Characters: Those people things

I have a confession.
I'm weird.
Yeah, yeah. I know. Most of us are. Actually, we all are. We -- especially we book types -- come in odd forms. We like locking ourselves in rooms alone with dead trees and pretending the rest of the world doesn't exist. We sit at our computers and lose ourselves in worlds that only we can see. We collect intangible words and hold them close. It's a characteristic of people who love books. And why?
Because:

Every group of people has that. Has that set of things that makes them different. Some of us like words. Some of us enjoy cooking. Some freaks lovely individuals like spending their time getting sweaty and disgusting  working out. That's what makes life -- and books -- interesting. High lighting the differences.

Even better, though, is the weird stuff.

Some of it doesn't translate well to books because it's just too odd. I, for instance, live in the debate group. The mix consists of about fifty people -- seriously, our prom group numbers 30 -- but you can narrow it down to ten or fifteen of my particular 'people'. We go camping in back yards because we're too lazy to go further, but we like the out doors. We make a lot of mix cds and we go to a lot of movies and the boys play a lot of Frisbee. We're known in the school as the debate kids, and known by the characteristic of being snarky, cynical, and competitive.We spend too much time at the local Sonic, drinking way too much soda. (Except we gave soda up for prom. You don't know how much that hurt.) (I miss cranberry coke desperately.)

All of those things are part of our group. Those translate as our characters. But there are little things that probably wouldn't make much sense in a book. Time at tournaments has made us lose our personal space. It isn't uncommon for people to randomly bite someone else on the shoulder or wrist -- and by bite, I really do mean bite (I know, it really is weird). We joke to the point of meanness and get in trouble for talking a lot. (I am a senior, dangit, and still having my seat moved by my teachers. It's incredibly obnoxious.) (But then, I guess I am too.) Those things don't really translate as well. If I were writing a book and using us as characters, those little things wouldn't make sense to put in. 

It's interesting to me. I've been reading a lot lately -- I took a class called Appreciation of Literature this semester and all it consists of is reading and reviewing books -- and the difference between strong and weak characters comes in the details. I have the bad habit of looking at my friends and thinking of them in terms of a character. One of my best friends has bright hair and a bright laugh; another will either end up an incredibly successful engineer or a freaking crazy mob boss. It's fascinating to wonder about authors and their characters. Even if we don't mean to, I think we pull from our friends. Things that are said, jokes that are made. Nervous habits. I was reading something I wrote for Alpha last year and noticed just how many of my characters ran hands through their hair, or twisting their hair, or pulling at it, when they were upset or thinking or nervous. When I watch my friends, I see the same movement. It's a stress thing, I think, and in debate, that's one of the few nervous ticks you'll see demonstrated time and time again in hallways. 

The other most recent notice of good characters comes by Hunger Games. Even in the movie, the characters has things about them that make them breathe. When watching the movie, you can ignore everything else and realize just how freaking adorable Josh Hutcherson is see Peeta or Cinna or Rue or Haymitch and realize just how good Suzanne Collins' characters are.

I don't know. It's interesting to think about.

Anyway. More later. And for now, go watch Hunger Games.

(Seriously, now. Why haven't you already?)

In Which Sam Gets Deep

I started this blog when I was in sophomore year of high school. At that point in time, writing was my life -- and don't worry, it still is. I live, breathe, and sometimes dream of words. (When I'm not dreaming of Prince Charming, from Once Upon A Time.)

Seriously. How hot.

Anyway. Words. (That aren't -yummmm-)
I collect them, not just on my sagging bookshelf, but in a binder on my desk that drips my favorite quotes, and pasted on my bed room door, and even one that's framed in my bathroom. No matter what happens to me in the next year, or in the next five years, as long as I'm breathing, I'll be hunting for words, strung together in sentences, or sometimes just alone -- the cynical kind, the beautiful kind, the kind that make you think, or just the kind that make my twisted sense of humor happy.

For instance, this word. One of my favorites. 

But since sophomore year, a lot about my life has changed.
In March of 2010, I won inkpop.com with a story called Altered. I got an interview from editors that changed my life. Now, at 17, I can honestly say that. (Yeah, guys, I'm old and wise and junk. Yeppppp.) I wrote the essay for the Common App about Inkpop, and the validation that it gave me. Altered was and is my baby. I queried too fast after finishing it; by the time I figured out the patterns of plot and such, I'd already done too much. And so, I closed Altered off, and went about life -- still collecting words, still writing, still anxiously eyeing my sagging bookshelf and wondering how long it would be before it totally collapsed.
Then last year came, and something shifted. I ended up dating my best guy friend, and it ended in a catastrophic way that will someday be immortalized in a novel. I went through the typical signs of teenage drama, but somehow a little bit escalated; for instance, for reasons that I'd rather not go into, the entire grade-- or at least my entire English class, plus the entire debate team, and for that matter, the choir -- felt the need to get involved, or at least have a very, very vocal opinion. Suddenly, words were more than just pretty things I collected. They were my refuge.

This actually has very little to do with the post. I typed in refuge, and this came up, and I find it incredibly cool.

Writing took a hit, though, last year, for two reasons. The first was The Messy Mess of Boydom; all my writing was cathartic, therapeutic collections of memories that I refused to forget, or even let fade. (I'm weird that way.) The second was debate. November of my Junior year, something happened. I started winning. I started winning a lot, and as cocky I feel saying that (Like, OH LOOK AT MEEEEE, I GET THE SHINIES) it is actually true. I've always loved debate, but when I switched to varsity sophomore year, I got my butt kicked; winning, however, took more time and more work to keep up, and so writing went away as my collected words came from political philosophy and the New York Times. But, by the end of March, I had this:

and by the end of June, I was ranked as a National Semi-Finalist in Parliamentary debate. For that, I can blame my addictions to words. Reading and writing so much has taught me to speak well, even on the spot, and Parliament is fast -- you need to be able to think quickly and then be able to convey those thoughts in the span of two minutes. 

