I quit my retail job in May.
I spent the summer volunteering at Loucon.
Husband and I moved to Chattanooga.
Husband and I went on a cross-country adventure.
I participated in the Writer's Platform-Building Campaign.
My best friend was diagnosed with a grade II astrocytoma* in her left frontal lobe.
Husband and I went to New York.
I won NaNoWriMo.
I was in a play.
Christmas happened.
New Year's happened.
Several friends have come to visit.
Yesterday:
My mom turned 61 {I'm not afraid to share, because she owns it}.
Katie's surgery didn't go exactly as planned, but she's okay.
She starts chemo and radiation in about a month.
And last night at small group, a friend asked how my job search was going.
What job search?
Ah, crap, I haven't worked in eight months. What a loser.
Well, okay. I've worked, but I haven't had a job. I haven't been paid for anything. And if this is what full-time writing looks like? It's a wonder anyone gets anything done {I am not a very productive being}.
I wouldn't mind getting a job. I really wouldn't {it might happen soon, actually}. But I'm not exactly chomping at the bit for one. It's a blessing, for sure, that I don't need to have a job right now. A luxury that makes me blush to admit. My husband works his tail off doing something he half-loves so that I can do what I full-love. If only I didn't fail at it, or dance around it, or gape at it, drooling and terrified.
It's true that I've accomplished far less, writing-wise, than I'd hoped to by now {and, no, I'm not counting NaNo}. Life, of course, has been crazy. But I'm not blaming life. I'm actually... thanking life? Or, to be more accurate, thanking the Lord for giving me this life. As jumbly and hectic and painful as it's been, there have also been great moments. Especially during the play. Things I wouldn't trade for the world, let alone a paycheck.
And so today?
I will clean the kitchen.
I will disconnect myself from the internet.
I will write.
I will inquire about a nannying job.
I *might* even go on a walk in the woods behind our house {oh yes, this one first, please}.
And I will practice telling people that I do have a job. One I love so much, I don't need to be compensated to justify it.
It's called being a stay-at-home writer wife. And if I can really do that with intent {hey-oh, there's my word}, won't it be so much better than throwing in the towel and jumping back into retail?
OH MY GOOD GOLLY, YES.
*I didn't link to any information about this because Katie has asked/trained me not look up stuff about her condition on the internet {or at least, not to tell her about it}. She wants her info to come from doctors, and I wholly respect that. Feel free to google it if you want, but you never know what you might find.
Showing posts with label Being Different. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Being Different. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Monday, July 11, 2011
summer! plus: what do we really want?
Ah, the perks of living in this part of the country at this time of year. Hot sun, heavy air (am I the only soul alive who kind of likes humidity?). Humming cicadas, glinting fireflies. The vibrant, almost oppressive greenness of every living thing. As long as I remain well-equipped with bugspray, sunglasses and the occasional coating of SPF 15, I have no complaints.
It's a good thing I'm a summer baby, because we're about to move where it's even hotter, though only a hundred miles away. Funny how mountains and valleys do that, huh? Yes, yes. It's official. We bought a house, like grown-ups do. Chattanooga, here we come. Please, please, please let your restaurants be vegetarian-friendly, your proximity to Georgia less mystifying over time,* and your library as fabulous as Blount County's.
{*When I was a kid in Kentucky, Georgia was this big, far-away place where they made Coca-Cola and had the Olympics, once. We would drive through it on our way to Florida every summer, and the majority of my opinion of the state went as such: Takes forever to get to. Takes forever to go through. And now, I'll be living, like, ten miles from the state line. This blows my mind, for some reason.}
Speaking of the South and the summertime, this past week at camp was likely the most fun I've ever had there, which, after 7 summers of working on staff and three summers of counseling, is saying A LOT. I mean, I spent one whole day dressed, to some degree, as a pirate. What's not to love about that?
Another highlight of this past week was finding myself in several conversations, both with teenagers and adults, about YA. At lunch one day, a fellow counselor mentioned something about Twilight, and how she had to attend a meeting on the basics of the story, so as to better assimilate to the people she works with in Eastern Kentucky who talk of NOTHING ELSE. I am not kidding. I asked her what she thought, and she said, essentially, "Meh, the first book was a pretty good read. About all I expected, you know, since it's just a young adult book."
Boy howdy, did the hair on my neck ever prickle at that. I said, "Hey, now. There is plenty of young adult lit that is not only better crafted than Twilight, but also better for humanity and far more important. Like The Hunger Games, for instance." And I was off. There was a girl at our table who'd read the books, too, and she nodded vigorously, smile plastered, as I talked about how awesome and integral and significant those books are. I wore my t-shirt the next day and started even more conversations.
