My love affair with "The Scarlet Letter"

Get ready for a long post...

Yes, I love the Scarlet Letter. Or rather, I like to write about it. Below, find two essays written about the Scarlet Letter, one a few months ago, and one earlier this week...

This one was written 10/16/07. I loved it when it was written. Now I am not quite as thrilled about it, but I still like it...

The Scarlet Letter

With a combination of realism, symbolism, and allegory, “The Scarlet Letter” examines the fragile nature of the human spirit. Through examinations of conscience and character, Hawthorne presents the human nature with all of its flaws and strengths. He shows hate and love, acceptance and rejection, just by describing the scenery. Universal truths - crime and punishment - are revealed through simple actions and objects. Some small points can take pages of description. Some of the most complex are revealed with a few short lines. It sheds light on how the seemingly innocent and harmless actions can lead to great mishap or great enlightenment.

The setting of “The Scarlet Letter” is in the American colonies, in a fiercely strict Puritan society. This immediately marks Hester as an outsider. She is an independent woman, with a powerful bearing, rather than the more bitter yet insignificant presence of the other women of the town. Then, with the scarlet letter, she is marked as an adulterer. This changes her from a strange woman to one who is regarded with shock and horror. Her bastard child is another brand proclaiming her sin. This rejection from society is hard on Hester, even with her inner strength. To have the scarlet letter would have been bad enough, reminding her daily of her sin. When she is excluded from society, she has nothing at all to distract her from her constant shame. Her only companion is her daughter, Pearl, who adds to Hester’s shame with her constant attention to the letter.

Pearl is the symbol of Hester’s crime and punishment. Born of a sinful union, she is a wild elf-child. Some even consider her a demon in human guise. She treats the scarlet letter with reverence, always decorating it or touching it, never letting it pass out of Hester’s mind. Pearl frolics during her mother’s sadness, yet sometimes will show the most remarkable tenderness. Then she will scamper away, playing once more the naughty, tormenting imp. She seems to see right into her mother’s soul. Yet she is all innocence when she asks why her mother wears the scarlet letter and whether she has signed a pact with the Black Man. Hester avoids her questions, trying to hide her sins, but Pearl is constantly insistent, as if she can read her mother’s thoughts and is trying to draw them forth in words.

Hester’s strength is the contrast to her lover’s weakness. Arthur Dimmesdale is a pale, fragile man with a nervous nature. Hester carries herself proudly, wearing the scarlet letter on her breast but never touching it or drawing attention to it through motion. Others see it because it is in the open, proclaiming her sin. But she pretends not to notice it. Arthur wears his own sin in private, hidden beneath his clothing and unspoken. But he constantly touches it, drawing attention to his breast, even though others regard it as a nervous habit. He broods on his sin in private; while he proclaims to all that he is a sinner, he never names the sinner. Hester never speaks of her sin, yet she carries the brand constantly in the public eye.

“The Scarlet Letter” examines the different ways different people act in the same dilemma. Hester becomes defiant. Arthur becomes frail, mentally, spiritually and physically. Roger Chillingworth, Hester’s betrayed husband, becomes bitter and vengeful; becoming twisted both in mind and body. Pearl is an untamable spirit, acting as she will, letting nothing phase her or distract her from her purpose. These changes are revealed in these characters through various methods. Each character is described a different way, making their natures even more individual, until they seem to leap off the page as living, breathing persons, complete with all the flaws that make them human.

The second was written about Thanksgiving and the war stories of that time of year... 11/27/07

Thanksgiving and “The Scarlet Letter”

For all its joyful toutings of thanks and good will, Thanksgiving can be a living hell as feuding family members are forced together. Then all the grief that has been boarded up for a year is set free and scrap fights erupt, whether with words or cinder blocks.

Sometimes the showdown doesn’t begin until after the meal is over and the turkey carcass lies rotting in the refrigerator. Sometimes it is a few days later, as the party members brood on their hurts that were inflamed by the mere sight of their enemy. Even members of close family who see one another every day can, fueled by mashed potatoes and green bean casserole, find the energy to put the smack-down on their opposites who are equally fueled with pumpkin pie and stuffing. After any show-down, banishment ensues and thus the new hurts are carefully packed away to be displayed at the next Thanksgiving.

