Categotry Archives: Uncategorized

Hello, my name is Anna Terrano and I attend Western Washington University.

Upon entering this world, everything was in place in order for me to have a deep love for literature. My father is a man whos love of reading dictates his whole life. He sees the world through novels and understands himself through poetry. Naturally, my father raised me through the lens he views the world through. Much of my childhood was spent questioning my motives and searching for a greater truth, and often did I find my answers in books of all forms. Both my parents my whole life have loved and supported me unconditionally. My wildest ideas and questions never received any critic from parents. For that, I account for everything I am and ever will be to love and literature. The theme of this project is to encompass both the forms of love I have experienced and the literature I have digested and created a beautiful creature of my own. I began researching monster, creatures and the terror behind them. Specifically the case of Frankenstein written by Mary Shelley and understanding the creation of the “monster”. Looking back on my life I want love to be my creator, my Frankenstein, and I being the monster. So I turn to the great writer, Mary Shelly, to look at my life through the lens of the novel Frankenstein. In what ways is the novel reflected in my life, and in all of our lives? How can we greater understand ourselves through the great literary works art that exists to capture some identity of the human condition? How relatable is Frankenstein to my life as so much time has passed since it was written? What was it like to be a woman of her time, struggling to be recognized as a writer? These are all the question I hope to answer through my exploration of my life, through the lens of Frankstien.

“You must create a female for me with whom I can live in the interchange of those sympathies necessary for my being” (chapter 17)

While in my Junior year of High School, I came face to face with true abandonment and rejection. I had built a life on the security of five different girls. Each of them existing in the world with such an intoxicating presence. I myself had spent years lost in an idea I had created of them. When my failures and shortcomings came too much for them, I quickly was written off as disposable. Just as a 100-year-old tree burns so quickly alone in a forest, did our friendship turn to ashes in the wind. I had ceased to be a friend and in the most malicious moods, I resembled a malignant monster in their eyes. I fled the grounds of my education seeking refuge behind the walls of my home. My mother and father finally searing the vacancy of life through their daughter’s eyes, did they terminate my time at my original High School. I spent a month before going to a new High School, completely alone. I remember a reflection I utterly despised and self-flagellation in my speech. I fed myself loneliness day and day, letting in calcify in the pit of my stomach. Though my period of isolation left me aching and bitter, my lashing out was nothing compared to the horrendous acts the “monster” committed. Although I do feel empathy for the monster and understand much of his sorrows. Just as the monster wished to be understood and in some cases resented his existence and his creator.

I had risen with the same restless spring season dance
my pure white walls pleasing every Tuesday waltz
my toes too sweet to peek the streets of mid-morning prance
my body high heavy to rid of my early sun faults

the roasted warm beans welcomed me to see
I met with my crimson carpets to discuss today’s whirl
slipping on my most delicate blue jeans and brothers tee
my hands meeting up with my brown eyes and tired curls

my mother’s face much like my own awaits to early dine
fresh squeezed child’s wine and warm toasted bread
her sweet serenade swirls through my most groggy mind
in hurried groans and moans of goodbyes is much said

I wrote this poem for mother when I had realized the true gift of unconditional love. My mother is a woman who taught me patience and gratefulness. Much has my mothers way of life affected me in all I do. I reflect much of my mothers and attribute much of my most honorable actions to my mother.

“They traveled in a group of erotic colors. Their hair smelled of sweet vanilla and bounced with each soft pounce upon the ground. Their conversation was filled with light talk and giggles that aroused each passing intruder. Their bodies were clothed in colors of far off countries that tricked the mind in sweet memories of setting suns and breakfasts at homey cafes. Their limps and lumps offered all types of imaginations pleasure and their eyes offered a deep intriguing trance. They walked in patterns offering each character never-ending stimulation of talk and banter. They were the sugar and spice of the world, outwardly a dream to all those who laid their longing eyes upon them. Yet with such piercing privileges came a disturbing price. A parasite that wiggled itself into each characters mind and heart. Rotting their ability of any self-acceptance or inner peace. The sun offered a bright light that would ward of any comings of disabling thoughts, yet when the moon made her appearance all defenses were ripped down and what was left of the erotic group was a fragile broken baby. Each night tar-like substance oozed from the holes of their heart spreading like an unstoppable sickness, poising their blood and every thought.

With such unexplainable feelings and thoughts, they were quick to acquire scapegoats to pinpoint the roots of their unhappiness. So even such humans of godly resemblance would be whores with demonic pleasures in their eyes. Any sensible human would be able to recognize their projecting tendencies but with such vibrant beauty distracting them from any such grounded reality, hardly anyone could deny their persecutions of people. Even if any individual of the group had alternate thoughts or opinions they couldn’t deny their lemming tendencies, and too often they became a gathering resembling a lynch mob.

Truly looking into the lives of these individuals, one might be saddened by the involuntary possession of these young women. With such bright futures and talents to guide them on the road to success, a giant boulder has promptly disoriented them and stunted them on growth. Running back and forth from childhood tendencies to young adult discoveries, these young women often experience mood swings of incredible highs and lows. One can not be certain when these maladies struck, it may have been during their adolescent days when their minds were that compared to a sponge. Often during these sponge years, a child can be nurtured with thoughts of kindness, yet often foul words and ideas easily corrupt the softness that naturally flows through a child’s blood. Or simple they may have been born of the devil, making it oh so much harder to identify morality in one’s self. In any case, it was apparent that something was broken in these young women and their striking good looks and quickly wired brains made them that more dangerous. ”

This is a short excerpt from the short story I made after my experience of bullying. I wrote this during my time of grief and loss dealing with the monstrous identity that was forced on me. I used literacy to seek understanding of the betrayal I experienced. Through my research into Mary Shelly lives, was much of her writing an escape from the cruelties she experienced through her life. Many times do humans turn to write to seek shelter and healing when we experience times of brutality.

For all my whispers to the wind, you call back with double the idea and bling
For every kiss I lay to you I find it given to someone bright and new
Today I thought that somewhere it was to be
My silly hopeless beating thoughts picked the petals just to see
that never a day goes by you come to think of me
I linger in the taste of bread, a bite when nothing is left to be fed
I linger in the week-old sheets when laundry piles higher than New York streets
I hide under forgot toys and speak over the TVs static noise
I am what you do when all your pals are on the move
I’m the smeared makeup, the sweat, and painful bruise
Oh why oh why am I so amused

I wrote this poem while dating my first long-term boyfriend. To say the least, the relationship left me utterly neglected and longing. A weary, yet necessary time in my life in order to teach me important and lasting values. While love is an entirely subjective matter, I know this young man had at times been a companion. High school was a very impressionable time and while the relationship was young and reckless looking back I see only young children making sense of the world.

The novel written by Mary Shelly, Frankenstein

At the time Mary Shelly wrote Frankenstein she was younger than I am writing this. Mary at such a young age was married to Percy Bysshe Shelley and at such a young age was with child. In our society today, such would marriage or pregnancy at this age, be considered unruly. While Mary and I seem to be close to the same age in these depictions of ourselves above, how clear is the time difference between each other.  An important character development of our time is the use of socially media, selfies, and portraying one’s identity through the use of the internet. While the depiction of both Mary and I are vastly different, we both are young woman in these images with lifetimes of experience ahead of us. This time in my life feels so different from hers, I feel so incredibly young and hold far less understanding as she seemed to have. The acceleration from youth to adulthood Mary experienced in many ways leaves me utterly perplexed. I wonder if these pressures of maturity and responsibility lead her to write such a well-written novel. While drastically different both in time period and responsibilities, we both at one moment stood still for these images.