Why You Should Read Sarah J Maas's Books

Hello, my ducklings! How are you? Wonderful? Well, you're about to be better, because I'm about to tell you about a book.

If you are a a reader, then you have favorite books. You have many books that have entertained you, some books that have captivated you, and you probably have a couple of books that have changed your world.

I say this in all seriousness. If you doubt me, ask any person who grew up reading Harry Potter why they loved it. Ask any bookish girl who loved Hermione why. Reading makes you better. Reading can shape you and it can save you. Sometimes, it can just make you laugh. And sometimes it can make you remember what you love.

Last fall, I sent my mom a link to a book that I'd been hearing about called Throne of Glass. She bought a copy and I read it over Christmas break. At this point, this was what the book looked like.

(It doesn't look like that anymore.)

I kind of stopped reading my senior year of high school. It was a mix between focusing on other things and a newfound aversion to writing, brought on by the first English teacher that I didn't really . . . understand, I guess? I don't want to get into that, though.

Fast forward. My first semester of college, I read a lot of the classics for a class that I loved, but I didn't read much else. I justified it as ' Let's focus on the book instead.

A year after I'd stopped voraciously reading, I picked up this book. 

It is a book that will make you laugh, gasp, panic, and then text your friends at midnight about characters that they haven't met.

And then you'll force your friends to meet them. At this point, I've handed the book off to six of the readers that I have amazing bullying powers a system of mutual respect and admiration for. All six of them have responded the same way.

There are books that change your life. And this is one of the books that has changed mine.

It reminded me why I loved to read. It reminded me that even when my world is filled with obnoxious drunk people in the room next to mine obstacles, books are a way to slip into a better mood. It reminded me that books that are worth reading are not always the ones that college classes force you to buy.

And it reminded me that I shouldn't be embarrassed about reading YA, even when I'm in college, even while I'm taking the 'smart' classes and carrying a book with a character younger than me. I can't point at a book I've read in the last three years that brought me more enjoyment than the one Sarah J Maas wrote.

In a couple of days, the sequel is coming out.

I got very lucky. I have a friend that got an advanced copy earlier in the summer.

Crown of Midnight is just as good and in many ways better than Throne of Glass. For one, it's got the updated cover, which looks like this:

For another, it continues talking about themes about friendship, loyalty, family, resilience, and power. The world building, at one point, had me putting down the book and frantically messaging the friend that gave it to me to panic about how in the world someone is that talented of a writer.

It's a sequel worthy of the first story presented, which, unfortunately, is not always true.

(I tend to dislike trilogies, a lot of the time, because the second story does not seem to carry its own arc.) 

Plus, you know, there are several cute boys. And those relationships? They are done with a nuance and skill that I absolutely adore. They are done in a way that feels right for the character, and that, to me as a 19 year old college student, feels right and realistic. 

Beyond that, Sarah J Maas is an author that inspires a lot of love. Her personal story is inspiring. At the risk of sounding like a crazed fangirl (because I kind of am one) (Oh, who am I kidding? I totally am) I have spent more time talking about this author and her books with my friends than anything since Divergent.

Bottom line:

Go read this book. Buy its sequel. I bought the novellas, even, and those are pretty incredible too. 

And now, my roommates have put on the VMA's, so the book love is gonna have to wrap up.

But really.

This book made my life better. It relaunched me into reading, and that made me start writing again. It meant that I went to Alpha, where I worked with other authors my age as well as Scott Westerfeld, Tamora Pierce, Justine Larbalestier, and Theodora Goss. I owe it -- and the author -- quite a bit because of that.

Go get this book. I don't care how old you are. Read it anyway. And then give it to your friends.

Update

Updates!

I changed the title of this blog. You may have noticed. You probably didn't, though. Why? Because I haven't paid attention to this blog the way that I used to. The thing is, I kind of never liked the old title. I made it when I was fifteen and I made it (the title, not the blog) as a joke with Maggie.

So, now it is Speak, Live, Write. To be cheesy, this fits me better. Generic? Yes, but I don't care. So is coffee, and so is chocolate, and I'm currently surrounded by both. I was a debater. I love to talk. I believe very much in living a life worth speaking and writing about. All those cheesy quotes about, like, doing things that scare you --

Have been taken very much to heart. (It's how my friends force me to do things I don't want to. For instance, night clubs. Not my thing.) (Neither is climbing up a seven story tower when the elevator only costs a dollar.) (This list is long. I'm ending it now.)
So, the title is changed. That's why. I'm 19 and fancy now. (Or I've conformed. Either way.)

Next week I move into my first apartment. I'm moving in with some of my favorite people in the world, and praying that they will remain my favorite people in the world and we don't end up killing one another in our sleep.

That's ... actually it. I have more for later, but I'm not quite there yet to talk about it. And now, I'm sitting on the steps of a Wisconsin hotel and watching a protest, and that's become incredibly fascinating. So --
Farewell!

About College

One year ago, I was preparing -- frantically, by this point -- to move into my college dorm.

I'm writing this now, looking back over my first year, partly for myself and partly for any other scared soon-to-be college kids.