I noticed something else, too: there are a lot of teens out there who really disliked Mockingjay. One of the girls last week described it, pretty much, as "the author going crazy and killing characters for funsies." I'd heard this before, from a couple other kids, and it spurned a thought: What do teenagers really want out of the books they read? A squirmy, sick corner of my mind wants to say, "Flowers and bunnies! Cute boys and no bad things, ever!" But I know that's not true. When I was 16, that's not what I read. I was obsessed with Lord of the Rings, then. The only bunnies in that were food, and the only flower I remember was the elanor. There were no cute boys, in particular (unless you count Aragorn? Faramir?), and plenty of bad things.
I don't know what it is. I won't claim that Mockingjay was an enjoyable and fun romp through literature, by any means, but it was very good. Perhaps I am just a cold heart, but if you've been reading a series about rebellion and war, what do you really expect to find at the end of it?
It's a good thing I'm a summer baby, because we're about to move where it's even hotter, though only a hundred miles away. Funny how mountains and valleys do that, huh? Yes, yes. It's official. We bought a house, like grown-ups do. Chattanooga, here we come. Please, please, please let your restaurants be vegetarian-friendly, your proximity to Georgia less mystifying over time,* and your library as fabulous as Blount County's.
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| The south shore of Chattanooga in the summertime. Photo from this site. |
Speaking of the South and the summertime, this past week at camp was likely the most fun I've ever had there, which, after 7 summers of working on staff and three summers of counseling, is saying A LOT. I mean, I spent one whole day dressed, to some degree, as a pirate. What's not to love about that?
Another highlight of this past week was finding myself in several conversations, both with teenagers and adults, about YA. At lunch one day, a fellow counselor mentioned something about Twilight, and how she had to attend a meeting on the basics of the story, so as to better assimilate to the people she works with in Eastern Kentucky who talk of NOTHING ELSE. I am not kidding. I asked her what she thought, and she said, essentially, "Meh, the first book was a pretty good read. About all I expected, you know, since it's just a young adult book."
Boy howdy, did the hair on my neck ever prickle at that. I said, "Hey, now. There is plenty of young adult lit that is not only better crafted than Twilight, but also better for humanity and far more important. Like The Hunger Games, for instance." And I was off. There was a girl at our table who'd read the books, too, and she nodded vigorously, smile plastered, as I talked about how awesome and integral and significant those books are. I wore my t-shirt the next day and started even more conversations.
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| My HG t-shirt, pretty much. I bought it at a Borders in Chicago. |
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| Him? |
Anywho, I suppose that's all for today's soap-box. What do you think kids really want to read? Or, heck, adults, too. What do any of us really want in a book? Personally, as much as I enjoy light fare and humor, I think I love the difficult stories more. Should I not? It makes me sad to think that some folks only want a fair-weather friend out of what they read. I need both sides of the coin.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
another round of blog awards.
Lots of thanks and a hearty hug (one of my specialties) to Jenna over at Finding the Write Way for this Irresistibly Sweet Blog Award!
Okay, that's absolutely enough about my appearance. Let's talk about books!
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| I want to eat it. I want to eat-it-up-yum. |
I feel so... loved! So... is anyone really that interested in learning seven more things about me? Yeah...
1. I had my first pedicure this weekend. I know. It took me almost 26 years (well, probably not all 26. I don't think small children really get pedicures), but I finally got one. Want to see my post-pedi toes? Of course you do. They're blue with flowers.
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| I mean, why not, right? |
2. Speaking of firsts, I finally got my nose pierced today. I'd been wanting to this since I was 19. It was good to finally let myself.
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| My face (and left hand)(and nostril bling). |
3. I was born with a head full of jet black hair, which turned blond when I was a toddler, then got, like, white blond when I was 4-6 years old, then started turning dirty again when I was about 12. Now it's just... brownish (see above). Fascinating. A friend in college called this "mood hair."
Okay, that's absolutely enough about my appearance. Let's talk about books!
4. I didn't start reading Harry Potter until after the first movie came out. I didn't start reading Lord of the Rings until after the first TWO movies were out. I'm ashamed, but it turned out okay.
