Exhilaration

Exhilaration

     Today, I went sledding. There is nothing quite like it, this act of careening down carefully selected slopes wrapped in soft, glittering whiteness with wild speed and a definitive note of uncontrollability and unpredictability. Well, I suppose you could say snowmobiling is like it, and it's something people of my age (after all, I was allegedly born in 1910, according to my gravestone the internet gave me) seem to find more proper in which to participate. I can't say I've ever tried it, but I know it wouldn't be the same. Not to say I wouldn't want to try it; I think snowmobiling could be really fun to try some time. But I still like sledding. I think snowmobiling would be more like riding a four-wheeler, something I have indeed done and enjoyed. It's just a different activity, and I sat out to write about sledding, and so if I can endeavor to stay on topic, I shall. 

     I sat out today from my Grandma's house, fully bundled in scarf, coat, snowpants, gloves, snow boots, the entire ensemble of cold-warding-off-ness, my basic blue sled grasped in thickly gloved hand, being as I never attached a string to it for pulling and steering as most people typically do (I just never got around to it, and now it's too late. We'll get to why later), and so I made my way to the top of the main sledding hill in my grandma's yard, pressing on through the powdery top-layer of snow, trying not to sink through the semi-icy harder layer of older, undrifted snow a couple inches down, which had partially thawed and then refrozen, making it harder, and often not succeeding and finding myself sinking in even farther than I anticipated. Such is walking in the snow of various snowfalls at various times in various densities--over the winter build-up, quite a few layers develope, and it makes walking interesting. The best scenario is when the hard-frozen snow layer isn't under much powdery or other top layer snow, but under just enough to keep it from being too slippery, and ideally the hard-frozen snow is thick enough to prevent you from sinking through it to the depths of the other snow layers. 

     This is rare, and though it did occur sometimes today, most often, it seemed, I found myself plunging through all available layers of snow and so attempting to look for paths where the snow was at its shallowest. One of the nice things about a sled is that it does not sink through snow layers nearly as easily as feet do, as weight is more spread out and less focused on just the one point; if this weren't so, sledding would be nearly impossible in any sort of deep snow. Nonetheless, the first run down any hill is always the slowest, because it smooths the path. Most of the soft, light powder on top gets cleared out of the sled's path by its helm, and the rest gets packed down as you pass over it. Often, depending upon the steepness of the hill, on the first run, you end up having to push beside the sled with your hands at the side, rather like a surfer pushes themselves out on their surfboard, only you--or I, at least--don't do it on your/my belly, but rather on your/my knees. Depending upon the sled, I almost always go on my knees. After the first run, the real sledding begins, at least, usually. Sometimes, if the snow has a very deep powder/top layer or has no hard layer at all or one not thick enough or is too deep in general, it may take several runs to get it packed down and smoothed enough to make a good path, and I have encountered conditions where the snow is just too soft and too deep to sled with any speed at all, but this was not the case this afternoon, and after the first run, I was off.

     My grandma's main sled hill--or at least the slope of it on which I sled--is pretty much perpendicular to her driveway, and consists of a few sections, if you want to get technical, and being as I don't have the pictures I intended to take to go with this blog post yet, I feel I need to get technical to properly describe the experience of sledding it. The first 'section' as it were, is a relatively long (for a sled hill section) but not very steep slope, along which one moves at a nice glide, not hurtling along but bit by bit gaining speed, until you enter 'section two', distinguished by a little bump followed by a very noticeable increase in the grade of the slope, at which point you begin to rapidly speed up, the fastest section of the hill, leading into the jump section. This point in the hill, or slightly before it, is where I sometimes stand up on my knees and 'surf' for a short while. Sometimes I attempt to maintain this stance into the jump section, and sometimes I don't. The jump section is created by the plowing of my grandma's driveway, which creates ridges of plowed-up snow on both sides of the drive, which creates jumps. The sled hill doesn't stop at the driveway, really; at that point, you've got too much speed to really stop anyways. But the jumps are where it really gets exciting, one split second of airlessness after another as you cross onto the driveway and then off of it. They also seem to be the part where most crashes occur, but aren't the jumps always? If you hit the jump at just the wrong angle, you are catapulted off the sled sideways, or frontways, or if you get at a really weird angle, maybe even backways. Sometimes a crash stops you from making it to the second jump, but sometimes the first jump just turns you enough that you hit the second one really oddly and roll of your sled on the last bit of hill or get thrown off sideways or one knee is thrown off the side and drags or... really, all manner of things can (and have) happened on the last bit of hill after the second jump, which is a relatively short slope ending in the fence separating the yard from the horse pasture. If no crash naturally occurs, as the fence approaches, you must roll yourself off the sled to properly stop. Or at least, that's how I do it. I just lean over as I get close to the fence and I grab the sled as I do so it doesn't slide away and ideally, I land smoothly on my side or back. 