Disclosure: These are my opinions. They are my personal facts, which may not be the same as yours. These are also spoken as if you are at college, and if you want to be there.

Now. 

What is college like? What was it like for me?

It would be my first (super) extended trip away from home. I wasn't going very far, and in fact, found myself a little annoyed that I would be only three hours away from the place where I went to high school, but I still had to like, pack. I was still moving in with a complete stranger, sharing a bathroom with 25 girls, and living on a floor with 70 people. (Coincidentally, my dorm building held about 600 students. My graduating class held about 380.)

Voila. That's, approximately, what I was living in.

In many ways, I was -- and am -- very lucky. First, I get to go to college. It's no surprise to any of us that the economy sucks, that student loans are vicious, and that not having a degree can make life painfully complicated. So, because of that that, I'm telling you this: 

Be happy, if you're at college, if you've graduated and be grateful. It's a privilege. Even if it's a school that would not normally decorate your dreams, it's a luxury. We are lucky. There is nothing more annoying than a college student who openly and loudly thinks their college is beneath them. Maybe the school isn't for you, and that's fine. Leave.

It's okay to transfer schools. 

I have several friends that have done so. If you don't like where you are, leave. If you don't want to pay money for the experience, don't. It's your life. It's your experience. Try not to be selfish, but also, look out for yourself. 

Which leads me to another thought --

Going to college with your friends from home? It's hard. It's . . . impossible, in a lot of ways, because you aren't the same people you used to be.

You may lose them. It will hurt. It will hurt in ways you never expected and ways that I can't really describe. You'll look at people that you've known for years and you won't recognize who they've become.
Worse, they won't recognize you. 

I'm so sorry for that. But you can't lose heart, dear freshman, because there is still a lot left to see, a lot left to do, and a lot of people to meet.

You may move into a room with a girl you don't exactly . . . get. She probably won't get you either. You can still stay up for hours and talk about nothing. You can still find things in common. 

You may eat so much chips and queso, so much cereal, so much pasta, that when you come home for Thanksgiving you make yourself pitifully ill, because your body doesn't know how to digest meat anymore. (But really, it may be safer that way. It may be worth the pain.)

You may spend too much money on coffee. If that is, indeed, a thing that's actually possible. 

You will curse the expensive textbooks. You will not understand something. You will understand others and wonder why you're bothering to pay for the class. You will stay up too late, possibly drink too much illegal substances, or at least, have to hold back the hair of someone who have definitely had too much.

If you're lucky, you will fight. You will fight about politics, feminism, friendship, travel, music, technology, love, lust, and caffeine addiction. Every fight -- thought not always necessary -- will teach you something. You will get involved in things that fuel your passions and teach you about passions you never knew you had.

Change your major. Change it again. Do it early, and do it until you think it's right, and try and do it before you reach your junior year.

You may get your heart broken. I hope you do, actually. It's good for you, in the end. It's a real and horrible feeling, but it can also make you better and stronger. 

You may get your heart broken by your best friends. You may look back at those moments months later, and you may see them coming weeks in advance, and every time you look for them, you feel like you're breaking again. I can't tell you if that makes you better and stronger, but I can tell you that it will make your stories stronger. 

You will find someone worth risking breaking your heart again. I can't tell you if they will or not, because -- well, I'm single. I'm not particularly romantic, and some have even called me jaded. (Ahem.) But when you look at your college dorm rooms, and you panic because they are small and dark and full of strange belongings that are not yours and may actually offend you, you are looking at a chance. An experience. 

Boys will drunkenly chase rabbits through the streets. Girls will try and climb the buildings in their high heels. The lounge will fill up with a bunch of entitled, pretentious students that are either there to watch the presidential debate or Beauty and the Beast. 

Talk to them. 

Be their friends. Or don't, if you're more of a Cinderella person. (In which case, you're a freak.)

This is about you, and your chances, and your life.

Pack your bags. Relish your bed. Hug your parents and pet your animals, because you'll wish in a few months that you would have done more of that. For the love of god, eat whatever good food you can.

And get ready for your adventure.

Remembering

A girl in my community died on Saturday.
She was 17.
She used to ride my school bus. I tutored her in debate sometimes, during high school, but somehow, I don't remember her as the beautiful cheerleader. I remember her as the awkward, gangly kid that had a crush on one of my best friends. I remember when she first started wearing makeup. I remember when she first joined debate. When I won a tournament in my senior year of high school, I heard her telling one of her friends that we grew up together, but that's not true. Neither one of us is grown up, not entirely. And one of us never will have the chance to.
The girl was not perfect, but she was often very sweet and she was very, very young and she was beautiful. She was obstinate and she was goofy and she should have lived for many more years.
I don't remember her as someone old enough to drive a car, let alone someone to crash her car.

Side Note: Wear your seat belts. Please -- just wear the damn thing. I don't care how old you are. I don't care if you're just driving into town. I don't care if it messes up your dress.
Second Side Note: If an animal runs in front of your car and it will hurt you to swerve, then hit the animal. You have no idea how much it hurts me to say that, but it's not something to forget.

