The Obligatory Post on Self-Doubt
I write this now so I can refer to it in the future. You know, because a time will come when I don’t feel this awesome.
Every author struggles with self-doubt.
Does this sentence work?
This might be the most terrible thing ever written.
Am I ever going to be published?
What if I don’t have any other ideas?
This has been done before!
I think the answers are:
Probably. Unlikely. Possibly. You will. Of course it has.
I’ve been working on a project (un)lovingly working-titled: “The Project I Hate“. Why do I hate it?
I feel like I’m selling out. Honestly, this idea sprang from my brain when I was trying to think of a more commercial project. I read it at workshop and I’ve gotten this comment (a direct quote):
“I think this is the best thing I’ve heard you read.”
Well, on one hand, thank you. Regardless of how “good” of a writer I am, there is always room for improvement. I would hope that every week would be the best thing I’ve ever written.
On the other hand, this is The Project I Hate. How can you like it when I hate it with such a fiery passion?
You know what blocks writers from writing? Themselves. By labeling it The Project I Hate, I sequestered it to a little space in my mind and started putting up sandbags around the thing.
Sorry to go all Cask of Amontillado on you.
I’ve complained about it to my writer friends and tried to shut my mouth when they glared condescension. I know! People love it! I hate it! I want it to die! Why can’t I crush it with my mind vice?
Last week, I found myself getting pensive. Every night, I had some sort of interaction with another human being. As an introvert, this was draining. And, when I’ve been in front of people too long without recharge time, I start to dig things up from the dregs of my brain. The pot gets stirred. I scrape bottom.
While I closed down the cafe Monday night, it was the first time I’d been alone in five days. I have been working my second job for three months, which is the job I walked away from a year ago. It sort of sucks to think you are in the same place you were a year before. No forward movement, no developments, no prospects. And, dammit, writing used to be fun! Why isn’t writing fun anymore?
Could it be because I’m actively sabotaging my work?
Thanks, brain. You asshat.
So, I put down The Project I Hate, just for twelve hours. I went to the coffee shop, took out a project I’ve been sitting on, 16 pages from completion (I know, another boneheaded abandonment), and I finished it. It was like a forgotten circuit board lighting up. I remembered. Writing is fun. I don’t do it because I have to, I do it because I love it.
Who cares if that sentence doesn’t work? You can fix it later, or delete it. Maybe it doesn’t go there.
Until you read everything that’s ever been written, you can’t know if yours is worse.
You’re never going to get published if you don’t finish something.
You have new ideas every day that you add to your brain stew. You will never run out of ideas.
Everything has been done before. You can form new connections, mix new metaphors, build new characters, and set new scenes. Everything may have been done before, but it’s new to you.
Oh, and The Project I Hate? It’s called The Elementalist and it is fantastic.
The Reality Breakdown
This universe sucks. I don’t feel bad saying it. There aren’t any superheroes, no one can time travel, teleportation is looking more and more unlikely.
Curse you, physics. You are a harsh mistress.
The other day, while playing Arkham City, I was struck by the thought of how woefully inadequate Gotham’s police force is.
Every one of Two-Face’s henchman is wearing some kind of suit that was cut in half, then sown together with the half of another suit. He has to outsource that, right? And, let’s say you can’t find the place that is manufacturing henchmen’s daily wear. Two-Face can’t possibly clean his own suits. Find the dry cleaner, stake out the place, follow the guy back to his lair. That can’t be so hard. I mean, really, “World’s Greatest Detective”. Buzz by the closed comedy clubs every evening, you catch Joker before he starts anything.
I’m joking, of course. The untraceability of Gotham City’s most wanted is built into the Batman universe and that is one hundred percent okay. I’m not ragging on it. I have accepted the incompetence of the Gotham police. They are lucky to have Batman. Things would be terrible without him. I have suspended disbelief.
In improv, one of the first things you learn is to never say, ‘no’. In order to make progress in a scene, you have to keep the scene moving. Saying ‘no’ stops all forward movement.
This is the same with the suspension of disbelief. I remember watching the preview for Star Trek, the teaser where the Enterprise is being built in the cornfields of Iowa.
My dad tu
rned to me and said, “That would never happen.”
“Really? That’s the problem you have with this movie? The no seatbelts thing didn’t get you?”
“They would be building it in outer space. It’d be too heavy to get off the planet.”
I blacked out after that.
I’m not a Trekkie. I have not seen Star Trek. The movie could have ended with the Enterprise attempting to achieve orbit and crashing back to Earth while Spock sits on the bridge and says, “We really should have built this in outer space.” I think it’s more likely that the universe of Star Trek allows for a ship that size to be built on Earth, then launched into space.
Dad’s statement was the equivalent of saying ‘no’ to an entire universe.
I don’t deny Dad’s right to have a point of no return. I have abandoned stories over things much sillier. When we try examine fiction through our lens of reality, things aren’t always going to hold up. The suspension of disbelief is the closest thing we have to magic.
So get lost. Let it go.
Like I said, our universe sucks.
But, that’s totally okay.
The End is Nigh
I’m a little bit in love with rampant fatalism. Why is the idea of the end of the world so attractive? It seems like everyone wants to see humanity come to its inevitable end at the hand of some violent, foreseeable (preventable?) catastrophe.
And, I’m not just talking about the whole 2012 Mayan thing.
I think humanity can only exist with the looming threat of complete disaster. I mean it. Check here. We are constantly expecting the other shoe to drop. I suppose that makes the first shoe our existence in general.
I don’t believe that 2012 will be the end of humanity, Earth, the way we do things, what have you. I do wonder what the next big prediction will be after 2012 (*cough* moon breaking orbit *cough).
