Ruchi Acharya's Blog, page 6

The Adventure of Daring to Take the Loan of Life

REDRUM – in the dreams of the child, in the reflections of the mirrors of The Shining. Frightening, because it has not yet been understood, felt – but not yet consciously articulated. But Danny is shining and his knowledge will light up too, only this time, at the end of the tunnel, there is dark light. I don’t shine, I’m not a Sunday child. But I still dream of REDRUM – in other forms, with other fears.

In a book by Irvin D. Yalom, I read about a man who stopped sleeping at night. He was stricken by an unnamed anxiety. So, before sleep, he started masturbating and recalled to his therapist the throbbing erections he would experience. This became his only guarantee of a good night’s sleep. So strong was the unconscious fear of death. A little death before the little death. The triad of Thanatos, Hypnos, and Eros. Meanwhile, I dream erotic dreams – precisely in this period when I am most afflicted by the horror of our future extinction, our present temporality. The more I am afraid of death, the more intense my dreams are, and the more I throb from excitement.

Seven years ago, my emotional health took a negative turn. Like the protagonist of Yalom’s book, I couldn’t sleep, eat, take care of my child, or otherwise function properly. I would wake from unexplained bouts of existential horror, and panic attacks would repeat every half hour. Now I think it was a long-negated, unconscious fear of death. Existential shock therapy from myself. Because today, after years of therapy, my breath sometimes still hitches from the horror. Only now, in that painful second, I realise that I am mortal, that one day, nothing will remain of me. The subconscious, obscure fear proved not to be an abstract fact indicating that “everyone will leave this world” but the realisation that I myself am that temporary being.

Several times I saw death’s lights, that all-consuming abyss of the universe from Stephen King’s novels. Both times I was on vacation. Almost sailing into the open ocean in the Seychelles and almost stepping on a huge snake in the jungles of Sri Lanka. The ocean could have swallowed me, the snake could have injected poison into me.

Everything ended on a happy note, and then I was the mother of a little child, and in me and around, there was life, abundant life and impulse, no more nightmares and fear. Only then did everything drop on me with three times the force, which is usually the case.

Now, at the age of 36, I am deathly scared of death. Maybe because of the feeling that I am only just starting to try to live. The hunger for life is so strong that I often negotiate with higher forces – wait until one more contest’s results, until one more of my son’s competitions, until one more trip. No, I don’t have any clear “indications” for my death. However, I am still very afraid, and existential anxiety often threatens to snatch away the beauty of the rest of my life.

I like to walk in the woods in the morning. However, I’m afraid of not returning from the forest every time. A dense forest of death, a thick tangle of illogicality and irrationality darkening the daring adventure of life. There are days when I really want to shut it back in the snuff box. And then I read a new dystopian novel by Yaroslav Melnyk, May There Always Be Me. Smart scientists led by AI have almost succeeded in creating immortality. The protagonist of the book has lived for more than a thousand years. The genre of the novel in itself presupposes that such an idea of eternal life and its realisation can mask an immeasurable darkness. I recognise that greed for eternity on this side, one which often takes strongly perverse forms. Sometimes I am so afraid of death that I even wait for it to come. If I have to spend all my time in fear, can that Great Barbarian just finally enter the city? If the anxiety is so strong that it hijacks seconds, minutes, and hours, then maybe faster, or sooner is better. Less frightening? Less torturous? Sometimes I feel so strongly in myself those two sisters in Melancholia – when one figure has mastered the self, the time will come for the other to manifest itself. Between surrender and resistance. Between responsibility for the whole world and letting go. Between the little death and the great death. I feel like quoting Otto Rank:

“Some refuse the loan of life to avoid the debt of death”

(Staring at the Sun, p. 109).

Perhaps it is also possible to talk about belief in reincarnation, resurrection to eternal life, and other essential things. Unfortunately, I’m still Doubting Thomas, I just can’t see the wounds, no matter how hard I try. I know Christ is trying too. I understand that the essence is internal perception, but there are stubborn blind ones, they need proof, miracles, human speech learned by animals in one night, and wine at weddings. I fail to stay awake for all the time allotted to me, the light is fading, and my oil doesn’t burn hot enough. However, there is another way – to turn towards the beyond. Yalom turns to Epicurus and finds some kind of consolation in several ideas from this philosopher.

For example, he points out that the soul is mortal. Therefore, we have nothing to fear in the afterlife and the suffering of transcendence. I don’t know if Doubting Thomas is comforted by such a postulate. This part of the personality prefers several other thoughts – symmetry and ripples.

With the feeling of death comes the great question of meaning. Is life worth living? Albert Camus. It is absurd that we are born; it is absurd that we die. Jean-Paul Sartre. What matters is not the meaning of life in general but rather the specific meaning of a person's life at a given moment. Viktor Frankl. And Yalom’s “ripple theory”: every life can have a positive impact on the lives of future generations – comforting, supporting, and transmitting something important.

I have noticed that when I think of death, I consider certain taboos. I usually don’t accept the idea that my son is also mortal. When parents bury their children, not only does the one that they (possibly) loved most disappear, but also a large part of the ripples are gone – the meaning, persistence, and continuity of life. Therefore, when my son climbs over rocks, or when we go on a trip, I protect him the best that I can. A healthy child is the essential constant of being. However, even though I am somewhat denying the mortality of my child, at the age of only five, he asked me: “Mom, are you going to die too? Will Daddy and I die? I don’t want you to die. I don’t want to die.” His primary school teacher shared an excerpt from my son’s essay: “I would like my family to live forever.” The beginning of understanding the laws of the world. And then? Then they begin to flirt with death – horror films, dangerous tricks, and intoxicating substances. From horror stories by the bonfire to digital realities where they can die several times and rise again. A little death before the great death.

We travelled over the November holidays. I walked along the narrow streets of Venice and still thought of REDRUM. The lights of death. And the magical rites that can help to overcome evil. About the disappearance of Giltinė (Death) from Lithuanian folk fairy tales. Now I deliberately choose to release death from the snuff box. Because every living creature must obey the laws created for its form.

However, some part of me hopes that my son will live forever and that the wish from his childhood writings will be fulfilled. Maybe, as in Melnyk’s novel, I don’t want what’s best for my child. Is it enough that from my and my son’s lives, there will be plenty of ripples, as described by Yalom, which will spread down to several or a dozen generations into the future?

I dare to take the loan of life, this adventure, and anxiously pay the debt of death. Between the little death and little death – the great death.

