The Writer and the Green-Eyed Monster, Squashed

So I promised A. I would write this post, sort of. That is, I mentioned in passing in an email that I definitely was going to blog about this.

So...there was this local author that spoke at the library yesterday. She's from the area and has written a young adult book that is getting a lot of buzz nationally and even internationally. Tempest by Julie Cross. I knew nothing about it before this speaking event. I did look up the premise and felt a little "eh, whatever" about it. I'm not really into time travel novels. They tend to confuse me and leave me disoriented and unsettled.

But that wasn't why I initially didn't want to go to this event.

My first reaction upon looking at the picture of this author that was in our library was a mean snark that she is pretty, but the picture looked totally pretentious and posed, as I'm sure it's supposed to. Like she's supposed to look sort of mysterious. It made me cringe inside. Anyway, that's not her fault. That's what the publishers probably do as part of promotional thingies.

But on top of that, author talks make me cringe because of an embarrassment squick. It's like all I can think about is how they can go dreadfully wrong. Like the author will start spewing stupid stuff or nobody will be interested or ask her questions or there will be hostile questions. I would die of embarrassment for an author if I were in the audience and that happened.

And then there was the other part of my feelings about this -- the secret, ugly part. Not so secret anymore. When hearing about this young, newly successful author who was sort of writing in my genre, I had to swallow a whole lot of bile and jealousy. Yes, that old fashioned, ugly, vile jealousy. She's young, she's local, and she's done what I can't seem to get going on in my life. She has achieved my dream, my longing, and she's here, right in the same town, not some glitzy New Yorker or L.A. hotshot.

HOWEVER, in alignment with one of my happiness project resolutions this year, I began to be super hyper aware of the thoughts in my headspace and worked on "reframing" the thoughts. I decided that to counter these thoughts, I actually needed to go to this event with an open mind, ready to learn from this person. I needed to go with genuine admiration for this person who has done what I have not been able to do yet and most importantly, I needed to go with the prevalent thought that her success does NOT equal my failure and that there is room for more, should I actually f***ing finish something.

This also goes along with another resolution of mine this year and that's to say yes to things that I would normally just automatically turn down or be too lazy to attend, especially local events.

So I went, I conquered, and it was good. I know most of you probably will think this is absolutely ridiculous, but I was nervous. I was waiting for A. and a friend of hers, and I was just nervous. I didn't get to sit with them because they had registered and I had not. I wasn't even sure I would get in because it was a popular event, but at the end they let people in when they determined who wasn't showing up on the registered list. I sat next to a very nice woman who keeps a book-reading blog, which I need to look up.

Anyway, I was still nervous. Why, you might ask? I was afraid of my thoughts! I was afraid that those jealous, resentful, knee-jerk reactionary emotions of shame that I, too, was not yet successful would return and make me ugly inside. I just took deep breaths and reminded myself of many truths, not the least of which that no matter what, there is something to learn from everyone. Anyway, the author had a young man do some reading from the book, and unfortunately the one scene that I did not want to be read was read (there was a home invasion murder toward the beginning that sets the rest of the plot in motion and those types of scenes are personally very triggery to me). But then it was over, I survived it, and the rest of the time was left for questions. I began to relax and enjoy. I took a lot of notes. Mostly I was looking for time management/motivation vibes from the author, haha. Quote from her, "I watched no television, had very little sleep, and had a lot of caffeine." Yep. Also her agent was there. Man, I always pictured literary agents as older/crusty/cynical people with rough New York accents, lol, but this woman was very young and pretty and sweet (she spoke a little, too, about the process of becoming a literary agent, which I found fascinating).

The weirdest thing that happened was that about, say 50 minutes into it (out of the hour time), a person at the back raised her hand and said in a tiny, sort of muffled voice, "I came in late. Do you think you could summarize everything you said up until now?" Everyone in the room was like HUH? and some people giggled nervously. The author was quite gracious and just babbled a bit. That seemed to satisfy the asker.

In conclusion, I'm glad I went. I did something I'd never done before and I'm glad. Another notch in the saying yes to something I normally would have turned down...AND I was able to conquer a major source of insecurity in my life. I shall start going to more of those, I think! :)

Writing in the Past...Part I

So I asked some friends about some potential blog post topics, and my wise friend and fellow writing sufferer Audrey wrote, "I want you to write a post on your stories... I want to read about your past writing...."