Instead of focusing on major catastrophe, though, I’d like to focus on the small ones that are expected in our lifetime (not ending in 2012). This list is courtesy of my mother forwarding me emails. I hit unsubscribe, but it hasn’t caught on.
6 Things that will Disappear in Our Lifetime
1. The Post Office
Really? Really. I will concede that the post office has been in financial trouble for a long time, but as far as being unsustainable, I’m not really sure that’s true. It’s funded by the government.
Regardless, here’s your call to action:
Save the Mail
Every week, go over your Tweets. Compile them into one convenient document and send them to your top twenty followers. All @replies should also be compiled and mailed directly to the intended recipient. I purpose this stamp.
2. The Check
I agree. This is useless. Dump it.
3. The Newspaper
Two words: coffee shops. What else are people going to glance at while they wait for their coffee?
Oh, and there’s nothing better to start a camp fire/cozy house fire with. Papier mache! Birdcages! Lining the table before commencing art projects! You don’t know what you’re talking about. The newspaper’s not going anywhere.
4. The Book
I’m not even going to take this one seriously.
5. The Land Line Telephone
Refer to answer for #2-The Check
6. Music
I could write a whole blog post on this alone. Disgruntled curmudgeons (read: old people) seem to get it in their heads that when the music they like is in decline, all of music is in decline. You are wrong. Music is a staple in human society. We have made music for thousands of years. We will always make music.
This is an example of putting business too close to art. It’s like saying, “If there aren’t any newspapers, there will be no news.”
That’s not how it works. Don’t equate an industry with the actual artistic expression.
You can argue all you want. Like I said, I love the fatalists, the doom-predictors, the naysayers. I also think you’re getting all worked up over nothing. And that’s exactly what our alien overlords intended.
Chill out, guys. We’re going to be fine.
Resolute: We Are Strong
That’s right.
Two weeks in, I’m giving you a New Year’s Resolution Post featuring (gratuitous capitalization)!
Let’s dive right in.
- Start/Join a band
- Don’t talk about “The-Book-That-Will-Not-Be-Named” or, more commonly, “You-Know-What”.
- Save up $10,000 to move to LA
- Punch anyone who says “You’re so young!”
- Be more Internet social
- Read 100 books.
Let’s go in depth!
1. This one seems to always make it on my list. I have two electric guitars, an acoustic guitar, and a bass guitar. This just goes to show, having the equipment does not automatically get you into the band. Bummer. Drag. Total waste. Except I still play often, much to my parents discontent. I need to up my street cred. I need to brainstorm band names with a bunch of crazies. I need to get my writer friends to make this happen.
2. Ah, The-Book-That-Will-Not-Be-Named. Any guesses? I’ll give you a hint. It may or may not have something to do with vampires that sparkle. I know some of you are going to get offended that I have decided to remove You-Know-What from my day-to-day conversation. This tome is an emotional lightning rod. Whenever it is brought up, voices are raised, teams are chosen, everyone gets excited, and I’m left sitting there, wondering what the Hell just happened. I’ve also found that most of my Harry Potter references are dropping off, too. Am I moving on with my life? Probably not, but if you want to talk (argue) about Twilight, take it somewhere else. Life’s too short.
3. Oh, yeah. THIS one. I have three jobs now. One with a television network, one at Barnes & Noble, and now contract work writing for a social media company. I’m going to be a better blogger whether I like it or not because I’m getting PAID! The whole “moving to LA” thing is this nebulous lurking glob on the horizon.
I’m getting erased from people’s minds.
I’m freaking out a little bit.
I’m going to be a television writer.
4. People: Stop saying “you’re so young”. This is a meaningless statement. Would you like me to say, “You’re so old?” No. The answer is no. Besides, the “you’re so young” is not complementary, because you are inferring immaturity and a lack of patience. I am not too young to pursue my dream. No one is ever too young or too old to do that.
5. In the last year or two, I’ve tended to be more of a poster than an interactor. This changes! I will respond to people’s tweets, even if they have no idea who I am! I will put crap up on Google+, even though no one will see it! I will approach social media the way it was intended! The spirit of the conversation!
6. This is another one of those things that always makes it on the list. Last year, I read 65. To be fair, I was quite busy with a new job at the beginning of the year, as well as being disgruntled with the world in general. I didn’t finish reading a book until March. This year, I have my Goodreads goal set and they will be coming for me if I don’t make it. I’ve already knocked two down. We’ll see what happens.
Open Book
I want to talk about reading.
Not as a writer.
As a reader.
Because I will never be able to quantify the vast amounts of information I have learned through the simple (amazingly complex) process of reading.
I was able to read before I started 1st grade. I’m not sure what caused this. Perhaps it was a push from my parents, or maybe just the desire of wanting to imitate what they were doing. My parents read constantly. There were always books in our home, and we were encouraged to read.
This is a photo of me on the day I was allowed to get a library card:
I could make up something about how this was before the age of computer games and the Internet, but that would be a lie. I learned how to type with Mario Teaches Typing. I played Reader Rabbit. I was a Math Blaster pro. These weren’t just in my home, they were at school.
My mother is a substitute teacher, and I asked her how her day was.
“Such and so can’t read.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“She sat at her desk and cried all day because she can’t read.”
“What does that-”
“I was teaching 3rd grade.”
My brain audibly ground to a halt as I tried to force this into some kind of perspective that related to me. This is truly cognitive dissonance. I know, on an intellectual level, that people don’t know how to read. I have not met these people. And, for the first time, I really started to think about how much knowledge, pleasure, joy, and heartbreak they don’t have access to.
I’m just trying to work this out in my head, and it ended up on my blog.
The movie is never as good as the book.
