three things that happened this week.

ONE.

I answered the question, "What are you writing?" without (much) fear or hesitation. Honestly, even. It was otherworldly.

TWO.

I read a fantastic book in less than 24 hours, which motivated me to finish reading a book I started in January, which got me excited to read the next book, all of which made me feel alive again.

THREE.

A man in my Korean class told me his twelve-year-old daughter would love to be an early reader for my story, when the time is right. I tried very hard not to melt into a puddle of glee.

Oh, and I suppose there is a FOUR.

I started to own writing middle grade. Because... I think I always have been.

So. How have your weeks been?

pi day.

Doesn't make me think of math or food.

Pi day makes me think of this:

A girl can't help her favorite book.

now on to the good things.

Last week, I chose the awkward route in joining SA Larsen's weekly YA Teen Tuesday meme:

I kind of bashed YA. Not in a *bad* way {I hope}. But there was some truth I had to get out up front, lest I lie through my teeth later.

Not all YA is my cup of tea.

So, now, the real question remains:

Why on earth do I continue to read and write it?

Well.

I believe there are two distinct routes in which YA can go {this is personal conjecture, by the way. I wouldn't go writing papers on it, or anything}.

First we have what I call, "The Twilight Zone." Har har.

Disclaimer: I'm not trying to fart all over Twilight, here. I haven't even read it; I don't have the right. But, let's be honest. After Twilight, a sector of the YA market exploded. Suddenly, focus shifted to the paranormal romances, the love triangles, the star-cross-ed-ness of said love triangles, and the abundance of hot people. After The Hunger Games, that focus expanded to include dystopian societies, their star-crossed-lover-triangles, and also their hot people. THESE ARE NOT INHERENTLY BAD THINGS. They are tried and true in marketing. We eat this stuff up. We have the potential to find great reads, here.

The truth of the matter is, however, that this is not usually my kind of "great read." I don't instinctively gravitate toward romance. I roll my eyes at most supernatural beings. I'm okay with hot people, I guess, but what about the rest of us?

And, frankly, dystopia is hanging on by its over-worked, under-fed fingernails {assuming humans are still allowed fingernails}.

This is what I would consider the popular YA world. Nothing wrong with it. Lots of people love it.

I tend to have a hard time with it.

The second route is, as Misha said in her comment last week,
"YA that doesn't try to be YA."
{Meaning, I think, the fads in YA.}

These are the books that I feel would have existed anyway, without the great big door being opened {I like the door, I promise I do. I just don't spend most of my time... standing in it}. I would place The Hunger Games here, though some might disagree. Harry Potter lives here. I would include recent classics like The Book Thief {seriously, who needs a fictional dystopian society when you could have Nazi Germany?}. Probably anything by John Green. Or Laini Taylor. Or Patrick Ness.

Books that came before the explosion belong here, too, of course. The Giver. I Capture the Castle. Life of Pi. The Goose Girl. Narnia.

{I have to come clean with my affinity for middle-grade. That might be why I have a hard time with the heavy romances. Friendship resonates clearer with me. I like for characters, even characters who end up in love, to have somewhat level heads.

I needed that as a teen, too.}

Obviously, I prefer the second route.

It's funny to say "YA that doesn't try to be YA," because I think these, in essence, end up being more truly YA.

Hear me out.

What is more essentially YA than the timeless coming-of-age story? Any YA book, it stands to reason, will touch on coming-of-age. But, from the books I've read, "The Twilight Zone" seems stuck, NOT coming of age, with characters NOT growing, NOT discovering who they are meant to be, what it is they are able to do. To fall in love and marry THIS PARTICULAR PERSON doesn't count. Not by itself. That is the arc of an adult's romance novel, not a teenager's coming-of-age {even if romance is a factor}. And that's why I don't generally like desperate teen romances. They feel dysfunctional, and they make me sad.

Coming-of-age, though? Whether two characters fall in love or not, I generally can't get enough of it {assuming the book is also well written}.

Makes perfect sense, really. It's the hero's journey.
Or, as I've been learning in The Plot Whisperer, "the universal story."

