Helloooooooooo.
I mean, I wanted to write a post once a week, and I guess I have time to do that, but even still I wasn't planning on really doing this today, but I'm in a super writer mood right now and I need to write SOMETHING. Which has been hard lately because, as many of you already know, I finished Story 2's second draft, so it is on hold until after the mission, and finished Story 1's FINAL draft, so it is on hold until I get started actually working toward publication. Yay for middle grade literature!
I haven't been doing much the past week because I have been pretty sick the past few days. I have gotten to see the choir sing quite a few times and do stuff with my mom and see Jacob's dance show and go out with Morgan and stuff like that. Plus Emily and Josh just came into town for Christmas so we're super hyped! I went in to see the chamber singers (but in all actuality I came because my Alto Illuminati sister Alex was going to be there) yesterday and then Morgan said she was going to try on Little Shop of Horrors costumes (Just in case I haven't bragged about this to you guys yet, she's playing Audrey) so I was like "CAN I COME" and so I got to do that with her and talk to her and Mr. Calkins about the show and Morgan's costumes for 5ever, and I got to help Morgan sing a little bit (Bless her and her patient soul) and talk to her and after that I was on a character high so I tried writing some verse or whatever but nothing was coming out so here I am, writing a blog post I probably don't even feel good enough for but I need to express some sort of creativity somewhere. AH.
(To be so honest sorry if my writing isn't even coherent right now. We're gonna blame it on the illness, whether or not that's actually what it is.)
Okay, so today we're adding another installment to the Disney Princess Series. And this is honestly immensely fitting, because in history this semester we were learning about Pocahontas, and a lot of it was kind of based on a comparison to the Disney film, and how inaccurate that movie is. Which made me irrationally angry.
And I guess what they were saying was legitimate, because a lot of them didn't know the true story of Pocahontas. But even still, I was getting a little tired of the Disney hate.
When I watch Pocahontas, I'm not doing it to get a history lesson. I'm doing it because I love Disney and Alan Menken and Disney Princess. If you've graduated high school and you don't know the true story of Pocahontas, I'm not blaming you, but I do think your history teachers were pretty bad. They don't have to explain the entire story to you, but they should probably say, "Yeah, so if you've seen the Disney movie, none of that was real. They weren't in love and she didn't save him, she actually ends up living with the colonists and moving to London and it's a lot more complicated than all of that." I know that people probably have more of a problem with this because it's a thing that really happened, as opposed to all the other fairy tales they've modified, but I'm still okay with watching a Disney film just to enjoy a Disney film, whether it's based on true events or not.
That's what you need to keep in mind when you read the following. We're aware that we're not talking about real events; we are talking about the fictional character Pocahontas and not the real person.
I first saw Pocahontas either senior year or junior year, I can't remember which. It was honestly a shame that I hadn't seen it, because I'm really big Disney fan and almost a bigger Alan Menken fan and I absolutely love the Disney Princesses, but I hadn't seen that film, and I knew that was a necessity. My mom had told me that she was super disappointed when it came out because it was like they didn't even try, and I know what she's talking about. The animation is pretty low-quality, and not because it's older. Beauty and the Beast came out in 1991 and is an animation masterpiece. Pocahontas came out four years later and is way worse. Definitely not up to Disney's standard at the time. But I still liked it. I think (even for being low-quality) it was a pretty movie and I think Pocahontas is an even prettier character.
That was the initial main reason I liked the film. I think Pocahontas is beautiful.
Maybe because according to the blessed personality blog post by Oh My Disney, Pocahontas is identified as INFJ, which is the personality of your favorite stereotypical teen blogger. She is quiet yet bold and totally wise. In my own opinion, this is the best kind of person to be. I've found it's important not to talk unless you have something to say, because if you just talk to talk, people stop listening really fast, so when something actually is important no one is listening. Pocahontas is smart.
I was honestly in love with Pocahontas within the first few minutes of seeing her because she is so fun. Her ability to be so carefree due to her connection with the world and nature is the most admirable thing to me. Maybe it's because I've never been able to be that relaxed a day in my life, but Pocahontas is genuinely here for a good time. She's not here for uptight guys like Kocoum. (They actually spell movie Kocoum's name different from real Kocoom, which is pretty weird.) But because she has love for her family and the people she still feels pressured into marrying him.
The answer to all your problems is following your heart, sis!
After that conflict is established, we meet the mediocre John Smith. However, Pocahontas is down to listen to him even though the other Natives are not. This is a plus to Pocahontas's quiet nature; she is willing to listen to others. She's so thoughtful and kind! However, she quickly realizes that John is not as quick to listen as she is. And she tells. Him. Off.