There are people out there who will never know Harry Potter, or Winnie the Pooh and Piglet, or Harold and his Purple Crayon the same way I do.
I wish there was some way I could fix that.
Banging on a Lunch Tray
As I near the end of Daniel Levitin’s This Is Your Brain On Music, I recall certain memories with great emotional implications. Without getting too deep into the book content, our ears connect to the parts of the brain that determine movement, which, in turn, is connected to emotion.
It’s complicated and interesting. Someone should write a book about it…oh, wait.
Music is the great equalizer.
Back when I was just a wee lass on a college campus, I had yet to connect with anyone. I had purposely chosen a college that was over 1,000 miles from home. I knew no one. My schedule was 19 hours (the norm was 16), I was apathetic toward my roommate, and my stomach was tied into a knot of apprehensive fear.
The first day of classes, I made my way to Phelps Hall to experience the culinary perfection that is college dining. I clutched my tray, white knuckled, and slunk into a seat in the corner with the prayer, “Please don’t let anyone notice me. Please let someone come talk to me.”
Lesson number 1: Not many people show up to lunch within the first half-hour of open hours.
That was fine. I’m not really that sociable anyway. I had a book with me.
Then, something amazing happened.
As most common eating areas are wont to do, music was piped in through the speakers. In most cases, these speakers are tuned to either something everyone will enjoy (like a top 40 station) or something everyone will hate (like the college radio station). By lucky happenstance, it was set to top 40 and I was sitting under a speaker.
Cue Tainted Love by Soft Cell.
Lesson number 2: Everyone knows Tainted Love by Soft Cell.
I started a head bob, nothing too overt.
Then, something magical happened.
Thump, thump.
Someone slammed their fist down on the table in time to the music. You know the part. You did it in your head right then.
As the song continued, so did the pounding. By the end, everyone in the dining hall was banging a tray, stomping their feet, and singing along.
I was nearly in tears, thinking: ‘My people…I have found them.’
There was a piano in the dining hall, and, over the course of my college career, there were several sing-alongs. (My school had a ridiculously successful music program and about half of the student population had either a music-related minor or major)
My last visit to Phelps Hall for the Up-All-Night Breakfast, senior year, days before graduation, I entered with my group of friends that I had cultivated over the years. We wore joutfits (for those of you who don’t know, a joutfit is an outfit of all one color). We took the stage and sang Somewhere Over the Rainbow. Needless to say, we had a supportive audience. It was magical. It was amazing.
It was something I will never forget.
And, maybe there was a freshman sitting alone at a table who thought: “My people…I have found them.”
A Journey Restarted
I have returned to The Fantastic World of Barnes & Noble (or the Nobley, for you who are savvy to the lingo). I’ve worked at B&N for upwards of three years, alternating between seasonal employ and full time. The last stint was a solid two year, full-time block that ended January 2nd of this year.
Let me tell you, I was ready to leave. I had a new job at a startup that looked promising, I was flexing my creative muscle to the point where my words were appearing on television (yeah, promos!). It was thrilling. I refused to enter my local bookstore for several months, holding on to my experience as only the righteously indignant can. I had my Nook. I had the library. I didn’t need to visit a store. Then, a friend of mine had a booksigning at a different but reachable B&N.
Since I’m so altruistic (insert chortle), I swallowed my foolish pride, pulled up my big girl panties, and stopped acting like a total wad.
It’s funny how often I need to do that.
Regardless of the burgeoning Texas heat, the door handle was still chill to the touch, promising an over-cooled environment on the inside. My moment of hesitation was short-lived, as a short, middle-aged man on the other side had no interest in waiting for me to rip the door open. I took a deep breath and entered. The dusky smell of thousands of pages washed over me, caught on the breeze of the air conditioning.
As I entered the B&N, a dribble of drool rolled down my chin as I stared at the shelves and shelves of books. That same old feeling started at the base of my spine and worked its way up into my brain. No matter how fast I read, no matter how much I tried, I would never, ever be able to read all these books. It was like the first time I ever entered a bookstore, but, somehow, so much more.
You see, back in the old days, I was trained in every department. Nook, music, even receiving in the back room. It was like I had returned to my home country. I knew this place, I fit in here, I could wax idiotic with the staff and they recognized me as a familiar traveler, if not a native of their local village. But, something was (and still is) missing. If this was the hero’s quest, what elixir had I returned with? Had a gained some knowledge in the last few months? Did I bring hope to the ones on the inside? I had missed an essential step in personal character growth and made a misstep along my journey.
In some ways, it didn’t matter. For me, the magic had been restored in the bookstore. I could return to my old place of employment without shame.
As it is wont to do, my financial situation became increasingly unstable. While I hadn’t locked my future into a startup, I had hoped it would provide a stable source of income for a year until I had saved up enough to move on.
Ho ho, not so. The time came when I realized I had to get a second job in order to stockpile any money. I cooked up a big humble pie and reapplied to my old job. They were more than happy to welcome me back into the fold.
Sometimes I think my life is a sitcom. It’s funny, it’s tragic, and nothing ever changes.
But, what if I want the hero’s journey? When does this girl get to leave the farm to pursue her destiny? Why am I so upset that real life doesn’t work out the way stories do?
It’s not too late to begin my epic quest, and it’s not like I don’t have options. But, it feels like I had almost hit the main road with my questing companions, only to realize I had to turn back because I forgot to pack my magic sword.
Hipsters (Or, How I Learned to Embrace Epicurus)
There’s a lot of stuff on the Internet bashing the hipster culture, but I think I’ve got it nailed.
