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“Once you discard language itself, the actual words, what’s left?”
I think the coolest concept in this article is using emptiness as a building material. In literature, of course words are important, but often it’s the unsaid implications that give more to the reader. We discussed this with Carver, since minimalism is full of withheld information. That kind of emptiness, or just unanswered-ness, heightens the interaction between the writing and the reader. If I know every single detail, have no questions or ponderings, I’m just receiving what the text gives me without question. Sometimes that’s fine, and appropriate, but with good fiction in particular you want your reader to delve deeper.
I’ve always admired how architects can challenge and recreate ways to find a balance between form and function. At the very least, most structures have to be able to support themselves, so there will always be limitations to be worked around. The same goes for literature. You can break every rule in the book, but the writing still has to at least hold itself up.
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“The creative writer does the same as the child at play.”
I really like Freud’s comparison here, especially since it doesn’t demean the work of the child nor the writer. Freud talks about emotional investment being the equivalent of taking something seriously, which I also liked a lot. Kids playing make believe can be silly, but they put a lot of effort into it and it is essential to their development. Writers could right the most stereotypical, formulated romance novels but still take their work seriously.
Creative writers who produce things like novels, poetry, short stories, plays, and similar works often get taken less seriously than journalists or script writers, which I’ve never understood. Each branch of this profession takes tremendous time and energy, and often the main differences are just format and audience. Creative writing honestly can surface in so many more ways though - do you know how hard it is to make a pamphlet sound interesting? Or to make a daytime TV ad for a prescription stand out from the rest? Creative writing is so essential in our world, yet it is not universally respected.
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“They look like what you aren’t expecting. What you aren’t paying attention to.”
I think my attachment to quotes is only getting more severe the more lit classes I take :)
I love this one for a few reasons. One, it completely foreshadows the ending which I didn’t realize until the reveal. Two, it speaks a truth within the horror genre - cliches become very difficult to avoid, so inserting monstrosity into places where the reader is least expecting is a technique to continue shocking people. Jaime Karnes, who teaches writing classes here, always says that endings should be both surprising and inevitable. This definitely qualifies, because it surprises you on the first read, but on your second you realize the whole story was constructed perfectly to suit that ending.
Third, I like this quote because it speaks to the more metaphorical monsters we’ve discussed in class. Mainly, people as monsters. I’m addicted to Law & Order SVU (don’t judge me) and what always gets me is the spouses who are completely shocked by the despicable acts their partners have committed. Usually women finding out about their husband’s history of abuse, violence, etc. What scares me in those stories is the idea that someone can be capable of, and willing to do, horrible things and you’d have no idea. The concept of good and evil co-inhabiting someone is unsettling. It’s much easier to digest if someone seems pure evil. An emotionless murderer is a lot less scary than a friendly, chipper neighbor who also happens to be a KKK member. 
I’m curious what other cultures think about human monsters. I think part of my discomfort comes from the fact that American culture hates ambiguity, and tries to split everything into a dichotomy (”good guys” and “bad guys”, for example). 
Basically humans are scary and don’t trust precocious children.
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“Courage is your greatest achievement, for you, without it, can practice no other virtue with consistency”.
I am very attached to the concept of courage. If I looked back at my high school notes, I bet I would find it somewhere in the margins of every notebook I used. It was definitely my mantra, just the one word. I remember writing it on myself, too, so that I could not forget that I was courageous. It has gotten me through a lot of difficult times, so I was moved to read what Maya wrote about it in her Commencement Address.
I’m a firm believer that courage manifests differently in each person. For some, courage is taking on an ambitious job, or making a speech, or climbing a mountain, or ending a relationship, or any number of things. For much of my life, courage has gotten me through much smaller moments. Getting out of bed in the morning, wearing that short skirt I love, folding my laundry. I’ve taken bigger steps in my life too, no doubt, but those small moments hold the personal meaning of courage for me. 
