Weekly Update: 9-3-16 Summer Triumphs and Sadness

Lost summer days are

dew drops evaporated,

stolen by the heat.  

Once again, I apologize for the lack of updates. For me to blog once a week requires discipline and some semblance of a schedule, both of which sort of collapsed somewhere amidst July and August. To be fair, I wasn't just sitting around, binge-watching episodes of Community and Murder She Wrote... at least not all the time. I did accomplish the following:

• I challenged myself to write 25,000 words (100 pages) in the first three days of July, as part of my Camp Nanowrimo goals. By doing almost nothing but writing from wake to sleep, I did this in 2 days.
• I finished up Camp Nanowrimo with 65,000 words.
• I read 10 books for Brea Library's Adult Summer Reading Program.
• I finished my final draft of Three Floating Coffins, which I then sent to Beta Readers.
• I completely re-worked my website: www.rebeccalangstories.com to make it more professional. 

But the strange thing is, although while sprinting toward a goal, I feel obsessed, possessed, can't-stop-addicted-like-a-person-watching-Netflicks-without-a-remote, once I achieve it, I feel... well, empty. Sad. As if all my energy has gone through a colander and now there's nothing left.

This feeling was especially prominent after a finished Three Floating Coffins, a 76,000 word novel I started back in 2012. When I finished, at about 11:00 AM on a Saturday, I felt a moment of elation and did a brief happy dance. And then my chest turned to stone and I started to feel more and more miserable. 

It was over. My story was no longer my own; I was releasing it into the world for judgement. I had to say goodbye to characters I'd been carrying with me for four years. I had no one to celebrate with. Simple "Congratulations!" didn't seem like enough. All the stuff I'd put off to finish story came rushing back to me. I stood alone in a hot, empty, messy house.

By 4:00 PM that same day, I was weeping.

But I talked with my friend and fellow writer Rita, and the next week, I went to my parent's house for the next week and got distracted baby-sitting my nephew. Then I slowly started looking at the writing, projects, and tasks I'd neglected. College started August 20th, so I had to prepare for that.

I think that writers--or at least, certain writers like me--can easily become obsessed with work and achievement. A little obsession can help meet goals, but goals can make you feel empty, so it's important to re-connect with people and go out and do something you enjoy. In a summer of doing stuff, I also:

• Spent the week of 4th of July  in Oceanside with my parents, walking the eroding beach, going to farmer markets, and visiting museums and gardens in or around San Diego
• Actually saw some movies: Zootopia, The Jungle Book, and Star Trek: Beyond. (Coincidentally, they all contain Idris Elba.)
• Attended 4 Shakespeare plays: Richard III (Griffith Park), Othello (Shakespeare by the Sea), Cymbaline (Shakespeare by the Sea), and  The Tempest (Griffith Park). Also saw the Pirates of the Penzance (OC Shakespeare) and heard a free jazz concert by Bria Skonberg (Redlands Bowl). 
• Baby-sat my nephew Tyson and went to a small local water park for his birthday.
• Rediscovered my love of cooking and card-making.

And so, with a roller coaster of events, achievements, and emotions, it was hard for me to sit down and blog. But as summer gives way to fall, I hope it will be easier to recommit to a schedule once again.

Weekly Update: 6-26-16: Shakespeare Season Begins

"Hunchback'd toad," they all did groan,

but Richard kept his face a grin.

He quick consumed his tadpole kin 

and leapfrogged up the British throne.

Free at Griffith Park

Life Update: It's Shakespeare season. Yesterday, my father, my friend Rita, and I attended the opening performance of Richard III as acted by the Independent Shakespeare Co. at Griffith Park. (Performances are free and run throughout the summer.) Although more traditional than other adaptions of Shakespearean plays done by this company,  Richard III included some fun modern-day twists, such as  a background track of electric guitar riffs and a montage of Richard shaking hands and kissing babies before ascending to the throne in a burst of confetti. The play took place in the evening. In the afternoon, Dad, Rita, and I visited the Getty Center, a ginormous (and free) LA art museum, where we viewed the Romantic landscapes of Rousseau, admired 18th century French furniture, and ambled through the beautiful gardens.

Getty Sculpture or the Isle of Lost Souls?

