I'm still here.

It's 7am and I'm awake. I do realize, for the record, that 7am is not really that early in the grand scheme of things (I have an amazing friend who gets up at 4am every day!), but for someone who will never be a morning person, like myself, it's a big deal. Especially since I don't have anywhere to be today, making it even harder to force myself out of the warm cocoon of covers and my fairy tale quilt. Some people get up at 7am to run, some to get their kids ready for the day, some from insomnia, some to do their hair and makeup to perfection. I've only gotten up at 7am for two reasons: either to catch a flight or to write. I wish I was catching a flight right now- that would be infinitely more exciting than the actuality of merely trying to break a pattern of self-destructive late starts.

In college, I had a teacher who made us write three pages every morning before we started the day. It was part of this self-help program for creative people that she was making us do in class, using a book called The Artists Way. The idea was to just write about whatever was on your mind before your brain truly wakes up, and apparently by doing this it was supposed to open us up to a more productive and creative day. Or something like that. All that really happened is that we usually forgot to do it, then scrambled to write a million pages the day before she checked that we did it, writing 'thisissillythisissilly' over every page. I don't think I was in the right mind set to take that idea seriously- all I thought at the time was about how many other things I could be doing instead like sleeping or reading one of the million required reading novels for my other classes.

I started writing a story in my morning pages in the beginning, and just kept it going every morning until I got so far behind that I lost interest. I think it was about a princess that escapes the castle because she does not want to marry the man she is supposed to, and then she meets this mysterious man in the woods, and let's just say things were about to kick off (like, adventure and stuff, not what you were thinking) just before I stopped. That notebook will be an interesting find one day.

I used to get my best work done in the morning. When my friends and I used to go to Wales, I was always the first to rise, waking up everyone else when they asked me to. In college, Nicole and I got up stupid-early all the time to go camp out places and write. I miss that. Doing it on my own is not the same.

But none of this is why I got up to write this. I mostly got up to write this because I haven't written in agesss, as always, and I missed it. I'm trying to write a book right now that is half blogs, and every time I get to a blog section I just think 'This character is just me. This is just me, writing one of my blogs about what I like.' But I am scrapping all of that and starting again- today!

But first I wanted to show you what I've been up to lately, seeing as this blog is mainly read by my parents (welcome to the future, high-speed internet users!) and my grandparents. First, there was the comic festival.

The Story Museum hosted the The Oxford Children's Comic Festival on Free Comic Book Day, and it was pretty rad. All of the artists from the Phoenix Comic, a weekly comic just for kids, which is an offshoot (I don't think that's the right word, but I'm using it) of David Fickling Books, that publisher I'm always going on about. My first day in Oxford, I went to a book launch of a David Fickling comic before I knew anything about anything, so it was a bit surreal to then be helping to run their first Children's Comic Festival. I think pictures are the best way to describe it's awesomeness.

(Pictures, when my internet stops being lame)

Another cool thing- my play happened in Henley. And it was awesome. I mean, with what I wrote for them, and what Joe directed, it was amazing. They totally nailed it, and added little moments into their performance's that I've never seen before in rehearsal. But I guess that's how it is; you always turn on when you're in front of people. For a story that should not have been crammed into a half hour play, they made it competently come alive in a way I never thought I'd ever see.

The best thing though, for me, is when they ask me things about the characters. This mostly happened in the beginning when we were working out the story, but on performance day, the boy playing Rolf asked me if Rolf would die after where the play ended. I said I had not really though about it, but that he probably won't die, mostly because of his relationship to the others, and because I like him. It was the suggested to me by Actor Rolf that Rolf should go on a rampage and kill everyone. I will take it into consideration. I'm just glad he likes him.

All my best buds came out to Henley to see my play, which was another very cool part of it all. Thanks, guys.

Last thing had nothing to do with me. I went with my housemate to the Oxford Brookes Creative Writing MA Showcase, of which I was a part of last year. It was nice seeing everyone again who I'd not seen in exactly a year, and cool hearing the new class's work read out. I chatted with my old tutor and the head of the English Department who was going around trying to pursued everyone to come to Brookes to get a PhD in Creative Writing (humm. Don't know about that). And, as always I didn't talk to Phillip Pullman, as I've been consistently doing (or not doing) for the last three years. I'm not complaining- at this point it's funnier that I don't talk to him. I even have a picture this time!

(Picture, when pictures work)

Mostly though, it made me miss being on the course. I miss have the deadlines, the assignments I always complained about, but then usually heeded cool results, going to class every week, even the required reading. Never thought I'd miss required reading, but there it is. Can't take it back now. Anyway, I'd love to get a PhD in Creative Writing, but I would never get on in just writing. I'd couple it with some sort of science or other discipline and show how writing can change the world or the way people see/react to/live in the world. Really, I'd love to get a PhD in Stories and study the impact of Story on all of human history. But that might be a little vague. Imagine that, though- Maria C. Goodson- Doctor of Stories. (I am actually starting to work on a project where I am basically being a Story Doctor, but we'll wait till that's official)  But in any case, I miss being on a course, and although there are all these online courses I have considered taking, which would be awesome, it would not be the same.

Oh yeah, another thing that happened is the turning of a new age. And by that I mean I had a birthday. 26 is weird, so far I don't like it. 