In a pretty kind way, but also super straightforward. Hold on, we gotta quote this directly. How utterly powerful are these lyrics?
"You think I'm an ignorant savage
And you've been so many places I guess it must be so
But still I cannot see if the savage one is me.
How can there be so much that you don't know?
You don't know."
Thank you for the wise words, Stephen Schwartz.
As Lisa Cimorelli would put it, Pocahontas hits him over the head with the frying pan of truth. She says that she understands what he's saying, but he won't take any time to realize that she's not the only one that needs to be educated. She willingly learns about his version of the world but he will not learn about hers. Truth and honesty is such a powerful thing, people! I can't say it enough.
And once she tells him this, John is suddenly willing to listen, and thanks to the honesty of Pocahontas he is able to see the beauty in her world.
Between this point and the end, there is a lot of falling in love and a lot of angst between the English and the Natives. What we're going to care about now is Pocahontas's boldness and her ability to stay true to herself, shown in three different examples.
The first example is when Kocoum catches Pocahontas and John totally making out and he gets super mad, right? That one random English guy, Thomas, sees Kocoum and John fighting and so he shoots Kocoum. And KILLS HIM.
Which, even after everything, makes Pocahontas totally mad. It's not that she wants to marry Kocoum, it's that she still cared about his well-being and hates violence and is, I don't know, a good person.
Fun fact: Morgan hates Romeo and Juliet. (Which is something I simply can't get behind, but that's okay.) One of the many reasons she hates it is how quickly she thinks Juliet gets over the fact that Romeo killed her cousin, Tybalt. Pocahontas doesn't do that. Kocoum is one of her people, and his death isn't just fine. She's pretty upset for a minute. She's not throwing that away for anyone.
The second example occurs as things start to go downhill from there super fast. The English and the Natives are both super mad at each other and about to viciously attack one another, including the Natives preparing to kill John. But our dear friend Pocahontas runs to the rescue and throws herself over John and doesn't let him die. She saves the day! She's the example of peace.
Imagine that. Imagine standing up for your enemy in front of all of your people. Imagine doing so against your father. Imagine potentially risking your life for someone you care about. How brave and awesome is Pocahontas?
The third example is after everything neatly wraps itself up. In short, John Smith and the other English people are going back to England. Pocahontas has a choice.
But honestly, was it ever really a choice?
Because yeah, Pocahontas loved John Smith enough to teach him what she knew and be his friend and save him from a violent death.
But she loved where she lived and who she lived with way more.
Her life pretty drastically changed in a short period of time, but something good that happened to her wasn't enough for her to let go of everything beautiful she already had. She doesn't go with him. She loves where she is. I don't know, I just find it so powerful that she doesn't go. And it was probably a little tragic, but leaving her home would've been disastrously painful. She stays where she wants to be.
Pocahontas always does what she wants. She follows her heart.
As should you.
Thanks and much love.
--Lizzo
Saturday, December 23, 2017
Thursday, December 14, 2017
"It's Quiet Uptown": A Hamilfanfic
Okay guys let's talk for a lil bit before we get started.
I've been wanting to do some sort of blog content, whether it be an actual post or a video, every week, so this post would have originally been scheduled for Thanksgiving week. However, you guys would be getting enough general content that week because I was at home and doing stuff with family and friends that week, so I decided against that. Then after that I only had two weeks of school left, and I figured it was better to just let myself sprint to the finish and get all of that done. Finishing school has been CRAZY. But hey, I got it all done, plus I got to work a lot, so that's good too.
While we're still kind of talking about school, a miracle happened.
This semester my English class is intro to academic writing, and it's been killing me. I won't lie, it scares me pretty freaking badly sometimes when I think about how one of my least favorite classes is my major. But I also think that makes a lot of sense, because I still love English and I can't see myself studying anything else, but it's also really discouraging to get to your new school and realize you know nothing about the thing that you were finally able to make yourself known for. (For all the family and high school friends still supporting the dream--YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST.)
Anyway, I've had to write three papers for that class and it's been rough going. The first was a sort of persuasive essay, the second a personal narrative, the third a group project rhetorical analysis. How my future looked and how I felt about it was pretty much weighing on that second paper, considering my desire to sell narratives to the public. On the first paper I got an 85. My professor then graded the third one next and me and my group got a 70. See? It definitely hasn't been easy. On Friday I got the grade for the second paper, the one that mattered the most for me. I couldn't even make myself look at it until Monday.