Writing Update: One of the rock sculptures at The Getty reminded me of the Isle of Lost Souls, a barren rock where sailors are shipwrecked by a sea dragon in the children's fantasy book I'm writing called Three Floating Coffins. Purely by coincidence, I happened to be editing the very chapter where the Isle of Lost Souls was introduced just a few days earlier. I wanted to edit my Coffins novel before Nanowrimo takes hold next week. In two weeks, I finished editing 3 chapters and got about halfway through 2 more. It's progress, I suppose, but I wish it wouldn't take so long. I'd really like to get Three Floating Coffins done by the end of summer, but between Nanowrimo, college, and all the Shakespeare days I'm taking, I've no idea how I will finish it all.

 Summer Tip: The Huntington Library is an awesome, awesome combination of museum and gardens. (I've written about it here.) Unfortunately, it's a bit expensive, with tickets costing up to $25. Fortunately, the museum has a monthly free day--the first Thursday of the month. Unfortunately, there is a limited amount of people who can enter, so you need to order tickets in advance. Tickets can be ordered on the website and printed at home. Tickets for July are already "sold out," but you can reserve up to 5 tickets for August 4th, starting from July 1st, 9:00 am. See website for details.

Weekly Update: 9-8-15 Tragedies, Shakespearian and Otherwise

This week might have been a tragedy.

Hermoine, my aunt's the Sheltie/ German Shepherd mix, had been hobbling and limping the previous week, looking as pitiful as could be. They took her to the vet, and the vet said that her disks were fusing together and pinching a nerve. My aunt and uncle spoke of putting her down by the end of the week.

Even though Hermoine isn't technically my dog, I'd lived with my aunt and uncle for roughly four years, during which time I'd formed a strong bond with the dog. I had petted Hermoine and brushed her long fur and walked her and used her as an eager garbage disposal for my leftovers. The thought of losing her cast a depressing pall over my week.

Fortunately, as we steadily administered medicine, we saw Hermoine become more energetic. Her slight limp didn't stop her from jogging up to us at the slightest sound of food. My aunt and uncle decided that, even though her medical problems hadn't gone away, she didn't seem to be in too much pain. So, for now at least, the decision to put her down has been delayed. For how long, I don't yet know, but I'm much relieved.

There's still life in this old dog yet.

* * *

"I hate Shakespeare," said twelve year old me, who had never even attempted to read it. "All those fancy, pretentious words. And what's with Romeo and Juliet falling in love and killing themselves over it? That's the worst play. Maybe MacBeth might be interesting, but Romeo and Juliet? Yuck."

Ah, irony.

It gets you in the end.

This Sunday, I went to see Romeo and Juliet in Griffith Park--of my own free will. Actually, that's too mild a phrase. I canvassed to see it. I dragged my parents to see it.  And I enjoyed it. Mushy stuff and all. The production was really well done. The actor playing Mercutio wrung humor out of the famously long-winded "Queen Mab" speech, and the actress playing Juliet captured the vulnerability of a young girl.

I've begun to appreciate Shakespeare in my old age. I don't think Shakespeare was pretentious--I think that five centuries of changing language makes his stuff difficult to read. But if you can get past that, the man knew how to write. Love, sex, violence, drama, humor, poetry--he could do it all. It's funny how reading his plays can still shock me--me, a jaded Millenial from the Internet age. 

Take King Lear, for instance, which I read for the first time in August. In one scene, an old man's eyes are gouged out. On stage. My mouth hung open. For some reason, we expect our classics to be clean and civilized. But read any Shakespeare tragedy, and blood will sput like an anime sword cut.

Was Shakespeare the anime of it's time?

Shakespeare is a great thing when I want to feel smart, but I don't want to be bored or expend that much effort at reading.  So far, I've read Romeo and Juliet, Julius Caesar, MacBeth, The Taming of the Shrew, Othello, A Midsummer's Night Dream, Much Ado About Nothing, King Richard III, The Merchant of Venice, Hamlet, As You Like It, The Tempest, and King Lear. (I've also seen The Merry Wives of Windsor and Twelfth Night.)  This looks good and impressive, but it's not even half of what he wrote. 

Should I attempt to read all Shakespeare's work?

Hm...

I still need to finish Jane Austen and Agatha Christie. But it does seem like a fun goal. Let's see, if I read three plays a year, I'll get through all of them in, hm, seven years or so? Wow. That's a lot of work. Guess I'd better get reading.
 

Tragedies

Comedies

 

Histories

Weekly Update: I'm Back!

Two months without a post. I've guess I've got some explaining to do.

I'm in trouble now.

I didn't actually intend to abandon the blog. It's more like it got pushed out of the way. After all the stress of publishing and launching my first book gave way, I just sort of collapsed. Mentally, not physically. I needed a break... and it just ended up being longer than I intended.

Plus, I was busy with other things.

You may scoff, You're a substitute, you don't work over the summer, how could you possibly be busy?

Let me reassure you, I find ways.

What I've Been Doing This Summer

Launch Party

You have no idea how stressed I was about this party.

School had pretty much ended the week before the launch, but I spent every single day either rehearsing my speech or figuring logistics or trying to get people to come. I was so nervous. Speaking in public isn't frightening to me (I'm a sub, I talk to strangers everyday), but I don't like having to talk about myself. Worse still, I was going to read a chapter of my book, which made me feel insanely vulnerable.

Reading doesn't usually terrify me, but in this case...

Fortunately, I had tons of support from family and friends. Before I even got to the library, members of the Brea Library Writer's Club had set up tables with beautiful book centerpieces, flowers, and balloons. They helped me as I ran around like a chicken with my head cut off, trying to greet people and put food on the table. Eventually, though it was time to begin.

A light, funny trivia game helped break the ice and then I gave a speech about why I had chosen to write this book and some of the obstacles I faced while writing it. Then, it was time to read. My heart pounded, but my voice--which had practiced reading for the last few days--came out smooth. I could hear everyone listening and that gave me confidence.

They applauded after I finished. That means they liked it, right?

After the reading, I signed books and we had a raffle. It was a little surreal, sitting at the author's table and trying to wrap my head around the fact that... well, I was, am, an author.

How funny. You'd think I'd be more prepared for that moment.

Thanks to Helen McCarthy and Kaleo Welborn, who helped plan and set up the event, Rita Haney and Ned Rodriguez for manning the sales tables, Sean Krinik for taking pictures, my cousin Kevin Ishizu for mc-ing, and the many, many people who chipped in for snacks and refreshments and who helped set up and clean up. Thanks, too, to Brea Library, for graciously agreeing to host my event. I really could not have done it without you!

Thanks to Sean Krinik's awesome photos, I look like a real writer.

For those who missed it, I have an Author Talk coming up on Saturday, August 22nd at the Brea Library 11AM.

Critique Partners

I already have, not one but two, critique groups: The Brea Library Writer's Club and the OC Inklings. But I wanted to try something new, just for the summer. Instead of having a large group, I wanted to work more intensely with a few individuals and get a deeper level of feedback. So I teamed up with Rita and Carmen from the Brea Library Writer's Club, and we began to meet every Sunday at Panera.

What critique partners turned into

It wasn't exactly what I expected. For one thing, we soon ended up spending an average of 6 hours, from lunch to dinner, going over our work. We began to move from the usual critique to brainstorming to helping each other plan out chapters to setting goals together and asking each other for encouragement and accountability. It's been an interesting journey, but so far, lots of fun.

Summer Reading

When you get bitten by the bookworm, there's no stopping you. And when your library offers a raffle for reading 10 books by August 1st, well that's practically daring you to drop everything and read.
 

 Here's my list:

Believe it or not, I finished 4 of these books in a single day.

• The Underland Chronicles, Books 1-5 by Suzanne Collins
• Inkheart by Cornelia Funke
• The Red Bikini and Ten Good Reasons by Lauren Christopher
• The Five Languages of Apology by Gary Chapman and Jennifer Thomas
• The Five Love Languages of Teenagers by Gary Chapman 
• I Thought We'd Never Speak Again by Laura Davis
• Mom Still Likes You Best by Jane Isay
• What Money Can't Buy by Michael J Sandel
• Knowing Where the Fountains Are by Kevin Cwayna
• The Faith Club by Suzanne Oliver, Ranya Idliby, and Priscilla Warner

Some of the books I bought, some I found lying on my bookshelf, some I borrowed from the library on a whim, some I found on my dad's bookshelf and read them to avoid actually doing work. It's an eclectic bunch of books, but I enjoyed most of them. They are now going to the compost heap that is my brain.

You want to know the saddest thing. This isn't even half the books on my reading list.
 
