I draw on the excuse of my horrible memory. I write up my blog posts on openoffice and forget that I haven't actually posted them, because I remember writing them—how could I not have posted that piece of brilliance? I shall try to do better in the future, and actually post things before the next post should be put up, but here's my last post.
"Since we're supposed to be focusing more on how all stories are just retellings of other stories, I thought I would dedicate this post to the subject. At times it can be very surprising just how common the stories can be, almost as if each tale is just a singing of a familiar refrain. Even though the details may change, the root, the heart, the basis of the story can be traced back to two or ten or a hundred stories that had already been told. Take for example our monsters and villains.
Joyce Carol Oates is certainly an odd one. Her story was sparked by the tale of the pied piper of Phoenix, but she refused to read the whole story lest she become distracted by facts. In the end, she dedicated her story to Bob Dylan, who sounds at times a bit like my cat howling to be let in on a cold night. Perhaps my parents are right and I have no appreciation for old music, but I honestly don't see what there is to appreciate about this song. Granted, the lyrics are thought-provoking, but I'm honestly half-tempted to do my own cover of this song now."
That was all that I had, I guess, but I don't feel quite so bad about it since I have a couple more posts to post.
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