     I was intending on going on to tell you all about sledding out in the pasture, which is where things get even more exciting, and also of how my blue sled broke today, and of the significance of sledding in life, and I was going to make some comparisons with the Dauntless faction from the Divergent series, and I was going to summarize various injuries one can (and I have) sustained from sledding, and also mention how great of exercise sledding is and how hot you get after it and reflect on the beautiful sunset and all manner of other things, not necessarily in that order, but I think I shall do a follow up blog post tomorrow, hopefully with pictures, and cover as much of that as I can, because tonight I'm running short of time and I still need to finish up my third blog post of the week, which I do have started in another tab but which nonetheless I still need to finish in half an hour now, and my goodness this is a long sentence but it's technically not a run-on because as far as I am aware this is still properly punctuated and a sentence is not a run-on until there is an error in punctuation, and until then it is simply a lengthy sentence which leaves one panting at the end. <catches breath>. The Lande beyond the violet mist shimmers with opalescent, feathery, frigidized water coating the ground and shining 'neath the sun's potent golden rays, and  today the whiteness's pristine serenity is speckled and streaked with trails and tracks marking where adventure has passed. 

Welcome!

Welcome to My New Creative Writing Blog!

     You may have noticed my heading and side-bar things indicating that this is now my creative writing blog, but since this is my first official CW blog post, I figured it was worth announcing still. Amongst all the purposes my blog has served, this is really the one that describes me the best, because for many years, I have fancied myself a writer and identified myself as such. I love the written word and the act of creating it, and anyone who knows me well knows this. So, while I do like taking pictures and analyzing literature both very much, this iteration of my blog is the one that best represents me.
     I learned today we will not just be sharing short excerpts of our writing, but that we will be sharing all of our finished pieces on our blogs. I must say, this will greatly affect my writing style this semester because I do write differently when I know that anyone in the world will be able to see what I am writing. Any time I write a blog post, I find myself thinking about how various groups of people will read it. I think about how members of my family will read my posts, I think about how my friends will read my posts, I think about how my teachers will read my posts, I think about how random strangers who don't know me at all except through my writing will read my posts, I think about how people who dislike me will read my posts, I think about how vague people I've met only once whose names I don't even recollect will read my posts... And of course, it will influence my writing style that I try to always remain anonymous on my blog so that my unknown readers will always know me as Vivi and won't know my true identity unless they know me in person, as I always stay mostly anonymous on the internet.
     I guess it's just something I've always done, keeping my real name off the internet. Maybe I'm kind of paranoid, I don't know, but I think I'm mostly just private that way. There's something very awkward about putting pieces of yourself, even under a fake name, where everyone can see you. I like that when you google any of my names (I also like that I have multiple names, which sounds very mysterious), you don't get me. When you google my real name, you get mostly little old ladies, more than one obituary (apparently I died in 1952 and my middle name was "Fausnaugh" (which, this much I will tell you, it actually isn't my middle name. But I won't tell you whether I died in 1952. I might have. You'll just have to wonder...<insert mysterious ghostly noises like woooooooh>)), as well as some pictures of this one blonde lady who was some kind of myspace model, or at least you always used to, I don't see her anymore. When you google my penname, oh, that's new, now you can actually see my NaNoWriMo profile :) That's actually cool. I'm alright with that, I guess, because for one it's under my penname rather than my actual name, and for two it's probably good, if I'm going to publish anything under that name, to be getting it out there a little. I kind of like the idea that people can find the fictional me, and I think I/she am/is pretty well represented as who she/I is/am (being multiple people gets complicated ;) ). But I'm still happy that it's not connected to my blog and that all the other results are also old, dead ladies. I guess my real and pen names are both very old fashioned, which I like. 
     The only problem with my NaNo profile is that it shows my epic wordcount deficit--16,173 words out of 50,000. It occurs to me that now might be a good time to explain what NaNoWriMo is. NaNoWriMo is short for National Novel Writing Month and it's an annual contest which takes place in November. The goal is to write an entire 50,000 word novel in one month, or an average of nearly 2,000 words a day. I'd heard about NaNo a few times before, but this was the first year I tried it. Of course, the only days I made word par were the saturdays when I was able to sit at my laptop all day and write for literally the whole day, but that was a wonderful experience. Well, and I also made word par on the very last day of November, when I wrote from around 9:30 at night until midnight, and so I made a great deal of progress in a short while, but really that night hardly counts.
     As the time got later and later, what I wrote on my novel was less and less about my novel and more about sheer wordcount. At the very end I introduced a random, irrelevant character who believed he was a squirrel and who served no remote shadow of a practical purpose in my novel whatsoever, but who did help me get over a thousand words in a little more than an hour. I say this doesn't really count, though, because I probably will take out everything I wrote that night, because it got quite simply atrocious and irrelevant to my plot. It felt good to make my final word count go up, though, just to make it look better. The rest of the month actually did really help me make sincere progress on my actual novel, and it was a very good thing to do for the most part. Considering I am a senior in high school, I think I did rather well on the whole, despite my gaping word count deficit, and it was well worth doing. 
     This blog post seems to be a wonderful demonstration of my chain of thought. I sat out to welcome you all to my blog and briefly explain things, but as it turns out I seem to have given you a decent introduction to myself as a crazy, confusing, humorous, parentheses-over-using writer. I do tend to blather on about random things. Another interesting way this demonstrates a bit of who I am is that we are to do three blog posts a week from Sunday to Saturday, and today is Friday, I have been working on this post since Monday, and it is still my first post. I am a lengthy, slow writer, and a horrible procrastinator. So, most likely, a second blog post will be coming your way around midnight tonight, and the third, probably Saturday evening. I also have a rough draft to write (due today) and now I need to figure out what my next blog posts are going to be about. I should go do that! And here I am, editing some things I saw in this post, on Saturday at 7:00pm (or whatever time it is in Norway, if you'll still believe I'm there. I mean, of course I am in Norway...). Time to get blogging! Nice to have you all meet me! Oh, by the way, it's something of a blog-tradition I have to sign off with a little note about what's going on in my fantastical land that lays beyond the mysterious, swirling violet mist. This week beyond the violet mist, things are getting a little chaotic, but we're working on it, and we're still very excited to be an imaginary society in a mysterious, invented land of adventures, whose adventure shall now be to write! 