Organization

Gah! This was tedious and boring!

It took this many folders to contain my work.

Basically, this was the monumental task of shuffling through all my writing and trying to fit it into a new system of organization. This means various drafts of various manuscripts, agent information, articles on writing and publishing, financial records, formatting information, contracts... argghh! It was a mess.
 
Moving on.

Plays 

So, unfortunately, no summer vacation for me. Boo hoo. But to make up for it, I went to various plays over the summer, and since they were free, it gave my wallet a feeling of relief.

One of my two favorite plays was the Phantom of the Opera, which took place at the Pantages Theater in LA. It was free only due to a technicality: my aunt got tickets for her birthday and brought me along. I shudder to think how much it actually cost.

Special effects like this cost money!

The Pantages was absolutely stunning--gilded to the ceiling and a perfect fit for Phantom. Apparently, the production had more special effects than ever before, like steps that moved out of the side of the building, creating a staircase where before was only brick wall. I thought the singing was beautiful and swept me up in the story.

After the play, I promptly purchased a soundtrack and began bursting into song at random intervals. My aunt probably regrets taking me.

 My other favorite play was Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing, put on by the Independent Shakespeare Co at Griffith Park, and this really was free, although they do ask for donations. My cousins and I spread out a blanket to save a spot, wasted an hour exploring the graffiti-painted ruins of the old LA zoo, and then dove into our picnic baskets of spam musubi, cold KFC, mandarin oranges, pretzels, and popcorn.

Unlike the traditional version, this is set at the end of WWII

I really cannot say enough how much fun this was. The performance was so funny you forgot it was cultural. One of the favorite parts was when the reluctant lovebirds Benedick and Beatrice, in order to better eavesdrop on their friends conversation, went into the audience and attempted to blend in with the crowds. Performances are still going on until Labor Day, so if you have a free weekend, go see it.

I also saw the musical play of Mary Poppins presented by the Redlands Bowl Summer Music Festival, which was great, except that we came late and got really, really bad seats, and The Tempest put on by Shakespeare by the Sea, which was more traditional Shakespeare. The Tempest was good, but I saw it right after Much Ado About Nothing, and the Griffith Park play emerged victorious.

But again, free plays, summer outdoor fun, cultural experience. Have a picnic, get entertained, feel smarter. How can you lose?

Writing

Of course, writing.

I didn't want to work on the tale I'm currently calling Isra and the Grim Fish, a story about a girl forced into a cave for a crime she didn't commit, where the only source of water is a pool full of skeletal grim fish, which will snatch her into the depths if she so much as touches her--or would, if Isra weren't prepared with magic of her own.

In my imagination, the cave looks something like this.

I didn't want to work on it, and I didn't want it to be so long--some 30,000 words, at this point, almost the size of a novel. But the story wanted to be told and my critique partners yelled at me to bring them more, so I write, and hopefully, I'll be finished with it soon.

I did want to work on Three Floating Coffins, the fairy-tale-like story of three princess caught in a web of family secrets, magic, and betrayal. It took a little while to get going, but I have the prologue done and I've been working on revising 6 middle chapters, so it's a good start.

The graffiti represents the inner workings of my brain.

For the first time, I actually completed Nanowrimo in July. Now I have 50,000 words added to Draft Two of The Originals, the sequel to The Changelings.

Book Review: The Tempest

Title: The Tempest
Author: William Shakespeare
Genre: Play, Comedy, Fantasy, Classics

Summary

Once upon a time, Prospero was the Duke of Milan, a man of peace and learning. But he neglected the duties of government, turning them over to his greedy brother Antonio, who desired to be ruler in name as well as action. Conspiring with the King of Naples, Antonio stripped Prospero of his dukedom and set him afloat on a rickety boat with his baby daughter Miranda, hoping they'd sink into the ocean and die.

Twelve years later, Antonio and the King of Naples find themselves on an unhappy sea voyage of their own. Returning from the wedding of the king's daughter, they encounter a tempest of such ferocity it threatens to tear the ship in half. But this storm is not what it seems. In his exile on a strange magical isle, Prospero has mastered sorcery, ensnaring powerful spirits to do his bidding. It is he who has created the tempest. But now that he has his enemies in his power, will he exact his revenge? Or are there other schemes he has in mind?

Review

Shakespeare delivers the storm all right.

