I’m moving to Los Angeles!

Oh, my God, I’m moving to Los Angeles.

Well, not until later in the year, but reality is setting in and it’s setting in hard. The other day, my dad told me we needed to talk about when we wanted to head out there. To look at apartments. Which I am perfectly capable of doing on my own, but, I mean, come on. What are fathers for if it’s not negotiating real estate? Also, like the Eiffel Tower in Paris, I’m sure I can see the Hollywood sign from every window in my apartment no matter where I live.

In other news, sometimes I feel like I’m losing my grip on reality. You know when you watch those movies/read those books where there’s a pretty obvious ticking clock?

And, my shower won’t stop dripping, so I even get the “tick tick” sound effect when it gets too quiet around here.

So, here’s my trouble.

How do I say good-bye?

I made a new friend (which is amazing, by the way) and she is going to school at MIT. In Boston! And, despite the distance, we have kept up our friendship through Tumblr, Twitter, and Facebook.

But what about the others?

I honestly can’t remember who I had this conversation with, so, if it was you, let me know.

“I’m leaving.” Me

“Okay. So?” You.

“I feel like I’m trying to cut off all my connections because it doesn’t hurt as much when I finally go.”

“Why?”

“That’s how it’s always been.”

“Yeah, but you have roots here. But, your parents are here.”

“I might be the one keeping them here. When I leave, they really have no reason to stay.”

“Oh.”

Yeah, oh.

So, here’s this.

I Don’t Know How To Say Goodbye

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.

What that means for you is you’ll have to go there for my more timely reviews. I’ll see if I can keep this up (I’m working two and a half jobs, so cut me a little slack).

Onward!

I’m a quick reader. I average about 250-300 words per minute. This is not speed reading. I read and process every word on the page. Look at it this way: If you talk the 10,000 hour rule of expertise that was laid out in Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell, I am an expert reader twice over. At least.

But, I digress.

Every once in awhile I come across a book that makes me want to read slower. It’s like good chocolate. You want let it rest on your tongue, melt down, let all the rich flavor come out in order for you to savor just how good it is.

Daughter of Smoke and Bone is good chocolate.

Book Breakdown

(like it’s so good, it’s bad for you)

Daughter of Smoke and Bone

This is one of my top books of 2011. I should put a summary here. I just don’t think it will really do it justice. Let me try a cut and paste for Laini Taylor‘s website.

“Around the world, black handprints are appearing on doorways, scorched there by winged strangers who have crept through a slit in the sky.

In a dark and dusty shop, a devil’s supply of human teeth grown dangerously low.

And in the tangled lanes of Prague, a young art student is about to be caught up in a brutal otherwordly war.

Meet Karou. She fills her sketchbooks with monsters that may or may not be real; she’s prone to disappearing on mysterious “errands”; she speaks many languages–not all of them human; and her bright blue hair actually grows out of her head that color. Who is she? That is the question that haunts her, and she’s about to find out.

When one of the strangers–beautiful, haunted Akiva–fixes his fire-colored eyes on her in an alley in Marrakesh, the result is blood and starlight, secrets unveiled, and a star-crossed love whose roots drink deep of a violent past. But will Karou live to regret learning the truth about herself?”

While it seems that angel/human/devil has been a trend in YA literature (minor-trend? subtrend?), this does not fall into that category. Taylor constructs a parallel world where these creatures are actual species and tribes, unconcerned with acquiring human souls. Instead, they are locked in a war. One race fights for freedom, the other fights for vengeance. Karou was raised by a chimaera, Brimstone, who spends his days collecting teeth for mysterious reasons.

Karou is his errand girl, a human girl collecting teeth. For her troubles, she is granted scuppies and shings, a currency that can be traded in for wishes.

There is something about this book that is carnal and violent, while still being subtle and beautiful. The ending has a winding quality as memories unravel, circling back upon themselves to reveal the new and the known.

The world is complex. The voice is liquid. I’m going to defer to the ladies at Coffee Talk for this one.

This book is like buttah.

First Ten:

In the first 10 pages, Karou’s ex-boyfriend ambushes her on the street, revealing that Karou is impossible to scare. Immediately after, he shows up in her art class as a model. You know. In the traditional sense.

There is no better way to show how narcissistic (and possibly sadistic) someone is.

The way Karou handles the situation is quite satisfying.