That's all for now, I think. I have the day off, and I really need to get down to business.

~Maria

Why I Read 50 Shades of Gray

62 followers! Raise the roof! Do people still do that? Probably not. Well, I'm bringing back the roof raising to salute my new followers. Maybe one day I'll have a blog as popular as my mother's, but probably not anytime soon.

But that is not why you are reading this blog, really. If I haven't peer-pressured you into reading it myself, you're probably reading this because the title references 50 Shades of Gray, the S&M erotic romp currently sweeping the world by storm. I should really put 50 Shades in all my blog titles, it would probably get me a lot more traffic. From now on all my blogs will be called 50 Shades of __- it's the only way to beat my mother's follower count. (That is a joke, by the way. I'm not doing that.)

However I'm not here to discuses why these books are so popular and think up all the 50 Shades blog titles that would bring me internet stardom and soullessness (50 Shades of Twilight, 50 Shades of Kardashians (are they even still popular? I honestly don't even know), 50 Shades of Apps, 50 Shades of peanut butter, 50 Shades of biochemistry, an App for all your 50 Shades...ok I'm done). I'm here to talk about why I read the book, even when half of the world, including friends and acquaintances who's opinions I trust, told me it was rubbish. I will also talk about why, even once I started it and, about a paragraph in, I realized that half the world was 100% right, I still proceeded to finish the book, and why I'm glad I did.

This all came about because of a particular friend who genuinely does not understand why I would read a book I knew was bad, and then why I would finish a book I saw for myself was bad. Fair question: this is not something that a lot of people do. We've had the debate for a while now, and he is so articulate and intelligent that I usually just find myself flustered for some reason, and I just end up shouting I WAS JUST CURIOUS OK at him, in which case he usually calmly reminds me that he's not attacking me, and then I just feel like a child and declare the topic dropped. For the record, he is one of my best friends in the world and these conversations are always good-natured. He forces me to think about the way I feel and why I feel that way more than anyone else I know, which at the time is always frustrating, but is always a good thing in the long run (I only get frustrated when I don't know the answer, which is usually). So this is mainly for him, just to fully explain myself since I never seem to be able to in person. I'm much better in words, in general.

And if you still don't get it after this, then FINE, we'll just have to agree to disagree, just like our opinions on expectations and excitement levels at the movies, and whether or not Shepard Book is cool (he's not).

Why I read 50 Shades of Gray:

#1- I was curious. Usually this is the only reason I have to give people, my friend in question the obvious exception. When something is as popular as 50 Shades of Gray, and women world wide are gushing about how amazing it is, that makes me very, very curious. I believe a healthy reading habit is to read a wide range of different genres from different time periods, in different styles. I'm not saying this is always what I do, just saying it's what I think I should be doing. I usually get on either a YA kick or a realism kick or SF kick or something like that, and it's all I'll read for months, but something always breaks it and I head to something else. however, I do think I read a healthy amount of different things. However S&M was never one of them, not that I ever wanted it to be or even thought about it, but the shear number of people talking about a type of book that people are usually too self conscious to admit they're reading, intrigued me.  If I'm going to read a book about S&M to see what the fuss is about, I might as well read one that's a world wide phenomenon. So, for the same reason I read The Di Vinci Code, Twilight and Enders Game (which was absolutely fantastic and everyone should read- but I do admit I just read it because everyone else was), I read 50 Shades of Gray.

#2- Reading popular books is interesting. I think it's interesting to read supremely popular things at the time they are popular. It says a lot about the state of the world we're living in today to read what everyone else is reading. Good and bad, they give us a full picture of the types of things people seem to crave, or think they lack in the world and what they are doing to fulfill those needs. And yes, sometimes this picture is sad: in the case of 50 Shades we see a world full of women who enjoy being beaten and called baby and controlled in every way, but I am comforted in the knowledge that this does not speak for everyone. And really, if that is someone that you like, that's fine- everyone is different. But even if this is not how everyone feels, it's still a large enough proportion to make me deeply curious as to the reasons why. E.L. James admitted that when she wrote 50 Shades of Gray, she was just writing Twilight fan fiction injected with her own S&M fantasies. Which is fine, that's allowed. But who knew so many other women had S&M fantasies as well? What exactly is it about that form of fantasy that seemed to entrance the world? Beats me, personally, because I just thought it was scary and unnecessary. But I find it all very interesting nonetheless. Like, culturally, socially, not like...you know what I mean. How can I keep my blog PG when I'm writing about erotica?

#3- I'm a very fast reader. One common reason to not read a book you're not 100% enjoying is because life is too short to read crap. I understand this completely- I have a huge stack of books next to my bed in my To Read pile, all of which are a million times better and more well written than 50 Shades. So do most of us. I'm very aware that I'm going to die one day without having read all the books in the world that I want to read- it's as inevitable as death itself. However I think I'd revise the above statement to say this: Life is too short to read something you're not getting anything out of. I do put books down sometimes, not often, but it does happen if I feel like I'm not getting anything out of it in any way, shape or form. But, for all the other reasons in this blog, I did feel like reading 50 Shades was giving me a new incite into different topics I'd never given much thought before, or not in the same way. Sure, every time Anna talked about her inner goddess I kind of wanted to strangle said goddess, and every time Christian said he was going to **** her, hard, I laughed out loud, but I still felt like I was getting something out of it, so I kept reading. And, in the end of the day, I'm a fast reader. It did not take up that much of my life to read this book, only a few days. A few days out of my life gave me the perspective and right to debate about one of the most talked about books in the world at the moment and to justify my opinions on feminism and literature today, and you know how I love to justify things.  I feel that my English Major reading speed countered the short-life inevitability of my death. That makes it sound like I'm invincible, which is not what I meant, but we can go with that anyway.

#4- It's all everyone was talking about at work this summer- I was feeling left out. I don't like feeling left out. I worked with a lot of different people this summer, and these books were very often the topic of conversations on days where conversation was all you had to pass the time. Someone lent me a copy, and then a friend lent me one as well, so I figured with two copies lying around, I might as well read it.

#5- I love complaining, and I can't complain about something I haven't read. Ok, ok, so I don't love complaining, I just like picking things apart and putting them back together, analyzing books and stories and situations and talking about why books are good or bad and why I feel the way I feel about them. So essentially, I love talking about books, but I only feel I am able to talk about books I've read. I had read parts of 50 Shades before, enough to know how poorly written it was, but not enough to really feel like I had the right to say it was a bad book overall. I HATE IT when moms at home complain about how awful Harry Potter was and how it was rotting their children's minds and making them worship the devil when they themselves had not even opened the front cover. You just can't do that- you can't judge something or someone or somewhere when you haven't experienced it or met them or been there yourself. It's just not right, and it leads to ignorance and falsehoods overwriting the truth, or at least uneducated opinions. So alright, in this case, all the things I'd gathered form those short passages from the book turned out to be accurate, but still, how would I have known that for sure if I hadn't read it? I don't mind if someone says they don't want to read something because it's not their kind of thing, no problem, but alternatively you can't go around saying it's bad either. I'll give everyone a pass on 50 Shades- it is as bad as everyone says, but, really, that's just my opinion. You might love it. You never know till you try- don't just take someone's word for it. Try things for yourself, form your own opinions. (This is a general You, not aimed at anyone specifically)

#6- It was free. I'm poor. I'd never pay money for something I've heard was terrible, even if I was curious to read it. That's what libraries are for, or in my case two people who wanted to get it out of their house. 

#7- It made me laugh. Honestly, the writing is laughably bad, and some of the situations are just so ridiculously that I could not help but laugh. In that way, I can kind of say I enjoyed it. It did get old, it was very repetitive, but some lines through the whole book made me giggle. We all do this, we all read and watch things that we know are going to be bad for the enjoyment of ripping it apart. I have seen each of the Twilight movies one time only, and each of those times they were watched with my friend Nicole at home. I will only watch Twilight with Nicole, it's like our thing (HERE you can watch us watch Twilight, but you probably shouldn't, because I'm pretty sure we're the only ones who think it's funny) We sit on the couch and gorge on cookie dough and drink super sweet drinks and laugh just about non stop for the length of the movie. Sometimes things are so bad they become good, I mean not like really good, but enjoyable. I'm confident you all know what I'm talking about. We have another supposedly erotic book (when I say 'we' I mean my friends and myself here, because although it was given to me, I don't want to accept total ownership of this book) called Fantasy Lover which is absolutely hilarious, and we keep talking about getting together and reading it out loud in different accents. Again, that would be another evening well spent, reading something poorly written.

Also, for the record, despite the fact that I laughed at the Twilight movie, I don't find the Twilight books funny, mainly because of who they are aimed at. Bad examples for teenagers in books is not a funny thing, but because 50 Shades is for adults, then whatever, man. I'm sure some kids have gotten their hands on it, but it's not targeted toward them, so it can be as smutty as anyone wants it to be as far as I'm concerned.

#8- 50 Shades of Gray has been said to be a feminist book: whatttttt? We'll see about that.  Now, I don't pretend to know that much about feminism, I think that the simple fact that I'm a women and would like all the same opportunities as a man in life makes me a feminist, however I don't know all the different variations on the theme, or anything else about it on any deeper levels. I generally define myself more as a peopleist than a feminist, because a lot of feminists take it too far in my opinion and say that women are superior to men, which I don't think is right at all. I just believe that people should be treated equally no matter who or what they are, and that our differences should be celebrated.

But anyway, I've heard lots of women saying that 50 Shades showed a new trend in feminism, and that Anna is a good feminist example because she is in control of her situation. She does not do anything that she does not want to be doing, and she is fully warned (in long, boring sections where we get to read their actual, word for word contract) of what she is getting herself into. She wants to be dominated, and is, and it's entirely her choice. So anyway, I read about all this, and wanted to read it myself and see what I thought of it all. So I did. And to be perfectly fair, although I don't think that it's a good book, I do think that Anna is a much stronger character than Bella Swan, who she was based on.

Anna is still a moron, but at the end- SPOILER ALERT- she does leave him because she can't handle the situation and does not like being beaten. Bella would have NEVER left Edward for being too domineering, or for any other reason. Even when he leaves her, Bella just tosses herself off a cliff to see him again rather than just moving on with her life. But back to 50 Shades- I do know that obviously Anna gets back with Christian since there are like a million more books, but from what I've read, which is, like I said, all I am allowed to comment on, she does score higher in the back-bone category than Bella. So I'm glad I read it, because I just assumed she was going to be the same. I stand corrected. And now I can join the feminist debate about what feminism means to me, and when someone cites a 50 Shades example, I'll be ready.