The tempest springs at us from the very first page of the play. The wind howls, the ship cracks, the crew screams, and one beleaguered boatswain tries to hold everything together. It is a scene of high action and drama. Yet Shakespeare still has time for comedy. The nobles chose this particular moment to traipse on deck and demand to see the captain. When the boatswain indelicately tells them to get out of the way and let him work, some of the nobles (Antonio, hint, hint) start cussing him out like... well, a sailor. Gorgeously lewd insults go flying right up until the ship seemingly breaks and everyone flies into a panic.

Miranda watches the storm

In the space of about three pages, Shakespeare shows why he's a master writer, combining action, drama, and comedy in an opening scene that hypnotizes the audiences. It's just too bad he couldn't maintain that level of skill. The tempest is actually the highest point of action in the entire play. It could almost be considered the climax--except it happens on page 1.

It didn't have to be this way. In the calm that follows the storm, Shakespeare sets up three different plot-lines. Ferdinand, the king's son, has gotten separated from the rest of the nobles. He sees Miranda and falls in love. But Prospero is determined to challenge that. Meanwhile, the King of Naples is stricken with grief, thinking his son dead. While he makes search of the isle, Antonio calculates that if king and son are dead, there may be an opening on Naples' throne. At the same time, Caliban, the disgruntled slave of Prospero, wants to murder his master and seizes the first opportunity he gets.

Prospero does not approve of Ferdinand

All these plot-lines should have twisted into a perfect pretzel of warm, delicious conflict. Instead, they fizzle and fall flat, like a weary, half-filled two-liter soda bottle three days after a party.

I blame Prospero. The magician is too powerful. His spirits overrun the island, and very little escape their eyes. Still, this wouldn't have been a problem if his character, which started off so dominating, had retained just a little bit of that backbone.

There must have been a deleted scene, halfway through the play, where Prospero hears from one of the spirits that he's only got 24 hours to live. Suddenly, he starts making nice with everyone, forgiving characters that don't need forgiving, and wrapping everything up. By the end of the play, a character who started off chastised powerful spirits is reduced to begging the audience for the applause.

Ariel, one of the many spirits Prospero captures

That's not to say there's nothing to like about The Tempest. The setting is fantastic. The island is a place of wild and strange beauty, where spirits roam free and visions appear. It sparks the imagination. The characters also have potential. Prospero, brought down for being too negligent, reinvents himself as a controlling, powerful wizard. His daughter Miranda, who has grown up with no memory of the world outside the island, has her first encounter with humanity. Caliban--well, I could do a whole rant about him. (And I will.)

The potential was there. Shakespeare just wasted it. Sigh. This is the kind of story that makes me want to write torrents of fanfiction, just to plug up the plot holes and come up with my own, more satisfying conclusion.

Rant

The first fanfiction I'd write would center on Caliban. No question about it.

Who is Caliban?

Caliban is the illegitimate son of a deceased witch. That much is clear. What happened next is a matter of opinion. According to Caliban, he was meant to be the rightful ruler of the island until
Prospero tricked him, made him his servant, and confined him to one lonely cave. Prospero claims he raised the orphan Caliban as a son and tried to educate him.

Whichever side you take, the relationship went south when Prospero caught Caliban attempting to "violate the honor" of his beloved daughter, which, according to a modern day translation, means he tried to rape her. Now, watched night and day by Prospero's spirits, Caliban is forced to carry firewood and do other menial tasks. Should he work too slow or complain too bitterly, Prospero will call upon those spirits to deal him a thousand torturous ailments.

As a writer, I can't help but think that Shakespeare created Caliban to fulfill one specific purpose: to make damn sure that the former Duke of Milan and his beautiful daughter didn't have to do one lick of housework. After all, how could we maintain the illusion of the nobles being noble if they had to do chores like the rest of us? (At one point, Ferdinand, the King of Naples' son, is made to carry firewood for half a day and the ways he moans and complains, you'd think he'd been tasked with the Seven Labors of Hercules.) Prospero can ensnare spirits, but, being spirits, they can't interact with the physical world. And thus Caliban is needed.

Is Caliban a monster?

But Shakespeare couldn't have the audience actually feeling sorry for the guy, so he threw at Caliban as many horrible characteristics as would stick. His mother is an evil witch. He's a bastard. He's presumably deformed and smells like a fish. And just in case all these things don't show him to be the bad guy, Shakespeare had him do the one thing that cannot be forgiven: try to rape Miranda.

