Considering all the Plath poetry I have and will be posting, it felt fitting to feature Ted Hughes. While I’m not a massive fan of Hughes, he’s not to my taste, I enjoy his symbolism in Last Letter – he wrote this on hearing of Plath’s death.
As a blog author, how much information, do you, or should you share with your readers?
Not just in regards to posts, but for example, an author page or blurb in the sidebar; I would say I give a 20:80 share of personal to non-personal information regarding posting and the information I give about myself at the side.
The level of appropriate sharing will depend on the subject on which you are blogging; general or personal bloggers will need to share a little more of themselves to gain a connection with their readership – however, there is a way to do this without over sharing (Manda and Cassie, for example.) Whereas book bloggers such as myself do not need to share information in the same way to be relevant.
There are moments when you connect to a character so completely you are unsure where they end and you begin; their lives intertwine with yours like a merging strand of DNA. We may not have had a lot of money growing up, we never went abroad, but we always did something interesting – times never felt tough. We certainly weren’t poor, holidays were travels to beachy Cornwall or trips to castles, old houses and museums. I doubt I was as enthusiastic with this rose-tinted idyll as a child, I probably wanted to do whatever my friends were doing, however, I now appreciate it for the educational experience that it was.
I Capture the Castle was like a trip into my childhood; I am not sure if this is good or bad, as it involves a naivety and an unrealistic view of the world, but it is never remembered with sorrow.
I came to this poem, rather unconventionally, via an episode of Elementary; a surprisingly wonderful show, mainly because of the omghessogoergous, Jonny Lee Miller. Watson gives Sherlock a framed copy of the last verse to commemorate his first year sober. The fine details of the episode escape me, it was not one of the better ones, however, the verse made me cry. I forgot about drugs, and my mind skipped to suicide; I am not sure why, I do not know anyone who has committed suicide. Yet, inside this dark poem, this poem which initially lays there adventureless, I saw hope, wisdom – perhaps determination, “and miles to go before I sleep.”
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Part of the beauty of volunteering for a festival in Brighton is being allowed into – behind the scenes of – some of Brighton’s best buildings. The Theatre Royal, built in 1808, is one of the oldest theatres in the country; two events I assisted with were held here.
This is what it looks like from the stage: