I Was a Flying Buttress

Six years ago, in 10th grade, I took an Art History course for the first time. I loved it - the teacher was this fantastic lade who loved her subject and went out to the way to make it interesting and made probably the best brownines I've ever had because she was totally boss that way. For many years, I wanted to pursure a career in Art History because I had so much fun in that class.

My second Art History course was as a sophomore in college and I hated it. The professor was not an Art History teacher, but an Art teacher, something that was made very clear on the first day of class. There was no enthusiasm in the material she was teaching and seemed to resent the job all things considered. Even so, her incredible ability to take a subject as fascinating as Art History and make it boring wasn't enough to crush the love I held for it (though I'll always hate her for doing her darndest to make us hate it the way she did).

The third time I took an Art History course was after I transferred to UALR. The professor had a much deeper understanding and respect for the material, but seemed to hate her students. Not an Umbridge or anything, but she didn't bother to hide the condemnation in her tone when correcting a wrong answer - that is to say, any answer with an interpretation she disagreed with.

So we have here three teachers:

- One who loves her subject, but hates her students.

- One who likes her students, but hates the subject.

- One who loves her subject and her students.

I'd hate to know what happens when you're unlucky enough to snag a teacher that doesn't like either half of the job.

I bring this up because I'm taking a course right now called "Drama in the Classroom," a course primarily directed at teaching Education majors how to incorporate dramatic techniques into teaching. There are certainly obvious reasons why only one of these teachers was effective and the other two weren't, but there are undoubtedly reasons I won't be able to properly explain - reasons that have to do with the way a class is structured and planned.

I already liked this class by default of Minnick being the one to teach it, but I'm certainly interested in removing my own bias as best I can to examine the mechanics of why only one of these classes sparked an interest that continues even now. Certain things like discussion sessions and class exercises stand out right off the bat - only in the 10th grade class was discussion encouraged for example. In the second it was in the way of getting out of class faster; in the third, it was belitted. As for class exercises...

The thing I'll always remember about that 10th grade class was when we were studying Gothic architecture. We had been learning about the symbology behind the design, but also the practicality of the whole thing - those ribbed vaults you see on cathedral ceilings aren't just there to look visually interesting; they divide the weight of all the stone that's pressing down from above. Nor are flying buttresses just a funny word; they too are responsible for dividing up the weight and channeling it to keep the cathedral from buckling in on itself.

Which is fine and dandy - all it really takes is a chart to explain. But one lesson, she has us all file out into the common/ cafeteria and shows us how to build a human cathedral. She lined us up by height and built a floorplan out of our bodies. The ones towards the middle composed the ribbed vaults - they had their hands and arms connected to form the basic structure of the building. At one end, the shorter ones composed the apse and would hold the counterweight which I'll explain in a moment. Those of us surrounding, including myself, were the flying buttresses. We stood there with out arms outstretched straight in from of us, almost, but not quite touching the person composing the ribbed vault in front of us.

The shortest person in the class would become the counterweight. Thus far, all we created was a skeleton of what a cathedral was supposed to be. The people of the apse all had one arm in the half-circle they composed and it was from this that the counterweight would hang. Angela, our counterweight, grabbed hold and had to lift her legs off the floor and the rest of us could feel the weight distribution with our own bodies. As one of the buttresses, my job was to stand there with my arms out and support - not push back, but just stand, which was why we weren't supposed to be touching the person in front of us, but had to be very close - when the pressure came, you could feel the vaults very subtly bend under the weight. The people on the outside kept that bending to a minimum.

I don't know if I'm explaining this very well, so here's a video I just found when I finlly had the bright idea to look up "human cathedral" on Google:

It's a bit messy, but you get the idea. This one is just a single vault, but it's the same principle ours was built on (though ours didn't have the gargoyles XD). But you can see, especially towards the end when the girl is demonstrating the strength of the vault, how it works. The counterweight is supported by the vaults which are themselves supported by the buttresses when sufficient pressure is applied. The vaults alone would collapse on themselves without the buttresses and wouldn't stand at all if they weren't ribbed (this is why she has two sets of arches, and has them cross arms and connect to the arch alongside them). Gothic architecture is still my fave <3

Anyway, the point I was trying to make was I'm only two classes into Drama and I already really love it and you'll probably have to hear me talk about it a lot in the future.