Pennames:

becoming who we wish to be

         We have finished our Macbeth unit, and now we are exploring various short works in our cp lit class. As you may have noticed, I had already changed my title back because I had believed we were done with our blogs in cp lit. But nonetheless, I am happy to be here today to write on a quite enjoyable topic. As I have mentioned, we are looking at short works in our cp lit class, and today (now known as ‘last friday’) we discussed Saki and who he was in brief before reading his short work, “The Storyteller”. We talked about his choice of Penname, which was the name of a character in another author’s story, who served royal guests their champagne. Hector Munro (Saki’s real name) compared himself with his penname to a humble server and his stories to light, bubbly champagne. So, our blog question of the day was what fictional character’s name we would take as our penname. I don’t know whether you are aware, but being an author, I long ago chose a penname for myself. I think I won’t post it here on the off chance that someone from the wide internet world is able to connect it to me and figure out my true identity; for to the blogging world I must remain Vivi, and I think I don’t want Vivi even connected to my penname. I do have several false names to go under, don't I? If my true identity were revealed to the internet world, I would, of course, have to release the ninjas, and I don’t think anyone wants that. Except the ninjas. And I, being as I am one of my own ninjas. (Spirals off on many random references to intricate inside jokes from many years past...)

       But anyways, CP Lit. Saki. Right. What I can tell you is that my real penname is not taken from a fictional character (actually it is one of my middle names as the first name and a last name I found on the internet and modernized (that should be vague enough (I’m nesting parentheses again))), and the prompt asks us to chose a fictional character’s name like Saki did. I personally would be worried that this might be considered plagiarism, and so I would never, in reality, do this. But, if I were pressed to plagiarize the name of one of my favorite characters who would not only represent me but also my writing style, though this is a very difficult choice, I would have to probably go with good old Luna Lovegood. I am, in case you could not properly discern from my remarks regarding ninjas, a little odd, much like Luna. I am a Ravenclaw through and through, and I love learning and knowledge, and I even try my hand at riddles, though to be fully frank, I probably would have ended up being eaten by Gollum in the fateful battle of wits recently (well, the first was a year or so ago now, for the first, already) portrayed in film. But I admire Luna’s attitude in life, and in many ways it’s like my own. Also, I think she simply has a lovely-sounding name. Luna. That’s just pretty. And who wouldn’t love to be a Lovegood? It has such a nice sound to it, and it represents me and my writing style decently. I write fantasy, and once in a while I dabble in mystery and even sometimes dystopia (more accurately, I have about 2,000 words of a single dystopian novel started, so not much, really, but enough to count) and also I have one sci fi-fantasy short story (“completed” (in dire need of serious revision, but rough draft-finished) at about 5,000 words). But I think Luna is a fantastical and rather spontaneous person, like my writing. She is smart and perhaps eloquent. I can imagine her over-using nested parentheses as well. I relate to her character and in some ways aspire to emulate her, and I think she works as a symbol for my writing, more or less. In the quirky, colorful lands beyond the violet mist, we hope we can avoid plagiarizing when we remind you all to not worry: You’re just as sane as I am, Harry. (Thank you J. K. Rowling for not suing me, you and J. R. R. Tolkien are both awesome.)

Side-note: please bear with we of the violet mist, we are presently expieriencing some technical difficulties with our font.

                   The Fine Line Between 

"Insane" and "in a Valiant Fury"

