Showing posts with label personal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label personal. Show all posts
Thursday, May 7, 2015
Three weeks ago, I had a visitor.
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| no idea what's happening in the back |
Let's pretend that we moved to these far-flung places just to make our holidays that much more interesting. London, for instance, has never been as magical as it was when exploring with Kristan.
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| can't get lost with a pink backpack |
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| modeled by my own DNA |
I wish I could say that we also did tons of writing and worked on our projects, but living and experiencing was the work we had to hand. And we did it well!
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| finally some proper English weather! |
Have you been on any adventures lately?
Friday, March 28, 2014
Hi.
Normally we'd have a post up here on a Thursday...and now it's Friday...and this is not really a post.
We're taking a break this week as one of our members has suffered a major loss in her family. It's hit us all hard. Feeling sorry for someone doesn't always cut it. Sometimes all you can do is stop what you're doing and take in one breath and let out one breath.
Put away your labours. Pause.
Grief is a tricksy thing. It can't be helped. It can't be shared. And you can't take it off someone like a stray eyelash on a cheek.
You can relate. And you can link words to hearts and these ache wide open.
xx
Thursday, January 23, 2014
Sometimes I feel like I can mark out my life so far by the books I've read. They've shaped the way I write. Many of them shaped the way I see the world.
Preschool: Oh! The Places You’ll Go by Dr. Seuss — I have very vivid memories of the day Dr. Seuss died (or the day his death was announced). I was in preschool, just about to turn five years old. I remember going to the library and being surrounded by other children, learning that he’d died and hearing his stories read to me. It was the first time I really understood that books come from authors, that all of those colors and creatures and silly words came from some guy’s head. And if he could use his imagination to create entire worlds, maybe I could too.
Grade School: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis — I started writing my own stories when I was in the third grade, and most of them involved finding secret worlds inside cupboards or at the back of a closet, little doorways to another place and time. I was so enraptured by the moment when Lucy steps through the wardrobe and into that snowy forest, and it changed the way I read and wrote forever. My fixation with escaping this world into one entirely imagined still determines what books I pick up and what stories I tell.Middle School — In seventh and eighth grade I devoured the Baby-Sitters Club books, the Sweet Valley High series, and pretty much anything I could get my hands on about high school aged girls. People say there was no YA before Twilight and Harry Potter, but that’s not entirely true. For as long as there have been teenagers, someone has been telling stories about them.
High School — From the moment I got the reading list for my freshman year until the trip I took the summer after my senior year, I was obsessed with the classics. I don’t think I read anything else through high school. Jane Austen, the Brontë sisters, Emily Dickinson, Sophocles… I couldn’t get enough of them.
Now I'm an adult, and I'm still reading the same stuff I loved as a kid. I'm still looking for that book that will transport me to another time or place. I'm still looking for a moment like when Lucy stepped into that snowy wood and a new world unfolded before her.
If your life were composed of books, what would be on the timeline?
Thursday, August 22, 2013
Dear Sarah,
Three years ago, you invited me to join your critique group, making me the fourth and final member of We Heart YA. I had no idea then how close we would become or how important our friendship would be for my writing, my happiness, and my sanity.
It’s crazy to think about how much I’ve changed since that first meeting. I was painfully shy and insecure, my freak flag carefully folded and discretely tucked away. But I’ve come into my own in the past couple years. In large part, because of you. You have a wonderful way of pushing people out of their comfort zones and then making them laugh about it. With you, awkward moments become merely food for good stories. I feel so differently about myself now. I can look at my flaws and my weirdnesses and accept them with a chuckle.
I’ve dealt with irrational shame since I was a little girl. But Sarah, nothing shocks you. Our meetings have always been a judgment-free zone. They are a place to work through stubbornness, climb out of ruts, and celebrate even the smallest triumphs. They make me better. YOU make me better.
Now you’re an ocean away from us, but our friendship isn’t over. I’m so grateful for computers and internet and Google hangouts, because they mean we get to keep you even when you pack up and move country.
So here’s to three more years of storytelling, hour-long tangents, impromptu therapy sessions, and lots of laughter!
Love from,
Stephanie
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Memory is such an interesting aspect of the human mind and experience. I'm intrigued how experiences are recorded in our minds. What qualifies as a moment? And what makes a good story?
It's tricksy because memory is slippery and
often edited. Quite simply, when remembering, we tell ourselves our own narratives. There's power in that--to process, to share,
and to change. And there's truth lying about in the posed and filtered moments we capture, the manner in which we position ourselves. But perhaps
what's most fascinating to me is how memory--linked with our senses--allows our minds
to transport.
Somewhere
in the first book that I ever wrote, the MC has a strange, ghostly experience
during a thunderstorm. She's trapped in her broken down car, watching the rainwater snake down the windows. It triggers a latent memory, and the moment feels so real to her that she says to
herself, "If time travel is possible, it's through the senses." Maybe I wrote that entire book just to come
to that conclusion.
The most
vivid memories that I have are linked to smells (mothballs=grandmother's attic), taste (grape soda=summer picnics), or sounds (R.E.M.=lying on my bed, trying to memorize the lyrics
to "It's the End of the World As We Know It.") And yet, I've found there is something even more powerful than the senses in transporting the mind...
Books. (Boom).
There are
certain books that I have read at certain times that will forever bring me back
to that moment. Know what I mean? It's kind of magic.
The Trembling Hills...As a young kid, I snuck this book out of the built-in, Victorian corner cabinet in the dining room. It was my mother's book, hidden behind stacks of National Geographic magazines (with naked tribal women inside!) It was the naughty shelf and I knew this book was definitely out of my age range. But I fell in love with Sara Jerome and her rags to riches story. Her clothes, her crushes!
Each time I read this book, I can smell the dust of the corner cabinet. I can hear the handle click and the panes of glass rattle.
The Trembling Hills...As a young kid, I snuck this book out of the built-in, Victorian corner cabinet in the dining room. It was my mother's book, hidden behind stacks of National Geographic magazines (with naked tribal women inside!) It was the naughty shelf and I knew this book was definitely out of my age range. But I fell in love with Sara Jerome and her rags to riches story. Her clothes, her crushes!
Each time I read this book, I can smell the dust of the corner cabinet. I can hear the handle click and the panes of glass rattle.
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| gorgeous cover by Paul Chin |
Jane Eyre...When I was seventeen, several major things happened: I graduated high school, my braces finally came off, I cut my waist-length hair to pixie, and my big brother got married. It was an outdoor wedding, and my sole job early in the day was to babysit a pile of folding chairs to make sure no one came to the park and swiped them. While everyone else set up tents and decorated, I sat on the pallet of chairs and read Jane Eyre for the first time.
Moment and memory solidified.
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Twilight...That's right,
haters, it made my memory list.
Sheesh. You know you remember
where you were when you first heard about this book. When you opened the first page. When you whispered the word, Forks, out loud
just to hear how it sounded. At the time, I happened
to have been invited to some hippie potluck gathering in an old pink house when a friend slipped me a black
paperback and whispered, "Have you read this yet?"
Even the hippies were down with that shit.
Even the hippies were down with that shit.
Side
Effects May Vary...This book isn't out yet (you'll have to wait until 2014),
but I begged a certain wonderful someone for an ARC (thank you, sweet, epic lady!)
and it couldn't have come at a more perfect time. This book talks to me in ways that others
don't. You know how some books hit you
at exactly the right time, and seem to speak your language? That's this book for me. In some ways, it saved me.
Right now, I'm forming a memory, a narrative. Change is happening. You see, I had a bit of whimsy in thinking that I should move my family back to the land of castles and dragons. In a few weeks, I'm heading over the pond where the grass is (literally) greener. (I mean, it rains a lot in the UK).
This decision has been hard on my American family and I'm leaving behind some seriously good friends. My favorite friends. During this up-and-down time, I happened to receive Side Effects May Vary and it couldn't have arrived at a more perfect time. Although Alice and Harvey aren't dealing with the same sort of situation, they certainly have the same range of emotions I'm feeling: Grief. Immediacy. Unknown.
I know with certainty that every time I pick up this book in the future I'm going to be transported back to this time. I will remember how difficult my fanciful ideas can be on myself and those that care about me. And how much of a jerk I am for doing it anyway.
But I'm
also going to remember the green of the forest in my back yard, the hammock and
the swing. The smell of nighttime
hitting the back deck and mosquitos attacking my feet. There are so many senses tied up with
memories tied up with words. It's
fascinating. And bittersweet.
Whew. Done.
And you? You've listened long enough. Tell me what books take you to moments in your life. I am your eager audience. xx
And you? You've listened long enough. Tell me what books take you to moments in your life. I am your eager audience. xx
Thursday, March 21, 2013
To date, I have had exactly three diaries. All of them have been destroyed in dramatic ways: fire, ripped into tiny pieces then scattered in the back crick, smooshed down into the side of a rubbish bin full of slime...where no one would dare go to retrieve it. I even deleted all posts (but one) on my personal blog. All of this would not be shocking if you knew me well.
In fact, I get enormous delight from the horror that others display at my single-handed mission to destroy the person that I Was. Picture me laughing like a villain. Right. Now. That picture is much more indicative of me as a person than any diary entry from age ten or fifteen or twenty-one. (Possibly I'm trying to destroy the evidence of all the "I hate my mom" entries...technically, I just did another one so there's not much hope this post will survive for very long).
"I am large, I contain multitudes" (thank ye, Walt Whitman). Much more Now than Here or There...
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| me at 17, pixelated |
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| actress Sharon Rooney |
There's also this book you might have heard about...reviewed by John Green, hit the NY bestseller list..ELEANOR & PARK by Rainbow Rowell...ringing any bells...yeah? that book's me too. I could go on and on listing things that are me. Music, plays, puddles..."I am large, I contain multitudes" but I think you get the picture (at least I hope you do)..JPG) |
| everything here is me, but the flower |
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| my car at 17, old buddy, old pal |
See you around.
(and please share your stories of what haunted you at 17 or just anything so I'm not on here all by myself looking large, thank ye).
Thursday, February 14, 2013
SAT scores are due this week...I want to talk to those of you whose verbal score is basically carrying you on to college. There's this rumor that if you go on to study English Literature that you will both lose your passion for reading and will have no practical job to go to upon graduation. It's kind of a scary thing.
But for me, it just isn't true.
I started college as a photography major because it was the single subject in school that I enjoyed. This was before digital, mind you, but there was no place I'd rather be than in the photo lab with smelly chemicals and an enlarger. I didn't love taking the photos as much as I loved manipulating them afterward. It was magic.
And then it was obsolete.
But I switched majors in college well before the Stop Bath went down the drain. I absolutely could have carried on and learned new things and I'd have realized my dream of working for National Geographic. Maybe. But at some point, I realized photography probably wasn't practical. And maybe I wasn't good enough.
So I switched to English Literature (hahahahahahaha).
I was going to community college and paying my own way, so I didn't want input from my parents. But they were a little relieved when I explained to them that I would go on to teach or I could go into any sort of occupation requiring communication. Which is, like, EVERYTHING (feel free to use my logic when approaching parents).
But I had read most of the "classics," and thought there might be nothing better than reading all friggin' day and getting graded for it. I had opinions. I had evidence for those opinions. That was me sorted.
But I was petrified that I'd lose my joy for reading and creating. What's awesome is that my appreciation for the written word was heightened, challenged, validated, and my views simplified. It was the best thing this verbal girl could do.
My education was spread out over several years from community college (if you're thinking of this option, I would wholeheartedly encourage it depending on your location. I basically had a private college education from moonlighting professors, for $68/credit. Bargain!) to a state college to a year's study abroad in England, and ultimately finishing my degree from a little place in the Midlands.
As you're deciding your course of study, know this: you can't predict how your life will go. You might start out at a four-year college, write a book and get published before graduation. Hello, Kody Keplinger (author of The DUFF and other gems). You might switch majors for what you think is a practical reason, but probably more about passion and being true to yourself. But the important thing during college is that you're adaptable.
The important thing to remember is that you're Majoring in Life. (You know you just starred that bit of genius).
Friday, November 16, 2012
“Be yourself” is arguably the most common advice given to teenagers, and it’s probably the most unhelpful thing anyone has ever said to me. A self is such a complex, multifaceted, ever-changing thing that making a conscious effort to be it is the most frustrating thing you’ll ever waste your time on.
This is why I’m grateful for coming-of-age novels and protagonists who get everything wrong in all the right ways. Here is some wisdom I’ve gleaned from some of the more recent ones:
In the novel Graceling, Katsa knows who she is and what she’s meant to do, and she’s convinced that that can never change. She is trapped by everyone’s perception of her and by her perception of herself. She has a talent for killing and thus thinks she must live her life as a killer.
Sometimes trying too hard to “be yourself” can be like a cage. If you’re too set in who you are, you don’t leave room for change. Your personality is not something that is fixed. It changes and evolves, and you always have a say-so in who you become.
In Daughter of Smoke and Bone, we see two different versions of the protagonist. Karou is relatively the same in both our world and the fantastical world of Elsewhere. But the Karou we meet in the beginning of the story is unsure and has a nagging suspicion that something is missing. We watch her rediscover pieces of herself as her memories, loved ones, and heartbreaks come back to her.
Who you are is not made up only of the different parts of your personality — your likes and dislikes, hopes and fears, strengths and weaknesses. Our history, the world around us, and the ones we love are just as much a part of us.
