I couldn't even come close to naming all the books I have read throughout my life...from silly kid's books to truly epic works, I'll read anything once. I fall in love with books easily, with their tone, with their setting, and especially with their characters. Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry is a book I go back to time and time again, even though it's extremely long and I'm not a big fan of Westerns. I go back to re-read it because I absolutely adore Captain Woodrow F. Call.
Most people who have read the book or seen the movie are huge fans of Gus, and with good reason...he's a jovial, sassy old man with a generous heart and a quick temper. It's hard not to like Gus, and while I do think he's great, I've always been more drawn to the quiet, fiesty Call. Call's not as easy to figure out...he's an enigma, even to the people who have known him for decades. He's bad at expressing any emotion other than impatience and fury, goes through life raising his son without acknowledging their relation, and is hard-headed to a fault. But he's a man of extreme loyalty and honor, a man of character. Whenever I hear the phrase 'character is what you do when nobody is around', I think of Call. He's not a man who does the wrong thing because it's easier. He's not a man who betrays his word. He is the epitome of the word right.
One of my favorite parts of the book is after Gus dies, and Call is preparing to take his body all the way back to Texas even though they had just arrived in Montana after a long, grueling trip. People thought he was crazy, even asking him why he would go so far out of his way to keep a promise he made to a dead man. To Call, though, there was nothing else to do. Gus was his best friend, and he gave him his word, and to him, that was all there was to it.
I also can read another part over and over: when Call absolutely loses his temper and beats a man half to death in the street. I realize that sounds a little morbid, but he had a good reason. The Army scout he went after had already hurt two of his men, and turned a horse whip on Call's son. The scout was a rude, arrogant man, and Call completely flipped out on him, beating him to a bloody pulp in front of an entire town. When he came to his senses, he looked at everyone and said, "I won't tolerate rudeness from a man," then just got on his horse and rode off.
For Call, there was right and there was wrong, and there was no gray area in between. His friendship with Gus, who would spend days lazing around, drinking whiskey, made him all the more striking to me. They were complete opposites, and yet they spent decades of their lives together, and loved each other deeply. Gus's personality emphasized Call's, and made me love him all the more.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
A Time for Bonding
I was always surrounded by books when I was growing up. While some families would finish the day and crowd around the TV, my family was sprawled throughout the living room with books. The TV would be on, but mainly for background noise and for my oldest brother who was (and still isn't) a reader. My dad, my mom, my sister...they could always be found with a book in hand, and we had shelves filled with them in nearly every room in the house. I can remember being read to from a very young age, by both of my parents, and by my older siblings. I can also remember being four and not being allowed to go outside to play until I had read one book aloud, and wrote my name ten times :)
Oddly enough, though, my favorite memories of reading do not come from those years before school, though I have plenty that I'm fond of. When I think of the reading time that meant the most to me, it's easy to settle on the years of 1998 to 2002, from the time I was eleven to fifteen. My dad went to prison when I was ten, and every Sunday me and my mom would get in the car and drive to wherever he was to go and visit him. During the four and a half years he was gone, he was as close as forty minutes and as far away as three and a half hours. Sometime around the second year of traveling each Sunday, me and my mom settled into the routine of turning off the radio and turning to the Harry Potter books.
We would drive along for hours, sipping on fountain drinks from some convenience store, and she would man the wheel while I read aloud from the series. We'd finish chapters each weekend on those long trips, then put the book aside until the next Sunday. In the course of four years, we finished the first four books, and read some more than once while waiting for the fifth one to come out.
I can remember those trips clearly still...the heat of the seat underneath my legs, the way my throat would grow dry and scratchy. I can remember laughing with my mom, or crying with her in some cases, and discussing the characters and the plot afterwards, wondering what would come next. I suppose that's one of the reasons I never outgrew my love for the Harry Potter series...to me, it's much more than just a fun little book series. It represents the journey me and my mom took together during one of the hardest periods of my life.
I'm no longer a child, but we still sit around and talk about Harry now and again. We have a date the first day each movie is released, to go and see it together then go out and stuff ourselves with pizza. Reading the books gave me and my mom something to bond over, and a way to lock ourselves away in Rowling's fantasy world instead of dwelling on everything we were actually experiencing. I'll always love the Harry Potter books for that reason alone, for giving me and my mom a reason to laugh when our lives were devoid of humor. Reading together really did help us through a tough patch.
