English Writing 11-1/My Own Fairy tale/ the Queen_explanation

Topic Selection

When reading the story of Snow White, I interpreted the story as a conflict between two different types of women fighting against each other to gain power. The Queen is a rebellious woman who seeks for her own happiness, and actively strives for her benefits. She deceives the King, who is normally thought as the most powerful. She resembles Lilith, who is mentioned as Adam’s first wife and co-creation. Lilith refused to have children or be subservient to God, which led to her excursion from the Garden of Eden.

In contrast with Lilith, Eve was from Adam’s ribs and subservient. This is consistent with Snow White in the fairy tale. Snow White is creation of the King without the help of the Queen, while she possesses familial powers such as doing the dishes or making food for her family as shown in the dwarves’ house. At the end of the day, obedient Snow White is who wins over the Queen, implying that the fairy tale world is more in preference with obedient women.

The Queen is initially jealous of the gaze and interest from the King that Snow White receives, but as time goes on, she decides to kill Snow White and castrate King’s power. This is extremely important; for it is an indication that although the Queen is under the influence of the King’s power, she soon fights back in her own way. Such shift can be observed when the Queen insists the heart of Snow White to be taken to her jewelry box and prepares to cook Snow White’s heart. This is what resembles Atreus and Thyestes, when the unfaithful is forced to eat a dish of his own child that symbolizes his present and future existence of men, which is their child. This can be thought as an active aggression done by the Queen, which fails in the story structure of the original Snow White. I decided to make it happen, and let the King’s power be castrated by the Queen.

There is a last feature in this story that needs deeper consideration. It is the King. The King is existent throughout the whole story. The influence he projects is massive; the King and the Prince executes the punishment and the reward, but they never are viewed clearly by the readers. King is mentioned, but he resides by the opaque side of the story. If we concede that vision is power, this kind of existence is an indication that the King is not deceived, is not viewed and is not lost. The King is not castrated throughout the story, which is something that I will change in my version of the Snow White.

Illustrations of My Feministic Theme

I will put the Queen in the object (lowercase) of every sentence before she succeeds in making the King eat Snow White’s heart. The King will always be in subject (Capitalized) until he eats, but after eating, he will be exposed in the story as an object, contrary to the Queen. 

English Writing 11-1/My Own Fairy tale/ the Queen

the Queen

             Once upon a time, there was a magical land far away taken care of the Goddess.

             At the land lived a beautiful woman named Lihilt. As She grew up, She was given beauty beyond compare by the Goddess. On her sixteenth birthday, the Others whispered to her to marry the King next Kingdom. They told her that the King had a golden Palace filled with strong servants, a garden decorated by grand Obelisks and sharp Swords in forceful hands to guard them all. So She decided to go to the Kingdom and marry the King.

             The Palace made her shrink, for it was overly fancy and grand; the Obelisks seem to look down on her; the soldiers gazed her constantly from her arrival. But above all, the foster daughter was what made her frustrated. Eevee was her name, and she would never let the queen meet the King. The King never showed His existence. He always sat in a dark room, shadowed throne. He held a long telescope as the Sceptre, two magic Orbs that can overlook His people. This made the new queen afraid, because she did not know when the King will put His eyes on her.

             One day the King announced by voice that the Princess would have Her sixteenth birthday very soon, so the entire Kingdom ought to celebrate it. He promised to grant one wish for the Princess. The Princess answered:

             My Love, My King, most dearest in thine Kingdom,

             Bottomless Glances made me shed so many tears

             Of joy, now as Woman, I serve thee with meat and rum

             Dine thine deer’s blood and meat of cow most fierce

             The King granted the Princess the opportunity to prepare for the birthday feast. But the Princess again asked the King to prepare the feast only with the new queen, but no one else. Again, with voice, the King gave the permission.

             On the day of the Princess’ birthday feast, many guests came. The dishes were cleanly polished, apples were ripe, and the tablecloth was spotlessly white. The Princess was in front of a big, black pot full of boiling water, when the new queen just stepped into the wide, quiet royal kitchen. There were no other people in the kitchen except for the two. The Princess chanted to the queen:

             Like as the Sun rises a day only to fall fleeing,

             Just if the waves kiss the shore only to be apart,

             “The eye never has enough of seeing”

             Still the Gaze is mine; A dish of heart, a fine work of art.

The Queen realized what the King would eat as the birthday feast dish, and acknowledged that the Princess would not let her go until she regained her position as the King’s sole Woman. The King must have known this by the magic Orbs and the Telescope, but He let this happen. So She replied to the Princess’ chant:

             Despair had piled with the dust on the window pane;

             Life as a Grail is meaningless, and “a fool is consumed by his own lips”

             For as a Mother of Grail, Joy is a blessing: Lord’s blood and grain

             It is taken, not given, created, not extorted: The Absoluteness.