        It's interesting how many of these Macbeth blog posts, looking back, pertain to evaluations of the sanity of various characters. Is Macbeth or Banquo more sane? (answer: Banquo) Is Macbeth a good man? (answer: he used to be...) Is Lady Macbeth sane? (answer: far, far, far from it) Who's the sane one now? (answer: neither Macbeth nor Lady Macbeth, nor anyone voluntarily staying in their kingdom, for that matter) How did Macbeth lose his former, sane self? (answer: by compromising his moral values). I find myself inclined to venture that one theme of this play, other than “appearances are deceiving”, may be that murder drives the murderer and everyone around him (or her, as Lady Macbeth had originally intended, though she didn't) utterly insane. Now we are drawing nigh to the conclusion of Macbeth, and ***SPOILER ALERT*** to his dramatic defeat and downfall and the mounting of his head on Malcolm's battlements (an ironic twist paying pointed homage to Macbeth's mounting of the former rebellion leader's head on Duncan's battlements) (yes, I have read again now. I just can't not. It doesn't feel right not knowing in advance what will happen...). I had to mark this spoiler alert because it just annoys me when people don’t properly mark spoiler alerts. Anyways--END SPOILER ALERT you can read safely again now.
        We have come to Macbeth’s sixth soliloquy, having heard the musings of several of the thanes who have jumped off of his cruel and sinking ship to the safe shore of Malcolm's English army. One of these, Caithness, informed us that, "some say [Macbeth]'s mad; others that lesser hate him do call it valiant fury."And so we once more turn to a debate of Macbeth's sanity. I do not believe Macbeth is sane in any way, shape, or form. This said, I do think that it's a combination of the two that's driving him. In his 6th soliloquy, he does sort of sound more towards valiant fury. He would even sound sane if the soliloquy were taken on its own. He sounds like a saddened but noble king watching his kingdom slip from his grasp when he says, "I am sick at heart... my way of life is fall'n into the sere (from side-notes: "the (condition of being) dry and withered")". He sounds bitter and spiteful but not crazy when he says, "that which should accompany old age, as honor, love, obedience, troops of friends, I must not look to have, but in their stead, curses... [and] mouth-honor [lip service]". He sounds most like he's in a valiant fury when he says shortly after his soliloquy, "I'll fight till from my bones my flesh be hacked. Give me my armor." This makes him sound brave and fierce, like a good warrior ready to go out swinging. These all seem to become a noble and valiant king whose kingdom is being prised from his grasp by rebellions. In some measure, he is motivated by this brave anger.
        Yet when we look at the context surrounding them, we see how unwound Macbeth really is. Just before his soliloquy, he creatively and repeatedly insults a servant, who has only come to deliver news, for no apparent reason. He comes up with some colorful insults, calling the servant "whey-face", "cream-faced loon", "villain", "lily-livered boy", and "patch", asking him "where got'st thou that goose-look?", telling him to "go prick thy face", and informing him, "those linen cheeks of thine are counsellors to fear." The very moment the poor message-bearer enters Macbeth greets him, "the devil damn thee", a very polite greeting sane people often give their servants (not), and when the servant is attempting to report to Macbeth, he gets as far as "there is ten thousand--" when Macbeth extreemley impatiently cuts him off and sneers at him "geese?" (which is even more insulting considering what it can mean in Shakespearean) like a hyperactive and inattentive, rude young child, throwing in another insult in addition to rudely interrupting important news the unlucky boy is bringing what is supposed to be his venerable king. Finally, Macbeth thanks him for delivering the report by wishing him, “death of thy soul” and dismissing him, “take thy face hence.” Macbeth seems very cheery (not)! Macbeth insults the servant all these times and still more in the space of a mere eleven lines, including those lines in which the servant attempts to speak. Macbeth is clearly revealing how stressed, disturbed, angry, destroyed, and totally off his rocker he truly is. I could understand classifying Macbeth as sane were it only based upon his 6th soliloquy, but one cannot look at this flat-out ridiculous and over-the-top, completely unprovoked and purposeless bullying of a humble and polite servant and think of Macbeth as anything but either filled “from the crown to the toe top-full of direst cruelty” as Lady Macbeth previously asked to be, or else entirely and utterly consumed with insanity and irreprievably psychotic. He is lost in hatred and overtaken by madness.
        Throughout his soliloquy, Macbeth is calling wildly for his servant, Seyton (the pronunciation of which I wonder about, and if it is pronounced how I think it might be--that is, say-ten--then I wonder if there is some subtle meaning behind it), as if he can’t even focus on what he’s saying to himself. So whilst he’s saying those things that make him sound like a noble and poignant king, a righteously bitter man, and a warrior in a valiant fury, all the while he’s not focusing on what he’s saying and he’s calling belligerently for his servant to demand news and then to neither listen to nor pay attention to the servant for whom he bade. Macbeth has learned to be a good actor since his murder of Duncan, but as more things are falling apart in his life, so too his ruse is disintegrating about him, and his inner madness is shining through. There may well be some motivation of valiant fury, but it is a minisculely marginal degree. Beyond the violet mist, we are watching one after another fall to the all-consuming grasp of insanity as the tragedy we are so intently regarding draws nigh to its close.

The Fifth Soliloquy

Macbeth's Fifth Soliloquy:

how has he changed?

        Macbeth's world is falling apart. He is king of Scotland and seems to have all he desired, but threats to his rule are everywhere--or at least, he sees them everywhere. His position as king is doing him no good, and he is miserable and "in blood stepped...so far", and "full of scorpions is [his] mind". He used to be a better man, happy even; what changed? Macbeth did. In his first soliloquy, that moment when he first conceived of Duncan's murder and saw only the beginning of the dark path before him, he said that the mere thought of murdering his king, "shakes so my single state of man that function is smothered in surmise, and nothing is but what is not." He could not move under the burdenous weight of the thought, and his world had turned on end. He told us that the thought, "doth unfix my hair and make my seated heart knock at my ribs against the use of nature." He even said that the idea was "yet fantastical"and still he had a huge physical reaction to it. This was a man appalled by the mere inkling of slaying his noble king. He fought against even the thought.

         Fastforward a bit, to when Macbeth has returned home to his castle in Glamis, having hardly spoken with his wife, and he has another soliloquy that already shows a drastic change. Instead of fighting off the thought out of horror, he is now wishing he could kill Duncan, if only there were no problems. He states at the beginning of the soliloquy that "if it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well it were done quickly." If only I could murder and get away clean, I'd do it right away! He's no longer concerned by the moral wrongness of it. He doesn't care that he'd be murdering someone. He's changed much in a short trip. All that stops him now is that "we have judgement here" and that "bloody instructions... return to plague th' inventor." It would come back to get him, and he'd always have to be on the look-out. In this soliloquy, he does decide against murder, but only just, and later Lady Macbeth easily pushes him over the edge--but he put himself on that edge first. He has already abandoned his morals with hardly a passing glance. 

