Tangled Thoughts Enthraled In My Tangled Hair
Fingolfin, High King of the Noldor as imagined by me when reading The Silmarillion. ‘Twas made using chinese ink (the cheaper one) and then a bit of Photoshop. Why Am I drawing and painting when I’m supposed to be a stressful student preparing his final exams? That’s one of the misteries of the Universe.
This post is for those of you that thought Alanis’s sister would just be another plain femenine character. Here, you can see her with her battle outfit.
Sorry about the messy painting. I didn’t feel like spending three hours working on her hair. It’s just a sketch, anyway.
It seems I’m not blocked anymore. Yesterday, I spent the whole evening writing my final paper for Synchronic Grammar I and, regardless of the fact that there’s still a lot to be done, I feel better about it. I no longer have to worry about writing in general, and that’s really cool.
I’m sitting at the caffeteria right now working in the book, but I’m leaving to Synchronic Grammar: The Filling Sessions in about half an hour. The bad thing about the end of the semester is that some professors refuse to stop teaching their classes. I don’t think I’ll be like that when I become a professor. Not, of course, unless it is utterly neccesary.
Sorry about grammar. I’m feeling like writing in Spanish at the moment.
It seems that today is my turn to be blocked. I’ve been trying to write this damned foreword to my final Synchonic Grammar Project for the whole morning, but words just can’t come out to the surface. Anyway, there’s still some time left for me, as I’ll be meeting the deadline in about two weeks’ time. The thing is, I have other assignments and readings to do as well. But this is the so-called life of the student, isn’t it?
Well, I know I told some people that mom would not be showing up this weeked, BUT the fact is that she arrived in Santiago today in the morning. And yes, I’m really happy about that.
By the way, Mari’s birthday party was just great. I never thought i’d be so amused and pleased in a party. The only thing I regret is that I had to leave very early. (This sounds rather choppy, doesn’t it?)
Now, let’s tackle and finish that silly introduction for once and for all!
(Eli, it seems you will have your chance to prove that you’re not a myth, after all)
So, as Elisa and I had to sacrifice our lunchtime in order to help my tutoree with his incoming final oral exam, we decided that after leaving the University we would spend some time at Providencia. It was great, as usual. Talking about creative processes with somebody you can trust is always something very positive. It is good to put your story in the hands of somebody that is going to examine it closely (and critically) without tearing all the sheets off.
That way, we ended up at the book store, as we decided to go and make fun of fantasy books. Since The Lord of the Rings there have been many attempts of copying the Professor’s world, or, what’s even worse, trying to scape from his standards by writing about worlds which are forcefully and (at the same time) vaguely different from Middle -Earth. They all love maps, you know.
The thing is that most of these books were composed on the basis that children, as I already joted down in a previous post, are incommensurably stupid. Most writers of fantasy (though there are a few who are actually quite good) underestimate the wits of their audience; children have never been so stupid, have they?. Also, as already suggested, most of these writers have a serious lack of imagination. We are all sick of plain knights in shining armours battling raging dragons being saved by elves. (I owe this last sentence to you, Elisa. Thank you) Deux et machina DOESN’T work very well in heroic fantasy. It’s actually overseen.
It’s because of these writers that fantasy is still seen as mere juvenile rubbish.
Anyway, If it weren’t by you, sis, I would have bought that silly book, you know. I still claim that if you know your enemy, you can humiliate and demean him in a better way.
By the way, if you want to get an exact picture of what kind of freak I am, please click on this icon:
I’ve just read that editors in Britain are planning to adopt quite controversial policies. They now want to categorise books according to age on the basis of the content they present, as they “argue” that a solid criterion of organization would - apart from consciously taking over what people are reading -increase sales and benefits. Again, it is all about money (sigh)
First of all, I have to say that I have serious problems with Children’s Literature as a concept, as it turns children appart from us as if they were a separate species different from mankind. This is, above all reasons, a lie. It is true that children are naivë, innocent and, say, intelectually incomplete, but that doesn’t mean we have to encourage them to stop developing their minds. And what’s Children’s Literature, anyway? Is it a colection of books and stories about elves, dragons and silly long-bearded dwarves carving stones down the hill and into the cave? Is it Faërie and its realms the backyard of all what we should consider - take a look at the word-, childish? It seems that we should encourage our grow-up friends to read the actual versions of fairy-tales. Then they would taste the real smell of the Realms of Magic.
And yes. They would run away, scared. As for the editors, they would probably die, crawling deep into a dungeon. That’s the price (and the prize) of playing with something you don’t know at all.
Think it twice. If you’re familiar with the story of Turambar and the Foalöke you may know for sure that changing your name does not affect the course of life. At least when it comes to writing.
I’m quite happy with the results of writing about good Casiopea and her life and maladies. In fact, I think is the best short-story I’ve ever written. That’s not saying too much, though, for I’m almost totally hopeless at writing such tales. It is not my format at all. I think I even may try writing some drama, but just forget all about those others. They’re not my cup of coffee.
Or maybe it’s because of the topic. Maybe it’s time I assume I’m just writer of heroic fantasy (whatever that means, anyway) and that my future shines brighter writing the tale nobody in this country has dared to tell… yet.
I’m not re-writing the Lord of the Rings nor Star Wars again, so fear me, Paollini.Fantasy is not business! I’m getting serious. I started writing my book one year before your silly piece of rubbish called Eragon. You’ll soon taste the smell of your own blood! Har har har har har!
I think I’m going Fëanorian. That’s quite a good mood to get started. I might even swear an Oath, you know…
According to Greek Mythology (but also to Wikipedia), Casiopea was an Egyptian queen whose beauty excelled that of the Nereids who were the daughters of a lesser god of the seas. As stated by the legend, she listened to the advice of the oracle and therefore offered her equally beautiful daughter Andromeda as a sacrifice for the Gods, who where extremely angry with her because she was so delightfully charming. Eventually, Andromeda was saved by Perseus, who became her husband. End of Story.
As for me, Casiopea is a red-headed, half-german girl attending high-school whose most cherished dream is becoming a fantasy writer before the age of 20. The problem is that her hideous literary tutor wants her to be the heir of a decadent female writer of magical realism, so that her immense writing talent can bring the literary movement back from the ashes to life. I bumped into her about two days ago and decided to name her after the mythological character not because I like re-telling ancient myths in contemporary backgrounds, but because I really hate giving my characters names taken from real life. In fact, the sole aspect I (consciously) took from the original character was the etymology of her name: “she whose words excel“. So, do not expect a tale about monsters, angry gods and sacrifices. I have brighter things in mind, to be honest.
As the strike goes on at the university, I sit on my bed calmly but not comfortably. I just hate when your health changes in the blink of an eye and all of a sudden you find yourself sort of ill and VERY depressed.
Today, as usual, the alarm clock rang at 7:00 a.m. I was supposed to join some people at Sn. Joaquin so that we could discuss whether we were having classes or not, but I just couldn’t make it. It is almost official: I’ve got a cold again, and this rainy wheather and this overtaking feeling of solitude at home is not helping at all to the cause. I wish mom would be here, just to feel a little bit happier and cheered up. There was a time when I thought I could enjoy endless solitude forever and ever and ever. Doing everything by my own just sounded great! As for now, I wish I were in the South, at Home. That’s the good thing about Home. It can be Hell itself, but you still feel you want to come back someday, no matter what.