By July, writing came back, though. In July, I went to Alpha. It's a selective speculative writing camp held in Pittsburgh; I wanted to go because Tamora Pierce taught there, and Tamora Pierce is one of my idols. Alpha didn't just introduce to me to incredibly cool people -- such as Lale  or Gretchen -- but it reminded me of why I loved writing, and how much fun it can be to just sit and play around with stories. 

(I mentioned this to my mother the other day: my preferred way of spending time, when not with friends or working on debate, is to sit in the dark and mess with make-believe characters. This puts into a strange, strange perspective.) (But generally I'm burning nice smelling candles ... So it's okay, right?)

They're still the happy smells!

But anyway. Coming to the end of this heinously long post:

It's now my senior year of high school. Since Altered, I've started half a dozen stories, gotten about 30k in, and switched to something else. I'm finally playing with something new that I think will last longer, but at the same time, I'm learning to balance. I've applied to colleges -- several very selective, and one that already has offered scholarship and sent a Christmas card hand signed by the Dean of Admissions.(He has a pretty signature.) I've won five first place trophies this semester, and a couple of slightly less impressive ones -- but ones that would have thrilled me two years ago. I'll probably apply for Alpha again this year; I hold the title of Debate Mom on my team, even though the team is huge, as well as 'The scary redhead' from other schools that I compete against. (It's an oddly flattering nickname. Granted, others are not so nice.) (They're jealous of the Gingers.) (It started a long, long time ago.) (See?)

An original scary redhead. Mwahaha.

Life is balanced and happy, and I'm looking forward to 2012. I've read three books so far within this year -- if rereading Scorpio Races counts -- and still am managing everything else. Two years ago, when I started this blog, I don't know that I could have expected my life right now. It's a lot more full than it used to be -- but it's also a lot more fun. And someday, maybe even someday soon? The words I've collected will change into words that I've made.

I mean, that is assuming that the world doesn't end and everything next December.

But until then, high school is speeding up as it comes to an end. It isn't as scary as it used to be, either.

More later, guys. Promise, it won't be so much pontificating! 

Until then:

Go watch Once Upon A Time. Seriously. Get past the first episode of cheesiness. It's worth it. 

Home, Home on the Range

I think a title like that requires antelope. Right? Antelope?

There we go. You're welcome.
So, I'm home! I'm home, and it's hot and humid, but there is vanilla coke and a queen size bed at my disposal. I am quite fond of this bed. In fact, so fond that I didn't leave it until 2 in the afternoon yesterday, and that was just to go watch Glee project.
(BTW, is anyone else watching that? Is anyone else cheering with all of their heart for Sam? Because I totally am.)

(That's a lie, actually. Part of my heart loves Damian.)

(These are important things, people. I promise. Someday, when the Apocalypse looms, you'll be sitting there wondering, 'Why did I not care more about a random reality tv show in which teenagers sing a lot?')

Anyway. I'm back from Alpha and oozing all sorts of advice. Not sure how to translate it to blog posting, though. 

Well. I think this was probably my favorite advice. It came from several authors at Alpha -- Ellen Kushner, Tamora Pierce, several of the staff. 

And it's quite simple.

Let your first draft suck.

No, really.

It needs to suck.

It will suck.

There is no doubt that your first draft is going to suck.

That doesn't matter, though. What matters is getting it down. You just have to finish It was something we talked about a lot -- a majority of people will never finish something they work on. Many people at Alpha had never finished anything. Finishing? Yeah. It's half the battle. 

Finishing turns you into THIS.

...What? Not bad a$$ enough?

This, then?

No? MY LANTA, PEOPLE.

Fine. Finishing yours novel turns you into this. 

Yeah. You're welcome.

Anyway, writing makes you a soldier. Finishing makes you a warrior. Editing turns you into a general, and getting published means that you, My Dear, have won the war.

But first, you must become a cat with a melon on its head as Jane Yolen put it, "Just finish the damn book."

Anyway. More later. I'm going with Maggie to see MAGGIE STIEFVATER OMG this weekend, so yayness. Possibly some on that.

Also, there might be a little Tamora Pierce fangirling. 

Anyway. More later.

Help me, don't hammer me

Hello, my lovelies! So, I'm at Alpha and have been getting some really incredible advice. Today, Ellen Kushner is lecturing and gave a great speech on critiquing. 

I think you can see where this is going.

I'm going to pass some of it along. It involves a hammer. I could not find a good picture of a hammer, readers. I wanted one that sparkled and was possibly quite pink. Instead, I found this. 

Yeah. You're welcome. 

(I understand, though. The pink would have been much better.)

Anyway. 

We're talking about how critique is not a time to show off. I've seen it -- I bet you have too. People try to show off, show that they are Very Awesome At Fixing Stories. Yet, instead of fixing, they just berate the writer and then the write goes into Emo Corner of Shame -- and, quite possibly, stops writing.

So. The point of critiquing?

That would be to help. 

Not to hammer.

(Even if the hammer is purple or pink or sparkly.)

As Ellen Kushner put it, "As a writer, when you critique someone else, you need to think ‘what do they need from me’ not ‘what can I do to them'".

The thing is -- as Ms. Kushner pointed out -- you take a first draft to a friend when you can't take it any further alone. You don't take a first draft to a friend so that they can be all UNICORNS AND SPARKLES AND DRAGONS OMG THIS IS AWESOME. You take it to them so that they can say 'Hey, I love the unicorns, and I thought the sparkles were really innovative, but I am not connecting with the dragons. They just aren't quite ugly enough."