ABOUT THE BLOGGER

LINA BUIVIDAVIČIŪTĖ

Lina Buividavičiūtė was born on May 14, 1986. She is a poet and literary critic. Lina is an author of two poetry books in Lithuanian language.Aside from "Matter", "Masters", and “Proverse poetry prize" contest anthologies, her poetry is published in the following magazines: Drunk Monkeys, Beyond Words, The Dewdrop, The Limit Experience Magazine, Poet's Choice, HOW, Beyond Queer Words, Maudlin House Press, Cathexis Northwest Press, and Versopolis Review.Upcoming publications will appear in New Millennium Writings, Cathexis Northwest Press, Quillkeepers Press, The Stardust Review and Beyond Words Literary Magazine.

TRANSLATOR'S BIO

GABRIELLA ŽIČKIENÉ

Gabriella Žičkienė is a translator and editor born and raised in the United States, and currently living in Lithuania. With over a decade of experience, her work covers a wide range of texts, with a focus on ethnic culture and literature. Passionate about bridging cultural gaps through language, Gabriella brings diverse voices to new audiences through her translations and editorial work.  

Daring to take the loan of life

REDRUM – in the dreams of the child, in the reflections of the mirrors of The Shining. Frightening, because it has not yet been understood, felt – but not yet consciously articulated. But Danny is shining and his knowledge will light up too, only this time, at the end of the tunnel, there is dark light. I don’t shine, I’m not a Sunday child. But I still dream of REDRUM – in other forms, with other fears.

In a book by Irvin D. Yalom, I read about a man who stopped sleeping at night. He was stricken by an unnamed anxiety. So, before sleep, he started masturbating and recalled to his therapist the throbbing erections he would experience. This became his only guarantee of a good night’s sleep. So strong was the unconscious fear of death. A little death before the little death. The triad of Thanatos, Hypnos, and Eros. Meanwhile, I dream erotic dreams – precisely in this period when I am most afflicted by the horror of our future extinction, our present temporality. The more I am afraid of death, the more intense my dreams are, and the more I throb from excitement.

Seven years ago, my emotional health took a negative turn. Like the protagonist of Yalom’s book, I couldn’t sleep, eat, take care of my child, or otherwise function properly. I would wake from unexplained bouts of existential horror, and panic attacks would repeat every half hour. Now I think it was a long-negated, unconscious fear of death. Existential shock therapy from myself. Because today, after years of therapy, my breath sometimes still hitches from the horror. Only now, in that painful second, I realise that I am mortal, that one day, nothing will remain of me. The subconscious, obscure fear proved not to be an abstract fact indicating that “everyone will leave this world” but the realisation that I myself am that temporary being.

Everything ended on a happy note, and then I was the mother of a little child, and in me and around, there was life, abundant life and impulse, no more nightmares and fear. Only then did everything drop on me with three times the force, which is usually the case.

Now, at the age of 36, I am deathly scared of death. Maybe because of the feeling that I am only just starting to try to live. The hunger for life is so strong that I often negotiate with higher forces – wait until one more contest’s results, until one more of my son’s competitions, until one more trip. No, I don’t have any clear “indications” for my death. However, I am still very afraid, and existential anxiety often threatens to snatch away the beauty of the rest of my life.

I like to walk in the woods in the morning. However, I’m afraid of not returning from the forest every time. A dense forest of death, a thick tangle of illogicality and irrationality. There are days when I really want to shut it back in the snuff box. And then I read a new dystopian novel by Yaroslav Melnyk, May There Always Be Me. Smart scientists led by AI have almost succeeded in creating immortality. The protagonist of the book has lived for more than a thousand years. The genre of the novel in itself presupposes that such an idea of eternal life and its realisation can mask an immeasurable darkness. I recognise that greed for eternity on this side, one which often takes strongly perverse forms. Sometimes I am so afraid of death that I even wait for it to come. If I have to spend all my time in fear, can that Great Barbarian just finally enter the city? If the anxiety is so strong that it hijacks seconds, minutes, and hours, then maybe faster, or sooner is better. Less frightening? Less torturous? Sometimes I feel so strongly in myself those two sisters in Melancholia – when one figure has mastered the self, the time will come for the other to manifest itself. Between surrender and resistance. Between responsibility for the whole world and letting go. Between the little death and the great death. I feel like quoting Otto Rank:

(Staring at the Sun, p. 109).

Perhaps it is also possible to talk about belief in reincarnation, resurrection to eternal life, and other essential things. Unfortunately, I’m still Doubting Thomas, I just can’t see the wounds, no matter how hard I try. I know Christ is trying too. I understand that the essence is internal perception, but there are stubborn blind ones, they need proof, miracles, human speech learned by animals in one night, and wine at weddings. I fail to stay awake for all the time allotted to me, the light is fading, and my oil doesn’t burn hot enough. However, there is another way – to turn towards the beyond. Yalom turns to Epicurus and finds some kind of consolation in several ideas from this philosopher.

With the feeling of death comes the great question of meaning. Is life worth living? Albert Camus. It is absurd that we are born; it is absurd that we die. Jean-Paul Sartre. What matters is not the meaning of life in general but rather the specific meaning of a person's life at a given moment. Viktor Frankl. And Yalom’s “ripple theory”: every life can have a positive impact on the lives of future generations – comforting, supporting, and transmitting something important.

I have noticed that when I think of death, I consider certain taboos. I usually don’t accept the idea that my son is also mortal. When parents bury their children, not only does the one that they (possibly) loved most disappear, but also a large part of the ripples are gone – the meaning, persistence, and continuity of life. Therefore, when my son climbs over rocks, or when we go on a trip, I protect him the best that I can. A healthy child is the essential constant of being. However, even though I am somewhat denying the mortality of my child, at the age of only five, he asked me: “Mom, are you going to die too? Will Daddy and I die? I don’t want you to die. I don’t want to die.” His primary school teacher shared an excerpt from my son’s essay: “I would like my family to live forever.” The beginning of understanding the laws of the world. And then? Then they begin to flirt with death – horror films, dangerous tricks, and intoxicating substances. From horror stories by the bonfire to digital realities where they can die several times and rise again. A little death before the great death.

We travelled over the November holidays. I walked along the narrow streets of Venice and still thought of REDRUM. The lights of death. And the magical rites that can help to overcome evil. About the disappearance of Giltinė (Death) from Lithuanian folk fairy tales. Now I deliberately choose to release death from the snuff box. Because every living creature must obey the laws created for its form.

