Bite MeBite Me: An Analysis of the Myth of Woman in Stephenie Meyer's Twilight
Since being published in 2005, Stephenie Meyer's Twilight has gone from just another young adult fantasy novel to a cult phenomenon that has gripped millions of readers of all ages. When a piece of literature becomes as widespread as Twilight, it becomes especially important to examine the messages it is sending to its readers many of whom, in Twilight's case, are impressionable young women. By applying a feminist lens to the novel and examining it in terms of Simone de Beauvoir's myth of woman, it is revealed that Twilight is a hotbed of antifeminist sentiment, from the skewed balance of power to the simple fact that none of the women in the novel are employed. If only because of the book's wide range of impact due to its bloated and romance-blinded fan base, it is important to take de Beauvoir's advice for viewing literature and expose how the myth of woman is perp
fairytales"Mira, if you don't open this door this instant, I'm going to break through your window."fairytales4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Peter, I'm reading."
"Tell me something I don't know. I'm serious. Open the door. We're going out. As in outside. As in into the real world."
"I can't. I'm just getting"
"To the good part. I know. And I don't really care right now. For the last time, open the door."
"No, Peter! I'm sick of you telling me what to do."
"You're being unfair, and we both know it. There's only one thing I ever tell you to do and you ignore me anyways, so it's irrelevant."
"I reserve the right to make my own judgments. I'm an adult."
"No, you're not. You're like some starry-eyed kindergartener. Stuck inin a fairytale world!"
"Then my fairytale world suits me just fine."
"Mira. Please. The rest of the world is moving on without you. Grow up."
"You know what's unfair, Peter Killinger? You telling me to 'grow up' all the time when you only treat me like a little kid!"
"Don't slam things around. What are
Breaking Down TwilightOkay. It's been a while, so I'm revamping my old DA-review of the Twilight Saga.Breaking Down Twilight5 years ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
For the record:
I have read book 1, listened to books 2-4 on CD, watched movies 1 and 2, and read Cleolinda's summaries and "Growing up Cullen" (which fills me with 8-year-old-making-fart-jokes giggles).
The previous version of this review was written before discovering Cleolinda's summaries, watching either movie, or reading book 4.
I used to not advertise that I'd read this series at all, for the following reasons:
1.) I'm really pretty neutral about them most of the time. I got a causal read enjoyment first time through. They're not great, but well...
2.) OMG the wank is epic people.
3.) When I think too much on these books, they fill me with, as Cleolinda puts it, "feminist rage and horror", because there are people that think these books are good role/relationship models.
4.) Ever since I did that one sketch-fanart with the first
Writers BlockIt begins with a pen and a thought.Writers Block5 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
You hold the pen in your hand, poising it above your page, as you shift through your never-ending thoughts. Each one trying to grab your attention, to be the one that is chosen, but you want something. . . Right. But no matter how many thoughts and ideas you go through you just can't find it. The pressure of all these useless thoughts begins to build up inside your skull. They are pushing each other around, trying to be heard. They smash against the walls, and your head is throbbing, and starts ache.
You know! You bloody well KNOW that the right thought is in there somewhere! There's just too many other noisy thoughts getting in the way. Of course, it would have to be the one to hide itself, deep in the dark vacant corners of your mind. It probably feels like it has to be there so it doesn't get trampled by the others. Poor perfect idea, unable to venture forth and give itself a chance to be chosen in fear that it would get destroyed or taint
It's okay to have cheesecakeI get overwhelmed quickly if there's too much of something,It's okay to have cheesecake6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
That's why I steer clear of long lists
I hate Dora the Explorer.
We like TV, but it doesn't make us happy.
So why do we spend hours in front of it
Instead of doing things we like?
TV is a narcotic. We're addicted.
I'm compulsive. I inhale food.
I don't want it. I'm not hungry.
I need more.
I have no self control.
I act on impulse.
If I want something, I need it now.
I'm obsessive. I have intrusive thoughts
About death and scary images.
I stayed up late to watch a show that I thought would be good.
But I still watched it.
I like even colors, numbers and days of the week.
Yellow, green, orange, white.
2, 4, 6, 8.
Thursday, Friday, Saturday.