And then you realize that, hey, your dragons look like this--

and you need some more fangs to get them here.

(And then you laugh, because the dragon does not stand a chance. It's totally gonna be purified and made to sparkle.)

She also pointed out that you learn more from critiquing than you do just from writing your own stories. You need to analyze, need to look at what works and what doesn't. First drafts are allowed to suck. They're sometimes supposed to suck. So you don't need someone meanly telling you what sucks, but instead how to improve and turn it from sucking to awesome.

Yeah.

We're going to pretend that my five hours of sleep are not starting to hit.

Just -- go look at the puppy. Or read Ellen Kushner's book. Or, hey -- go check out a friend's story. Pull out the carving tools and start playing with them, and just let the hammer alone.

Also.

TONIGHT I GET TO SEE TAMORA PIERCE.

That is all. More later.

This might be heaven

No, not Alpha, though I am at that and loving that. However, heaven requires a little bit more blankets. BUT. It is incredibly lovely and you all should apply if you are able because omg it's kind of sort of awesome and I'll talk about that more later.
For now.
There is a contest, and you should enter.
It is here on Myra McEntire's blog. If you are a long time follower of this blog, then you've seen my well documented obsession respect and insane love admiration for Ms. McEntire. If you have not, then here is an interview with her and here is a review of her book.
And she is going on tour.
And I cannot go.
But I am going to talk about it anyway, because you should go.
Beth Revis, Myra McEntire, and Victoria Schwab are going on tour in their home cities. Here is the link to Myra's page, talking about it.
Seriously, guys.
If you can, you should go and worship.
Just, you know, because.
Anyway, more later. Probably about Tamora Pierce and my love for her.
Because, you know, why not?

When I Grow Up

Hey, guys! -waves-
So, today I turned 17. Yeah. I know. Exciting, right?
...
.....
-crickets-
....
Oh, yeah, good point. 17 isn't all that spectacular. I mean, last year I started to drive. Next year I vote. This year ... not much.
Except -- WAIT. I can buy duct tape now! Legally!

(Sadly enough, I did actually buy that for a friend once, as a birthday present. My maturity has always been superior.)

Anyway. :P
This past year has been hard. Everyone said junior year is hard, and I laughed at them, and now they are at melaughing as I pull out my hair and cry in the corner   stoically move through the end of the year. But I made it to Nationals, and I made it into Alpha. I got through incessant drama with some hair left  sanity remaining --
Oh, wait, sanity. I never had much to start with...
Eh, whatever.
Anyway again.
People always ask what we want to be when we grow up. At 17, you're expected to have an answer.
I still don't. I don't know exactly what I am going to be.
But I know who I want to be like.

Authors like Daisy Whitney, Stephanie Perkins, Kiersten White -- authors that respond to readers and write books to brighten up the darkest days. Authors like JK Rowling and Tamora Pierce -- authors that change a kid's life. Librarians like my own amazing and fantabulous Sarah -- an adult who is always there if I needed her, and who put me on hold for a book about 'How To Get Over That Jerk' when I showed up at the library depressed and pulling out even more hair   whining. People like Myra McEntire, who not only write amazing books but tweet niceness at teens who are now sad and bald  having incredibly bad days.
They're who I want to be like.
Plus, you know, there is this.

-grins- I like it.

I'm glad for this past year. I'm glad that, at 16, I've had some of the best role models a kid could ask for.
Anyway. (For the last time, promise!)
 I'm off to figure out what the heck a boutonniere is, because I've got prom on Saturday and I have been informed that I was supposed to figure that out weeks ago. -coughs- I am officially a fail as a date. Anyone wanna help me out here? It's a flower, right?
...
Meh. Google will teach me.
For now, thanks to all of you. Thanks for making last year great.
More later.

This Summer

Guys, I know I'm a bad blogger. I'm sorry. Seriously, I am. Very, very sorry.
But, um, I do have good news!
So, I entered for the chance to be in a writing camp back in Febuary. The camp looked seriously fantastic; awesome teachers, awesome people, chance of a lifetime, blah blah blah. Only problem? I've never written short stories; I've never written hard science fiction, which is what I would need to enter the camp. Competition to get in is relatively fierce, but I sent in a story anyway, figuring well, what the heck.
And. I. Got. In.
And guess what?
Tamora Pierce is one of the teachers.
Tamora. Freaking. Pierce.
Granted, all of the teachers are amazing. The link up above can show you them. Beyond that, I'll get to go to a writing conference. But the chance to meet -- and learn from!! -- Tamora Pierce?
I believe the exact response I have was acakasfalskfboasfasda.
My love for Tamora Pierce is probably unhealthy. It's been blogged about here and here.
And now I get to meet her.
Anyway. More later, promise. I just wanted to share my excitement. Also, poke in my head and promise that Chemistry might have swallowed part of my soul, but I am resilient and will always come back to blog.
(Yeah. We'll pretend that wasn't weird.)
Bye!

Help for Japan

Everyone knows what happened in Japan. It’s been a week. A week of hell for that country, a week of fear for the world, a week of misery for those people affected.

When it comes down to it, Japan needs our help. Our hopes, our prayers, our wishes — heck, even just our time. 

Every little bit we do helps. Here — http://write-hope.blogspot.com/ — a bunch of authors have gotten together to hold an auction, trying to help Japan. Not only does this stuff end up being really, really cool, but it’s for such a good cause.

I have a friend who lives in Japan. She's been talking about it on facebook. It's scary, she says. Terrible and horrid, and as if the world is ending. I ... can't even imagine. 

The pain in the world is real. It’s more real than our petty drama or slight injustices. Than any boy drama or high school nuance or really, anything that most of us face. And anything we can do can make the real pain easier to deal with, even if it's not much. Heck -- we can't do anything much. But there's strength in solidarity. Strength in banding together. 