6. Once upon a time in college, I came home to my apartment from an exhausting day of classes and promptly crashed on the couch. I was so tired, I could hardly keep my eyes open when my roommate, Katie, came in and started microwaving some popcorn. I was so wiped out, but I kept telling myself, "At least say hi so she knows I'm not 100% asleep." Katie poured the popcorn into a green, plastic bowl and sat down in the chair beside me. I willed myself to wake up and eat popcorn with her I sat up. I rubbed my face and turned to her. I said, "Hey Katie..."
But she was not in the chair. She was not in my apartment at all.
Some people call this hallucinating. Yup.
Some people call this hallucinating. Yup.
7. I'm not the biggest fan of dark colas. I like Sprite and her clear-syrupped cousins fairly well (I *heart* Ale-8), but the only darker soda I really like is root beer.
And NOW you KNOW!
Alrighty, who here is irrisistibly sweet... thinking thinking...
Zzzzzripph! Jeigh Meredith, come on now, girl. You know you make my heart sing. (You also bring out the weirdest sides of me. Sheesh.)
Jenna Cooper! Oh, drat. You're the one who awarded me. Well... consider it mutual.
How about those new writer friends of mine?
Kristen Simmons! Check out her fabulous new website, and get pumped about Article 5!
How about those new writer friends of mine?
Kristen Simmons! Check out her fabulous new website, and get pumped about Article 5!
Courtney Potter! Seriously, Court, you are such an inspiration to me.
I have been so blessed, recently. Especially by other people. So let's all show some love!
I have been so blessed, recently. Especially by other people. So let's all show some love!
Sunday, May 22, 2011
one award, seven things about me, and some other stuff.
In keeping with this week's theme of "rites of passage," I have officially received my first blog award. (!) Thanks, Jeigh, for being awesome and making me feel good about myself. And for laughing at all my stupid jokes. And for getting excited about all the right things. Dang, you're cool.
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| Look at how pretty it is! |
The catch, of course, is that I have to share interesting things about myself. And then, you know, pass on the award, which is the fun part! But before we get to that fun part, here are seven things you may or may not know about me.
1. I am a vegetarian. Surprised? Strangely, even my grandmother forgets this about me, from time to time. Which is funny, because I haven't eaten meat since I was, like, six. I just don't like it. It began, in all honesty, with my dad referring to my half-eaten drumstick as a "chicken leg." The freak-out went a little something like this: "What?! WHAT. AM. I. EATING???!!!!!" Little Julie was horrified. Dead animals + my insides = should not be mixing. Soon after that, the texture of most meats began to revolt me--ground beef is the absolute worst. Even though I didn't officially call myself vegetarian until college, I hadn't eaten meat without grimacing or complaining (or abstaining entirely) since the chicken leg debacle of approximately 1991. It's a little bit animal rights, a little bit "I just don't like it," and a little bit of that original freak-out, still hanging on.
2. I am the only girl (of my generation) in my biological family. I have one brother... and five male first cousins. Surprisingly, I never played sports.
3. Scars: I have a scar on my lip from falling down the stairs on my fourth birthday, chasing after my new kitten. That kitten just passed away a year ago. She was 21. I have a scar on my hand that is a complete mystery, which is a shame, because it looks really cool. Yeah, I'm kind of boring at the scar game.
4. I am embarrassingly sensitive to silverware. Silverware rips holes in my sanity, if I'm not careful. I hate the feeling/sound of metal scraping against my teeth (uuhhnghg), on plates (eeeeenghkk), even other people's teeth (pleaseplease, make it stop). It doesn't upset me emotionally or anything, so don't feel like you have to apologize for scraping your teeth across your horrible, metal fork every time you take a bite *shudder shudder scream gag*, but now you know why I sometimes have to find a random subject to talk about, or suddenly go to the bathroom. I'd rather do that than say, "I'm sorry, every new friend I ever make, I detest silverware. I require that we only use plastic or bamboo flatware in my presence." I save that for my poor husband. In fact, his very first gift to me, back when we were dating, was a set of bamboo flatware. I'm not kidding (he's such a keeper). And every holiday with my parents, my place is clearly defined by the plastic picnic ware 'mongst the good china and fancy goblets. You didn't know it was this bad, did you? I'm trying to improve. At least I don't take my own flatware with me to restaurants (but don't think it hasn't crossed my mind).
5. I used to ride horses. Then I got scared. Story of my life.
6. I am mildly in love with anime. I don't have an excuse. It's a guilty pleasure. If I can ignore the typically over-dramatic dialogue (and steer clear of the particular shows involving larger-than-life boobs), there's just something about it that makes me feel all happy inside. There. Now you know.