Guys. I got an A-.
Can you believe this?! I really might have a chance. Seeing that grade was yet another moment in my life where nothing felt impossible.
Guys. I am capable of writing narratives.
An A-. Oh my gosh.
I'm still stuck on it. I don't even know how to quite express to you guys how exciting that is for me. I am so happy, and it's looking like not all hope is lost for me.
My favorite thing is writing the missionaries and hearing from them. I've also officially come to the point where I can start my papers in a month. Lance (choir fam) and Mr. Calkins have already placed predictions of where I will labor. Prayers would be appreciated.
Why is it now that the time has come that people are telling me how hard a mission is, that there's no way to truly know what will happen? Guys. I know. I know because I try imagining what it will be like and I feel my body try to go there and it feels that it is so close to being there but still can't yet grasp it as a reality because I don't know what that reality is like. I know because I imagine life after the mission but I know that those scenarios are in no way accurate because I don't even know who I'll be after the mission. I know that nothing that I'm studying right now can prepare me entirely for what I will face out wherever, but I also know that Heavenly Father will bless me in the field because I'm trying.
People always tell me stuff will be hard, stuff I already know is hard, and stuff I want, and it's never harder than I imagine it will be. They told me being in chamber singers would be hard. They told me being in Fame would be hard. Both of those things were exactly as hard as I thought they would be, not always in the ways I thought they would be, but they were still as hard as I thought they would be, and I was ready for that because I knew that and I still wanted that and so I was willing to learn how to do those things. Now people are telling me a mission is hard and I'm so aware of that and I'm willing to go through that because I really want to do this and I'm willing to learn how as I go. What are people going to tell me next? That writing is hard? That building a career is hard? Marriage is hard? Having children is hard? Being famous is hard? I already know it's hard. Everything I want is hard. But I still want it and difficulty is not going to stop me.
You people reading this right now. When all of those things happen in the future, and people start telling me that it's hard, you will have witnessed this, and you will know that I am aware that getting what I want is difficult, but just because I am wildly hopeful and ambitious doesn't mean that I think it will be easy. I know life is hard, but I still want everything, and I don't see why I shouldn't get it. You heard it here first.
Anyway, I'm back in Henderson for a month, and I'm living for all these Christmas things. I went to the choir concert at Basic on Tuesday and got to listen to no lie the most BEAUTIFUL Christmas music I've heard in a minute, plus I got to sing the "Hallelujah" chorus with them all on the stage and that's really where home feels like. I was greeted on the stage after by almost everyone in my Henderson/Basic fam. It was honestly really great and I'm happy to be spending the month with you all.
Anyway, the purpose of today's post is to share a narrative with you all. (Friendly reminder about my stellar personal narrative grade, so that must make me good at this. I still can't get over it.) If you keep up with the blog's YouTube then you probably saw me and Jacob's cover of Hamilton's "It's Quiet Uptown". This narrative is a story I wrote based on that song. The date I have on the original copy is October 26, 2016. I wrote it in my imaginative writing class. We were told that day to just take out a piece of paper and write whatever we wanted. There were no requirements for that day's assignment. Well, it was difficult for me to come up with an idea in some ways, but at the same time it wasn't. Because that day I couldn't stop thinking about this song, and I kept painting a little story in my head of the song. But I didn't want to write something based off of that song. I wanted to write something else, maybe something that was mine. But I couldn't get the story out of my head. So eventually I let myself go for it. I tried being subtle at first, but then I just let myself write it as if it was about what it actually was about: Alexander Hamilton losing everything he had in a short period of time, as told by Lin-Manuel Miranda.
I only wrote two pages. I didn't even get to the part where he asks Eliza for forgiveness, and when he gets that forgiveness. And I haven't been able to bring myself to finish it. If you guys really want me to finish after you read this, let me know. If you're satisfied (*cringes at accidental Hamilton joke*) with how it is now, that's cool too. But I think that's why it feels a little incomplete, because it kind of is. This was never edited, but it wasn't effortless either. I guess you could say it's "got a lot of brains but no polish."
Enjoy. Thanks and much love.
--Lizzo
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He never would've imagined in all his life that he'd be living in the rich part of town. A year ago he would've been happy about that. A year ago everything was fine. He had some respect. His wife loved him. His son was alive.
The rain poured down onto the flowers. He watched the water roll off the leaves. He was drenched at this point. He'd been out here for nearly three hours. He didn't care. He liked the silence.
No, that wasn't true. He hated the silence. He missed arguing with his enemies. He missed the chaotic meetings. He missed his wife saying his name. He especially missed his son.