They don't know how her car crashed, but I know that road. I've almost spun my car out avoiding deer on the way home from late night movies. I've swerved to avoid squirrels. I took my Nissan off the road one winter because the curves were covered in ice. I've checked my phone to see if my mom has texted me back and I've spent too many moments changing the music on my Ipod.
I drive that road fast and I drive it stupid, and so do all the other kids that live out where I do.
Why wouldn't we? We drive it every day.
Please, for the love of god, and for the love of all the people that care about you, don't drive stupid.
Even if it's funny. Even if you know the road. Even if you could drive the road with your eyes closed. Even if you're trying to impress a friend. It isn't worth it.
I drove past Monica's memorial on the way into town today. She lived out by me -- about ten minutes out of town, down a winding country road that seems to go on forever. There were a bunch of girls at her memorial, just sitting in the flowers and not saying anything.
Maybe that's because there isn't much to say.
Rest in peace, sweetheart.

Finished!

I am done!
I am done, and I am alive. It took much, much studying, a lot of caffeine, a lot of tears as well as the blood of my enemies and a few early morning/late night ranting sessions as my dorm friends, but freshman year of college is done. I am slowly regaining a healthy sleeping pattern and the ability to eat red meat. (I didn't trust the dorm food, and so lived on mostly chicken, pasta, and apples. I then made myself painfully sick by coming home and gobbling steak. College freshmen, beware.) I am also becoming reacquainted with a hairbrush.

This is scarily accurate of my life.

I do not have much to say right now. Soon, I will post book reviews and rejoin the world. I'll talk about meeting some of my favorite authors, but Maggie already did that so I'm not overly planning on that. Oh! But soon, Alpha! And I will meet Scott Westerfeld and Tamora Pierce and all sorts of other amazing people and die of awesomeness. (Also, I'll eat dorm food for two weeks again. It'll never be done.)

My first year of college consisted of a lot of drunkenness (not by me -- I lived in a very lush dorm, apparently) and a lot of mutant squirrels (my campus must be feeding them steroids) and a lot of climbing on furniture and moaning about how much work had to be done and then waiting until two minutes before it was due to do it. I will regale this blog with stories of individual moments, I think, throughout the summer. First off, I want to remember those moments. Second, as a high school student, I know that I creeped through college kid blogs to try and figure out what college was like. Finally, I don't have anything else to say why not? 

Okay. Fare thee well, my bloglings! 

The Importance of Lectures

Hey, you. You're looking nice today. I really like your jaw. Also, your knees. You've got great knees. You should wear tutus more often, you know, to better emphasize them.
Speaking of sparkly clothing, I recently encountered a professor that taught our class about Angels in America while dressed in drag. It was a beautiful sequined red dress that I could never pull off, and one of the strangest classroom experiences I've had while in college. However, while it was a great lecture, and while I later got to see Tony Kushner talk about Angels in person, I have to say, this was not my best lecture in college. Don't get me wrong; both Kushner and my sequined professor gain major props. I mean, for one, sparkles. For another, a hauntingly beautiful Pulitzer prize winning play about death, destruction, and abandonment full of dark humor. I'm a fan of all of these things. Basically, it is . . .

I don't know who let me on the internet.

I go to a lot of lectures. Why not? For one, a lot of my classes require them. I took a Humanities course that has nothing to do with my major but everything to do with my attraction to literature, music, and art, and there were weekly lectures about everything from Descartes to Billie Holiday to things such as this:

I met a lot of wonderful professors and also learned that I really hate Descartes. (No, seriously, I really do.)
Back to lectures. They're great. We get a lot of extra talks for free -- and they're free, so why not go? I've dragged my friends to ones about the role of porn in modern society, what it means to be a country constantly at war, and what running a Fortune 500 company is really like. I like all of these things. It's fascinating, and it's great material for a someday story. 

I'm also a fan of journalists. I go to a school that brings in a lot of journalists, and I find that the lectures they give are some of the most inspiring. They are literally putting their lives on the line to chase a story, and I find that all kinds of cool. I've heard from multiple women held captive in various war zones and men that traveled through the South American jungle to follow a lead. Again, these are wonderful lectures. However, my favorite lecture of my freshman year did not come from a journalist, a writer, a CEO, or an entrepreneur. Instead, it came from a crook.

Or, I guess, a reformed crook.
I was cleaning out my desk in the slow attempt to dig out of my dorm room and I found a ticket stub from Frank Abagnale's speech at my college. If you don't know the story, look it up. Or, heck, you could just watch the movie. He said that it's largely accurate.

Abagnale's speech was eloquent, engaging, heart-breaking, thought provoking, and a lot of other adjectives. You may know that I used to do debate; by which I mean, I obsessively talked about my debate involvement for the past four years. I like speeches. On one level, this was my favorite because -- not surprisingly -- the man was just really, really eloquent. 

For another reason, though, I liked the story. It's a real life tale about a heist; he not only stole and lied, but he did it fantastically well. He was severely flawed, escaping from a divorce that his parents dropped from out of the sky. He fell in love; he got caught. He was internationally infamous and he spent a long time in a cold jail cell, eventually remaining there while his father passed away. It is a story that has you hooked. It's a story with a plot, an almost unbelievably brilliant MC, and ultimately, change. 