As soon as the Queen’s chant ended, the princess grasped the Knife and tried to pierce it through the Queen’s Womb. The Queen clutched the princess’ wrist and struggled together. The princess was not used to using the Knife, but she managed to scratch the Queen’s Hand. The cut made the Queen spill some blood from her body. Nonetheless, the Queen pushed the princess into the boiling pot, which cooked the princess’ flesh. The Queen soon stirred the pot and made a magnificent dish out of the princess’ heart.

             She walked out of the kitchen with the dish in her hand, and arrived at the party place. The King was visible for the first time. He was out in the bright sunshine, gazed upon by numerous spectators enjoying the birthday feast with laughter. The Queen went directly to the King and laid the dish in front of him. The Queen chanted to the King:

             “Who can tell him what is to come?”

`            Hear, My King, the moaning voice from this splendid dish.

             After first bite, I will summon Eve to bring more rum

             Be My Thyestes, and she will be in your bosoms, as you wish

And the King responded:

             “What more can the King’s successor do?”

             What goes around, comes around to You

             One must know: “the King is not with the Body”

             The clothes you are about to wear is gaudy

The Queen hastened the King to eat by speaking again:

             A rebel, must she use the weapons at one’s disposal

             Compare winning Woman with wedding proposal

             Eat yourself, your existence; of today and tomorrow

             The Crown is to possess, it is never a thing to borrow

The heart was chewed by the king.

The Queen stood to watch him finish his meal. Sigh came out from the king’s mouth. The Queen gazed upon the palace, the obelisks, and the swords of men. The Telescope was broken, Orbs were shattered. All was done for, all was meaningless now. The Queen beamed at Her people, and retreated into the darkness where no light was existent.

              Her people danced, ate and drank under the bright sunlight. The Queen sat, gazing at Her people.

Explaining my metafiction-Window Glasses

It's extremely embarrassing to explain my own works, but I believe my meta fiction is very unclear and opaqre. What would be the meaning of creative writing if I fail to communicate with the readers? So I think it would be better off to cite some sources to avoid plagiarism, and explain the intent of writing such a long, boring and chaotic story.

Here are someworks that helped me write my metafiction (or maybe works that I misused) :

<Books>

Roland Barthes, Mythologies

Stephen King, Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption

John Story, An Introductory Guide to CULTRAL THEORY and POPULAR CULTURE

<Poems>

Youkyuong Lee, Chain of Thoughts in a Rainy Day

<Songs>

Tablo, Home



<Poems>
I used the expression of "melting glasses" after reading my peer's sonnet. I thought it was my expression, but come to think of it, it was from my good friend's poem. So that would be an answer for Mr. Garrioch's question of "Is this story original?". Half from her and half from me. I used the expression, and tried to develop it into a story, which seems comparatively poorer than the work of my friend's.

This is the original text of her sonnet.Chain of Thoughts in a Rainy Day

The windows in the house are melting down

Around the curtains weaved with drops of rain,

Which blurs creations shown in trickling pane,

Dissolving everything that’s in the town.

The fact that rains are cold is clear and plain:

The heat is what makes nature dripping hot;

The cold should make events that heat makes not.

So how rain melts things, I cannot explain.

Maybe the god who looks upon us lot,

Found out the world in such polluted state

That he himself with holy water great,

Is melting dirty skins with coldness hot.

But I am in my house with steaming tea,

Which cannot even melt the throat in me.

<Songs>

The metaphor of house and loneliness is what I took from the song above. I thought the expressions used in the lyrics of Tablo was excellent, so I dared to use the metaphor. The part where he compares other's thoughts and expectations as piled newspapers and mails perceived to me as the punchline of the whole song. You can play it if you want to. It really is a good song.  

In overall, I tried to describe sadness and loneliness as the protagonist's home, and window as a part of the house and a potential passage outside as well. If the rain comes and the window melts down, the protagonist would be free from his house and would take a walk outside.

Metafiction-Window Paine

Window Glasses

"Window glasses cry every night it rains. Trickling water-drops soak the windowsill while the glass melts down. The transparent being covers itself by moist; it's always cold when window glasses cry. The window keeps me safe and isolated at the same time in my house from the outside world. Window is the lens I see through, it is a part of my doorless home. Part of my home. Although I'm cringing in the blankets on my bed, I can still feel my limbs hardening from low temperature. The thoughts of her keep pulling under. I wish the bed can sink my body into the mattress.

The clock strikes three. I’m still in pain as blunt as blue bruises. My brain is pounding like others’ heart, when mine stays still. I got out of bed. I faced myself outside the window. Although transparent, it was wet with rain trickling down the glass."

Definitely unsatisfied, I put down my pen and stared blankly out the window. The sky was cloudless, filled with dust-scent nostalgia. Children were running through the dirty, dry  asphalt trail, stuffed with garbage. The children were shouting incomprehensible words. I did not understand their shoutings.

I frequently smell memories, and the scent drifts me away to a specific point of time of perceiving a similar scent. Today, what I was smelling until now was dusty playground and a lonely child, so it was impossible for me in the first place to write about melting window glasses.