#9- I needed something else to talk about other than Twilight. This not a serious reason, I just want to get to 10. But my Twilight rant is getting pretty old by now, and it's nice having some new material, so I guess it's still a legitimate reason.

#10- It made me think. What all of this boils down to is basically that reading 50 Shades of Gray, with all it's flaws, repetition and inconsistencies, did made me think. Even mindless dribble makes your brain work sometimes, even if it's just sifting through the sentences that just didn't even make sense, or the skim reading skills (that I finely crafted in my college years) I had to use to get through certain sections. It made me think enough to defend my reasons for reading it in this blog, and in conversations when I now talk about why I didn't like it, even if I can't properly articulate my reasons. It was a good study in how not to write, that's for sure, if nothing else. I found myself re-writing sentences from it in my head, my inner editor kicking in unexpectedly, which is one of my favorite things to do. And I'm not the only one who found themselves intellectually stimulated (in a roundabout way) by a poorly written book- I just discovered this book called 50 Shades of Feminism, which is exactly that. There are 50 sections, each written by different women around the world from varied social and economic backgrounds- "Daughters and Dames, poets and politicians, composer and psychoanalyst, academics and activists, broadcasters and barristers, mothers and sisters, novelists and impresarios, journalists and comedians, doctor and playwright, cultural commentators and artists, wives and writers."  -ALL talking about what feminism means to them. I haven't read it yet, but I think it sounds AWESOME. Like I was saying before, there are so many different forms of feminism out there, everyone has their own idea of what it is and how to be a feminist and what still needs doing. I think this sort of book is the only way of getting a whole picture of a very complex concept.

In my last blog I talked about Nerdfighters and their mission to decrease world suck. More worthy a cause has never been embarked upon, nor more daunting. There is a lot of suck out there, but the only way to decrease world suck is first to see it. As a book, 50 Shades of Gray truly sucks, but I still feel my time reading it was not for nothing. And in an effort to decrease it's suck in the world, I chose to view it from many angles, analyze the hell out of it, and try and use it's suckage to have intelligent conversations in the future, turning it's suck into awesome.

So, friend, if this has not made you understand why I read the book, then I probably never will. Which is ok, I just wanted to give it a try before accepting defeat, which is something, as you know, that I don't really like doing.

Onward and upward to  better books,

~Maria 

PS- I hope no one reads this as a book recommendation at all- let it be known that I would never recommend this book to anyone. I'm just saying that if you are interested in any of the reasons I have listed, than go for it, but don't come back to me and say 'Maria, you said I'd be intellectually stimulated and have an epiphany about sex and life and all I got was a headache!' Because that is a) not at all what I said and b) probably what is going to happen if you read it (the headache, that is). So I hope this is clear- this is not a book recommendation, this is just why I read it.

Justification Station

Awkward Model

Me again.

I think I have justification Tourette's or something; I just can't help justifying things that I like. I went to a dinner with a friend at her college the other night, a super fancy, black-tie dinner at a real Oxford College (kinda a big deal; there were three different knives and wine glasses), and everyone wanted to know who the hell I was. Mariah, the friend I was with, introduced me as her friend the writer (she kept specifically saying that I work in Children's Theater: more on that later), making me cringe every time. Why would I be so uncomfortable being introduced as a writer? It's what I want to do after all, it's what I am doing all the fudging time, so what gives? I think it's because I don't have any major publications to my name, so to me, saying I'm a writer makes me feel like a poser. But anyway, this is not the current point I'm trying to make.

So, when you meet a writer, what's the first thing you ask? Duh- 'what do you write?' And for the record, I don't like to say I write any one thing in particular, because I'm still trying to figure out what I like and what I'm good at and what works for me, and I'm interested in just about all types of writing at the moment, but let's face it, I mostly write Young Adult. And for sake of simplicity, that's what I told people. Which is where the Tourette's kicked in.

I should not have to justify why I write YA, or justify it as a genre or art form. I know that I don't have to, but I do anyway, every single time. Over the course of the night, I never once just said I wrote YA without going into my whole rant about how important it is to the development of kid's brains to read good things in their formative years, blah blah blah, (more on good YA later, aka John Green)- you've all heard my rant before. But the rant is not the point, it's the reason for it that interests me. Why justify something you know in your soul does not need it? Why am I so insecure about something I claim to love? I think it's because of just that: I love it.

Cake Cake

I was having this conversation with my housemate the other night, comparing this YA justification problem to the same sort of thing you get when talking about Fantasy and Science Fiction (I never know if you should capitalize YA, SF or Fantasy. I'm pretty sure I look it up every time I write an essay and learn that you don't have to, but I still feel like they should be, so I'll just do it anyway. My blog, my rules). My housemate writes SF, so he knows exactly what I'm talking about. I went into another rant about how SF is such an intelligent way of showing the world today by what it could be in the future and how lots of scientists have found inspiration from inventions in SF novels and then making them a reality and thus advancing technology through literature (HOW COOL IS THAT?) and how Fantasy, as I well know, is HARD to write, much less write well, and then...and then I realized I was doing it again. And what made that conversation with my housemate even more ridiculous is that I was in fact justifying a genre to someone who WRITES SF, and is therefore the last person in the world who would ever judge it as an art form. Yet that fear was still there, that ever-present fear that someone will think less of something I love, that they won't see it for what it truly is and all that it could be based on cultural biases and all the times it has actually been done very, very poorly (coughTWILIGHTcoughcough). I know all of this, and yet I defend these things anyway, even when unnecessary.

