"The Crucible" by Arthur Miller

“The Crucible” by Arthur Miller

As the camera fades out leaving the lone figure silhouetted in the solitary spotlight, the music swells to a dramatic climax leaving the audience breathless. Vivid imagery and compelling music that touches the soul thrusts the viewer into the heart of the story allowing them to see the pains, feel the joys, and truly understand the story. Books can have the same effect on a person but do so in a much different manner. When Arthur Miller’s play, The Crucible was shifted from stage to screen he was given the opportunity to use film’s advantages to fully express his points on harmful, closed-minded thinking once more. One point that is more easily seen in the film is the constant self-saving motivation that many of the villagers have, driving them to continue their murderous lies.

When the entire town of Salem, Massachusetts becomes infested with the idea of witchcraft, innocent people are brought to their deaths by the accusations of their friends and neighbors. Motivated by fear of the unknown and the need for a scapegoat, many villagers blindly ended their neighbors’ lives while some used this new-found power to protect themselves. Changes to Arthur Miller’s play in the movie format clearly show these selfish acts, especially near the end of the film. After John Proctor, Elizabeth Proctor, and many others are accused of witchcraft, suspicion continues to torment the minds of many. When the accused are excommunicated from the church in the film, Parris is shown to be using his power to get rid of those who oppose or frighten him. Because Parris had seen the girls’ childish act near the beginning of the story and was aware that witchcraft did not play a part he knowingly sentenced innocent people to hang and banned them from the Church, saving his valuable reputation. Following the excommunications Parris is then shown attending some of the hangings that were also not written in the original play. On film, viewers can see the nervous guilt that is buried within him along with his cowering stature and uneasy, scanning eyes. With such a strong visual, it is difficult to doubt that Parris knows what he is doing is morally wrong. Not only is Parris shown as having self-preserving motivations within the film, but Danforth and Abigail are as well. When Abigail comes running to Danforth claiming that one of the councilmen’s wives is a witch, Danforth calmly claims it couldn’t possibly be true although he had previously believed that anyone who was accused must have been a witch. He tells her that her evidence is untrue and that she cannot be believed, yet does not doubt her evidence or liability from before. This new scene shows that Danforth begins to doubt the entire witchcraft trials, yet decides not to speak up in order to preserve his reputation and career. After accusing so many people, another new scene shows Abigail pleading to Proctor, trying to convince him to run away with her. Through her conversation she explains that she knows she has done wrong and has been lying to save herself from punishment and is going to ultimately save herself by fleeing from town. Although Proctor declines her offer, this scene gives the audience a closer look at the true Abigail.

While the play and the film for Arthur Miller’s play, The Crucible, both give the same message and tell the same story, some may argue that the film shows the images much more clearly. With the addition of new scenes in the film version, Miller tried another approach to portray the inner workings of his characters. With images and atmosphere that couldn’t be seen and felt through the play, Miller takes advantage of the film and more clearly reveals the selfish murderers within his tangled plot.


Without even realizing it, people change and direct their lives by making decision many times a day. At times, choices can be minor, but occasionally these choices can be important. Before moving to San Antonio, Texas just recently, I had to make a decision that I feel I made the correct choice to in the end.

When I was told that I would be moving to Texas, I knew that I would have to leave my friends and my boyfriend behind, but there was a choice when it came to leaving my pet rabbits behind. Glancing at my two furry, white rabbits, it was difficult to think of giving away my precious companions. I would never again be able to stroke their soft fur, enjoy watching them happily hop about my room, or hug them in comfort when I was sad or troubled. I would terribly miss staring into their curious eyes and taking care of them to make their lives as pleasurable as I could.
These thoughts saddened me and quickly convinced me to ponder of the alternative; I could take them with me on the move. Of course there would not be much room for them in the car and the trip would be long and tiring. They wouldn’t be comfortable stuffed into small cages and most likely refuse to relieve themselves as they often did when caged. My rabbits, born in the North, might also have trouble adjusting to a new southern home.

