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Tuesday, August 23, 2022

An Announcement and a Farewell

 Howdy, folks! I know it's been a while since I've posted, and there is a reason. I've been considering for a long time whether to keep this blog going or not. The pros of the situation are that I get to keep up with some very cool writing pals, that I have somewhere to put random junk I write, and that I can promote my stories here. I've been thinking on it for a while now, though, and I think the pros might not be enough to hold onto anymore. 

Of course, I'd love to keep up with all the writer friends in this lovely circle I've been privileged enough to be a part of, but I am in contact with most of them through some other format as well. Letter-writing, email, phone, etc., covers most of the friends I chat with on the blog. There are some of you I would miss if I left, but I think that it would be more productive to keep reading and commenting on your separate blogs than to try and keep this one running just for that purpose. As for putting random junk I write somewhere, I think we can all agree that that's not exactly necessary to writing - just fun. Besides, many of you in contact with me outside the blog still get the random junk from me anyhow. 

That brings me to the last point: promotion of stories. I guess if there is an announcement that goes before my departure, it's that I don't think I'm really interested in publishing. I've been writing for a long, long time (not as long as some!), and publishing is always a writer's expected daydream. To be sure, it's a fun thought. But you know, I've come to the conclusion that I really don't care that much whether I ever get published. I love writing, and I have no intention of giving it up, but I would still be perfectly content if the only people who ever read my books were my writing pals. My books aren't terribly publishable, except perhaps by self-publishing. I like a style that has long since been out of print, and I certainly don't intend to change what I like to write just because it's last season. My friends enjoy my writing, and I enjoy doing it, so the way I see it, there's not much point in changing to a more modern style. Perhaps I could publish without doing so, but I digress. It's not that I've unequivocally given up on publishing, but I certainly no longer hold it as an immutable goal on my bucket list. 

In addition to these pros losing a bit of their sway, there are cons as well. My school life keeps me very busy, not to mention my studio, job, and other responsibilities, so it's fairly common that I can't keep up with posting. Oftentimes, when I do end up posting, I end up posting either something completely random, or a cop-out post like a tag or something. Maybe I could remodel things and make a bigger effort with the blog, but I just don't think the blog is my priority, nor do I want it to be. There are lots of things going on in life that I haven't really even taken a look at yet, and I think I'd like to get out of my head and out into the world a little more. I think that it's better for me, better for my writing, and perhaps better for this blog as well. 

In other words, I think I'm leaving the blogging sphere. I'll probably leave this up, just because it has a lot of writing things stored on it, but I will not be posting anymore. I'll miss all you readers, but I'll keep on reading your posts, so I'm not totally splitting from the blogging world. Whether in a chatbox, email, text, or what have you, I look forward to the writing journey with everybody from here on out. 

God bless!

Friday, May 13, 2022

The Bookworm Tag

     Howdy to all. *tips hat* It is once again that time where writers ask each other strange questions so they can answer in long, convoluted ways in writing for other eccentric writers to read. In other words, there is a tag about. I was tagged for this, the Bookworm Tag, by Grim Writer (thanks, Grim!), so let's get to it. (I think the rules are just to answer the questions, make new ones, and tag somebody - so mostly standard. I shall add a beautiful font to make it more fun.)



1. What are some of your unpopular literary opinions?


    Oh boy... Is there a limit to how many...? And how unpopular are we talking here? Unpopular with most people, or unpopular even with this blog circle? I have plenty to offer of both, I think, but probably my most unpopular opinion would be my firm conviction that modern writing is children's fluff - if not utter drivel. No, I don't mean it's just morally bad writing. I mean it's bad writing. Some of it's very enjoyable - one of my favorite fantasies, The Goose Girl, is a more modern book. Still, though, it's nothing to some Oscar Wilde or C.S. Lewis, much less Alcott or Shakespeare or Chesterton. The more modern writing style -- by which I mean writing in a way that is sheared in descriptions, settings, and character and in which relatability or "feels" are the emphasis and main quality -- is like junk food: enjoyable and potent, but leaves you unfilled or with indigestion. So, yes. There's my old, curmudgeonly rant for the day. I'll go back to reading my Homer now, and I expect to hear plenty of war cries in the near future.


2. What's a great book you've read that you've never seen [heard?] anybody else talk about?


    Well, my friends, sit down please. Turns out I'm not done rambling for the day. Make yourselves comfortable - it might be a while. 




    WHY HAS NO ONE TALKED ABOUT THIS BOOK???

    ...

    ...

    ...

    Three Men in a Boat by Jerome Jerome. Yes, like my uncle said, it sounds like the beginning of a corny joke. Yes, the writer's name is actually Jerome Jerome. (Or, Jerome K. Jerome, to be precise. I believe it stands for Klapka. No, I'm not kidding... And, yes, it is his birth name.) And, yes, there is a brilliant little subtitle in some copies (To Say Nothing of the Dog). 

   My point is that the book is a work of comic genius; it's simply dripping with comedy. I mean, if you say the plot out loud, it really doesn't sound like anything special, I'll grant. It's basically about three characters who have very little knowledge or expertise on boating going on a boating trip (to say nothing of the main dude's dog, as the subtitle helpfully clarifies).

   It's so much more than that, though. It's a huge slice of English Victorian life, seen through the lenses of patriotism, Romanticism, modernism, stoicism, history, culture, language, fashion, music, a whole lot of food, the common man, and many other things, positively riddled with humor. The skits and the main characters (Harris, an absent-minded society man who knows everything about the best food and drink; J., a self-professed philosopher and chronically lazy hypochondriac; George, a tired, grouchy teller with many and also no talents) are hilarious, of course... but you get much more than just a light novella. Like I said, the book is really not so much a picture of three rough-around-the-edges Englishmen as it is a picture of Victorian England as a whole, with all the culture and thoughts and hopes and dreams and traditions. 

    The book often drifts in thoughts - fitting through the main character's perspective, as he fancies himself something of a philosopher, historian, poet, and great intellectual in general. We'll have a scene of the fellows trying to open George's can of pineapple one minute (one of the best comic sequences in the book, I think), and we'll have the tale of a tragic suicide on the bank of the Thames the next. We can flit from a conversation about the foibles of fashionable ladies when boating to musing on what time or art or value is. It might sound like it would give a bit of vertigo or a stiff neck, but it actually works quite well. Somehow, Mr. Jerome fashioned the book to be seamlessly and sensibly meandering, somewhat like a real chain of thought or the centric, ill-fated trip on the Thames. It's really a stupendous piece of writing, if you think about it. I know I couldn't make my life experiences or trains of thoughts so readable. 