But now he's gone too far, because there's no way a loving father would allow a rapist to live in the same house his virginal daughter. Still.... someone has to bring in the bloody firewood! Fortunately, Prospero controls powerful magic spirits and orders them to watch Caliban every moment of the day. If Caliban should be lazy or utter an unkind word, the spirits will wrack his body with all sorts of hell-pains. And since Caliban is the bad guy, no one can complain.

Is Caliban evil?

As a modern reader, I find this oddly reminiscent of George Orwell's 1984. Caliban is monitored day and night by an oppressive authority figure; the slightest sign of insolence will get him hooked up to the pain machine, so to speak. Yet unlike Winston, he shows considerable spirit, staring his master in the eye and insulting him to his face. Even Caliban's desire to murder Prospero can be seen as an act of rebellion.

But however sympathetic I am to Caliban's current situation, you can't say he's a good guy; he tried to rape Miranda, after all. The thing is, we don't know anything about the attempted assault. Kindly remember that Miranda's the only female on the island. Maybe Caliban expected her to be his wife; when Prospero refused the union, Caliban took matters into his own hands.

Or maybe it wasn't rape at all. Maybe they genuinely fell in love. Yes, Caliban is described as a monster, but what if the Italians who described him were racist and deciphered his weirdness to be ugly? Of course, Miranda says she hates Caliban, but what if she's just saying that to please her father? What if he's shamed her into thinking that loving this man is wrong? Or, taken a step further, what if the spirits her father employed altered her memory?

Is Caliban misunderstood?

And now you begin to see what I mean about fanfiction? I could easily come up with 4 or 5 scenarios that makes Caliban, if not the good guy, at the very least a Byronic hero. And that's just the backstory. What happens to him after the play, when Prospero releases the spirits and Caliban is finally free? We're left to wonder...

Weekly Update: 4-18-15 Reading and Writing

My proofs came the day after Easter.

The beautiful book feels hefty in my hand. It's real. It's an actual object with my words inside. Granted, it's not the final copy. I still have to go through it one final time for spelling and grammar errors, as well as making some minor changes to the cover.

But having it makes it seem much more urgent for me to get everything ready for the big June release date. My Brea Library Writer's Group has talked to me about throwing a launch party, which I think would be a nice way to celebrate my accomplishment, as well as dip my toe into promotion. I've never even been to a launch party before, let alone thrown one, so this is all very new to me. I'm drawing on my support system, by asking other writers how they throw launch parties and by recruiting people in my writer's club to help me.

* * *

April is Camp Nanowrimo, which means I'm once again tackling 50,000 new words in the space of a month. As per usual, I spent the month before brainstorming and had a vague outline of where I wanted the story to go. Normally, I just use the time to write out sections of The Originals, the sequel to The Changelings. But this month, I decided to try something new with Counterfeit Diamond.

Counterfeit Diamond: When an earthquake causes a tower to collapse, Edda, a poor native urchin, discovers a magical diamond that changes her appearance. Re-creating herself as Diamond, she's able to blend in with the wealthy foreign merchants. But a talking raven knows her secret. Set in magical version of late 18th century Indonesia.

The first week was agony. The second week was a massive pain in the rear end. I was consumed by doubts. Despite having researched the setting on and off since summer, I still felt like I had no idea what I looking at and felt the urge to start researching with a vengeance. Also, the beginning rambled on too long and dealt with themes like racism and colonialism, that nobody wanted to read about, and I didn't particularly want to write about. I couldn't figure out the action scenes. I hadn't developed the raven character. It was all a mess. I could see in my mind the story sucking up all my time, never finding an audience, and being a terrible disaster.

Then, this week, it inexplicably got easier. Maybe it was because, after boat loads of set-up, I finally got to the good part or maybe I just let go of expectations. I'm at about 33,000 words, right where I need to be, and I have no idea where the story is going, but that's not the point. I stopped angsting and just wrote and it seemed to get easier after that.

* * *

Or maybe Shakespeare helped me to write.