From a distance, I am a hipster. I’m comfortable in jeans and a t-shirt with a pop culture reference. I’ve worn glasses since 9th grade, square cut frames because I don’t look so good in round/frameless. I don’t wear Converse All-Stars because I like the way they feel. I like the way they look, with a boot-cut pant leg draped across the laces, almost dragging, but not quite. Man, you pull a pair of Converse out of the washing machine and they are bright white just like the day you bought them, they look great (in the spirit of full disclosure, my attraction to Converse may be a result of my love of Benny “The Jet” Rodriguez [that's a Sandlot reference]).
I work part-time at a startup in social media and part-time as a barista at a Starbucks licensed cafe. I call myself a writer. I own a Macbook (since 2008); I have had an iPod since the original 2nd generation; I’ve had an iPad 2 since July; I’ve had an iPhone since my contract last expired. One of my favorite bands is from Europe (Within Temptation) and it’s likely you’ve never heard of them.
I fit the hipster image.
So, how can I claim to be different?
I enjoy things. I love Lady Gaga. Whenever Poker Face comes on the radio, I crank it up and sing along.
The Muppets was one of the most emotionally poignant movies I’ve seen this year.
I love reading non-fiction. I taught myself to play passable guitar so I could play (badly) and sing (equally badly).
I own a lightsaber replica, and it is awesome!
A big aspect of the hipster generation is their inability to find enjoyment in the things they do. They like obscure bands because they are obscure. They wear t-shirts “ironically”. They over-critisize every movie they see while maintaining an air of superiority. They read books to be seen, rather than books they want to read.
It’s a trap!
There are so many things available to our culture now, it’s ridiculous to waste time on stuff from which we don’t glean enjoyment.
Philosophy time!
Epicurus believed that pleasure is the greatest good. But the way to attain pleasure was to live modestly and to gain knowledge of the workings of the world and the limits of one’s desires. This led one to attain a state of tranquility (ataraxia) and freedom from fear, as well as absence of bodily pain (aponia). The combination of these two states is supposed to constitute happiness in its highest form. Although Epicureanism is a form of hedonism, insofar as it declares pleasure as the sole intrinsic good, its conception of absence of pain as the greatest pleasure and its advocacy of a simple life make it different from “hedonism” as it is commonly understood.
It propounded an ethic of individual pleasure as the sole or chief good in life. Hence, Epicurus advocated living in such a way as to derive the greatest amount of pleasure possible during one’s lifetime, yet doing so moderately in order to avoid the suffering incurred by overindulgence in such pleasure.
I’m not promoting hedonism, but it’s not a bad thing to enjoy yourself every now and again. Every hipster I’ve ever interacted with is always the same on that level: they never talk about something they legitimately enjoyed to the point where I wonder if they enjoy anything.
I’m not making any great leaps here. Take advantage of the small pleasures in life. Look for things you enjoy rather than irritate.
Be like this guy:
No one hates hula hoops.
Readers & ‘Ritas
I went to a conference this weekend. Readers & ‘Ritas is Fresh Fiction’s annual conference, proceeds going to Plano Family Literacy.
There’s the official business, here’s the real story.
Readers & ‘Ritas is the bachelorette party of conferences.
It’s hanging out, meeting authors, discussing all things reading. Or, discussing whatever. Video games, television shows, movies, Damn You, Autocorrect…when you put readers and writers together, magic happens (also, dirty things, but mostly magic). Come for the books, stay for the romance cover model auction. Did I not mention the romance cover model auction?
I had lunch with Michele Bardsley, chatted with Jaye Wells, and sat down with Nikki Duncan to pick her brain about all things writing.
Ann Aguirre bought our table the cover model for Monica Burns‘ Inferno’s Kiss. The plan was to have him read us the steamy passages, but that was until the dancing started.
Yes, the dancing.
For a nerd like me, hanging out and dancing with authors is pretty much the coolest thing ever. Alcohol and reading is the new peanut butter and chocolate.
Tons of door prizes, amazing raffle prizes, and swag now have my room filled with a year supply of books. It was a fantastic weekend.
“It’s either your husband or The Rock.”
The Mark Twain Media Engine
I like social media. Maybe too much. I feel like it’s a great place to reveal our inner ridiculousness, poke fun at ourselves without taking self-deprecation too far, and meet and interact with a whole stratum of people we wouldn’t otherwise have a chance of getting to know.
Where else do I get to say, “What should I do tonight? #amwriting, #amreading or #amthebatman?”
This is a reference to me (obviously) writing, reading, or (not as obvious) playing Arkham City.
I’m an introvert. I love interacting with people on my terms.
But, that’s not what this post is about.
Bait and switch!
The other day, I tweeted a random thought after stumbling on a quote page for Mark Twain and I couldn’t help but think…
“Mark Twain would have been the best Tweeter of all time.”
This started the idea worm, growing and maturing until I had to lengthen the thought into a full blog post.
I think Mark Twain would have solved world hunger through his Twitter feed alone. This man would have started revolutions. He would have been on top of every trend, sarcasm and wit stretched to the maximum. And, considering some of the backasswards things happening to Mark Twain’s books nowadays, can you imagine the kind of storm he would have started?
Remember how censored editions of Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer were released this year? Maybe he’d throw out something like this.
“I always read immoral books on the sly, and then selfishly try to prevent other people from having the same wicked good time.”
“Guys, what’s a good river for my main character to raft on? #amwriting”
“My review of @JaneAusten is up. Give you a hint. #meh [URL]“
“Changed my profile pic. I mustache you a question.” 
Or what if he checked in on Foursquare?
“Me and @LouisaMayAlcott hitting The Pub.”
Who’s our Mark Twain nowadays? Do we have someone so witty, so sarcastic, so full of piss and vinegar, the Gilded Age never saw him coming?