These are the reasons why lectures are beautiful. Sometimes, you sit and wonder why you aren't watching Merlin or doing your PoliSci homework. Others, though, you sit on the edge of your seat and take notes on your dying cell phone because you desperately want to remember the story. You keep the ticket stub between the pass that let you into the Presidential Inauguration and your program for the Vagina Monologues. 

Life is full of stories. We're living them every day. Sometimes, hearing other people's is the most exciting and invaluable thing you could be doing with your time -- and if you're in college, I know, there are tons and tons of really cool, glittery parties you can go to instead. Sometimes, though, put down the red solo cup and go grab one of those free tickets. 

That's my spiel, and I'm sticking to it. 

Goodbye, reader that probably does not exist! I must continue digging out of my dorm. Until then:

Finals

Hello, ducklings.
I'm drowning in the waves of finals, currently, and so I am making this brief. I am updating to remind myself of my revived determination to actually write fun things, and to do it well, and because I really, really am sick of studying and this still feels productive.
My life consists currently of a lot of Merlin and even more crying stoic undertakings to understand The Veil of Ignorance (people should make judgement without class or politics or other stupid things being in consideration? Maybe?) and trying to memorize the 117 terms my European History professor thought were necessary for my final. Also, no hablo español y mi examen es pronto. 
I have been accepted to Alpha again this year (I went in 2011) which means I will be learning from Scott Westerfeld, Tamora Pierce, Theodora Goss, and Justine Larbalasteir this summer. I'm even going as a Beta student, which means that my story will be given to all of the attendees of Alpha and I will do my best not to cry as they rip it to shreds learn the magic of critiques in a very intense and awesome setting. 
My goals for the summer include:
Stalking my librarian.
Finishing a rough draft of something. (I am intensely aware of non-writer people that can find this blog and also know me in real life, and I am too awkward to go into more detail about this sort of thing with friends. Obviously, strangers would be totally acceptable.)
Take Macroeconomics at a local university.
Make my mother take me on road trips. (Her job makes her travel. It'll be like Bring Your Kid To Work except College Edition!)
Rewatch episodes of Glee back from before it got terrible.
Annoy my friends, primarily this one. 
Read. Read. Read more. 
And finally, spend as much time as possible watching this:

Bradley James, you are the light in the darkness of Finals.

Prince Arthur has never looked so good.

Good luck to those of you with finals, and to the rest of you, I direct my unmitigated and jealous hate. 

Until then:

Another BIrthday

I don't post on this much anymore. It feels kind of strange too, honestly, especially since this is hooked to my Twitter account. People that I like, actually, know follow that. (Back when I started this blog, Twitter wasn't really a thing. Yeah, that's right, I was basically a hipster.) It's especially odd here in college because most people don't know that I write. Honestly, a lot of my friends here probably don't even know that I read much, because it's not really something I can get away with anymore to read in class, and besides, the classes are (usually) interesting enough that I actually pay attention. (Also, it's amazing how much more you feel obligated to pay attention when you're paying for them.) Regardless, the fact that I write is still fundamental to me personally, but definitely not something that most people would associate me with. It's actually rather odd, now that I think about it.
Anyway.
I'm turning 19 tomorrow. It's odd for a multitude of reasons. For one, I've officially been an American adult now for a year. Like -- what? I mean, sure, I'm picking out my own food now, but it usually consists of this:

\

And no, I'm not kidding. Plus a lot of Sonic because I am a frugal person that understands the value of the Moneyz, I occasionally spend a dollar or two at Sonic in order to consume a little bit of strawberry tea. But only a little bit.

(I've started going to the gym, Internet. Yes, I know. The horror. I refuse to touch the Freshmen Fifteen, though. It will not happen.)

Moving on.

The second reason that it's weird is that this is my last year as a teenager, which means absolutely nothing except for this strange concept that I'm not the same age as my favorite characters anymore. It's very weird. Amid the debates about New Adult as a genre, I can tell you at least one (Actually two, if you add Maggie) teenager is quietly wishing for people to shut up and just let it happen. Seriously, I want more of it. That's a rant for another time, though, when I don't have two hours of Spanish homework looming over my head and finals creeping ever closer. Fundamentally, I am used to talking about YA as 'my people' and 'my genre' and it's very weird to know that I'm 'out-growing' that. I put that all in quotations because I believe in remembering childhood and such, and I will always love YA, but again, that's better saved for another time.

The third reason is realizing how long I've had this blog. I posted about my 16th birthday here. My 17th, my 18th, too. I don't keep a diary, but this blog definitely is a form of one, even if I'm kind of just writing for myself now. But it felt wrong not to talk about turning 19.

In the last year, I:

-Ended high school.

-Placed nationally in debate with a great partner.

-Started college with many of my best friends at my side.

-Am ending my first year of college having fulfilled the cliche of losing many of my best friends as I grow up.

-Gained acceptance to Alpha yet again, where I will meet Scott Westerfeld, among others.

-Was awarded the Honors College Scholarship for a freshman student at my university.

