There's a bed sheet my dad has had for a very long time. Over 30 years, in fact. During my childhood it was only used at the lake or when we attempted to make comfy sleeping arrangements on the floor during sleepovers. So I didn't see it regularly, but when I did, it killed me a little. In average-sized maroon font, written diagonally across the sheet over and over again were the words:
Your something special.
Yes, even when I was little, bad grammar hurt a part of my soul. It just killed me that "you're" wasn't used as it should've been. What was the point of these odd sheets that reminded you you were special if it couldn't even say it grammatically correct?
And then, when I was around eighteen, I was complaining to my dad about the grammar when he told me, "No, that's the joke! The sheet is the something special."
Kudos to any of you who figured that out already. Here I'd spent years upset about this incorrect word, when I'd just misinterpreted it.
Perspective.
Sometimes we just need to look at something we see often in a different way. I think it's an important part of writing about fictional people. But I also think it's one of the greatest things about reading. You get to be in the mind of someone who has a completely different perspective of the world than you do. And as you read each word and turn each page, your view and understanding of the world expands.
Perspective. We all need it. So shout out to those weird bed sheets that reminded me.
If you're like me and you constantly immerse yourself in the minds of fictional people in fictional worlds, and you've spent time wondering if it is truly as beneficial as it feels like it is, then this article I read in the Dallas Morning News this morning is for you.
I know I've written about this subject before, but an experience last week has inspired me to write about it again. It's about that mantra I'm sure you've heard plenty of times: write every day. Write even when you don't want to write. Even when the words are awful.
I'll be the first to admit that I fail at this. Which is why I like to think of it more as: actively think about what you're writing every day, even if you don't write any words. My writing time is more productive when the plot and the characters have been on my mind when I'm not writing.
But I'm at the very beginning stages of a first draft, and I have a harder time working on a story at the beginning than at the middle. The vastness of pages I have to fill to have a completed manuscript looms for me, and, since I'm a pantser, so does the idea that I don't really know what is going to fill them. It takes 10,000 words or so for me to believe that what I'm working on is enough of an idea for a whole manuscript.
So at the beginning, writing every day is harder for me than when I'm really deep in the manuscript. And the other night I was trying to write and it just. wasn't. working.
I think I wrote about 200 words, and I had to force out each one. It wasn't as many as I was aiming for, but I told myself that at least I wrote something, and then I worked on something else. But when I was showering a couple of hours later, about to go to bed, a sentence and scene appeared in my mind. I got out of the shower, sat down at my computer, and wrote over 700 words in very little time.
I fully believe that I wouldn't have had the idea that sparked those words if I hadn't forced out the 200 awful ones earlier that night.
So yeah, sometimes we can't write every day. That doesn't mean you're any less of a writer, or that you'll never be successful, or that you don't love writing. But just trying to write every day has endless benefits. In my opinion, that's worth remembering.
People ask me often -- especially those who are helping me move -- why I keep as many books as I do. My uncle, when lugging another box of books up the three flights of stairs to my new apartment last summer, said, "But you've already read all of them," when I apologized for how many boxes of books there were.
And it was true. Outside of maybe one or two boxes, I'd read all the books. And I'd love to say I keep them all so I can reread them on a whim, but most I probably never will.
There's this undeniable comfort for me to be surrounded by books. It's not always that I'm going to go reread that book in the bottom corner of my bookshelf, but just that I have the option to. That no matter what is going on in my world, I'm surrounded by countless others.
In just the past week, upon hearing the news that Wislawa Szymborska had passed away, I was able to find my copy of View With a Grain of Sand and read a few of her poems. I was introduced to her in a Polish culture class in college and really enjoyed her poetry.
Then I decided to reread Jandy Nelson's The Sky is Everywhere, and when I found it on my shelf I first noticed the tabs sticking out the side, marking some of my favorite quotes. I read the first paragraph and remembered the voice that made me fall in love with it the first time, then fell in love with it all over again.
So I wonder, what makes you decide to reread a book? Do you keep a lot of books around, in case the desire to reread one strikes you?