        Now we are at his fifth soliloquy, months after the murder. Macbeth is king, and has everything he was going for. But he's also had Banquo, a former colleague and perhaps friend, murdered to secure his seat on the throne, and now Macduff seems to be posing a potential threat. Macbeth resolves in his fifth soliloquy that "from this moment, the very firstlings of my heart shall be the firstlings of my hand."He is going to act without thinking, going straight from his emotions to his actions with no contemplation in between. He is going to have "no boasting like a fool" and he says "this deed I'll do before this purpose cool." What deed is he plotting? We can probably predict that he plans to murder Macduff, but that's not all. He says, "the castle of Macduff I will surprise... give to th' edge o' the' sword his wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls that trace him in his line. " He wants to kill everyone now. He has come all the way from being appalled at the thought of a single murder to resolving to commit mass murder with hardly any hesitation. Macbeth "violated his moral code" and now he is falling apart at the seams. He is no longer happy. He has no hope. He is thoughtless and cruel where once he was noble and good. He is rude to his wife who he once honored and valued. He is truly destroying himself. 

        This gets to the heart of the play, or a heart of it. Part of the point of this play is that Shakespeare is trying to show us that when you sacrifice right, when you do something you know to your core is evil, when you know that it's the most horrible thing that you should never, never do and you do it anyway, when you begin good and yet you knowingly choose evil, it will destroy you completely and utterly. Macbeth has brought about his own destruction. He once was a noble and honored warrior with a good life and good standing with the king. Now he is a broken and hollow man with darkness consuming his soul and evil filling his heart and mind and actions. He has gone from noble warrior to mass murderer. He has destroyed everything he once cared about. He has ruined his life. "Ye shall not eat of it...lest ye die." Genisis 3:3 Macbeth chose to live in sin and never leave it, and he is surely losing his life.  

         From beyond the violet mist today, we witnessed the beginnings of the culmination of the destruction brought on by turning to evil. 

Reacting to the murder in Macbeth:

Reacting to the murder in Macbeth:

Who’s the sane one now?

            King Duncan clearly did not take my advice to watch his back. However, I must admit that in some capacity I underestimated the goodness of Macbeth’s character, but I did not underestimate what he would do. He seemed as if he wouldn't, earlier on,  but whether by the convincing of others or by his own ambition overwhelming his originally mostly good nature, he did murder the king on that dark night, and now he will have to deal with the consequences. 

            Already he is swallowed by his own guilt; because of his guilt about his sin, "'Amen' stuck in [his] throat" even though he "had most need of blessing", and he even imagines that he "heard a voice cry 'Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep'" repeatedly, for he feels he will never be able to sleep again, partly because of guilt and even partly because he will always fear being found out. Lady Macbeth, on the other hand, brushes the matter off like a spot of lint on her shoulder. In response to Macbeth's guilty moaning, she simply says, "these deeds must not be thought after these ways; [if] so, it will make us mad."

            But truly, which of them is the mad one now? Lady Macbeth is unnaturally without emotion, as if something is missing from her humanity. She should be even more distraught than her husband, because she thought that King Duncan "resembled [her] father as he slept" and so she could not stab him herself. Yet despite this, she is even confused when Macbeth expresses his guilt. When he tells her he can sleep no more for he has murdered sleep, she asks him, "what do you mean?". She just doesn't get it. Here is her husband, distraught at the murder he has just committed, and she is just looking at him and going, 'what's wrong with you?'. Really, he should be looking at her and going, 'what's wrong with you?'. She is insanely guiltless. Something in her mind, something in her moral conscience, is simply missing, and she is entirely too cool. 

            Macbeth is so distracted by his guilt and his horror at what he has done that he accidentally brings the murder weapons with him rather than planting them on the guards at the crime scene like he was supposed to, and when Lady Macbeth points out that he still has them and tells him to take them back and "smear the sleepy grooms with blood", he replies, "I'll go no more. I am afraid to think what I have done. Look on 't again I dare not." He is too guilty to go back and look at the bloody scene he has made. His wife, on the other hand, has no issues with going to a murder scene of a man who reminds her of her dad and dipping her hands in his bloody wounds to get some blood to smear on the guards she already drugged. She is entirely too unperturbed by the entire business. She chides Macbeth that he is “infirm of purpose!” when he refuses to go back and do this, and so she says she’ll go do it. She even tells Macbeth that “the sleeping and dead are as but pictures. ‘Tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil.” Stop being childish. He’s only dead. In this moment, she seems almost completely heartless. Macbeth is at least decent enough to regret what he has done; when they hear a knocking, he quietly tells it, “wake Duncan with thy knocking. I would thou couldst.” But Macbeth has made his bed; murder is irreversible and inexcusable, and now he will have to face what he has brought on himself. We are glad today to be in our land beyond the violet mist and far removed from these horrific happenings.