7. The first blog I ever followed was The Itty Bitty Kitty Committee. In fact, I joined blogger so I could follow it. Don't make fun. I was planning a wedding at the time. Baby cats = stress relief of kings. When I finally started my own blog, there was this huge mental hurdle I had to get over. I was like, "What do people who don't foster kittens blog about?" And then I found the YA writing community, and the "Aha!" moment was not far behind.
Aren't you glad to know all those weird things about me? I have dutifully prepared you for possible conversation topics, future trivia, and, of course, what to do when faced with the daunting situation of dining with me.
[Speaking of trivia, and anime, and The Count of Monte Cristo (were we not talking about that one?), this is a real thing. It is so bizarre. Be warned, though, it's not for kids... and not really anything like The Count of Monte Cristo (though still more faithful than the Jim Caviezel version). I'm also not technically recommending it to someone unfamiliar with anime (there are lots better out there). But it is just so dang weird, I had to mention it. If you're not familiar with anime, but you want to be (rah rah!), start with any film by Hayao Miyazaki, as I'm sure I've said before. Love love love.]
Anyway, now onto the fun part! *obligatory drumroll* My three picks for this award are:
Elisabeth, at fairbetty's world: A real life friend who just happens to also be a blogging, aspiring novelist. Yeah, it's pretty awesome. Plus, she just got back from "researching" in Scotland. You know you want to be a part of that. Tidbit: her cousin, Katie, and their annual family trip to Mt. LeConte (sound familiar yet?) may or may not be what brought my husband and me together. :) Them's family ties, right there.
Amber, at C(am)em(ber)[t]: quite possibly my favorite blog title, ever. She's a friend, listener, and make-happen-er: smart-as-a-whip and pretty, too. And her blog is full of thoughtful, useful stuff. She lives and breathes writing, and boy is it contagious.
and
Jessica, at Graduate Gourmet: Because after a long day of writing, is there anything better than gawking at beautiful food? No. :) Jess and I are long time friends and camp buddies. Now she lives and works in DC, and blogs about food, and dangitall if the girl can't roast some mean asparagus. Foodies unite!
So, go on over! Show some love! And winners, now you get to pass it on, if you like. See, isn't this fun? Later on, friends (I'm cutting this a little short, because hoo-wee, would you look at the time).
Bye!
Aren't you glad to know all those weird things about me? I have dutifully prepared you for possible conversation topics, future trivia, and, of course, what to do when faced with the daunting situation of dining with me.
[Speaking of trivia, and anime, and The Count of Monte Cristo (were we not talking about that one?), this is a real thing. It is so bizarre. Be warned, though, it's not for kids... and not really anything like The Count of Monte Cristo (though still more faithful than the Jim Caviezel version). I'm also not technically recommending it to someone unfamiliar with anime (there are lots better out there). But it is just so dang weird, I had to mention it. If you're not familiar with anime, but you want to be (rah rah!), start with any film by Hayao Miyazaki, as I'm sure I've said before. Love love love.]
Anyway, now onto the fun part! *obligatory drumroll* My three picks for this award are:
Elisabeth, at fairbetty's world: A real life friend who just happens to also be a blogging, aspiring novelist. Yeah, it's pretty awesome. Plus, she just got back from "researching" in Scotland. You know you want to be a part of that. Tidbit: her cousin, Katie, and their annual family trip to Mt. LeConte (sound familiar yet?) may or may not be what brought my husband and me together. :) Them's family ties, right there.
Amber, at C(am)em(ber)[t]: quite possibly my favorite blog title, ever. She's a friend, listener, and make-happen-er: smart-as-a-whip and pretty, too. And her blog is full of thoughtful, useful stuff. She lives and breathes writing, and boy is it contagious.
and
Jessica, at Graduate Gourmet: Because after a long day of writing, is there anything better than gawking at beautiful food? No. :) Jess and I are long time friends and camp buddies. Now she lives and works in DC, and blogs about food, and dangitall if the girl can't roast some mean asparagus. Foodies unite!
So, go on over! Show some love! And winners, now you get to pass it on, if you like. See, isn't this fun? Later on, friends (I'm cutting this a little short, because hoo-wee, would you look at the time).
Bye!
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
i make lists. and have revelations.
[First of all, holy cow is it beautiful outside today. Today is not a stay-indoors-and-write day, it's a go-outside-and-read day. Today is the sort of day that leaves your skin smelling like sunshine and dirt, even if you haven't been rolling around in either. Dang. Alas, I am indoors. Why does my computer screen have to be so hard to read in natural light? There's something wrong with that.]