“The Scarlet Letter” by Nathaniel Hawthorne provides a vivid parallel for my own holiday war story. It begins with festering. Much like the people murmuring among themselves as they stand outside the jailhouse, my internal thoughts had been restlessly churning. My brothers were being twits once again and their problems, unlike wine, grow worse with age. It had been getting on my nerves for a long time, but that day it just seemed to be worse. The murmuring outside the door was growing louder. The pimple was under pressure. The fuse was being consumed slowly as the flame creeps towards the dynamite. The countdown has started.

It all came to a head when my eldest younger brother spoke to my mother. As he ages, he seems to have acquired a certain quality to his voice. Other boys’ voices crack and then become the deep bass of manhood. My brother’s voice, rather than follow norms of humanity, has become the whining drone of an angry midget trying to reach the public pay phone. It screeches. It moans. It mutters like a faulty car. But this voice’s main trait, brought on by floods of teen hormones, is rudeness. He spews out comments like water in a ditch. A two sentence conversation with him inevitably turns out nasty, no matter what the topic. The voices outside the jail had hushed now. Lester was coming out. The countdown is over.

It began very simply. A request for him to speak in a more pleasant voice when conversing with my mother. It was the squeaking of the hinge and rustle of fabric as Hester begins to emerge. Then he replied and the door was wrenched open. The festering voices had gone silent, but now open hatred spewed from the people’s eyes. My silence had ended and words were about to flow.

We sparred back and forth; me firing off criticisms of his behavior, dragging up six years of my hurts; his defensive thrusts back at me. Insults flew back and forth. The elder was speaking, laying bare Hester’s shame before all. We were stripping away the layers of the onion, looking for the core.

There was a lull and a few other events, after which the second brother joined in. This was more upsetting. He is better at arguing than the first brother and thus it becomes a battle of wits rather than who can scream the loudest. He twisted my words; taking hold of the elephant’s trunk and yanking. I became the enemy, the bad guy, the mustache-twirling villain, as I became a flaming ball of emotion. Hester had had the scarlet letter stitched to her breast.

Banishment followed. Hester is forced to live outside the village. I refused to speak to my brothers for a time and when my mother tried to console me and explain to me, I began to cry and simply became more angry. My mother took my youngest brother aside to explain why I was crying. The little twit seemed to have no idea why I was upset. He blamed me for the whole thing. The scarlet letter was gleaming in the sun of accusation.

Thanksgiving is the time for thanks. My brothers should give thanks if they manage to survive next time.

Yeah, I love "The Scarlet Letter." However, my English class is now reading "The Great Gatsby" and I do think that soon my loyalties shall be changing... *rubs hands treacherously*

Internet and elections...

Lost my election by one vote. *sheepish grin*

Ha. The funny thing about this post is that I already had written it out on paper before I got Casey's comment about internet addiction. :)

The only thing about rewriting is that I can only do it on a computer with no internet - meaning that I cannot write during the study hall I have at school, because all the computers have intranet. High-speed internet no less... (On that note, we just got high-speed at my house. *dances* *whoot!*)

Sooo, all my writing has to be done on my own personal computer - an old beat-up 199? desktop which I love dearly. It's not too powerful, but it will run "Deus Ex" and Age of Empires and its Microsoft Word program is flawless. I am content. When I get to college, I'm going to want a laptop because desktops aren't too portable. But for now, all is well.

Rewriting...

(Hey, before I get on a roll, I'd like to point out the new link on my link list: freerice.com... You go on and it tests your vocabulary. For every word you get right, they donate 20 grains of rice to end world hunger... It only takes a few minutes to get something like 500-600 grains. Do it on your break! Help a hungry person!)

Student elections were today. Voting was at lunch and results will be announced tomorrow. I'm running for president. We'll see what happens.

Finished chapter 2 and part of chapter 3 in my 2nd draft rewrite. *whoot* I seem to be on a roll with this rewriting thing. My New Year's resolution (might as well get ready now) is to finish my rough draft in '08.

Of course, that's while I am currently flying through butchered chapters. Sooner or later I am going to run into actual new writing that I haven't done a draft of before and that's where Writer's Block will rear its nasty little head.

Already I am getting into new writing. My elf's new storyline has been modified and so her first chapter involved a bit of new writing. Not much, and there will be only be a little bit more for a while to come, but it is a foreshadowing of events to come. Bane's entire life has been turned upsidedown and much rewriting is in store as well as a boat load of new writing.