However, some part of me hopes that my son will live forever and that the wish from his childhood writings will be fulfilled. Maybe, as in Melnyk’s novel, I don’t want what’s best for my child. Is it enough that from my and my son’s lives, there will be plenty of ripples, as described by Yalom, which will spread down to several or a dozen generations into the future?

I take the loan of life and anxiously pay the debt of death. Between the little death and little death – the great death.

ABOUT THE BLOGGER

LINA BUIVIDAVIČIŪTĖ

Lina Buividavičiūtė was born on May 14, 1986. She is a poet and literary critic. Lina is an author of two poetry books in Lithuanian language.Aside from "Matter", "Masters", and “Proverse poetry prize" contest anthologies, her poetry is published in the following magazines: Drunk Monkeys, Beyond Words, The Dewdrop, The Limit Experience Magazine, Poet's Choice, HOW, Beyond Queer Words, Maudlin House Press, Cathexis Northwest Press, and Versopolis Review.Upcoming publications will appear in New Millennium Writings, Cathexis Northwest Press, Quillkeepers Press, The Stardust Review and Beyond Words Literary Magazine.

TRANSLATOR'S BIO

GABRIELLA ŽIČKIENÉ

Gabriella Žičkienė is a translator and editor born and raised in the United States, and currently living in Lithuania. With over a decade of experience, her work covers a wide range of texts, with a focus on ethnic culture and literature. Passionate about bridging cultural gaps through language, Gabriella brings diverse voices to new audiences through her translations and editorial work.  

How to solve the Devil’s puzzle

I picked up this one phrase from a conversation with a fellow writer – nowadays, many young creators ride the trauma horse. Escalating one’s dark depths and wounds has become trendy. Perhaps you can point fingers at me as well: I cannot escape the inner world of trauma. Neither in life nor in poetry.

I feel the impact of darkness most strongly when everything in my personal life is going smoothly and favourably. I dream of thieves threatening me with a knife, an old Soviet apartment block where several colonies of cockroaches bask in the warmth of the radiator, and of my mother’s dilapidated house with only the armchairs of my childhood left. But the most frightening and frequent dreams are about all sorts of horned devils. I am haunted by them; I start to sweat and grimace. Finally, overcome with horror, I realised that not even neuroleptics could banish these visions.

Often, I simply must solve the devil’s puzzle without fail. Otherwise, unpleasant consequences await or, according to Lithuanian folk tales, if you manage to outsmart the Evil One, you may be rewarded. The demonic trickster seizes our dreams, revels in them, and turns everything upside down. It’s so frightening that I chant prayers, the eternal “Our Father.”

After nights like this, I read the book The Inner World of Trauma: Archetypal Defences of the Personal Spirit, by the clinical psychologist Donald Kalsched, and try to understand what’s happening to me. The malignant self-protection system encroaches on my life. Kalsched claims:

The purpose of self-protection systems is to protect the subject from the repetition of trauma. However, such protection yields opposite results because “the traumatized psyche is self-traumatizing” (p. 5).

When I remember my grandmother’s words, that our family was cursed by the czar and that’s why my great-grandfather was given the surname Brudnys, when I hear a relative’s conviction that his long-standing addiction is caused by the demons within, and when my obsessive-compulsive disorder flares up again – I remember the inner saboteur. According to Kalsched,

For a long time, I thought that the thieves, cockroaches, and devils in my dreams were equivalents of external danger, real counterparts of traumatized subjects… Until one day I heard the following question from my therapist: why do I persecute myself? Then the analysis of “Bluebeard” from Clarissa Pinkola Estés’ book Women Who Run with the Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype particularly resonated with me. Explaining this tale, the author employs the concept of the inner bandit.

Bluebeard is an internal terror, a hidden complex lurking in the soul. If we let him rule, our joy in life will diminish, and our creativity and passion will fade. The youngest sister is a naive and inexperienced victim: “The youngest sister represents a creative potential within the psyche. A something that is going toward exuberant and fashioning life. But there is a detour as she agrees to become the prize of a vicious man because her instincts to notice and do otherwise are not intact” (p. 37). Symbolically, Bluebeard’s young bride is warned neither by her mother nor her sisters, who all have more experience and have avoided Bluebeard’s traps. Only after experiencing the temptations of the “bloody groom” can she cultivate self-awareness, mature, and resist the inner bandit.

Estés emphasises that not unlocking the door to the secret room for the young woman would mean spiritual death. By unlocking the door, the woman chooses life. Prohibition acts as a stimulant – empty curiosity is replaced by the thirst for knowledge, which is necessary for creativity.

Opening the sealed room’s door, a woman encounters the desolation of her inner life. Estés says: “When women open the doors of their own lives and survey the carnage there in those out-of-the-way places, they most often find they have been allowing summary assassinations of their most crucial dreams, goals, and hope” (p. 41).

This is not menstruation but the blood of the soul. Only by extracting it from the subconscious, by processing trauma and experiencing all the agony, is it possible to integrate these past events and place them on certain shelves of consciousness. The youngest sister tries to remove the blood and wipe the key but fails.

After the secret door is opened, Bluebeard becomes enraged and decides that the woman must die. But here the youngest sister calls on her brothers for help – the strongest and most aggressive forces of the soul: “The brothers represent the blessing of strength and action. With them, in the end, several things occur, one is that the vast and disabling ability of the predator is neutralized in a woman’s psyche. And second, the blueberry-eyed maiden is replaced by one with eyes awake, and third, a warrior to each side of her if she but calls for them.” (p. 47-48). The fairy tale ends happily for the youngest sister. However, we mourn for the murdered brides and the wonders that the inner bandit mercilessly crushed.

I still haven’t solved the devil’s puzzle and haven’t fully opened the doors to the secret chamber. Recognisable inner figures somewhat soothe me – the beginning is made. I feel that I will not escape from the inner world of trauma for a long time, although I want to write different texts. I believe that someday we will actualise a positive phenomenon instead of trauma – post-traumatic growth. But before that, the doors must be opened and the devil’s puzzle solved.

ABOUT THE BLOGGER

LINA BUIVIDAVIČIŪTĖ

Lina Buividavičiūtė was born on May 14, 1986. She is a poet and literary critic. Lina is an author of two poetry books in Lithuanian language.Aside from "Matter", "Masters", and “Proverse poetry prize" contest anthologies, her poetry is published in the following magazines: Drunk Monkeys, Beyond Words, The Dewdrop, The Limit Experience Magazine, Poet's Choice, HOW, Beyond Queer Words, Maudlin House Press, Cathexis Northwest Press, and Versopolis Review.Upcoming publications will appear in New Millennium Writings, Cathexis Northwest Press, Quillkeepers Press, The Stardust Review and Beyond Words Literary Magazine.

