Just read the graphic novel BEAST by Marian Churchland. It was fabulous. The art was fresh, beautiful, dynamic, the story an interesting new version of "Beauty and the Beast." In it, a sculptor called Colette is offered a dream commission to sculpt a marble portrait of her benefactor. She arrives at the derelict mansion where she is to do the job and discovers that the subject is to be a strange but (in my opinion) beautiful shadow-creature known as Beast.
Things I liked: extremely appealing aesthetic, well-written, not as maudlin or explicitly laid out as your average Beast update.
Things I didn't like: rather unsatisfying ending, in my opinion.
Verdict: Read it now.
28 April 2010
22 April 2010
100 Words
Sir Bedevere knocked on yet another door, hoping it was the last.
“Hello?” a young girl answered, strangely dressed even for this strange decade.
“Good morrow, madam,” said Sir Bedevere, “May I speak with the man of the house?”
“There’s only one man in this house,” she said with amusement, “and he’s not exactly the kind you seek.”
“I would speak with him anon, an’ it please you.”
“Alright then,” she said, grinning snidely. She called, “Bedevere!” and a little mopsy dog came bounding to her side.
“We named him after the Monty Python character,” the girl explained.
“I see.”
“Hello?” a young girl answered, strangely dressed even for this strange decade.
“Good morrow, madam,” said Sir Bedevere, “May I speak with the man of the house?”
“There’s only one man in this house,” she said with amusement, “and he’s not exactly the kind you seek.”
“I would speak with him anon, an’ it please you.”
“Alright then,” she said, grinning snidely. She called, “Bedevere!” and a little mopsy dog came bounding to her side.
“We named him after the Monty Python character,” the girl explained.
“I see.”
21 April 2010
In Terra Pax
My thirteen-year-old cousin's best friend became a fan of "My stomach drops when I think about you being with someone else" on Facebook. Makes you laugh. Then makes you wonder.
Got my first ever publishers' rejection letters today--two brief, messily hand-addressed papers I picked up from the desk in our hundred-year-old English building. They wanted to thank me for submitting, but regretted to inform me that they were unable to publish my stories in our school's student literary magazine.
Had a Freudian slip just then; accidentally typed "punish" instead of "publish."
Today was a barefoot-in-the-clover-patch, cinnamon-soda-that's-rather-flat day for me. How 'bout you?
Yours &c,
E. A. Weatherfield
Got my first ever publishers' rejection letters today--two brief, messily hand-addressed papers I picked up from the desk in our hundred-year-old English building. They wanted to thank me for submitting, but regretted to inform me that they were unable to publish my stories in our school's student literary magazine.
Had a Freudian slip just then; accidentally typed "punish" instead of "publish."
Today was a barefoot-in-the-clover-patch, cinnamon-soda-that's-rather-flat day for me. How 'bout you?
Yours &c,
E. A. Weatherfield
20 April 2010
Tabs
These are the tabs that are open on my computer right now:
An article about the worst Spider-Man story arcs
A Web Comic
Facebook
Netflix instant player--Firefly
This is for a paper I'm doing
This man is my hero
And this is his new book
South Park Studios, because who has time for cable any more?
An article about the worst Spider-Man story arcs
A Web Comic
Netflix instant player--Firefly
This is for a paper I'm doing
This man is my hero
And this is his new book
South Park Studios, because who has time for cable any more?
A Manly Heart-to-Heart
"Lance!" Art greeted his best friend, "I haven't seen you in years! Literally. What the hell have you been doing?"
"Well," said Lance, "I slew a dragon."
"Slaying dragons is good."
"And then I had this thing going with this girl Elaine, which was great and all, until she got pregnant. Which might not have been such a huge problem, if it weren't that I didn't like her all that much in the first place."
"Man, that's rough," said Art.
"Yeah, and to make it worse, after she has the baby she kills herself. By floating in a boat. And I feel even more guilty now that I was only with her because she reminded me of my true love, who is unattainable."
"Aw, Lance, don't give me that. You could get any lady you wanted. You're the only Frenchman here, for chrissakes."
"No, not this one. This love is shameful."
"Lance, you know you can tell me anything. Who is this lady?"
"It's your wife."
Your Arthurian-legend-in-context for the day.
"Well," said Lance, "I slew a dragon."
"Slaying dragons is good."
"And then I had this thing going with this girl Elaine, which was great and all, until she got pregnant. Which might not have been such a huge problem, if it weren't that I didn't like her all that much in the first place."