Oddly enough, though, my favorite memories of reading do not come from those years before school, though I have plenty that I'm fond of. When I think of the reading time that meant the most to me, it's easy to settle on the years of 1998 to 2002, from the time I was eleven to fifteen. My dad went to prison when I was ten, and every Sunday me and my mom would get in the car and drive to wherever he was to go and visit him. During the four and a half years he was gone, he was as close as forty minutes and as far away as three and a half hours. Sometime around the second year of traveling each Sunday, me and my mom settled into the routine of turning off the radio and turning to the Harry Potter books.
We would drive along for hours, sipping on fountain drinks from some convenience store, and she would man the wheel while I read aloud from the series. We'd finish chapters each weekend on those long trips, then put the book aside until the next Sunday. In the course of four years, we finished the first four books, and read some more than once while waiting for the fifth one to come out.
I can remember those trips clearly still...the heat of the seat underneath my legs, the way my throat would grow dry and scratchy. I can remember laughing with my mom, or crying with her in some cases, and discussing the characters and the plot afterwards, wondering what would come next. I suppose that's one of the reasons I never outgrew my love for the Harry Potter series...to me, it's much more than just a fun little book series. It represents the journey me and my mom took together during one of the hardest periods of my life.
I'm no longer a child, but we still sit around and talk about Harry now and again. We have a date the first day each movie is released, to go and see it together then go out and stuff ourselves with pizza. Reading the books gave me and my mom something to bond over, and a way to lock ourselves away in Rowling's fantasy world instead of dwelling on everything we were actually experiencing. I'll always love the Harry Potter books for that reason alone, for giving me and my mom a reason to laugh when our lives were devoid of humor. Reading together really did help us through a tough patch.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
A Passed-Out Beauty
The small city of Madison was your typical college town where everything inside the city limits seemed to revolve around the school. The stores, the apartments, the malls that had sprung up...they were all a direct result of the city's growing population of young people. Each fall, thousands of young adults flooded the city, and made it come alive until they left again in May.
It wasn't long ago, actually, that a very special young woman came to Madison in hopes of earning a degree. Kelsie was the all-American girl with hair like sunlight and eyes the color of a summer sky. She was a beautiful young woman, without a doubt, and made more beautiful by the goodness she had inside her. Kelsie had never met a stranger, and she had never passed a person in need without stopping to help. She smiled constantly, brightening passerby's days without realizing it, all with the power of a simple, friendly smile and a soft greeting. She volunteered at the local children's orphanage, collected food and jackets during the winter to pass out to the needy, and tutored her classmates at the campus student center. Yes, Kelsie was a rare person of beauty that went deeper than her pretty skin.
As it is with all beautiful people, there are others who aspire to see them fall, who hope to make others view them as ugly. And as impossible as it might seem, Kelsie made her enemy on her very first day of school. In all fairness, it wasn't her fault. She had no way of knowing that the young man she asked for directions from was none other than Colt Bradford, star of the school's football team and BMOC. She had no way of knowing that the smile he was giving her was more personal, more real than the smiles he passed out to others. She had no way of knowing that Paige Hunter was watching the talking and the smiles with narrowed eyes, or that Paige had called dibs on Colt as if he were the last piece of cake at a party. And she definitely didn't know that Paige was as ugly inside as she was beautiful outside.
They bumped along well for the first couple of months, these three college students. Paige made it a priority to learn Colt's schedule so that she could approach him at every opportunity. Colt was friendly with her, but he never seeked her out as he did Kelsie. With Kelsie, he would meet her after classes to walk her to the next one, offer to buy her lunch, and give her rides when her sad excuse of a car refused to work for her. They became friends, Kelsie and Colt did, and though she wasn't aware of his growing attachment to her, everyone else saw it clearly, including Paige.
It all came to a head on Halloween, as Kelsie made her way back to her apartment after taking a group of children from the orphanage out for trick-or-treating. This is where Paige saw her, and approached her in the darkness. "Kelsie," she called, jogging up to her. "Hey, wait up!"
"Hi, Paige," Kelsie smiled at her, coming to a stop.
"You're not going home are you?" Paige asked, her biggest smile plastered across her face. "It's not even nine yet!"
"I was going to finish up a paper that's due Monday," Kelsie nodded, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "I hate putting things off until the last minute."
"But it's only Friday!" Paige exclaimed. "And it's Halloween, Kelsie! You still have all weekend to do schoolwork. Why don't you come with me tonight? There are a lot of great parties going on, and it would do you good to go out and have some fun."
"I have fun," Kelsie shrugged.