Unfortunately for you, I borrowed the book. If not, I would have had some sort of giveaway, but, alas, it is not mine to give. If you’ve read it, let me know what you think.

There’s something about her British accent and ass-kickery, like you took a Jane Austen character and gave her a gun. There’s something about Bill Nighy’s slow, agonizing transformation from corpse to Bill Nighy. There’s something about irradiated bullets.

Ultimately, it’s just that the vampires in Underworld are everything I want a vampire to be. Sexy, lethal, amoral killing machines who regard humanity as something beneath their notice.

So, I donned my 3D glasses and headed out to the midnight showing of Underworld: Awakening.

First things first: turns out I’m not a fan of 3D. Lots of blood spatter and glass breaking, if you’re into that kind of thing.

The movie starts with a recap.

I get it. You’re assuming the people who show up for the blood bath are interested in what happened before, and, for the most part, you are correct. Trust me, the people coming to this movie are familiar with what’s happened. No need to remind us.

In this installment, humanity has discovered the existence of lycans and vampires and sets out to destroy them. The irradiated and silver nitrate bullets that the vampires and lycans used to ravage each other are now in the hands of humanity (whoops!), and the two species of the night are being systematically wiped out. Initially, this is okay. The humans are winning.

Then, you get to Selene. She’s a Death Dealer, trained to hunt down and kill werewolves. Humans don’t really stand a chance. They capture her with a luck grenade, she’s frozen for twelve years, then someone breaks her out.

This is where things got a little uncomfortable. You see, I’m cool with the whole monster fight. In ways, the lycans and vampires are evenly matched. But, when you unleash a relentless vampire on a group of humans, it’s a just not fair.

In one scene, Selene sprints down a hallway, slitting throats the whole way. After a bit of cringe-worthy bone-breaking, they get back to killing werewolves pretty quick.

Story happens. I wasn’t really paying attention to that part. Something about a hybrid and a little girl…I don’t even know.

Good news! The whole ‘silver whip’ as an effective weapon against lycans gets a great scene. We get a hot, new vampire to look at (Theo James), plus a human detective (Michael Ealy) who gets very little character development, but enough to make me point at the screen and say, “More”.

Other good news! Spoiler Alert: Not everyone dies in the end! That has been a trend in the previous movies…everyone except the two main characters are dead by the ending. In this one, New Vampire, Detective, Little Girl, and Selene are all ready to hunt down the fleeing Michael at the end of the movie.

The movie is not perfect by any means (what movie is?), but it was fun. It lived up to my expectation. I am clinging to the notion that maybe, some day, the Underworld franchise will get the story that it deserves (no zombies; please, God, no zombies).

I’m not the first person to love something for its potential.

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 turned 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.

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.

Two weeks in, I’m giving you a New Year’s Resolution Post featuring (gratuitous capitalization)!

Let’s dive right in.

1. Start/Join a band
2. Don’t talk about “The-Book-That-Will-Not-Be-Named” or, more commonly, “You-Know-What”.
3. Save up $10,000 to move to LA
4. Punch anyone who says “You’re so young!”
5. Be more Internet social
6. 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.

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.

It didn’t always used to be this way. Now, everyone’s throwing around this term, and, like most overused words, it has lost it’s meaning.

These days, everyone’s an expert on something. Social media, writing, television. In fact, I do know some people who qualify to call themselves experts, but they are few and far between.

An expert is defined as a person who has special skill or knowledge in some particular field; specialist; authority.

Look at yourself. Do you really qualify as an expert? My dad studies WWII as a hobby. He knows more about the European theater than anyone I have ever met. He can identify tanks by their tread marks (okay, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration). The point is: if you asked him, he would deny any expertise. Here’s where we come to the weird thing about those who attain knowledge.

They (we?) realize that the more you learn, the less you know.

I work in social media. I read Mashable, Read Write Web, Web Pro News everyday. While I have learned a lot from these people, this knowledge does not make me an expert. Being the one writing for them might.

With something like social media, the field is constantly changing. Unless you are on top of it everyday, developing strategy and implementing it, you can’t rightfully call yourself an expert.

It’s hard to be an expert. This isn’t something that should be taken so lightly. The true experts of the world need to take back that word.

Better yet, invent a word that means the same thing that hasn’t been ruined.

Everyone’s a norpluck.

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.”