Preparing for this summer's Shakespeare by the Sea production schedule, I decided to read The Tempest. Well, that was part of the reason for reading it. I was also feeling stupid, which is a natural hazard when you sub for high school students. I kept thinking, back when I was in high school, in addition to reading all the assigned books, I found time to squeeze in classics like Dracula, Wuthering Heights, Lost Horizon, The Ox-Box Incident, The Man and the Iron Mask, and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. And what had I read this year? Practically nothing.

Disgraceful.

Reading put me in a dreamy mood. I wanted to write Shakespeare fanfiction and I did (oddly, about Romeo and Juliet). Initially, I felt guilty for dropping my preordained writing schedule and indulging in a spontaneous flight of fancy. But I think Shakespeare re-wired my brain, because after that, I became more focused and passionate about my writing and the rest of the week proceeded smoothly and productively.

Book Review: Ophelia

Title: Ophelia
Author: Lisa Klein
Genre: YA, Historical Fiction, Romance, Fan Fiction

Summary

A motherless girl, neglected by her father, grows up to become the queen's favorite and catches the eye of the handsome young prince. It would be a fairy tale--if it weren't a tragedy.

Elsinore is a web of deceit, plots, madness, and betrayal, and young Ophelia soon becomes caught in the middle of it. But this maid of flowers isn't as passive and innocent as she seems. As her beloved Hamlet becomes consumed by the thought of vengeance, Ophelia faces a choice. Will she bind herself to her beloved's fate? Or will she steer her own destiny?

Review

William Shakespeare's Hamlet is a tricky play to figure out. So much depends on how you interpret the characters. I, personally, found Ophelia to be obedient, idealized, and boring--right up until she goes crazy and kills herself. But, as Lisa Klein says, "If Ophelia was so dim, what on earth made Hamlet fall in love with her?"

In this reinterpretation, Ophelia is an equal of Hamlet, every bit as capable of witty wordplay and deceit. Lisa Klein makes good use of events leading up to the play and the things that happen "between the scenes" to flesh out her character and twist the plot. Though Hamlet remains essentially mysterious, his feelings toward Ophelia are clear.

Other supporting characters, on the other hand, get less characterization. Laertes, despite being Ophelia's brother, is hardly present. Horatio, an important character, acts stoic and doesn't express much emotion. Queen Gertrude is lovingly portrayed, but a key question--why she married Claudius--remains unanswered.

The world is believable and well-formed. Klein manages to retain the flavor of Shakespeare's language while keeping it understandable to a modern audience. One of my favorite parts came during the courtship phase, when Hamlet and Ophelia banter suggestively like any romantic couple in a Shakespeare comedy.

Now, I don't think I'm giving much away when I say that Ophelia doesn't die. One major hint is the fact that it's written in first person point of view. Also, a quick glance at the prologue reveals that she's alive to receive news of Hamlet's death. While leading up to the tragedy, the story is fun and vibrant, having the full force of Shakespeare's plot behind it. After the tragedy, the story drags.

The last 100 pages introduces new characters, new settings, and new conflicts, but there doesn't seem to be much of a point to any of it. The string of incidents very loosely continues the themes madness and the unfair double standard of men and women. I had an inkling of how Ophelia might get a happy ending, but I had to wait until the epilogue to have it confirmed and the one brief scene just didn't satisfy me.

So basically, if you skip the final 100 pages and read the epilogue, you'll be fine. I think, on the whole, it's an interesting interpretation and a fine companion to Hamlet.

Travelogue: Newport Beach

What: Shakespeare by the Sea

Where: Newport Beach

When: Saturday, July 19th 

Introduction

It's funny. As a child, when I thought Shakespeare was the worst thing anyone could read. (Little did I know of Milton and Melville.) I never thought, as I grew older, I'd come to appreciate the action, the drama, and, yes, even the language. I never thought I'd seek out performances of the bard's musty 400-year-old play.

But that's what happened.


Opening Scene of Hamlet

Shakespeare by the Sea is a nonprofit organization that provides free summer performances throughout Southern California.  The word "free" caught my ears. This year, they were showing Hamlet at Newport Beach, and I was so excited I actually went out and read the play. I'd somehow missed it in high school. (Though I made up for it by reading MacBeth twice.) 

I recruited my friend Ashley for the day trip, and we packed the trunk with blankets, cushions, and an honest-to-God wicker basket complete with red-and-white checkered cloth. The play didn't start until 7:00 pm, so we had the whole day to play. Ashley closed the trunk. I whipped out my maps.

