Under the Sun

They say there's nothing new under the sun. Whoever they are, it makes you wonder whether or not they're right.

A lot of what we (as a society) produce seems to be based on, inspired by or downright copies of, things that came before. I'm not just talking about things (for the sake of this discussion, I'm going to stick to artistic endeavours) that were created with the intention of retelling a familiar story, like Westside Story or She's the Man* - I'm talking about everything.

I would say the vast majority fiction, if we were to take away the stylistic aspects and change the characters' names to Protagonist, Antagonist, etc., would tell very similar stories. Which isn't to say those stories aren't compelling, but it calls the idea of originality into question.

Somewhere in this article, I've probably alluded to Shakespeare (and the Bible and maybe a hundred other things), without even knowing. Some things are so prolific that they become part of us, as if by osmosis, and can't possibly be avoided. We write them or say them out loud without any intention to do so. So is it even possible to be original?


I'm wondering if the similarities in the stories we tell exist because they follow a set format that limits us, like that Docx guy suggested, or if it's because we're unconsciously copying each other.

Or, do they exist because of common interest, because we like reading about badass men and damsels in distress, because we like the idea that enemies can become friends and lovers and that the underdog can win, because blood is literally our life force and therefore extremely important to us - do they exist because we're human?

Personally, I think there is plenty new under the sun. I'm a firm believer of originality in art and as far as I can see, it's still going strong.

*I couldn't think of another example off the top of my head, but this kind of leads me to believe that Shakespeare should be left alone... although, 10 Things I Hate About You was really good.

A Review of Sorts: To Find A Wishing Well

A few years back, I spent the best $0.25 ever at the library's discarded book sale, and bought Hylda Lee's To Find A Wishing Well.

I'm really glad I did. I've never seen another copy of it, and everyone that I or Bean have ever mentioned it to gives us a funny look. It's obscure, which is too bad, because I think it's one of the best children's novels ever.

It's about Lila, the 11th child of a King and Queen who have nothing but sons, and how a well intentioned fairy gives her the gift of always wanting something...which of course, backfires. When she's sixteen, she sets out on a quest to solve this by finding a Wishing Well on her brown and yellow striped horse Zeb. Along the way, she meets Ethelbert the Owl, Mitch the Otter, an enchanter, Caesar the dog and Prince Sorin, a host of other talking animals, gets a magic bag that is always filled with milk and cheese and apples and honeycomb, and gets her happily ever after.

I know there are some who would criticize the fact that everyone gets their wishes granted (Zeb wants a horn like a unicorn, Mitch wants to be able to fly etc), and that everything's happy and there's next to no hardship, but the book is still full of good morals: Like, 'help your friends when they're in trouble', and, 'get the whole story from the dragon because maybe he didn't actually mean to torch your kingdom'. Lila gets most of her wishes answered, but finds out that having everything you want, when you want it, isn't as much fun as wanting it. It's fluff, but it's the right sort of fluff, and I wish it was more well known.

As it is, I can't even find an example of the cover to add to this. I'm actually going to have to scan it. Google came up with nothing, if you can imagine it. The book is really that obscure. But if ever you do come across it, you should read it. It's adorable.

White Hood Red - A Short Story

Here's my contribution to E's Short Story Revival! Hope you like it!

~~~

White Hood Red
By Rhiannon McCormick

White hoodie glowing in the twilight, cut-off shorts, flip-flops flapping, her hair still damp and smelling of the sea. Her towel bunched under her arm, bathing suit a wet lump between terrycloth folds. Woodsmoke and pine in the air. Mosquitos buzzed around her head, but none landed.

When he stepped from the woods, she stopped, surprised. The camp sites were further up the road, hidden amongst the second and third growth pines and maples and birches; she couldn't even see the lights of the campfires. There were no paths here, save the road she was on.

He was big, and tall and gorgeous. His ears were hidden in his dark brown hair. His eyes sparkled with charm and curiosity. His smile exposed perfect, white teeth, and she found herself looking up at him through her eyelashes. She flipped her hair over her shoulder, and was pleased to note that his gaze drifted to her neck.

She hesitated when he proffered his hand, but she took it anyway. His fingers were long and thin and strong and warm. She flushed and shivered and blamed the shiver on her wet hair and the deepening twilight, and he smiled and knew she was lying. This way...his voice was warm too, soft and warm and safe.

She stepped into the trees.

~~~

When they found her, much later, her hair was finally dry, though matted. Her flip-flops no longer flapped, and her hoodie was dark red-brown, as dark and red-brown as the puddle she lay in. She was pale and clamy and rigid.

Her wounds, the authorities said, were teeth-and-claw marks. The tracks around her were canine.

A constable made a joke about red hoods and wolves. He was told to leave.

They followed the tracks, later, but lost them on the road.

Among the spectators behind the cordon was a young man. He was big and tall and gorgeous, with longish hair and charming, curious eyes. His smile, as he watched, was the slow burn of a predator's joy.

A girl noticed him. She smiled up at him, shyly. She was wearing a shirt that read, Who's Afraid Of The Big Bad Wolf?

He winked, and offered his hand.

~~~
ETA: Fixed spelling mistakes. June 28, 2009

A Fairy Tale. Ish.

The princess is ten, her pretty-much-betrothed is fifteen and has been kidnapped for the sake of Politics - and doesn't like her anyway because she's loud. The Evil Villian wears a trench coat and is insanely pretty. And there're dragons the size of Clydesdales, evil plots to take over the kingdom, adventure, possibly unicorns, and cheese might figure predominately.

Oh, and the prince might actually be gay. I'm not sure. And neither is he.

Y/Y?

I need names.

Evil Trenchcoat Villian is named Phoric III.

That's as far as it's gotten, but considering that Jon and I came up with this yesterday, it's not surprising.

Also, checked out babynames.com. 'Humvee' is actually on the list. I nearly died.