Diamonds.Are.Dead

During this past week, we've been working on a new assignment in my Creative Writing Class-to create our own graphic short stories. When it was first assigned, I was so excited to get started (especially since I love art) and I was so fired up to go. I'd never actually been so enthused to work on something that had anything to do with grades. But when it came time to writing a concrete plot with dynamic characters, it's as if someone dumped a bucket of water over that roaring fire. The problem was that whenever I got an idea, it seemed perfect in my head; but as soon as I voiced the idea to someone else, it fell flat, like a bottle of Coca-Cola when it's left without a cap for a night (you know what I mean). And the bitter taste of having to go back and re-work the idea was just as bad as drinking that flat soda.

But the one thing that has given me some kind of direction is this little thing called a "character profile". My Creative Writing teacher also happens to be my Gr.10 teacher from a few years back, and we had done the same activity then too. It seems he does this with every he class he has, no matter what subject he may be teaching...and with good reason. This activity essentially allows us to meet a character. We examine what they do, what they look like, what they say, and most importantly, what others say about them. I first did one on myself, and didn't really discover anything new about my own personality. But what it did do for me, was it gave me an idea of what I want the main character in my short story to be like. I don't want to spoil anything for anyone (as I will be posting the graphic story up on my blog when it's finished), but in creating it, I'm going to look to my own life for a plot. Because if there's one thing I've learned from this class and this teacher, it's that the story is already there; I just need to look through the pile of junk cluttered in my head to find it.

I really encourage you to go ahead and try this yourself. You can use the structure of the profile from above-look at the things do you do, your appearance, what you say, and what others say about you. Or maybe you want to do a character profile on somebody else. Whatever the case may be, you have to remember to be honest (although it might get brutal at times). You'd be surprised at what you might find. Good luck!

Take a look at some classic comic book fails:

Over the March Break, I went on a reading spree. I finished a trilogy (A Great and Terrible Beauty, Rebel Angels, & The Sweet Far Thing) within a week and it was one of the craziest rides I've ever been on. My opinion on the books probably doesn't matter to those reading this blog, if any are, but I want to give my two cents, even if it is just to bring some peace to my frenzied mind.

The trilogy, written by Libba Bray, begins in Victorian times with a young English girl, Gemma Doyle, who finds herself at a boarding school with fresh memories of her dead mother. As her time at the Spence Academy for Young Ladies continues, she learns some shocking secrets involving her mother who is not the woman Gemma had always thought to be. Guided by visions and unknown powers, Gemma discovers an incredible world: the realms. From there, she learns things about her mother and more importantly, herself, that ultimately changes the course of her life.

Now, I know that this story may sound similar to that of Harry Potter or Chronicles of Narnia, but let me be the first to say that it holds a life of its own. I have read the Harry Potter series, and some from Narnia as well, but I have never felt so compelled to write about any of those books as I have this one. I'm not entirely sure what it is about the way Libba Bray writes, but I completely dive into her books and never want to emerge.

Perhaps it is the perfect mixture of comedy, adventure, suspicion, doubt, fear, love, and unknowing nature of the book(s) that pulls me in. In reading most stories, I am capable of predicting much of what is to come; however, this trilogy surprised me every single time I turned the page. There were a few elements that couldn't have been more predictable (you'd have to be a complete idiot not to see them), but for the life of me, I could never have braced myself for some of the events nearing the end of novels.

What's more is Bray brings to light the social injustices that the world faces even to this day: workers' rights, women's rights, race, class, etc. It's not your generic tale of a girl too weak to do anything for herself; in fact, it's the binary opposite. Gemma comes out the strongest of even the men, and the beginnings of change brighten her uncertain future. She finally has what many women were never given, or even offered, during that time: a voice.

I guess what is most compelling about the novel though, is how readily I can relate to Gemma; at least the Gemma presented in the beginning of her adventure. Obviously, I don't hold any mystical powers and my mother's well and breathing, but the role she plays within her group of friends and the way she feels in certain situations is something I can fully understand without question.

But I will rant no more, and not spoil the book(s) for anyone who wishes to read them...assuming that there are those that even take my opinion into consideration. I have had the opportunity to reflect on what I've filled my head with during this past week; now I am done and the choice of what to do with the information I have presented, remains completely up to you.