A Macbeth Halloween

      'Tis Halloween this night. We beyond the violet mist feel the magic magnified a hundredfold as the violet mist pervades the lands on both sides. It might be noted that not only is this a Halloween, but still more it is in the year 2013, a particularly good year for the mysterious and fantastical, as well as for rhyming (Halloween, twenty-thirteen), and a nice-looking date: October 31, 2013, or 10-31-13 (because, you know, 31 is 13 in reverse. Nifty, isn’t it?). In this, our literature class, Macbeth’s discussions have fallen in line rather well with this season of enchantment. We have been particularly discussing Lady Macbeth and her soliloquies and conversations with Macbeth and the many different interpretations of the Lady. We saw various videos of several actresses portraying her, each from different angles. One actress, from a stage production in an American replica of Shakespeare’s Globe, emphasized how happily married the Macbeths are and how there was a feeling that if they encouraged one another and didn’t let one another quit, between them they could accomplish anything, even if that thing happened to be something like, say, assassinating the king. In the other video we watched individually, though, Lady Macbeth was portrayed as almost a witch herself, dark and ominous and evil to the core, quite Halloween-ish and even slightly horror-film-esque.
      Even their physical appearances were largely different; the Lady in the stage production had golden blonde, gently waved hair and was slightly older, and had sort of a softer, kinder face, while the Lady in the movie clip had raven black, shortly-cropped hair and ghostly white skin, and though she looked in the same ballpark of the age of the other actress, she had a more haunted, less gentle face. Not to say that the former Lady Macbeth was some sort of cuddly grandmother-woman; indeed, she was far from it, slamming Macbeth forcefully against a door and speaking sharply to him. Still, she was somehow centering all her actions on the idea that her character was only acting and speaking out of her love for Macbeth and her belief that he deserved better, and that he could get it if only he would do what he had to do. The latter Lady Macbeth seems cold and filled with darkness; it almost seems she hardly needs to call on the spirits of darkness, for they may well already be in her.
      I found some of the effects in the movie-type version interesting as well. Before the second Lady says “the raven himself is hoarse,” a raven crows in a silent pause, and the single sound echoes powerfully through the chambers of the castle. After she finishes reading the letter from Macbeth, she opens a metal door that is almost cage-like, making an eerie, loud clattering sound. She says most of her lines as though she is speaking incantations. Her ghostly white gown flutters in a preternatural breeze as the forcefulness of her voice builds towards the end of the soliloquy. The gentler Lady Macbeth seems to have less opportunity for sound effects, but still her performance feels balanced and well done. It is much warmer where the other is colder. Light does filter strangely through a door at the side of the stage (the one against which she throws her husband) but there is less done with sounds and props. She speaks to her beloved husband with passion, almost as though giving him a rough sort of pep talk, energizing him and encouraging him to claim what she believes he deserves. Her gown is a lovely purple, bright and warm like her, and equally passionate and even volatile like her. In the commentary on the video of the stage production, I found it interesting where one person noted that the play is named Macbeth, not “Lady Macbeth and some guy she lives with”, which is what some performances of Macbeth may become when the Lady dominates the play. It is hard to say from the other video whether the Lady will overshadow her husband or not, as the clip was only her soliloquy and the only person with whom she interacted was a messenger, and that briefly.
      I think both interpretations of the play were strong. I perhaps preferred the lighter version, if only because I like to think of the Lady Macbeth as a somewhat good-hearted character, even if she is inciting her husband to murder, as perhaps it might be due to her love and hopes for him rather than greed for herself. The darker Lady Macbeth was a good interpretation as well, though, and certainly more Halloween-y and witch-like or ghostly, or even vampire-ish in coloration. She was most definitely a powerful woman, and clearly taken with evil and forces of the night. The people of the violet mist feel slightly odd that their typical sort of mysterious wrap-up sentence came at the start of the writing, and so feel the need to write some sort of “beyond the violet mist” wrap-up statement here. We beyond the violet mist wish you a Halloween filled to the brim with shimmering magic and must now post this while it remains Halloween.

Macbeth: Will He Really Usurp?