After much thought and comparison, I decided that it would be best for my rabbits to find them a new, comfortable home. Months of searching for the perfect owner finally brought about a young family on my street willing to welcome two new animals into their home. After they prepared a new environment for my dear friends, I helped them make the small transfer. With a final hug and kiss goodbye, I left my rabbits to curiously explore their perfect, new home and returned to my empty bedroom. When I was greeted with unusual emptiness and felt a pain in my heart, I could not stop the tears from streaming down my face although I feel I made the right choice.


I feel like a failure, bottom-line, and I feel like everything I care about and work hard at…dies. I don’t know what it is. There’s just been way too many things for me to deal with at the moment.

I really kind of want, or need, someone to read this. I really need some feedback and this…dead silence…is killing me. Please, people! I need Magic Pens!

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Attended another UIL writing competition today…(I am an official member of the Ready Writing team here at Taft High School now.) This competition was at Medina Valley High School. Ah, there’s so much to say about it…but basically, the topics this time were REALLY hard and I took the first hour (out of two) just analyzing them. I didn’t have a topic chosen by the first hour! Mostly everybody was done by then; one person was finished within the first half hour. Three went from my school (27 participants in total,) and all three of us were the only ones there after an hour and we took both hours. When I was finished I returned to the Cafeteria and told my English teacher that my essay was even worse than last time and I just did really bad. I didn’t think I had much of a chance. She reminded me that’s what I said last time when I got third place, but I assured her that I did a lot worse this time…Well we waited for 5 hours for results…The two others from my school got 7th and 10th place, but I got 1st! I was so shocked… On my scoring sheet, I got a perfect on every category. But I realized I forgot the comma in my title, (I can’t believe I did that! I realized it right after I turned it in…) so they scribbled out the perfect for punctuation and took off a point. Still 1st place though. 😀 Anyways, my essay is after the topic. Reading it now, I still think it needs a lot of work, and I should have done a lot of things, but I got 1st, so I’m satisfied.

Topic: “The broad masses of a population are more amenable to the appeal of the rhetoric than to any other force.”
-Adolf Hitler (1889-1945), Mein Kampf

Use force on a man and he may follow for a year, but feed his mind with your ideas and he will follow for life. Speech has been known to be one of mankind’s most valuable tools and treasures, but when sharpened, can be more powerful than any other force. Many memorable leaders throughout history have caused action from their mastership of rhetoric, bringing change to the world through persuasive speeches and convincing words. New leaders continue to arise even to this day, using their sharp tongues to control our minds and manipulate our thoughts. Control people’s minds and you control the world.

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I’ve been feeling kind of down lately. I just…miss things. I wrote this rant up during English class but had to stop suddenly when the bell rang. It’s lame, I know.

This is stupid. Life is stupid. I’m stupid.

I don’t want to listen or think right now. I know that I need to know this and I need to pay attention because I wasn’t here for this, I never learned this, but I just want to rant…

Oh my gosh! I want to rant!

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I attended a UIL competition yesterday at James Madison High School because I was invited by my English teacher. It was last minute, however, so I hadn’t attended any meets or practices and really had no idea what was going to happen. I wasn’t very prepared. I participated in the Ready Writing Invitational Test, an expository writing competition. We were given the following topic and were just told to write. My essay follows the topic. After the competition, I waited for five hours, the last from my school to leave. My teachers left early, yet I decided to stay. Of course my contest was the last to be announced. Fortunately my wait was not in vain as I won a third place trophy out of about twenty-five contestants.

Topic: “Three hundred thousand bikers spent Memorial Day weekend roaring around Washington in tribute to our war dead….The street had been closed off for them and they motored on by, some flying the Stars and Stripes and the black MIA-POW flag, honking, revving their engines, an endless celebration of internal combustion….A patriotic bike rally is sort of like a patriotic toilet-papering or patriotic graffiti-the patriotism somehow gets lost in the sheer irritation of the thing….If anyone cared about the war dead, they could go read … any of a hundred books, and they would get a vision of what it was like to face death for your country, but the bikers riding in formation are more interested in being seen than in learning anything. They are grown men playing soldier, making a great hullabaloo without exposing themselves to danger…”
-Garrison Keillor, “The Roar of Hollow Patriotism,” Chicago Tribune, May 28, 2008

“I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America,” can be heard each morning within many schools across the country. Many view this act as a patriotic student display, although true patriotism does not support it. Blindly following routine, students moan as they pick themselves from their seats and slouch towards the small flag hanging from the chalkboard. Tired arms rest hands somewhere upon their chests, perhaps not always over the heart, and cold vocal chords force out mumbled words without thought. Patriotism is not often a real feeling expressed by proud citizens, but a figurehead in society, a meer image or thought. This idea wraps around America’s people as an unappreciated security blanket, gifted by those who valiantly sacrifice themselves to keep our nation a strong and supportive country.

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Admiration and affection are important qualities that affect people’s lives, directing and guiding them through changes and new experiences. People carry and create passionate emotions within themselves that allow them to connect with the world and those around them. From these connections, relationships can form, encouraging the emotions to grow and develop. Without acknowledgement, these relationships affect a person’s life every day. By admiring a person, great changes can come about one’s life, usually for the better, but at times, creating problems rather than helping with them. In my freshman year of high school, I grew to admire my friend, Hannah Boudreau, unknowingly allowing her to affect my life in a variety of different ways.

I often refer to myself as “veiled in secrets” due to the self-destroying burdens I keep to myself. Timid and untrusting by nature, I don’t tend to open up to people easily, and finding friends becomes a challenge for me. Throughout middle school, I grew comfortable with my lack of close friends and did not find it troubling to live without a personal confidant. Although I met my friend, Hannah, in middle school, she became a closer friend to others before she became my best friend. It wasn’t until our first year in high school that we grew closer because her other friends had moved away. Through our new high school experience, we grasped the little bond we had and made it stronger by helping each other out. Hannah helped, encouraged, and inspired me incredibly and I have grown to admire her unique traits and social talents. Opposed to the shy and quiet girl I was, I was attracted to Hannah’s unusual characteristics. Hannah was independent, loud, playful, and comical. She could get along well with different people and was loved by many. I felt that I could learn from Hannah and I enjoyed spending time with her until I later found out that she wouldn’t always be there.

“It’s strange to think that I may never see you again after high school,” I once told Hannah before school, pondering over my thoughts. I was shocked and heartbroken when Hannah responded with the fact that her father was retiring and she would be moving the following summer. From that impending event, my life was effected greatly. I couldn’t think of what to say or even breathe as a pain choked my insides and the truth strangled my mind. I had just become friends with Hannah and I didn’t want to have to give her up. After years of not having a close friend, I had become thankful for having her to rely on. Ironically, from this dread of impending sadness that would surely follow losing my friend that summer, I fell into a deep depression.

After witnessing how easily Hannah made friends and realizing how difficult it was for myself, I came to the conclusion that I was simply not worthy of friends and that I would burden any person who became my friend. With these new thoughts settling in my mind, new feelings and pains also settled in. Indescribable aches and pains consumed my soul with the swallowing hurt of depression. The worst of these mysterious pains developed within my stomach and continued to sweep through my chest and throat. My heart rate steadily increasing, my throat would begin to tighten and my body would be thrown into a seizure-like state, trembling and shivering without my consent. This feeling came over me many times, always invading my mind with the constant thought of doom and emptiness. From these constant thoughts, I called the feeling my “Doom feeling.” With these pains attacking my physical being causing me to actually feel an aching emptiness within me, troubled thoughts sabotaged my mind. Fear and dread attacked my brain and blurred my thoughts into a horrid painting of confusion, colors violently thrust upon the canvas. My mentality was so wrecked that the cause of my constant sadness was usually unknown to me. Stress and other troubling ideas kept my mind awake to suffer in guilt, punishing and hurting my tired body. In the silent black of night, I would either lie in wait listening to each passing second of the clock, or would transfer my thoughts into words through each clacking key of my computer keyboard. My blog was a frequent refuge to release the burdens that tormented me, and for a while, it was my only listener. Not wanting to burden my friend with my troubles, I tried to hide them from her and instead relied on the comforting text from those on the Internet. My blog gave me encouragement, yet I still longed for a true friend. Although I was writing on my blog, it wasn’t the same creative writing that I loved. Rather than letting fictional worlds open up upon the screen, I ranted and begged for help. As if I had become an entirely different person, my interests and hobbies became dull and lifeless and I became obsessed with improving myself in both physical and characteristic qualities. The time I had previously spent drawing and writing was now used to check my weight and carefully monitor and record it as it rose and fell dramatically. My enthusiasm and enjoyment in life was falling just as quickly as my body mass and my stomach felt just as empty as my heart.