"With what? All I ever see you do is schoolwork and volunteer work," Paige protested. "When was the last time you went to a party, Kelsie? When you went and had fun just for yourself?"
Kelsie grinned, a little ruefully. "It has been a while," she said thoughtfully. "High school, actually, when I went to Prom."
"That was months ago!" Paige said with a laugh, bumping her with her hand in a show of camaraderie. "What do you say? Just one night, huh?"
"Well," Kelsie pondered. "I don't know, Paige."
"Colt's going to be there," Paige forced a grin, watching as Kelsie's eyes brightened. "Wouldn't you like to spend Halloween with him? I know he'd love to see you."
"Okay," Kelsie said finally. "I'll go with you."
Paige's grin put the Halloween masks to shame. "Excellent."
The party Paige led her to was being held in a house just off campus, and could be heard a block away. People were everywhere...spread throughout the yard, on the porches, sitting on cars, and all through the house. Kelsie was taken aback by the noise, by the frenetic movement, but she smiled anyway as they made their way into the house.
"Let me take your jacket," Paige offered. "I'll put them up out of the way. Why don't you go wait over there, and I'll snag us a couple drinks on the way back."
"Oh, I'm not a big drinker," Kelsie said as she slipped her coat off and handed it to Paige.
"No problem," Paige grinned. "I'm sure they have other things around too, for the mixers and such. I'll find you something."
"Thanks," Kelsie smiled. "I appreciate it."
"Oh, it's no problem," Paige laughed. "Be right back."
Paige moved quickly, pausing only to toss the jackets in a small room off the hallway before heading to the kitchen. "Hey everybody," she said as she entered the crowded room.
"Paige!" her friend Ashley cried, throwing her arms around her in a drunken hug. "What took you so long?"
"I ran into Kelsie," Paige explained, grabbing a Dixie cup from the counter. "I talked her into coming with me."
"But you hate Kelsie," Ashley said, puzzled. "And Colt will be here any minute! Why would you want her to tag along?"
"Because I am sick and tired of hearing about how good of a person she is," Paige snapped. "That's all Colt can talk about...how she's different from the other girls, how she's more mature than us. It's like the little bitch has a halo attached to her head, and I'm about to knock it right off of her."
"By bringing her to a party?" Ashley slurred. "I'm not following you, girl."
"Oh, I didn't just bring her to the party," Paige laughed, turning her back on everyone as she filled Kelsie's cup with soda, and pulled a small packet out of her pocket. "I'm going to make sure she has the best time of her life."
When Colt walked into the house, the first people he saw were Kelsie and Paige. He couldn't stop the smile that spread over his face. Paige had told him she would try and get Kelsie to come to the party, and she had definitely kept her word. He was crazy about Kelsie, entranced by her gentleness and kind heart. She was so different from every other girl here at school, who were focused on finding a guy to latch onto, or just having a good time. Kelsie had a good heart, and he had fallen for her the first day when she had asked him for directions to the biology building.
He made his way over to the girls, talking to people as he went, accepting the slaps on the back with a good-natured smile. He was used to being talked to, to being popular, but knew that it was all about football. If he lost the ability to throw the ball tomorrow, ninety percent of his “friends” would vanish. Not Kelsie, though, he thought with a smile. Kelsie liked him for more than just football. “Hey Paige, Kelsie,” he said when he drew up next to them, smiling widely. “How’s it going?”
“Colt!” Kelsie exclaimed, throwing her arms around him and causing him to take a step back in surprise. “I’m so glad you’re finally here!”
Colt supported her with one arm, drawing back to study her with a frown. Her pretty face was flushed, her hair askew, and her eyes were bright and glassy. “Been drinking a little, Kels?” he asked, smiling a little. In a way, it was nice to see her unwind and relax a bit.
“Oh no,” she said slowly, laughing at the idea. “I don’t drink, Colt! Paige got me a Coke, and it must have gone right to my head.” She popped her forehead as she spoke.
“I don’t think so,” he said, shooting Paige a curious look. “You must have grabbed someone else’s glass or something. Here, why don’t you sit down, and I’ll go and get you a glass of water, and a nice, cold rag?” Ignoring Paige, he took Kelsie’s hand, and led her over to the couch. “I’ll be right back, okay? You wait here.” Smiling at her one last time, he turned to go to the kitchen.
Paige followed him down the hall, sticking close to his back. “She’s such a liar,” she said with a laugh. “I don’t know why she cares if you know that she’s been drinking. I mean, you’re not her dad or her boyfriend even. She’s been tossing them back since she got here, really. She must have done at least seven shots, and she’s had a couple of beers too.”