That transformation is what I love love love about fiction...
 and *especially* YA.






**I don't mean to imply that the two camps are mutually exclusive, of course. I'm just remarking on what I've noticed. I may very well have not been reading the right books. =]

i didn't know i was writing YA... and i'm still not totally sure.

Today, I'm participating in this:

more info here.

Hosted by SA Larsen at Writer's Ally. Want to join the team? It's as easy as blogging on Tuesdays about anything YA-related. ;) We'll see how well I can hold up.

So, confession time:

I did not know YA was a thing until I started reading blogs. In all honesty, I stumbled upon the microcosm quite by accident. Good thing, too, because my writing life has grown exponentially since then {about two years ago}.

And lo, the lightbulb shone. You know, that lightbulb. I had been fiddling around with the backbone of my story {which has changed so much in two years, I hardly recognize it... in a good way}, eye-deep in identity crisis, when it occurred to me.

My main character is 16.
Not 10.
Not 23.
Of course he's 16.

{maybe 14?}
{no, 16.}

No wonder I like those blogs.
I'm writing YA, too.

Commence euphoria.
Chase with more identity crisis.

Because, you see, here's my second confession, one I realized after a year and a half of total YA immersion:

I'm really not the biggest fan of a lot of YA books I've read.
Like, to the point where I had to call it quits.
For a while.

Is it because I'm no longer an actual teenager? I don't know. The few that I've absolutely loved are the books my teen friends like best, too.

Does it have something to do with the seemingly rapid pace of the market? Am I just a stinky geezer with unrealistic standards for what I read?

Whom is YA really for?

Recently, after finishing yet another book that was supposed to be OMGAMAZING, but was actually omgnotasgoodasitcouldandshouldhavebeen, I realized,

Maybe YA isn't for me?

Buh.

Okay. Time to stop being dramatic. YA is not the problem.

The real issue is that I've been pigeonholing myself. Having a 16-year-old MC doesn't mean I have to write dystopian. My duty is to write the story that wants to be told, as someone other than me probably once said. I'll worry about the marketing later {if I ever even need to}. 

I can't deny that a ton of the YA books I've read truly are OMGAMAZING. Human beings carry different opinions and live different lives. I'm never going to love some books, and that's okay. I can learn from every single one I read. And, no matter how unenjoyable a book is for me, I will ALWAYS respect the person who wrote it.
How could I not, now that I know?

That being said... I have to admit, it's kind of nice to be reading adult fiction, right now.

You know. Just for a while. 

Thoughts?

real quick, prizes!

... and by "tomorrow," of course, I meant "in the middle of the night on Friday." I know it's easy to confuse the two.

Hokay! Here we go.

Note: NOW RUNNING THROUGH OCTOBER 28th!
MORE INFO ON THE EXTENSION HERE.

In no particular order, the prizes for this fun and delightful contest/blogfest, in which you should all participate are:

1. A copy of Daughter of Smoke and Bone by Laini Taylor {you KNOW you want it.}

2. A $10 grab bag of wonderment from The Book Gallery in Chattanooga. This place is AMAZING. I spent 90 minutes there a week or so ago, and would not have left if my phone hadn't beeped to remind me of the time. They don't have everything, but what they do have is super cheap, especially this month {crazy, 30-day book sale, what?} The winner of this prize will have to email me ASAP with some info on his or her favorite types of books, so I'll know what to look for as I fill up that bag. It is going to be nuts.

3. A first chapter critique. By me! Because I'm interested to see what you guys are writing, and I want to give back! {and I need the practice.}

Alrighty. How about another clarification? The random drawing, and how the first-second-third placings will go:

First place! Will go to my favorite entry. This winner will have first pick of the three prizes.

Second and third place! Will go to the first two names I draw from the hat, so to speak. Second place gets second pick, and third place, well, third place gets whatever awesome prize the other two crazy winners didn't choose, for whatever reason.