TRANSLATOR'S BIO

GABRIELLA ŽIČKIENÉ

Gabriella Žičkienė is a translator and editor born and raised in the United States, and currently living in Lithuania. With over a decade of experience, her work covers a wide range of texts, with a focus on ethnic culture and literature. Passionate about bridging cultural gaps through language, Gabriella brings diverse voices to new audiences through her translations and editorial work.  

 

The Woes of Reading Romeo and Juliet: An Unpopular Opinion, 2024

Ah, The Woes of Reading Romeo (humor/sarcastic piece)

Morgana Faye

 

            To quote the wisest philosopher of our time:

            “It's always been about love and hate, now let me say I'm the biggest hater

I hate the way that you walk, the way that you talk, I hate the way that you dress

I hate the way that you sneak diss, if I catch flight, it's gon' be direct

We hate the b*tch*s you fxxk 'cause they confuse themself with real women

And notice, I said "we," it's not just me, I'm what the culture feelin'

How many more fairytale stories 'bout your life 'til we had enough?

Thank you Kendrick Lamar for writing the sickest bars of 2024. But more importantly, your words perfectly express how I feel about reading about a certain playwright and this one story that some higher-ups above insist every student must read. Whose play continues to plague the creative field with countless references and remakes that further justify my disdain for it. You know, the movies, songs and dime-a-dozen trashy novels you find in a typical drug store or supermarket. At its best, it is mediocre recycled trash. At its worst, it’s a complete waste of resources that could have gone into an original idea. I don’t know if this applies to all cultures but it is safe to say many want to treat the dead with respect, to let their souls rest in peace. I agree with that. I think it’s about time (it's 2024 already!) to let this story, Romeo and Juliet, rest in its grave, too.

I’m talking about William Shakespeare and his accursed Romeo and Juliet.

It’s always been about love and hate with Romeo and Juliet. It’s the literal theme of the godforsaken piece of ancient trashy tragic romance story that it is. Yes, that’s right. Here’s my “unpopular” opinion - it’s boring and overhyped. Maybe if I wasn’t forced to read this over and over and hear the same “raving” reviews praising it for its “insightful commentary and themes”, I might have viewed it differently-. Nah, that’s not true. My opinion of it then is still the same now. I’m tired of people thinking it’s “smarter” than it is. That it’s some highly intellectual material worthy of forcing people to analyze over and over when I don’t think it’s that deep. Like, sure, the blood feud between the Capulets and Montague is interesting enough, I suppose. I understand that it’s not supposed to be Romeo and Juliet's focal point. It’s supposed to highlight the tragedies of star-crossed love, violence, fate, whatever comes to mind.

But really, having some additional context behind the feud would have made the drama juicier. Because Romeo and Juliet as a whole is drier than the Sahara Desert. If anything, I feel we give Romeo and Juliet too much credit for essentially jumpstarting an entire subgenre of for-fun fanfiction and fanfiction-turned-monetized-trashy-novels. I know it’s not entirely Shakespeare’s fault school curriculum refuses to open up to varied literature from all over the world. It’s not entirely his fault people love to rehash old content and milk it (looking at you Disney and Hollywood!). At the same time, I certainly didn’t enjoy having to pull the same old “analysis” out of my ass while trying to explain why these two idiots’ “love story” (if you can even call it that) died as fast as they fell in love. Some things just need to die already, and Romeo and Juliet in 2024, is one of those things. Yeah, I'm the biggest hater of this story.

I hate the way this story’s plot walks. I understand that the rushed nature does serve a purpose, somewhat, for Romeo and Juliet. The lack of time meant a lot of pressure the characters weren’t able to handle, which contributed to their tragic ends. It’s what makes Romeo and Juliet a tragedy. However, that’s just not my cup of tea. I prefer material that has a lot more going on while also pacing properly. Am I being nitpicky and super critical of this play for what it is? Maybe. At the same time, I’d like to take this time to properly tear it apart because I’m a tiny bit petty like that (because schools are boring and only want people to think one way).

The way its format talks. Not a play girlie - though, to be fair, I’m not a fan of script formats to begin with. But also, I’m not a fan of Shakespeare. To his credit, though, I think schools have partially ruined what otherwise could have been my experience reading his works. I’m aware I’m not getting the full experience of his skill by just reading the plays. I have to see his stories reenacted live to watch the story unfold. Even so, I’m a Dostoevsky girlie to the end. I like his brand of madness in his writings. It’s dark and gritty in a satisfying way - like I was treated to a fulfilling meal that I still remember long after.

Something I cannot say for Romeo and Juliet because I wouldn't say I like the way its themes are addressed. Like girl, be for real. I’d be more convinced of the romance if :

Romeo was not slobbering over another girl before he decided on a whim she wasn’t worth it anymore

He wanted marriage right off the bat because that’s perfectly sane and reasonable

Surely Romeo couldn’t have tried harder to convince his dear friend not to start life-ending fights.

He committed suicide over a girl he could have just moved on because he had no problem forgetting Rosaline, who is Juliet’s relative. So no, I don’t care for the main attraction.

It cannot be stated enough how much I hate the way that the higher-ups managing the curriculum for schools sneak this into lessons. Like please just let this die in peace already. Because if I catch the flight of Shakespeare, it's gon' be on-sight from how much Romeo and Juliet continue to haunt me to this day. Again, I must emphasize. I hate the b*tch*s this godforsaken play birthed because these fakes confuse themself with real, respectable stories. I’m not at all convinced The New York Times Bestsellers aren’t just a bunch of publishers payrolling their way into these arbitrary lists. The countless references and/or remakes Hollywood chooses to prioritize instead of original content don’t help either.

And notice, I said "we," it's not just me, I'm what the culture feelin'

Because how many more remakes, even in 2024, 'bout Romeo and Juliet 'til we had enough?

 

ABOUT THE BLOGGER

Morgana Faye is a short story writer and poet. From thoughts to words, she weaves into a cohesive body of work. Writing allows Morgana time to slow down, collect her thoughts, and present them on paper. To catch those words before they slip from her grasp, forever lost during translation. Though recent, her blossoming interest in the publishing industry marks a pivotal change. Fall 2019 saw her poem “Closer” published in King’s River Review. However, it was not until 2024 that she would consider publishing a viable career path. Even so, Morgana seeks to showcase her skills to the world.

