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In the first poetry workshop I ever took my professor said we could write about anything we wanted except for two things: our grandparents and our dogs. She said she had never read a good poem about a dog. I could only remember ever reading one poem about a dog before that point—a poem by Pablo Neruda, from which I only remembered the lines “We walked together on the shores of the sea/ In the lonely winter of Isla Negra.” Four years later I wrote a poem about how when I was a little girl I secretly baptized my dog in the bathtub because I was afraid she wouldn’t get into heaven. “Is this a good poem?” I wondered. The second poetry workshop, our professor made us put a bird in each one of our poems. I thought this was unbelievably stupid. This professor also hated when we wrote about hearts, she said no poet had ever written a good poem in which they mentioned a heart. I started collecting poems about hearts, first to spite her, but then because it became a habit I couldn’t break. The workshop after that, our professor would tell us the same story over and over about how his son had died during a blizzard. He would cry in front of us. He never told us we couldn’t write about anything, but I wrote a lot of poems about snow. At the end of the year he called me into his office and said, “looking at you, one wouldn’t think you’d be a very good writer” and I could feel all the pity inside of me curdling like milk. The fourth poetry workshop I ever took my professor made it clear that poets should not try to engage with popular culture. I noticed that the only poets he assigned were men. I wrote a poem about that scene in Grease 2 where a boy takes his girlfriend to a fallout shelter and tries to get her to have sex with him by tricking her into believing that nuclear war had begun. It was the first poem I ever published. The fifth poetry workshop I ever took our professor railed against the word blood. She thought that no poem should ever have the word “blood” in it, they were bloody enough already. She returned a draft of my poem with the word blood crossed out so hard the paper had torn. When I started teaching poetry workshops I promised myself I would never give my students any rules about what could or couldn’t be in their poems. They all wrote about basketball. I used to tally these poems when I’d go through the stack I had collected at the end of each class. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 poems about basketball. This was Indiana. Eventually I couldn’t take it anymore. I told the class, “for the next assignment no one can write about basketball, please for the love of god choose another topic. Challenge yourselves.” Next time I collected their poems there was one student who had turned in another poem about basketball. I don’t know if he had been absent on the day I told them to choose another topic or if he had just done it to spite me. It’s the only student poem I can still really remember. At the time I wrote down the last lines of that poem in a notebook. “He threw the basketball and it came towards me like the sun”
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20 YEARS OF THE LORD OF THE RINGS TRILOGY
(DECEMBER 19, 2001)
It’s like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were, and sometimes you didn’t want to know the end, because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad happened?
But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come, and when the sun shines, it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you, that meant something. Even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back only they didn’t. Because they were holding on to something.
What are we holding on to, Sam?
That there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo. And it’s worth fighting for.
THE LORD OF THE RINGS (2001 - 2003)
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the cast of Friends during the filming of the pilot episode (1994)
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get to know me meme >> Favorite Friendships [12/?] Phoebe Buffay & Joey Tribbiani (Friends)
Boyfriends and girlfriends are gonna come and go, but this is for life.
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1 YEAR OF THE HAUNTING OF BLY MANOR
October 9th, 2020 (insp)
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honestly that "it costs 0 dollars to be kind" bullshit is bullshit. it does cost things to be kind. it costs time. it costs energy. and it isn't always easy and it isn't always natural. it costs so much to be kind, sometimes. but that's the whole point. if being kind were easy, or simple, every single person would be an angel. but they're not, and the world isn't easy and simple. so no, it does cost something to be kind. but it's worth it anyway.
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love reblogging things. like yeah i’ll have that in my house thank you.
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girls don’t want boys. girls want victoria pedretti.
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I NEED THIS NOW
Inspired by the Imagine Me and You Trailer, HERE’S THE BLY MANOR ROMCOM TRAILER NO ONE ASKED FOR.
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