-Ended up on several executive boards of various organizations.

-Attend Obama's second presidential inauguration and saw Washington DC for the first time.

-Met several people that will someday be very, very good bad guys in a novel.

-Remembered that I love to write.

Anyway. I have homework and I'm feeling sappy, which is dangerous on this website, so I'm going to say farewell. Tomorrow is my birthday and on Saturday, I'm going to the RT Book Convention in KC. Farewell, internet. I shall be back. 

In Which I Show You My Life

Hello! Remember me? Oh. Well. That's okay, I wouldn't either. It's been a long time, after all.
So, because I so very rarely update this anymore, I am going to do just that -- update this blog! With my life! Yay! Exclamation points!
...
Anyway.
I am thick in the second semester of college, attending a lovely university in the Midwest and double majoring in business and political science. (Yep. That's right. Business and political science and still writing fiction. Defying stereotypes over here. You're welcome.) Last semester, I may have sucked at blogging, but I ended up on the Dean's List, stopped sleeping, and started writing a story about demons, so that's all quite good. Also, my coffee maker broke and the girls that live next to me in the dorm never stop talking. No, not even at 3 in the morning. In fact, that's the perfect time to start squealing and laughing and shrieking. I think that might have had something to do with the last bullet presented. (If you aren't in college yet, look forward to dorm life. No, really. Shared showers, in which half eaten apples mysteriously appear? Drunk people wandering the halls and asking if you'll be their mother? It's all very exciting.)

Also, that's my school. Ten points to Gryffindor if you can guess where I am. (Because college has taught me through late night Pottermore games that this is my house.)

So, instead of talking about my books and classes and tests and lack of coffee, I am going to show you something I was fortunate enough to partake in last January.

It started like this:

Actually, it started a lot more like this,  because we had to wake up at 3 am. 

But soon, the excitement overtook the weariness! Kind of. It helped that we weren't plagued by a broken coffeemaker were full of patriotic excitement. Have you guessed where I was yet? No? Does this help?

Notice the rising sun. Now, I'll have you know that the last time I was awake to see the sunrise, it was because I never went to sleep because I was busy watching trashy television with my friends and forgot to sleep. So, if you haven't gotten it yet, realize that this was a VERY IMPORTANT MOMENT. Finally, the sun crept up into the sky, and by crept, I mean it took its sweet time. Now my view looked like this.

Patriotism! Also, I do mean this is my view. A very excited woman in a very large hat got her hands on little American flags and waved them for roughly five hours straight. No, really. Five hours. It was impressive dedication to annoyingness love of country. Minus the flag, this is what I was looking at.

We had good 'seats.' We were the second section back, behind a bunch of celebrities and public figures. (The cast of Modern Family, for instance, waved at us as they went to their seats. How kind, right?) As a measure of why the second section back was so nice, here's a shot of a part -- only a part -- of the crowd.

Have you guessed where I was yet? Yes? Probably. You're smart. If not, don't worry. We were all waiting for this man.

That's right. I was at the 2013 Presidential Inauguration. I drove with some people from my school, crammed in a twelve person van, from Missouri to DC. I had never met any of these kids; we were pulled from various programs and years for the trip. We spent hours in the Smithsonian Museum; I spent hours drooling over the Library of Congress. We went to the monuments. We played word games with strangers in the crowd. And we saw this man:

Take the Presidential Oath of Office.

After, the streets were packed with people. 800,000 people flooded the surrounding area; to walk two blocks, it took almost an hour. If you ever want to know what the apocalypse might look like, put 800k people in a five block radius. Trash lined the streets and, when an ambulance had to come through, it took almost ten minutes for the crowd to get out of the way. The lines for food were hours long. and people kept screaming about various things -- what they were trying to sell, or that we'd just elected a dictator, or the words to Bootylicious. Hours and hours later, we got back to our hotel in Virginia, and within the next thirty hours, we were back in the Midwest.

So yeah. That's my life thus far. I mean, I'm doing other stuff too, but nothing that I really feel like posting pictures about. 

Cheers, all! Stay warm!

Hey, I'm alive

It's been said, on the college campus that I currently call my home, that Thanksgiving is the time in which couples break up. Where old habits are broken. Where things change. I would like to tell you that means I will remember to blog and break the habit in which I suck at life, but that's probably too optimistic. So, um, here, have a cat.

You're welcome.

Anyway. Hi. It's been literally months since I've posted on this, and I expect that the readers of this blog are far away. Someday they come back, though, so hi. Yeah. Anyway. Um. Updates?

College has begun for me, and that explains my blogging hiatus. I am attending a large, large university and I am caught up in the world of text books, papers, and until recently, politics. I have read Don Quixote, Faust, Frankenstein, The Book Thief, part of Casual Vacancy (more on that at another time), a book about gay men in suburban bars, a novel on the importance of yoga, a couple horrible philosophers, a lot about politics, a lot about North Korea, and spent way too little time sleeping. There have been countless amazing lectures, several very cool concerts, and, oh, right, no sleep. None. It's quite rude of college, and quite needy, and I'm ready to flick it on the nose and give it a talking to.