The Woes of Reading Romeo

Ah, The Woes of Reading Romeo (humor/sarcastic piece)

Morgana Faye

 

Thank you Kendrick Lamar for writing the sickest bars of 2024. But more importantly, your words perfectly express how I feel about reading about a certain playwright and this one story that some higher-ups above insist every student must read. Whose play continues to plague the creative field with countless references and remakes that further justify my disdain for it. You know, the movies, songs and dime-a-dozen trashy novels you find in a typical drug store or supermarket. At its best, it is mediocre recycled trash. At its worst, it’s a complete waste of resources that could have gone into an original idea. I don’t know if this applies to all cultures but it is safe to say many want to treat the dead with respect, to let their souls rest in peace. I agree with that. I think it’s about time to let this story rest in its grave, too.

I’m talking about William Shakespeare and his accursed Romeo and Juliet.

It’s always been about love and hate with Romeo and Juliet. It’s the literal theme of the godforsaken piece of ancient trashy tragic romance story that it is. Yes, that’s right. Here’s my “unpopular” opinion - it’s boring and overhyped. Maybe if I wasn’t forced to read this over and over and hear the same “raving” reviews praising it for its “insightful commentary and themes”, I might have viewed it differently-. Nah, that’s not true. My opinion of it then is still the same now. I’m tired of people thinking it’s “smarter” than it is. That it’s some highly intellectual material worthy of forcing people to analyze over and over when I don’t think it’s that deep. Like, sure, the blood feud between the Capulets and Montague is interesting enough, I suppose. I understand that it’s not supposed to be Romeo and Juliet's focal point. It’s supposed to highlight the tragedies of star-crossed love, violence, fate, whatever comes to mind.

But really, having some additional context behind the feud would have made the drama juicier. Because Romeo and Juliet as a whole is drier than the Sahara Desert. If anything, I feel we give Romeo and Juliet too much credit for essentially jumpstarting an entire subgenre of for-fun fanfiction and fanfiction-turned-monetized-trashy-novels. I know it’s not entirely Shakespeare’s fault school curriculum refuses to open up to varied literature from all over the world. It’s not entirely his fault people love to rehash old content and milk it (looking at you Disney and Hollywood!). At the same time, I certainly didn’t enjoy having to pull the same old “analysis” out of my ass while trying to explain why these two idiots’ “love story” (if you can even call it that) died as fast as they fell in love. Some things just need to die already, and Romeo and Juliet is one of those things. Yeah, I'm the biggest hater of this story.

I hate the way this story’s plot walks. I understand that the rushed nature does serve a purpose, somewhat, for Romeo and Juliet. The lack of time meant a lot of pressure the characters weren’t able to handle, which contributed to their tragic ends. It’s what makes Romeo and Juliet a tragedy. However, that’s just not my cup of tea. I prefer material that has a lot more going on while also pacing properly. Am I being nitpicky and super critical of this play for what it is? Maybe. At the same time, I’d like to take this time to properly tear it apart because I’m a tiny bit petty like that (because schools are boring and only want people to think one way).

The way its format talks. Not a play girlie - though, to be fair, I’m not a fan of script formats to begin with. But also, I’m not a fan of Shakespeare. To his credit, though, I think schools have partially ruined what otherwise could have been my experience reading his works. I’m aware I’m not getting the full experience of his skill by just reading the plays. I have to see his stories reenacted live to watch the story unfold. Even so, I’m a Dostoevsky girlie to the end. I like his brand of madness in his writings. It’s dark and gritty in a satisfying way - like I was treated to a fulfilling meal that I still remember long after.

Something I cannot say for Romeo and Juliet because I wouldn't say I like the way its themes are addressed. Like girl, be for real. I’d be more convinced of the romance if 1. Romeo was not slobbering over another girl before he decided on a whim she wasn’t worth it anymore 2. He wanted marriage right off the bat because that’s perfectly sane and reasonable 3. Surely Romeo couldn’t have tried harder to convince his dear friend not to start life-ending fights. 4. He committed suicide over a girl he could have just moved on because he had no problem forgetting Rosaline, who is Juliet’s relative. So no, I don’t care for the main attraction.

It cannot be stated enough how much I hate the way that the higher-ups managing the curriculum for schools sneak this into lessons. Like please just let this die in peace already. Because if I catch the flight of Shakespeare, it's gon' be on-sight from how much Romeo and Juliet continue to haunt me to this day. Again, I must emphasize. I hate the b*tch*s this godforsaken play birthed because these fakes confuse themself with real, respectable stories. I’m not at all convinced The New York Times Bestsellers aren’t just a bunch of publishers payrolling their way into these arbitrary lists. The countless references and/or remakes Hollywood chooses to prioritize instead of original content don’t help either.

And notice, I said "we," it's not just me, I'm what the culture feelin'

Because how many more remakes 'bout Romeo and Juliet 'til we had enough?

 

ABOUT THE BLOGGER

Morgana Faye is a short story writer and poet. From thoughts to words, she weaves into a cohesive body of work. Writing allows Morgana time to slow down, collect her thoughts, and present them on paper. To catch those words before they slip from her grasp, forever lost during translation. Though recent, her blossoming interest in the publishing industry marks a pivotal change. Fall 2019 saw her poem “Closer” published in King’s River Review. However, it was not until 2024 that she would consider publishing a viable career path. Even so, Morgana seeks to showcase her skills to the world.

Beneath the Red Hood: The True Face of the Big Bad Wolf

Deep within the lush forests, with its winding paths, awaits a little girl’s destination. Dear sweet grandmother to whom she will gift with cake and wine. The child prepares for her journey, adorned in velvet red. The cap grandmother gifted her rests snug on her, its cape fluttering with each step taken. Unbeknownst to her, danger lurks between the trees, searching for a potential meal. It is a hulking mass of grungy fur and cunningness, eager to sink their teeth into young flesh and bone. Clever the beast is, for Little Red dallies in the fields, collecting flowers to present. The beast then takes this opportunity to visit this beloved grandmother’s home, devours Grandma, and dresses up in her clothes. Eventually, he succeeds in consuming Little Red, too.

Oh, poor Little Red, so sweet and trusting, so naive. Is this how the story will end? Of course not! We all know how this story ends. The huntsman slices its belly, freeing its occupants, and fills it with heavy stones. The wolf dies soon after. The huntsman takes its pelt. Dearest grandmother ate the cake and drank the wine. Little Red learned an important lesson that day, which will save her and Grandma’s lives again. All is well and good, right?

