Why, yes. Yes, I was.
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broncobooks asked: I've recently studied your story circle and by extension Joseph Campbell's Monomyth. I found it interesting that your story circle seems to incorporate Campbell's steps perfectly until you hit steps 6 (Take) and 7 (Return). Based on your Channel 101 tutorials, you state that step 7 includes both Campbell's "Rescue from Without" and "the Magic Flight" and occur after the return threshold. This seems out of sync with Campbell's stages, which occur before the return threshold. Thoughts?

danharmon:

By my interpretation, which could be flawed, I didn’t think Campbell was implying that every story includes a “magic flight” and a “rescue from without” followed by a crossing of the return threshold. I think he was suggesting that stories, in general, follow a path of descent and return, and that along that circular path, which [when complete] includes a return, the phenomena we see recurring from culture to culture include heroes being chased, being whisked away, etc. I assume he described those phenomena before describing the return threshold in depth because the return threshold is the more fundamental concept. As if to say, “be it by magic flight, which we see in these examples, or rescue from without, which we see in these examples, one way or another, the hero tends to return, so let’s discuss the examples and significance of returning.” I’m sure I was only trying to make the same point in my tutorials and if I confused you at all I’m sorry.

Campbell talked often about the futility of what he characterized as opacity in mythology. To brutally paraphrase him, a functioning religion (or story) is a window to something invisible, something all around us that we fail to “see” before a crafted frame says “look here.” It’s one thing to stain a window’s glass, to help us experience light, but when we paint the glass solid, by standing too much on ceremony, or by interpreting myth too literally, our story or religion will separate us from the unknown and each other rather than connecting us.

The ironic thing, or I guess the least ironic thing ever, is that Campbell’s wisdom makes a pretty great window, and his step-by-step analysis of mythology has come to be used as a “how to write” handbook or a “what all stories have to be” doctrine. But he never intended that, and he certainly wouldn’t have wanted some fat drunk college dropout boiling his monomyth down to a paint by numbers kit on the internet. The people that created and passed down our timeless stories didn’t do that. They followed their instincts, their fears and desires. They opened their flawed souls and let their gods shine through them. In the modern world, where writing is a recourse to revenue, we are pressured to short-cut the shamanism, like an aspirin company synthesizing tree bark. We attempt to bottle and sell simulated stories and religions, myths that may or may not be connections to the unknown but first and foremost make their deadlines and get our readers or viewers through the day. This is not a bad thing, I’d rather live in a world where a story can make me a provider for my family than a world where I’m just the slowest dishwasher.

But in these moments when we’re blocked, or in the moments we are staring at a board full of diagrams, moving characters and motivations around like chess pieces, trying to “solve” a story as if it were math homework, paralyzed by the academia, it helps to remember that any act of creation, whether folding a paper airplane, baking a cake or writing an episode of SVU, is, by definition, a religious act and a subversive one. We reach out with ape-like hands and filthy minds and we mock and challenge all that came before us by making something be there that was not there. We change the history of the world, we change who we are and we change everything that touches what we make, so we may as well also always change the rules by which we make them.

by now you’ve probably realized I’m not really just answering your question but am using it to deal with insomnia. But to try to bring this around to you, now that you’ve studied Campbell, you’ve got what’s important about it. Heroes go Somewhere Else and Heroes Come Back Different. Everything else is yours to interpret.

gracehelbig:

helbigismyharto:

My mother brought me back Monday’s edition of the Wall Street Journal from my Grandpa because of this article…. and they chose just the best picture of Grace I’ve ever seen….

i look strong 

gracehelbig:

helbigismyharto:

My mother brought me back Monday’s edition of the Wall Street Journal from my Grandpa because of this article…. and they chose just the best picture of Grace I’ve ever seen….

i look strong 

(via icecanburn)

thegeekyblonde:

welcome to the FEMINIST CULT, today we’ll talk about terrifying topics such as BEING NICE TO YOURSELF and PROPER SEX EDUCATION

(via icecanburn)

maisiewilliams:

girls don’t want boys, girls want doctor who to return to its former glory

(via icecanburn)

furthest-city-light:

One of the best lines from this show.