I guess it makes for a lot of stories, though, and the best part of college? It's fun and it's crazy and it's reminding me that I like to write, that writing keeps me calm and that it's able to fit in even in the most random moments. (Like, um, when I should be paying attention in Sociology.) (But really, there's not much need for that, right?)
Anyway.
I essentially just posted this to remind myself that I have a blog and should remember to write. I have a job set up next year as a writing tutor. I plan on applying for Alpha again this year, and I have a five week Christmas break that might as well be Nano-Wri-Mo for the bored college student.
Happy Giving of Thanks, dears!

The Wonderful World of Made Up Worlds

I have such a talent for post titles. Truly. You should all bow down to my awesome skillz. Or not. Hi. You're pretty. I really like your nose. And your teeth. 

Anyway.

 I went out to lunch the other day with my wonderful librarian (Also known as Green Bean Teen Queen)  and Maggie. We talked about a bunch of things, many of them deliciously centered in the book world, and one of those things happened to be trends. Trends fascinate me. There is no new story; that's an old adage. Trends, however, take whatever new aspects we might see in a genre and push them into the market. Recently, we've seen the Twilight craze of Paranormal:

And even more recently, we've seen the Dystopian trend explode due to this wonderful book:

Most recently, though, a new trend has started. A new book is coming out that looks absolutely fantastic called A Throne of Glass, and it's not alone in the market. All of a sudden, fantasy novels are back in style. My guess? Game of Thrones has changed the game again. The book is now a hit show, and America -- and for that matter, a lot of the world -- is enthralled.

I'm amused. Fantasy has always been one of my favorite genres. I grew up on Robin McKinley, Diana Wynne Jones, and most of all, Tamora Pierce. Harry Potter was set in a fantasy world, and those aspects were always some of my favorites; Lord of the Rings is your classic fantasy novel, yet we haven't seen the trend too recently in YA. Still, there are some fantastic fantasy novels in the past five years, and if you're looking for something while waiting for the next George RR Martin, I suggest these:

General Winston's Daughter is fantastic. It is one of the most realistic worlds that I've ever encountered, with breathing characters and a beautifully crafted social structure. 

Enchanted and Entwined are both smart, well done fairy tale mashups set in fantasy worlds. They're both clever and bright reads, without being difficult worlds or random story lines to sift through.

There are these as well:

All of these are relatively recent fantasy novels, all intricately built and easy to read. If you're waiting for fantasy novels after finishing Game of Thrones, there are plenty of books out there to look to now. And if you haven't already, seriously, dude. Read Tamora Pierce.  (But of course you have. Why wouldn't you have? You're much too smart to have never read Tamora Pierce.)

Anyway. More later!

Winning

I talk a lot about debate on this blog. It's funny, and kind of random, because this blog was born out of my love for books. That love hasn't changed in the past four years, but something else did -- me. It isn't from writing, though, that I've become different. The part of me that loves books and words will always be there. The part that got good at using those words, though, came from debate.

That actually has very little to do with anything, but it makes me laugh.
So.

I graduated high school in May. It wasn't a particularly stunning event, honestly. Nothing felt any different. I was sad to leave my friends, and it's odd to think about going to college and waking up on my own, working on my own, but none of those things are the most troubling aspects of leaving school. No -- for me, it was leaving the debate room.
Yep. I'm a nerd. It's not disputed. (But come on, dudes, this is a literary blog. Do you expect much different?)

That's me. Yep.

Here's the thing, though.
I started high school shy. No, seriously. I was relatively quiet. I was political, but didn't like voicing it. I was very, very insecure. I was, however, still incredibly competitive. I planned on only two years of debate, taken with the purpose of securing a good college. Funny thing was, by my junior year, my grades were often slipping, because I was too busy with this:

I filled binders with literally hundreds of pages of research each month. I learned how to speak. I choked on nerves. My sophomore year, I barely did anything in terms of debate at all -- I couldn't get past those stupid, idiotic nerves. And then, toward the end of the year, my coach did something totally and utterly horrendous. He made me get up in front of my class, in front of kids that honestly, kind of scared me, and I started a speech. I say started because seriously, that's what it is. I never finished that dang speech. Instead, I started it 22 times.

No. Seriously. 22 times. I was cut off with 'Speak slower' and 'Sound calmer' and 'Sam, chill out' 22 times. I left school basically in tears like the pathetic and emotional kid that I was and then I ranted a lot about my coach to my friends with calm vigor and newfound respect for my coach.

Or...I might have acted like this for several weeks toward him.

Then came Junior year. I've talked about that a lot on this blog. I don't really know why, except  for this: for me, Junior year was my turning point. It was when I attended Alpha. It was when I first experienced the hell of high school drama first hand, first went through that stupid melodramatic thing sad first heart break that everyone has to experience, and when I first won a varsity tournament. It was the first time I qualified to Nationals. It was when I became a National semi-finalist in a supplemental debate.

And then my senior year. 

There's not as much on this blog about my last year of high school. In large part, that's because it passed so quickly. I've been wanting to write this post for some time, but it needed to wait until now. I want to talk about winning.

