Metacognition: Jane Eyre Mashup

I don't get it. I don't get it. I just don't get it. AHHH!!!!

These were my thoughts when Mr. Allen first introduced the mashup project to us. I searched for clarification everywhere, I reread the prompt multiple times, asked my peers, and even sat down to ask Mr. Allen a few questions, and still nothing. But I chose a topic: Independence, simply because it seemed to be the topic I could most relate to; I strive to be as independent and self-dependent as possible.

So I collected every piece of information I could. I collected every angle, definition, picture, quote, article, anything and everything that had to the slightest thing to do with independence.

After that, I talked to Mr. Allen, and found out that this project wasn't just about independence, it was about independence AND Jane Eyre, and how she viewed being independent. Okay, now that made sense.

So I threw it all away. I restarted and this time focused on Jane, but I was still confused. But instead of becoming frustrated with my confusion, I used it to my advantage. I had so many questions and all the tools to answer them.

I wrote down every question I had, and found all the answers within Jane Eyre, and other literature and media. Now that I had cleared up my confusion, I imagined myself teaching someone else about all of this. How could I best organize everything I had learned, and still make it creative?

Boom. Flash. I once found a quote that says, "My mind works like lightning. One brilliant flash and it is gone." And that's how I came up with the concept of drawing my project. Youtube stars have been doing this thing called "Draw my Life," recently, where they draw the story of their life on a whiteboard, and then narrate over it. And it is SOO COOL! I wanted to entertain and teach my audience just like these people had.

So I bought the white board, set up the camera, and began. And it was tedious, and it was boring, and you really don't want to hear about it. But the finished product? Well, to be honest, I'm pretty damn proud of it. There are a few mistakes, and it most definitely isn't perfect, but this project was really an experiment for me, and I'd say it payed off.

Looking back, at first I was most definitely skeptical of the mashup. It seemed like I would need to force myself to think about Jane Eyre too much, but really, I learned a lot about myself, feminism and individualism along the way too, and I genuinely enjoyed it. I think the best part was that I got to let my creative side shine more than I would be able to in an essay, or a test. And being stuck is just part of the process. I've said this before and I'll say it again, "Inspiration, then perspiration." Sure, I definitely put effort and hard work into this project, but I was also very inspired, which made it easy and fun.

HERE IT IS!!!

Metacognition: The Attic

It ain't my best work, but at least I did work.

But seriously. I tried, I really did, but I'll admit that my short story didn't exactly end up the way I wanted it to.

I am lucky enough to live in a family that is the complete opposite of the one in my story. My parents are happily married and almost never fight, I have a decent relationship with my Mom and Dad and I've never been to in my attic but I've heard it's really creepy. 

However, I do think of running away an awful lot. And because of this I tried to create a setting and plot that forced my main character to run away. I wanted to put her in an awful situation and make her realize that the only solution to her inner and outer turmoil was to run away.

Whenever I think of running away I think about how I was young, I would always put my stuffed animals, some money, and a shirt into a blanket, tied it together, throw it over my shoulder and set off down the street. And my older sisters would always run and catch me and bring me back home. Running away doesn't have to mean physically going away though, it can also mean mentally and emotionally sending yourself to another world. That's what music and sports do for me, they send me to another place with no people and no problems.

That is where the Attic came in. I could see it in my head. Auburn walls, a round window under a tilted roof, squeaky floors, lamps to create a warm light at night. I'd always wanted a little home like that for myself and so I created it for my character instead. She just needed a reason to go there.

So I gave her a reason. I gave her shitty parents, a little sister, and eternal anger at her situation. And a gun, but that comes a little later. And when you're a teenager like she is, and you want to leave your house so badly but have absolutely no way to do that, you find something else. Like an attic. 

Maybe the reason I am trying to hard to relate to my character but can't is because we have no similarities at all. My situation is most definitely not her situation. But, when she is in the attic, I know exactly how she is feeling. We are the same person, with the same needs. We want to leave and we want to leave now. The attic may seem like such a small part in my story but it the save haven, the place of peace, and my characters only true home.

And I tried hard to make that evident. And if it isn't evident than at least I tried. I'll admit this isn't my best work, but I needed to challenge myself and this was the only way I could. I've written enough stories and songs that I completely understand, and this time I wanted to be a bit lost, along with my readers. Jack White, one my favorite musicians, think the same way. He believes he has to defeat the music in order to make it sound good. I wanted to defeat my story, work against its tendencies and tame it, bring it in. Like Jack White would say, “I keep guitars that are, you know, the neck's a little bit bent and it's a little bit out of tune. I want to work and battle it and conquer it and make it express whatever attitude I have at that moment. I want it to be a struggle.”