        How can one tell whether a person is good and of sound character shortly after meeting them? It can be difficult to truly know a person's heart even if you have known them for a while. There may be some things that can serve to indicate a person's character, though, that one may perhaps use on which to base a guess after only meeting someone for a short while. After reading only the first few scenes in Macbeth, we have been asked to say whether we think he is a good person or not. Oddly enough, I have been so busy and reading so many things at once that I have not actually read ahead. I know. It's strange. I feel weird not reading ahead, which I suppose to most people is normal, but it almost makes me feel as though I am behind. So, abnormally, I still know very little about Macbeth though the book has been in my possession a while now. But anyways, is Macbeth a good man?
         Another thing which we are to discuss is, upon reading his soliloquy in Act 1, Scene 3, Lines 140-155, is Macbeth honestly considering murdering King Duncan so he can be king as the witches have told him he will be, or is he just saying this? When we talked about this we mentioned how one might, after one’s sibling has done something quite annoying, say, “I’m going to kill [said sibling]!”, but how this is quite different from saying to oneself, “well, if I lured them down to the river, and I snuck up behind them with a log, and I lifted it high above my head and I...” and so on. The first is clearly an empty threat, an expression of annoyance, while the second is clearly more than this--a plot. So, is Macbeth just getting annoyed that he’s not king, or is he honestly plotting to usurp?
         I can’t say for certain, but I think that if I were King Duncan, I would want to be watching my back. Macbeth seems to have no problem with violently murdering his enemies, as even the very first mention of him in the play is when the captain tells us that he “unseamed [an enemy] from the nave to th’ chops, and fixed his head upon our battlements.” If he was able to gut a man and chop off his head and wave it around like a prize without flinching, is it that much of a stretch that he may begin to consider his own king his enemy for standing in his path to the throne, and so to treat him similarly to the aforementioned enemy? Sure, in his soliloquy, he states that the thought of killing the king “doth unfix my hair and make my seated heart knock at my ribs against the use of nature,” but if the idea was an empty threat to him, it wouldn’t be affecting him so profoundly. His heart is pounding as if he already has the blade raised over King Duncan’s head, which is where he is in his mind, as best as I can tell. From the little I know of Macbeth so far, I don’t think he has good character. I think he’s in things for himself, really, and that he’s power-hungry and arrogant. He begins he soliloquy with a delighted thrill that he has just been named Thane of Cawdor and with a greedy thirst for the throne. Today, Thane of Glamis and Cawdor, tomorrow, King of Scotland (and the day after that, ruler of all earth), he seems to be thinking to himself. He says that the first part of the witches’ prophecy coming true is “[a] happy prologue... to the swelling act of the imperial theme,” and one can hear his chest swelling with pride. I think he is blind enough in his pride and thirst for power that he will slay the king, though he might regret it later, through guilt or consequence.
         Of course, I know very little about Macbeth thus far. He does seem to value honor in battle, and maybe his sense of honor and even duty to his kingdom will stay his hand and keep him from usurping. I have been wrong in predicting the character of characters in plays before; when we studied Medea earlier this year, I at first judged the title character to be of good character. I thought she was a good person who was simply wronged by Jason and who would not allow hate to consume her life. But she proved she was far more hateful than I had thought, and she committed even more wrongs than Jason. My fault with Medea, though, was trusting her too much, and seeing more good in her than there truly was; with Macbeth, if I am already distrusting him, is it not all the more likely that he is even more evil than I have already anticipated? I do think he has a conscience, but whether he truly does remains to be proven. I do not believe his conscience will stop him from usurpery, though. I do not think Macbeth is a good man and if I were King Duncan, I’d watch my back. We of the land beyond the violet mist see from afar a betrayal brewing in ancient Scotland.

Macbeth, Banquo, and the Witches' Prophecies

Macbeth, Banquo, and the Witches' Prophecies

           We have now begun our study of Shakespeare's Macbeth in our college preparatory literature class. In scene three, Macbeth, a commander in the Scottish King's army, and Banquo, his fellow commander, are traveling back from a battle when they come across three witches who have been waiting for them. The witches tell Macbeth and Banquo strange prophecies--they tell Macbeth that he shall not only be Thane of Glamis, as he already is, but also that he shall be named Thane of Cawdor shortly, and that he shall someday be king. They tell Banquo that he shall not be king, but that his children will, and that he shall be "lesser than Macbeth and greater, not so happy, and yet much happier".

They react in different ways. Macbeth, immediately after hearing the witches' prophesy for himself, falls into sort of a daydream, either considering the potential truth of the prediction or revelling in the idea of being king, or thinking other untold thoughts. It is during this pause in conversation that Banquo speaks up and asks to hear what the witches would say to him, and it is then that the witches tell him his prophesy. After they tell him this, they begin to vanish, and Macbeth chases after them, stirred from his thoughts, and so we do not hear Banquo's immediate reaction. After the witches vanish, Banquo seems befuddled and mystified, wondering aloud, “the earth hath bubbles, as the water has, and these are of them. Whither are they vanished?”. Banquo seems to doubt what they have just seen, asking “have we eaten on the insane root that takes the reason prisoner?”, or, basically, ‘did we eat something funky? Was that a hallucination?’. Macbeth, on the other hand, seems somewhat excited about what they have heard, hardly questioning what has taken place. He even says, “would they had stayed!”, as he wishes to hear more of what may be his future from these unearthly beings. Immediately after Banquo questions whether the happenings were a hallucination, Macbeth notes to him “your children shall be kings”, and while the play lacks subtext or stage directions for this quote, I imagine that Macbeth is saying this in an incredulous tone, and that Banquo’s response, “you shall be king”, is in an equally incredulous tone. I feel like this is the moment when Banquo begins to entertain the idea that what the witches said could possibly be true. I think Banquo is still doubtful, though, but he is wondering, and he thinks there is a possibility the witches might be speaking truthfully. Later, he gathers his thoughts more, and after Macbeth is indeed named Thane of Cawdor, he no longer thinks that the witches were just a hallucination, but he distrusts them, and he warns Macbeth not to trust them. Banquo tells Macbeth, “oftentimes, to win us harm, the instruments of darkness tell us truths, win us with honest trifles, to betray’s in deepest consequence.” Banquo knows that witches are evil and deceitful, and that they likely had an ulterior motive in telling Macbeth this truth. Macbeth, however, is unheedful of this. He refers to the witches as “those that gave the Thane of Cawdor to me”, as though he is thanking them, and giving them the credit for the title he received. He even says to Banquo, “do you not hope your children shall be kings?”, as though saying, ‘what’s wrong with you? This is great news! If the prophecy came true for me, it will for you too! Why aren’t you more excited?’.

While it is understandable for Macbeth to be excited, Banquo really has the more levelheaded, and more normal, reaction. It makes sense to be wary of witches popping up on the heath and telling you your future amidst cryptic riddles and then vanishing into thin air, after all. Macbeth is unperturbed to a somewhat unreasonable degree. Perhaps his mind is still scrambled from the gory battle he has just left, but it is rather strange to hear your future from a ragtag trio of witches who you have never met yet who already know much about you. Macbeth doesn’t really seem to process the strangeness of this. He seems almost mentally lacking, as if his brain does not fully connect. Banquo seems more sane in the face of these events.