Okay, I know. I’m wrong. Mark Twain would not have been an awesome Tweeter. He would have started fights, blasted Justin Bieber, and mocked the Friday song. But, weren’t those habits part of what made him such an interesting figure in American Literature?
Perhaps I’ve deified Mr. Samuel L. Clemens. He is a figure of mythological proportions, he suffered through his writing one word at a time, just like every one of us (I hope). He was as much a product of his time, and hindsight is 20/20.
I still would have followed him.
The Greatest Thing About the 90s
I feel I must pay tribute to one of the greatest decades of all time. Despite attending high school and college in the 00’s (how do we say that, by the way? The double oh’s?) I feel like most of my generations fondest memories come from the pre-2000s. A lot of college was spent reminiscing about the good ol’ days, when Stephanie proclaimed “How rude!”
Ah, yes. Girl Power, a prince born in West Philadelphia, and TGIF was the best lineup on television. We didn’t have playlists, we had mix tapes.
But, if I had to pick the one thing that has stuck with me from the 90s is the Jock Rock/ Jock Jams compliations.
A wonderment of audio fantasy. Sure, not all of the songs were from the 90s, but the idea was.
I recently went to a Rangers/Tigers playoff game. They played the beat from “We Will Rock You” at least five times.
Dare I ask: Where are the stadium anthems of today?
Where is the new Final Countdown? Who hasn’t yelled “Aye, oh, let’s go!” and mumbled through the rest of Blitzkrieg Bop while passing beer and peanuts down to that guy in the middle of the row?
My Tamogatchi died, my Beanie Babies are worthless, and the only time I do the Macarena is at wedding receptions. Lame, lame wedding receptions.
In the world of Jock Jams, the 90s are never over.
And, there’s no better way to get pumped up.
Fake Busy
I’m that sort of busy that’s all kind of fake.
I’ve built up the illusion of busyness, and, it’s so good, I’ve even faked myself out.
Here’s what I’ve been up to:
I remembered that I have a library card. This is not a good thing. When I go to the library, I usually have a list already made. Then, I start browsing. What ends up happening is I check out 10-12 books I can’t possibly live without right that very moment. Even though I know I’m at the library and they will be there for my next visit.
I end up starting this pile a week late and have to scramble to read every book before it’s due. I’ve done this thrice in two months.
- I got into Pottermore. While I’m not sure what this entails, I’m sure it will be exciting. For at least fifteen whole minutes.
- I turned 25. Hurray.
- I started watching X-Files on Netflix. I’m not really interested in the alien parts, but I find the paranormal stuff pretty awesome. I’m a big Fringe fan and definitely see the similarities. Just because I have a special place in my heart for multi-verse theory doesn’t mean I can’t like Mulder and Scully. The history of television owes them thanks.
- I saw a slew of movies, none of which are worth mentioning.
- I broke 50,000 words on my current WIP.
- I received 22 rejection letters in 38 days.
- I have listened to Evanescence’s new single “What You Want” far too many times.
So, that’s it. Oh, yeah, and I have a job and volunteer and nonsense like that. So, you know, maybe I’ll pick one of those things and start blogging again.
What have you been up to?
Why I Read YA
It seems every few weeks, someone says something misguided or general about the Young Adult section at the local library/bookstore. While I usually miss the inciting incident, I enjoy pouring myself a bowl of Rice Krispies and sliding into my front row seat on TweetDeck to watch the publishing industry retaliate.
Have I ever mentioned I love social media?
#YAShowdown was the more amusing hashtag, while #YASaves was more of an emotional outpouring, trumpeting the lessons and triumphs, the sights we saw, the scents we smelled, the roads we traveled when traversing some of our favorite stories considered: “Young Adult”.
I’m not a teen. I’m not a parent. I’m not a high school librarian.
So, why do I read YA?
It’s good.
No, I mean, it’s really good.
It’s well-written. There’s a story. The characters are compelling. The styles are diverse. It wants to take risks in the good way.
Life isn’t candy-coated, sugar-sweet, let’s all go to the prom and be happy.
Life is hard. It sucks. We weren’t born with an instruction manual. People make mistakes. Reality is tough and it doesn’t wait for you to be an adult to start throwing curveballs.
Why wait in literature?
My mother read A Wrinkle in Time to my siblings and I at the dinner table when I was a youngling.
My favorite section in the library was that little corner with the crusty sign above that said “TEEN” with half the “N” scratched off. I go to the library now and see their WHOLE ROOM dedicated to young adult literature, and there’s a prickle in my eyes as I try to imagine what it would have been like to have that many books way back when.
I love it. I love the voice. I love the stories. I love the characters.
I even love the covers.
So, that’s it. No great insights.
You either get YA or you don’t. Find something you like, nay, love, and tell everyone about it.
Because reading is awesome.
Philosophical Writer-Type seeks blog topic, ends on Big Question
This little blog-o-mine. Imma let it shine.
Today, I take presumption to a whole new level and tell you the meaning of life (hint: it’s not 42). Those of you who already know the meaning of life will continue reading and nod knowingly. Those of you who don’t will throw things and scream ‘how dare she, blasphemous Internet troll!”
It’s “make the world a better place”. It’s actually a really cool deal. You see, once you start trying to do this, everyone around you sort of takes notice. Since this blog is inherently selfish, I’ll give you an anecdote.
The other day, at Starbucks, my barista handed me my drink. As I reached for a sleeve, I cheerfully flashed a smile and said, “Thank you!” You know, because he was my enabler for the day. But, no, seriously. He just made me a cup of coffee. My Midwestern manners, wait, no, hold that thought, my humanity dictates that I should express gratitude for services rendered.