And anything helps.

More later.

Full Steam Ahead

Well, debate isn't over. I just qualified to Nationals.

That's a pretty accurate representation of how I felt -- for about, oh, an hour. And then the feeling of doom hit. 

There's stupid drama going on, because it's high school. My grades are not as good as normal. Nationals is going to be way hard. And all of a sudden, my mood dropped.
But I just got something I've wanted for two years, and something I've tried really, really hard for. So, I vote screw Chemistry and move past the drama, and go pet the pretty trophy.
It happens with writing, too. You work really hard; sometimes, you finish a novel, or you write a difficult scene, and it still doesn't feel good enough. We forget how hard we've worked and get too caught up in what's coming next -- until, well, we don't actually enjoy what we just achieved.
And gosh dangit, I am not doing that this time. I've worked way, way too hard to let anything poison the sparkly thing sitting in my kitchen, or the fact that I get to go to Dallas this summer with my team. And you've worked way too hard on your novel to get caught up in dreading writing the sequel -- or really, however this applies to you.
Full steam ahead. But only after we lolly-gag awhile and relish what we've done. Otherwise, what's the point?

I wanted a picture of a steam engine, but this is the Hogwarts Express. Really, I don't care that it doesn't fit perfectly. Life always needs more Harry Potter.

Anyway. Rant done. I'm going to go play with one of my stories now -- or I could -- WAIT HOLY CRAP. I'm on spring break.

I can actually read!
More later. If I ever get my nose out of the stack of books that Chem has been stealing away.

Where is it?

Monkeys and pandas and sparkles, oh my! This month has presented flowers and candy and books and way too much debate and not enough writing -- but also pretty trophies, which makes the world sparklier. Also, here. Have a monkey.

And now that I've shown off pictures of animals, let's talk about hunting. No, not the fluffy. Hunting for time.

Time management is something that, while imperative, doesn't just happen. My way of dealing? Avoid chemistry homework and go to the library -- go to the library, A LOT. More studying happens there. That said, I'm still not writing as much as I'd like to; I'm getting some, but too often this seems to happen.

Except, well, when I fall asleep outside, I end up covered in nasty ugly bug bites. And my messy hair isn't nearly that cute.

So what do you do for time? Any hints on hunting it down? Or perhaps some hair care advice? I would love either.

More later. Promise!

Pick Up Your Ninja Stars and Fight (or not)

Hey, all! How are you today? Were your holidays fantastic? -waits patiently for answer- Oh, good. That's very good -- except for those that weren't. And for you, I suggest cookies. Or Starburst. Either will work wonders, I promise.
So. Christmas is over. Target is no longer a place where you might lose appendages to rabid shoppers, and there will be no more obnoxious music being blasted on the radio. (Well. No more seasonal obnoxious music, at least.) But the stories of Christmas stay around, right? The heart warming ones -- the ones that you hear in school, or occasionally on the television (when the news isn't telling us how we're all going to die, that is) or the ones you just see. This is the time of year that good things happen. That brave and strong people are highlighted in stories.
Which leads to this thought -- why don't we always highlight brave and strong? Why does it take a Christmas story?
And--what is brave? And what is strong?
In movies, it's easy to identify. Look for the red eyes. The covert-behind-the-heroine's-back nod at the not-so-clean-ally. You'll have found the bad guy.
(Most of the time. Sometimes, it could look like this, and then end up way confusing, and we all die a little on the inside.)

But think about books. And think about life. Brave is hard to identify sometimes. We can see cowards without skipping a beat -- the boy who picks the easy way out, the girl who lets herself fall apart without fighting and is too scared to stand on her own, the people who put themselves before everyone, even children, -- but seeing heroes can be harder. The boy who chose to be on his own instead of hurting the people he cares about, the girl who fights for herself, the people who give up their time and energy to take care of children -- are they brave?
I think so.
But we overlook just how brave, and just important, those moments of courage are. We admire them, but defining them as anything more than temporarily admirable is kind of rare. And figuring out brave?
Yeah. Not easy.
Very few of us look at our life and can say that we've always been courageous. That we've always fought for something, some idea, some moral, or some prospect. The only way to get stronger is to fight, but we don't always do it. It's certainly easier not to. But if we read a book a that the character didn't fight, didn't try to be their best, would we keep reading?
Probably not. I mean, we don't like cowards, right? And if someone isn't always brave, then they are indeed a coward. Right? (-insert sarcasm here-)
It's one thing to have a moment of weakness. But inherent weakness? Inherent cowardliness? We would put the book down. Wrinkle our noses.
Despite the fact that we, ourselves, are not always inherently brave. Despite the fact that we don't even acknowledge bravery when we do see it.

In school, situations go bad fast. Drama, fireworks, whispered rumors, passive aggressive Facebook posts (I'm not kidding. Facebook is a battle ground, yo, and sometimes, there be blood) and flat out meanness can come out of tiny situations. When the situation grows, so can the fallout. And the people who start bandaging problems, who start fixing things, who don't cry, scream, or proclaim that they are going to die, are viewed positively. Brave, even. But take it out of school. Take situations out in the real world. Would simply fixing conflict be brave? Or is confronting the one causing the problem braver? Is it weak to want things to fit back to normal, or would it be wrong to let life crumble?
Courage is relative. It's hard to figure out, and it's messy. Sometimes being brave sucks. When you look to Scarlet O'Hara, a character who is often very brave, but not very nice, we get a character that many people don't like. But she is almost universally admired; I mean, there's a reason that thousands of people have slogged through the hundreds of pages of Gone With The Wind, and it's not just for the corsets.