"Man, that's rough," said Art.
"Yeah, and to make it worse, after she has the baby she kills herself. By floating in a boat. And I feel even more guilty now that I was only with her because she reminded me of my true love, who is unattainable."
"Aw, Lance, don't give me that. You could get any lady you wanted. You're the only Frenchman here, for chrissakes."
"No, not this one. This love is shameful."
"Lance, you know you can tell me anything. Who is this lady?"
"It's your wife."
Your Arthurian-legend-in-context for the day.
15 April 2010
The Event of People Making Music in a Room
I think I never had a better idea than going to last night's Ani DiFranco concert.
Let's start this story at the beginning. I discovered Ani last year, while cruising iTunes, hoping for some new music that wouldn't bore me, that wasn't the same as every other song. I stumbled upon her then-new album Not a Pretty Girl by happy, happy chance. Listened to the clips. Skipped around the house in joy at finding something worth listening to. Bought the album.
So a few weeks ago I discover that this concert is going to happen. I wasn't sure at first--I don't drive, and neither does my roommate Maria, so I worried about rides, and would the taxi work and would it cost too much, and all of that. But it fell into place; we got a ride, we got tickets, we were on our way.
So last night we arrive at the Pageant, Maria and I in our almost-matching hippie dresses, with our ride Bathsheba, who is 21 and so goes to the other side of the line. Maria and I are not allowed on the floor, but we find that the table closest to the stage is occupied by only two girls, and they have room for us. We are in business. We never learn their names, but they makes us a list of the songs played on a scrap of napkin.
Opening for Ani is the inestimable Buddy Wakefield. He is wigged out. His eyes are wide and he twitches elaborately. He radiates joy. You can feel the audience relaxing. You can feel your shoulder muscles loosening as he speaks. Magic words in rhythm. The diva beat-boxes. We cheer. He introduces Ani, and there is a bit of a wait.
When Ani walks onstage, she is smaller than I expected. Her hair looks unwashed, and she wears loose pants and an army green tank top with no bra. I didn't expect to be better dressed than Ani. She is beautiful. She has a guitar. She plays it like magic, like weaving. Some people sing along. Some people move.
It's cliche to say you've been under a spell, but after two hours of Ani DiFranco's music, this is how I feel. Eating pecan pancakes afterward, the only straight girl at the table, I feel a shimmer behind my brain. The spell lingers now. The knots in my muscles have flown apart. I feel like the breeze is a giant flower petal against my cheek. My concert tee is soft and loose. I have cut off the collar.
Buddy Wakefield signed his CD after the show. He asked my name and then he wrote, "Thank Goodness For Evangeline!" with Spanish upside-down-exclamation-marks. Same to you, Buddy, and Mama DiFranco too.
"Hearts don't break. They bruise and then they heal."
Yours &c,
E. A. Weatherfield
Let's start this story at the beginning. I discovered Ani last year, while cruising iTunes, hoping for some new music that wouldn't bore me, that wasn't the same as every other song. I stumbled upon her then-new album Not a Pretty Girl by happy, happy chance. Listened to the clips. Skipped around the house in joy at finding something worth listening to. Bought the album.
So a few weeks ago I discover that this concert is going to happen. I wasn't sure at first--I don't drive, and neither does my roommate Maria, so I worried about rides, and would the taxi work and would it cost too much, and all of that. But it fell into place; we got a ride, we got tickets, we were on our way.
So last night we arrive at the Pageant, Maria and I in our almost-matching hippie dresses, with our ride Bathsheba, who is 21 and so goes to the other side of the line. Maria and I are not allowed on the floor, but we find that the table closest to the stage is occupied by only two girls, and they have room for us. We are in business. We never learn their names, but they makes us a list of the songs played on a scrap of napkin.
Opening for Ani is the inestimable Buddy Wakefield. He is wigged out. His eyes are wide and he twitches elaborately. He radiates joy. You can feel the audience relaxing. You can feel your shoulder muscles loosening as he speaks. Magic words in rhythm. The diva beat-boxes. We cheer. He introduces Ani, and there is a bit of a wait.
When Ani walks onstage, she is smaller than I expected. Her hair looks unwashed, and she wears loose pants and an army green tank top with no bra. I didn't expect to be better dressed than Ani. She is beautiful. She has a guitar. She plays it like magic, like weaving. Some people sing along. Some people move.