But I am looking forward to it. After butchering 3 main viewpoint charactesr, I am left with only 3 left, which is a much easier number to deal with, as well as a much more managable amount of storylines to braid and connect. After all, a braid normally requires three strands anyway.

It certainly feels good to be able to sit down for an hour and churn out 4000 edited words in one go. It was certainly a rare occurence in my life before these But in the past few days, I had done this about 3 days of 5. Fabulous stuff that. And each chapter with an average of 7 pages. May not seem long, or may seem like the better part of a novel - depends on your writing style - but I even still may have to go back and add in such descriptions as settings, etc. Not many since I am trying out a minimalistic style with enough setting to describe mood and such and only the bare minimum of physical character descriptions. Think about William Goldman's "The Lord of the Flies" or Mark Twain's "Tom Sawyer." Enough character description is given to type the character (Piggy's glasses and weight) but nothing beyond that. Not that I claim to be the next Goldman or Twain, but I know that I at least have my own images of how the character should look, nevermind what the author says. So I decided to let my readers have free rein.

Wish me luck on my election...

I DO actually write...

Here’s the first of my 100 fic challenge series (see link at right): 100 Kinds of Mutts (needs a new title)

(the rest of the series may be found at my profile and works on Fictionpress)

My summary on Fictionpress: Set in a time when an elite class of soldier has been developed. They are perfect: superior to humans in nearly every way. Then one kills a human... and normality goes to hell...

written 11/16/07

001 – Beginnings

“Lidlum, the break room is supposed to be for breaks.”

Charles Lidlum looked up from the stack of folders before him. He smiled a little, pushing his glasses back onto his nose. Peter Scotts fell into a couch with a sigh. His long, spidery frame was bent awkwardly across the cushions. Lidlum was a little jealous. One of the youngest men ever to advance to his position and he still had to deal with short jokes. But Scotts was one of the good ones. The tall man waved his hand at the folders.

“Whatcha got all that in here for?”

“Looking for mistakes.” Lidlum squinted at the carbon copy he was holding. Whoever had written the original had atrocious handwriting and the smudged lines of the copy had made it even more illegible. Scotts laughed. He sounded tired.

“Don’t do it, Lidlum” He had pulled off his lab coat and bundled it under his head like a pillow. His sandy hair drifted over his face. Jealousy nipped at Lidlum again. Handsome was another thing he would never be. Not even if this all worked out the way it should.

“You’ll find one and there’ll be twenty more waiting to jump out and bite you in the ass,” Scotts concluded sagely, his arm draped over his face. Lidlum smiled, but it was a small smile. He had already noticed. For every successful outcome of an experiment, it seemed as though there had been a thousand failures.

He wasn’t interested in the successes: they had what they had. He wanted to make sure that they didn’t make the same mistakes again. Or anything similar. A repeat of the mouse incident would be the downfall of the company. They had warded off the media that time. Lidlum doubted they could do it again.

They had been trying to make mice smarter, so they had been manipulating together mouse and monkey brain DNA matter. It was working fine, except that there were some strange symptoms from the mice. Their toes were becoming prehensile and things like that. Then some idiot that wasn’t paying attention allowed an unauthorized breeding and the resulting embryo was a revolting mouse-monkey hybrid that would have killed its tiny mother had it not been aborted. The DNA mixing technique was declared unsatisfactory and it had been back to square one.

It was an example of carelessness and lack of foresight. Lidlum did not intend for it to happen again. Not with what he had in mind. Now, if only he could get someone to listen…

Life is tough...

With three current writing projects going on, and a fourth that I have to begin soon, plus a comic that I am revamping, I have a lot going on. Add that to highschool and you have a nice little mess. Why am I doing this to myself?

The answer is that I love writing. It is so important to me that I am willing to give up the time that should probably be spent studying or doing homework, and spend the effort to type thousands of words. At least I can type fast.

When I go to the library and lurk in the writing "how-to", publishing guides and grammar sections, I feel exposed - as though I am being watched all the time. It almost makes me feel as though I am doing something dirty. I don't know why. Maybe it's just because it is so different from everyone else... But I plan to change my attitude. I stride proudly into the aisle and emerge with armfuls of books.