To be honest, most of the time I don't reread books because I feel overwhelmed by all of the other books out there I want to read and haven't found time for yet. But sometimes I love one so much, I want to get lost in it again. This past week in particular, I had just read a series of meh books -- ones that I enjoyed but hadn't really consumed me. I was waiting on a bunch of books from the library and just wanted to read something I would truly love, so I turned to The Sky is Everywhere.
I'm excited that it's 2012, because I've decided that the only way to exist in this world is by rereading all of Harry Potter, in order, every two years. When someone finds a way to add more hours to the day, I'll allow myself to read them every year. But, well, we're stuck with 24 hours, and I last read them at the end of 2010, so I, for one, am psyched about 2012.
What books have you reread lately? Are there any you read regularly?
I stumbled upon this Emily Dickinson poem yesterday, and I think it succinctly explains what I love so much about words.
A word is dead When it is said, Some say. I say it just Begins to live That day.
This is the incredible thing about writing: the words live on, and in different ways for different people. Saying or writing a word is not the end of the word, it's just the beginning.
I've never managed to keep a journal, no matter how many times I tried during my childhood. But I have a drawer full of spirals, which are filled with poems and stories and musings. They cover so much of my life, they serve the purpose of journals.
I was just flipping through one of my more recent ones, and this is the last thing in it. If I'm correct, I wrote it the day I took my last college final, about 7 months ago.
I was done. Free. And I looked up at the sky, considering what came next, and the clouds had never seemed so far away. The sky stretched from one infinity to another, and there was nowhere I couldn't go.
I so clearly remember looking up at the spring sky that day. And maybe the notion of that paragraph is a bit cliche, but I always want to remember that moment. I always want to remember that there is nothing too far beyond our grasp, nothing we can't dream.
I'm not a big New Years Eve person. Growing up, I spent most of them with family friends playing cards into the early hours of the morning, only pausing for a few minutes to acknowledge the clock striking midnight.
And I don't believe much in New Year's resolutions, because I believe that if someone wants to change something enough, the turning of a calendar page isn't going to matter. All the power to everyone who makes resolutions and keeps them -- they're just not for me.
So I'm excited about 2012, but only because I'm excited about life in general and not because I'll write a new year at the end of dates.
I'll always remember 2011 as the year I graduated from college and started life in the real world. The year my Rangers came within a strike of winning the World Series -- twice -- and broke my sports-heart instead. They had me sliding down a couch to the floor with my hands on my head shouting with my dad in disbelief, and I couldn't forget that even if I wanted to. Even if I tried. Because it was one of the greatest games in the history of baseball and they'll talk about it for decades to come.
It is the year I read more books than any other. A year I learned important things about my writing and took some major strides.
But there's one thing I like to learn anew every year. Something Stephen Colbert reminded me of in his commencement speech (which I talked about here). And that's the importance of dreams. To always dream about something, always strive for something. To take every failure, put it in your back pocket, and declare that you'll never give up.
So on that note, I want to share this song by one of my favorite bands:
Happy New Year everyone. I hope you keep on dreaming, even if it breaks your heart.
I'm awful at picking favorites, so I don't have a top 5 books list of 2011, or even a top 10 list. But below are some of my favorite books I've read in the past year that I highly recommend. They weren't all published this year, and they're of all sorts of genres, and I recommend them for all sorts of reasons.
Looking For Alaska – John Green
Everything about John Green's writing just makes my heart happy. It's smart and funny and compelling and rings true.
Room – Emma Donoghue
This one's a bit disturbing, but it needed to be. And the five year-old narrator is extremely well done.
An Abundance of Katherines – John Green
Paper Towns – John Green (Can you tell this is the year I discovered John Green?)
Fall For Anything – Courtney Summers
The Boy in the Striped Pajamas – John Boyne
This one might break your heart a little. A quick, lasting read.
Where She Went – Gayle Forman
I highly recommend the first book, If I Stay, too. I wasn't sure how I felt about this second one switching point of views before I read it, but I think I may have even loved it more than the first.
Divergent – Veronica Roth
Don't start this if you've got a lot to do. I was sucked into this world and the voice of Tris and couldn't put it down.
Imaginary Girls – Nova Ren Suma
Immediately after finishing this book, I couldn't decide how I felt about it. But I haven't stopped thinking about it ever since, and that says a lot.