Because really, if you think about it, about 98% of people I associate with are not judging me anyway. At the college dinner, I was surrounded by very intellectual people from a wide variety of different disciplines, many of which were writers themselves, all of which were very nice, interesting people. The worst that probably happened in their heads when I told them I wrote YA was a mild disinterest, but not judgement. I love not having to talk sometimes, so why would I use more words than necessary to say something that does not need to be said in the first place? I met a guy that night who was getting a degree in Water Management (also does not need to be capitalized, I know) and he didn't feel the need to justify it to me, and there is not much in this world or the next that I care less about than Water Management. But I didn't judge him for doing a boring degree, I salute him for being passionate about Water Management so I don't have to be. He is doing the world a huge service, and for no praise at all. Because is he does his job well, which this Oxford University student will undoubtedly do, none of us will even notice.

Dude knows what he's doing.

See what I did there? I justified the Water Management guy's degree. I don't know if this is a problem I have or if it's just annoying (probably both), but I guess it's just how my brain works. I've spent my entire life doing the least popular/known activities one could possibly do (Odyssey of the Mind, Color Guard, Sigma Tau Delta), and thus spent a lot of time explaining what they were and why I did them and why they mattered. Then I got an English Degree which was essentially reading books and then writing about the things in them, explaining what happened, why it was so important and why it mattered. So maybe this is not so much a curse or problem as a talent. Yeah, that sounds far more positive. I seem to have a talent for finding a reason that anything is worth doing/important. I should really be a school counselor or suicide prevention receptionists, shouldn't I?

So- the two other things I said ''more on that later" about- Kid's Theater and John Green.

Thing one- the play I wrote will be performed by the North Oxford Youth Theatre on May 6th in Henley-on-Thames for a festival, competition thing if anyone wants to come. Pretty awesome, I know.

Left: Hank, Right: John.

Thing two- speaking of awesome- John Green.

The last few months I've discovered the author John Green, introduced to me by my amazing friend Alex. The first book of his she lent me, The Fault in Our Stars, I started reading one night in December and ended up finishing at around 4am the next morning. I have since read two of his other books, Will Grayson, Will Grayson (which is also by David Levithan, who is also awesome) and An Abundance of Katherines, The Fault in Our Stars again, and seen him talk in London with his equally talented and hilarious brother, Hank Green, and I'm sort of, kind of in love. His books are hilarious, realistic to the core, breathtakingly sad sometimes and so so so intelligent. I feel like for every book John Green puts into the world it cancels out like six Twilight books (although there are only 4- he cancels out the future sequels that might exist one day too). I wish he were more well known than he is, however TFIOS topped the New York Times best seller list last year, so I hope he soon will be.

John and Hank Green do many creative projects together, one of which is called Nerdfighting, which is not in fact fighting nerds, but nerds fighting to increase awesome and decrease suck in the world.  Sounds almost too beautifully simple to be true, I know. I'll let John Green's explanation from their website give you a fuller idea of what they are about:

“Hank... I need to make one thing clear: Nerdfighters are not about you and me. Nerdfighters are about a made of awesome book, made by a woman in Australia, going to a made of awesome baby in the united states. Nerdfighters are about raising money and awareness for important causes. Nerdfighters are about building a supportive community of friends... in my pants. Nerdfighters are about stupid beautiful projects and making each other laugh and think with t-shirts and pocket protectors and rants about the situation in Pakistan which sucks right now. In the contemporary world where things fall apart and the center can not hold you have to imagine a community where there is no center... A lot of life is about doing things that don’t suck with people who don’t suck.”

And that, world, is John Green. I kind of want to marry him, if he were not already happily married and all familyed as well. 

Alright, that's enough long-winded dribble for one night. I'm going to bed.


~Maria xoxo

My dearest love, I never loved you!

I saw Cyrano de Bergerac for the fist time on stage the other day. I feel like I should have something to say about this, seeing as it's my favorite story of all time and all that jazz. And since working at The Story Museum I've come to love stories even more than before (if that is possible) and see their connection and importance to the lives we live every day. But anyway- Cyrano has been my favorite story ever since senior year of high school,  when I first read it in a world lit class that should have been good but wasn't. (I'm extremely sure I've blogged about all of this before, however if this is the case it was probably years ago, seeing as I blog so seldomly these days, so whatever) We read it and then watched the Gerard Depardieu film version, but I am like 99.9% sure I loved it before we watched the film. No, I'm 100% sure, because I remember being really worried about the actor playing Cyrano, since I was in love with him. Since then I've been smitten- I love Cyrano more than any fictional character ever. More than Atticus and Peter Pan and Ron Weasley. There, I said it. I guess this is because he has the lowest self esteem, and has the least reasons to feel so inclined. I guess I feel like he needs my love the most, and yes, I realize he's fictional (we've been over this a million times, Maria, your imaginary friends are IMAGINARY), but I don't care. What's more real, what we do in our every day lives (brush teeth, post mail, go to the dentist for not brushing well enough), or how certain intangible things make us feel? I have a friend who claims I don't exist because I'm not in his life, aka, live in his country/state and interact with him on a regular basis. I see his point (and realize it's a joke, fyi), but I still reject this out of hand. Some of my most meaningful correspondences (aka family and friends at home) are mostly in my head (aka, reading e-mails) and they mean as much to me as anything else that might happen to me in 'real' life. That was a really long winded way of saying that my love for Cyrano floweth over and is a real, noteworthy thing which I guess I could have just said, but I have this strange desire to always justify everything I saw, which I'll get to later. But now, Cyrano.