            Except, you don’t always get a second chance.

            This version, curated by the Grimm brothers, is one many of us may have grown up with. A little girl, draped in red, encounters Big Bad Wolf, only to survive this encounter in the end. We, too, are relieved she escapes unscathed. Nothing horrifies anyone more than the death of a child - especially if said child suffers a brutal, gruesome end. And yet, this is one of many endings. Because, contrary to expectations, these fairy tales are more sinister than they appear. The earliest known edition of The Little Red Riding Hood went by Le Petit Chaperon Rouge. Written by Charles Perrault, many believe this to be the origin of the Grimm brothers’ version due to how similar the versions are.

As grim as Perrault’s ending is, the story demonstrates the fatal consequences of not supervising your child. As the author explained, “From this story, one learns that children, especially young lasses, pretty, courteous and well-bred, do very wrong to listen to strangers, And it is not an unheard thing if the Wolf is thereby provided with his dinner. I say, Wolf, for all wolves are not of the same sort; there is one kind with an amenable disposition – neither noisy, nor hateful, nor angry, but tame, obliging and gentle, following the young maids in the streets, even into their homes. Alas! Who does not know that these gentle wolves are of all such creatures the most dangerous!” (Perrault, Histoires ou contes du temps passé, avec des moralités: Contes de ma mère l'Oye).

Even now, society insists on painting monsters in monstrous lights, gross and grotesque in appearance and behaviour. Yet, in reality, the real dangers lie in those who appear like us. People who we can trust. Surely, they can’t possibly be capable of committing the most heinous acts of cruelty, right? Even then, the Big Bad Wolf wasn’t bad, at first. He was polite to her, asking questions that, in any other context, would have been normal small talk. Certainly, the little girl didn’t think much about it. And why would she? She didn’t know better, and wouldn’t have. Mother had said not to stray from the path, and that was what she tried to do. Except she is a child, susceptible to influences, good or bad. For they’re taught to act friendly with people out of courtesy. In this case, Wolf abuses this implicit trust by misdirecting her attention with flowers. And again when he disguises himself as an immediate figure of love and trust. Though we know the happier version of events following this, the moral remains. You don’t know who the people you interact with could be until they show what’s under their skin.

            There is another story that utilizes the Big Bad Wolf trope, disguising themselves in someone else’s skin to deceive those they want to harm. Perhaps you may have heard of The Wolf In Sheep’s Clothing, one of Aesop’s many fables. A story that, like Little Red Riding Hood, involves metaphorical strangers hiding sinister intentions behind seemingly benevolent identities. Here, the Wolf, using a discarded sheep skin, infiltrates the flock and lures a little lamb to its death. However, this story ends with the Shepherd mistaking the Wolf and slaughtering him for mutton. Because this story is quite short, the events happening within two days, we can only imagine what would happen if the beast was given more time to continue. There is a chance the Wolf may have eaten every single one, including the Shepherd. There is a chance the Wolf may have only eaten a few before the Shepherd caught on. Even so, the dangers posed in both stories are very real indicators of the threats that the sheep and Little Red face in reality.

ABOUT THIS BLOGGER

Morgana Faye is a short story writer and poet. From thoughts to words, she weaves into a cohesive body of work. Writing allows Morgana time to slow down, collect her thoughts, and present them on paper. To catch those words before they slip from her grasp, forever lost during translation. Though recent, her blossoming interest in the publishing industry marks a pivotal change. Fall 2019 saw her poem “Closer” published in King’s River Review. However, it was not until 2024 that she would consider publishing a viable career path. Even so, Morgana seeks to showcase her skills to the world.

Read more of Morgana's works.

Set The World On Fire At Fahrenheit 451

“It was a pleasure to burn.”

I remember this book like yesterday. As if I was back in middle school, jotting thoughts in my analysis journals. Doodles galore on every page, whimsy ideas flying about without fear of judgment. When learning felt less systemic and more fun, more engaging, more rewarding.

Indeed, those were much simpler times, though this isn’t the place for retroactive whining. Even so, I bring this up because I treasure a particular memory associated with F451. For, one day, my dear English teacher assigned us this particular task. Memorize a paragraph in the story and recall it in front of the class. I, of course, took to theatrics and acted out three pages because I could. I wanted to feel special. Which, in the end, went well beyond expectations; I ended up performing this act for all her classes. A little girl eager to please her teacher, a fun anecdote to share on occasion. Except, several years later, its message has become more relevant than ever.

Because, in many ways, Fahrenheit 451 is not just about censorship. Of willful ignorance and intolerance of things that challenge the peace of mind. It is a protest against hedonism and the anti-intellectualism it promotes. How overreliance on technology and its convenience diminishes incentives for critical thinking. Valuing instant gratification, convenience, and comfort above all else. Yet, Fahrenheit 451 also represents hope and resistance. The perseverance and courage to fight against oppression. Fire can destroy but it can also bring about change.

            What I found fascinating, years later, is how I unknowingly played out this story. At the time, I didn’t think about the purpose behind the assignment. I only knew that I should do it for a grade. And really, isn’t that how we’ve been conditioned? We just do as we’re told without thinking about why or how the things we learn apply in real life. It feels like there’s no real incentive for innovation and creativity - only efficiency. I cannot say whether this applies to everyone, but I feel I’ve forgotten most of what school has taught. That whatever I’ve learned is just kind of there, instead of something that continues to affect me in some capability.

Only after leaving high school did I have a vague idea of what I wanted to do in life. But I didn’t get that through school. I had to stumble about, trying to find something that clicked because I had to learn to think for myself. Guy Montag is, in a way, also a victim of societal conditioning. This is most evident in the differing methods to bring about change. Granger and the organization choose to live in the shadows of society, rather than start a violent revolution. An act that is much more peaceful and effective because, in Granger’s words, “...if we are destroyed, the knowledge is dead, perhaps for good” (Bradbury, 152). Their perseveration tactic guarantees the book and the ideas they hold will survive.

By contrast, despite Guy Montag’s attempts to save books, his efforts end in violence. Because, in some ways, that is all he’s known, unintentional or not. Ten years of living false lies, of burning homes to maintain false ideals. His marriage, dead like how Mildred appeared when she overdosed, “...uncovered and cold, like a body displayed on the lid of a tomb, her eyes fixed to the ceiling by invisible threads of steel, immovable” (Bradbury 12). A lost soul in a society that has long killed the spirit of individual thoughts and ideas. That “everyone must be the same”, as Captain Beatty explained, to maintain the semblance of pleasantness.