    If you haven't heard about it before... well, you're not alone. Nobody seems to have. When my British Literature teacher back in high school announced the next reading assignment in class - an assignment preceded by acknowledged standards like Beowulf, Gawain and the Green Knight, Sherlock Holmes, Frankenstein, and Hamlet - my first thought was one of utter confused disdain. What the heck is this random book? There was only one person in class who had read it before, and only one other who had even heard of it. It was like somebody suddenly coming up to you and talking to you all about how famous your cousin you've never even heard of is. Suddenly, this random Joe Schmoe (or John Bull or what have you) book was being promoted with the classics and taking up valuable space and time on our reading list. 
    
    It was worth it, people. Get torches and pitchforks, if you will, but I would put this book with those classics again if compiling a list of greats. I believe that it well merits its tiny spot alongside Conan Doyle and Jane Austen and Shelley and such. In other words... if you haven't heard of it, I understand. Now that you have heard of it, go read it. ("So let it be written, so let it be done!")


3. Around how many books do you read in a year?


    Pfft, it's funny that you think I would know this. I truly have no idea. Judging from my few book posts of last year, I read about four full books in a month, average. Assuming it was that way all year and the year was representative and all that, I read about forty-eight books a year. 


4. Describe your favorite setting to read a book in.


    I like reading on my bed or on the couch in our family room, but I tend to fall asleep if I read in either place, so they're not quite optimal. I like reading outside if it's pleasantly warm and pretty out (like it has been this week). Because of room cleaning, I have no bedding on my bed right now, though, and it's not as tempting to fall asleep. This might be my new favorite place to read.




5. Who's your favorite folklore character and why?


    Ooh, I like this question. I don't know if I've thought about it in depth. Honestly, not really folklore I know a lot about nor that I grew up with, but I really like the Monkey King in Oriental literature. Essentially, he's a somewhat arrogant comic figure who, while very talented in his own rite, gets into hot water and gets taught a lesson fairly often. (He also sometimes causes problems that take a frustratingly long time to get resolved, but I suppose we'll gloss over that.) 

    Actually... I almost forgot about Zorro. Does he count? He started out as a folk character, even if he's not anymore. (I guess that's sorta like the reverse of how Sherlock Holmes is a bit of a folk character now even though he started out in regular literature.) I don't know a lot of the more complicated, branched-out stories, but the basic Zorro story is just darn good stuff. 

    However, lest I do injustice to a perennial folk character that I have always loved, let's go with Robin Hood. 


6. Thoughts on horror and psychological thrillers?


    Okay, I really want to write a post on this sometime. I guess the short version of my thoughts is that - done well - I really enjoy them, and I think they have a vast potential for communicating any kind of deeper message or idea among genres. There are so many things to be considered with the genres, and so many different genres within them, so it's definitely worth another time's discussion.

7.  Favorite literary villain and why?

    Hmm. I think it'd be a little too difficult to name just one, but I can toss a handful. Of course, there are some that I've used as examples of good villains before, like Dracula or Chauvelin from The Scarlet Pimpernel

    Ooh, actually, I really have to give props to the villain in the first Lord Wimsey book, Whose Body?. I really don't want to spoil it, ach. (If you're really sharp at guessing characters or are reading the book right now, just skip this part.) Really, what made him such a perfect villain was that Sayers just took a couple of commonplace modern ideas and took them to their logical end to form his worldview. It made perfect sense why he would murder someone - seeing things from his point of view, it seemed like the only sensible thing to do. I read Whose Body? for the first time right after re-reading some of Chesterton's essays in Heretics and Orthodoxy, and it was amazing how well Chesterton's criticisms of some secular philosophies applied to the villain in Sayers' book. 

    I don't know if I would say the villain of Whose Body? was my favorite literary villain ever, but he is objectively one of the best villains I can think of off the top of my head. I guess some other names I could toss out would be the Un-Man in Perelandra; Rupert of Hentzau from Prisoner of Zenda (just 'cause I liked him - he wasn't a super complexly written villain or anything); Edmund in King Lear





8. Favorite death scene in a book?


    Now, I do have an answer for this one - Augustine St. Clare in Uncle Tom's Cabin has one of my favorite death scenes ever. He was a character who was so noncombative and lax for most of the book, and then finally he takes a stand and does something worth doing. He dies a good death, going back to the Catholic Faith that he was brought up in and his daughter believed in so fervently. Now, it's true he didn't die perfectly - in that he didn't put his promise to Tom in writing, which causes most of the problems that happen afterwards - but he did die well. Even though the proofs of his previously weak character are on all sides of him as he goes, he still puts forth the last effort to fix everything even though his death is unexpected and quick. 

9. Do you read poetry, and, if so, what is your favorite poem?

    I most certainly read poetry, but, once again, I don't think I can name one favorite. The Tiger by William Blake is pretty classic, as is The Captain's Daughter by James T. Fields. If only for the sheer beauty, genius, and skill of the poem, though, The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes might be my favorite poem - maybe. It's definitely one of them.

10. Favorite child character in a book?


    That's a hard one, considering I tend to strongly dislike or be indifferent towards child characters in books. I did become rather fond of Megan's young cowboy chap in The Time-Traveling League (that was what that book was called, right? - it's been so long since I've read it). I really enjoyed the segments of Myles as a kid in Men of Iron, too. Other than those two, I'm really not sure. Kids in books tend to be really annoying or vanilla.  

    To end, I shall tag Megan and To Be a Sennachie, if they haven't done the tag yet (or even if they have and feel like it again). Here are the new questions:

  1. Who are your favorite parent characters in a book?
  2. What book really should have had a sequel?
  3. What book should never have had a sequel in a million years? (I expect a hefty answer for this one.)
  4. What is the best book-to-movie production you've seen (it can also be book-to-play or book-to-musical)?
  5. What is the worst book-to-movie production you've seen (same as above)?
  6. What's one book that you would like to see rewritten?
  7. What's one character in literature that could use their own book?
  8. Hardback or softcover notebooks for writing? (It's an important question!)
  9. Number one song to write to right now?
  10. Fantasy or sci-fi? 




    Well, that's all for now, folks. I will be off the blogging sphere for at least a couple weeks while I get moved into my summer arrangements, but I will still try to read and comment on all of your lovely posts! What are your thoughts on children characters in books? Any splendid villains you think need mentioned?