I am a list-maker. Not necessarily in the Rory Gilmore, pros-and-cons way (though I do get like that sometimes), but more in the daydream-y way. I sneak pieces of scrap paper to make tiny lists at work all the time. I often want them to be about the story I'm writing, but that could get real embarrassing real fast (I cannot keep tabs on all my lists. They have the propensity to fall on the floor and get discovered by my co-workers). Usually, they are about my dreams and goals. Sometimes, they're just things I'm thinking about. An especially great one from this past Saturday was "Reasons Why Today is Awesome." It included:
1. Laughing with Christy (over the voicemail she'd left me in a Baltic accent- no wonder she's my friend).
2. Signing with Chester (a deaf man who comes into Mast all the time).
3. Meeting Jose (who used to interpret both ASL and Spanish in South Texas).
4. High-fiving the guy who works at Lenny's.
5. All the cute dogs! (Mast is a pet-friendly establishment, and I love that.)
6. Talking with Dani on the phone for an hour and a half (which happened before work, not during, in case you were concerned about my ethic).
Today, my list is of the to-do genre, and it looks like this:
1. Apply to volunteer at this library I love so much (happening right now!).
2. Do a lot of thinking about where I want to be in the next few months.
It's a concise one. It's an exciting one. God has been teaching me a lot about myself, and I feel like a door is opening somewhere, even though I can barely tell what shape it is. This whole I-know-Katniss madness has pretty quickly deteriorated into a why-do-I-suck-so-bad? pity fest. I mean, it kind of hurts. It shouldn't, but it does. I know that girl (and she's not the only one, either), and even if I am not remotely as talented, I still grew up with the same interests. Dreams. Passions. And then I got scared. I stepped back and let it go on without me because I never, ever, believed in myself enough to take any steps toward success. And by success, I don't just mean playing Katniss in the Hunger Games movies. Success for me would be, say, actually writing this book and then querying agents (which I never thought I would do). Or, better yet, getting actively involved in a theatre group. Why have I let that slide? Did I really think that I would no longer enjoy acting after college? Well... yeah, I did. I did think that. I remember coming to terms with myself over "not being in plays anymore." Ridiculous.
The other night it finally dawned on me: way to slap God in the face. He made me to love theatre. He made me to love writing. He made me to love sign language and deaf culture. He made me to love camping ministry. And not just to love them, but to actually do them! And by ignoring these things, I am the one who is missing out on what He has in store for me. I used to be ashamed of the impracticality. I used to think, Why do I thrive on things I will never be able to do?
Well, who am I to say that I'll never be able to do them? Or that I won't just do them anyway, regardless of the success of others or my fear of failure? Did God not shape all these desires in me on purpose? (Yes! Yes he did!)
And as I was pondering this the other night, it all came together: words. God has given me a gift (small though it may be) of using words. Spoken, written, signed, and even those expressed by Him.
So, yes. I have been scared. I have stepped back. I have never fully believed in myself. I have been complacent in doing other things. And you know what? I'm done with that. If you haven't noticed, I am a strong believer in the unfolding purposes of the Lord. And some amazing things can really happen when I let myself get out of the way. Friends, if you will hold me accountable to getting back into theatre, taking writing more seriously (because what if the Lord really does want that from me?), improving in ASL, and, most importantly, spending more time with my Bible, I will be grateful.
Who am I to ignore it?
[I still plan to write my completed work out by hand in journals and then hide them in the attic, though. That won't change, even if I do get published.]
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| Rory: I'm not entirely sure what to do about you, Jess. Let me put it in a list, and I'll get back to you. (Not her brightest idea. Or an actual quote.) |
1. Laughing with Christy (over the voicemail she'd left me in a Baltic accent- no wonder she's my friend).
2. Signing with Chester (a deaf man who comes into Mast all the time).
3. Meeting Jose (who used to interpret both ASL and Spanish in South Texas).
4. High-fiving the guy who works at Lenny's.
5. All the cute dogs! (Mast is a pet-friendly establishment, and I love that.)
6. Talking with Dani on the phone for an hour and a half (which happened before work, not during, in case you were concerned about my ethic).