Senescence

A present for the zero people who read this blog =P

_________

She nodded and pushed back in the swing as far as it would go before letting gravity and momentum carry her forward and hopped out at the apex.

“Show off.”

He regretted it instantly when he saw the cheeky gleam in her eye. “Getting old, Lawrence?” He could practically taste the sarcasm in the innocent tone.

“Not so old I won’t throw snow at you,” he nudged her shoulder with his as they plodded over the snow-covered grass and made for the bridge. He knew she had no malice behind the comment, but it was true; the first hints of age were creeping up on him. Something in the bottom of his chest ached, and it had nothing to do with senescence. You’ll always be older than her.

“Lawrence?”

“Hm?” He turned to her, and was puzzled by the look of concern.

“Are you okay? You know I didn’t mean it like that,” she looked awkward. “I’m sorry if I upset you – ” 

He was confused until his brain finally caught up with what she was saying and he hurried to soothe her worries. He could imagine what his facial expression must have looked like to prompt her anxiety.

“It’s nothing you said, love, not directly. Just… I was just thinking is all.” 

She twisted a lock of hair around her finger. “May I ask what you were thinking about?”

About you. About me. About us.

“I don’t know. Age I guess. I am getting up there after all,” he said it with a smile, as though it didn’t matter.

_________

See Lawrence.

See Lawrence angst. 

See Lawrence play pretend. 

Angst, Lawrence, angst!

For real yall, I just want to give this man a hug <3

Senescence is the biological changes a person undergoes as they age. Wrinkles, grey hair, arthritis, organ failure, and ultimately death. But death is a long ways away from dear Lawrence.

I Am a MACHINE

But only when it comes to churning out color poems. Did two of 'em tonight, one in about fifteen minutes XD

Payne's Grey

Payne Grey
storm clouds roll in on ashy winds
that slide through dull iron gates,
opening with a gaping creak like the sigh of moth wings.
The rasping whisper of ragged newspaper clippings
writhing among the smoke dissipates
as the tempest thunders over the estate,
dousing the blaze of heat in pockmarked raindrops
that never reached the decadent parlor
where the Lady suffocated.


I really love the dreay feeling to this one. Vaguely Edgar Allen Poe-ish in it's imagery. I seem to enjoy corrupting beautiful colors with rather grim themes.


Amber

Amber
had a golden waterfall of hair
and tawny eyes that glowed like lanterns
on the cusp of a quiet evening.
The wind rustled through pine needles
and dangling windchimes
in delicious counterpoint
to her honey-drip song and
vanilla-smooth voice
that went down like crushed velvet and feather dust,
uplifted away from my grasping fingers.


I like these two poems together - one droopy and rainy, the other sunshine-y and bittersweet. I feel oddly proud of my ability to switch between the two moods so easily.

Another Partial Scene

He savored his tea and glanced out the window.

"Snow's really piling up, isn't it?"
 
"I heard we're supposed to get five or six inches," Autumn angled her head to look as well. The snow was colored blue and orange between the neon cafe sign and the warm glow of the street light.

"I'm on break; doesn't effect my paycheck." He stood from the table he had barely sat down at and pushed the chair back under. "Care for a walk?"

She hummed and pretended to be thinking the offer over, even as she slid the bookmark back in its place between the pages. Grabbing her cup, she she stood and turned to him. 

"That sounds nice," the book went back into the satchel and she slung it over her shoulder. They made for the door and he stepped into the cold first to hold it open for her. The snow made a satisfying crunch under her boots.

"Which way?"

"It doesn't matter. I don't live far in any direction." He was already wiping snow from his glasses.

"You lead then. I don't know this area very well."

"There's a park not far from here if you like. I take a book or two down there on occasion."

She took another sip from her hot chocolate before responding. "That sounds just fine."

They Won't Leave Me Alone

You know who I mean. 

____________

The snow hung in the silence between them. He couldn't read her expression. Something distant and thoughtful, like she was still processing the scene, caught in that halfway place between thinking about something and doing something about it. Every snowflake sounded so loud. He broke the quiet first, clearing his throat to speak.

"I'm -"

"No you're not," she cut him off before he could voice any regrets and took his jacket lapel in her hands with a gentle tug and a faint smile.

"And I'm not either." 

  ____________

If I ever finish with the rest of this scene, it's going to be a very long one. This part is near the end.

What's odd is I've been writing scenes to a larger story - with this piece, I'm writing smaller scenes in a larger scene. I have about three pieces I need to put together and segue between. I'm not sure what that means.

Headcanons

I have writing class today!

. . . Granted, it's 18 now 16 hours hours away, but still. Last one before we shut down for the summer :(

But, next Tuesday is when Drama starts, so that should even things out, at least while it lasts.

Meanwhile, Autumn and Lawrence continue to dominate my writings. There are other things I'd like to play with at some point this summer, guys. Slow it down will ya? Though I guess that is one of the good things about thier autonomy - I have quite a few ideas for them. I've gotten a good writing pace going, but can't help but feel like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Some headcanons. Subject to change on a whim (or a better idea):

- Autumn is around 25 years old and has long, dark brown hair. She has messy bangs that she keeps meaning to cut, but hasn't gotten around to making an appointment. Sometimes she wears headbands, but her bangs like being in her eyes too much to stay put. Her light skin burns rather easily, so she mostly prefers the colder side of the year. Her sense of fashion is very practical, but colorful; she really likes sweaters and usually defaults to jeans and sneakers for class. She has green eyes.

- Lawrence is around 48 but looks about ten years younger; his ash grey hair and the fine wrinkles beginning to appear around his mouth and eyes give away his age and contrast with the sharp intelligence in his blue eyes. He mostly wears clothes that are dressy casual - khakis and slacks and long sleeved polo shirts take up much of his closet space. He likes mostly neutral colors, but also wears a lot of blue. He has a few ties, but rarely wears them. The wire-rimmed square glasses and leather wingtip shoes complete the professor look.

- Autumn works at a library when she isn't in class. However, becoming a full librarian requires at least one year of graduate school and graduate school has it's own requirements, thus, plot things have to happen. I'd like to get a scene written where Lawrence pays a visit while she's working.

- Lawrence lives alone in a quiet neighborhood about twenty minutes drive from campus. His home is not large, but more than ample for his needs and the calico cat he can't get rid of. Despite the short distance, every year when the department gathers to sort out the scheduling, he always manages to snag exclusively afternoon timeslots because he is not a morning person.

- Even though I've conceeded that things will eventually progress in a romantic direction, the feelings of mutual affection will not begin to emerge very strongly until at least two years after the pair has known each other. Everything before that is a combination of fondness, respect, and friendly teasing among people who understand each other.

- Autumn will have a breakdown in either the English department lounge or the campus library (from the stresses of balancing schoolwork with a full time job no doubt). Lawrence is understanding. This is the catalyst for things to follow.

I have been teaching the better part of twenty years Miss Fanshaw. Do you really think you're the first student I've had to watch break apart?

- The line above is totally not foreshadowing anything. Nope.

- Autumn knows the house where Lawrence lives, though she doesn't know she knows it. It's a short walk from a cafe she likes to frequent. The hot chocolate made there is the best in town, or so she claims. Lawrence wouldn't know because he usually drinks tea. Neither one cares much for coffee.

- Lawrence, having lived alone most of his life, is surprisingly good at cooking. He likes making rather simple things like noodles and potatoes (starches in general are pretty much his favorite things) and keeps the pantry well stocked.

Paprika? That's actually a thing? I thought they made that word up for that anime film.

- Autumn is a closet gamer. She really loves her Nintendo DS and keeps it in her bag to play between classes sometimes.