Thursday, May 5, 2022

Goodbye, NaNo!

 Hello, all! This will be a very short post, but I just wanted to let you all know that I will no longer be on NaNoWriMo or Camp NaNoWriMo - probably for the rest of my life. 


NaNo's policies and sympathies have at this point become objectionable to a degree I can no longer tolerate, and I don't intend to put up with it. If you're interested in more specific reasons (which I will not put up in order to not get blocked), read Catherine's short post on the matter, here. Every last bit of my account and activity has been permanently deleted, and I have no present intention of returning. I will be deleting all NaNoWriMo memorabilia from this blog. I heartily encourage anybody else considering the step to do the same. I'm sorry not to have what was a splendid way of keeping up with each other on writing, but it is very much necessary. Hopefully, old cabins can regroup in other chats, and we can keep more regular contact through the blogosphere during camp times. Thanks for all the lovely times writing!

Sunday, April 17, 2022

On Realism

     Alleluia, He is risen! Happy Easter to all! As you may have noticed, I went off of blogging for Lent, but now I'm back to the blogosphere. (Goodness, what a horrifically dull introduction... My oratory skills are going to be stunning today...)


    Anyhow, I've come back to get right to business. I'd like to discuss a rather more big-picture concept in writing: the concept of realism and depicting things realistically or fantastically in general. In short, how realistic should fiction be? What side of reality should it portray and how much? 

    Now, before we begin, I'd like to make a bit of a disclaimer. These are only my own thoughts and my own philosophy. I do not claim to have all the answers, and there have great, virtuous, admirable writers on both sides of this debate and everywhere in between. I myself enjoy and love many works on all places in the spectrum. So, going through my thoughts here, just take them with a grain of salt. 

    In the usual way of things, my mind starts clattering with ideas and long freight trains when I'm supposed to be paying attention to something else, and my most recent rabbit hole was no exception. In my music history class, the topics were first Romantic Age grand opera, and then Romantic Age realistic opera. Now, without going too deeply into either of those things, they essentially boil down to this: earlier stories in opera were about larger than life figures with somewhat fantastical, romanticized stories and great questions asked and explored, while later opera stories were about more real, relatable people with sometimes hard or decrepit lives and more direct, tangible morals to the story. If you're at all familiar with opera, good examples would be Verdi's Nabucco and Bizet's Carmen respectively. Some classic literature parallels would be Beowulf and Little Women, or The Scarlet Pimpernel and The Great Gatsby. There are many more parallels too: Oedipus Rex and Our Town; Ten Commandments and Mr. Smith Goes to Washington; Les Miserables and West Side Story; Shakespeare and Tennessee Williams; the list goes on and on. (For the sake of clarity, from here on out, when referring to the philosophy as opposed to the usual meaning of the adjective, I'll capitalize "Realistic," and, while both things I'm referring to are sort-of Romantic, I'll refer to the non-Realist style as "Romantic.")

    The idea behind the change in storytelling was simple on the surface, but I think it merits a closer look. As the theory goes, we should depict real life more closely to how it is because audiences will connect with it more and be more engaged by it. They will be more moved by it and understand it better if it relates to them closely. While it's true that depicting certain things will not be pretty, neither is real life. Suffering is such a real part of life that neglecting to depict it, or depicting it in a way that is surreal and unrelatable, makes the work difficult to read/watch/hear without skepticism. Additionally, if what's being depicted as ordinary contradicts the everyday experience of the audience, then they may dismiss the work - setting, theme, and all - as unbelievable or untrue. 

    It has been countered that some things should never be portrayed. I agree wholeheartedly, and many people who wrote in a Realistic style also did. While later modernist writers took the philosophy to a whole new level, I don't think the intention of Realism is to simply shock the audience with vulgarity, bleakness, or depravity. While it came out that way sometimes for the sake of delivering the moral of the story - as in The Great Gatsby depicting the alcoholic, abusive life of the rich class to tell us that this world and all things of it are vanity - most Realist stories are not meant to be sensationalist for the sake of it, per se. 

    That said, I believe Realist stories are deeply sensationalistic. The comment is often leveled against Romantic stories that they are larger than life and don't depict reality accurately. Now, the problem with this criticism is that Realist stories don't either. I'll come back to that in a moment. On a shallower note, we really don't want them to. Any story that depicted reality exactly as we experienced it would be dull as paint. If I started reading a novel wherein the heroine wakes up early every morning, goes to school, works, and then goes home and does homework, I would lay it away pretty quickly. 


    When consuming works of art, we want something bigger than ourselves. While it's good for us to be reminded from time to time of the flaws in our patterns and lifestyles, we become desensitized to it if we hear it all the time. If all novels in the 1920s had been oratories on the upper class's dissipation and emptiness, the message would have been thoroughly ignored. As it was, Gatsby made an astonishing effect because it was unique in its depiction. While other writers glorified the '20s glitz and leisure, F. Scott Fitzgerald tore away the glitter and beads and showed it as the lost, restless culture that it was. And that is the real point of Realist stories. The point is not as much homogeneousness as it is homily. Realist stories have to be a little harsher, a little more familiar, and a little more down-to-earth because their point is to deliver a quick, hard, simple message that people need to hear. 

    It's extremely effective whenever it's been used. Sometimes people remember the characters and the settings, and sometimes not, but they remember the bottom line of the story. I probably couldn't tell you the names of half the characters in West Side Story, but I remember vividly the visceral repugnance at the gang violence that I was meant to feel. A Realist story is like someone in a speech saying "listen up" - it catches your attention and lets you know that this last thing is really important. 

    The problem with saying "listen up" in a speech too many times is that is loses its power. It becomes monotonous and signifying of nothing. You've probably listened to a speaker before who uses the same potent phrase or comparison too many times and loses his audience's engagement as a result. Realist stories are very much like this. They serve a good purpose in a crisis, but they become desensitizing in large doses. If we take in too much of the hard, direct, and the gray - especially the morally gray - then we can come to accept it as normal and tune it out. If we're constantly fed things we're supposed to relate to, then we tend to come to see it as being indeed everyday, and thus mundane and ignorable. 