Because we like to read about heroes. In situations that we never thought we would have to face. In situations we are scared of. In situations that sometimes, aren't even possible. But we read about heroes because we can see bravery, we can figure it out. It's like those Christmas stories -- seeing bravery, seeing heroes, gives us hope and happiness and other fuzzy, sparkly stuff that would totally bake into an awesome cake.

We like making our characters infallible. But it's not brave to fight when you have nothing to lose. It's one of those things in writing that has to be addressed -- weakness is what makes us strong.
Make your characters brave, guys. Make them strong. But remember -- the best heroes are the ones who are like us. Who aren't always brave. Who aren't always strong. Who, sometimes, are scared to fight -- but ultimately, pull out their sword, their machete, or their wicked awesome ninja stars, and fight anyway. Katniss Everdeen, Harry Potter, even Bella Swan are brave, in the end, because they are scared and fight anyway.  Those are the real heroes.
 (Are you still wrinkling your nose because I called Bella brave? I feel like you are.) (Siggggh.)
More later, guys, probably in the form of reviews. I've got a lot to catch up on. I hope your holiday remainder is fan-flipping-tabulous, all, and don't have too much fun come New Years.
(Or do. I don't judge.)

Win?

-offers you knife-
Why? Because I am a bad blogger. I am giving you the change to cyber stab me. It's okay. My cyber self can take it. I understand. I have been a bad blogger.
And for the moment, I'm continuing that. I've got a massive essay due in -- ahem -- twelve hours, and I haven't started it yet. (Shush. I'm a bad student, too.)
You know what I'm okay at, though?
Talking.
Remember me whining about losing?
Well. Now I have a pretty 2nd place trophy. And it was seriously awesome getting it.
(Even if my coach LIED TO ME and said I got FIFTH and I got on stage and was like Wait, why the freak aren't they calling my name -- OMG THEY FORGOT ME -- OR NO, OH CRAP, I AM NOT EVEN SUPPOSED TO BE UP HERE AND THIS IS BAD AND I KNEW A JUNIOR WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO GET THIS FAR AND--wait, what? Second? SECOND?) (And then the debate team was CRACKING UP across the auditorium because I am on stage blinking and looking around like a freak. Yes. Some teams clap. Others laugh hysterically at their poor misinformed 11th grader.)
Anyway.
It just goes to show you -- sometimes you have to lose to figure out how the heck you are supposed to win. It's the same in writing, the same in everything; just keep going, just keep at it, and guess what? You'll win. I have a cheap plastic shiny thing in my kitchen proving that to be true.
Cheers, all.

I'll have a book review up later this weekend. More later.  

So you wanna be a writer

I'm a writer. I want to write.
Easy enough to say? Right? I mean, dude, I've got a blog dedicated to it. Obviously I want to write. I do it a lot, more than anything else except maybe reading and incessantly jabbering at my friends/family. But despite that, admitting that I write?
Um.
No. Just . . . No.

No.

Nope.
Nuh uh.
Doesn't happen.
When a debate friend asks what I'm going to be in ten years, I don't hesitate before saying what they'd esxpect. I don't tell people I write. When someone compliments my essays, I just kind of smile. I have at least a dozen notebooks filled with random scribblings, but I don't share that. The thing is, writing is dear to me, and it's something that is -- weirdly enough -- kind of personal. Not as in 'Oh, god, no one must read this' but more of a 'I'm not going to share this with you just to get mocked.' The only time I've ever told my friends about writing was last March, during Inkpop. The reaction I got was a good one, but still, I don't like 'bragging' about my stories. It's too personal, and I don't have any degree of success to measure that I'm not wasting my time.
(I don't think I am. But still, I don't want to be all Dude, I'm Ninja Writer.)

Anyway. Maybe it's because I'm so weird about my own writing, but when someone else my age starts talking about how they ARE an author, especially at school, I'm always -- perhaps unjustly -- skeptical.
See, it seems to me that  there are two types of people who want to write.
There are the ones who write. Who sweat and cry and laugh at their own jokes and stay up till two in the morning to write something that might never meet the air.
And the ones who don't, but like to say they do.
For instance, the kid in English class that gets good grades and understands a metaphor. (This is hypothetical. I don't have a kid like this in my English class, but I know of several.) This kid wants to be a writer. They say it loudly, daily, and often with waggling eyebrows that dare you to contradict them.
And then they get a bad grade and they are PISSED. Righteously furious. Possibly on the verge of tears.
And I'm just sitting there, thinking . . . . Honey, that's not what a writer does.
Writing is the easiest part. The tears, the deep emo depression, the freaky highs and the awful lows -- that is the best part of writing. But it's the easiest. The hard part comes later. It comes when you send in a story to an agent and are told you just aren't good enough.
So you rewrite. You don't sleep. You don't do your math homework, or you slack a little at your job, and for some poor parents, they stay awake all night so not to neglect their kids. You end up cranky and falling asleep at random intervals.

But you do it. You write, because if you want to be a writer, then there is no other choice.

And you send it again.

And you still aren't good enough. The characters are wrong. The opening scene is flimsy. You're funny, and you have talent, but you don't understand how to plot. Slowly, things improve. Slowly. Very slowly. But it doesn't sparkle and grow wings without work. That is what makes someone a writer, I think. The ability to cut, abuse, smash, take a machete against and possibly someday even throw away a manuscript.

Yeppers. Your baby might end up in there. Any other world, that would be considered sick.

