Based off a recent expedition to Norway, where I spent time in Jotunheimen (which literally means ‘home of the giants’ in Norwegian) and I was inspired to write something about the endlessness of that place. I know why it is named what it is.
Far beyond the dusty hills of Gjendesheim,
beyond the endless shores of the Northern Sea,
there lies a place, touched by the hands of eternity.
They called it Jotunheimen,
named for those who dwell within the expanse,
Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf is a novel concerned with time. Time is used as a marker throughout the story as Big Ben chimes the hour. It is also bent and contorted to the novels will, as characters are consumed by memories of the past. Big Ben is particularly used to great symbolic importance. Returning home Mrs. Dalloway observes her neighbor out the window and remarks, “Big Ben struck the half-hour. How extraordinary it was, strange, yes, touching, to see the old lady…move away from the window, as if she were attached to that sound, that string…Down, down, into the midst of ordinary things the finger fell making the moment solemn” (127). Continue reading “Big Ben Chimes the Hour: Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf”
Oh dreamer,
the world wants to see your
soul.
Your burning heart,
your tangled ideas,
your iridescent hope,
and
sharp-as-blade sorrows.
The world needs
them.
“The Wasteland” by T.S. Elliot is a brilliantly complex and hard to interpret poem. Dealing with the after-effects of World War 1, it explores how poetry and modernism should respond to such devastation as a global war. The picture painted by Elliot is bleak and full of desolation, it’s a world that Elliot seems uncertain will recover, but in one section of the poem on death that is a glimmer of the notion of hope. A character of the poem says, “‘That corpse you planted last year in your garden,/ ‘Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year? /‘Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed’” (ll. 71-73). Continue reading “Poetry’s Response to Modernism and War: The Wasteland by T.S. Elliot”
A bit of randomness I wrote from the prompt of ‘one room’.
Everything exploded in a kaleidoscope of red and orange, and the next thing I knew I was standing in a completely white room with no doors or windows, and I hadn’t the slightest idea how I got there.
An old story I wrote, that is just fluffy, sweet goodness. Hope you enjoy! I am thinking about doing a rewrite and updating it.
Cyndi shoved her way through the school halls, her vans squeaking loudly on the tile floor, as she searched desperately for Tyler her head whipping back and forth so quickly it was a miracle she didn’t get whiplash.
“Hey, Cyndi!” Alexis called, waving at her wildly. “Only one more week till we are free of this hell hole for good!” Cyndi’s gaze flickered over to her briefly and she shouted a greeting, voicing her hearty consent, before her attention returned to the problem at hand. “He’s over there.” Alexis informed her pointing in the direction of the gym doors, Cyndi’s eyes zeroed in on a familiar blonde head. “Thanks Alexis. Love you!”
“Tyler!” she screeched, pushing people out of the way with well placed elbows. The head turned slightly at the sound of his name, but continued on disappearing into the gym. With a burst of energy, Cyndi pulled herself…
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After being around goats for the majority of my life, I have come to the conclusion that they are quite possibly the most amusing and enjoyable animals to have. They each have their own unique personality, whether it be grumpy, annoying, quiet, wild, etc., and they are—though it may be a little-known fact—very affectionate, and often think they are lap goats even when they weigh 70 pounds. This is an account of what I have learned from raising Nigerian Dwarf goats for the past twelve or so years.
The Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad is a tale inexorably tied to water. From the frame story of men sitting quietly together on a boat listening to the tale of Marlowe, to Marlowe’s tale of taking a steamer in the heart of Africa, the reader can hardly escape the importance and the deep symbolic meaning that can and has often been connected to water. For the narrator, water represents a form of romanticized memory. Continue reading “The Imagery of Water: The Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad”
Across the pallid grey of dusky dim
that lays upon the shattered seas;
beyond the skyline’s golden rim
that scintillates the western breeze,
there lays a hidden, lonely shore
long left to ancient myth and lore.
A silent coast, a desolate strand
an unremembered sylvan land.
This is going to be a bit of a two in one kind of moment because the things I like and dislike about the Anne of Green Gables series stayed pretty strong throughout what I have so far read. So If you want to understand my feelings completely please check out my review “Scope for the Imagination” on Anne of Green Gables. Now you are probably thinking, what does she mean by two in one, well this will included some thoughts I had on Anne of Avonlea and Anne of the Island. Rather than being a coherent review, which you can get with Anne of Green Gable, it is really going to be more a collection of particular points of contention and pleasure for me about.
Continue reading “Adulting/Dream Houses and Friendship: A review of Anne of Avonlea/the Island”
Joined at the Authorship 