Before I Die – Jenny Downham
The prose is just beautiful and heartbreaking.
Invincible Summer – Hannah Moskowitz
I couldn't get enough of the families in this story. The book takes place over four summers, but it's about so much more than summer and teenage summer love.
Wintergirls – Laurie Halse Anderson
If you loved Speak, you have to read this. It's just incredible.
The Help – Kathryn Stockett
I didn't think this was my sort of book, so every time someone told me it was great I just smiled and nodded. But it really is as wonderful as everyone said, and it certainly made me stop and think about the world we live in and how people are treated.
How to Save a Life – Sara Zarr
Will Grayson, Will Grayson
– John Green and David Levithan
Beyond Belief – Josh
Hamilton
This is a memoir of one of my favorite baseball players who very easily could've died from a crack addiction. His story is so complex and inspiring, I can't recommend it enough.
Here's to another great year of reading in 2012!
Have you read any of these? What were your favorite books you read this year?
In light of my sports-heart being broken during an incredible World Series, I wanted to lose myself in a book. But the book I was reading that week, while good, wasn't sucking me in. It wasn't enveloping me like I needed a book to at that moment.
So I decided to reread one of my favorite books that I'd only read once before, probably six or seven years ago. It was exactly what I needed and every bit as awesome as I remembered.
The funny thing is, it's not the sort of book I normally liked when I first read it in high school. And the further into it I got, the more the writing style reminded me of my own. Six years ago, though, I was writing poems, maybe some short stories. And it intrigues me now, as I try to figure out if I loved it then because of a style that was already some inherent part of me, or if it influenced my writing style, just in one reading.
I'm revising a manuscript right now, and it was actually very helpful to read this book while I revised. One's in first person past, one in first person present. The subject matters are entirely different. But it has this heartbreaking lyrical flow and does all the little parts of writing so well. It reminded me how a book feels when there aren't any extraneous, useless words, which the manuscript I'm revising is full of.
Oh, and this book I love so much? It's A Year and a Day, by Leslie Pietrzyk. I highly recommend it! And if you've read it, please let me know if you enjoyed it as much as I did.
One time when I was young -- maybe somewhere between seven and ten -- I was spending the night at my best friend's house and fell out of her bed in my sleep. I woke up when I hit her wooden desk chair and subsequently began crying.
And I kept crying. But my best friend stayed sound asleep, and no one in her house woke up either. After about ten minutes, I realized no one was going to comfort me. I also realized I was a little sore, but not nearly in as much pain as when I first hit the sharp corners of the chair.
So I stood up, climbed back into bed, and fell asleep.
When I randomly remembered this today, I realized life is much the same way. There might not always be someone there to comfort you when you get knocked down, but you might not always need someone, either. It seems ridiculous to me now that for entire minutes that night I didn't even consider going back to bed until someone -- preferably an adult -- came to check on me.
There will always be things in life that knock us a little. Startle us. Disappoint us. Hurt us.
But the thing is, we get to decide how long those things keep us down. We get to decide what will be enough to get us back up. And as much as we want there to be, there might not always be someone to swoop in and say, "you're fine," or "keep going," or "you can do it." Sometimes we have to say those things to ourselves.
I think it's very easy to let ourselves believe that things are happening to us, without giving ourselves enough credit for what we do about it. It's a silly example, sure, but falling out of the bed that night happened to me. I chose not to spend the rest of the night crying about it on the ground.
It seems so simple now. The key is remembering how to make that decision each time something pushes me down. Something worse. Something with a bit more force.
You're fine. Keep going. You can do it. You can do it. Everyone, whatever it is. You can do it. Just stand up.
I may or may not have gone to Northwestern for college because of a charity event they hold annually called Dance Marathon. Gilmore Girls was still on then and, well, the dance marathon episode of Gilmore Girls was one of my all-time favorites (Bye Dean! Hello Jess!). Now, I have since learned that other colleges hold a dance marathon, but none are as long as Northwestern's. Thirty hours. Thirty straight hours of dancing.
Dance Marathon looks like this. In other words, madness. Picture from Northwestern.edu
I participated my sophomore year, and today I realized some similarities between that experience and starting a new manuscript. (As you'd probably guess from the timing of this, I'm in the beginnings of a new manuscript right now.)