Colt shot her an unbelieving look as he found a glass and began filling it with ice. “Kelsie’s not much for lying,” he said quietly.
“Well, either she’s lying or I’m lying,” Paige pouted. “Are you calling me a liar, Colt?”
He glanced back at her, covering the ice with water and grabbing a dish rag to dampen it. “No,” he offered diplomatically. “But I can’t imagine Kelsie lying about this, either.”
They left the kitchen the same way they had came, with Paige following close behind, and Colt trying to plow through the people who wanted to stop and talk to him. They finally made it back to the living room and on the couch was Kelsie, sprawled on her back with her head flopped back. This would have been sadly amusing if it wasn’t for the guy leaning over her, laughing with his buddies as he nuzzled her face with his.
Colt flew at him, his eyes swamped with rage. “Get off of her!” he yelled, grabbing him by the shirt collar and sending him flying. “Kelsie?” he squatted beside her, tapping her face with his hand. “Kelsie…sweetheart, wake up.” When there was no movement from her, Colt took the rag and patted her face with it, hoping it would alert her. “Kelsie? C’mon, Kelsie…this is no place to sleep it off.”
“How much did you give her?” he heard whispered behind him, and his head swiveled to see some girl talking to Paige, her eyes on Kelsie in concern. “God, you don’t think you killed her or anything, do you?”
“What did you do?” Colt roared at Paige, jumping up to grab her arm before she could disappear. “You tell me right now what you did to her, or I’m calling the cops.”
“It’s nothing,” Paige whined, trying in vain to shake her arm free. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Then tell me what it was! What did you give her?”
“Just a couple of downers, God,” she pouted. “She’s not so perfect, Colt…she drank it right down, and now look at her. She’s making a fool of herself, and everyone is here to see it.”
“You stupid, jealous bitch,” he spat. “What in the hell is wrong with you, huh? Why would you do that to anyone?” He let her go, shoving her away from him. “You make me sick, Paige.” Without another word, he whirled away from her, headed back to Kelsie. “Kelsie…baby, please wake up. Please.” Raking a hand through his hair, he bowed his head over her, trying to think of what to do. “Ok, we’re going to the hospital.” He slid his arms underneath her prone body, lifting her off the couch with ease. “Move,” he shouted at the people, who hurriedly parted to give him room. Colt squeezed through the crowd, pressing his mouth to her forehead. “It’s gonna be okay,” he whispered as he stalked towards the door.
“Colt?” Kelsie’s voice was weak and hoarse. “I don’t feel so good.”
“I know, baby, I know,” he said, nodding at someone to get the door. “But I’m here, Kelsie. And I promise I’ll always take care of you.” With a smile for her, he was out the door.
It didn’t take long for the hospital to pump her stomach, getting rid of the pills Paige had slipped her, or to refill her with fluids. And it didn’t take the cops long to understand what happened and get on the road to go find Paige. But it did take Colt a very, very long time to live up to his promise to always be there, though he figured a lifetime ought to do it. So in their way, no matter how unusually it might have started, Colt and Kelsie got the happy ending they deserved, and there was peace throughout Madison again.
It wasn't long ago, actually, that a very special young woman came to Madison in hopes of earning a degree. Kelsie was the all-American girl with hair like sunlight and eyes the color of a summer sky. She was a beautiful young woman, without a doubt, and made more beautiful by the goodness she had inside her. Kelsie had never met a stranger, and she had never passed a person in need without stopping to help. She smiled constantly, brightening passerby's days without realizing it, all with the power of a simple, friendly smile and a soft greeting. She volunteered at the local children's orphanage, collected food and jackets during the winter to pass out to the needy, and tutored her classmates at the campus student center. Yes, Kelsie was a rare person of beauty that went deeper than her pretty skin.
As it is with all beautiful people, there are others who aspire to see them fall, who hope to make others view them as ugly. And as impossible as it might seem, Kelsie made her enemy on her very first day of school. In all fairness, it wasn't her fault. She had no way of knowing that the young man she asked for directions from was none other than Colt Bradford, star of the school's football team and BMOC. She had no way of knowing that the smile he was giving her was more personal, more real than the smiles he passed out to others. She had no way of knowing that Paige Hunter was watching the talking and the smiles with narrowed eyes, or that Paige had called dibs on Colt as if he were the last piece of cake at a party. And she definitely didn't know that Paige was as ugly inside as she was beautiful outside.