In the book Divergent, again, we see two different versions of the main character. We see Beatrice as she is in the faction she was born in, surrounded by her family — compassionate, striving for selflessness. And we see her as Tris in the Dauntless faction — gutsy and tough. Throughout the story, she struggles with both sides of herself, convinced she has to give up one to fully inhabit the other.
But our personalities aren’t that cut and dry. There is more than one version of you, and each is equally as valid and authentic as the next. It is your choice which aspects of yourself you choose to embrace.
Life isn’t about finding your identity and sticking to it no matter what. You are not a puzzle that has to be arranged in a certain way. It’s about putting the pieces together how you want them to fit, keeping some and discarding others. Filling in the gaps with crayon and glue. Then learning to embrace the parts that can’t be changed.
“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” —John Green’s version of the Serenity Prayer in The Fault in Our Stars
This post is inspired, in part, by this video:
Thursday, March 8, 2012
I'm going to get a little personal (eep, this idea sounded so much better at 2am).
The biggest challenge in my life has been (still is) my weight. I used to be an average-sized kid until age ten when I ballooned.
(Disclaimer: Jewel is not fat, but I won't hold it against her)
Despite playing sports (hockey), riding my bike for miles, climbing trees, hiking, canoeing, etc, I was put on one diet after another. I remember having to weigh out portions of food for myself and giving up pepperoni on my salad along with the zesty Italian dressing (tragic!). But mostly I remember the days after school where I would come home and eat an entire bag of Doritos. And nothing else. Food was the thing. I thought about food all the time.
When I was twelve, I decided to sign up for Adventurer camp, which warned that I would have to walk a few miles each day to prepare for a twelve mile hike on the Appalachian Trail. In my imagination, I was ready. Then reality hit somewhere mile marker nine when I was pouring with sweat, my lungs were on fire, and I said to the nurse--who stayed back with me while the group buzzed by on the trail--"I can't do it."
I did finish the twelve miles that day. Later the park rangers picked me up in a Jeep and took me back down the mountain. I was dehydrated and my legs were jelly. I couldn't stand up until somewhere around noon the next day. It was humiliating that my body didn't do what I thought in my mind that it was capable of doing.
After that I let my mind and body live separate lives. They're much happier that way. No more arguments. No tears being shed or things said in the heat of the moment. It's amicable.
Of course there are always reminders of what I actually look like: When I see a picture of myself. When someone says, "You have such a pretty face." (I try not to think of the implication being that the rest of me is ugly...because I have some seriously cute toes). Each and every time someone asks me "Have you lost weight?"
I always think, "Nope. You just remember me fatter."
But here's the thing--at some point I found a way past my tragic flaw. Okay, I was built for farming, but I eat healthy now (have done for fifteen years). I could do better with the exercise (farming would help). I have a really beautiful family that loves me and a "Cameron Quick" who sees the real me and thinks I'm adorable--not my toes, though. We've agreed to disagree.
I'm always going to struggle with my weight, try harder to lose, give up, try again, etc. But being fat is not everything there is about me. It's taken me a while to come to this conclusion. Recently, I read some books that I wish I had as a teenager. It would have made things so much easier.
In SWEETHEARTS, Jennifer (Fattifer) actually invents a whole new persona for herself to escape her unhealthy past. She finds an "out" until Cameron Quick--the boy who knows her best and loves her anyway--comes back into her life.
In IF A TREE FALLS..., Kirsten has put on thirty pounds in three months. Her parents are fighting all the time and she copes with food. Later, she sneaks into her garage to her mom's stash of junk food and overhears a conversation that changes everyone's lives.
But let's not forget THE GIRL OF FIRE AND THORNS, (GOFAT) which also has a character who is lacking in self esteem, not realizing her importance, struggling to look past her weight problem, eats some really decadent food to cope...and after enormous trials has the strength to come into her own.
All of these stories show the possibility for change and success. The main characters are seriously strong despite their weaknesses. Man, I needed this message at thirteen! As a fat girl, I'm thankful for these characters/stories. For seeing a way through. For self-acceptance. For perseverance. For Cameron Quick.
Okay, being fat is not as tragic as losing your parents in a car crash or teen suicide or drug addiction or sparkly vampire love. But as a teen, it was everything I thought about. It was tragic enough to take up residence in my psyche and burrow in there until I made my mind and my body share custody. Sometimes divorce can be messy. But most of the time I don't like to involve mediation. My body accepts the limitations, and my mind lords it over.
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Stephanie, Ingrid, Sarah & Kristan — we read, write, discuss and celebrate Young Adult lit.
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