Strange things have begun to brew today beyond the violet mist.

To Be A Queen: 
Would You  Like to be a British Monarch in the Renaissance?

It is a glamorous idea, often romanticized and fantasized, and probably almost universally desired. But when one really thinks about it, considers all the tasks and difficulties, all the beheadings and political marriages, it becomes a far less pleasant ideal. So, for me, I would have to answer thus: no. Goodness no. For one thing, I think I would rather be in France during the renaissance. That aside, I would have no privacy whatsoever; all eyes would be on me, and the pressure to maintain an entire kingdom would be mine alone in the eyes of my subjects. I could never bring myself to behead someone, and while I would make quite a peaceful ruler, my cousins could usurp the throne from me in no time. I like to think I am rather clever, but in the world of political arrangements I could probably be quickly outwitted. I would likely end up being Queen for a grand total of two weeks before someone stole my throne and beheaded me. I do not greatly fancy being beheaded. I might not mind the charming, intelligent, and witty courtiers surrounding me, though, nor would I mind living in the elegant, ornate castles, which would truly be a living fantasy. Who has not imagined exploring the shadowy halls and secret passageways, the high tower rooms and low dungeon corridors, the resplendent libraries and sprawling gardens of a classic renaissance castle (or perhaps a chateau en France)? That part would be dreamlike. But one would not necessarily have to be Queen to do this.

One of the Queen's maids of honor could have extended access to the castle, as well as to most things the Queen did, and I myself would likely much rather be such a maid. One might look at the word "maid" and think, "why would you ever want to be that?", but think about it: the maids of honor were in very high standing in the kingdom but with much less pressure on them politically. Yes, they had duties to fulfill and standards to maintain, but they also got to live a life nearly as luxurious as that of the Queen but with far less trouble. If I were a maid of honor to the Queen, it would not be my fault if the Spanish Armada decimated our fleet, I would not have to behead my cousin for threatening to steal my job, and I would not bring the kingdom to ruin by marrying unstrategically (although I could probably would still have little chance at ever marrying for love, but in those days, no one had much chance.) I would still be lacking privacy, but the eyes of the kingdom would not be looking at me, but rather through me to my lady.

Or perhaps I would rather be a more anonymous noble lady, out of the direct service of the Queen but still one of the courtiers, able to explore the magnificent castles and even indulge in intriguing conversations with some of the charming men of the court, as perhaps I could not do the latter if I were one of the Queen’s maids of honor. Attention and pressure would still be on me but less, and my freedom would be restricted but perhaps still existent. I would simply have to work on my skills at walking backwards to exit the presence of the Queen without tripping over myself. I would also have to work on my ability to tolerate corsets and bustles and all the other ‘fashionable’ torture devices imposed upon upper-class women of that age.

You know, maybe I’m really not meant to be that court-type after all. Perhaps I’d simply be happier on a peasant farm out in the countryside where I could wander in our woods and dream and not wear all that excessive clothing and steel framework deemed necessary to beauty in those days. I could visit London at least once in my life, and I could probably find some excuse to enter the presence chamber, and I could likely manage sneaking off to wander the palace.

Or perhaps I’d do better as one of the spies, living a life of mystery. I could be the French spy in England. Or the Norwegian one, if the Norwegians found some reason to want their nose in such matters. Then I would have ample opportunity to creep about the castle, and to indulge other dreams, like eavesdropping on royal matters. But then we come back to my lack of cleverness in politics and me being beheaded yet again. I probably wouldn’t have to be politically conniving in order to be sneaky, though. I think I could possibly do it. It would be fun: it's like two fantasies put together, being a courtier and being a French spy. Maybe that would be best.

All in all, I’m not certain where I’d be happiest in the Elizabethan court; I only know it would most certainly not be as Queen. Beyond the violet mist, we have our own system of royalty, and so here I am proud to reign as Reine over my wise people, but were I to find myself out from behind the veil of the violet mist and long ago in Elizabethan England, I would be happier to fit into society some other way, perhaps serving my lady as maid of honor, perhaps living the life of a noble courtier, perhaps simply dreaming as a farm girl, or perhaps delving into matters of intrigue as a spy. Elizabethan England could be a splendid place to be. Although beyond the violet mist we generally favor the French.

BUNNIESSSSS!!!!!!!!!!

These are my baby bunnies! We got them a few weeks ago. They are sooo cute! The black one--called a black otter because of its brown patches on its ears, around its eyes, and on its chest and belly--is named "Moonbeam" and the blue--really more of a grey, closer to the front--is "Sapphire". They will be steeplechasing champions when they grow up!
Now, about the blog. I'm not really sure what to do with it. I think I'll just post pictures once in a while as they come to me. It's hard to keep up with my monthlies. Maybe sometimes I'll just use it to rant when I have something to rant on about. Ranting is fun. Am I ranting about rants right now? Hehehe. It's kinda creepy all the people in the world can see it, though. Hello world. My bunnies are cute . See ya... beyond the beyond of violet mist into the realm of beyondness and mystery...

This one's what you call a "happy accident". I was trying to get Sapphire's face, but as luck would have it, got a pretty cool picture anyways.