“Achievement” is such a strong word to attribute to courage; I fell in love with Maya’s lines instantly. We fight to stay courageous. We’ve achieved courage. I just love it.
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Mystery of a Mystery
When I was thinking about what to write, I remembered Professor Howe saying she had a feeling we wouldn’t like City of Glass. As a reader, I felt mostly indifferent towards it, so I’m going to try approaching it as a writer.
Certainly Auster has no problem misleading readers and keeping the focal point of a story mixed and muddled right through the end. I was intrigued that Paul Auster was a character (sort of) in the story, a connection I basically disregarded until the very end. I’m not sure what he was trying to achieve by inserting himself into the story. Maybe he just wanted me to wonder why he did, in which case he succeeded.
Even though I don’t feel satisfied after finishing it, I was pretty invested throughout. I was curious to see where Quinn would end up and what would become of the three equally mystifying Stillmans. So I was surprised I didn’t have a stronger emotional reaction to the very ambiguous ending, since I usually hate that many loose ends left. I skimmed through the Goodreads reviews, and people were pretty heated one way or the other - a lot of back and forth as to whether it was a masterpiece or garbage. It reminded me of when I read Super Sad True Love Story, which most people either adore or loathe. Whenever a novel elicits such strong reactions, regardless of if they’re positive or negative, that’s usually cause to study the novel’s craft.
Honestly, I’m just very surprised at how indifferent I feel towards this text. I usually have pretty emotional responses, even if just blips of them, when reading. This might be one I’ll have to read again later in life and compare.
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The Woman in Cabin 10 ending
YAY Carrie lived (and killed Richard? I think?) YAY Lo escaped YAY this book reinforced not to trust rich people because wow, when Lo trusted the guy at the hotel and then had to run for it I felt so bad for her.
I really enjoyed this book, and I hope that the movie version does justice to Lo’s dilemma. I thought her narration represented issues of anxiety and paranoia without forcing it down the reader’s throat, because it was all essential to the plot. Fingers crossed they don’t throw in some bullshit love triangle or cut out Lo’s rage at being stereotyped for taking medication and drinking alcohol. I love me a justifiably outraged woman owning her anger.
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The Woman in Cabin 10 pt 1-6
 “My friend Erin says we all have demons inside us, voices that whisper we’re no good...maybe that’s true. Maybe mine just have louder voices” (143).
I like this book - and Lo - much more than I thought I would. At first, she struck me as kind of a trope protagonist, but as she became more involved with the mystery of the woman in cabin 10, I related to her. She felt a pull to help this stranger, find out what happened, give someone justice for the helplessness she herself had recently experienced as well. She refers to it as sisterhood, at some point. She also becomes furious when her story is doubted because of her anti-depressants and alcohol mixture. Everybody has felt the justifiable outrage Lo experiences when you tell the truth and someone doesn’t believe you because of your personality or habits. It’s maddening, and it made me root for her even more. Plus, I have experience with anxiety myself, so it’s refreshing to see a protagonist genuinely struggle through panic attacks and plaguing self doubt, consistently and realistically.
I like to think of myself as the ideal audience for mystery novels, because even though I’m dying to know the answers, I’m easily misled by red herrings. I am proud that I was suspicious of Bullmer, especially after Lo thinks to herself that he got to where he is in life by not revealing the cards in his hand. He was way too smooth, and there was too much misdirection aimed at Ben. Gotta suspect the rich white guys. The twist about Anne being impersonated was a surprise, so I still got Ware’s back there.
I’m excited to finish the book. I really hope Lo gets to deliver a punch of justice to Richard, physical or metaphorical.
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“Even the poorest folk, who had nothing, gave us some of that nothing.”
“This is my religion--we’re all animals, perfect animals created in the infinite image and imagination of nature.”
I wasn’t expecting Holy Cow to have me pondering religion, but it did and so here I am and so, forgive the following rant.