Yea, Mr. Allen, it might not be my best work, but at least I tried. 

It Matters: The R Word

LOVE.

Otherwise known as the L-Bomb. Love, at least to teenagers, is something to be afraid of. I'll admit that I'm scared of the word myself. I do not particularly enjoy letting anyone play with my heart, if I even let them into it at first. Those 4 letters can be scary, especially when arranged in that particular order.

We've started exploring the idea of love recently in English. We started watching Once, one of my favorite movies EVER, and we are also reading Jane Eyre. Love is a topic that everyone in class has an opinion on, and we can barely get through a small discussion about it because everyone wants to chime in. The movie Once is an unusual love story, driven around music (FANTASTIC music). It is very interesting, and completely out of the ordinary. Both of the main characters are lonely, and enjoy the company of each other. As far as we've gotten in Jane Eyre, it is obvious that she is lonely as well. Jane is almost always locked up in the nursery with no one to care or love for her.

We also recently just finished learning about European imperialism in Africa in World History, along with reading Heart of Darkness in English. While learning about this, it seemed to me that a little love and compassion would really fix the entire situation. It seems juvenile, or maybe a bit too optimistic, but I'm serious. If you think about it, the Europeans were brutal towards the Africans, and did not care about them one bit. If that's not something humanity and kindness can't fix, than I don't know what is.

So what about it? We are constantly surrounded by love everyday, but why did I choose to pinpoint love in this blog?

It's simple. There seems to be an awfully large lack of love in the world today. Evil is everywhere, but I want to talk about something even more alarming than when something drops the L-Bomb with me. The R-Word.

It's the insult of all insults, telling someone they are retarded is a combination of saying they're stupid, annoying, empty headed, pointless, dumb, awkward, and unusual all in one.

And there is nothing more that I HATE than when someone uses the word retarded as an insult, as if it's no big deal, like it is completely normal. I cringe at the sound of it. I would prefer an number of curse words screamed very loudly than to hear the R-Word dropped carelessly.

And the use of this word is becoming more and more common. Lebron James called a reporter retarded under his breath here.  

Jennifer Aniston called herself a retard on Regis and Kelly here.

Dave Tosh, a comedian, casually used retarded in a joke here. 

I mean, is it really THAT funny?

Retarded has a meaning, and it's not a joking matter. The lack of love, compassion and understanding these people have for mentally retarded people is unbelievable to me. But just like the use of the R-Word has gone up, so has awareness that we shouldn't be using that word too. A huge movement called "The R-Word: Spread the Word to End the Word" is growing around the United States. To find out more you can visit www.r-word.org. 

LOVE. The L-Bomb. Does it make me nervous? Absolutely, but if people dropped L-Bombs as much as they dropped the R-Word, it would make this world a much better place. The world can never have enough love. 

What If?: A Beautiful Horror

Today in class, we reflected upon Heart of Darkness and how as Kurtz was lying on his death bed, his finals words were, "The horror, the horror!"

This got me thinking.

Kurtz is lingering on the edge of death when he says this. He has seen his entire life pass him by, and he is reflecting upon his many adventures, but most importantly his view on the world, and his connection with the native Africans. He has seen the horrors the "civilized" Europeans have put them through. What if he was yelling about the simple horror of life? Life has it's inevitable horrors; unreasonable evil is a constant in our world, but we just don't see it.

It always seems like the wisest people in the world are the ones that have experienced so much, most of the time, the old people. Their experiences allow them to see life from all different perspectives, which in turn helps them better understand what life is all about.

Is like "a horror?"

Absolutely. But it is also beautiful.

How can you say life is not a horror, when everyday we are surround by racism, sexism, and appalling crimes. We see it all the time, and in Kurtz situation, it was right in front of his face.

But then, there are the amazing miracles of life. There are the kind people that go out of their way to help others, those that dedicate their lives to being in the military, and even those who give even what little they have to a charity, or a person in need. And my favorite miracle, nature. Although Kurtz was constantly surrounded by horror, he was also in the presence of something absolutely breathtaking at the same time. He had the best of both worlds. Whenever something bad happens to me, and I feel like life isn't really on my side, I always run away. I run and run and run, and I always end up in the middle of the forest. Because nature, is the only thing that can calm me down. It is the most amazing of all things in the world. As humans, we started there and it is only natural that we feel comfortable in within nature.