Life is tough. Writing makes it tougher. Highschool is toughest. I'm already alive, so I might as well take on some challenges and be different. If everyone were the same, it would be a boring world.

A pox on dial-up and my scribbles...

Yes, I have dial-up Internet service... *gag*

Normally I am fond of the older methods of doing things - phone calls vs. text messaging, fork beating instead of an electric mixer, K'nex Legos and my writing vs. video games. But dial-up is the older, more nostalgic version of Internet service that should be tied up with duct tape, thrown down the stairs and burned at the stake.

Anyway, I am a little frustrated because I left my scribble copy (hard copy that I scribble revisions on in pencil) of "Ocean of Tears" (first book of Ocean of Fire) in my locker at school and so I had to write some scribbles on the hard copy of the chapters with my beta's comments. (*huggles Casey*) That kind of annoyed me, because now I am going to have to transfer those scribbles to my scribble copy so that they are all together in one hard copy. I made the mistake with an older project of having several scribble copies - most of them are lost now... No scribbles for my archives.

Now I am forced to do more scribbles on the beta copy for I feel compelled to do some kind of work and my computer is about to be used by my brother for computer games and so I cannot work on my chapter (I am planning on doing this draft entirely electronically - made the mistake one time of writing chapters on many different surfaces, not all of which made it back to my desk or into a folder... *fumes* Lots of rewrites... Then I had to type it all in anyway so that it was all in the computer... *gag*)

My lovely beta...

I have a beta. For those who don't know (of which there are a great number, so don't feel bad) a beta in writing is someone who informally looks over your work and edits it. It's like an editor, except they don't get paid. It is a very popular thing on Fictionpress and my writing group. (links to both to the right)

My beta is great. I am a beta for someone else and I am nowhere near as good to them as my beta is to me. I can basically point out character flaws and grammar, but they talk about the entire network of the story. I am trying to learn from them for my own betaing career, but it is difficult to live up to such high standards.

I was very fortunate. I sent out a request for a beta in my writing group and they happened to reply. They were the perfect beta for "Ocean of Tears" (of which the first draft is posted on my Fictionpress account) because before my editing spree (*hugs cleaver*) it was a complex braided storyline with 6 main characters - each with their own story to tell. They helped me realize many problems and pointed out no end of writing errors (I wrote most of it when I was younger - about two years ago - so my punctuation was not so good... I love my semi-colons) and had many suggestions as to voice, symbolism and style. Did I mention I love my beta?

And now I have begun my second draft - after much character and story slaughter. I e-mailed part of my first chapter to them, with questions as to whether or not it should be the first chapter, since it started out pretty dull and the style (written based on the character's own style, even though it is third person) was pretty choppy (I was afraid that readers would think that it reflected my usual writing style, which it does not - other characters in the story have different voices). They were brutal in denouncing it, but that is what I love about my beta. They are completely honest and tell it like it is. But they also are quick to praise my good things, in order to spare my feelings of despair in how atrocious a particular chapter might be.

Lovely, lovely, lovely... I love my beta.

I owe it all to you, Tolkien...

Yeah, yeah, it sounds corny and cliche. Who hasn't been touted as the "next Tolkien"? (not that I have) But in all honesty, I really do owe my first serious writing endeavor to him.

Way back when - I was 11 - I read "The Lord of the Rings" for the first time. It was pretty tough, let us say. But the two scenes that really stuck with me after that were the throwing of the heads into Minas Tirith and when Frodo awakes in the secret base to find Faramir standing over him, ready to take him to see Smeagol.

The first was just a scary image, but the second was the springboard of my writing career.

I had written things before as a little kid, but that scene just somehow piqued my muse. I wanted to write a serious story - one that would make people feel the way that I did when I first read that scene. So I did.

Or at least tried to do so. "The Sphere and the Singer" has long since fallen away into the realm of the bottom drawer, though I do intend one day to resurrect the characters for perhaps another project.