Our Dance Marathon is broken into ten blocks of three hours each. Between each block is a 15 minute break (though part of that break is spent climbing the stairs to your break room). The rest of the time is spent dancing.
Excitement and adrenaline is enough to get you through Block One. But three hours of dancing is still a lot of dancing. And I'll never forget the feeling of getting back in the break room after the first block and thinking, that wasn't TOO bad. Wait--I have to do that nine more times?
It's a lot like that first chunk of a new manuscript. I'll get this idea and enough of the plot figured out that I'm ready to start, and the words just sort of rush out. It all seems easy and invigorating. Then the realization sets in: there are thousands of words to go, and I have no idea what is going to happen for most of those, other than there might be a sailboat involved.
During Dance Marathon, when we hit the 15 hour mark the DJs put on "Livin' on a Prayer" and the thousand dancers sang with a newfound energy. "Ohh we're halfway there... oooohhhh, livin' on a prayer!" That part of a manuscript gives me the same feeling - I've completed more than I have left. Suddenly, it really seems like I can do it. Like I have enough ideas and I like the story enough that I WILL finish. There's no real doubt anymore.
Much like the first block of Dance Marathon, the final three hours were fueled almost entirely by adrenaline. The amount of money raised was revealed, people representing the charity the money was given to received a giant check on stage. In that moment, I remembered why I had just tortured my body through thirty hours of dancing. It was all worth it.
Each manuscript I've written was completed in a frenzy of words. I reached a point where I knew exactly how it was going to end, and I just wanted it written. Complete. And once I typed THE END, I knew exactly why I wrote all those words. I knew they weren't anywhere near the right words yet, but they were there.
In the first part of these long endeavors that sometimes feel impossible, it's not always easy to remember or envision the end. But as I start out on a new manuscript, that's what I'm going to try to do. Remember that I've done it before, and that everything that went into it was worth it.
Do you experience similar things at stages of your manuscript? What do you think about when you start a manuscript? And has anyone else ever done a Dance Marathon?
I have a mantra. Okay, I have quite a few mantras, but I'm talking more specifically about one of my overarching life mantras. It's this:
Don't let anyone convince you that something which gets you out of bed in the morning isn't worth your time.
I seem to have been blessed with loves for things that are not widely considered acceptable hobbies. Even at a fairly nerdy college, I got teased for the amount of time I spent reading for fun. Even among avid sports fans, the fact that I watch about 150 out of my baseball team's 162 games each year is considered lame. I was essentially told by a friend that my dream to have a book published was stupid, because books don't matter. But, well, that's a grander issue to be tackled another time.
Sometimes the hardest part of attacking a day is just the first part. Just the decision to sit up, get dressed, and face it. And each one of those things I love so dearly makes me want to get out of bed. They make me excited to go about my day, and they get me through required tasks I don't enjoy as much. So who's to say they aren't worth my time? They keep me going.
Shortly after I started reciting this mantra to myself, I realized it doesn't universally hold true. For example, even if stealing cars makes you want to wake up each morning, I definitely don't condone stealing cars. But you get my point, I'm sure.
It doesn't matter if someone else understands why something makes you happy. What matters is sticking with it. Every night as I fall asleep I think about the next day, about what I'm looking forward to. And when my alarm goes off on a morning I really want some more sleep, I just think to myself, "I get to work on my WIP tonight," or whatever the case may be for that day, and I'm out of the bed in seconds. I'm smiling. I'm ready.
So what makes you want to get out of bed each morning? Has anyone ever told you it's a waste of time?
I was lucky enough to have Stephen Colbert, a Northwestern alum, as the commencement speaker at my graduation. He did a great job of making it very Northwestern focused for the graduates while having a solid, concise greater message at the end and, of course, cracking everyone up.
Here's the speech, if you want to watch it:
Part of his "message" portion of his speech included this line:
"You have been told to follow your dreams. But, what if it's a stupid dream?"
He went on to say, "Whatever your dream is now, if you don't achieve it, that does not mean you've failed."