The entries!
Post about your early work = one entry.
Spread the news on Twitter = one entry.
Spread the news on Facebook = one entry {make sure you tell me if you're spreading the news!}
Include a picture of a dinosaur or wolf = one entry.
So that's four entries possible. What's not to love? {Oh, and uh, I'm keeping it fair. No one gets to win all the prizes. Haha.}

And there you have it, friends! PLEASE do that whole "spreading the news" thing, especially since I forgot to submit this to the Campaigner Notice Board for this week. Oops.

Happy reminiscing!

oh, the early work: a contest/blogfest!

Back in February, I put myself out there and started making blog friends. I wanted to throw a party, but felt kind of dumb doing so.

In April, I had my first blogaversary, or however you spell that made-up word. I didn't say anything, because, well, who would notice? I wasn't very prolific, which embarrassed me. A bunch of blogs I read had garnered huge followings before the end of six months. I kept my mouth shut, when I should have danced in the streets. Go me!

In May, I finished my first draft of my first novel, which I did announce, but never really celebrated here. I wanted to, though! It was the best feeling in the world.

In August, I joined the Campaign, which was a huge step, also deserving of a party that had yet to come {insert obligatory "please vote for my flash fiction piece, if you feel inclined and have not done so already! #141, yeah yeah!"}.

And then, this week, I finally made it to 100 followers, and I realized,

Yep. The time has come.

Time for presents.

source, yo.

The truth is, as I've blabbed about a million times before, this blogging journey has truly blessed me. If you would like to hear me gush further, read this post about skunks and crit partners.

So, hey. Let's not just have presents, let's have a contest!

During Christine Tyler's Sparkfest, an idea struck me. I would be really, intensely interested to hear about the "early work" of my fellow writers, and I'd love to share my own.

I'll just tell you know.

My first story ever was about two sad dinosaurs who fell in love and weren't sad anymore.

hey.

         

aw, and now they're happy! yay!

It was awesome. I was six.

In middle school, I filled up a notebook--in stylish burgundy ink--with a story about a girl whose best friends were the wolves behind her house. Sound familiar? It was TERRIBLE. And terribly amusing. Not surprisingly, I giggled through the whole first half of this book.

you can't fight the wolf shirt.
{but it wouldn't hurt to think twice before wearing it to church.}

Are you as excited as I am to hear what crazy/hilarious/embarrassing/possibly disturbing things your fellow bloggers thought up as children? I should hope so, or no one's going to have fun with this. Ha.

A few requirements, to get us started. Please follow me, if you haven't done so already. I want to make sure you'll see the announcement if you win! Let me know in the comments if you tweet/FB/blog about this contest, and I'll give you an extra entry {for each platform} for the random drawing. I don't have a nifty jpeg for this contest/blogfest, so if you include an image of a wolf or a dinosaur, or both, I'll give you another extra entry.

There will be three winners.

Update: more info on the prizes (a copy of Laini Taylor's Daughter of Smoke and Bone, for example) can be found in this post.

Enter your link on the list below-- after you've written your post {please pretty please}-- between now and October 14th 28th. Winners will be announced the next day! {Or maybe the day after that, depending on the level of sanity around here.} The line at the bottom says to comment after you've left a link, but feel free to do so beforehand. I'm not that picky.

Thanks, everyone! See you in the funny pages.

Oh, P.S, this is open internationally. Postage, schmostage.

{Thanks to everyone who participated!}

in which i go to a book signing and am too shy to say anything but my name.

I am so grateful to Beth Revis, Victoria Schwab and Myra McEntire for noting the gaping hole in this region that tends to suck all the cool stuff down the proverbial drain and redeposit it in places like New York, Utah, California and the Major Cities. I love living in the South (though, I will claim that I am slightly more Midwestern, coming from Pretty-Much-Indiana, Kentucky), don't get me wrong. However! So many things slip through the cracks. Like, if you don't live in New Orleans, Atlanta or (sometimes) Nashville, or (sometimes) Asheville, you sort of miss everything. And, now that I have stated the same thought three times, I give you, FROM ASH TO NASH.

So, Husband had the camera, but I was directly in front of him. His only photo option was that which you see above. Thus, the picture-taking job fell to me. I was in direct eyesight of the four authors present, and it was awkward to be all snappity-snap with the Big Silver-Plastic SLR, right in their faces. In my defense, the flash remained off, and I'm pretty sure that I would not have minded being photographed, were I Beth Revis, Victoria Schwab, or Myra McEntire. Or Alan Gratz. Because it would mean that I was SIGNING BOOKS. *drifts off to fantasize about that very thing*

It was so fun. My grin was plastered and unyielding.

This is (thankfully) where my wonderful husband took over photographer duties.

Back in college, I went to several signings. For a grade. Those were... not so fun. I was never miserable, per se, but I also never knew exactly whom the authors were, and they were usually poets, anyway. Don't get my wrong (again). I love poetry. I have at least three friends who are published poets, and it's awesome and their words make me drool-happy. But it was SO DIFFERENT, and so fun, to go see authors I'd actually heard of, read things about, blog-stalked, etc.
Another major difference between then and now is that in college, it really was all about the grade. I did not *love writing,* they way I do now. I didn't know anything about agents or publishing or the writing process. All I knew was that I never really loved what I wrote. I just wanted to be in plays and graduate one semester late instead of two. Ah, the achiever in me.

ANYWAY. It was awesome, this book signing. I loved hearing the authors talk about their processes and experiences, and to actually understand--at least in part--what they were talking about.

I thought long and hard about what I would say when I got to the table, but none of it actually came out. Did I mention how nervous I was? I did manage to use polite words and tell them my name, and not get embarrassed about asking for a picture:

Glasses are cool! Look at me, fitting in!

Which was awesome. Maybe next time, I'll mention that I write.

But hey, look at it this way: we're closing on the new house in the morning, and I will have no shortage of chances to daydream about signing autographs.

Wish me luck.

a belated post about harry potter, who, by book reckoning, would be 31 today.

And that is a BIG DEAL, because you only turn 31 on the 31st once, Harry. So live it up.*

Latex balloons sold separately, people. Also, no matter how much I love these books,
I don't really want to eat cake off the hero's face.

Ahem.
In the past several weeks, a lot of folks having been reminiscing up and down about Harry Potter and the end of an era. I hear you. This is my two cents, and we'll pretend that I am not quite so late to the game (I didn't see the movie until this past week-- gasp!).

Like everyone else will say (and has said), these books shaped my life as a reader. Especially my life during the summertime. My favorite thing to do, for quite a while, was to bake in the sun on my parents' back deck with a Harry Potter book in my lap. And boy, do I have a lot of memories of books 5-7 coming out whilst working at Loucon, and the constant battle of trying to get kids (and counselors! and staffers!) not to spoil the goods for those of us who'd decided to wait until the summer was over... or at least not to read on the job. THAT'S HOW YOU KNOW A BOOK IS GOOD, folks.

There are certain benefits to working at a summer camp with like-minded people. For instance, this is how we celebrated the release of the final film:

The infamous Harry Potter Zipline!

It was a beautiful Saturday at Camp Loucon, and some awesome stuff went down. 

All photo credits to my friend Katie, whom I call Catie (she calls me Dzulie. It's a thing).

There was Quaffle throwing.

And Snitch catching.

And there were stunts!

It was the Best Thing Ever. I love camp people. And YAY for books that shape culture! Isn't it baffling?

(I totally caught the Snitch, fyi.)

P.p.s. Plan a Wizard Birthday Party? 

*I hear there's some controversy over what year Harry was born (the horror!), but I'm sticking with the headstone that said James and Lily died in 1981. Just so's you know.

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.

The south shore of Chattanooga in the summertime. Photo from this site.

{*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.

My HG t-shirt, pretty much.
I bought it at a Borders in Chicago.

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.

Him?

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?

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.

in which i finally talk about books.

Perhaps I should talk about books? I think the very fact that I posted about my laptop festering in cat poop is further proof of the non-existence of my brain these past few days. This has been the first cold I've ever had to escalate into an ear infection. Yes, including childhood. It's quite bizarre (now that it's no longer SO painful). Thanks to these ear drops, everything has two (annoyingly dissonant) pitches. It's fascinating to hear myself talk (ha!), but it's HORRIBLE for listening to music. Eek. [And here is where I pause to realize that, much like the cat poop, you guys probably don't actually want to know about this.]

