wall.

Your face, Congressman, is a wall.

You do not want to, and I doubt that you really do,

understand my need to change the world.

What you see, I am sure,

is a college girl fighting for the rights of the underprivileged.

What do you think, Congressman (or Woman)?

It's in vogue, to do so, has probably been uttered,

about the countless protestors.

Then, in the same sentence, irony of all ironies,

the apathy of young people comes up in casual conversation.

Yet we are the same ones calling you

pleading for you to do something about the genocide in Darfur.

We are the same voices, the same names, that cry out from the many petitions.

You know the one's I'm talking about.

End global poverty, help stop AIDS in Africa, help children with disabilities,

repeal the death penalty, close Guantanamo Bay.

Freedom, again, is not a right, but an obligation.

Freedom gives us a voice.

Silence helps no one,

silence closes the barrier between human and humanity.

I pride myself on my awkwardness

For quite some time, I have been self-conscious. It may just be part of my personality, it could relate to the fact that I was teased in grade school, middle school and part of high school. Or it could just be life. Growing pains, perhaps?

In retrospect, I think it is because I am awkward. It's not exactly a bad thing. Awkward can be funny, pretty, and even sexy in some cases. It's all about how you carry yourself. I try to embrace my awkward, unconventional style.

This change first started when I changed my style, sort of. I would sometimes wear outfits that weren't "the norm" or things that really didn't match. You couldn't exactly put a finger on my style. I wasn't mostly preppy, mostly punk, mostly goth, or mostly bohemian...or whatever. I was just Heather, plain and simple. I wore all sorts of things, some of them could've been considered as punk or goth or preppy, but I didn't really like putting labels on my style.

I decided to dress how I wanted to. If I wanted to feel pretty, I would put on a pretty outfit, or a dress. If  wanted to be casual, I would gladly wear jeans. It wasn't about impressing people. It was about doing things for myself. That really helped me.

Here's the awkwardness: I am four foot eleven and a half. Basically, I am short. I look younger than my age. I look like a high school student, not a college student. I have learned to embrace these things about me. I no longer feel the need to where high heels to feel "sexy" or "pretty". Why hurt your feet to impress people? Often, it's all for people you really don't like.

I also ready extremely long books that hardly any of my classmates have heard of. I love Alan Rickman movies (this is not exactly awkward, but mixed in with everything else, it ads to the equation). I am also very English. I love English history. It enthralls me. I don't watch TV. I have not watched a full TV series in 5 years. It doesn't interest me.

So...there you have it!

Have a nice day!