Throughout this dreadful period in my life, I desperately reached for different forms of help. Friends from the Internet sent in advice and constantly reminded me to worry less and take a break. My writing club advisor emailed me and asked me to take better care of myself and seek medical attention, and classmates from school were troubled by my appearance and suddenly changing moods, begging me to speak to someone of authority. Denying that I was even troubled, I never did seek help from a counselor or medical specialist. Trying to keep my state entirely to myself, my parents never even knew of how I was. Faking a smile each time they passed, I skillfully fought my internal war myself, yet I wasn’t entirely alone. Although I tried to keep it from her, Hannah knew what was happening to me and tried to help as best as she could. She spoke with me and helped reason through my troubling thoughts. Always knowing what to say, I could rely on her for a good word. Even though these issues were caused from the knowledge of her forthcoming absence, her current presence greatly helped.

Admiring a person can cause troubles and problems, but also help with such disturbances. When people allow friends to grow closer to them, their lives are affected in many ways and can sometimes change tremendously. Each thing a person does in life seeks a comforting stability and may weaken when that presence is taken away. Affection is a human feeling that fills the heart with passion and grants value to our lives. Relationships are the strongest fibers of our lives, pulling together our emotions and feelings with our actions and personalities, each thing affecting the other and allowing us to truly live.


Writing enables one to express the many thoughts and images that emerge from his or her mind onto paper to transfer into the mind of another. From sheer words upon paper, entire worlds can be created and characters can be born. This power may seem minor to others, while some realize the true value of it. Nicholas Taylor is one of those who has become amazed by this ability and has been improving upon this skill over the years.

Nick, currently a junior attending Minot High School, feels confident and interested in his writing. He rested in his desk relaxed and slightly reclined while curling his fingers over his scruffy chin as he explained to me. He knows he has improved greatly from the simple stories that he said “were completely void of good writing techniques.” Writing through the years, he has never lost that special interest in allowing words to escape from his mind and appear before him for others to read, which he discovered when he was in the sixth grade. The ability to create new things and express his ideas amazed him and encouraged him to read other authors’ works to learn and let his talent grow. Writing will always be a part of Nick’s life, continuously expanding and blossoming.

When it comes to writing, the words mean nothing when there isn’t an important idea behind them. Nick feels that he has many elaborate ideas within his mind, but can’t always seem to execute them well on paper, admitting to sometimes using names for characters more than once. Sometimes he will write in the first person, never giving much information about the character itself, such as the name, and concentrating more on the story and the basic idea. Being able to create things with words was the fascination that led Nick to writing when he was younger and still holds him in its enticing grasp. Although he feels the writing is a useful way to express his ideas, he does not usually portray himself through his characters or base his stories on experiences. Instead of writing through emotion and personal experience, Nick tends to write through his imagination and thoughts alone. “I do not want to sound sappy,” he stated with a strong, clear, and confident voice, his mouth, as usual, slightly pulled to the right showing his pointed incisor. In his writings, each setting, every character, and all the happenings have emerged from his mind.

Writing a few times a week, although he would like to write more often, Nick most often arranges short stories and poems with his own personal mood and tone. He prefers the first person style of writing and finds himself writing in first person most often. Usually jotting his ideas into a notebook first, he then evaluates on the new creations over a keyboard with music sometimes playing along with the clacking of the keys; a duet aiding the flow of his words.

Being able to bring something into the world that has never been introduced before is a different concept which Nick enjoys. He is interested in original ideas and stories that avoid clichés. Overused plots, characters, settings, and creatures annoy him and distract him from the piece itself. He tries to stray from clichés in his own writing and will only write what could only reside in his own mind. He also feels that he can rate his own writing well and knows what’s well-written and what needs work. He sets extremely high standards for himself and instantly begins fixing any flaws in his writing. Although he generally likes what he writes, he feels that there is always something for him to learn and an area in which he can become better.