Kurtz's saying has two sides to it. Could he have pointed out the horror of life, all the bad things he had seen? Or could he have simply been crying because he was leaving an amazing and unique life behind?  His journey was, in my belief, cut short. I could only imagine the places he would have gone. But his last words, 4 simple words, can mean so much. And that is the beauty of the situation.

Kurtz's death itself is a horror, absolutely, but it is also beautiful because it is a journey, that many explorers afterwords can learn from, coming to a close.

Blogging Around

I commented on Anna Hofmockel's Metacognition blog about writing her poem. She pinpointed how she at first struggled to find a topic, and then as she went through the writing process, she realized how much help her poem needed. At the end, she compared her final draft to her first draft, which she originally thought was fantastic, and realized how much better her final poem was.

Anna-
I totally agree with everything you said in this post! I usually don't struggle with writing, but somehow this time around, it took me awhile to come up with a good idea, probably because I had English class lingering in the back of my head. I think I was trying to think of some inspirational and original topic, like you were, but I was putting too much pressure on myself to create something extraordinary on my first try. And, just like you, I thought my first draft was fantastic, but looking back on it, it was nothing compared to my final draft. Sometimes, I find it hard to take criticism, especially when I know its valid, but I ended up in a much better place than I started! Your poem was AWESOME too! Keep it up girly! 


I commented on Dana Lee's Metacognition blog about cleaning her room. She pinpointed on how she cleaned her summer clothes out of her closet, and replaced them with winter clothes, making her miss summer. She also pointed out that although clutter seemed annoying, every object she found and picked up, had a memory to go along with it. Dana didn't exactly enjoy cleaning, but she did learn from it.

Dana-
I'm right with you girl! Not only was I totally NOT into cleaning something, but when I did, it brought me right back to summer, like you. I cleaned out my backpack from camp, and every little thing I found in there reminded me of how great summer was. Cleaning out your closet must've been the same! It probably just made you remember how much fun you had, and how you just wish you could go back! Believe me, I felt the same was. But after cleaning, I felt a new energy, like I had just revisited summer, and I was ready to push through another stretch of school (sort of). It might be cold outside, but anytime you feel like you need summer, tear out the shorts and tank top and throw em on. Believe me, it sounds weird, but it helps ALOT. And I totally agree on the cleaning end too! Every object, big or small, has a little meaning to you, and it's fun to find it all again. It's amazing how we can see something as clutter, but really it means so much to us. Love this post!

Metacognition: Inspiration, then perspiration.

Inspiration, then perspiration.

These wise words came from the mouth of my incredible guitar teacher way back in seventh grade, as I struggled to finished a song. He could see my frustration because the notes weren't just coming to me like they always had. So he said, and I'll never forget it, "For everything you create, and I mean everything, there will always be two parts to the process. The first, inspiration, and the second, perspiration."

That memory got me through this poem, because this was NOT an easy one, at all.

Not going to lie, the grade is always the motivating factor in how a student goes about writing a paper, poem, story, anything. Every student knows what their teacher likes, and they channel that into hopefully what comes out to be an A+ paper. So, no matter how hard I tried, this poem was grade driven. Not to mention, (and I am going to address the elephant in the room), that, Mr. Allen, we didn't really agree on the direction this poem was going either. Pair that with the fact that I was sucked dry of all my inspiration about 10 minutes into this piece, and you've got one baffled author. But sometimes it's that brain sweat that makes the end taste so sweet.

So, I began. I laid down in the center of my bedroom floor, lit the incense, heated my tea, and opened my laptop. This has always been the normal setting anytime I know I have a creative challenge ahead of me, and usually the environment really does help the ideas flow. But not this time. This time sucked. Anything my mind came up with, my heart rejected, and any ideas my heart produced, my mind shut down. I just wasn't agreeing with myself. So I did the roll. We've all done it (or maybe I'm just weird). It's a roll side to side like a pig in mud thing I do, to try and get my blood flowing. Nothing. I tore out the old thesaurus. Nothing. I listened to every single classical song I could find titled "Monday." Nothing. I read The Giving Tree probably ten times because it's the best book in the world and always inspires me. Something.

The little boy in The Giving Tree took and took and took from the tree until it had almost nothing left to give him. I had written two songs already that day and my mind just had nothing left to give me. So, where was I going to get the rest of my poem from? Life. Hello, duh, this could totally be a non-ficition poem. It might be a little revealing, but I'm generally a pretty open person anyway. I recalled a specific weekend as best I could and rolled with it.