- Lawrence has never completed a Dickens novel. Autumn would never let him hear the end of it if she found out.

That's enough for now =P

Blank Pages

I mentioned it on Twitter already as a joke, but I actually have come to believe that I have an addiction to notebooks.

I don't know what it is. Something about a book of blank pages has become so appealing now that I write so much. A plain spiral notebook like for class just isn't good enough anymore. I have to go searching for one with a pretty cover XD

There's probably a lot I could say about potential and possibillities untapped and all those cliches but really I think I just know I'll need them eventually and I may as well pick them up whenever I have some spare cash. And I do take a bit more care in buying them now that I give them away when they're full.

 Which leads me to the real point - during my clean-up, I found one of my older notebooks.

It's almost full.

I Didn't Actually Expect This

My characters and their story have been going over extremely well over on dA, at least if the initial responses are anything to go by. I'm still trying to get over the obvious hurdles here, but people honestly seem to enjoy these two. A lot.

I don't know why I feel so compelled to blog about these two every time I write a new scene for them. Probably to apologize for any potential weirdness. I keep trying to slide around it as I write, but the thought is always hovering there in the back of my mind. I'm going to have to deal with it directly in the story eventually and I have no idea how I'm going to take on that conversation. Perhaps their autonomy will save me there.

English Textbooks

The sun shone through the tinted window, its light quality changed from a harsh brightness to something softer, gentle, as I read the footnote next to the word "homely" - "in the old sense: simple and friendly." And something shifted. Something clicked. Where I had been waiting for class to end so I could get back to Pokemon, I have a sudden longing for an empty green field surrounded by pine trees. Something simple and friendly.

The light cast on the thin pages brings forth their transparency. I can see the faint imprints of black text, reversed and unreversed in either direction. They feel warm, full of life and wisdom.

Something I found while going through some old notebooks. I kinda like it.

I have a faint recollection of this memory somewhere in the back of my head. It was in Major British Writers, though I can't recall if it was I or II. Probably I. Keeping this here so maybe I can come back to it sometime.

Ahh...

Logged in today and two people had updated their blogs. So I'm not alone over here!

Been taking advantage of my new-found freedom by being extremely lazy. The only thing of note I've done is put a dA journal together last night. I just want to sleep for days now that it's all over. Maybe I'll find the energy to pull out my writing notebook eventually.

Also, I need to clean my room. It's not that bad or anything, but I want to get rid of all these now-useless papers hanging around. And I really do need to bust out a broom or something :/

You Can't Extrapolate Awesome

That's why this post is short.

I wasn't going to see The Avengers as I'm saving my ticket monies for all the other things I plan to see this year, but hey, Dad was buying. 

I don't have much to say other than an a long string of synonyms related to the words "awesome," "epic," "fuck yeah," and "did that just happen," so I'll let you draw your own conclusions concerning how I felt about the experience.

Iron Man gets all the best lines. For real. Loki is a very close second though. 

I know I'm a terrible person, but I can't help think it would have been ridiculously awesome if they'd pushed Stark's heroic sacrifice all the way.

It's Not Even Summer Yet

But I'm already kinda bored D=

Seriously though, it's been really quiet on the Internet lately - nothing's happening on dA, no lulzy goodness to spread around. Is everyone tip-toe-ing around CISPA or something? It's kinda creepy to be honest. Maybe I should turn off the laptop for a few days so I can come back to a full inbox...

Nah.

So Much For That

WHAT am I going to do with these two? D=

_____________

It was warm.

Not hot like she had been expecting – a soft, gentle warmth that saturated her every extremity down to her fingertips. It had been like stoking the fire of a small heater, one bundle of sticks at a time. She was nestled snugly under the pale blue sheets watching sleepily as the man beside her dozed on. His grey hair looked more frazzled than normal and it was strange to her to see him so relaxed. The sharp intelligence in his blue eyes had always been striking and they were now closed to her.