Today, my list is of the to-do genre, and it looks like this:
1. Apply to volunteer at this library I love so much (happening right now!).
2. Do a lot of thinking about where I want to be in the next few months.
It's a concise one. It's an exciting one. God has been teaching me a lot about myself, and I feel like a door is opening somewhere, even though I can barely tell what shape it is. This whole I-know-Katniss madness has pretty quickly deteriorated into a why-do-I-suck-so-bad? pity fest. I mean, it kind of hurts. It shouldn't, but it does. I know that girl (and she's not the only one, either), and even if I am not remotely as talented, I still grew up with the same interests. Dreams. Passions. And then I got scared. I stepped back and let it go on without me because I never, ever, believed in myself enough to take any steps toward success. And by success, I don't just mean playing Katniss in the Hunger Games movies. Success for me would be, say, actually writing this book and then querying agents (which I never thought I would do). Or, better yet, getting actively involved in a theatre group. Why have I let that slide? Did I really think that I would no longer enjoy acting after college? Well... yeah, I did. I did think that. I remember coming to terms with myself over "not being in plays anymore." Ridiculous.
The other night it finally dawned on me: way to slap God in the face. He made me to love theatre. He made me to love writing. He made me to love sign language and deaf culture. He made me to love camping ministry. And not just to love them, but to actually do them! And by ignoring these things, I am the one who is missing out on what He has in store for me. I used to be ashamed of the impracticality. I used to think, Why do I thrive on things I will never be able to do?
Well, who am I to say that I'll never be able to do them? Or that I won't just do them anyway, regardless of the success of others or my fear of failure? Did God not shape all these desires in me on purpose? (Yes! Yes he did!)
And as I was pondering this the other night, it all came together: words. God has given me a gift (small though it may be) of using words. Spoken, written, signed, and even those expressed by Him.
So, yes. I have been scared. I have stepped back. I have never fully believed in myself. I have been complacent in doing other things. And you know what? I'm done with that. If you haven't noticed, I am a strong believer in the unfolding purposes of the Lord. And some amazing things can really happen when I let myself get out of the way. Friends, if you will hold me accountable to getting back into theatre, taking writing more seriously (because what if the Lord really does want that from me?), improving in ASL, and, most importantly, spending more time with my Bible, I will be grateful.
Who am I to ignore it?
[I still plan to write my completed work out by hand in journals and then hide them in the attic, though. That won't change, even if I do get published.]
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
in which i gush over plain kate, etc.
I stayed in bed until 12:30 today, reading a book. And not just any book. It's my new of-many-favorites book: Plain Kate, by Erin Bow. I cannot begin to describe all the reasons I loved it. Here's a list, to get my brain going:
1. It was beautifully written, and I mean that in the most genuine sense. Meager broken lines away from being considered verse (in my book).
2. There is a talking cat.
3. You both love and fear the villain (Can you even call him that? Genius).
4. It's a story about friendship and family, a breath of fresh air after so much boysboysboyskissingkissing.
5. There are boats, and I love boats.
6. I cried at the end, but I'm not depressed.
7. The heart and message are intriguing and incredible.
8. The magic is terrifying.
9. The story is concise. No wandering around without purpose, thinking. Every scene fills a role.
and...
10. I am, for the first time in a while, not left to wish the author had done something different.
That's a pretty concise view of my opinion, actually. Oh, but this is so hard, because I want so badly to tell you everything, but then you won't read it, and I really think it would be better for you if you just read it. I have to be honest, I haven't felt this way about a book in a long time. I've read a lot of great books in the past year, but this is one of maybe a fistful that call out to me in a different way. I loved The Hunger Games, of course. Brilliant. But something unique happens when I read a story I not only wish I could have written, but also encapsulates the kind of writing I think I actually could do. That was a muddle of a sentence. What I mean is, as much as I loved THG, and as much as I would love to write something that awesome one day, it just doesn't feel like me. Plain Kate feels like me, like what I think my voice could be. And it's so cool and inspiring to read, and it fills me with confidence. Or, if nothing else, encouragement. I want to write this kind of book.
The last time I felt this way, for anyone who's interested, was after I read Lips Touch: Three Times, by Laini Taylor. My semi-embarrassing review (which she actually read, and then thanked me for, if you can believe that-- I know, I about peed my pants) can be found right here. And, hey, now that I think about it, guess how I found out about Plain Kate? Laini Taylor. Talk about full circle.
And, no, of course I'm not jumping up and down like a hyper kitty over the upcoming release of Laini's next book, Daughter of Smoke and Bone. Of course not. Silly you for even thinking that.
So, yes. It's been a good day.
2. There is a talking cat.
3. You both love and fear the villain (Can you even call him that? Genius).
4. It's a story about friendship and family, a breath of fresh air after so much boysboysboyskissingkissing.
5. There are boats, and I love boats.
6. I cried at the end, but I'm not depressed.
7. The heart and message are intriguing and incredible.
8. The magic is terrifying.
9. The story is concise. No wandering around without purpose, thinking. Every scene fills a role.
and...