That made it easier, but still not easy. But it's never going to be easy. And what I got was a halfway decent poem, maybe not a Grammy award winning song, but hopefully A grade work. I perspired the hell out of that poem, because sometimes you can't ride inspiration entirely to the end. And that's okay.

It's the inevitable process of art making: Inspiration, then perspiration.

Get Organized: How Wonderful Summer Is

I don't clean.

Let me repeat myself. I do not clean. Ever. But, for you Mr. Allen, I will reluctantly clean out my Camelbak from the summer.

Oh, the Camelbak. This turquoise backpack carried my life, and 2 liters of water at all times this past summer. It was small, but suited my needs. Many an item made its way in and out of it throughout June, July and August, but only a select few items nestled themselves into the bottom and still remain. And because I NEVER clean, it has been sitting in the corner of my bedroom ever since school started.

Little did I know when I started this project that it would bring back a plethora of memories that made my heart ache horribly.

I started at the side pockets, otherwise known as the cup holders that no one ever uses to hold cups. I found two pairs of sunglasses, both broken. Somehow I managed to break these even when I had them hanging around my neck all summer; it's a special skill. That was a frustrating find. Along with those, I found 90% deet bug spray, band aid wrappers, red, white and blue beaded necklaces, a Twix wrapper labeled in all French, and a list of songs we repeatedly listened to on our way to Canada. I laughed as I encountered each of these items. I didn't use one drop of the bug spray all summer because I love getting bitten by mosquitos, which resulted in the use of multiple band aids because of how much scratching I was doing. The red, white and blue beaded necklaces were from the 4th of July, and I had to take them off to jump in the lake. I was hungry when I bought the Twix, and as for the list of songs, each of them are constantly on repeat on my iTunes. It's funny how these memories lingered.

I moved onto the small front pocket where I found way to many hairbands, tons of Canadian coins and about ten packs of saltine crackers, crunched and crinkled. The crackers made me giggle. Camp served crackers along with chili one day at lunch, and my friend and I hoarded them because we wanted to go back to the cabin and see who could eat them in under two minutes. It was always a funny way to distract ourselves from the heat.

Finally, I tackled the main pocket. I found two journals, one was labeled "Summer 2011," and the other "Summer 2012." I set them down on the ground. I reached my hand back in and dug up more saltine crackers, a picture one of my campers had drawn for me, an earring, a Walmart receipt, starburst wrappers, and something sticky. The receipt said I had bought an AW Trunk and a 2 pack of boxers. I don't know what the AW Trunk is but I definitely bought the boxers. How could I not? They were so comfortable, and cute. The picture my camper drew was sweet, but horribly out of proportion and the starburst wrappers were from the candy we snuck into our cabin.

I moved on to the best part of this little adventure: the journals. I remembered writing in the Summer 2011 journal like it was yesterday, but the Summer 2012 journal slipped my mind. It could've been empty for all I had known. I opened it, expecting a blank page, but instead I came across this passage, probably from the last night on our trip to the Georgian Bay.

I itch. I itch all over and I can't lay still. It's not only my mind that is fleeting, it's my soul. The stars were mocking all of us tonight. We laid out just to look at them but we couldn't help but feel them too; we tried to reach for them. We laughed, sang, talked, realized we smelled like shit, and then slowly retreated back to our tents. We all thought the same thing. If only this could last forever. But just like the stars only seem bright because they lay on a backdrop of a dark night, so do days like these. We must experience those days full of tears and pain before ones like these come along. Then we appreciate them. I hurt with happiness. I won't sleep tonight, or the one after that. I can only smile. How wonderful life is.  

I sighed and shut the journal.

So, now as I type this, the floor of my bedroom is cover in wrappers and crackers, sunglasses and pictures and journals and hairbands; my bedroom floor is covered with my summer. And what am I going to do with it? I think I'll return it all where it belongs. It was a pleasant surprise finding these things, and I'd like for it to happen again in the future. The sunglasses should go back in the side pocket, and the journals should slip back to where they were before. And I'll put my Camelbak back in  the corner of the room to collect dust once again. It is autumn and unfortunately, summer is months away. This stuff is the gold of my summer. Every once and awhile I discover it and feel rich with memories. And every time I find it, it reminds me that I don't have to wait until June to relive my summer again. But oh, how wonderful summer is.