I was told by a friend that seeing an amateur version of a play you love might ruin it for you. I'm not saying this version was bad, not at all, I'm just saying that this was my level of expectation when I went into it; expecting anything, but nonetheless excited. And I was pleasantly surprised. Some of the smaller characters were questionably acted; I could have done with a funnier Ragueneau (the pastry chef who loves poetry and is cuckolded by a Musketeer) but that was made up for with an adorable little nun in the last scene. However in my eyes all of this is superfluous next to the actor playing Cyrano- because, to me, if you have a good Cyrano, you have a good play. And he was VERY good. 

He was played by Rupert Winter of the Oxford Theatre Guild (when referring to an English organization, I feel compelled to spell Theater with the re) and he was beautiful. They were using Anthony Burgess' translation (That's right, who also did A Clockwork Orange. Weird, I know), which is actually one I haven't read before, and it was fantastic. Winter really nailed it, adding additional emotion to scenes that I didn't think could hold any more, and some to places I've never seen before. One scene in particular, which is always my favorite in any version, was particularly good, and just because of one tiny detail. Again, I've most likely talked about this before, but anyway- the balcony scene. 

In this scene, Roxanne, Cyrano's love, is up on her balcony at night, while Cyrano and Christian, the boy Cyrano has been helping to woo Roxanne (you know, 'my brains and your good looks doth an Adonis make' sort of thing. Did I mention (for all those who don't know the story) that Cyrano has a gigantic nose and thinks he's hideous?), are down below, in the shadows. At first, Cyrano tries to feed Christian lines from under the balcony, as Pretty Boy Christian stands out in clear sight, however he's not the sharpest tool in the shed and it's soon clear this is just not going to work. Cyrano pulls Christian back as Roxanne stands baffled and unsatisfied above ('you give me military statistics when I crave poetry!' or something like that. I should really translate it myself, that would be hilarious. (and by that I mean bad.)). To keep Roxanne from running off in a prissy huff (I'm not her biggest fan), Cyrano continues talking to her in Christian's place, and at the same time taking Christian's hat and cape and putting them on himself before emerging from the shadows. Still hidden by the wide brim of the Cavalier hat and plume, he proceeds to tell Roxanne exactly how he feels about her, pouring out his soul to her with the freedom to do so that he's never before experienced due to his crippling insecurities about his appearance. It's a beautiful scene, made all the more heartbreaking by the added detail in the performance by Winter (or Burgess)- at the end, Cyrano, overcome with emotion, reaches up to the balcony behind him just as Roxanne reaches down and grabs his hand. That's it, just that one tiny detail made all the difference. To me anyway. 

So I was happy with my first on-stage performance experience. The friend I went with was not as pleased- but she is not into all that romance. It is over-dramatic, and at times you just want to smack Cyrano on the face and say 'SHE LOVES YOU ALREADY JUST GO AND TELL HER FOR THE LOVE OF FENCING,' but to me, the tragedy of the character is what makes it good. He clearly has an intense social phobia when it comes to women, a strong fear of rejection and insecurities out the wazoo about his appearance. You could see it as a cautionary tale to anyone with similar difficulties, a glimpse of what life could be like if you don't try your hardest to overcome your fears. Because really, as brave as Cyrano is on the battle field (he bested 100 men at the Porte de Nesl!), when it comes to the one thing, or person rather, that sets his soul on fire, he cannot simply speak his mind. I've been there (not in a romantic sense); I've been crippled by shyness and let me tell you, it's the pits. But I hated it, so I worked really hard to get over it, going to such extremes as moving to another country where I only knew one person and living in a house full of strangers (some of which are now some of my best friends in the world). I'm still shy, but not nearly as bad as I used to be, and I think I'm leading a happier life for it. 

Alright, this love letter has come to it's close. 

Now, two pictures that sum up English weather very nicely. 

~Maria 

This was taken yesterday.

 

 

This was taken this morning.

January

I really like the month of January. I always say that April is my favorite month because it's the birthday month (no matter what country I seem to be living in), but there is something about January that I've always liked. I really like symbolism. All my jewelery has a story connected to it, or was given to me by a friend or family member, representing our relationship. I never get rid of books that people have written messages to me in: too special. And in this way (sort of), I also love what January represents- a fresh start, the beginning of a whole new year in life. I love that motivated, anything-is-possible magic in the air, before it soon fades and laziness abounds. I don't think that's how you use that word. Oh well (it's happening already).

Speaking of new beginnings, check out this awesome thing that happened in January
HERE.