It's cliche to say you've been under a spell, but after two hours of Ani DiFranco's music, this is how I feel. Eating pecan pancakes afterward, the only straight girl at the table, I feel a shimmer behind my brain. The spell lingers now. The knots in my muscles have flown apart. I feel like the breeze is a giant flower petal against my cheek. My concert tee is soft and loose. I have cut off the collar.
Buddy Wakefield signed his CD after the show. He asked my name and then he wrote, "Thank Goodness For Evangeline!" with Spanish upside-down-exclamation-marks. Same to you, Buddy, and Mama DiFranco too.
"Hearts don't break. They bruise and then they heal."
Yours &c,
E. A. Weatherfield
14 April 2010
On Pleasant Days
Warm again today. So warm I had to wear shoes. Nice breeze, and when it hits the trees all the flying petals and leaves and pollen look just like a rainbow snowstorm. The window is open and I can hear someone outside playing guitar or something, but I can't see them. Think about the satisfaction of having more of a paper written than you have left to write, and think about how good a Thin Mint tastes.
Last night after "So You Think Your Story Is Finished? Then Send It To the New Yorker" class, my friends and I forwent our homework session to do a dramatic reading of the infamous story "My Immortal." Again. And tonight is the Ani DiFranco concert. The way I've been acting, it's almost like the crushing workload of Egyptian mythology, creative writing, comic-bookery, Gilbert & Sullivan, Darío, and Bach didn't exist. Horrible.
Today, thinking about places. We discussed them in class, how people collect them and how full of story they are. I remember millionaire castles, cinnamon dust, summer swamp stench, and meningitis prevention medication that turned my friends' pee orange, but not mine. Want to write about everywhere I've been and everything I've done and haven't. I wonder if everyone feels this way, at the very least everyone who writes. I think they do.
My life is a filler of pages, and some days it's not all that interesting.
Yours &c,
E. A. Weatherfield
Last night after "So You Think Your Story Is Finished? Then Send It To the New Yorker" class, my friends and I forwent our homework session to do a dramatic reading of the infamous story "My Immortal." Again. And tonight is the Ani DiFranco concert. The way I've been acting, it's almost like the crushing workload of Egyptian mythology, creative writing, comic-bookery, Gilbert & Sullivan, Darío, and Bach didn't exist. Horrible.
Today, thinking about places. We discussed them in class, how people collect them and how full of story they are. I remember millionaire castles, cinnamon dust, summer swamp stench, and meningitis prevention medication that turned my friends' pee orange, but not mine. Want to write about everywhere I've been and everything I've done and haven't. I wonder if everyone feels this way, at the very least everyone who writes. I think they do.
My life is a filler of pages, and some days it's not all that interesting.
Yours &c,
E. A. Weatherfield
13 April 2010
This is why we allow parents texting
I just received a text message from my mother:
U have 31 days left of school!!!
My mother is so excited about my semester ending that she's counting the days. There's something almost subversive about that.
I love my mother.
U have 31 days left of school!!!
My mother is so excited about my semester ending that she's counting the days. There's something almost subversive about that.
I love my mother.
One day I really will start making consistent posts
When I think I hate Missouri because it's so big and so backwards, I look out the window and see the flowers on the tree, big but weightless, watercolor. It smells so nice this time of year and the grass is so soft. Silly, silly people will insist on wearing shoes, or on my wearing shoes inside the cafeteria. The sky is big bright blue, but that's okay, because it's nicely enclosed by a border of trees.
Re-reading V for Vendetta in my comic book class. This is an interesting experience--I'd forgotten how much better the book was than the movie. More on this after today's class discussion--I'm interested to see it talked about in an academic setting.
And tomorrow night is the Ani DiFranco concert at the Pageant that I will be attending with my roommate and about 50 of her friends from the Vagina Monologues cast. This is why I've been waiting for college since I was eight. That, and all the lectures and Shakespeare plays...
And for the record, about half the things on my previous posts aren't true any more. It seems like there's something important in that fact...
Never mind.
Yours &c,
E. A. Weatherfield
Re-reading V for Vendetta in my comic book class. This is an interesting experience--I'd forgotten how much better the book was than the movie. More on this after today's class discussion--I'm interested to see it talked about in an academic setting.
And tomorrow night is the Ani DiFranco concert at the Pageant that I will be attending with my roommate and about 50 of her friends from the Vagina Monologues cast. This is why I've been waiting for college since I was eight. That, and all the lectures and Shakespeare plays...
And for the record, about half the things on my previous posts aren't true any more. It seems like there's something important in that fact...
Never mind.
Yours &c,
E. A. Weatherfield
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