Nano is interesting to me. However, it annoys me greatly when people start talking about how it makes them a writer. It's a tool, it's a step, and it's a way in the right direction. I was listening to some friends talk about it -- they were introduced for the first time this year -- and tried not to smile at the assumption that writing 50k is easy. Only 1600 words a day.
Right. That's an essay. A long essay.
But I didn't say anything. That lesson is one someone has to learn on their own. And learning that lesson is key to becoming a writer.
Writing takes a backbone. People don't understand just how much until they get into it. Seriously, it can suck. But I entered querying a stupid 14 year old with an ego I didn't even realize I had and not nearly as much talent as I though I possessed. I entered it at a time when things were going south for my social life -- complications with a guy, best friends changing and turning out not to be so hot, a dislike for looking in the mirror too long -- and through the bashing, the building, the machete-ing (dude, you know it's a word) I may have lost some that dumb inflated ego I had. But I've grown. And that is just one reason I love writing. Why I keep doing it, keep hacking and cutting and writing, because at the end, I've got something I love.

(I am feeling ridiculously gushy right now. Let's talk about zombies or  something.)

 Okay, I'm rambling.
The rewrites, the editing, the obsessive combing over chapter after chapter -- it's worth it. At least, I think it is. And honestly, those days when I think that no, I'm not a writer, I'll never be a writer, not until I'm published, I think about the hours and days and weeks I've poured into stories.
I'm not an author yet. But I want to write, and I do write. Maybe I write crap a lot of the time, but honestly, I don't know that it truly matters all that much. I'll get better. It's scientific fact.
And yeah. I still can't say the words out loud, but I think that maybe, just maybe, that's enough to make me a writer.
What about you? What drives you to keep doing it? Do you think that ninja penguin was cute? Seriously, I now really, really want a ninja penguin.
More later.

Shiny Trophies, Shiny Failure

Debate season has started. For me, this means a couple of things. For one, I will start looking worse and worse. For another, I'm probably going to be freakishly bi-polar. It also means I need to be prewriting the Foreign Fridays and setting the timer publisher thing, because there just isn't enough time Friday morning. (I'msorrydon'thateme.) But most of all, it means that I'm going to get competitive.
See, I'm not competitive in sports. I'm more the kid that's like Oh, look, there's a ball coming -- DUCK! There's no point in me being competitive at that, because the public school system doesn't acknowledge that ducking is a  pretty impressive reflex and should be awarded as well. I personally would accept this trophy.

But that doesn't happen. So I become competitive at academics.
Debate, in particular, is what I tend to focus on. And guess what? I'm actually kind of good at it. I came into Junior year excited, because for the first time, I would have the ultimate edge of age.
Yeah. Funny, huh? Earlier this week my couch put me in something called Champ debate. It's more oriented toward seniors. Which means I would be among the youngest competing. For the third year in a row.
My partner and I prepared more than we ever have before. We knew the topic backward and forward. We spent hours and hours working on it, and we actually felt pretty good. I mean, we'd done well before with odds against us.
Guess what?
We failed.

Like, serious, the worst I've ever done.
And every time something went badly, I'm just sitting there horrified. I mean, I'm supposed to be good at this. Why do I keep losing? Was there like, essence of suckage in my coffee that morning? Oh, god, I'm going to end up a failure at life and have to like, be a trophy wife or something. (You see, even in panicked states, I am indeed thinking about trophies.)
Truth time? We prepared, but we prepared for the minor leagues. We didn't think about the big stuff - what could we trick people with, how could we trap them. Plus, we went up against the best. Every single team we hit -- every single flipping team -- was in finals. Every. Single. One.
I wasn't sure whether to be amused or not.
It's depressing to lose. If it wasn't, then we wouldn't want to win so freaking badly. (Also, those trophies are sparkly. That helps too.) In writing, it's the same way. I've talked to a lot of people who queried for maybe a month or so, got nowhere, and gave up. I've read blogs where people continually lament their losses.
And yes. I get it. It hurts. You do want to give up.
Yes, it's depressing.
But your first time out, you are the underdog. If you don't prepare properly, nothing matters. Preparation alone isn't enough; you have to pour yourself completely into it, think in ways no one else has, and still, sometimes, you just don't win. You keep getting reviews, but that doesn't really matter to some people. It's still miserable. And dude, does it suck.
Guess what, though?
Next tournament, I know what I'm doing. Next time, I know the competition. Next time, I am going to get a pretty shiny trophy.
And maybe for you, when it comes to writing, you'll get that shiny trophy your next time. Even if you don't, you will eventually. You just gotta keep trying.
Seriously, I promise.
The trophies are definitely worth it.

More later. 

Five things

Some things should not be done.
For instance, stealing someone's boyfriend? He could be really hot. He might even possess a hot accent. But this is sot cool.
Plaid shorts with polka dot jerseys? I understand. The plaid is purple. The polka dots might be made of sequins. But it is perhaps not the best idea.
Dying your dog pretty colors? Omg, yeah, gorgeous, but . . . It seems a tad mean.

(I love that add though.)
And in writing? There are a lot of don'ts. Quite a few. And there are a lot of blogs telling you all of those rules. But some rules are always overlooked.
So, now? The Five Things Awesome books need.

1) A Main Character Who Isn't Gonna Die
We all knew the Dumbledore was going down. But millions watched and waited with bated breath to see if Harry, poor Harry, was gonna bite it too.
And guess what? (WAIT SPOILER.) (If you haven't read Harry Potter [Yes, Maggie, I am talking to you] Harry doesn't die.
And so ON LIVES THE PHENOM.

2) Kissing
You wanna know why I loved Catching Fire? Cos I love Peeta. Wanna know why I love the Russian cover of Catching Fire? Wanna know why Mockingjay wasn't my favorite? Because there was not nearly enough kissing. However, there was--

3) Stuff blowing up
Seriously. What else it better? In Harry Potter AND Mockingjay, stuff blows up.
That, my friends, is pretty epic. I'm telling you, it's a SIGN.