 

A few little things that make me happy: I found out the other day that one of the gentlemen who works in an office the Story Museum rents out used to work for the Muppets. Amazing. Also, at the Birmingham Symphony Orchestra concert that I helped work Friday night for one of my other jobs, none other than Priscilla Tolkien, J.R.R Tolkien's daughter, was in attendance. And, to top it off, another boss casually mentioned attending a party this holiday season that Alan Rickman was known to frequent. I wonder when these little, completely normal Oxford run-ins are going to stop amazing me. I almost prefer hearing these stories rather than meeting famous people myself, since I never know what to say and then usually end up saying nothing.

In random news, it was decided the other night that my memoir will one day be called An Inconvenience of James', not in any way because I believe all the James' in my life to be inconveniences, only because knowing so many is a little inconvenient at times when trying to talk about them. Flock of birds, a murder of crows, an inconvenience of James'. Look it up (in like 40 years when I've written my memoir and gotten the term in the dictionary). I'm working at Oxford University Press this week (the ones who do the Dictionary)- already working on inside connections).

So, January is for resolutions. Normally, I make loads. I'm always so motivated and excited about the coming year, and two years ago I actually did everything I had resolved to do the year before, which was an amazing anomaly. This year my resolutions are very simple. No more extravagant life changing ones that I know I'll ultimately fail to do: why start off your year with the inevitability that you will end it a failure? So this year I've only got two. I'm going to read all the books, and stop talking about leaveing the UK.

 

Yes, I realize I cannot read ALL the books in one year, obviously. By that really all I mean is to strive to read as many of those books I always talk about reading but never do because they are either really long or look like they will be dense. No more putting these things off, because who am I kidding, I am not going to have a relaxing, work free retirement at this rate. I'm reading The Count of Monte Cristo right now, which is 1200 some pages long and SO GOOD. I'm only about 200 pages in, but it's epic and I love it. Why was I always so scared to read Dumas before? I might just have a really good translation, but whatever, I'm a fan now. I'm also still reading The Silmarillion with my housemate Jonno, which I'm also loving and is also not as daunting a read as I anticipated. I still have a million jobs, so I still don't really have the sort of time I'd like to commit to big books, but that is fine. I need to be more patient, in general. Anything worth doing is worth waiting for.

The other one, not talking about leaving the UK, I've been sucking at so far. The visa regulations keep getting harder and harder to make happen, and I have too many part time jobs and none of which can sponsor me, so it's looking less and less likely that I can stay here pass January 2014. Obviously going home is not a bad option, it's kind of exciting and it's probably about time I go back anyway, and I do really really REALLY miss everyone at home more and more the longer I stay, but at the same time and for the same reasons I can't imagine leaving Oxford. But it's a depressing topic no matter who I'm talking to, so I'm going to try to just not talk about it. Basically I need to hurry up and publish my novel and make it big so I can get that Goodson family private jet and live in both countries. Working on it.

So that's easy, right? This year I just want to not talk about things that will bring me down, and read lots of books. Sounds like it's going to be a good year. One other thing I want to do this year, since it might be my last year here, is to go more places. I went to Stratford last weekend, FINALLY, and got to see Shakespeare's grave. There are tons of places in the UK and Europe I still want to go, and if this is my last year, I need to go NOW. Again, working on it.

Stratford

Alright, I need to go to work. As always, I'll try to write more blogs too. A person I work with at the library asked me what the point was of writing if no one could read my stories, which made me think. I still don't think I feel comfortable posting tons of my fiction stories on here, but I will try to write more. Maybe more haikus. Jokes on whoever steals those: they're awful.

Fare thee well!

Maria

BETH

Images by Rose Brettingham.

By scented candle light

This was from ages ago this summer. I love it when Rose gets her film developed. 

My Grandma e-mailed me the other day, reminding me that I never write in my blog (by writing how much she loves reading my BLOG, all caps, indicating the lack of things to read of late), so I said I'd do one this week to make up for it. I do feel bad about this. I really do love blogging: it's a fun, different way of writing than I'm usually up to. I can never be wrong in a blog (at least not in my blog. If I was blogging about Chilean architecture then I'm sure I'd be wrong, whatever I said). I don't have to worry too much about my style and tone and characters not sucking and the all-important POINT of it all in a blog. I can just write about myself, which is far too easy and self-indulgently pleasurable, and relax in the knowledge that a) my mother will send me edits within 24 hours of posting and b) at least my parents and grandparents enjoy reading it, no matter what I write about. There are and will be very few places in life where I can write freely and know that at least a few people will always care about what I have to say, so I should really stop neglecting this space so.

The Covered Market.

Therefore, here I am, writing a blog because I was basically told to, and because I like it, and because I finally have free time. The last two months I've been working seven days a week, with only a few days off here and there, on which I usually end up working anyway, either from home or being called in at the last second. I need to learn to say no. I'm not complaining, as I usually am: I like at least two of my three jobs at the moment, however seven day work weeks and no days off don't really lend themselves to much writing time. But right now I'm in the first third of two glorious weeks off from all my jobs (I basically told them all I would not come back till the second week of January, unless it's an emergency- and I can't imagine any gift-shop related emergencies worthy of me getting out of bed) in which I plan to eat and sleep and that is all. And read and write, duh, but that's basically the same as eating and sleeping in my book.