They bumped along well for the first couple of months, these three college students. Paige made it a priority to learn Colt's schedule so that she could approach him at every opportunity. Colt was friendly with her, but he never seeked her out as he did Kelsie. With Kelsie, he would meet her after classes to walk her to the next one, offer to buy her lunch, and give her rides when her sad excuse of a car refused to work for her. They became friends, Kelsie and Colt did, and though she wasn't aware of his growing attachment to her, everyone else saw it clearly, including Paige.
It all came to a head on Halloween, as Kelsie made her way back to her apartment after taking a group of children from the orphanage out for trick-or-treating. This is where Paige saw her, and approached her in the darkness. "Kelsie," she called, jogging up to her. "Hey, wait up!"
"Hi, Paige," Kelsie smiled at her, coming to a stop.
"You're not going home are you?" Paige asked, her biggest smile plastered across her face. "It's not even nine yet!"
"I was going to finish up a paper that's due Monday," Kelsie nodded, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "I hate putting things off until the last minute."
"But it's only Friday!" Paige exclaimed. "And it's Halloween, Kelsie! You still have all weekend to do schoolwork. Why don't you come with me tonight? There are a lot of great parties going on, and it would do you good to go out and have some fun."
"I have fun," Kelsie shrugged.
"With what? All I ever see you do is schoolwork and volunteer work," Paige protested. "When was the last time you went to a party, Kelsie? When you went and had fun just for yourself?"
Kelsie grinned, a little ruefully. "It has been a while," she said thoughtfully. "High school, actually, when I went to Prom."
"That was months ago!" Paige said with a laugh, bumping her with her hand in a show of camaraderie. "What do you say? Just one night, huh?"
"Well," Kelsie pondered. "I don't know, Paige."
"Colt's going to be there," Paige forced a grin, watching as Kelsie's eyes brightened. "Wouldn't you like to spend Halloween with him? I know he'd love to see you."
"Okay," Kelsie said finally. "I'll go with you."
Paige's grin put the Halloween masks to shame. "Excellent."
The party Paige led her to was being held in a house just off campus, and could be heard a block away. People were everywhere...spread throughout the yard, on the porches, sitting on cars, and all through the house. Kelsie was taken aback by the noise, by the frenetic movement, but she smiled anyway as they made their way into the house.
"Let me take your jacket," Paige offered. "I'll put them up out of the way. Why don't you go wait over there, and I'll snag us a couple drinks on the way back."
"Oh, I'm not a big drinker," Kelsie said as she slipped her coat off and handed it to Paige.
"No problem," Paige grinned. "I'm sure they have other things around too, for the mixers and such. I'll find you something."
"Thanks," Kelsie smiled. "I appreciate it."
"Oh, it's no problem," Paige laughed. "Be right back."
Paige moved quickly, pausing only to toss the jackets in a small room off the hallway before heading to the kitchen. "Hey everybody," she said as she entered the crowded room.
"Paige!" her friend Ashley cried, throwing her arms around her in a drunken hug. "What took you so long?"
"I ran into Kelsie," Paige explained, grabbing a Dixie cup from the counter. "I talked her into coming with me."
"But you hate Kelsie," Ashley said, puzzled. "And Colt will be here any minute! Why would you want her to tag along?"
"Because I am sick and tired of hearing about how good of a person she is," Paige snapped. "That's all Colt can talk about...how she's different from the other girls, how she's more mature than us. It's like the little bitch has a halo attached to her head, and I'm about to knock it right off of her."
"By bringing her to a party?" Ashley slurred. "I'm not following you, girl."
"Oh, I didn't just bring her to the party," Paige laughed, turning her back on everyone as she filled Kelsie's cup with soda, and pulled a small packet out of her pocket. "I'm going to make sure she has the best time of her life."
When Colt walked into the house, the first people he saw were Kelsie and Paige. He couldn't stop the smile that spread over his face. Paige had told him she would try and get Kelsie to come to the party, and she had definitely kept her word. He was crazy about Kelsie, entranced by her gentleness and kind heart. She was so different from every other girl here at school, who were focused on finding a guy to latch onto, or just having a good time. Kelsie had a good heart, and he had fallen for her the first day when she had asked him for directions to the biology building.
He made his way over to the girls, talking to people as he went, accepting the slaps on the back with a good-natured smile. He was used to being talked to, to being popular, but knew that it was all about football. If he lost the ability to throw the ball tomorrow, ninety percent of his “friends” would vanish. Not Kelsie, though, he thought with a smile. Kelsie liked him for more than just football. “Hey Paige, Kelsie,” he said when he drew up next to them, smiling widely. “How’s it going?”