It doesn't make a difference though.
It's just being irrational.
I complain about washing dishes.
But I don't mind it.
I sort the dishes in a certain way.
Spoons, forks, and knives first.
Little plates, medium size plates, big pl
Leap of FaithHe's living in a world whereLeap of Faith4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it's wrong to be happy,
where people don't want to hear
about the way he pulls rainbows
from the sky for paint, regards
the world as his easel where
mistakes just add to the beauty.
No, people want to hear the way he
can pluck melodies from his heartstrings,
wound too tightly after repetitive
heartbreaks to songs written in Minor,
about the price of every tear he sheds,
each a shard of his stained-glass soul that is
p i e c e s.
But he doesn't want to know the true cost of
pain, because he knows that happiness is
priceless, and that a soul is meant to fly despite
all of the reasons it has to remain grounded,
or all of the weights tied to your ankles. Because
The 13 Ways of The Tidesi.The 13 Ways of The Tides4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'd love to harmonize in a beautifully
choreographed act, swimming in intricate
patterns and never the same circles.
Do you not feel the waves of water and sound?
The current was so strong, rip tides
had only the right ideas,
taking us where we went.
Apart, apart, apart.
Never swim against the undertow.
It is all-knowing, it understands
the proper path.
I have lessons to learn from the tides.
Our ideas went up, down, up, down,
under control of the sun and moon.
We used to count the months differently.
I used to mark off days by suns.
We watched them sink, together.
Any tide, any sunset, is never the
same as the ones that came before,
before, before, and all that will come.
Endless nights of emerging stars
taught me of change and to
expect everything from the world,
but never expect anything from anyone.
You're like sand dunes,
rising up and down.
Highs and lows.
I'm not up for the climb.
No scrambling up your
slippery, sandy slope
ten years ago.ten years ago iten years ago.5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
knew i was still
a romantic because
my dreams were still
filled with white dresses
and golden rings and
now, i know i am
a skeptic because
i am haunted by
and heated passion
and the faces
real, too real.
Gutter- Potatoes Loch, many years ago, had discovered that he was a morning person. This was to the dismay of his father, who, despite having to wake up early most mornings, had always been more partial to sleeping late. Loch had made it a habit of running to his father's bedroom and jumping onto his bed to wake him up as a morning ritual. At least, a ritual until his father ordered Opello to keep Loch occupied when he woke up in the mornings.Gutter- Potatoes3 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Now, however, Loch knew that his perception of a morning person and Nemi's were entirely different. At least, he thought as he fumed into his pillow, I woke up with the sun, and not before. Nemi had woken him a few moments ago, reminding him cheerfully that he had offered to help Min this morning. Loch lay still for a few more moments, grumbling quietly to himself, before pushing himself up and swinging his feet off the bed, shivering a little when they touched the cold floo
EPIC: they make outThe wineglass slid out of his fingers to break with a crunch on the foot of the table.EPIC: they make out4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Oh, come on," she said, exasperated. "Now we're going to have to clean--"
Robin didn't finish her sentence before he lurched out of his seat and towards her, and she had time for one squeak of protest before he grabbed her waist and kissed her.
Appalled, she said, "Matthew!" and tried ineffectually to shove him away, but then suddenly she tasted the wine on his lips, and any resistance she'd felt melted away into a heady haze. She could feel his mouth insistent on hers, his tongue on her lips, the wine-laced tang of his breath. His hands were hot at her sides, firm and possessive, and she reached up to touch his face. He was, suddenly, unspeakably handsome. He hadn't always been so good-looking, had he?
Matthew, breathing hard, wrenched away from her and pushed her back a few steps, until she was up against the edge of the bed, prevented from falling only by his hands on her waist. He pulled her hip
Parentheses All Clicking Shuti.Parentheses All Clicking Shut4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Let's say you have a story. Let's say you have a page where there should be a story, but the paper is empty and the inkstains are fresh on your tongue and the words keep diving back into your throat every time you try to speak or write. Remember, darling, when you told me that a bare book is like the faces of newly-made angels? You used to have something for this: a shallow well inside your chest where you could put the thoughts and the silence and the prayers and other forgotten things and every time you needed something beautiful I would reach inside and pull it out for you. But it's gone now, the well and the water and whatever else was in it. Everything is gone.