Writing not only interests Nick as a hobby, but also as a career choice and has seeped into his plans for the future. He plans to attend the School of the Art Institute of Chicago for Creative Writing to perfect his talents and help him excel as a writer. It would be his dream to self-publish a book of short stories and later write scripts for other major passions in his life such as video games and manga, Japanese comic books. By combining his skills with his interests, Nick would like to form a substantial life that can support him well and give him something to enjoy.

As Nick is a well-balanced person, he keeps his interests and his work in order all throughout his life. Never forgetting the past and how far he has come from it while keeping a watchful and planning eye on the future, he always has a firm grasp on his life, especially in his writing. He has improved greatly and plans to continue doing so, hopefully making a living out of it. This great passion that Nick Taylor has will always be with him, his love of creating new things and sharing them with others through the English language never dying out.

"Veiled in Secrets" by Noelle Brooks

“Veiled in Secrets” by Noelle Brooks

Given the assignment in English 3 AP to write a poem giving ourselves a name that describes something about ourselves such as “Eats Too Much” or “Smiles When Sad,” I wrote this poem describing my hidden insecurities about life. We were told to decorate our assignment to be hung on the classroom wall, so I used my Photoshop abilities to make it all pretty. 😀 If you can’t see the image, the written poem follows.

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Grasping her ears with her dirty hands, Nadia watched the dark brown plates covering the dragon’s vulnerable throat quiver as the sound waves passed. The obstreperous boom pierced through her head, causing her to scream aloud with clenched eyes as she spun from a loss of balance. After the beast had completed its roar, it turned its long neck to stare directly into the girl’s frightened face. His bright blue eyes glowed in contrast from the golden scales that covered his body and seemed to reveal no feeling of warmth. His face bore a twisted snarl, revealing a few of his carnivorous teeth as he continued to give a cold stare to the child, intently scrutinizing her. Two, dark brown ram-like horns twisted around the creatures head, pointing forward near the dragon’s cheeks, matching the plates that covered his throat and stomach. His four, short, powerful legs held up his monstorous body with pride as he spread his leathery wings behind his back to appear intimidating. The dark veins flowed through the thin, brown membrane of his wings like rivers on a map as he flexed them as far as they could stretch. The gray claws that potruded from the wings’ tips gleamed in the fire’s light along with the five claws that were unsheathed about the creature’s hands.

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This was the first assignment I was given in this little class I attended at the Public Library. Read a few paragraphs from the book, Cold Mountain, describing this goat woman, and rearranged the words to form a poem, throwing in a few of my own here and there.

Living so remote,
The woman observes the world with blue eyes, still bright.
The contentious world but a fading memory,
As is she.
Her mind still grasping a picture of herself some decades previous,
Only grooming her long, pale, cobweb hair by feel,
Never glancing at her reflection.
Only the sagging, puckering folds of hide about her eyes and jowls
Meet her fingertips and brindle across her brow.
With pink cheeks and a mind turned only toward God’s finer productions,
She lives, unaware of the relic she’s become.

Another poem…I know I am not the best poet, but this was an assignment, and I was just thinking…So, here you go. 🙂

There is a place that only he and I know of…
Our place and no one else’s.
It resides deep in the forest,
Waiting there, alone and hidden.
Birds sing sweetly around with chirps and tweets.
Squirrels explore, climbing about the many trees.
Insects live, constantly moving about.
In this place, there is a bench, aged and lonely.
It has heard many songs composed by the birds,
It has felt many fingers caress its wooden surface,
It has offered a place to rest to many explorers.
With a rough exterior, formed from experiences,
It finds comfort in the forest, hidden from the world.
In this place, many memories reside.
A few of our own have been added,
Unseen and unheard to all, but us.
Warm feelings of joy have been felt here.
Sweet fragrances of the crimson petals and ferns fill our souls and lighten our hearts.
A breeze sweeps through and whispers across my skin,
Tickling me with its cool, soft breath.
This wind, untamed and free to roam, gently persuades the trees from side to side,
Allowing them to sing out through creaks and moans.
This place is our place…
Shielding our memories and keeping them safe,
Until the next time we return with smiles upon our faces,
Remembering and reliving…