“Colt!” Kelsie exclaimed, throwing her arms around him and causing him to take a step back in surprise. “I’m so glad you’re finally here!”
Colt supported her with one arm, drawing back to study her with a frown. Her pretty face was flushed, her hair askew, and her eyes were bright and glassy. “Been drinking a little, Kels?” he asked, smiling a little. In a way, it was nice to see her unwind and relax a bit.
“Oh no,” she said slowly, laughing at the idea. “I don’t drink, Colt! Paige got me a Coke, and it must have gone right to my head.” She popped her forehead as she spoke.
“I don’t think so,” he said, shooting Paige a curious look. “You must have grabbed someone else’s glass or something. Here, why don’t you sit down, and I’ll go and get you a glass of water, and a nice, cold rag?” Ignoring Paige, he took Kelsie’s hand, and led her over to the couch. “I’ll be right back, okay? You wait here.” Smiling at her one last time, he turned to go to the kitchen.
Paige followed him down the hall, sticking close to his back. “She’s such a liar,” she said with a laugh. “I don’t know why she cares if you know that she’s been drinking. I mean, you’re not her dad or her boyfriend even. She’s been tossing them back since she got here, really. She must have done at least seven shots, and she’s had a couple of beers too.”
Colt shot her an unbelieving look as he found a glass and began filling it with ice. “Kelsie’s not much for lying,” he said quietly.
“Well, either she’s lying or I’m lying,” Paige pouted. “Are you calling me a liar, Colt?”
He glanced back at her, covering the ice with water and grabbing a dish rag to dampen it. “No,” he offered diplomatically. “But I can’t imagine Kelsie lying about this, either.”
They left the kitchen the same way they had came, with Paige following close behind, and Colt trying to plow through the people who wanted to stop and talk to him. They finally made it back to the living room and on the couch was Kelsie, sprawled on her back with her head flopped back. This would have been sadly amusing if it wasn’t for the guy leaning over her, laughing with his buddies as he nuzzled her face with his.
Colt flew at him, his eyes swamped with rage. “Get off of her!” he yelled, grabbing him by the shirt collar and sending him flying. “Kelsie?” he squatted beside her, tapping her face with his hand. “Kelsie…sweetheart, wake up.” When there was no movement from her, Colt took the rag and patted her face with it, hoping it would alert her. “Kelsie? C’mon, Kelsie…this is no place to sleep it off.”
“How much did you give her?” he heard whispered behind him, and his head swiveled to see some girl talking to Paige, her eyes on Kelsie in concern. “God, you don’t think you killed her or anything, do you?”
“What did you do?” Colt roared at Paige, jumping up to grab her arm before she could disappear. “You tell me right now what you did to her, or I’m calling the cops.”
“It’s nothing,” Paige whined, trying in vain to shake her arm free. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Then tell me what it was! What did you give her?”
“Just a couple of downers, God,” she pouted. “She’s not so perfect, Colt…she drank it right down, and now look at her. She’s making a fool of herself, and everyone is here to see it.”
“You stupid, jealous bitch,” he spat. “What in the hell is wrong with you, huh? Why would you do that to anyone?” He let her go, shoving her away from him. “You make me sick, Paige.” Without another word, he whirled away from her, headed back to Kelsie. “Kelsie…baby, please wake up. Please.” Raking a hand through his hair, he bowed his head over her, trying to think of what to do. “Ok, we’re going to the hospital.” He slid his arms underneath her prone body, lifting her off the couch with ease. “Move,” he shouted at the people, who hurriedly parted to give him room. Colt squeezed through the crowd, pressing his mouth to her forehead. “It’s gonna be okay,” he whispered as he stalked towards the door.
“Colt?” Kelsie’s voice was weak and hoarse. “I don’t feel so good.”
“I know, baby, I know,” he said, nodding at someone to get the door. “But I’m here, Kelsie. And I promise I’ll always take care of you.” With a smile for her, he was out the door.
It didn’t take long for the hospital to pump her stomach, getting rid of the pills Paige had slipped her, or to refill her with fluids. And it didn’t take the cops long to understand what happened and get on the road to go find Paige. But it did take Colt a very, very long time to live up to his promise to always be there, though he figured a lifetime ought to do it. So in their way, no matter how unusually it might have started, Colt and Kelsie got the happy ending they deserved, and there was peace throughout Madison again.
Friday, September 12, 2008
I don't think CSI is literature, but...