I once was a writer too, you know, back before there were things like castles and dragons and fairytales and true love always ended in flames. I built a story built a world built a kingdom, a forest filled with arrow-backed saplings and leaves swimming in golden light, the sun gliding down to illuminate the dark patc
mind over mattermind over matter4 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
"you have no power over me."
oh, what a lie.
because he is barely touching her--no, he never touches her, only his fingers a breath away from her skin, only his lips warm by her ear, only the strange wild scent of him around her--
he never touches her, but already, as always, she is threatening to shake apart. she can feel the tremors starting, deep, bone-deep from the places in herself that she was born afraid of, from the dark recesses where once she swore she would never go.
not with him.
but no matter the promises she made to herself, no matter the bravery she once possessed, she was wrong. she has always been wrong. because she's possessed, now, possessed by his radiance, by the warmth of his body behind hers, by the hot sweet whispers of magic that he breathes with every word.
she's run so long, so far. and still every night he finds her, walks out of the storm bright with magic and power and she can't resist him, she never could. fear him--she does. love him--she must. do
againso here i am crying over the silliest things andagain4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
falling in love with the stupidest. there is you pressing too far into my shoulder
and me loving it. there is you looking at me a little too long. this is me
forever trying to crawl out of the countless graves i have dug painstakingly.
but you are not what i expected. you are small.
and this is disappointment
beautifulthe lilacs are out. you look beautiful barefoot, andbeautiful3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you are beautiful sweating out a beat. opening like
the lilacs, baring your teeth and forcing out pieces
of pure soul.
you move like a willow, breathe into my neck in a way
that no metaphor could describe. hot and sweaty
and lying against me, you are your beautiful
fury and my own hidden rage leaping out and
holding our bodies together. your muscles melt
into me. our fingers are touching and there is a
heartbeat between them. i do not know whose it
is and it just about breaks my heart (but perfectly so)
i feel your blood pounding. your hips dig into me
i hope it bruises
Like an Unfinished Love PoemShe calls him a poet but in truth he's just a dreamer with too many words in his head. He doesn't believe that he's fallen in love so he pretends to be a lovestruck stranger and writes how it might feel.Like an Unfinished Love Poem3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
When I touch her lips with mine,
I'm not smiling,
I'm just living.When she said goodbye her heart pounded weakly against her heavy chest. With every pulse of blood through her veins she felt tension in her wrists; she was holding back, holding back. Her breastbone still feels like the wall of a jail cell her heartbeat thumping wildly like a prisoner begging to be freed. She wants to rip off her jacket because she's burning up inside.
She was full of empty goodbyes and dreams that didn't last long enough.
I've never been in love.
Don't you think I would know
how it feels?
My body's a wreck,
my eyes are stained with tears
my heart is hot underneath my skin.
I wonderNow that she's gone he's finally started to fall apart. It feels l
Anti-Twilight ArticleThe Twilight series, written by Stephenie Meyer, has become a smash hit all over the world, selling 25 million copies worldwide and 20 million in the United States alone. Twilight, the first book in the series, has been named a New York Times bestseller and Publisher's Weekly Best Book of the Year. Quite a shame, considering the substandard quality of these novels. In asking fans what precisely they loved about these books for the purpose of trying to discover exactly how such novels have become fabulously popular, it seems to boil down to three reasons: One, Twilight is entertaining simply for a fun read, with a rather unique plot line. Two, the fluffy love story appeals to the inner romantic in many, many girls and women. Three, Edward Cullen.Anti-Twilight Article6 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
Twilight in a nutshell: Isabella(Bella) Swan moves to Forks, Washington and meets the Cullens, the impossibly beautiful vegetarian(meaning they only suck the blood of animals) vampire family. Edward Cullen, the only single vampire out of the lo
airskinny boy kissed meair3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
kis,ses l,ik,e c,ommas , ,
breaking the waves of my own selfish sadness
o god skinny boy (willow man)
if I am worth something let me know. reasons 1,,2,3, , (4,5,6)
fingers curling over the top knob of
My spine (your spine is tall and proud
skinny love blue-eyed boy godless heathen /while You have no god I find mine in my own blood wide grin kid who is
, ,,, , , , ,,,,,,,,, , , ,,,,, ,,,,,,,
MusicI see music in colors, like a heart-rate graph, oranges and blues and deep purple fluidly flowing up and down and along the parameters of sound. High; sweet flutes, silver and gold twisting gleamingly through the air like DNA. Low; baritone drumming, a rap-tap-tap of dashes dancing across the page. Liquid glass-- liquid fire, it's the soulful thrumming of an organ playing in the church... It's like the notes could lift you up, up, up... Straight into sunlight. Except you don't fall, not like Icarus. You dance.Music4 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
I see music in colors, and yet I can't ever draw it right, can't write it right. It's the color of safety and home, it's the color of happy. Except you can't see those colors, not with your eyes open. You see them inside of you, that place where the bold sound rolls through you, pulls you, pushes you, until your bones are burning with the color feeling. That color. You know. That one. It's special, don't let go of it...