Unfortunately, Montag’s efforts for redemption culminate in tragedy.

The protagonist no longer wants to live under these lies, to pretend his life could go back to the way it was before.

But without proper guidance, he’s left stumbling about, not thinking about the consequences of his actions. Montag antagonizes Captain Beatty with his suspicious questioning of the system. Montag interrupted one of Mildred’s friendly gathering sessions by reading Dover Beach, upsetting Mrs. Phelps. Montag attempted to coerce Faber into a desperate plan by tearing a rare copy of the Bible. His desperation to see change affects his judgment, thus culminating in his fugitive status.

Yet, as bleak as the ending is, there is hope within the dust that follows. Montag and the other outcasts survive the bombing attack that decimated the city, thus free to pursue their goals without fear of retribution. A new beginning for a man who died and was re-born with a renewed purpose. In some ways, this parallels the current state of society. Instead of learning how to think for themselves, we delegate personal responsibility to something else. Quick to give up or lash out at the slightest inconvenience or differing opinion. We only want easy-to-digest answers to simple problems to avoid complicating our undisturbed lives. Free from the ugly side of society, distant from the pain and suffering we are indirectly complicit to.

The desire to persevere and resist the status quo, to survive to see another day. To be the change Montag wants to be, not as a mindless follower but as a symbol of hope. And, in the process, he regains control over his life.

As someone who suffers from anxiety, I lived my life like Montag did, detached from reality. I succumbed to Internet addiction and my grades suffered for that. But because I could not bear the thought of personal responsibility, I ignored everything, drowning myself in a bubble of self-preservation. For a few years, I spiraled hard and I hated myself for that, wasting my potential and what could have been my prime years. Yet, the anxious coward told me to look away and not think about that because the world terrified me. I knew little to nothing about adulthood, yet I was stuck in this weird limbo. An adult by legal standards, yes, but certainly not by societal standards. Thankfully, a lot has changed since then. Much like how his chance encounter with Clarisse opened his eyes, I’ve found my muse, too. I reconnected with my art with a rebrand that’s become my signature art style. That confidence, in turn, pushed me to apply for various opportunities to showcase my skills. I haven’t looked back since.\

 I mention all of this because I saw a little of myself in Montag while re-reading this recently. His character progression from a book-burning perpetrator to a resistance fighter was not without conflicting feelings.

I couldn’t continue to pretend like everything was fine. I couldn’t continue to act the way I did and not see things through. No, this was unacceptable. So, one day, this little girl decided to grow up.

No more hiding. As Granger said, “We’ve used to that. We all made the right kind of mistakes, or we wouldn’t be here” (Bradbury 150). While I don’t believe that entirely, at the same time so much of my life has detracted far off the initial path. I went from considering journalism to nursing to graphic design and now publishing. Though I’d like to say I found my true calling, life can change at any given moment. Like Montag, I wouldn’t have thought I’d end up in my current situation. But we are both content, in some ways, with our decisions. And really, isn’t that enough?

I understand if Fahrenheit 451 isn’t the story for everyone. Though I loved the story and memories of reading this in middle school, I dislike dystopias in general. I find them a bit tedious and unpleasant to read with their particular themes and messages. Of course, societal oppression isn’t supposed to be lighthearted and wholesome, but I find these types of stories a little insufferable all the same. So I suppose it’s quite ironic for me to say all of this, given that Fahrenheit 451 criticizes people who insist on willfully ignoring things that challenge their comfort zone. But what makes Fahrenheit 451 different for me is-. Well, I don’t know how to answer that. I’d like to say it’s because the author is especially good at characterization or plot development or whatever.

In reality, I know it was because it came into my life at the right time, taught by the right teacher. She spent a lot of time drilling us on every aspect of Fahrenheit, rewarding us with treats for every analysis shared. And because of that, I have a far more intimate understanding of this story than perhaps any other story schools forced me to learn. Sans The Call of the Wild maybe, which my English teacher also taught. But even without these biases, I found the conversations these characters have to resonate with me. In particular, Montag’s conversations with Faber and Granger felt comforting. That, even at your lowest, there are people who can see the good in you. That, while change is scary, it also means acknowledging your capability to grow.

Even while the world is burning at Fahrenheit 451 degrees.

ABOUT THE BLOGGER

MORGANA FAYE

Morgana Faye is a short story writer and poet. From thoughts to words, she weaves into a cohesive body of work. Writing allows Morgana time to slow down, collect her thoughts, and present them on paper. To catch those words before they slip from her grasp, forever lost during translation. Though recent, her blossoming interest in the publishing industry marks a pivotal change. Fall 2019 saw her poem “Closer” published in King’s River Review. However, it was not until 2024 that she would consider publishing a viable career path. Even so, Morgana seeks to showcase her skills to the world.

Beyond the Acrostic: Exploring the Complexities of Poetic Forms

My first exposure to poetry was the classic acrostic poem. It is a simple form, where each letter of each new line spells out a word or message vertically. I started by writing out my name and finding one or two words that started with each letter to describe myself. I then branched out into writing acrostics for my classmates, objects, any word I could think of—going from simple words to more sophisticated phrases. Thus began my journey with poetry.

 

While the acrostic is a great way to start due to its approachable nature, there are so many incredible forms of poetry out there that are worth exploring. Whether it is strictly structured or leaning more towards free verse, here are some other forms of poetry to take note of.

 

ABECEDARIAN

First, the abecedarian. As the name suggests, an abecedarian poem is one where each line begins with a letter of the alphabet, followed by its successive letter. The first line would begin with an ‘a,’ the second would begin with a ‘b,’ and so on until one reaches the end of the alphabet. While this may seem a lot like the acrostic, the abecedarian can be deceptively challenging, especially when one gets to letters like ‘x’ and ‘y’ because not only must one find a word that starts with those letters, but it also has to make sense relative to the rest of the poem.

Many poems follow the abecedarian form, but one of the most famous is Psalm 118 (or 119 in the King James Version). There are twenty-two eight-line stanzas, each beginning with a letter of the Hebrew alphabet.

TANKA

 

Another form of poetry is the tanka, a Japanese form of poetry that is similar to the haiku. In Japanese, the word tanka translates to “short song.” Like the haiku, it follows the 5/7/5 syllable format initially—however, the tanka expands on this, with its full structure being 5/7/5/7/7. In total, the tanka consists of thirty-one syllables, traditionally broken into five lines.