10. I am, for the first time in a while, not left to wish the author had done something different.
That's a pretty concise view of my opinion, actually. Oh, but this is so hard, because I want so badly to tell you everything, but then you won't read it, and I really think it would be better for you if you just read it. I have to be honest, I haven't felt this way about a book in a long time. I've read a lot of great books in the past year, but this is one of maybe a fistful that call out to me in a different way. I loved The Hunger Games, of course. Brilliant. But something unique happens when I read a story I not only wish I could have written, but also encapsulates the kind of writing I think I actually could do. That was a muddle of a sentence. What I mean is, as much as I loved THG, and as much as I would love to write something that awesome one day, it just doesn't feel like me. Plain Kate feels like me, like what I think my voice could be. And it's so cool and inspiring to read, and it fills me with confidence. Or, if nothing else, encouragement. I want to write this kind of book.
The last time I felt this way, for anyone who's interested, was after I read Lips Touch: Three Times, by Laini Taylor. My semi-embarrassing review (which she actually read, and then thanked me for, if you can believe that-- I know, I about peed my pants) can be found right here. And, hey, now that I think about it, guess how I found out about Plain Kate? Laini Taylor. Talk about full circle.
And, no, of course I'm not jumping up and down like a hyper kitty over the upcoming release of Laini's next book, Daughter of Smoke and Bone. Of course not. Silly you for even thinking that.
So, yes. It's been a good day.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
my funny motivations.
I guess I don't really mean ha-ha funny, here. Sorry to disappoint the hopefuls. I'm having a slight woe-is-me fest. I'm not really sad about anything. I just feel different. I feel... unlike other people. I have always, always felt this way.
In pondering this on the way home from work yesterday, my mind wandered to a story idea I've been toying with for the past month or so. It's one of those sigh-inducing flights of fancy that may never see the light of day, but it sends me into mental giggles and I can't let it go. And as I was rattling off all these imaginary things to myself, about imaginary people and imaginary events, I realized: This sounds so weird. I am a complete nut. Because, it is (I am?). It really very much is. What makes it stranger is that it's not fantasy. If I wrote this thing, it would be a contemporary story about some kids in a state of hyper-creative madness. It wouldn't involve drugs, but it might make you feel like you'd been taking some (pure speculation, there, but one of my recurring ideas does involve a gigantic, pink afro wig) (maybe it would involve drugs). I don't want to talk about it too much. I only mention it because it got me to thinking:
Why do I like all the weird stuff? I mean, has anyone seen The Science of Sleep? A Life Less Ordinary? Happy Accidents? i heart huckabees? These are some of my favorite movies, but I can't watch them with other people because it weirds them out. Namely, my adoring and wonderful husband. He abounds in excellent qualities, but he'll pass on the weird movies, thank you. So why do I love them so much?
I don't gravitate toward inherently weird music, but it's not very much like the stuff other people listen to. My best friend from high school recently burned me a copy of Florence + The Machine, and I like it well enough, but I literally sighed with relief when I took that out and put The Wild Band of Snee back in. The Wild Band of Snee, people. It's a real thing (so, I do gravitate toward weird music, apparently). Which, now that I think about it, is what instigated the story-daydream mentioned above.
But, you know what? I love these things about myself. So, I'm taking back the woe-is-me, and replacing it with heck-yes-is-me. And, dangitall, I just realized how very Velvet Box-y I am being right now. Not feeling like anyone understands me. Being proud of it, anyway. What was this post supposed to be about again?
Oh, right, how I feel so different. I've established that I love this about myself. But it does bring about some challenges. Like, I don't really care about publishing anything right now, which probably makes every other writer out there think me defective, or "not a real writer." Maybe I am defective. But I am a writer (noun: one who writes stuff, i.e. me). Is it so bad just to be writing because I enjoy it? And, for the most part, the stuff that I write is so off-the-wall, I doubt it would really "sell." So, what do I do? Give up?
Psh. Of course not. This is what makes it fun. If I want to write a crazy adventure set in an implausible world, I'm going to (and, uh, I am). Does it have anything to do with all those hot paranormal creatures everyone's so a-gaga over? Nope. Is it romantic and kissy? Not yet, and possibly not ever. But who cares?! It's fun and scary and intriguing (I like to think these things about my own work, but I could be entirely wrong, of course). I'm having a good time. And I have a few potential (or more than potential- yay!) crit partners who will hopefully enjoy it and be blessed by it and help me make it the fullest it can be, and then you know what? You know what my greatest desire for this story would be (my w.i.p., not the crazy pink afro one)? To write it out by hand in a series of gorgeous journals, along with illustrations by my grandmother, tuck them into an attic, and watch some grandchild discover them when I'm old. This is my ultimate fantasy right now.