But that experience taught me much and now I am at it again with my latest project, "Ocean of Fire." I finished the rough draft on the 7th of September, 2007, and now I am beginning the 2nd draft. O.O

I am one of those people who have been classified as 'blank-pages', 'free-writers', and my own personal favorite (because I made it up): 'flighty writers.' I sit down, without any outlining beyond whatever idea was in my head, and I write. Outlines stifle me, I loathe character charts. I have to start with a blank sheet. Then I sit and write out the entire first draft: no cuts, no revision, no looking back. When I am finally done, I can look back... and usually gag. There are no end to the mistakes and other guck. So now I am diving back in, sleeves rolled up and hair pulled back, ready to tear that garbage out by the roots.

*dramatic silence*

It all began with character slaughter. Several main viewpoint characters fell before my mighty editing sythe of DOOM and story lines were hacked to pieces. Now I stand among the carnage and have to sweep the gore off of a place that I think is suitable to start again. From there, I will have to tunnel through the piles of shattered story material and find those remnants which are still salvagable.

I love this part. I can go through with the mighty red pen and with a single swipe, can delete entire scenes of nothingness and with a few scribbles, can flush a chapter with new life. So yeah, I am understandably excited... *quivers*

Happy Thanksgiving!

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone who celebrates it! And I hope that everybody everywhere else has a great day as well.

My family drove up to my grandmother's house today for dinner, but without me. I am not feeling well and a two hour trip in the car would have killed me. So I am sitting at home, finishing my mom's Christmas present, trying to deal with my crazy dog and watching "LadyHawke" with Matthew Brodrick in it.

Honestly, that is the only movie with him in it that I can stand. I just don't care for him in any other movies. I love his character in "LadyHawke." He's just so lovable. But in, say, "Godzilla," I wanted him to get stepped on.

I have this thing about movies with people getting eaten. Take the Jurrasic Park movies (I watched the first one today also). The kid always survives. Grrr... I wanted all of the kids in all three movies to get eaten. AND, they always eat the guy that I like. The Aussie in 1, I don't remember who in 2 and the short balding guy in black in 3, they all get eaten. I love those guys! Why eat them? But I am okay with Matthew being squashed in "Godzilla" but does that happen? Noooo...

*sigh* I'm pretty bored right now in all honesty. I think I will do laundry or rake leaves or something now...

Read...

I went to the library yesterday and then read something like four books last night. I was on a roll.

Two were excellent reads:

1. "Ghosting" by Jennie Edral. It's a memoir of a writer who wrote under someone else's name. (not like a pen name - the works would be attributed to another person.) It's really interested and has the most beautiful prose. It just felt liquid and airy.

2. "The Eyre Affair" by Jasper Fforde. My English teacher recommended it to me after I told her I had read "Jane Eyre." If you are going to read it, it is best to have read "Jane Eyre" first so you can fully appreciate what is going on, since it is kind of a retelling, but it is still a good read. It's the story of a special operations officer in an alternate universe where literature is taken EXTREMELY seriously. It reads something like "Alice in Wonderland" though not quite so Carrolian. I enjoyed it.

I highly recommend these books. I read a few other books, but they weren't quite as good and therefore not worth mentioning.

I'm getting a little frustrated with my computer. It has decided that it doesn't want to let me use my thumb drive to transfer a type-up of the beginning of my second draft to my other computer. *growl* So now I have to go and retype the section. Luckily it is only about 3 pages, but it is still pretty frustrating. Ah well, such is life, I suppose...

Long time no see...

Well, if you are from Writing.com, then hello and welcome to the new blogging face of the Gryphon. If not, hello to you from months of absence.

I'm sitting in study hall right now and I just wanted to work on this blog a bit before I go back to work on my writing. I'm working on a character profile for Meirzen (a character in my book "Ocean of Tears" which can be found on my FP profile) and am doing a primary story pitch for my comic that I decided to work on.

I started the comic a long time ago (about this time last year) and I am finally bringing it back to life. It is about a girl who is in a coma after having been in a car crash. Because she could either live or die, she is taken "in-between" while she waits for Life and Death to make their decision. There she meets a cast of characters based on the ancient Greek gods personified in animals, along with my own two characters of Fate and Fortune.

So yeah, I drew a bunch of it last year, but then I stopped for some reason (I think exams killed it) and it sat there, waiting for me. Looking over it, it needed some rethinking in the story department and I have restarted it. Yay! Maybe I'll find some way to put in online when I finish it. But that may be a while away, considering my time is also consumed with school work and writing other projects.

Anyway, nothing much more to say... Welcome to my blog!