Which is why I've decided to talk about books today. Ahem. So, back in the day (also known as: this past winter), I was all about reading lots of books and blogging about them. This was before I had really come to terms with wanting to blog about writing. It was also before the Hunger Games casting, before I started putting myself out there and actually making blogger friends (hi, friends!), and before I was even close to finishing that good ol' rough draft of yore. Thus, I have not blogged about my reading list in a long time.

Okay, so I talked about worlds on May 16. That sort-of counts. Yay me. Other than that, all I remember posting about is HOWL'S MOVING CASTLE. MmmMmmMmm. So, here are the books I've encounter since Howl (some which I've already mentioned, so bear with me), and a few sentences about them:

FALLEN by Lauren Kate. Not my cup of tea. The setting was the best part. There were definite merits, and I don't like to book-bash, knowing how hard it is to put everything together, but... sigh. Just... not my cup of tea. And that's okay! If the whole brooding fallen angel thing *is* your cup of tea, by all means. Don't let me stop you.

WITHER by Lauren DeStefano. Much more my cup of tea. This book is weird and twisted, dystopian without feeling dystopian, gothic romance without the romance you would expect. Not perfect (sort of lacking in the climax department), but heck, who's perfect? I really enjoyed this book. Thoroughly creepy.

THE TRUTH ABOUT UNICORNS by Bonnie Jones Reynolds. The only non-YA book I've read in a long time. Creepy and long and... kind of grown-up in parts, if you catch my drift, but ultimately a great read. But be warned... it's really weird.

RED GLOVE by Holly Black. Very good. I'm not really on the whole Better-than-White-Cat Bandwagon, but I did enjoy it. Middle books are hard, I'm told, but this one was brilliant. I will say, I was a teensy let down by some things, but not enough to boot this book out of favorite standings. The WORST part about this book is its cover, which makes absolutely no sense once you've read it. What were they thinking?

ORCHARDS by Holly Thompson. I wanted to read this book because of two things: it's written in verse, and it's set in Japan. Anyone read OUT OF THE DUST by Karen Hesse? I adore that book, and it was the first novel in verse I ever read. ORCHARDS was much simpler; it was almost an embarrassingly quick read. But there's lots of good stuff inside, about family, dealing with suicide, coming to terms with your heritage. What's not to appreciate?

THE CHAOS WALKING TRILOGY by Patrick Ness. Shoo. These books are amazing, exhausting, challenging. I was dazed by the end of it all. I still am. Can't find any more words. Still recovering.

PARANORMALCY by Kiersten White. I know. What took me so long, right? Meh, just me being stupid. I was pleasantly surprised, though. I loved Evie more than I thought I would. I loved her world. I even (gasp) loved Reth. Okay, not love loved, but I thought his character was great. All the Fey. Horrifying and totally cool. Lend was okay. Blasphemy! (Just kidding, I loved him, too... I guess.)

DIVERGENT by Veronica Roth. Ah. Now, this is a book I could talk about for days. Perhaps that's because it's so fresh on my mind. I really loved these characters. The factions are brilliant and scary. I would so have ended up in Candor, with my mouth. Or Amity. Or maybe Dauntless, were I insane. If you know much about me, you know that I tend to be picky with romance, and this is one that I really liked. The plot was stellar. Lots of twisting, but never beyond the reaches of what worked for the story. I loved Tris. I celebrated with her, grieved with her. Mm. Great stuff. Do read this one, if you haven't.



Okie dokie. Those are the books I've read since April. I'm halfway to my goal of 60, and, appropriately, just over halfway through the year (is that hard to believe or what?) (the year, not my reading progress). Tune in when I am no longer sick for something more interesting. Yippee!

the most well-read cities in america.

I like to think I had something to do with this:

article here.

Goodness knows I've tried. Yeah, Knoxville!

a quick rant about worlds.

