Yes. I'm a fan of Muse.
It took nothing more than the title of the album for me to pick it up, because, at heart, I am somewhere the girl who peers at and scrutinizes not constellations and shapes but stars, with scientific theories and mathematical equations whispering at the back of her head. Muse is a novelty, and while I cringe at the thought of hearing them live because of my fear of loud noises, the music has an indelible, raw, energy, that is, at the core, an embellished singsong truth. Muse speaks of a world torn apart by its own instability, and there is something so appealing about their performance of this world that draws me to it.
Black holes are timeless, both in the traditional and most literal senses, and I have a revelation.
My mother and I took a walk yesterday. I denied my camera company, and myself the distraction of some raindrop on a single leaf. Midway into our stroll, she asked, so, how's that novel of yours going?
I started to talk(and that's probably why the two of us got so much more exercise than we intended to).
When I was done, she said, that book of yours shouldn't go into the hands of children. It's psychologically haunting and you think too much.
For a moment, I admit that I did conjure a blurb on the light-colored cover of a book that read "Psychologically haunting." However, my mother, for all her talents, is not an esteemed author of any sort of fiction.
If I hadn't dreamt up my novel when I knew close to nothing about sci-fi, it would likely be science fiction, however enticing literary fiction is. There is so much more room for a more appropriate world to set a story in, although there is undeniably an infinite amount of stuff to explore on our own, homemade tiny blue speck. The novel, which I've been writing and rewriting for over three years now, is told by both a girl and a woman, both teeming with ambition and spun into confusion by grief and fear. The woman reflects upon her feelings and wonders, and wonders, and wonders; the girl finds her way through the world and wonders, and wonders, and wonders. They find comfort in so many things along the way. After these three years, I viciously defended my characters whenever my mom piped up to say, 'That was a bad thing that she did.', or something along the lines of that.
That is only context. The woman(and because I can't stand referring to her by that any longer, I'll introduce her to you) grew up alongside her sister, Anna. Eva(the 'woman' I've been referring to for the last paragraph) finds comfort and confidence in her sister's arms more than often, and they confide so much in each other that they are so much more than sisters and friends. However, as they both explore the world around them, they do so differently, and this tears them apart to some degree. Evangela, called Eva for the most part, is a thinker. Her sister, however, is a more physically daring, kinetic learner. They both stumble in their methods, but still, through this, I learnt something.
The revelation(which I'll put in italics):
There are those that dare to think, and those that think to dare.
Or, there are those that find the world around them, and there are those that jump into it. There are some who do a little of both, too.
My mother and I wound up walking two miles alongside the honking entrance to a highway before we decided to turn back. I've tortured you with my novel enough, but not as much as I did my mother. 'Nuff said.
My birthday comes soon. I anticipate, naively, a camera with good, good macro.