Yes, he hated the silence. But the silence in solitude was preferred to the muttering he heard in the street: "Poor man, lost everything he had at once. Doesn't have an ounce of respect. His wife won't even look at him. His son died only a week or so ago."
He was tired of listening to his own thoughts. He stood up, started heading toward the gate.
There she was. He looked in the window and saw his wife sitting in front of the fire. Her face was stained with tears, but she wasn't crying anymore. She stared at the ground blankly. He wanted to go comfort her; he wanted to do something that would take all her sorrows away. But he knew that no matter what he said, she wouldn't listen. Nothing he could do would be enough.
If things were different, he would have asked her to accompany him. Instead, he desperately gazed through the window a few seconds more, sighed, then walked out the gate.
He had a few moments of quiet before he hit town, the closest to peace he could get. Then he started seeing people filling the streets. He looked down. Maybe they wouldn't notice he was there.
But soon enough the people started talking. "Yep, that's him. Cheated on his wife and wrote about it for the entire world to see. Ruined his own life in just a few weeks. Did you hear about his son?"
He passed stranger after stranger, people who didn't even know him but knew his story. Tirelessly, unfeeling, his feet walked on, down the streets, unconscious of any destination. People glance at him as he passes. There is a quiet hum over the streets. Unlike his old home, the city is not very loud. His son would think it peaceful.
He glances at every tree. His son would love the way the green leaves shine against the gray sky. He looks in every shop window. His son would love the bright lights and colors. His son would love him, too. His son would be the only person that still loved him, if only he were alive.
I've been wanting to do some sort of blog content, whether it be an actual post or a video, every week, so this post would have originally been scheduled for Thanksgiving week. However, you guys would be getting enough general content that week because I was at home and doing stuff with family and friends that week, so I decided against that. Then after that I only had two weeks of school left, and I figured it was better to just let myself sprint to the finish and get all of that done. Finishing school has been CRAZY. But hey, I got it all done, plus I got to work a lot, so that's good too.
While we're still kind of talking about school, a miracle happened.
This semester my English class is intro to academic writing, and it's been killing me. I won't lie, it scares me pretty freaking badly sometimes when I think about how one of my least favorite classes is my major. But I also think that makes a lot of sense, because I still love English and I can't see myself studying anything else, but it's also really discouraging to get to your new school and realize you know nothing about the thing that you were finally able to make yourself known for. (For all the family and high school friends still supporting the dream--YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST.)
Anyway, I've had to write three papers for that class and it's been rough going. The first was a sort of persuasive essay, the second a personal narrative, the third a group project rhetorical analysis. How my future looked and how I felt about it was pretty much weighing on that second paper, considering my desire to sell narratives to the public. On the first paper I got an 85. My professor then graded the third one next and me and my group got a 70. See? It definitely hasn't been easy. On Friday I got the grade for the second paper, the one that mattered the most for me. I couldn't even make myself look at it until Monday.
Guys. I got an A-.
Can you believe this?! I really might have a chance. Seeing that grade was yet another moment in my life where nothing felt impossible.
Guys. I am capable of writing narratives.
An A-. Oh my gosh.
I'm still stuck on it. I don't even know how to quite express to you guys how exciting that is for me. I am so happy, and it's looking like not all hope is lost for me.
My favorite thing is writing the missionaries and hearing from them. I've also officially come to the point where I can start my papers in a month. Lance (choir fam) and Mr. Calkins have already placed predictions of where I will labor. Prayers would be appreciated.
Why is it now that the time has come that people are telling me how hard a mission is, that there's no way to truly know what will happen? Guys. I know. I know because I try imagining what it will be like and I feel my body try to go there and it feels that it is so close to being there but still can't yet grasp it as a reality because I don't know what that reality is like. I know because I imagine life after the mission but I know that those scenarios are in no way accurate because I don't even know who I'll be after the mission. I know that nothing that I'm studying right now can prepare me entirely for what I will face out wherever, but I also know that Heavenly Father will bless me in the field because I'm trying.
People always tell me stuff will be hard, stuff I already know is hard, and stuff I want, and it's never harder than I imagine it will be. They told me being in chamber singers would be hard. They told me being in Fame would be hard. Both of those things were exactly as hard as I thought they would be, not always in the ways I thought they would be, but they were still as hard as I thought they would be, and I was ready for that because I knew that and I still wanted that and so I was willing to learn how to do those things. Now people are telling me a mission is hard and I'm so aware of that and I'm willing to go through that because I really want to do this and I'm willing to learn how as I go. What are people going to tell me next? That writing is hard? That building a career is hard? Marriage is hard? Having children is hard? Being famous is hard? I already know it's hard. Everything I want is hard. But I still want it and difficulty is not going to stop me.
