The sporadic ramblings of Emily C. A. Snyder - devoted to God, theatre, writing, and much randominity.

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Location: New York, New York, United States

Host: "Hamlet to Hamilton: Exploring Verse Drama" | Founder: TURN TO FLESH PRODUCTIONS | Author: "Cupid and Psyche" "Nachtsturm Castle" & Others | Caitlin O'Sullivan in "The Ghost Ship" (Boston Metaphysical Society)

Saturday, August 21, 2004

Masculine Beauty
And other thoughts:

  • Mankind is so backwards. In the animal world, the male is the creature of beauty, and the female is frequently rather drab. (E.g., the robin or the peacock.) As humans, we tend to place the full burden of beauty upon the woman (especially in Hollywood-oppressed America), and either diminish masculine beauty or twist it around to become feminine. Neither is natural. Masculine beauty doesn't come from a "feminization" of man (just as much as women don't attain power through "masculinization," but rather through using our own complimentary abilities, natural to our gender), but rather masculine beauty comes from a man at ease with himself and with his gender. And just as feminine beauty is multifarious - no one eye/skin/hair colour is the sole source of beauty, nor one body type, nor one personality - so too masculine beauty. There is simply something wonderful about a strong jaw with sensitive lips, about the prominence of certain bones (cheekbones, clavicles, wrists and elbows come to mind), about the graceful line of the back and the ribs, the strength of the tendons. One desires to cry out with the bard, "Oh! What a piece of work is man!" (Of course, in relationship the same sentiment may be used to quite different connotation....)

  • We lost our power for about four hours (I'm Poe's internal rhyme!) today, from 6:30ish to 10:30 ish. However, the great candle hoarders, Julie and I, came to the rescue and managed to stink up our house with a dozen conflicting smells. It's a curious thing to spend a night only by candlelight. One is constantly aware of the light - and of where the shadows lie. One feels nearly lost, almost swimming, when one looks for a simple object such as a pen, or is trying to decipher a chord notation on a piece of music. Candlelight quiets the house. It prove conducive to introspection and to mystery. It certainly proved helpful for writing more Thrushbeard scenes out! I was saddened when the electricity returned...mainly because it all seemed so glaring and loud all of a sudden. There was no where to escape to, there was no reason to huddle together. Without fully desiring an Amish life - I begin to understand the attraction.

  • Last night...this morning...I put together a picture slideshow for Midsummer Night's Dream. After much futzing (hours of futzing, in fact), I discovered that the pictures fit beautifully well with Avril Lavigne's "I'm With You" (a song that I'll admit I really like. Call me a sap - I know). I'm proud of that show - and looking forward to doing this year's show. I talked with Tom Prunera about possible venues (going to check out St. Matthias next) and about sound and other good stuff like that. Lord - halp! But, as I mentioned, I worked more on the dialogue - so that I've actually found a good segue from "I Am a Minstrel True"-y mood to "Who Is the Lord"-y mood. Now I just have to finish OFF that scene, and then continue on with the scene between Lucy, Nigel & Raoul - wherein I'm channeling much Monty Python.

  • It's constantly curious to me, as I write scenes - either for plays or for novels - that a scene might go anywhere. Before it's written, while the words are just forming themselves, as one plays countless games of Freecell trying to figure out the next line, the next movement, the next tone - the scene is truly in potentia. What makes it more curious is this: once the scene is more or less set, it feels as though the way it went - the changes of mind, of objective, of tactic, of intention - are the only course. There is no evidence - if written correctly - of the author's initial indecision. Odd. (And now I must hide before the International Author's Mafia, hubristically anacronymed "IAM," comes to kill me with poisoned quills and/or lock me up with a Raven for giving away guild secrets.)

    Mood: Zippydoodah! Zippidyay! My oh my I finished a scene today!
    Music: Various Thrushbeard-y bits, as well as "I'm With You"
    Thought: I think I shall do a quick .mpg version of the MSND slideshow so that I can post it here. Poetry is awesome.

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