What's so wrong with telling stories? Our lives are just stories. Maybe they have deeper meaning, but we can't find out until the end. When we're dead. And can't find out anything anyway. Because of that whole being dead thing. Seriously though, try to analyze the themes of my childhood. Really, I dare you.
I like to write things that don't need to have any sort of deeper meaning. Maybe I want to tell the story about the girl waiting for the bus in the hot sun with four freckles under her eyebrow. Isabel Allende wrote The House of the Spirits to tell a story about her family, and she laughs whenever people try to analyze her work. I saw her speak a couple of years ago, and she talked about a student who wrote some epic paper about why the dog in The House of the Spirits is so big, and what it represents. She laughed, saying, "I just wanted him to be a giant dog! There was nothing behind it!" As much as I love when writers plan their themes, motifs, symbols, whatever, I love stories.
My blog is my story. It may not be interesting, or eventful, or funny or tender. It probably won't change the way you think about the world. It's just me.
This is actually most likely inspired by my lack of enthusiasm for Paper 2 of the IB Lit exam tomorrow. Ughhhh. I can't believe I haven't complained about them yet. Physics will kill me.
I like to write things that don't need to have any sort of deeper meaning. Maybe I want to tell the story about the girl waiting for the bus in the hot sun with four freckles under her eyebrow. Isabel Allende wrote The House of the Spirits to tell a story about her family, and she laughs whenever people try to analyze her work. I saw her speak a couple of years ago, and she talked about a student who wrote some epic paper about why the dog in The House of the Spirits is so big, and what it represents. She laughed, saying, "I just wanted him to be a giant dog! There was nothing behind it!" As much as I love when writers plan their themes, motifs, symbols, whatever, I love stories.
My blog is my story. It may not be interesting, or eventful, or funny or tender. It probably won't change the way you think about the world. It's just me.
This is actually most likely inspired by my lack of enthusiasm for Paper 2 of the IB Lit exam tomorrow. Ughhhh. I can't believe I haven't complained about them yet. Physics will kill me.
I use these words too much, but I always mean them: I love you.
ReplyDelete:) I'm going to come to Northampton for sure. It's only two hours away by car, but I can't drive, so I'm not sure how far away it is by train (or if a train goes there...) I'm becoming an amtrak expert though. Really.
ReplyDeletenot to get all in on a comment conversation that i'm not a part of... but i also love both of you, in a one to one correspondence way. i love kathryn as much as all the rational numbers and ellen as much as the whole numbers, and at first it seems like i love kathryn more and then you do this weird proof and i love you equally. anyway... i also want to come and visit you and ana at smith and kathryn should come the same time and also lots of people going to bard have good friends going to smith so maybe i can get a ride!
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