I am personally not a religious person. I was raised Catholic and over time felt disillusioned by it, and eventually gave up the idea of how the Catholics view God entirely. The one thing that stuck with me from the Bible was the idea of both rich and poor practicing generosity, and the insistence of Jesus to treat all people as equals. Particularly in this political climate, I cling to the hope that some people still believe in those values. I hope that people realize, no matter what you follow in terms of gods or the afterlife, that for now you should treat others with kindness first and foremost.
I like Elsie’s religion. I like the simplicity (and reducing my own existential crisis) of calling us all animals, created to belong in nature. It made me reflect on the discussion question in today’s class, as to whether humans deserve to be called animals or not. Humans are the only animals that practice hated and cruelty the way we do - if I had a choice, I think I’d be a much happier creature if I was born as a domesticated dog. It is a fight every day for me to maintain some optimism about the world around us, so to view humans as just the particular group in nature I was born into is a small relief. It is also a relief to be reminded that some people - or cows - remember that at the root of all religions are kindness, respect, and peace. 
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“It’s hard to leave anywhere. Even if the place sucked. It’s hard to leave anywhere at all.”
I was skeptical when I first read the description of this book at the beginning of the semester, but I’m surprised by how much I like this book so far, especially Elsie and Mallory. The two just seem so real, which must have been crucial when Duchovny was writing to strike a balance between giving the characters depth and constantly reminding readers that they aren’t human.
The tone of Holy Cow is a nice break from the bleaker outlook in So Much Water..and every reader can relate to it somehow. Many readers, like myself, have probably attempted or considered attempting vegetarianism, and (hopefully) any readers who have seen those awful documentaries like Food Inc. have felt the pull in their chest to change something about the food industry, but aren’t sure how. And in particular, the quote I chose as my title to this post struck me. A clear, simple concept that probably brings a very specific scenario to every reader’s mind. It’s a really good snippet of writing, especially for the end of a chapter.
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Raymond Carver is one of those authors, similar to what Professor Howe said, who makes me sit back for a minute and just breathe after I’ve finished one of his stories. He manages to write ordinary, or semi-ordinary, stories in an extraordinary way. His minimalism helps with that too - “Then I see the word backyard. Is it one word or two?” What a normal thought for such an unusual funeral circumstance.
There are two different kinds of human monsters in this piece. A murderer: the boy who killed the woman found in the mountains. An apathetic witness: the husband who was part of a group that figured she was already dead, no need to spoil a weekend away. One is far more subjective than the other; most people can agree that murder is wrong, but the husband’s actions were a little more morally muddy. Personally I see his monstrosity in the way he treats his wife. Regardless, there’s something about this story I’m really drawn to. I’m looking forward to hearing what other people’s thoughts were.
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Fear of the Monster is Really a Kind of Desire
This is one of the aspects of studying monsters that really interests me. Like we discussed with Twilight, monsters are often seen as attractive. The taboo draws people in, because it can feel exciting or dangerous to get involved with things you aren’t supposed to. This applies to a lot, particularly sexually. Lots of sex and sexual attraction that’s taboo has a large consumer base. Cohen uses the phrase “escapist fantasies”, which I never considered before. It makes sense, since the taboo/monstrous is a far deviation from the norm. Thinking of attractive monsters as escapism is interesting.
Cohen also mentions Halloween, and how it is an opportunity for everyone to be a demon for a night. Again, super interesting to me - Halloween is my favorite holiday, and even though they terrify me, I love horror. That blurred line between pain/fear and pleasure is fascinating, and seems to be more prevalent in some people than others. How much of my interest in movies that keep me up at night is hobby, and how much could be genetics? Is it random, or is there a biological or psychological explanation?
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“Poor, poor unhappy Erik! Should we pity him or should we curse him?”
This is an area where I find myself thinking in circles about. Where, if it is ever possible, can you draw the line for excusing or forgiving behavior based on an unfair/traumatizing upbringing? It’s a lot of gray area for me. I’m taking a sociology of deviance class, so social context is on my mind these days. Almost any sin or crime you can think of is forgivable under specific circumstances (killing someone in self defense, for example). The more I critically think about ethics the less clear I feel about it. I’m interested to see how people feel about Erik by the end of this novel, since he dies “of love” as he lets Christine go to marry Raoul.