4) Normal speak (We are not writing a novel in texting)
OMG, my bff hasn't read Harry Potter and in Mockingjay, Katniss can't pick a bf and you really just wanna be like idc but idk, it's awfully hard to not care b/c u <3 them soooo much.

5) Someone who ignores all rules
An author who tells you the MC and the really hot blonde guy are brother and sister. An MC who is kind of manipulative. A boy wizard who falls in love with his best friend's sister. Rules that might not work in real life, but are kinda cool in a book.
Except number four.
That's not cool.
Like, ever.

More later.

Check it Out

Being a kid can be difficult, right? It's hard for 16 year olds to get taken seriously; it's even harder for younger kids to get someone to so much as blink and say 'Oh, how cute.' I'm not talking about agents or editors -- they're actually not judgmental in the least (Just look at Kody Keplinger) -- I'm talking about a lot of older writers. I suppose in a way, I can't blame them. I mean, I can see how trusting someone half your age with something as personal as your writing could be daunting.
However, that does make websites that focus for teens so valuable. Places like Inkpop.com (Yeah, yeah, someday I'll shut up about it someday) are great for that. I have twice the confidence I had before the end of March. (Because, yeah, that's just what every 16 year old needs -- an ego.)
But sometimes, the competitive edge to places like inkpop swallows everything else. Don't get me wrong, I love the site, but it does get so desperate to reach the Top Five that sometimes, the basic rule of 'I'd like to improve' gets thrown to the side.
That's why I like this website. It's just barely starting out, but I think it has amazing, amazing potential.

Please Don't Be A Creeper

I was blog surfing the other day and came across a few different people complaining about agents. How mean agents are and how it's impossible for the 'little man' to break into publishing. How agents are rigged and fixed and will only work for people that they know personally.

I don't have an agent, but the whole argument came off as, well, stupid.
How many people have broken into publishing through slush? Um, hello, Stephanie Meyer. Hi, JK Rowling. Weren't you plucked from the slush?
The way I see it, agents possess a difficult job. They have to pick people, not just because of talent, but because they love the story. And look at your book shelf. There are great stories there, right? But out of dozens of stories, which ones did you love enough that you would stake your job on it?
It frustrates me that people can't see it through agent's eyes. So, because I am out of ideas for a post I am epic, I'm going to break it down.
Being an agent, it seems, is like being constantly hit on. And the would be clients -- that would be us, folks -- are the boys (or girls, if that's your thing, but for this purpose, we're going with boys) that are stepping up to the bat, putting their guts on the line, and flirting.
*I am obviously not an agent. However, as someone who would like an agent, I know it can be depressing to be going through the whole ordeal and maybe this will be cheering*


Boy One: The Creeper

This is the least likeable kind of guy and what most agents would probably classify as an auto reject. These are the boys that are either rude or weird. And not good weird. This includes;
A) The guy that randomly comes up to you in the library and asks to sit with you. He ignores the fact you are with your mother. He ignores the fact that you are ignoring him. He then insults the librarian and the library itself, and therefor pisses you (Oh, and 'you' means 'me') off really badly because you like the librarian and the librarians. (Exempting the one that gives you an evil look every time you walk up to her.)

Seriously, how can you not like this??

Now you're angry. And so, you, as the girl, leave.
This is the writer you do not want to be. Do not ignore the agent's obvious words and rules. Do not approach them at stupid times or through stupid ways. And don't insult people. It's annoying and rude. This also includes the freaky drunks that hit on you and the ones with really bad pick up lines.
Don't be a Creeper. Please. I love all you readers so, and I can't love you if you're a creeper.

Boy 2: The Almost, Maybe, and Someday

You know them. It's the saddest of all the boys, and all the clients, too. (Again, so not an agent over here. But I think a lot of us do fall into this category.)
This might be the cute senior who's supposed to be timing your debate round, but instead adds his phone number into your cell. It's the the guy with the witty banter and raised eyebrows in the middle of class. It's the dude with glasses who offers to buy you coffee while you're waiting for your sister.
No matter how much this appeals to your ego, you just . . . really aren't that interested. The boy might have distracted you during the round, but when you talked later, well, it didn't work. When the guy tells you how smart you are, your ego shines, but this really isn't your thing. And no matter how good the coffee looks -- and believe me, it looks great --

--it isn't gonna happen.
You want to like this person. Maybe you even do kind of like them. You might go on a date, or you might want to ask for a partial. You think about it, definately. But there's some other reason why this can't work.
So many writers fall into this. Now, this doesn't mean there isn't a problem, and unlike the poor guy, you can maybe fix  your problem. (Not enough plot, too dark, too long.) But sometimes? You just have to keep trying. You've got good aspects. You have witty banter and coffee and good hair. So keep it up! It's gonna happen.
And that leads to type three.

Boy Three: The YES NOW


This is the pretty boy. The smart boy. The boy that you look at, or listen to, the boy you have dreamed of, and the boy that finally knocks on your door. And there is no acting coy. Instead, it is a direct YES.

You thought it would be Alex Pettyfer, didn't you? Silly reader.

Now, as the writer, we all want to be that yes. We want to get the chance. But still, even if we writers have groomed and cleaned and basically made ourselves into the version of Ben Barnes the Queryer, this doesn't mean that you are going to marry the agent. You've gotten their attention. You've gotten a partial, and now you've sent a full. And unlike a relationship, if the agent says 'I don't like this; can you change it?' you do have that opportunity.

But think. It isn't just that you're pretty or smart. It's the agent's taste. Relationships take time to foster. They're hard. And not everyone is ready to date, and even if you are, maybe you aren't right for a specific person. The really cute guy may be enough to date for a while, to dream about occasionally, but you don't want to marry him.