Dinner conversation had been polite, ranging all over from Shakespeare to the latest blockbuster film; the two were completely absorbed in their own little world for the night while the din of the crowd rose and fell around them. At some point she became aware that one of them had scooted closer – or perhaps they both had, as neither one had been seated quite so close to the middle of the booth during the appetizer course. The cutlery felt cumbersome in her hands and the long white tablecloth brushed coarsely against her shins every time she moved her legs.

The silence was a comfortable one. She traced the rough edge of his jawline with one finger from below his ear to the tip of his chin and nestled closer, bundling the sheets to herself and slid one arm around, stroking his hair. Above, she felt the soft pressure of his lips on her own hair; her shifting had woken him. She tilted her head back to look at him in the morning haze.

His shoulder was touching hers and neither one could say when that had happened. They both noticed at the same time and paused – the noise faded; the dimmed lights felt heavy.

He really did have such striking eyes.

 _____________

My characters are currently mad at me because I won't let them resolve their sexual tension anymore than this.

Characters are Difficult Things

I usually know what I'm doing with my writing. I have a general idea of where things are going to go, or at least what I want to accomplish. I'm not used to writing blind.

So these three pieces are proving very interesting. It's not often my characters write themselves for me. It's kinda nice not to have to do so much work, but I'm not entirely sure I like not knowing what's going to happen.

If the subject material were different, I'd probably just cut loose and have fun with it. But since I'm handling a more delicate subject matter, I can't not think about it. While I've written relationships plenty of times, it's never been... deliberate? Autonomous? I'm not sure what the word I need is. The point is, when I've written other relationships, even if I didn't know everything about the relationship, I knew enough. I knew what I wanted to communicate by writing it. This - this is out of my league. This is carefully constructing a relationship from the ground up, something I've never done before. And it has to be even more careful than usual due to the roles the characters have been cast in.

It's not like student/ teacher relationships don't have a long history (everyone knows about Merlin and Nimue right?), but it's a dodgy subject at best, even if only writing nothing more that friendship which is what I would like to do, but I've a terrible feeling these characters won't let it end there and I'll have to kill one of them in a car accident to keep it from going in that direction.

I'm going to keep writing them of course, but, again, I have no idea where this is going. I know where I would like it to go, but I'm only a backseat driver on this road trip. I can only hope I don't end up in an abandoned gas station run by a cannibal 150 miles away from nowhere.

Writing My Own Eulogy

Because that was part of our library writing exercise, not because I'm a total narcissist XD

I didn't finish it, nor do I plan to tonight, but here it is for safekeeping. Read as you would slam poetry =D

If Lauren were but here today the sun would go and rain would stay to drown the quay of tear-stained mourners because she was a recorder and knows how these things should go. They go with pride, they go so slow, they go from life to life on smooth-stepped gliding row to row from shaky knees to frittled elbows resting on granite tombstones. You're not depressed til throughly drenched by empathetic nature entrenched by sorrowful pandemic.

I like it myself and do plan to keep going with it later on. *adds to list of summer projects*

Arrangements

Just put together a tenative schedule for next semester. I don't want to put it up as these things have a way of changing suddenly on me. I really, really hope, if nothing else, that I keep the 6:00 PM Monday/Wednesday math course. I think having it in the evening will be much more effective.

Tuesdays and Thursdays are going to be my full days. 10:50 to 5:50. Though, to be fair, the last one is purely optional and I'm planning to take it for fun, not an actual grade because I just love Adolescent Literature that much <3 I'm not sure how I'll manage to work around my writing class sessions every other Thursday though - the ones I have at 6:00. It won't kill me to leave Lit. early, or show up to the library late, but I'd rather have to do neither :/ 

One more class on Wednesdays; Career Perspectives with Dr. Minnick. Nothing on Fridays, so it'll be an unbalanced semester, but a manageable one I think XD

I'm also taking a summer course for the hell of it. Apparently I'm a bigger nerd that even I realized. To be fair though, Minnick is teaching it, and if you can't tell yet I love that professor for being totally awesome this semester <3 I'm actually rather nervous about my final papers for his class because I hate to let him down after everything. Adolescent Lit. has been a needed reminder that this whole education thing really is worth my while sometimes.