    That's a bit of a problem with writing stories in general. While we want to relate to our audience, like I said above, too much relatability creates predictability or boredom. We don't want our stories to perfectly reflect real life, and I think there is a deeper reason for that. Life in this world is never perfect - quite the opposite - and if we are only fed with the ugly, the commonplace, and the familiar, then we feel unfulfilled and lacking. We feel a distinct need for something more - some sort of resolve to our suspended existence. 

    This leads to my other problem with Realist writing. Like I said above, I think that Realist writing is quite profoundly sensationalistic. It's always an exaggeration. Realist writing is by its nature stuck in this world, and, while that may offer us a lot of wisdom on how to (or how not to) conduct our daily lives, it doesn't give us anything more universal to look to. What's more, much (not all, but much) of Realist writing is stuck in a sort-of incomplete version of this world. It's true - suffering, hardship, and immorality exist, but they are only a piece of our nature and existence. In fact, they are a small piece, like a parasite on an independent body. Poverty, sickness, and depravity are true in daily life, but so are other more beautiful, good things like marriage, children, humor, health, and simple everyday love. Most Realist stories focus on those former, uglier qualities and forget that the beautiful part of everyday life exists. And in a sense, that can be a good thing. It's hard to deliver a tough message without cutting to the quick and focusing on one thing. But nobody likes to listen to a fire-and-brimstone preacher all the time, and that's why these stories can be dulling to our senses even more than any other Realist stories. It's easy to see why we go to Realist stories more like Little Women or Mr. Smith Goes to Washington when we want something lighter - while they do focus more on this world and its issues, they're uplifting because they present us with both the ugly and the beautiful sides of life. Even if they don't pack quite as much of a gut-punch when it's needed, they are good reminders in a more regular way. 


    Now to get to the meat of the matter. I believe that a more Romantic worldview is the superior one when it comes to writing stories. While it's true that it doesn't match up to real life, as I demonstrated above, no stories really do - that's rather the point of stories. We tend to ignore things that are too familiar to us. Romantic writing also can't come to arms in a crisis the same way a hard Realist story can, but, again, hard Realist stories are best to have in crises and not as the standard. Because Realist stories are stuck in this world - whether they present its good or not - they are always incomplete and imperfect. They may be splendid works, they may be some of history's masterpieces, but they never quite reach the thing that is most beautiful in them: the transcendental. 

    In any reaching for virtue, either by criticizing its lack or by encouraging its daily practice, a work touches on something universal. In Realist works, we only get these universal values through a human lens, but we yearn for a better look at them. Everyone wants the answers to the wide, vast questions of life, and this world can't give them to us. Nothing touches the heart and inflames the mind and soul like a work that explores a great question or some transcendental good. After all, one of the transcendental goods, beauty, is the basis of all art, including writing. Without it, there would be no good writing at all. Many love to read the Gospels and the Acts of the Apostles, but most Christians I've talked to agree that the books that captivate them the most are books like Psalms, Lamentations, and Revelation: the books of mystery and of the great, universal ideas. 

    As immortal beings, we are designed to love and be drawn to the immortal. Things that mystify and go beyond our senses are what interest and benefit us most. Mysteries are not relatable; if they were, they would not be mysteries. That's precisely the beauty and the attraction of them to our nature. Fiction should reflect that truth, that ultimate Reality: that we are not alone in this immense world, and there is so much more to know than what we see and experience. Beowulf sacrificing himself to slay the dragon is Christ on the Cross; Nabucco's people exiled in a foreign land are the Church, the New Jerusalem, chosen to suffer through this world; Jean Valjean in his struggle against the world to become a truly just person is Fallen Man on his path back to God. In that sense, Romanticism is really the true realism because it depicts and hints at the Reality that is more real than anything on this earth: the Reality of goodness, truth, beauty, and of God, who is all these things and Being Itself. 


    Grand scale characters and plots exploring questions that are perennial and maybe seem obvious to us can be overdone like anything we human beings do. However, I think that they communicate the vastness of this universe and this existence much better than stories trapped on this earth do. Because Romantic works give us such a huge view to look at, they force us to actively consider and choose what our focus is. We can't passively take in a good, Romantic work; we have to internalize the ideas presented or else we can't understand it. There is no way for us to simply let it be. On that note, this can often be why many people profess not to enjoy grand, Romantic works as much. They take more intellectual effort to appreciate and cannot be taken in without engagement. Oftentimes, it's easier to have a moral handed to us without further ado, like Christ giving us parables in the Gospels. (And there's nothing wrong with that.) Remember, though, Christ also gave us Revelation. We're not meant only to be pushed towards Heaven and the transcendental goods, but also to push ourselves, to make a constant, real effort to ask the questions we must answer and pursue the goods we must acquire. For those reasons, we need the challenges in our stories to look not down at the earth, but up to the Heavens, and to ask What lies within. 

Well, that's my two cents, anyhow. What are your thoughts? Do you prefer to read more Romantic or Realistic works? Which do you prefer to write? Share your thoughts, if you have any, and, meanwhile, have a wonderful Easter season! (And give Megan some extra applause if you enjoyed this post... Some parts were inspired by an old post of hers about language in writing, but I can't find the post anywhere to link to it anymore... [EDIT: Thanks to Megan, it's now linked in the comments below.]) 

Friday, March 4, 2022

Meet the Books! - To Save a Little Face

 Well, in true disorganized form, I have come with another linkup to save the blog from being neglected again. This may be the last Meet the Books! for a while, though... Unfortunately, this is my last archive story idea. (But the last two times I said that, I was struck by new ideas in time to make another linkup... Hmm... Well, we'll see how the muse behaves this time.) As always, if you want to join the linkup, the rules are pretty easy. Just answer the questions in bold below for your own story, and then leave a link to your post in the comment section here. You may use the image if you like (but I'm not sure why you would want to...). 

Well, shall we begin?

What is the title?

The title of this particular work, as you can see from the post name,* is To Save a Little Face. It'll make more sense when we talk about the plot.


*Why do I even have this question on here again...? 


What is the genre? Time period?

The genre is Comedy, quite possibly Romantic Comedy, depending on the way the wind blows when I write it. I know I said a long while back that Comedy simply was not my genre, but ever since I became an ardent pupil of Miss Megan's discipline of Comedy,* I have been quite in love with the genre. When I tried it again to write He Travels the Fastest, ** I found I actually quite enjoyed writing it. So, yes. The moral of the story is try new things and maybe vegetables don't taste as bad as they smell and all that jazz. (Although, really, most vegetables taste quite as bad as they smell.) 