As it so happened, I accidentally cut him off mid-‘thank’. We both stopped and did a suspicious staredown. You know the one; eyes narrowed, sizing each other up out of the periphery. Now, on one hand, I understand why he would thank me. I’m a customer and the head honchos dictate that such things are supposed to be said to a customer, probably with a certain level of welcoming charm that encourages them to return. But, I was reacting to his reaction.
Did he really not have people say thank you with any sincerity? I mean, God! He could have burnt himself on scalding coffee! He was heating milk with a piece of equipment that blasts out a jet of super-heated water! Thank you for putting yourself in mortal danger so that I may enjoy a tasty soy misto! IT’S DELICIOUS!!!
Granted, I was not in a part of town that has a gracious reputation, but can we please treat other people like human beings?
I have lots of brains, lots of ideas, and very little money, but I’ve got stuff to work with. There are things that I would like to do, things that I can do, and things that I will never be able to do. I’m not going out of my way to treat another human being like a human being because it’s surprisingly natural. It’s a little thing I’ve taken to calling “not-being-a-sociopath”.
All right, all right. Yes, you might have had a bad day. Yes, things might not be going great in your life. Jobs suck. Deadlines loom. Cats start throwing up on your carpet. Your dad won’t let you walk out the door without trying to engage you in a game of 20 Questions. But none of those things are a reason to lose sight of what it means to be human.
The “hello, how are you?”…not enough. Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto.
I’m not claiming sainthood, here. I usually kvetch to my friends, which is a burden they don’t deserve to bear, but they do, with patient grace, and they sort of signed on to seeing the Monster before the Man.
So, when you are tempted to collect your decaf soy Carmel Macchiato in eye-contact avoiding silence, or you find yourself snarling at the grocer, maybe give Dr. Jekyll a minute to regain control, hm?
Be human. We were born that way.
Soapbox Podium Thumping – eBooks
*shuffle shuffle shuffle* SQUEAK! *clears throat and steps onto soapbox*
I’m about to pontificate, so feel free to ignore my opinion.
I stumbled across something I’m not going to link to because I don’t want to support the cause, even indirectly, but I want to be clear.
eBooks should not be the be-all-end-all direction of the publishing industry.
I know what you’re thinking, “Kate, you have mentioned on your blog several times how much you love your nook, and your iPad. You are addicted to gadgets. How can you say such things?”
I love eBooks. I love my nook. These things are true.
But, unless it’s an actual, physical book at some point in its history, I have a hard time taking it seriously for the simple fact that an author can’t sign it.
Every time I see that scene in Beauty & the Beast, when he shows Belle the library, my heart races, my pupils dilate, and a little voice in my head sings, “I want to go to there”. If I’m ever rich enough to build my own house, that library, be it physically possible, will make the final blueprint. You better believe there will be a track ladder.
I suggested an author to a friend. Said author has a new book coming out soon, which I also drew to the attention of aforementioned friend. This author is someone who I know and have spent time with. Friend freaked out.
Squees, all caps on Facebook, I was thrilled, thinking, “Awesome. She’ll enjoy a good read, as all people of the world should.” Then I got this note.
“What’s your address? Will she sign stuff?”
Um. Well. Yeah, I guess. I mean, why else would you become an author if you couldn’t sign a body part…er…flyleaf or two?
Now, imagine you meet J.K. Rowling (in a parallel universe where Harry Potter is available on eBook). Would you have her sign your nook? I mean, come on. That’s not really the same. You could add a digital flyleaf in an iPad app, but it’s not the same.
As I am clearly the conflicted character in this novel, I’m going to tell you right now: if there were seven books that I could have with me at all times, the Harry Potter series would make that list in a heartbeat (maybe not all of it, but still).
eBooks rock portability, and, coupled with an eInk screen, things look pretty good. But there are some things that you need to see in hard copy.
There are some pages you need to thumb through.
There are some things that you need to get signed, if only to show off to your friends who don’t happen to eat pancakes with awesome authors.
If you’ve ever been to a book signing or plan on going to one, hold that book in your hand and think about this: without that person sitting at the table at the front of that line, this thing – this gigantic, momentous bundle of cardboard, paper, and ink squeezed by your hot, little hands that took you to a place you’d never been – would not exist without them.
You are holding a piece of someone’s soul and it’s not trapped in a little computer box.
It’s contained in this thing that you can give to your mother when she’s lonely. Or, you can read to your son when he’s sick. Or, you can rediscover when you’re swinging from your track ladder on a rainy Sunday evening.
Six Degrees
Six degrees of Kevin Bacon: fun game or way of life?
Well, its turning into a way of life.
I’m booking my social calendar for the next few weeks (I know, who’d have thought a poor little introvert like me could be so popular?), and you’d be surprised at how many people I know have someone in LA.
I’ve got the one who knows the neighborhoods (Starbucks, Tuesday evening), the one who was out there to do improv (Starbucks, Monday evening), the one who lives there and might have a job if I can’t find anything in entertainment (phone call, next Thursday). I know a guy who knows a guy who can do a thing or two.
Nice to know things work that way. I’m looking at jobs and should start applying soon. The NBC West Coast Page Program sounds exciting, a good job with networking opportunities. Unlike the NBC East Coast Page Program (Kenneth Parcell), the West Coast focuses more on entertainment rather than broadcast news. I could be seating people for Jay Leno. (If you know Jay Leno, you can send me his email and we can skip the middle man.)
There’s an internship at Screen Gems I have my eye on. It’s a development position, much like the one I had at Sony Television, which means I’m sure to love it. I have to make the dream list now. I’ll start on the sad, not ideal existence list probably next week.
Starbucks is on it.
There will always be Starbucks.
Next time, you find out how my parents react to the announcement.
Stay tuned…
Bad blogger! No cookie!