In my room in high school, I had a framed puzzle I'd put together of Times Square. It was a cool picture, sure. But I hung it there as a symbol of my dream to live in New York City someday. I'd loved my visits there, and I loved the picture of myself I'd imagined time and again of what my life there would be. At that point, I'd only ever lived in one house in Dallas, TX. New York was far, far away from everything I'd ever known.
The first step, in my mind, was attending college there. So my parents and I went on a college visit, where I discovered I didn't quite like the idea of NYU not having that stereotypical college campus feel, and Columbia, while having a campus, didn't actually have my major for undergrads (thanks, internet, for not telling me that before I flew there).
Eventually I decided I didn't even want to major in journalism, so Columbia was once again an option. But I had to expand my search, so I thought, how about another large city? And I began to research all of the colleges in Chicago. I discovered Northwestern and the fact that they had a creative writing program. I applied early decision and, well, the rest is history.
But this story isn't really about my college decision. It's about how, the longer I was at Northwestern, the more I knew what I'd always suspected -- I needed Texas. I missed all my family that was there, the random karaoke parties they held that I couldn't attend because I was 900 miles away. I missed people saying y'all and the ridiculously hot summers and the Dallas highways that made everything so accessible, plus countless other tiny things that make it what I love.
I had my experience of a big, lively downtown by being so close to Chicago, and rather quickly I knew that was enough for me. I still had this idyllic vision of what life in New York City would be, but I also knew that, ultimately, it wasn't what I wanted.
So that dream that I'd had for years, that several people knew about -- I just let it go. It wasn't a stupid dream, but, as Colbert said, "Dreams change, and that's okay."
I'm getting settled in my new apartment now. My real world, grown up, have a full-time job, apartment... in Dallas. And I'm incredibly happy, and satisfied, and don't feel like I've failed at all. The other day my mom came over to help me decorate. We've moved since I graduated high school, and that puzzle of NYC wasn't hanging in my room in the new house. I had her search my closet and several boxes until she found it, then I had her bring it with her. And now, once more, it's hanging in my bedroom.
It's my tribute to Stephen Colbert. To dreams. A reminder that my dream has changed once before, and I'm glad I didn't pursue it just so not attaining it wouldn't make me feel like a failure. A reminder that in high school I wasn't afraid to dream big, so I shouldn't be afraid to dream big now, either. And hey, it's still a pretty picture.
Anyone have any dreams that changed for the better? Any pearls of wisdom from your commencement speakers? I'd love to hear it!
I went to my first ever midnight movie last night, and we all know what it was. I'm not a huge movie person in general, so I've never felt it was necessary to go see one at midnight before. But I absolutely love Harry Potter and well, if there was ever a movie to see at midnight... this was it.
I expected the costumes and the crowds and the general craziness, but I still think I underestimated it all. I didn't expect the theater to clap for seriously every preview, for example. I didn't expect to be one of the last people to find their seats... an hour and a half before the movie began. (This post is free of movie spoilers by the way, in case you were worried!)
From pastemagazine.com
Here's the part of the story where I sidetrack for a moment (bear with me). When the first Harry Potter movies came out, I didn't go and see them in the theater. There were still books left, so the movies didn't interest me in the least. But eventually I saw each one, and after the seventh book came out and I had savored it, I began to anticipate the movies because, well, it was all that was "new" that was still left for Harry Potter. The movies meant this thing that had accompanied me and so many others through their childhoods wasn't quite over yet.
So I was at the movie last night, and at one of the funny lines the whole theater laughed. But they laughed too long, and I missed the next line. I don't like to miss things (unless it's a movie I've seen before, or don't like, in which case I talk through the whole thing. Hypocritical, I know...) so I was annoyed by this. And as the movie went on, cheers would erupt, and then at the next little victory the cheers would be louder. Then even louder at the next one. And my friend that I went with was sobbing beside me so much my chair shook.
And even though there was the unmistakable pressure behind my eyes of building tears, they never fell. Everyone else around me was so present, they were distracting. They made the moment one I had to share, so I didn't have enough time to process anything for myself. I didn't have the chance to decide that this particular moment was one worth shouting about. Everyone else decided it for me.