As to the time period, it is in the American 1930s again. (I tell you, I'm really liking the way HTtF is set up...) 

*"Discipline of Comedy"... That sounds... odd.

** Oh, yes, did I mention that HTtF is now being drafted? It's been splendid fun. Perhaps I'll post some snippets some time. (What is with all these footnotes??? I feel like Megan...)


How is it written (POV, format, etc.)?

Third person, probably narrative, but I'm not sure yet. I'll figure that stuff out when I write it.


What is the setting?

The high society of America in the 1930s is our setting this time. We'll be hitting up Broadway and Carnegie Hall as well as the subways and street corners of New York. 


Who are the characters?

   In order of appearance...


    Donna Delany is a trained, gifted, gorgeous star of Broadway who aspires to even greater heights. After all, she was trained in a conservatory of music. Broadway is for lowbrows. She dislikes Broadway, dislikes working, and dislikes most people as well. She enjoys the applause, though she might not admit it, and she has gained a reputation for being witty, beautiful, and snobbier than an Englishman at Harvard. She has very little regard for anyone else's opinions or feelings.


   Neville Devine is a charming and troublesome actor from the Continent. Or at least, that's what he says. The man has a different backstory by the day, not to mention to new present stories he causes in the newspapers everywhere he goes. He's quite difficult to keep up with. 

    Mr. King is Donna's publicity manager. He usually lets Donna do what she likes, but he shouldn't be crossed. He is quite stubborn, and he's growing tired of trying to fix Donna's reputation...

   Karol Drozdoborod is a Russian-born pianist and composer who is on the rise in America. His beautiful compositions are the talk of the town, but he is a retiring, quiet man. He retains some visible facial damage from being in the wrong place at the wrong time during the Bolshevik riots in his home country. 

   Sergei, the fiddler, is a humble, immigrant street musician with traditional ideals. He doesn't ask much other than a home and everything being in its place. He loves to come to stage doors and see the actors with his fellow buskers. 



What does the plot consist of?

Anybody here read/remember "King Thrushbeard," of Grimm's Fairy Tales? This is pretty much a retelling of King Thrushbeard, if you can imagine it. With that said, I've pretty much given away every spoiler already, so be warned that I'm going to be pretty open with the plot twists. To configure the fairytale into this is pretty simple. Princess is Donna, the King is Mr. King, Thrushbeard is Drozborod, and the Fiddler is Sergei. (As for Neville... He is an interesting bit of plot device. Consider him what was necessary to spark the story into action.)

So, more or less, for those who are not familiar with "King Thrushbeard," here is a more detailed version from my summary notes:

       --A Broadway/stage prima donna who is very set in her ways won’t give the time of day to any man and criticizes all. Then, when a somewhat malicious rumor starts about her concerning a relationship with a scandalous fellow, her manager forces her to find someone to marry in order to keep an image of respectability. She has snubbed so many men, nobody will touch her with a ten-foot pole, and she doesn’t want anybody because she doesn’t think anybody is good enough. In a rage, her manager swears that the first honest, single man who walks in is going to be the one or else she’s fired. After all, she can just get divorced later, once the scandal dies down.

        A group of street performers come to her after her show and want her autograph. She’s disgusted, but one of them, a fiddler with some talent, plays for the manager and stops one of his coworkers from stealing from the place. The manager is delighted, asks if the man is single, and then arranges everything accordingly. The two are married quietly, and much to the disdain of the prima donna. Her new husband demands a good few things. He is very quiet and traditional, and he dislikes his wife doing certain things on the stage. He makes her change things and makes her help him with the house, and he won’t let her stay out late nights or go to a lot of parties. (Perhaps he even disguises himself and disrupts her performances.)

        Her ire increases when she sees how famous Drozdoborod - a turned-down suitor of hers - is becoming in America, his many concerts and compositions, and how rich he is. The fiddler lives practically in the slums and prefers Donna to stay with him instead of living at her penthouse. When her latest show flops, she is demoted to a small side role in the next musical. Her lesser
female co-stars are rising in popularity as she falls. She becomes disheartened. Finally, it’s heard that Drozdoborod has written an opera, and wants a classically-trained female actress to define the lead role. This fits Donna, and she wants the role badly at the same time as being embarrassed and regretful that she rejected Drozdoborod when she could have had him and the role so easily.

        It is announced that Drozdoborod himself will be leading the orchestra for the show. The lead role is given to her old female secondary, and she is given a one-song role that is very small and unsuited to her. She is angry, and angrier still when she realizes that Drozdoborod shows up for most rehearsals of the songs except her own, as if her song wasn’t even big enough for him to care. Finally, when it is showtime, she is so angry she doesn’t even see Drozborod properly until it’s her scene. At that point, facing him from across the orchestra, she sees that it is her fiddler leading the
orchestra. Completely distraught and confused, she bungles her one number, and leaves the stage in humiliation. She is too ashamed to come to even enter the cast party afterwards, but it’s said                that Drozborod demands her attendance.

        Knowing she will be fired from the cast and likely never see another stage, she humbles herself and goes anyhow, to get the thing over with. She goes in, and - lo and behold - it is Drozborod, but with some identifying element of her fiddler. She recognizes them as the same, and he reveals that very fact. She is mortified, but she admits that she sees the justice in it all. She submits to the idea of a divorce now that the scandal is over and he’s gotten his back. He dismisses the idea and brings her to the party with him, announcing their secret marriage to all, and there the story ends.--


Sorry about my notes being rather incoherent... If that made any sense at all, that's more or less the story in a nutshell.

What gave you the idea?

Well, I don't know about you, but I've thought King Thrushbeard would make a great Romantic Comedy for forever. I figured nobody else was going to do it, so here we are.



Who are the favorite characters so far?

Well, it's still archived, no actual writing, so there aren't any favorite characters yet.

What is the favorite scene thus far?

Once again, none yet.

Any drawings? Aesthetics?

I'm afraid not. This idea is pretty darn fresh (less than a year old), and I haven't done much work other than collecting notes and brainstorming.

Any themes of music for this story?

Not yet, but hold tight...

Any snippets?
Not written yet, so not at this time. (These questions, by the way, are for any linkup joiners... Obviously, I have very little to offer on them.)

Strong point in story?

I think that the plot is pretty strong. But I could also still be in new-story-idea euphoria.

Weak point in the story?

Hard to say at this point. Dialogue is always a safe bet, though. It's not my strong suit.

What are your plans for it?