I am incredibly competitive. I said that earlier. It's a problem. I don't have the grace to apply that to sports, but it does apply to academics, and with debate, I found something that I was good at. Beyond that, though, I found something that if I truly worked at, I could make myself better. And I did: I brought home a lot of first place trophies this year. It got to the point where I was incredibly cocky. Like, beyond words kind of cocky. The kind I was ashamed to admit to and yet didn't really understand just how bad it was.

And then I lost.

But I didn't lose something small. I lost Districts. I lost the bid to Nationals, and the bid to State. I was someone who was slated to very possibly win State in my event ...  and then I didn't qualify.

It was -- quite bad. I made Maggie  pick me up and deal with my emotional breakdown  calm confusion. It wasn't just that I had lost -- it was that I had lost something that I had poured my heart into, that I had built my world around, that I had assumed was mine already. 

Sound familiar?

A lot of writers, I think, feel that way. To finish a novel, you have to break off a piece of your soul and press it into the pages. When that still isn't enough, when you still can't get published, when people still don't take notice, it is heart breaking.

But that isn't the point of this never ending post.

I still qualified to Nationals. I qualified in something called Public Forum debate. Puf, as we call it. Puf has always been the event I liked more, but it was not the one I won as often. At semester, I switched debate partners and ended up debating with one of my close friends. We made it together to Nationals. Even so, it hurt so horribly to give up the event that had been my baby. The thing I had loved, that I had poured so much of myself into.

Debate Nationals for high school, 2012, this year came in the form of Indianapolis. I attended, along with about 250 other teams. The best teams in the country. Many of them were private school. Many of them had much, much more money and resources than us, and they were quite happy to tell us about that.

Right. Here's the thing, and finally, the elusive point.

Two weeks ago, I ended up coming home with one of these.

I ended my high school career walking off the National stage with a very large trophy and a significant scholarship. I ended up placing very, very high, higher than I ever could have imagined and higher than anyone from my school ever has. My coach ends his career with that behind him, and my new coach, the assistant that I loved all year, saw his first Nationals end with my partner and I walking off that stage. Someone on my team had also done exponentially well, and as such, our little public school did better than anyone could have imagined. 

I spent my last four years enveloped in debate. I learned to speak. I learned to research. I learned to be part of a team. I learned to dress, walk, and talk as if I have confidence, even when I don't. And even though I lost -- I lost so badly, even as recently as this year -- I ended up winning more than I ever, ever could have hoped for. I walked off stage with someone that I love and trust, I left a team that I honestly think I might have helped make better, and I left better. I left different.

So. Back to writing.

Sometimes you lose.

Not even that. Often, you will lose. Ask anyone that writes. Hell, ask me: I entered my last year of high school pleased and confident after leaving Alpha, and ending up often hating writing for reasons that have nothing to do with recreational habits and everything to do with some poor choices in a class room. 

But.

You can win. You will win. Sometimes, when it seems as if everything is done, it really hasn't even started yet. Just keep working. Yeah, I know. None of this is shocking or new. But it is something I have always believed in, and I am so, so glad to have seen it proven to myself not just once or twice in the past years, but time and time again. My life has bled high lighter ink and statistics and quotes, and it's hard as anything I've ever done to leave it all behind. But moving on is moving forward. Debate is over, but I still have writing, and I still have everything I learned. That is priceless.

More later. Someday, maybe I'll even go back to putting up legit book stuff, like reviews! (Or more likely, a spiel about Game of Thrones.)

The Zombies Are Coming

Look, guys! Two posts in one week! I'm so awesome. Obviously. (Don't leave! No, come back!)
All right, fine. I'm not. Two posts in one month. I'm beating my record. Remember when I used to post like, ten times a month? Yeah. Me either.
Originally, this post was written last month, but I never published it, because I was writing it at school and the computer hated me. However, I like Zombies. So. I am posting this now. Ignore the time discrepancies and enjoy the creepy dead things loveliness that is my Zombie-tastic musings.
And if that isn't enough...
Here. Have a Zac Efron. No charge.

Anyway. TIME FOR A TIME WARP IN WHICH SAM TAKES YOU BACK TO A POST I WROTE A MONTH AGO. WHEEE.

...

Anyway again.

I'm in the final days of senior year, now, which means that school consists of basically nothing. No, seriously. I read a 500 page book between yesterday and today without ever opening it outside of the school building. We watched a movie in one class. Oh, and my debate partner cracked his head open on the ceiling trying to jump off a chair. 

...No. I'm not kidding. Ten staples and two stitches in his head. Lots of blood. There also may or may not be ten or twelve posts on Facebook about how I threw a tomahawk at him and that's how he ended up in the hospital.

Yeah, baby, we're going to Nationals.

Anyway. We're currently living in a world of boredom, and that does very bad things when combined with a bunch of hyperactive teenagers. For me, I play on tumblr a lot spend the time contemplating the known universe and everything within it. My friends, though, have found something even more interesting.

They've found the zombie apocalypse.