As the writer, you will only have one agent (At least, at first) and you need to make sure that agent is the right one. But they need to make sure you're right for them, too. We research agents we love and hope they like us back, or like our story, but it can't always happen. In fact, it often won't.

Next time you feel down or get sad, think about the last random guy you met. Would you have dated him? What if he wanted to date you? If it's a no, then be a little more sympathetic to the agent, okay? 

And if it's a yes . . . then why are you sitting here reading my blog? If you have to guts to be a writer, you have the guts to go talk to him. (Unless you aren't wearing make up or something. You wouldn't send your story out without nouns. You don't have to talk to a guy without mascara or clean hair if you don't want to.)

Someday, you will find the agent equivalent to this.

More later, lovelies. 

Why the Dark Side Is Necessary

Everyone likes being told that they're good at something. I mean, sure, sometimes we get a little nugget of self deprecating hatred that chants NO STOP TELLING ME I AM AWESOME AND LET ME BE EMO. But generally? We glow. We primp. We bounce and dance and think YAY.
And things are good. You're in the middle of a land with purple skies and cute boys and there might even be some really cute, cuddly animals. Every piece of praise sends you a little deeper inside of it.

But. Somewhere, off in the glowy, sparkly distance of praise, you will find a thin, glittering line.
And once the praise pushes you past that line, the skies get a little bit darker. The boys aren't quite so cute. Those cute little animals suddenly have really freaking sharp teeth and they are totally willing to bite into your leg and possibly try and eat it.
You have just passed the line from the world of 'I am Awesome' to the illustrious land of 'Oh, crap.'
Suddenly, you realize that you have problems.
Your pretty story? Yeah. There's a plot hole. A big one.
But no one noticed.
Or if they did, they were too nice to really say anything about it.
And that, you realize, is a big, big problem. If you have been gathering glittering praise, then you would think that someone, somewhere would have hit you with a big pile of muck. They would have had to. But . . . you can't remember that. You're too busy living in the glitter world -- but your story isn't glittery yet.
You've been taking bad advice; advice that tells you that you are perfect.
Because come on. Unless you look like Alex Pettyfer and have the brain of Einstein and the social skills of Oprah, you probably are not perfect.

(Why, yes. I did see the need to give you visual aid. Don't you just love that about me?)

Anyway.

A while ago, I helped edit someone's story. This person informed me that he wanted my honest opinion; I was told to write my good thoughts in green and my bad thoughts in blue. I was told not to use all green because surely, somewhere, I could find a couple of flaws. Out of annoyance of being bossed around, I used purple.
And I was mean. I edited and ripped and tossed my friend into the 'Oh Crap' land.
But here's the thing;
You have to be able to live in both worlds. And you need to be able to handle that.

I think we all need to live in the land of 'Oh, Crap' at least a couple of times. We NEED someone to shove us into it. We need to see those stormy skies and pray we don't get hit by lightning and despair because our hair is now ruined for the day. But most of all, we need to find the strength to pull ourselves out of that world.
I was on Inkpop, as a lot of you know, and got my story into the Top 5. I know,  that doesn't seem like that big of a deal -- but it meant a ton to me -- and that was a world that can easily toss you onto either side of the glittering line. But as you start to  climb higher, and as you start to gain more and more 'status' (and I hate saying it like that, but it is weirdly true; people are much nicer now that I have a star by my name) and people start to get afraid to tick you off. They tend not to tell you when you're writing crap.
And so you don't get to grow. You are stuck in the glitter. And while it's a pretty place to be, what with all those hot guys (or girls, if that's your thing), you aren't ever going to grow there.
I guess it's the purpose for beta readers. But more than that, it's the importance of having someone who isn't afraid to knock you on your butt.
You need to become aquainted with the flying and glittering and shimmering world of Pretty. But you need to know the other side too. If you don't, than your ego starts to build and build and build and you won't be able to listen to any knocking-on-butt advice. The friend I edited for? They stopped writing. They said that they had realized they just were never going to get better.
And that is so not cool.
They'd gotten too accustomed to the sparkly world. The emo one was too much after being so firmly lodged in the glitter. And . . . well. That sucks. It sucks because everyone is not that hot a writer when they start out (except for freaking Maggie, who has been funny and smarmy from the first freaking document she sent me) and you have to, just have to, be able so see that someday, you will get to the glittery world. And you have to see that you can get there, that it's possible, and that if you sweat and bleed and drink a lotlotlot of bad-for-you-but-heavily-caffeinated drinks, you can get better at writing. It takes time, and since writers are naturally self deprecating folk, that can be hard. But you can't give up when you see the coming storm.

 But, on the other hand, you need to see that storm. If you haven't been pelted with its obnoxious rain of evil, you won't understand just how awesome the pretty drizzly stuff in the glitter world is.
I mean, how can you understand how pretty Alex Pettyfer is without having seen the trolls? The ones with big green fingers and huge noses and eyes like rotten oranges? And it'll make you like the cute little animal a ton more when you realize that it doesn't have razor sharp teeth.
(Score!)
Plus, just think about this; when you've clawed your way back over the glittering line, you'll have a story that totally deserves to live in a sparkly world.
Things become more valuable when you have to fight to obtain them. I've been residing in dark emo land for the past few days, staring at Altered and thinking ohmygodmyprettystoryjustturnedbackintoaroughdraft. And it is not a pretty world. I have been so used to getting good comments about it that when I got the revision letter tearing it to shreds, I felt like someone had smacked me. But it was kind of a good feeling; like, okay, the praise means twice as much because obviously they don't have a problem pointing out the bad stuff. If I can pull this off, then maybe, I think, it'll be okay to reside in the glitter world for a little while; after all, I've seen the other side.
(Dude, that felt cheesy.)
What think you?
More later.