Now, a few months ago, I did write this post:
How is Nano Going?

I will probably include some quotes from it in this story because it's story just sort of tangles in with all the others.

Me? I've been writing stories since I knew how to move a pen across paper. Back in the day, there were no computers or word processors or ipads. No siree. It was good old fashioned long hand or a clacky electric typewriter. No problem, I LOVED old fashioned long hand. I still return to it on occasion. Hence, my buying notebook obsession. (Yes, when Walmart has the yearly 10 cent college ruled notebook sales every fall, I am like a kid in a candy shop. It doesn't matter if I still have fifty unused notebooks at home. I hoard them like they might be deemed illegal next year).

Other kids are excited when their parents bring them home a toy or candy from the store. Me? I was ecstatic every time my mom brought me home another notebook. And don't get me started if I got to buy a notebook and pen before a major car/plane trip. Oh, the thrill! What worlds would my imagination open? What new emotions would it all spark? What universes would unfold? I don't remember much of those early stories. I do remember having to illustrate the upper part of it with bad stick figures (drawing has never been one of my talents). I know many of the stories were about friend conflicts and jealousies and drama (duh, I was in third grade). But there were also fantastical tales about magical cats (I wanted to be a cat for the longest time) and their kittens and a mystical land called Evony where soap bubbles floated everywhere.

In fourth grade I placed in the school district's Young Author's Contest with my multi-chaptered novel called "Sylvia Meets Jealousy on Links Street." Yes, these combined my above themes of cats and pre-adolescent angst. And surprise, surprise. The characters were personified cats and some of them were loosely based on friends I had at the time.

In fifth grade, I went through a bit of a writerly goth stage. I was into horror and adult angst and exploring the effects of things like fires and burns. Okay, at the time I wanted to be a firefighter when I grew up, little knowing that I wasn't going to grow very big or strong. I wrote violent, gory stories and shared them with my friends and then destroyed them afterwards. I can't even blame Stephen King for the influence. I didn't discover him and his horrifying pet cemetery of a mind until 8th grade. He was the one that later taught me to go where you don't think anyone wants you to go with your writing. And then go deeper and darker. It wasn't really a lesson I have heeded until later. And by deep and dark? I don't necessarily mean dark. I really mean deep. Dark only if necessary. That's a power to be wielded pretty sparingly.

I recently discovered a cheesy fantastical novel I wrote in eighth grade called "Beyond the Mirror." I laughed myself silly rereading it to myself. It was flowery and full of purple prose, about some friends who go through a mirror into a magic land (how original, right?). Ah, well, I'm pretty sure I enjoyed it immensely at the time. I filled a whole notebook with it. Oh gosh, there were sparkly unicorns and fairies and mermaids and everything that is awesome. But mostly there was a centaur named, get this, "Janein" (haha, "Yes-no" in German since I was taking German that semester). I think he came to a bad end in that story, as I have never been shy about killing off my darlings.

In high school, I started a big novel. I seem to have blocked the title out of my head, but oh boy, it filled my WORLD for about three or four years. Actually, beyond, because I remember when I was in college and learning to use word processors for the first time (shut-up, I was terrified of computers because they were new-fangled and I thought they would all go away) that I was typing it into a file. The main character was a girl, aged 12ish and she and her friends find? are given? a book that is magical. Stuff happens. Creepy stuff. The dead author is apparently after them. Also there is an older girl who had reportedly been driven mad by the book and was in a coma somewhere. (Her name was Rachel and apparently I had bored my sister with this story enough times that she named some toads she found and kept as pets Rachel, Rachel II, Rachel III etc. Win! Why is my niece not named Rachel? Huh?) There was a slightly older boy who had been friends with Rachel that the main character was in love with, but he had a girlfriend named Sherry (I had a cat named Sherry later - d'oh!). There was drama and creepiness and intrigue. Apparently there was a gateway to another world inside the book. Who knows, I'm sure it was all horribly executed. There was a lot of build up to a big, disappointing climax that involved a really bad storm.

Thank goodness that all relics of that story were destroyed so that one day when I'm terribly famous people won't sell it on ebay.

Okay, so it's getting late and I need to do other stuff so this was part I. I shall continue with part 2 tomorrow or more likely Thursday. :)))