And that is one of the reasons I will always love the Harry Potter books (and any book, really) more than the movie. Even the best movie that could ever be made. Because when I read, I'm isolated in this world that feels like it has been created solely for me. I get to decide if there was something 200 pages back I need to confirm now that I know something new. I get to decide that this moment is so troubling and heartbreaking I can't help but cry. I get to dwell on a line that strikes me and find a post-it note to mark it with so I can write it down later. It is my world, and no one else's world in that same book will be quite the same.
One of my favorite lines from all of Harry Potter is Dumbledore telling Harry, "Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?" Books, when we read them, feel like they are entirely in our heads. But in our heads they are so alive, so tangible, that the characters can become embedded in us. Their plights become our plights. Their joy, our joy. And too often that--that realness--I do not experience when I see things on a screen.
So Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part II was very well done, and very moving, and I strongly suggest everyone go and see it. But I won't be going back to the movies at midnight any time soon. In fact, I'll probably spend many more wonderful hours trapped in a book before I see whatever movie I'm going to see next, and that's precisely how I prefer it.
Also, I know I've been very absent from this blog as of late. There was this whole matter of graduating from college and moving 900 miles, then moving across town a few days later, then starting my job -- all in the span of a week. So I've been a little out of sorts, but things are calming down now, and I shall try to post more regularly. Thanks for sticking with me!
Success is a journey, not a destination - Fortune Cookie
Last fall I watched an unbelievable journey by my beloved Texas Rangers, who I stuck with even when they had last place finish after last place finish. I watched them make the playoffs for the first time in eleven years, win their first playoff series in franchise history, and eventually make the World Series. They didn't win it all, but the season was far from a failure. In fact, the moment that will probably stick with me the most was when the San Francisco Giants streamed onto the field and jumped around in celebration. The crowd, which I was lucky enough to be part of, was quiet for a minute. Then a chant started: "Let's go Rangers!" It was our thank you to the players for the best season in franchise history. For defying the odds and playing with all they had.
Last night, I watched the Dallas Mavericks win their first NBA Championship - a team that did not have one single player who had ever won a championship before. Many of them had been in the league for over ten years. In 2006, the Mavs came so close to their first championship but lost. And last night, finally, they celebrated. A city that has had a terrific year of sports celebrated its first championship in over a decade.
I, just by luck, ended up watching more Mavs games this season than in all the years before (good timing on my part!), and I won't belittle the diehard Mavs fans by claiming to be a true fan myself. I do not love the Mavs like I love the Rangers, largely because I love baseball much more than basketball. But I love my city. I love hard work, perseverance, determination.
And watching these two teams has made me realize something - something that a fortune cookie I got two weeks ago touched on. If it were easy - easy to be the best in a sport, easy to win a championship, easy to reach the highest level of your career, easy to get straight As, easy to write a bestseller - well, it just wouldn't mean nearly as much. Part of the reason the Rangers magical run meant so much to me was how long I had waited for it, how many just plain awful seasons of baseball I had watched, waiting for the moment they were a good team again.
Success comes as part of a journey. It is not some clearly defined moment, and it cannot be the end all be all, or you may never get there. Every day I sit down to write, I have to enjoy it. Because that is going to be what keeps me writing. That is going to be what keeps me moving along in my journey. Giving up is easy. Staying the course on a journey undefined in length, that's the part that takes faith, trust. And after every failure is a moment of success just by choosing to keep going. Keep believing.
There may never be a moment when the pinnacle of success has been reached and is clear. The Mavericks are Champions today, and they will celebrate it in the weeks to come. But then they will go back to the gym, back to practices, start a new season. Success fluctuates. It comes in different forms and is ever-changing. I think I, as much as anyone, need to remember to stay in the moment, enjoy the journey. Let the future take care of itself.
To all of you who don't enjoy sports, sorry for my sports analogies!! The love I have for sports, reading, and writing somehow always manages to intertwine in ways that make most people look at me sideways. So if you're doing the same, you're not alone! But I do love and appreciate you anyway :)
I have only ever cried during two movies: Cool Runnings and Jack Frost. Apparently 90s movies really do me in, and for entirely different reasons. In Cool Runnings it was when they hoisted the bobsled above their heads and walked across the finish line, completing their own personal victory. In Jack Frost, I just remember a kid banging a shovel on the ground, frustrated and upset and grieving. So I cried. Just teared up, really.