“Have you ever experienced an icy yet sunny day? It is a winter day when cold wind blows but sun blazes right behind your head. I was the only black-haired in my class, instead of whitish-yellow. The color black absorbs more sunlight than whitish yellow…How cold it is within the hearts! While it scorches on the head, the body shivers! And the scent of sand and dust blundering unwashed clothes and skin…disgustingly beautiful.”

I never expect others to understand my affection on scent. Any and all smell is fragrant to me. They have stories within. My stories. Each and every one of them is unique. I stop think of the day when I had to cross the dusty, empty playground in unwashed school uniforms, while nose runny and grains of sand dancing in my mouth. It was a sad day. I expected no one in home and no one beside to walk home with. The sunset was irritating as well. The smell of sunset with a pinch of sand from an empty playground is the most depressing smell one can imagine. Yet I love the strong impulse it gives to my stomach. Sad scents pulls me under.

Thinking of those, I got nostalgic. The scent of sadness may be the color of sunset, dark yellow, while the scent of nostalgia that comes right after sadness is……sky blue. But this sky blue is different from what we congregate usually with that color. It’s darker with a shade of blue, and it makes me feel the scent will go on endlessly. Despite the feeling, I already know that this will go off right after the moment I swallow the apple juice right beside my hand.

The artificial sweetener scratches my throat while it feels my nasal skin with the scent of powdered cherries. They are fiery and juvenile, somewhat green-handed in satisfaction. Although I do not go along with his sexual preferences, I believe my affectation towards all scents is similar to what Humbert felt towards his nymphs. "Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins…” They are what I exactly think of my memories associated with fragrances.

Apple juice made the playground distant, far far away. I felt more of writing about window glasses. The monsoon period makes sunny weather cloudy. Clouds are harbingers of cappuccino and melting glasses. Children stopped running. They seemed to look up at the ominous clouds swarming over their heads. Worried shouts. Although I cannot distinguish what words they use, I can sense their tone of voices. This time, it is apprehensiveness. Maybe words aren’t important. Maybe the primary messages signified by the words aren’t important as well. Maybe, maybe there might be a secondary process behind the words. A social yet nonverbal, poetic and lyrical transaction that makes communication truly possible. Words tell nothing. The context does. The smell of words, maybe the words are unimportant, nothing but flesh, while the smell or the social message conveyed is the true essence of communication.

“I read from somewhere about communicating between two individuals. It said language is like a cup yet filled with water. Whenever I knew you were thirsty, I poured my water into a cup. I gave the cup of water to you. You should have drunk the water, but not the cup. But should that have meant that the cup is unimportant? I knew not the answer before. But I know now. They are equivalent. I tried to deliver the water, the warmest of all, through a disfigured, porous cup. Whenever I filled the ugly cup with warm water, what you held in your hands was an ugly cup without the water. My messages were meant for you every time, but they weren’t signified. I hope you’re able to drink this water now.”

Now it’s raining. Somehow children’s intuitions are always accurate. Window glasses melt even now. But these days it rains less. The glasses melt less. Someday when my window glass fully melts down, I will take a walk outside. Along the non-arid, quenched asphalt road, I shall gaze upon the garbage flowing downtown, absent from the trail that I walk on. Only if, only if it rains enough to melt down my window glasses.

“Why do I sink even into the shallowest wounds? It’s always dizzy when I step over the threshold. The line that I feel comfortable. It is to protect myself from others. Let the mails and newspaper from them pile up untouched before my door. I prefer the usual depression than unfamiliar happiness. Let me breathe. This is my home. Leave me alone.”

Fragrance recalls memories. Memories recall emotions. Emotions convey the context of those incidents. The context relates those impressions to my present state. Memories vary, but my emotion doesn’t. They have been consistent throughout my life. The meaning of our words stay unfixed if let alone; but the context of saying it, the memories, makes them lively, making the communication and sympathizing possible.

Window, part of my home, starts to melt down again. When will it disappear? On a rainy day, I might be able to walk freely down the moist trail.... Only if...

"you visit my loneliness of blue walls and dusty floor along with your apple hair"

Window glasses

Window glasses cry every night it rains. Trickling water-drops soak the windowsill while the glass melts down in cold fury. The transparent being covers itself by moist; it's always cold when window glasses cry. Although I'm cringing in the blankets on my bed, I can still feel my limbs hardening from low temperature. The thoughts of the day after tomorrow keep pulling under. I wish the bed can sink my body into the mattress.

The clock strikes three. I’m still in pain as blunt as blue bruises. My brain is pounding like others’ heart, when mine stays still. I got out of bed. I faced myself outside the window. Although transparent, it was wet with rain trickling down the glass.

Reluctant, I sat on the bed, by putting my feet on the floor. Facing the floor, I thought of the big and small mirrors around the room. They must reflect the wet and moist glass on the window. They must thus become wet and moist, just like myself.