(Source: fuckyeaharchergifs, via liamdryden)

(Source: nerdly, via howabootnaw)

solarsenpai:

siopold:

miracleyangwenli:

siopold:

the funny thing about dril posts is that they actually do have a structure to them– they hit a kind of conceptual caesura halfway through, a point where there’s no inevitable logical connection between what’s been said and what’s still to come. here, the first sentence didn’t need to result in the second, yet it’s not “lol random” either; the speaker is angry about his boss’ draconian ferret-kissing policy, and reacts in kind, and even the reference to a “screen saver” reminds us that we’re in an office. it’s a narrative progression that, despite having an internal logic, alienates its punchline from its setup. who the hell is this person?

one thing i love about @dril posts is how they all seem to take place in a universe that is somewhat like our own, but with the habitus of white middle america taken to a bizarre, absurd, but strangely logical conclusion. take this one, for instance: 

so we have our setting: a security guard protecting the american flag in the betsy ross museum, something almost archetypically american and middle class. but once again the first part, or setup, for the punchline, “fucking the flag,” careens the joke into an alien punchline that still, given the setting, makes sense. @dril’s security guard character imitates a sort-of cop-talk, the banter of a security guard, “buddy, they wont even let me fuck it”. you can imagine a similar response from a guard at any museum, but we’re talking about Fucking the American Flag, here. i really love @dril. 

it’s astonishing that a human being thinks of those posts. some person, someone out there whose existence we have to infer, because all we know is that those posts occur and they must be coming from somewhere. “the @dril​ tweeter” resonates as “the beowulf poet” does, except beowulf (which i’ve only read in translation, so i’m not an authority) has never made any use of the english language as baffling and sublime and somehow primally interlaced with the stuff of human consciousness as “IF THE ZOO BANS ME FOR HOLLERING AT THE ANIMALS I WILL FACE GOD AND WALK BACKWARDS INTO HELL.”

This is my favorite post, I am so glad I found it again.

solarsenpai:

siopold:

miracleyangwenli:

siopold:

the funny thing about dril posts is that they actually do have a structure to them– they hit a kind of conceptual caesura halfway through, a point where there’s no inevitable logical connection between what’s been said and what’s still to come. here, the first sentence didn’t need to result in the second, yet it’s not “lol random” either; the speaker is angry about his boss’ draconian ferret-kissing policy, and reacts in kind, and even the reference to a “screen saver” reminds us that we’re in an office. it’s a narrative progression that, despite having an internal logic, alienates its punchline from its setup. who the hell is this person?

one thing i love about @dril posts is how they all seem to take place in a universe that is somewhat like our own, but with the habitus of white middle america taken to a bizarre, absurd, but strangely logical conclusion. take this one, for instance: 

so we have our setting: a security guard protecting the american flag in the betsy ross museum, something almost archetypically american and middle class. but once again the first part, or setup, for the punchline, “fucking the flag,” careens the joke into an alien punchline that still, given the setting, makes sense. @dril’s security guard character imitates a sort-of cop-talk, the banter of a security guard, “buddy, they wont even let me fuck it”. you can imagine a similar response from a guard at any museum, but we’re talking about Fucking the American Flag, here. 

i really love @dril. 

it’s astonishing that a human being thinks of those posts. some person, someone out there whose existence we have to infer, because all we know is that those posts occur and they must be coming from somewhere. “the @dril​ tweeter” resonates as “the beowulf poet” does, except beowulf (which i’ve only read in translation, so i’m not an authority) has never made any use of the english language as baffling and sublime and somehow primally interlaced with the stuff of human consciousness as “IF THE ZOO BANS ME FOR HOLLERING AT THE ANIMALS I WILL FACE GOD AND WALK BACKWARDS INTO HELL.”

This is my favorite post, I am so glad I found it again.

(via thefartsinourstars)