From Amazon.com
I cry much more frequently at TV shows. I think it's because I can't watch a TV show without diligently watching each episode, so I grow to care for the characters much more than I ever do in movies. I don't think I've ever seen a graduation on a TV show and not cried. For instance, Gilmore Girls is probably my favorite TV show ever, and I cry every single time I watch Rory graduate from high school, and every single time she pulls up to her going away party in the very last episode. And, a little secret, I've watched every episode of that show more than I should ever admit. So that's a lot of times.
I need to make a clarification here, though - when I say cry, I mostly mean my eyes bubbled with water and maybe one tear slipped down my cheek.
Then this morning, I watched last night's Secret Life of the American Teenager (Warning: Spoilers will follow). This show is my guilty pleasure. I only admit I watch it to my closest of friends (and now all of you!). The thing is, the writing isn't that great. The acting, not so great. But I watched the first episode and I was hooked, because I needed to know what happened. The story intrigued me. And so, I've kept watching. Sometimes I cringed, but mostly it was forty minutes of enjoyment, and then I moved on.
Something started happening this season though. I noticed the acting was better. There were fewer lines that were ridiculously cheesy. The storyline that I had always been interested by had become infused with emotion that was more intense. Then, in the newest episode, one of the characters thought she was going into labor, and instead lost her baby. It's not like this twist is incredibly original, or never been done. I even knew it was coming thanks to the previews. But I'll admit - I cried for the last ten minutes of the episode. I mean, blowing my nose, mascara down my cheek, crying.
The acting was excellent, portraying the heartbreak through their actions and faces without many words. And as a result, I was heartbroken. When the episode ended, I needed something funny, something to make me less upset. Whatever anyone thinks about the decision the show made to have this happen, I think most people would agree this was a very emotional episode.
And here's the thing. My ultimate point. That's the incredible thing about art. I haven't even gotten into the books that have brought about tears, but all forms of art can do many things. They can teach, amuse, enlighten, and they can make you feel. I felt incredibly upset this morning after watching that show, not because I thought those characters were real but because what they went through, other people have too. And when a show or a book makes me feel something I probably otherwise wouldn't have that day, I consider that a job well done. Feeling - whether it's elation or sorrow - is what makes me human. And I wouldn't want to feel any less.
I have a question for you! Something I've been pondering lately...
In the past half year or so I've read a young adult book and an adult book that deal with the main character cheating with their best friend's boyfriend. In both cases, the best friend was portrayed as insecure, needy, bossy, and selfish. Not to mention that she treated the main character pretty horribly.
So, as a reader, I rooted for the main character to get the boy, despite the fact that she was betraying her best friend. She would claim that her relationship with the boy was deeper than the best friend's relationship, and of course I believed it, because that was how it was presented.
As I read the second one though, I began to wonder - how would I feel about this main character if the best friend were kind, considerate, and selfless? Would it affect how much I enjoyed the book?
I don't think I need a likeable main character to like a book, so long as the character is complex. For example, I loved Lauren Oliver's Before I Fall, and I didn't really care for the main character as a person for most of the book. She was exactly the sort of person I would have disliked in high school. But she was multi-faceted, complex, and - ultimately - she changed. She recognized the ways she was unlikeable, and she grew throughout the book.
I can't decide if I'd rather read a book where the main character cheats knowing her best friend is incredible and just owns up to it, doesn't try to defend her actions by claiming that, in some ways, the friend deserves it. I think there's a good chance I'd be incredibly frustrated with the main character. But I also think that in many ways it will feel more true, more honest. I'm sure not everyone who cheats with their best friend's boyfriend does it because the best friend is actually awful and deserves it.
So what do you think? Do you need likeable main characters?
Every time I walk from work to the grocery store before catching my bus, I pass a particular square of sidewalk that makes me quite happy. Today I finally stopped to take a picture of it...
"There is no greater power than imagination. Believe, and doing becomes easy."
I love whoever wrote that into the sidewalk, because that phrase is great in two ways.
1. It says you can do whatever you believe you can do. I think it's too easy to fail to believe in yourself before pursuing a dream, or even an everyday task.