Well, I'll write it, and after that, we'll see.

Any particular writing habits for it?

None yet.



If it were made into a movie, what would be your ideal cast for it?

I like Ida Lupino (like in the picture above) for Donna. (If not her, then Jeannette MacDonald.) A slightly more marred Mel Ferrer could make a good Drozborod, if he actually did the accent. I think I see an Errol Flynn cameo for Neville Devine.

That's all for now, folks. Let me know what you think? Are there any fairytales you think would make good comedies? What are you all writing right now? Once again, feel free to join the linkup to introduce your own stories! (And I will see you all again come Easter!)

Monday, February 14, 2022

On Shoes, Gloves, and Romance

    There was once, I hear, a cobbler who had a marvelous ability. His skill with making shoes was so phenomenal that it extended beyond creation into transformation. He could take two shoes which were completely different, and he could alter them so that they would be a completely new pair, quite alike in every way. People came from far and wide simply to see this curiosity take place. Nobody knew how he did it, but they came and tried to figure it out just the same. The rich and the eccentric would bring shoes of different pairs and makes and designers to see them change form, and the less rich and eccentric would bring lone shoes without partners to make them of use again. Though all watched the process with their own eyes, the skill was beyond their understanding, and it completely eluded their senses. 

    Now, it came to pass one day that a young person became dissatisfied with the cobbler's mysterious ability and the way it worked. He brought to the tailor two shoes quite unalike, just like many others before him had. He had, however, a different demand: he wanted the tailor to only alter one and not the other. He wanted one to remain the same, and the other to change to be like it. Now, there was no reason for this. Both shoes were decent, plain shoes without adornment or beauty, and both were still useful to some pair of feet for a time. Neither one was particularly special. The fact of the matter was only this: the man simply disliked the limitation the cobbler put on what seemed to be an infinite ability. If the cobbler's custom of only transforming shoes together was arbitrary, then why not break it? The cobbler clearly had the skill to. 

    When the young man came with this request, however, the cobbler refused him. The young man, of course, wanted to know why. To this, the cobbler's reply was short and simple. We are given what we are given, he told the young man, and we must be content with it. A blessing is a blessing, and distinguishing between them, or favoring one over the other for oneself is ingratitude. Everything we receive, after all, is a gift. 




    Forgive me for starting with a small story, but I feel that this bit of musing probably would not make much sense without the train of thought that came before it, this little tale. For the moment, the tale stands alone, but I'll come back to it. 

    Have you ever noticed the use of romantic curios in stories? Things like handkerchiefs or roses or such things. At first, they're something silly and mundane, but then they take on a greater meaning as the couple's story and development go on. Here's one example, for those who have read Little Women. Do you remember Meg and Mr. Brooke? Their romance begins, perhaps, when Mr. Brooke finds Meg's missing glove. It is a little thing, and Meg dismisses it as gone, so he keeps the thing and cherishes it. Later on, it is a factor of revelation, telling us of Mr. Brooke's true intentions and helping Meg to realize her direction in life. She marries Mr. Brooke, and the gloves are reunited, a complete pair once more. 

    Such a little thing, but it's a lovely little bit of metaphor, isn't it? Of course, we've all heard that cliche old chestnut about couples completing each other and what not. Very often, that stuff is nonsense, or at least heavily diluted therewith, talking about soulmates and fated matches and such drivel. Of course, couples are not fated to be with one another anymore than anyone is fated to do anything, and one good man is equal to the next when it comes to choosing a spouse, if things are done properly. 

    But let me indulge in another example before I continue. I'm sure even those who have not read Little Women know the story of Cinderella. Cinderella loses one glass slipper, and the Prince finds it and returns it to her, restoring unity just like with Meg's gloves.

    In human romantic love, the two shoes or the two gloves are exactly what each spouse should be. One is like to the other in the same way - their fragility. Is it a coincidence that Cinderella's shoes should be made of glass, or that Meg's glove should be lost? The shoes and gloves are like to each other and are one set. 



    That's all well and good, and more competent literary scholars than myself have probably already noted the allegory. Something much more important, however is present in the image. Shoes and gloves are pairs, they are designed for one another, and they make a complete set of something, but there is another aspect as well. Shoes and gloves alike are designed for a purpose, a purpose even beyond completing each other. Shoes are meant to protect the feet and gloves to warm the hands. If shoes or gloves existed independently of any wearer, they would be completely meaningless. 

    The truth of the matter is, we are gloves or shoes or what have you. We are meant for each other in a smaller, more temporal sense (not meaning temporary, but, rather, within time), but we have a greater purpose that we must serve together. If we do it apart, with only one party serving, only half the goal is met. One glove alone does not keep the hands warm, though it's better than none. One spouse on the road towards Heaven alone may get there, but he is missing his traveling companion. We are meant to be together because Heavenly Love is a difficult ideal. For many of us, it is not given that we can know it directly in an intimate way. Instead, we are part of a pair, made to work together and learn of God by serving Him with our human love. If both shoes are found and united, only then are they of full use to the Wearer. 



    This brings me back to my story and to the fallacy of fated lovers. We are not unchanging beings - this is exactly why we cannot be fated for anything other than Heaven. After all, the only unchanging thing in us is the bit of God in us. Only His Holy Image in us does not change. God is the Cobbler in the story. We cannot remain the same and hope to find a match. Both parties must change for love to happen because love is a radical change, only capable of moving and perfecting when it meets with something hardened and imperfect. Love will always be in motion as long as it is finite because it longs so much to reach a state of infinity. The cobbler in my story cannot bear to leave one shoe as it is. He creates, but, more importantly, he transforms. 

    Without being changed, we cannot hope to become perfect. If we cannot hope to become perfect, we cannot hope to achieve Heaven. Fate has nothing to do with romance, really. There is nothing less romantic than being fated to something; it takes all nobility, all beauty, and any influence of God out of the picture of romance. We are malleable, changeable beings, just needing to be hammered into shape to work out as we ought. Ultimately, Our Lord is a Cobbler, making out of even mismatched, useless shoes a beautiful pair, worthy of a King.

Sorry for rambling a bit again... Hope it made some little sense, at least. Either way, Happy St. Valentine's Day, all!

Wednesday, February 2, 2022

Five Classical Composers Every Catholic Should Know

 Hey-ho! I'm here with something a bit new today. So, the story begins with my two music history classes, wherein one listens to various music from various periods and composers and analyses it and all such stuff. (I have to say, if you ever get the chance to take a music listening course, do it. It's such a wonderful experience. I am taking a general music history one and one on Nonwestern music, and both are utterly fascinating.) 

Anyhow, because of this class and my past love of classical music, I have discovered a few quite wonderful composers, and - more importantly - learned some history behind them. You know, even in a secular, liberal college, it's quite striking how massive a role the Church plays in getting music off to a running start. And that, I suppose, brings me to my point. I love classical music, and, obviously, as a Catholic, I love Catholicism. The cathedral space where they overlap is quite my cup of tea, and we're always told to write what we know, so, thus, this post is born. In short, I'd like to share a few classical composers/works that I think Catholics should know as a part of the rich music history that the Church takes part in. Obviously, if you're a classical aficionado already, you probably know these composers and such, but I will try not to be too mainstream with the ones I talk about - so, no Mozart or Palestrina or anything. (And if you don't like classical music, you... should give it another go. Skip the post, if you will, but, really - give classical music another try.) 


Couldn't find a pic without the wig...

Antonio Vivaldi (1678-1741)

(If you like the Piano Guys - like this and this - chances are, you've already heard Vivaldi. He's best known for his four Season concertos, especially Spring and Winter.)

Antonio Vivaldi was deeply interested in the priesthood as a young boy, becoming ordained at only twenty-five years old, despite extreme frailty. In fact, long before people ever called him "composer," people called him "Il Prete Rosso" - Italian for "the Red Priest," referring to his bright orange hair color. 

Vivaldi was a pioneer composer when it came to opera, concertos (instrumental solo works), and oratorios (sung religious texts). He loved to compose, and, while his health sometimes made it impossible for him to write things himself (and eventually killed his ability to say Mass on his own), he was quite devoted to ordering sounds into beauty. His devotion to the Faith never waned either, even once he was too sickly to say Mass. A fellow composer wrote of him, "the [R]osary never left his hand except when he picked up his pen to write an opera." 

I definitely recommend all his operas, but especially Griselda, a beautiful fairy tale about a common woman marrying a king and then proving her fidelity to him. (Here is one aria from it, and here's one of the Seasons, while you're at it.)



Edward Elgar (1857-1934)

(Elgar is best known for this gorgeous little instrumental love song to his wife, Salut D'Amour.)

Chesterton, Belloc, and Elgar had something in common, living in England near the turn of the century: an unpopular Faith. In England, the religion of the State had been Anglicanism for years, and Catholics were looked down upon, even highly discriminated against in academic circles, as St. John Henry Newman wrote about in his Apologia Pro Vita Sua (Defense of His Life). 

Elgar's mother converted to Catholicism just before his birth, and, despite the disapproval of his father and all their friends, Elgar was baptized and raised Catholic from his earliest days. In an Anglican world, it was difficult to be taken seriously as an intellectual or artist of any kind when one was a Catholic. Elgar, however, bulldozed through any suspicion or dislike from his peers, and he quickly became one of England's most honored composers purely through the beauty and genius of his own compositions. In addition to this, he was one of the first composers to consistently record his music, leading to most of it being relatively intact to this day. 

Perhaps Elgar had a bit of a roguish, teasing streak in him. Once he made it big in the Anglican high society of England, he published his magnum opus, a massive musical setting of St. John Henry Newman's poem, The Dream of Gerontius. This very Catholic work was primarily concerned with purgatory, a doctrine which the Anglicans rejected. To be sure, it got a few Anglicans fired up, but the work is now considered Elgar's best. (The overture to The Dream of Gerontius is here.)



Claudio Monteverdi (1567-1643)

(Monteverdi is best known for his operas, such as the one this overture is from.) 

Monteverdi is less known these days, but he's a big composer in the classical and the liturgical worlds. Late in life, a Catholic priest and music theory genius, he also founded the genre of opera, writing many of the first and pioneering many techniques in acting and singing, especially techniques in ironic contrast.

One of the most beautiful pieces by Monteverdi is this duet, from his historical opera, The Coronation of Poppea.



Camille Saint-Saens (1835-1921)

(Please forgive the incorrect French lettering... My Blogger skills are those of a five year-old, I'm afraid...) 

(Saint-Saens is best known for his Carnival of the Animals. You probably have heard The Swan from it at some point, here. You may also have heard his famous ghost story piece, Danse Macabre, here.)

Okay, so if you know classical music, you might be wondering why I have Saint-Saens on here at all. The man always claimed he wasn't very religious, after all. The truth, I think, is much more complicated than that. Saint-Saens was one of the last bulwarks of a traditional way of composing, making sounds beautiful and intended to awaken and order the emotions and mind rather than, say, this chaos we call contemporary classical (my apologies to anybody who likes contemporary classical). And, as the Church has always held, that's exactly what music is meant to do: raise the emotions to some order using beauty in sound. Because Saint-Saens was composing in the period where music started splitting into camps of beautiful music and jarring music, he became, intentionally or unintentionally, aligned with much more religious forces, becoming a prominent choral and organ composer, and writing many beautiful sacred pieces.

Even more than the camp that Saint-Saens was put in by others, however, Saint-Saens had an interesting fascination for an "unreligious" man: he wrote many of his most beautiful works in dedication to the Blessed Mother. For some reason, throughout his composition career, the idea of the Ave Maria haunted him and pervaded his music. To be sure, it was relatively standard for a great, traditional composer of the time to write at least one Mass or Ave or something like that. It was a way to show off choral and liturgical writing skills, and it was a sort of aging lip service to that old patron of the Arts, the Catholic Church. Writing one Ave was relatively normal. Saint-Saens wrote five. They were all completely original (many composers of the time liked to just recycle melodies when it came to writing their liturgical works), all very beautiful, and all pretty reverent, fitting within the Church's rubrics for music (as opposed to, say, Beethoven, whose Mass has a whole orchestra... very difficult to fit in a choir loft). For a man who specialized in the old, Romantic Age ideals of passion and complexity in music, it's strange that he wrote some of his most moving melodies for Mary, a figure of humility and simplicity. I highly suggest you look up his Ave in A Major, here - it's definitely worth a listen.



Cesar Franck (1822-1890)

(Franck is best known for this sonata for violin and piano, as well as other instrumental works like it.)