Two great examples of the tanka include Tada Chimako’s A Spray of Water: Tanka and Masaoka Shiki’s Tanka 06; both authors are critically acclaimed and major figures in tanka poetry.

 

GHAZAL

Next is the ghazal. Originating in Arabic and Persian literature, the ghazal traditionally expresses themes of loss and romantic love but has evolved to explore a variety of topics. There are two major rules to a ghazal. First, it must contain five or more couplets. Second, it must have a rhyme or a repeated refrain, with the first couplet having that rhyme or refrain at the end of both lines, and all other couplets following it only having the rhyme or refrain at the end of the second line.

Agha Shahid Ali’s “Tonight” is a beautiful example of this complexity.

 

FREE VERSE

Free verse has become an increasingly popular form of poetry, but its cousin, blank verse, is also worth trying. Like free verse, blank verse does not rhyme. However, it does have a set meter, which is almost always iambic pentameter. Iambic pentameter refers to an unstressed syllable followed by a stressed syllable, measured to be five metrical feet. Blank verse is commonly used in English plays, with the first known use being in Henry Howard’s translation of Aeneid, and literary historian Paul Fussell estimated that about three-quarters of all English poetry is written in this form.

SESTINA

 

Last but not least, the sestina. The sestina is widely regarded as one of the hardest, most complex poetic forms to tackle—a challenge worth taking up for those who dare. Consisting of thirty-nine lines, six stanzas, and an envoi (a short summation in used French poetic forms), the sestina revolves around the repetition of the six end words of the first stanza.

Elizabeth Bishop was a master of the sestina, and her famous pieces “Sestina” and “A Miracle for Breakfast” are great to analyze for those who want to hone their skills further.

About the blogger

 

 Isabel Gan is a high school student from Southern California. She is the founder and editor-in-chief of Paper Cranes Literary along with editing for a number of other literary magazines, and her work appears in The Greyhound Journal and Fleeting Daze Magazine. When not writing, she loves playing the piano, reading up on composers' biographies, and hot soup on rainy days. 

 

The World Is In Your Hands- Oscar Wilde's The picture of Dorian Gray

In front of me lies a blank page, devoid of meaning. The cursor blinks, waiting for my thoughts to flow. It takes a while to warm up, to find the perfect start. Words come and go, erased because they don’t feel right—too long, too short, too boring, too out-of-place. With each backspace, my motivation wanes. I pause, letting a wave of melancholy wash over me. Suddenly, inspiration strikes. As music plays, I begin to describe the sound: brittle strings and a stained glass piano waltz in an abandoned mansion, its former glory enshrouded in spider webs and fine dust. I start to outline this imagined world, knowing it will soon become a fully-fleshed story to share.

It’s amazing how we can explore endless possibilities and find answers within the impossible—all with the tips of our fingers. A good author breathes life into their work, creating characters that feel larger-than-life yet grounded, and evocative worlds far beyond our reality. This is achieved through the power of storytelling, a means of channeling human thoughts, feelings, and experiences into something that feels real.

But how do authors achieve this elusive feat?

It starts with a good set-up, often the landscape. Beyond establishing scenes, landscapes paint a glimpse of the world for the audience, setting the story's mood. Lush, picturesque imagery evokes a sense of breathtaking awe, capturing our appreciation for beauty. This fascination with beauty, though seemingly irrational, enhances our quality of life in profound ways.

Oscar Wilde’s "The Picture of Dorian Gray" exemplifies literature centered around beauty.

Wilde engages our senses to illustrate Dorian’s descent into madness, revealing the depths of his depravity and the consequences of his pursuit of eternal youth.

Returning to my work, I find a whole page filled with words I curated to instill a sense of loss. What started as an empty page transformed into an abandoned dancehall, a cruel reminder of time's apathy. Writing is a form of art, a never-ending work in progress. It requires courage to venture into unknown territory, revealing aspects of the author’s inner world. Landscapes, whether physical, mental, emotional, or psychological, serve as foundations for understanding the human condition.

After all, there is no better way to study the world than to hold one in your hands.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

MORGANA FAYE

Morgana Faye is a short story writer and poet. From thoughts to words, she weaves into a cohesive body of work. Writing allows Morgana time to slow down, collect her thoughts, and present them on paper. To catch those words before they slip from her grasp, forever lost during translation. Though recent, her blossoming interest in the publishing industry marks a pivotal change. Fall 2019 saw her poem “Closer” published in King’s River Review. However, it was not until 2024 that she would consider publishing a viable career path. Even so, Morgana seeks to showcase her skills to the world.

The World Is In Your Hands

In front of me lies a blank page, devoid of meaning. The cursor blinks, waiting for my thoughts to flow. It takes a while to warm up, to find the perfect start. Words come and go, erased because they don’t feel right—too long, too short, too boring, too out-of-place. With each backspace, my motivation wanes. I pause, letting a wave of melancholy wash over me. Suddenly, inspiration strikes. As music plays, I begin to describe the sound: brittle strings and a stained glass piano waltz in an abandoned mansion, its former glory enshrouded in spider webs and fine dust. I start to outline this imagined world, knowing it will soon become a fully-fleshed story to share.

It’s amazing how we can explore endless possibilities and find answers within the impossible—all with the tips of our fingers. A good author breathes life into their work, creating characters that feel larger-than-life yet grounded, and evocative worlds far beyond our reality. This is achieved through the power of storytelling, a means of channeling human thoughts, feelings, and experiences into something that feels real.

But how do authors achieve this elusive feat?

It starts with a good set-up, often the landscape. Beyond establishing scenes, landscapes paint a glimpse of the world for the audience, setting the story's mood. Lush, picturesque imagery evokes a sense of breathtaking awe, capturing our appreciation for beauty. This fascination with beauty, though seemingly irrational, enhances our quality of life in profound ways.

Oscar Wilde’s "The Picture of Dorian Gray" exemplifies literature centered around beauty.

Wilde engages our senses to illustrate Dorian’s descent into madness, revealing the depths of his depravity and the consequences of his pursuit of eternal youth.

Returning to my work, I find a whole page filled with words I curated to instill a sense of loss. What started as an empty page transformed into an abandoned dancehall, a cruel reminder of time's apathy. Writing is a form of art, a never-ending work in progress. It requires courage to venture into unknown territory, revealing aspects of the author’s inner world. Landscapes, whether physical, mental, emotional, or psychological, serve as foundations for understanding the human condition.

After all, there is no better way to study the world than to hold one in your hands.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

MORGANA FAYE