2. The first half in and of itself: There is no greater power than imagination. Imagination is the foundation of all stories, and I think in many ways stories are vital to the foundation of who we are as people and as a collective.
Both of these things are worth remembering more often.
So, to whoever saw this slab of wet cement and decided to make their mark in it, bravo. Good choice of words. If you ever see me walking to the grocery store, stop me so I can give you a high five.
I try not to, but I usually feel the need to defend myself when friends see me reading a young adult novel. I go to a school where being literary and high-brow is much more acceptable than reading the latest young adult release, especially in my writing classes. When I do defend my choices, I cite the same reasons:
These books are good. They are incredibly well-written. Just because they are written with teenagers in mind does not mean they aren't quality. And because I want to write young adult novels, it is important that I read them.
Things happen. And quickly. As someone who depended on murder mysteries and legal thrillers through middle school and most of high school, I need plot. And in young adult, most of the time even the books that aren't high concept still pull you in right away. Because, let's face it, teenagers aren't going to give a book 50 pages to see if they like it.
In high school, every little thing that happens feels like the most important thing ever. It just does. Because in high school we feel so old and grown up and we don't yet know just how complicated and messed up and tough things can really get, so everything that happens to us is either the best or the worst and every crush is a love we'll never get over.
This last reason is why I most enjoy both writing and reading young adult - the intensity and urgency of every emotion. But there's another thing I love: Friday Night Lights. I first started watching the show because my cousin was a regular extra on it, but after the first few episodes, there was no getting me to stop. I don't think it hurt that I began watching it shortly after I moved to Chicago for college, and I was definitely homesick for Texas.
From tvovermind.zap2it.com
I can't say what is so incredible about this show as well as well as this article does (which I found via the incredible Nathan Bransford's blog). But in the article by Sonya Chung, this resonated with me the most:
"FNL reminds us that high school is an entire lifetime. Everything important that’s ever going to happen to you happens during those four years."
This isn't saying that nothing important will ever happen outside of high school, just that some version of every important thing will likely manifest itself in some way in those four years. That's the great thing about young adult novels - the emotions may be the same as in adult novels, but they're compressed and intensified in this way that reminds you that high school actually isn't everything, but life is indeed short. Sometimes, I think, the world could benefit from certain aspects of our teenage selves continuing with us into adulthood. (Though I'll never mind if the drama gets left behind!) So young adult novels? They rock. No matter how old you are.
I was thinking about Easter, which led to me considering holidays in novels. I could just be drawing a blank, but I can't think of a lot of novels in which a description of a holiday stands out or resonates. (Except maybe Harry Potter, because, let's face it, I'm always thinking about Harry Potter.) I think holidays are often just glossed over because, hey, it's November and Thanksgiving had to happen, or the holiday is just depicted with rather normal traditions.
Easter made me think of this because it's one of my favorite holidays, but nor for a very normal reason. (Though much of it is the religious aspect of the holiday, but I'm not going to focus on that here.) I'm very lucky to have not only grown up with all of my extended family in the same state, and most in the same city, but both sides of my family were also friends. As in, two of my aunts were best friends in high school and actually set my parents up. So my grandparents were all friends, too.
Since we all lived close by, I saw family members from each side together often. But Easter was the only holiday I got to spend with both sides at the same time, and that's why it was always my favorite. Each family would go to their respective churches, then we'd all meet up at a park for a picnic lunch. Then we'd split into teams and play soccer. My grandpas would set up a lawn chair in each goal and we'd all play a long, fun game of soccer. I don't really remember hunting for Easter eggs or a big brunch, I remember the picnic and the soccer - two things that aren't typically associated with Easter.
So, considering this, I'm trying to remind myself that when I do write a holiday into a novel sometimes it's the unconventional traditions that can say the most about the characters and add more to the story. Talking about turkey at Thanksgiving dinner is the easy thing to do, but what about the family whose tradition is pot roast, then a game of poker? That, when applicable to the characters, might make for the more interesting story.
I love reading, writing, and Texas Rangers baseball. Also Texas, and baseball in general, and books. I really love books. I believe in smiling, kindness, perseverance, and following dreams. And if one must wear socks, they should probably be colorful and not match.