View from the porch of one of my jobs.

I've got a stack of books on my bedside table (ie, stack of plastic boxes) higher than my lamp at the moment, but half of that stack is The Casual Vacancy, which rivals the length of the thickest Harry Potter book (but much heavier due to all the curse words, and seems bigger because of the obnoxious yellow cover (seriously: ugliest cover ever)) and The Similarion, which my housemate Jonno and I have committed to reading in the new year. It's pretty awesome so far. I wish I could be this motivated to learn the history of the real world.

Roof of The Story Museum from Carfax tower.

In true Keep Your 'Lectric Eye On Me Babe tradition, I shall change the subject abruptly. Here are some haikus (that's actual the right pluralization, even if it looks and sounds weird. I could have just said 'haiku' as well, but that sounds weirder) I wrote this evening, by scented candle light, for a purpose I will not reveal. No titles this time:

It only ever got frosty, no snow yet.

Forest light, clean and

bright, give me strength to fight the

night. And my hiccups.

Fire flickering.

Full- foes from faraway lands,

finding fairer homes.

Everything sucks, but

do not fear- the world will be

yours and more next year.

Natures blessings rain

on rocks and stone: the untold.

Haikus sure are vague.

Rose likes monsters: the

fuzzier the better. Sharp

Teeth for good measure.

Woodland creatures are

good for doing your laundry.

Only if you sing.

Rain hits glass ceiling.

Thick books on blankets beneath.

Tell yours; I’ll tell mine.

Girl in a bottle.

HATE it. Glass smells like gherkins*. 

Beware her escape.

I sigh for you, my

 heart’s true love. You sigh for me,

from the bridge above.

Feathers: what a pain.

You can’t brush them, easily.

My life is so hard. 

Christchurch Meadow in the frost.

I'm also trying to write a sexy poem about reading (it IS possible!), but I like to keep this blog PG, so we'll see if it makes my censorship cut when it's finished.

One last random thing I feel like writing about this fine evening: pipe cleaners. As most of you know, I love pipe cleaners. I used to make my own toys as a child: nothing made me happier in the whole world than a multicolored pack of pipe cleaners. Mom and Dad used to give us a certain amount of money to spend at Zany Brainy (remember THAT place? Best place EVER.) depending on if we got a good report card, and I would spend it all on pipe cleaners. So imagine my glee when I was chatting with one of the directors of The Story Museum one night about a month ago, about pipe cleaners, when she gave me permission to order as many as I could with a certain amount of money (much more than the report card reward) to use as a party game for the Christmas party we had planned for mid December. Over 2,000 pipe cleaners later, we had our very own Make Your Own Storybook Character kit, with me at the helm. 

 

People were tentative at first: I can't just expect everyone to immediately want to partake in my childhood obsession, after all. However with a little coxing and lots of demonstrations, everyone got really into it. I can't tell you how happy it made me to sit around a table full of adults, making princesses and mermaids and aliens and villains and heroes out of pipe cleaners. It was magic. 

If you know me, you'll probably recognize which ones I made- I think I have a pretty distinct style. It was really interesting to see the different ways people went about making them, which showed all the different ways our brains work. And no, I don't mean different as in ugly, or bad, I just mean different. Everyone was so impressed with the things I was making (which is unfair: I've been doing it my entire life!), but honestly, I don't think mine were any 'better' than what everyone else was making. Did you see Babar up there? Genius! That's what I mean about different ways: some people went for the very 3D approach, while others were flatter, like a drawing rather than a sculpture. Some stood up on their own, some needed propping up, but they were all beautiful. We used them, as you can see, to decorate our window ledges, and they are now in the windows that face the street, for all of Pembroke street to see. 

One of my childhood dreams has always been to do something large-scale with pipe cleaners. Either making something life size (like a person. OR better yet, a dinosaur!), illustrate a book with them, or, and this would be ideal, covering an entire room and making a small-scale landscape encompassing an entire room, like you're walking into a whole new world. That would be amazing, but expensive. If anyone knows where I can get pipe cleaners in the exact colors I want in VAST quantities, let me know and maybe I can strike a deal. Doing the Make Your Own Storybook Character game was sort of like my dream coming true, because really, wanting to do something large-scale really just means sharing my weird little crafting talent with people, which is exactly what I did. My parents always said that it was a shame I couldn't make a career out of pipe cleaners: well get this- at least for a day, I sort of did. It was such a success that we might pull them out for future events. I am in love. 

There is a lot more I could write about, which I will, but not right now. I hope everyone had a great Christmas, and that everyone I sent cards to got them (drop me a line if you did; I hope none of them got lost in the mail!). Start making those New Years resolution lists now, folks, you're running out of time to imagine the future, better you! Or at least a consistently awesome you, if you are currently at an optimum-awesome state of being. Either way, 2013 looms ever nearer, and with it hopefully everything we didn't get around to this year will be realized! High five for optimism!  

Wishing it would stop raining,

Maria xoxo

*Gherkin is just what British people call pickles. However, 'pickle' is something entirely different, just to make things needlessly complicated. I used gherkin instead of pickle, although most of my readership is American, just because the word gherkin, especially with it's weird silent H, is funny. To me anyway.