If you look at the definition of literature, it seems that it's only a piece of written work with a specific purpose for the audience reading it. But that could be anything, really. Does that mean that my shopping list is a piece of literature? It's written down and its purpose is to inform me of what I need. Are those stupid commercials of TV literature? What about the silly satire movies that people seem to love? Can that classify as literature? To me, that's a big negative, though my only reasoning might be that I'm such a bibliophile that it pains me to consider otherwise. I mean, have you seen the crap on TV nowadays? I think it's an insult to great literary figures to even put things like The Real World or South Park or shows like that in the same category that we hold Jane Eyre and Gone With The Wind. It cheapens what is great to view them in the same light.
Now, don't get me wrong-I love some trashy shows and movies as much as the next person. I'm helplessly addicted to the unhealthy self-obsession I see on The Hills. I love Grey's Anatomy, and CSI, and House almost to the point of weird. Movies don't have to be huge, inspirational films to hook me...from V for Vendetta to The Toy to the South Park Movie, I am easily pleased in that way. But would I look at my very favorite episode of CSI (which is actually extremely well-written) with the same set of standards I have for a novel I read? Of course not! That episode was literature at one point, when it was written down, but when it is aired, it is expressed through the art form of acting, and that dilutes what was. It's the same with plays...you can read Romeo and Juliet, and that is literature, but when you're sitting in the audience watching it being acted out, you are receiving another's interpretation of it rather than your own.
So even though things like TV shows and movies start out as literature, if you are not the one directly interpreting what the author wrote, it stops being literature in my opinion, and takes on a new form of art.
Now, don't get me wrong-I love some trashy shows and movies as much as the next person. I'm helplessly addicted to the unhealthy self-obsession I see on The Hills. I love Grey's Anatomy, and CSI, and House almost to the point of weird. Movies don't have to be huge, inspirational films to hook me...from V for Vendetta to The Toy to the South Park Movie, I am easily pleased in that way. But would I look at my very favorite episode of CSI (which is actually extremely well-written) with the same set of standards I have for a novel I read? Of course not! That episode was literature at one point, when it was written down, but when it is aired, it is expressed through the art form of acting, and that dilutes what was. It's the same with plays...you can read Romeo and Juliet, and that is literature, but when you're sitting in the audience watching it being acted out, you are receiving another's interpretation of it rather than your own.
So even though things like TV shows and movies start out as literature, if you are not the one directly interpreting what the author wrote, it stops being literature in my opinion, and takes on a new form of art.
Makings of Literature
You wouldn't think writing would be so difficult...you have a thought, you put it on paper, and viola! In reality, though, the amount of work that goes into writing a literary work is astounding. There's so many different elements that have to be present to make the work stand out, make it real and touching. Studying literary elements the past couple of weeks has shown me just how much goes into writing. It's really not as simple as I thought, and I have been an avid albeit amateur writer for years. Basic plot and grammar skills are only part of what a story needs. The characterization has to be detailed and vivid, the imagery has to be strong and sharp, the setting needs to be appropriate for the events. In the case of literature, it really is the millions of details that paint the entire picture (kinda like Vermeer's paintings in Girl With the Pearl Earring). Studying the literary elements involved rather than just accepting them really made me have a greater appreciation for what I read. I don't think I'll start dissecting everything I read, judging their use of the elements simply because while that might enhance my understanding, I think it would take away the pure, simple pleasure I feel when I read. Without a doubt, though, studying the elements and knowing what to look for will have a small part in how I receive a literary work. I think it's important to appreciate the technical aspect of writing without losing sight of what the author is trying to do by implementing all of the elements...touch you. If a person gets too bogged down in the requirements and regulations of writing, then we lose the ability to just close out the world and be swept away by it.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Stopping By The Woods on a Snowy Evening
Out of all the poems I have read in my life, all the poems I have loved, this is the one that has always stuck with me for some reason. It's the only poem I can recite from memory, actually. The imagery is fantastic in it, in a very simple way. Frost doesn't go out of his way to paint the picture with fancy words and extreme detail, but instead uses simple structure and clean words to give us a connection to the poem.
Certain lines from the poem such as "to watch his woods fill up with snow" and "between the woods and frozen lake" and the famous "the woods are lovely, dark, and deep" helps us paint a very clear picture in our heads. You feel as if you are sitting astride a horse, pausing beside an icy lake and a patch of woods, mesmerized by the sight of snow falling down and coating the ground around you. It makes the woods come alive, become a place that sucks you in and transports you to a peaceful place, a place full of quiet and serenity. You can see the clean countryside, miles away from the bustle of town, covered in a blanket of white, and feel the exhaustion of knowing you must keep trekking on, no matter how deep the snow is, no matter how tiring and consuming the trip will be.