I see a lot of stuff out there about how a believable world makes the reader want to exist inside it. But is that really the case? Personally, I'm tempted to say, "no." A believable world is one that ties the story together, heck, maybe even makes the story possible. If a world is weak, the story will suffer, and vice versa. Thus, if the story is terrifying (due to the intrinsic nature of its location), I don't think that world--no matter how well-crafted--would offer much to my health and happiness. Here's a quick look into some books I've read recently that had rich, poignant worlds, in which I would never want to find myself.

Wither, by Lauren DeStefano. Oh, how I believed that world. I thought I wouldn't at first, but as the story went on, I really saw it take shape. Linden's mansion became one of the realest places I've ever read about. But would I want to live there? Not in a million years, at that cost.


White Cat and Red Glove by Holly Black. I mean, it's brilliant, right? You live in fear of everyone, always thinking, Are they? Is she? Which kind is he? Perfectly chilling and compelling for the books. But in real life? I would never want to live in that kind of uncertainty, or in a reality where a naked hand is not only a possible weapon, but also as private as an entire naked body. It makes me sad, which I think is part of the point.


The Knife of Never Letting Go by Patrick Ness. Um, yeah. This book is super-fresh on my mind, having just burned through the last half of it yesterday, and here's what  have to say. New World is simply horrifying. No place is safe, no place is entirely all-there, and home isn't even an option. Again, perfect for the story, and very well-written, but, oh my gosh. In a few centuries, when people start leaving Earth for other plants, JUST DON'T GO, OKAY?

And, hello, because there's no way I could leave this one out: does anyone really want to live in the world of The Hunger Games? Um, no. If you do, I think you missed the point, there.

So, what really makes a believable world? I don't think it's just a map and a list of clever, comforting foods (although I do like both of those). A real, honest world, is a vehicle. If the story's not pretty, the reality in which it exists probably won't be much fun, either. Of course, there are exceptions. For instance, Narnia. We're supposed to want to live in Narnia. Narnia, ultimately, is a place of joy and honor and growth and becoming the best version of yourself. Narnia is nothing like Panem, which tears down and destroys and murders. So, I'm not saying there aren't any well-thought-out, strongly written worlds in which I would like to find myself. There certainly are. I'm just getting it out there that, although I want to live in Narnia, but would rather get the ever-loving heck away from Panem, doesn't mean that both aren't brilliantly executed. You know?

Getting down off the soap box, now. Everybody having a nice Monday?

greetings from new england.

Once, in the sleepy island town of Nantucket, Massachusetts, there lived (temporarily) a girl of 25 who did not entirely know what to do with her life. Retail was getting her down, and vacation was making her antsy. She had spent nearly a month weary with both. Uh, she thought, I probably shouldn't complain. Luckily for her (but not so luckily for her pocketbook), she had discovered a lovely, independent bookstore, only two blocks from her room at the lodge.

The girl's husband was less fond of this proximity. "Aren't you ready to leave, yet?" he'd had to ask, multiple times, on both visits. The answer had been no, of course. But, he'd let her roam for so long already, and done so well (2:45:58) in the race that brought them to New England in the first place, that it seemed unfair for her to dig her heels into the floor, tempting as it was. Graciously, he did let her buy the handful of things that had stolen her heart. To rephrase: she was going to buy those things regardless. Her husband was gracious about it. "But next time," he added, "we're setting a souvenir budget."

That evening, while her husband slept off his prime rib and beer (men), the girl redid the look of her blog, and then wrote about herself in the third person. It wasn't quite as delightful as buying new books, or fantasizing about quitting her day job (and forgoing all future day jobs) to be a successful novelist and actress, but it would suffice until then. She hoped.

The girl found this photo on the internet. It is, surprisingly,
the exact view she'd had while eating lunch the day before.

movie vs. book smackdown: for once, it's a tie.

Wow, so, who's been a bad blogger? *shyly raises hand*

Over a week ago, I promised that I would talk about the differences between Howl's Moving Castle as a book and as a movie. And, to be honest, the idea has been daunting me since I promised it (I've also been traveling and working the whole time, so, you know). The truth is... I'm flummoxed.* I rarely experience this, where I love both the original book, and the movie that was spawned from it, equally, but for vastly different reasons. Because, no, they are not the same. I was surprised at some of the things I discovered in the book that weren't used in the classic, sweeping, gorgeous Miyazaki film, which has been a favorite of mine for years. Maybe that's the cure: fall in love with the movie before you're even aware the book exists.