Franck was a cradle Catholic, organist, and pianist. Supposedly, the dude had such big hands that his works are very difficult - if not impossible - to play as written. (I wonder if Sergei Rachmaninov ever gave him a run for his money...?) He was a conservatory professor for a time and was known as an eccentric. His students who got into his confidence and could look past his childlike oddities often called him "Papa Franck" due to how amiable a teacher he was.

Franck believed strongly in expressing the virtues through music. Nearly every work he ever wrote, especially his instrumental music, he based on his meditation on the virtues, the Beatitudes, and various Gospel verses. He believed that music was intrinsically good, and if it was at all beautiful, it led the way to God. 

Probably my favorite Franck piece is his beautiful duet, Panis Angelicus, here, which I have been privileged enough to sing many times. (Correction: the version linked is a solo because apparently Youtube has no versions of the duet arrangement with good audio quality.)

Anyhow, that's all for the moment, folks. Sorry if the post is slightly boring... I don't seem to have a non-ramble mode when it comes to music, I'm afraid. Let me know if you like classical music! Who are some of your favorite composers?

Sunday, January 23, 2022

Tradition, Progress, and Building on Seashells: Some Thoughts on Disney's Moana

[A Note: I know I am pretty behind the times in writing something about Moana, but the Muse calls when it calls, I suppose. Anyhow, this is an essay I wrote originally for school, so while I have tried to spruce it up in some regards, it still may be a little formal... Apologies on that account - hopefully it still has some interest to it, at least as a thought experiment.]


***


                 In 2016, Disney released a children’s film, Moana, detailing the story

of a Pacific Island princess and her quest to save her home. I saw it a good bit later

than that, but we'll leave that fact aside. There is one moment in the movie that

has always piqued my interest (as well as other emotions), near the end of the

movie. It's a potent little curio, and the last shot in the film: a seashell on top of a

tower of stones. But I'll get back to that in a minute.



                 In the film, the eponymous princess, Moana, is drawn to the ocean even

though her father, the king, forbids venturing beyond their island’s waters. Moana

is the crown heir of the kingdom, and she is taught many of her people’s traditions

by her parents. She, however, feels locked in by those traditions. A malignant

goddess is slowly poisoning the islands, making them fall into decay, and this

state of things is beginning to threaten even Moana’s island. Moana decides to

go against her people’s present law and search for someone who can return an

ancient artifact and restore her island’s vitality. Eventually, of course, the mission

is accomplished, Moana returns to her island and people, and she plans to tear

down the laws in favor of the ancient ways of voyaging, with everything

hunky-dory a la classic Disney style.


                   Through the film, the watcher is presented with an idea that to truly be

happy or progress as a society, we have to break down tradition and discard it.

Even though that's the movie's conscious message, however, Moana 

unconsciously undermines it. Accidentally, the film shows us how off the idea

is because it skews the definition of progress, fails to take advantage of the past,

and has no tangible goal or standard.


         Within the movie, the themes of tradition and progress are perhaps best

represented by the curio beginning when Moana’s father takes her up to the top

of the island to show her something. He shows her a stack of stones at the top of

the mountain, each one placed by a chieftain of the island upon his crowning to

“raise the island higher.” Moana is expected to place her own stone one day. At

the end of the movie, Moana returns to the island briefly and we see that she has

placed a seashell atop the stones, giving a visual symbol of her tearing down the

old ways.



         Moana is different from her people and their expectations in many ways.

She loves hearing the stories of other worlds outside her home. She has trouble

accepting the idea of being chief one day, a role destined for her from birth. She

feels called to go beyond the reef around their island, the symbol of her father’s

laws. There is something freeing in the beautiful music and wide, open aesthetic

of the scene when Moana finally makes it beyond the reef successfully. Clearly,

we as the watchers are meant to glean that freedom from tradition means

fulfillment and progress.


         The problem with this idea is that the progress Moana accomplishes

is not fulfillment, even in the scope of the movie. What we are meant to see as

the end goal – Moana transcending her people’s ways – is really only a means

to an end. Throughout the film, the ultimate evil is seen as the destruction of

Moana’s island and home, the paragon of her people’s traditions and

domesticity. Conversely, the ultimate good in the film could be seen as the

preservation of this home and people, and Moana’s safe return to her family.

The very reason Moana disobeys the laws and leaves the island is to save her

people’s way of life from destruction. If Moana’s people had merely become

voyagers at the beginning of the movie, they could have fished and sailed to 

their heart’s content, not needing the island as a home. Even at the end of the

movie, when Moana’s people do voyage, the lyrics of the ending song show an

attachment to home and the old ways: “We keep our island in our mind, and

when it’s time to find home, we know the way… We are explorers,” rather than,

say, “we are nomads” or “we are voyagers.” If the breaking of tradition and the

casting off of old ways were really the route to happiness, then why does the

happy ending of the movie merely show an addition to old traditions, rather

than their eradication?




         The key to both the intentional and unintentional portrayals of the

theme in the film is that tradition and progress are inherently related. Let's go

back to the stone tower now. Like the stones on Moana’s island, tradition is the

foundation that lets progress raise a civilization higher. With each stone, more

is added to society, but the tower would fall and break if one of the lower stones

was removed. That little seashell on the tower is such a powerful moment,

illustrating the clash of themes perfectly. The seashell does raise the island 

higher for one generation, and it looks beautiful at first, but then it makes it 

impossible for future generations to build on the tower without either discarding

or crushing the seashell. In other words, the seashell can’t remain the standard or

else no progress will be made. Tradition – the stones – must remain a part of

society’s standard in order for progress to be made. The fact of it is this: like

Moana’s people, we need to respect tradition in order to move forward in society.

While the movie wants us to see tradition as outdated and inhibitive, what it

accidentally shows us is that tradition is a healthy part of society. Even Moana’s

return to the old ways of voyaging is not a destruction of the stone tower. It makes

use of an old way of life, just altering details for the time’s needs. This is the very

definition of progress.



         In short, while the conscious theme of Moana is the harmfulness of

tradition, the movie can’t escape from the truth that tradition is necessary to

have any kind of goal or standard for civilization. The film tells us that the laws

and traditions are a handicap to fulfillment in life, but what it accidentally shows

us is that the laws and traditions are a necessary step on the path to happiness.

The "path less traveled" in the movie is, in truth, merely a branch off of the old

path. Humanity needs tradition. After all, you can’t build on seashells.


(Well, those are my thoughts, anyhow. Let me know what you think! Anything to add or contest? I offer yet another apology for the formatting... I can't seem to figure out the new way Blogger works...)