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Here’s some Freudian theories that are worth considering when examining Erik’s behavior, and the factors that contributed to him becoming “the phantom”. I agree with the argument that Erik has some repression issues, but I’m not sure I’m convinced he also has an unresolved Oedipal Complex.
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Delving into Phantom
Most of my exposure to Phantom is from the 2004 movie, which I’ve watched a few times in part because I adore Emmy Rossum’s voice (when I was younger, I used to try to reach the scales she hits at the end of the song “The Phantom of the Opera”. I still cling to a tiny piece of hope that maybe someday I can hit them without screaming). A few years ago I did see a live production in New York, which was fantastic. The male lead in particular - I wish I knew the actors’ names - had an incredible voice. I really enjoy Phantom as a musical, but before this class I hadn’t put much thought into it as monster-themed.
Reading the filmography section assigned that detailed all the different portrayals of the Phantom was really cool. In the 2004 movie, he mostly comes off as tortured and violent because of his traumatic past. I think his infatuation with Christine offsets what most people see him as - a murderous monster. I’m really looking forward to seeing how the novel originally portrayed him, and how that contrasts with the movie productions that most people are probably familiar with.
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Reflecting on Twilight as a writer
Twilight reminds me of first draft stories that start to get interesting way too close to the end, or way too far from the author’s focus. If I was editing Twilight I would literally cut the entire main relationship and write about the Cullens, because by far they are better fleshed out through the series and are infinitely more interesting than Edward and Bella.
Bella clumsily deals with attention, yet she’s keenly aware (and amused) of the fact that every main male her age wants to date her. Edward is a perfect dreamy Adonis, besides his temper problems and possessiveness and arguably abusive tendencies. Jacob is a protective childhood friend in love who can’t take no for an answer. I don’t hate Twilight. But I honestly can’t stand its protagonists.
Alice, Jasper, and Carlisle are interesting characters with interesting backstories. When I’m reading about them, I hate that I’m forced to read them through Bella’s eyes, because she distracts me from Meyers’ potential. Granted I haven’t read The Host in awhile, but I thought it was a far better read than Twilight (if you haven’t read it, I recommend it and not the movie adaptation). The difference between the two is like the difference between my current writing and my 7th grade poetry (spoiler: my poetry was objectively bad). 
I get that Meyers didn’t have writing experience going into Twilight, and its success allowed her to get away with avoiding pressure to write a good different story in the following three novels.I get that looking back at my own old writing makes me grateful I never shared it with anyone and poisoned their eyes. I get that there are some cool concepts in the books, and people should feel free to enjoy them, and I was among the teenage girls at midnight premieres. But I feel like a mom whose child is a passionate piano prodigy that chooses to play chopsticks over and over and over.
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Twilight Part 2
I would like to take a moment to acknowledge my true hero in this story. Kind, generous, ever-so-compassionate Carlisle is an angel in my eyes. I feel about Carlisle how most tweens might feel about Edward. Throughout all four books, he never does wrong unto others or loses his selflessness even for a second. He is always supportive and protective of his family, of whom he is the peace-keeper. I am glad Stephenie Meyer had the idea to include a chapter dedicated to and named after Carlisle.
Carlisle must be the most pure character in this novel. From the moment he was changed into a vampire, he rejected the life of a monster. Edward says, “He was so repelled by himself that he had the strength to try to kill himself with starvation” (p. 337). Carlisle, as a newborn, would have rather killed himself than even consider hurting another human. If that does not show nobility, I’m not sure what does. He then goes on to adopt five newborns, and marry one, after either finding them in need of help or turning them in order to save their life. He teaches his family how to live a respectable life as a vampire, meanwhile working as a doctor to contribute to the lives of humans. Thank you, Carlisle, for all that you do.
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