You people reading this right now. When all of those things happen in the future, and people start telling me that it's hard, you will have witnessed this, and you will know that I am aware that getting what I want is difficult, but just because I am wildly hopeful and ambitious doesn't mean that I think it will be easy. I know life is hard, but I still want everything, and I don't see why I shouldn't get it. You heard it here first.
Anyway, I'm back in Henderson for a month, and I'm living for all these Christmas things. I went to the choir concert at Basic on Tuesday and got to listen to no lie the most BEAUTIFUL Christmas music I've heard in a minute, plus I got to sing the "Hallelujah" chorus with them all on the stage and that's really where home feels like. I was greeted on the stage after by almost everyone in my Henderson/Basic fam. It was honestly really great and I'm happy to be spending the month with you all.
Anyway, the purpose of today's post is to share a narrative with you all. (Friendly reminder about my stellar personal narrative grade, so that must make me good at this. I still can't get over it.) If you keep up with the blog's YouTube then you probably saw me and Jacob's cover of Hamilton's "It's Quiet Uptown". This narrative is a story I wrote based on that song. The date I have on the original copy is October 26, 2016. I wrote it in my imaginative writing class. We were told that day to just take out a piece of paper and write whatever we wanted. There were no requirements for that day's assignment. Well, it was difficult for me to come up with an idea in some ways, but at the same time it wasn't. Because that day I couldn't stop thinking about this song, and I kept painting a little story in my head of the song. But I didn't want to write something based off of that song. I wanted to write something else, maybe something that was mine. But I couldn't get the story out of my head. So eventually I let myself go for it. I tried being subtle at first, but then I just let myself write it as if it was about what it actually was about: Alexander Hamilton losing everything he had in a short period of time, as told by Lin-Manuel Miranda.
I only wrote two pages. I didn't even get to the part where he asks Eliza for forgiveness, and when he gets that forgiveness. And I haven't been able to bring myself to finish it. If you guys really want me to finish after you read this, let me know. If you're satisfied (*cringes at accidental Hamilton joke*) with how it is now, that's cool too. But I think that's why it feels a little incomplete, because it kind of is. This was never edited, but it wasn't effortless either. I guess you could say it's "got a lot of brains but no polish."
Enjoy. Thanks and much love.
--Lizzo
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He never would've imagined in all his life that he'd be living in the rich part of town. A year ago he would've been happy about that. A year ago everything was fine. He had some respect. His wife loved him. His son was alive.
The rain poured down onto the flowers. He watched the water roll off the leaves. He was drenched at this point. He'd been out here for nearly three hours. He didn't care. He liked the silence.
No, that wasn't true. He hated the silence. He missed arguing with his enemies. He missed the chaotic meetings. He missed his wife saying his name. He especially missed his son.
Yes, he hated the silence. But the silence in solitude was preferred to the muttering he heard in the street: "Poor man, lost everything he had at once. Doesn't have an ounce of respect. His wife won't even look at him. His son died only a week or so ago."
He was tired of listening to his own thoughts. He stood up, started heading toward the gate.
There she was. He looked in the window and saw his wife sitting in front of the fire. Her face was stained with tears, but she wasn't crying anymore. She stared at the ground blankly. He wanted to go comfort her; he wanted to do something that would take all her sorrows away. But he knew that no matter what he said, she wouldn't listen. Nothing he could do would be enough.
If things were different, he would have asked her to accompany him. Instead, he desperately gazed through the window a few seconds more, sighed, then walked out the gate.
He had a few moments of quiet before he hit town, the closest to peace he could get. Then he started seeing people filling the streets. He looked down. Maybe they wouldn't notice he was there.
But soon enough the people started talking. "Yep, that's him. Cheated on his wife and wrote about it for the entire world to see. Ruined his own life in just a few weeks. Did you hear about his son?"
He passed stranger after stranger, people who didn't even know him but knew his story. Tirelessly, unfeeling, his feet walked on, down the streets, unconscious of any destination. People glance at him as he passes. There is a quiet hum over the streets. Unlike his old home, the city is not very loud. His son would think it peaceful.
He glances at every tree. His son would love the way the green leaves shine against the gray sky. He looks in every shop window. His son would love the bright lights and colors. His son would love him, too. His son would be the only person that still loved him, if only he were alive.
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