Walking through the structure among a million different worlds,
So many so available.
I wonder which one to choose?
I've taken all the time I could,
To make the right decision.
But still I don't know which to choose among the many given.
I walk and peer and dawdle too,
Hours upon days,
Trying to figure out which painting is the one that's destined to be my next home.
I stop dead in my tracks.
It's painfully obvious,
That Munch is the man I will choose.
The one in the painting with eyes wide in horror...
I have to know why, how, and what for.
I inhale the familiar, clean air for the very last time.
My days in this world are closing in.
My eyes are sewn shut,
My feet pull forward.
The first breath is rebirth,
On a strange, new, desolate road.
No sooner do my feet hit the ground
Than my face is hit with incredibly blistering winds.
My skin begins to crack and flake with each gust,
Blowing every part of me out of existence.
My bones are no longer hidden beneath youthful skin,
My clothes have long since deteriorated,
And now I am nothing but crumbling bone,
Turning to ash in the toxic wind.
The last of me is drifting...
I want to cry, shriek, and yell
But funny enough,
The immortal man beside me has already done that and more...
The man christened "The Scream".

Recently, I finished a book by Cormac McCarthy called The Road. It was one of the most haunting books I have read in quite some time. The story follows a man and his son as they journey through a burned America, traveling with a cart full of scavenged food and random items that could contribute, in some small part, to their survival. One of the most intriguing and clever things about McCarthy's style was that there were absolutely no quotation marks whenever dialogue arose. This was his method of emphasizing the deafening silence that takes place in a country-gone-extinct; everything seemed to be said or told in a whisper. I have to admit that when I started the book, I was doubting whether it was worth it to continue to read or not. But let me tell you, it was most definitely worth it. McCarthy's extraordinary writing abilities paints such vivid pictures in your mind that you literally feel as though you are suffering in the ashen world in which the man and boy exist; all you can sense is the cold, grey wind licking your face and a sense of a complete and obsolete loss of hope. What you feel from reading this book is incredible, and I believe that everyone should abandon the generic 'feel-good' book they've been reading for so long to take a look at a world that could potentially be ours one day.
As I was reading, I took note of some of my favourite quotes from the novel (as nerdy as this may seem), and I'd like to share them with you. Maybe they might tempt you into taking a gander at the story that had me at a loss for words.

"Borrowed time and borrowed world and borrowed eyes with which to sorrow."

"When we're all gone at last then there'll be nobody here but death and his days will be numbered too. He'll be out in the road there with nothing to do and nobody to do it to. He'll say: Where did everybody go? And that's how it will be. What's wrong with that?"

"He is coming to steal my eyes. To seal my mouth with dirt."

I let it go.
The song is lost.
I don't know what happened.
It was my favourite;
I listened to it everyday.
It goes unheard for fifteen years,
Until the day when your own heartbreak unexpectedly finds its due date.
This happens the moment the song takes you by surprise,
Trickling from some radio to retie the frayed laces of your years.
It all comes back.
Why had I forgotten?
The night is filled with the sweet notes of my song,
Pulling me down into a dreamless sleep.
But when I wake,
Only a dumb central phrase sours in my memory.
Again...fading fast.
It will be forgotten.
Do I need it? Can I live without it?
I have for this long.
After all, in an uncertain world,
It's reasonable certainty this forgotten song needs me even less than I need it.

Just this past week in my Creative Writing class, my teacher did an interesting activity with us. We are learning to apply our five senses into writing; in order to know how to write about something, you need to have experienced it. Our task was to try to identify and describe mysterious food items that my teacher had brought in.

This is how it went: we partnered up with someone in the class and we sat with our backs to each other so that one individual couldn't see what was being brought around to the other. The first partner then had to take a whiff of the mystery-food and explain it to the other person. The idea was to try to uncover what the food was.

This really was the hardest part about it: the description. When it was my turn to smell what was placed before me, my brain new exactly what it was-garlic. But trying to explain that to my partner? Not so easy. I found it incredibly difficult to give any kind of description. All I could think of was "it smells garlic-y"...but I very well couldn't say that. My partner needed to figure it out for themselves.

It was a really fun activity to try and my perspective on writing completely changed. It takes incredible talent and skill to be able to describe something you smell so vividly so as to cause the reader to imagine smelling it themselves. I strongly encourage you to try it yourselves. Grab a partner and see what kinds of descriptions you can come up with.