It's not just a picture, though, for Frost also gives us sounds in his poem with lines like "he gives his harness bells a shake" and "the sweep of easy wind and downy flake". With those being the only sounds, it gives us a sense of quiet again, of sitting still and listening to a cold winter wind blowing around you, sending snow dancing with each gust, our horse tossing his head impatiently, wanting to keep going through the cold while we are lost in the moment. Perhaps the horse blows out a frustrated breath, sending steam through the air, or even stomps a foot, urging us to move on. We can't move on, though, not when we are so fascinated by the scene before us.
This poem is so much more than just a man riding a horse past a stretch of woods. That's far too simple an explanation, though I suppose that's all some people can see. The poem is deeper than that, though, and darker too. I see it as a man's pre-occupation with something, some thought or problem that has taken up his mind completely. He gets lost in the simple sight of the snowy woods because it is his break from his reality and though he wishes he could stay lost forever, ignoring his problem and lost in a dream-world, he knows he cannot give up, but must persevere. This poem is the one I read when I'm feeling low, or overwhelmed by something I feel I cannot solve. I go to my own dark place at times, my own stretch of evening woods, and reading Frost's determination to go on reminds me that I too have miles to go before I sleep. No matter how dark and deep the woods are, no matter how tempting it is to just stop and lose myself, I always read this poem and remember I must go on.
Certain lines from the poem such as "to watch his woods fill up with snow" and "between the woods and frozen lake" and the famous "the woods are lovely, dark, and deep" helps us paint a very clear picture in our heads. You feel as if you are sitting astride a horse, pausing beside an icy lake and a patch of woods, mesmerized by the sight of snow falling down and coating the ground around you. It makes the woods come alive, become a place that sucks you in and transports you to a peaceful place, a place full of quiet and serenity. You can see the clean countryside, miles away from the bustle of town, covered in a blanket of white, and feel the exhaustion of knowing you must keep trekking on, no matter how deep the snow is, no matter how tiring and consuming the trip will be.
It's not just a picture, though, for Frost also gives us sounds in his poem with lines like "he gives his harness bells a shake" and "the sweep of easy wind and downy flake". With those being the only sounds, it gives us a sense of quiet again, of sitting still and listening to a cold winter wind blowing around you, sending snow dancing with each gust, our horse tossing his head impatiently, wanting to keep going through the cold while we are lost in the moment. Perhaps the horse blows out a frustrated breath, sending steam through the air, or even stomps a foot, urging us to move on. We can't move on, though, not when we are so fascinated by the scene before us.
This poem is so much more than just a man riding a horse past a stretch of woods. That's far too simple an explanation, though I suppose that's all some people can see. The poem is deeper than that, though, and darker too. I see it as a man's pre-occupation with something, some thought or problem that has taken up his mind completely. He gets lost in the simple sight of the snowy woods because it is his break from his reality and though he wishes he could stay lost forever, ignoring his problem and lost in a dream-world, he knows he cannot give up, but must persevere. This poem is the one I read when I'm feeling low, or overwhelmed by something I feel I cannot solve. I go to my own dark place at times, my own stretch of evening woods, and reading Frost's determination to go on reminds me that I too have miles to go before I sleep. No matter how dark and deep the woods are, no matter how tempting it is to just stop and lose myself, I always read this poem and remember I must go on.
Imagery
There are so many different things that take a story from being just words to something that catches people's hearts and minds. Every aspect of the story is important to making up the whole...the speaker, the setting, the characters, but to me the most striking part of any literary work is the imagery, whether visual or auditory. To me, that's what makes the words come alive, paints the images in your head. It's what makes you feel a breeze on your face, or the fear of the character. Imagery let's you hear voices, and smell fire, and everything else that's a part of the individual story. Like in the poem "Birches" by Frost, the line about the sun's warmth making the branches shed their crystal shells...you can read that one single line and see a tree heavy with ice, and picture the thin light of morning soaking into them and sending ice to the ground below. Without that type of imagery, that particular choice of words, it's just a poem about trees in winter, not something that comes to life for the reader as each line unfolds. Don't get me wrong, everything about a story or poem has to be well-written for it to touch people, but without strong imagery...well, it's just words, plain and simple. Just a story. Just a thought. Imagery is what makes it real.
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