I watched this amazing video today. It is too good not to share.
Sherlock is stuck in 221b. He's bored. Of course.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k9CbS6gaO9g&feature=related
The video uses footage from the BBC Sherlock Series and music from Tangled (specifically "When Will My Life Begin.")
I love him 'painting' the walls. I love him reading the books. I love him taking a climb.
I think I'm becoming obsessed with Benedict Cumberbatch's character.
However, I don't think Sherlock would ever be that interested in anything vaguely related to the solar system.
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Monday, May 7, 2012
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Life of Pi
I fell in love with Yann Martel's Beatrice and Virgil about a year ago. There was something beautiful in his luscious sensory language that kept me riveted and enchanted. Where some Victorian novels are (in terms of their descriptive language) like a very, very, very dense cake, and where some modern novels are so sparse in their use of language that they are so geometric and almost bleak, Beatrice and Virgil seemed to be just the right blend of descriptive language and plot.
Yesterday, I finished reading Yann Martel's Life of Pi. What an amazing story! It is considerably different from Beatrice and Virgil, although they both actively employ animals in their stories (albeit in very different ways). I highly recommend both Beatrice and Virgil and Life of Pi!
Yesterday, I finished reading Yann Martel's Life of Pi. What an amazing story! It is considerably different from Beatrice and Virgil, although they both actively employ animals in their stories (albeit in very different ways). I highly recommend both Beatrice and Virgil and Life of Pi!
Saturday, March 17, 2012
A draft of the introduction to the play that I am writing
Dim lights. A clarinet plays a light melody with a pure tone.
A large wooden chest is on the stage, just off the centre and to the right. It is deep brown and is perhaps made of mahogany. It gives the appearance of being altogether mundane, antique, and oppressively heavy. A lock keeps it tightly closed.
With slow and deliberate movements, a girl enters the scene. She appears about twenty-seven, although she could be older. Still, there is something in her movements that make her seem sixteen or seventeen years old. Perhaps it is her light step.
Eventually, she notices the wooden chest. She steps towards it, but hesitates. She takes one long, visible breath, and then approaches the chest, bends down, and touches the lock.
GIRL: It's funny how we forget some things and how we remember others.
Silence. There is no one around to answer her. She jiggles the lock lightly.
GIRL: I don't remember them giving me a key.
A large wooden chest is on the stage, just off the centre and to the right. It is deep brown and is perhaps made of mahogany. It gives the appearance of being altogether mundane, antique, and oppressively heavy. A lock keeps it tightly closed.
With slow and deliberate movements, a girl enters the scene. She appears about twenty-seven, although she could be older. Still, there is something in her movements that make her seem sixteen or seventeen years old. Perhaps it is her light step.
Eventually, she notices the wooden chest. She steps towards it, but hesitates. She takes one long, visible breath, and then approaches the chest, bends down, and touches the lock.
GIRL: It's funny how we forget some things and how we remember others.
Silence. There is no one around to answer her. She jiggles the lock lightly.
GIRL: I don't remember them giving me a key.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Homo sapiens to Homo narrans, the storytelling person
"I heard... two men talking about a third old man who had recently died. One of them said, 'I was visiting him at his home. He started to tell me an amazing story about something that had happened to him when he was young. But it was a long story. Night came, and we decided that I should come back the next day to hear the rest. But when I arrived, he was dead.'
The man fell silent. I decided not to leave that bench until I heard how the other man would respond to what he’d heard. I had an instinctive feeling that it would prove to be important.
Finally he, too, spoke.
'That’s not a good way to die — before you’ve told the end of your story.' "
Source: http://www.nytimes.com/2011/12/11/opinion/sunday/in-africa-the-art-of-listening.html?_r=1&src=tp&smid=fb-share
By HENNING MANKELL
Published: December 10, 2011
The man fell silent. I decided not to leave that bench until I heard how the other man would respond to what he’d heard. I had an instinctive feeling that it would prove to be important.
Finally he, too, spoke.
'That’s not a good way to die — before you’ve told the end of your story.' "
Source: http://www.nytimes.com/2011/12/11/opinion/sunday/in-africa-the-art-of-listening.html?_r=1&src=tp&smid=fb-share
By HENNING MANKELL
Published: December 10, 2011
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