That makes me weird, right? I still would love to be an author. I've dreamed of it since I was ten. Granted, I've also dreamed of being an actress, singing in a band, and running away to Greece. But my passion is not in the title "author." It's in the act of writing.
So that's what I'm going to do. I read something today about how different people define success. Success for me would be giving glory to God through this gift he gave me-- the gift of enjoying creativity. If His plan involves more after that, wonderful. If not, I'll keep writing the weird stuff and tuck them away in attics to my heart's desire. And it'll be awesome.
So, friends, tell me. What makes you weird?
In pondering this on the way home from work yesterday, my mind wandered to a story idea I've been toying with for the past month or so. It's one of those sigh-inducing flights of fancy that may never see the light of day, but it sends me into mental giggles and I can't let it go. And as I was rattling off all these imaginary things to myself, about imaginary people and imaginary events, I realized: This sounds so weird. I am a complete nut. Because, it is (I am?). It really very much is. What makes it stranger is that it's not fantasy. If I wrote this thing, it would be a contemporary story about some kids in a state of hyper-creative madness. It wouldn't involve drugs, but it might make you feel like you'd been taking some (pure speculation, there, but one of my recurring ideas does involve a gigantic, pink afro wig) (maybe it would involve drugs). I don't want to talk about it too much. I only mention it because it got me to thinking:
Why do I like all the weird stuff? I mean, has anyone seen The Science of Sleep? A Life Less Ordinary? Happy Accidents? i heart huckabees? These are some of my favorite movies, but I can't watch them with other people because it weirds them out. Namely, my adoring and wonderful husband. He abounds in excellent qualities, but he'll pass on the weird movies, thank you. So why do I love them so much?
I don't gravitate toward inherently weird music, but it's not very much like the stuff other people listen to. My best friend from high school recently burned me a copy of Florence + The Machine, and I like it well enough, but I literally sighed with relief when I took that out and put The Wild Band of Snee back in. The Wild Band of Snee, people. It's a real thing (so, I do gravitate toward weird music, apparently). Which, now that I think about it, is what instigated the story-daydream mentioned above.
But, you know what? I love these things about myself. So, I'm taking back the woe-is-me, and replacing it with heck-yes-is-me. And, dangitall, I just realized how very Velvet Box-y I am being right now. Not feeling like anyone understands me. Being proud of it, anyway. What was this post supposed to be about again?
Oh, right, how I feel so different. I've established that I love this about myself. But it does bring about some challenges. Like, I don't really care about publishing anything right now, which probably makes every other writer out there think me defective, or "not a real writer." Maybe I am defective. But I am a writer (noun: one who writes stuff, i.e. me). Is it so bad just to be writing because I enjoy it? And, for the most part, the stuff that I write is so off-the-wall, I doubt it would really "sell." So, what do I do? Give up?
Psh. Of course not. This is what makes it fun. If I want to write a crazy adventure set in an implausible world, I'm going to (and, uh, I am). Does it have anything to do with all those hot paranormal creatures everyone's so a-gaga over? Nope. Is it romantic and kissy? Not yet, and possibly not ever. But who cares?! It's fun and scary and intriguing (I like to think these things about my own work, but I could be entirely wrong, of course). I'm having a good time. And I have a few potential (or more than potential- yay!) crit partners who will hopefully enjoy it and be blessed by it and help me make it the fullest it can be, and then you know what? You know what my greatest desire for this story would be (my w.i.p., not the crazy pink afro one)? To write it out by hand in a series of gorgeous journals, along with illustrations by my grandmother, tuck them into an attic, and watch some grandchild discover them when I'm old. This is my ultimate fantasy right now.
That makes me weird, right? I still would love to be an author. I've dreamed of it since I was ten. Granted, I've also dreamed of being an actress, singing in a band, and running away to Greece. But my passion is not in the title "author." It's in the act of writing.
So that's what I'm going to do. I read something today about how different people define success. Success for me would be giving glory to God through this gift he gave me-- the gift of enjoying creativity. If His plan involves more after that, wonderful. If not, I'll keep writing the weird stuff and tuck them away in attics to my heart's desire. And it'll be awesome.
So, friends, tell me. What makes you weird?
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