I haven’t blogged this week. I know. Bad writer. Back to your cave.
So, here’s the rundown. There comes a point in every person’s life when they make sweeping assumptions about the human race based on their personal experiences. And, this is one of those times.
I tend to look at my life as a game with specific objectives I’m attempting to achieve. I think this was a week of secondary objectives, which is sort of a terrible thing to say (you’ll see why in a moment).
I cultivated a social life this week.
My main objectives are…not going so well. This may have to do with the fact that I feel like I’ve been treading water. It’s terrible to consider a social life secondary, but hey, I never said I was perfect. I just insinuated…
This last weekend, I wrote a spec script for a television show. After sending it on its merry way (for your eyes only), I decided I wasn’t going to write anything until next Tuesday. Not one word. Except, quotes. And, this blog post, which is hardly coherent.
The demonic writer within me flipped me the bird and hunkered down in the back of my head. It’s been poking me more insistently as the time passes. Last night, it said, “Hey, you know that one scene? What if you do this? You better go jot it on a notecard or something because you’ll forget it by morning.”
Not gonna do it.
Characters are sort of bunching up in my head seeking escape. And that’s just fine.
What to do with all that time?
Reading. That’s a big one. Watching movies. I actually played a little bit of a video game. Played Solitaire for a long time on my iPad. You don’t really notice how long you’ve been playing Solitaire until it’s ten games later and you realize you haven’t blinked in an hour and a half.
But, here’s something cool. I saw friends. Like, real life actual people outside of the Internet box. We talked about stuff. Stuff that mattered. Stuff that didn’t. Stuff that might or might not ever be.
I complained a lot. I’m not making any headway on that main objective of moving out of parents’ house, you know, so I make a stink about it.
It was cool. Sort of nice to see what it’s like to not work all the time. Achievement unlocked.
I’ll be a bit more bloggy next week. Until then, I’m going to sit in the sun and finish reading The Automatic Detective by A. Lee Martinez.
Summer’s here. You should take some time to…you know. Whatever.
The Learning Curve
I have these lists.
And, they’re long.
One is Things I Learned in School. This list is finite. It’s not getting any longer, mainly because I’m not in school anymore. The non-academics are on there, too. Like how to become a cool kid (never actually learned that one, but it might be on your list).
Then, there’s Things I Didn’t Learn in School. This one’s infinite, and I discover more things on it every day.
I unfurled a different list this weekend: Things I Should Have Learned in School. Like, say, how to write a query letter. Or, how to get published. Or, how not to look like a crazy writer in front of a group of agents after you spent the last 12 hours in a caffeine-induced heightened state of awareness while pounding out 10,000 words.
Not that anything like that has ever happened to me…
So, what’s the problem? What’s the point?
I wouldn’t trade my education for anything. I took full advantage of the opportunities my school provided. However, one should never assume they are done learning. Every person in the world is a wealth of knowledge. Lately, I’ve felt like a brain slug, leeching off the intellect of people I know.
Is that a thing? Does it count as leeching if they give it to you freely?
On the flip side, do we gravitate towards each other? There must be a law in the Physics of Psychology (yeah, just made that up).
People with like interests and a passion to learn from each other attract. Whether by choice or how the world turns, it seems we all end up in the same place. iHop on Wednesday nights (wink).
So, here’s the lesson you can take away from today’s ramble:
If you want to be a writer, go to class. Go to conferences. Talk to other writers. Listen to what people have to say about the art. Read the blogs. And, keep writing the whole time. Knowing it all is overrated (and BS).
You can’t learn it all in school. You can never stop learning.
Throw it against the wall. See what sticks.
Bohemian Rhapsody just started on my stereo, so y’all know what I have to do.
The Daily Stalk
Like everyone who gets a new technological toy, I posted about my (yet unnamed) iPad 2. It sleeps next to my bed, curled up in its smart cover. I’ve started using eye drops because I stare at it for long periods of time.
Melodramatic!
Yesterday morning, while sitting at work, I picked up my iPad and thought: “Time for the daily stalk.”
Finger paused on power button. What prompted such a negative connotation to the innocent thing I was about to do?
So, I subscribe to blogs. What’s the big deal?
By “subscribe”, I, of course, mean “am addicted to”. In my gushing “All Hail Apple” post, I mentioned a few of the feeds I subscribe to:
But, that was just the tip of the iceberg.
I’ve got Jenny Martin. Occasionally, I dig into this thing like a mole-inspired super villain, mining it for YA lit suggestions.
Rosemary Clement-Moore, who can make me simultaneously weep and laugh.
Pamela Skjolsvik. She’s got the cajones to write about death. I’m sucked in. How dare you make me think?
And even that’s just a smattering. I’m up to 14 subscriptions (and that’s not including Tumblr).
So, why “the daily stalk”?
Blogging is personal. It’s that thing that’s been bugging the writer, that little piece of irritant that’s stuck in the brain. Something that needs to be worked out. And, because I follow people with creative minds, it’s like seeing an aspect about them, learning something that they don’t have to explain, or describe, or tell you.
And, I feel a little guilty.
Everyone who reads this blog knows something about me. Without ever meeting me, you can form an opinion based on the content. What kind of music I like, what sort of books I enjoy, my personality type.
But, really, we don’t know anyone. Reading a blog is not spending time with someone. Getting to know someone through social media is sort of bogus. I mean, if I really wanted to know, I could just find out where you live, buy a pair of binoculars, and park across the street (well, hello, officer; what do you mean by ‘restraining order’?).
I’d rather sit down with you, face-to-face, and have a cup of coffee. Even if all we talk about is the weather.