No, I'm not kidding. The entire debate team has, in the past week, discussed the coming zombie doom more than we've discussed anything that actually has to do with, you know, debate. Maggie starts quite a bit of it, and is assisting in writing a screen play.

...No, again, I'm not kidding. Why do you keep laughing at me? It's quite rude of you. 

The Zombies are coming, apparently, and none of us are getting out alive. Normally, I would be pertrubed. In the team of Zombies versus Unicorns, I am totally on the sides of the sparkles. But, that said, I'm fascinated. A fantastical element of society, implemented into common conversation? Me gusta. It's like we nerds are taking over the world.

One thing that the writing world is quite interesting in comes in the form of nerd power. Being intelligent -- being showy about being geeky -- isn't really something that's embraced in high school. Shocking, right? But in the writing world? At Alpha? Random knowledge is something to be proud of. It's something that is hard won, and eventually, something that makes life interesting. For years, I've collected random bits of information. We all do. For me, I know about 17th century navies and pirates, and Norse mythology, and the history of redheads, and a lot of random political theory. For Maggie, there is a multitude of things -- music, philosophy of dreams -- but specifically, a lot of random strangeness about zombies. And it's cool to me to watch a group of friends reveal their secret geekiness in something as strange as creepy dead things  unique as zombies. It's like the writing world come to life.

Random knowledge, yo. Do you have any that you'd like to share? Feel free to speak. Or type. I mean, you can speak too, but that might be weird. And I probably won't hear you. By all means, though, go right ahead. I'll be off avoiding my friends, their tomahawks, and their elaborate plans for my zombie-tastic death.

More later.

Unless I'm undead.

Then probably not, because my fingers shall not be able to type.

All Grown Up, and Nowhere To Go?

Hello, darlings!

Guess what? In the past two weeks, a lot of things have happened. Yes? Yes. I'm a horrible blogger this year, so let me update some. Now:

I am a high school graduate.

And I'm eighteen (and watching a ton of Disney.)

I've attended Senior Prom (and, um, left early to go camping with my friends.)

And I wore a (totally hideous) cap and gown.

I have a diploma (even though I wasn't technically supposed to get it until after I'm back from debate Nationals.)

And somehow...

I feel totally the same.

YA is interesting. Books are made out of moments. The sad ones, the happy ones, the ones that have you laughing until you can't breathe, or crying until your eyes ache. What we put into pages -- what we take out of pages -- comes from life. In the last two weeks, a lot of life, at least by societal standards, has been shoved into my lap. It's rather odd, actually.

I mean -- I never really doubted that, if possible by health and wealth, I would graduate high school. It's a luxury I've been allowed in my life to know that was a signpost I would obtain. It's something that I shouldn't take for granted, but definitely have. Through the stress and drama of high school, this was basically the mantra:

It was a basic one. An easy one. But when I look at books, and movies, and just stories in general, it feels like it should have been a bigger moment. It's the same with turning 18. I mean -- whoa. I'm an adult. (Haha. That's a joke. Right?) It doesn't feel any different. This is still one of my favorite movies. 

I still like sparkles on my nails. Nothing has changed.But now people automatically take you a little bit more seriously when you say your age. You get jobs easier. In some countries, you can drink. But that moment wasn't any different from any other birthday. Senior prom was just another dance. Wearing my graduation robe was kind of just like wearing a superman cape, and my diploma just seems like a sheet of paper.

I guess the moments we put into books really aren't moments at all. It's odd, and much too musing of me, but I think the interesting part comes from the culmination of time. Maybe graduation was meh, but high school? I was lucky; I enjoyed every year. I joined debate. I made friends. I did decently well in figuring out my goals in writing and making strides to someday achieving those goals. I became me: I talk too much, care too much about politics, take too many pictures, and wear too much sparkly nail polish, but that is, indeed, me. Someday, those parts of me will make my writing better. The paper that means a diploma doesn't represent a ceremony of graduation; it represents four years of laughing and changing and crying and becoming who I am. 

I don't know. I don't feel different; I'm not. Those moments didn't change anything about who I am, but they do represent the changes that have happened. It's growing up, I suppose. 

How marvelously strange, and how scarily interesting.

More later, with more substance. I just wanted to update. Also, post pictures of Disney. Because why not?

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?)

And So the Games Go

Hello, darlings!
Debate is officially done for the season, and my senior year is now winding down. I am a two time national qualifier, I am accepted into college, and I have now gone a month without drinking soda. And now that I have informed you of my recent (and obviously very impressive) accomplishments, I can move on to the more fascinating parts of life!
Namely:

Have you seen it? (Why haven't you? Seriously. Go, now.) (Seriously. Look at this.)

I love the Hunger Games with a vaguely unhealthy passion. They are some of my favorite books, and Catching Fire is probably one of my top three. In an abnormal fashion, the movie ended up exceeding my expectations. 

(Granted, that might be in large part due to the fact that Josh Hutcherson is incredibly cute.)

Seriously, though. The special effects were really good. The script kept close to the book, and I found the filming style interesting. I really like Jennifer Lawrence and the soundtrack has a great song from Maroon Five. Plus, there's this:

For now, that's basically it. In the meanwhile, listen to this!

More later!