I see music in colors, but it's quiet, and everything
The Power of RejectionA chasm opens between the dream of success and the fear of rejection. It can be impassible, the Grand Canyon of risk deterrents. And so many choose to never cross it, deciding it is much better to stay on the dream side than to hazard having hopes dashed against the cavern floor below.The Power of Rejection2 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
The fear paralyzes. It rockets hearts into throats, becomes a mountain, elicits a high-pitched shriek of terror at the very thought of trying to take on the possibility of rejection. It keeps drawings secreted away in sketchbooks or songs buried five folders deep on a desktop creations labored over and loved but never given the chance to be loved by others. Unaided, unencouraged and unseen, creativity trudges on unchallenged, unbettered and unrewarded. All because safety is better than the dread and anxiety that comes with showing others into our world.
We'd been sitting on completed stories for months, too afraid to send them out. The first time face-to-face with the precipice of potential reject
The Way We Built Bridges"You waste too much time on your words." You once told me.The Way We Built Bridges3 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
"No," I replied "you don't waste enough time on words. Words are a tool to you, not a treat. A pragmatic means of communicating, bargaining, exchanging vital snippets of information. Calm down. Stop speaking so fast. We're not fighting a war (not us, not here). You don't prune and select your language. You've forgotten how to roll it around on your tongue, or try it on for size. Revel in rolling Rs, or the sweetness of a string of vowels and consonants, arranged in such a way to create more beauty than you ever thought possible.
Language can be a delicacy to contrast your paltry recital of data. You should try it."
longmy hair is shorterlong4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
i made scars longer instead
are you happy now?
Across the OceanI stood outside in the rain today. I know it sounds cliché, but the steady drumming of raindrops drowned out the beat of my heart and I swear I could hear you crying.Across the Ocean3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I've never felt as complete as I did then.
Let's just pretend that you didn't break my heart. I'll bandage my bleeding knuckles and go find that fake smile you left behind.
I won't be lonely. We'll pretend I'm happy standing outside in the wet; these are raindrops, not tears. I'll give you every excuse I have to offer, and someday when the rain clouds disappear I'll realize that I'm just talking to the sky.
I've run out of words, you know. I can feel it.
When it started raining last night I burned all of my poetry books. Page by page. I can only remember one line:
I know just how it feels
to think of the right thing to say too late.When I think of the right words, I'll write them down. And leave them for the next broken-hearted boy to set on fire.
Mo (2,553w) They say that growing up can make you change; I say that I know the most beautiful exception in the world to their silly rule. It isn’t so much that my half-brother hasn’t left the motorized wheel-chair he was practically born into, nor the fact that his right arm is just as cramped into constant contortion as it was when we first met. No, I’m not even saying that because he still kicks his legs in the hop-scotch formation he always wanted to participate in when he was younger. Mo’s heart is the precious, unchanging element that will forever make those people who “say”, second guess themselves. He came into this world with a heart far too big for a normal body. “Normal” life leads to pride, distrust, and disdain towards the very idea of dependence on others; such subliminal lessons worry their ways into every aspect of our growing experiences. They would have suffocated MoMo (2,553w)3 months ago in Short Stories More Like This