Hi. I’m Kate Cornell. I’m a media consumer, obsessed with technology, and addicted to social media. When I sneeze, I always sneeze twice. I sometimes feel bad when I go to the coffee shop because I change my order every time, and I know the baristas try to make an effort to remember my drink. I love angry chick rock. I play the guitar…poorly, but passionately.
So, now you know.
I’m going to read one more post. Just one. I promise.
Hardly Working
I may have…accidentally…on purpose…inadvertently…quit my job.
That was the teaser.
Now for something completely different.
My final semester of college, I flipped my academic advisor (and group of friends) the bird and moved to New York City. NO REGRETS! Jiminy Cricket, I love that city. I participated in an internship program. The Great Lakes Colleges Association purchased an old hostel on 29th Street and 8th Ave. (I could practically spit on Madison Square Garden). Out of all the artistes participating in the program, the coffee-fetchers, the case carriers, the note-takers, I had something amazing.
An internship at Sony Pictures Television.
I was in a three-person department which consisted of the Development VP and Producer for Mini-Series and Made for TV Movies, her assistant, and lil ol’ me.
And this was no coffee-fetching internship. I was picking writers for projects. I was determining which rights to acquire. Script coverage, contacting agents, sitting in on budget meetings, editing scripts…my God, I’m almost shedding tears thinking about it.
Once the writers’ strike was over, the VP was on set while her assistant and I held down the fort at the New York office. I was watching dailies, seeing costuming. I only went out for coffee once, and the assistant apologized at least four times for asking me to do it.
I was in love. There’s something about that city. It doesn’t work for everyone, but when it gets inside you, you feel it. It whispers in your ear. It tugs on your heart. It lifts you up high and reminds you of every low. It makes you forget everything outside of itself.
In retrospect, I did some stupid stuff in that city.
I walked around by myself at two-o-clock in the morning just to feel the pace still burning through the streets when the world should be sleeping. Okay, I didn’t go to Central Park at night. I have seen almost every episode of Law and Order: SVU. I’m stupid, but not suicidal.
And, when walking through NYC at two-o-clock in the morning, I knew what I want to do with my life.
I want to produce content. Not just books, not just TV shows, not just movies. I want to tell stories, no matter what form that takes. I want to take these fantastic images in my head and hand them to someone else and say, “Look. Without me, this would not exist. What do you think?”
I know. All mad gab existential.
But, more than that, I want to be someone people can associate with quality storytelling. I want my name to be attached to a TV show, and a group of people take over a bar on premiere night so they can make up a series drinking game. I want to share other people’s stories that I find brilliant.
I want to determine what gets added to the cultural genetic structure.
Sounds crazy, no?
It’s not about the money. It’s not even about the reputation. It’s about the story. It’s about the culture. It’s about striving for a higher standard, raising the expectation, and achieving something amazing.
This past weekend, I took a step back and looked at Day Job. I adopted a British accent, stuck my finger in its face, and screamed, “You’re not helping me achieve my bloody goals!”
I told my boss I think I needed to explore my options. Because I have to keep moving forward. Stagnancy is going to kill me.
Wish me luck, pray for me, keep me in your thoughts, whatever.
Because I might be broke forever, but, at the end of everything, at least I can say I tried my hardest.
And, that counts for something.
Shameless Apple Product Gushing
I got an iPad 2.
I am such an Apple nerd. I’m sorry, I know. It’s like the Mark of the Beast.
But, I love this thing so much. I want to make it a little bed to sleep in at night. What do I use it for?
Okay. List time.
1. Media input – Time Warner Cable TV, ABC Player, Netflix, Vevo. Plug me in, I am ready to go. And this whole battery life thing? No joke. I get at least six hours of streaming time. Don’t ask me how I know that. I’m hard at work. Seriously.
2. eReader – There is nothing like this badass screen to read books on. Oh, man. Shoot. I have a nook, which I still use for outside and the bathtub and whatever, but one thing I didn’t realized I missed: colored highlighting. Any color. Pick a color, you can highlight in it. If you think that highlighting is not important, then you have never read good non-fiction. Squee! Blue! Orange! Red! Chocolate! Puce!
3. Mobile RSS – I know a lot of people. I like some of them. And, I subscribed to their blog feeds. Here are some of them:
- A. Lee Martinez - author, juggler, he’s got some fun stuff to say and he doesn’t sling any BS
- Kristen Lamb – author, social media expert…no, social media goddess
- Chuck Wendig – author, screenwriter, oh, man, I love this guy. I have favorited three of his posts. Only three because I haven’t been able to get to the rest because I’m laughing so hard.
- Okay, yes, an obvious trend in who I follow. My point is still valid.
4. Social Media – What’s the deal with Twitter? Why do I twitch like a junkie when I’m away from it for too long? Not that I would know. I was a Twitter junkie on my iPhone long before the iPad, but for some reason, I always have to be plugged in. But Twitter for iPad? That app is so intuitive, it knows what I want to do before I do. You flip through pages, you follow links. Oh, my heart flutters.
And, GetGlue. I keep track of my overwhelming media consumption and earn BADGES! I am so excited about virtual stickers. What am I, eight years old? Yes! Check-in to Game of Thrones with 5,000 other people!
5. News – ABC News, Mashable, Wall Street Journal. Even fake news! The Onion has an app.
6. Productivity – You know, because that’s why I actually bought the thing. Ack, this is the most boring number in my list.
dropbox. yeah. confetti.
PDF Reader/Annotater. hurrah. vuvuzela.
Popplet, okay, now we’re talking. It’s like brainstorming. Paste images, draw pictures, text input, connect things. Like a white board, but digital.
And, of course, I immediately set the screen to this:
Why did I buy it? It may have something to do with hypnotoad, but I love it nonetheless.