I'm going to try to shed some light on the differences, here, but it might get a tad spoilery. If you'd rather find out for yourself, I completely understand. But some things were very interesting, and it would be a shame not to work through them.

If you love the movie, like I do, here are some things you might wish were in the book, but aren't:
> Howl as a war hero/shapeshifter. I know! I thought this was so integral to his character. Turns out, in the book, Howl is even sillier, and even more interested in flirting. If you can believe that. He still proves himself in the end, though, so don't worry.
> Sophie's early feelings for Howl. It is very thickly cloaked in the book. Also, there are no lucid moments where she is young-ish again, like in the movie. I missed that so much.
> The ENTIRE dynamic with The Witch of the Waste. I was on pins and needles reading the book, waiting for some insight into how that relationship came about in the movie, but it never happened.

I miss you so much, dream sequence.

> The end, with Sophie's hair and the pail of water and the cliffside and the scarecrow and all that. Most of the same basic things happened (minus Sophie feeding Calcifer her hair, which made me so sad, it being one of my favorite parts of the movie), but it was, I don't know. Lighter. Like the end of a Shakespeare comedy.
> The dream sequence with the tunnel and the trinkets and Howl and black feathers... oh. I was so sad that this wasn't in the book.


If you love the book (also like I do), here are some things you might wish Miyazaki had left alone:
> Sohpie's sisters. There's only Lettie, and she isn't the most integral of characters. There's not any indication that she's even met Howl! Or Michael! Oh, right, because...
> Michael Fisher. Oh, I know. What a little charmer. He may have been my favorite character in the book, but in the movie, he's... not the same at all. Somehow,  Howl's 15-year-old apprentice became a backstory-less eight-year-old named Markl.** And that makes me wonder, is Markl an odd Japanese transliteration of the name Michael? Hmm?
> Howl's backstory. Sadly sadly sadly, there is no jacket that reads, "WELSH RUGBY," even though that was one of my favorite parts of the book.
> The whole Wizard Suliman/Prince Justin thing. Warning: the prince is SO minor, you hardly even know he's an issue, and Wizard Suliman is not missing at all, but a woman (hey-oh, that was a major change) who advises the king. She is the one Sophie climbs all those steps to see. Weird, huh?

My advice for anyone who's been in love with the movie for years, but is hesitant to read the book: do it anyway. It's excellent and fun and beautifully written. It's a different version of the story you already love. There will be new things to enjoy, like seven-league boots, a fiercer-looking Calcifer, a mysterious place called... well, I won't spoil that one.

My advice for anyone who's read the book but hasn't seen the movie: see it. It's excellent and fun and breathtakingly animated. Make sure you watch it in Japanese with subtitles, because that's the way you watch Miyazaki. It's a different version of the story you already love. *smile* There will be new things to enjoy, like flying machines and Howl as a winged, feathered warrior. Just forget what you thought you knew about Diana Wynne Jones' fabulous novel. Hayao Miyazaki definitely puts his own spin to the story. But! What's great about it, is that all the differences (yes, there are still more) make it so uniquely his, and if you are fan of Miyazaki's other works, you know how unique his touches are. It's a testament to Miyazaki and his storytelling that he can almost entirely remake a beloved work, and have it become a new, separate beloved work.

And you will all be glad to know that some things do stay the same. Namely, temper tantrums and green slime. Baha.

*I'm not terribly flummoxed, obviously. I just really wanted to use that word.
** Guess who voiced Markl in the English-dubbed version of the movie? (Answer to be revealed in the next post, which I will probably write immediately instead of going to bed. Ha.)

Extra HMC tidbit: Legos?

And, uh, sorry if you haven't read this book OR seen the movie. I guess it goes without saying that I highly recommend you do both. For once, it's a tie.