Woods

 



Desert Flowers

Upper Newport Bay Preserve is a boomerang bend of river ambling through the city. Natural wildlife grows tangled around the water. As we stepped out of the car, we were blasted by the scent of desert sage. The sky heavy with clouds, giving the air that just-about-to-rain aroma that mingled so pleasantly with the herbs. Swooping green ferns and cauliflower white flowers sprinkled with paprika sat along the curb.

Brightly-colored joggers, dog-walkers, cyclists, and even some equestrians trampled the tar road. We preferred to stoop into the rough trails of the overgrowth. We followed  dirt paths to the river and saw sandpipers pecking in the wet dirt. But there were also signs of human life: hobbit-hole shelter made of branches, graffiti on trees, a broken American flag. But when Ashley found a sleeping bag, we figured we'd gone too far into someone's camp and quickly headed for safer ground.

Most likely, we weren't supposed to climb the trees, but we did. We found a sociable tree with low, accommodating branches. When I sat in the center of its trunk, I felt like a forest queen upon my leafy throne. But there was also a haunted tree. That's what I called it. It looked black and dead, and its thick canopy blocked out the sun. When we stood underneath the branches, the humidity was sucked away and the temperature dropped. The wind began to blow. I wasn't scared, but I didn't feel like climbing that tree.

At home in a tree

 

Beach

After lunch at Veggie Grill, Ashley and I went off to look for a free beach--a more complicated undertaking first supposed. We finally came to Corona Del Mar and spent a good half hour circling a residential block, waiting for a patch of curb to open up.

Corona Del Mar

The beach greeted us with the briny, rotting smell of the ocean. Little sandflies swarmed the drying brown kelp. The shore was packed with families. As the tide pulled in, little kids ran toward the sea, and when the wave crashed, they turned and hightailed it back to dry sand.  Ashley and I played a similar game of chicken, walking the line between wet and dry, hoping stray waves wouldn't swamp our ankles.

They did. They were cold.

The houses near our car were gorgeous. They were full of windows and colors and each had a different style: mission, old Victorian, modern abstract. I stopped to take pictures, which turned out to be a good thing, since that's how we found Little Corona Del Mar, a quieter beach with its own tide pool.

It was about 4:00 and high tide, so there wasn't much to find. Even so, I picked up muscle shells with the most dazzling cobalt blue insides. (I put them back on the sand, since we weren't allowed to take anything home.) I also saw dead sea urchins in various states of decomposition. Some were moist and covered with purple spikes, others were brittle and green. All had a hole in the bottom where a seabird had sucked the life out of it.



Colorful houses by the beach

Play

We came to Bonita Canyon Sports Park a full two hours early, mostly because we'd run out of budget-conscious activities. It turned out to be a good thing. Even though shirtless actors were still assembling the stage, a good eight rows of families were already spread out on the grass. Ashley and I staked out our patch of park, and spread out our dinner. We ate vegan cookies, cherries, a peanut butter sandwich (just me), and kettle corn. Yum.

Ashley Models Picnic Basket

Why do people still like Shakespeare? That's the question the city coordinator asked the crowd while we waited for the show. The language is almost indiscernible. But I think that can work to the play's advantage. An actor can't stand on the stage and rely on words to carry the audience through. They need to act--to move, to gesture, to scream, to cry. 

The actor who played Hamlet got that. He was all of the place in the best of ways. At the line, "for you, yourself, sir, should be old as I am, if, like like a crab, you could go backwards" he actually hunched down and scuttled back.

I must admit, when I read Hamlet, I didn't really get the main character. I found him odd and unsympathetic. Much is made about Hamlet feigning madness, but he never actually soliloquies that this is his plan. For all I could tell, he really was crazy and Claudius was secretly the hero for trying to get rid of him.

But seeing the actor's masterful performance gave me a better understanding of the character. I caught glimpses of the noble, pleasant Hamlet that must have existed before his father's death. Alone, he seemed to be grieving and depressed, but around others, he overcompensated by forcing a merriness that occasionally erupted into torrents of anger. I could see how this could be construed as madness.


Hamlet tormented by the ghost

At the end of the show, the coordinator revealed we had a crowd of 1500 people. Wow. We stumbled through the dark toward our car. Poor Ashley. For the next few hours, she had to listen to me rant about Shakespeare like a misguided fangirl.