How's about a little exit music? This is incredible:

this one's going to be a rambler, featuring sponge art and snow.

Since I last posted, I've changed states. And timezones. Not permanently, of course, just for a few days. We cannot let a winter pass without skiing in Colorado, it would seem. And by we, I mean my husband. It's okay, he has an excuse: he actually enjoys it and has copious amounts of skill. I, on the other hand, am only so-so, and cannot ski with a clear conscience unless the slope is labeled green or (maaaaybe) blue, and there are NO other people around. It will still make my knees hurt. It will still make me want to throw up when I start going too fast. I am not the best at skiing, even though I've been doing it for half my life.

The view. Blustery, no?

Don't get me wrong, when all those requirements are met, or I am somehow able to trick myself into believing they are met, I do have a good time. I'm not skiing today, so Joshua can go do all his double black diamonds and junk, but I am determined to ski tomorrow. Determined! We didn't drive halfway across the continent for me to sit and read and blog and write the whole time. Then again, these are my only days off before another caffeine-slinging round of eight-days-in-a-row at work, followed by ANOTHER long trip, so I'm allowing myself a little free time. Is that so bad?

I digress. The best part about coming out here is the road trip. I am a sucker for a road trip, but maybe that's just because I'm so lazy. I love the excuse to read and listen to music, write a little, nap, maybe burn through an audiobook. Fun fun fun. As long as I'm not driving. Then, it's just driving.Yesterday, between Kansas City and Denver, we listened to all of Girl, 15, Charming But Insane, by Sue Limb, and it was delightful. "Pretty girly," as Joshua pointed out, "but also really good." His words, almost exactly (Aha! Success!). Funny, sweet, and very British. Good times. Speaking of funny, sweet, and very British, I also finished Howl's Moving Castle. More on that later. Because, first I want to tell you about some other things.



Before I go on and on, check out the t-shirt I wore the other day:

I like how my necklace gives Perry forehead bling.

I got complimented at the gas station. Oh yeah.

So, I'm no stranger to the City Museum in St. Louis, but, as one might expect, I see something new there, every time I go. It helps to have to get all the way to St. Louis first. I'm sure if I worked there, or lived in the same town, it would get old hat, just like anything else. [Weirdest thing, while Joshua and I were poking around, I heard my name and thought, Surely that's not for me. Of course I turned, since it's physically impossible not to, and a girl I went to high school with was there. Buhhh? She had gone to college in St. Louis, stayed, and now works at the City Museum. I don't know if I should be happy for her or not. The place gets insane.]

We went late at night, a first for me, and it made for a very different atmosphere. Actually, scratch that. It wasn't that different. During the day, there are large groups of small children making a ruckus. Late at night, it's just high-schoolers and college kids, doing the exact same thing. There was even a prom going on. A prom. Who has prom on the first of April? It was practically still March, and all the girls were wearing short party dresses instead of gowns. Is that how it is now? Maybe my school was just weird. [Insert embarrassing picture from senior prom (that I do not currently have) where my date and I meant to go as Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers (Youth Performing Arts School, what?), but ended up looking like a bride and groom. Sigh.]

Anyway, I did see some pretty cool things, and I'm about to go all travelogue on you, so buckle up.

I look like I'm drooling, or perhaps like I'm wearing vampire teeth. In reality, I was earning a
righteous bruise on my knee while climbing through a petrified tree-tunnel.

In the "caves."

The only visible picture I could get of the ten-story spiral slide.
Which is much more popular with the night crowd. We waited in line for 20 minutes.

This guy was right outside the room that contained the particularly boisterous prom. Hilarious. 

And old, working, carnival game. I won't deny it, this sort of gave me the creeps.
It was moving, doing its thing, and all the parts were creaking, but no one was there. *shudder*

And here is where we went into the giant building blocks room.
Or should I say, building sponges?

This was a definite highlight: the sponge room. Little dirty, but it was great. You can see that dad in there, supervising his son's masterpiece. I overheard the little boy say some pretty spectacular things, but I think I'm going to save it for the next post so I can put my free day to good use and get some writing done. More to come!

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.