Well, well, well...Lookee what I found.

So, I was pretty sure I had a blog out there somewhere.

Woohoo! I found it! AND it only took me three tries to remember my user ID and password. (Yes, you may bask in my awesomeness.)

Where have I been? You may or may not have been wondering. Well, here's an update:

I'm still teaching. They have re-purposed me and now I'm teaching Alternative Education. Yes, I am aware of the stigma. Nope, I don't care. These kids are pretty awesome (most days). I teach literacy to middle school AND high school students, so I get the best of both worlds.

I am now--drum roll please--a mother! I made my grand, painful, traumatic (kidding, well, somewhat kidding) entrance into motherhood on December 23, 2015. My beautiful little boy is now almost 10 months old! He is truly the light of my life, and I am blessed to have him. I am even more blessed now that I have him sleeping in his crib and can actually have some "me" time again. Which led me to writing again. Which led me here! Squee! (Wait, do they still say that?)

I'm also turned the big 3-0 this year. But can I still say that I'm in my twenties? I can still pass for a high school student and get yelled at for being in the hallways after the bell rings, so...yeah.

Oh, and I am still married. To the same man. Who is also the father of my child. (For some reason I have to clarify that now. Boo, society.)

Now that I have a smidgen of free time while the little guy sleeps, I have made progress on Dragon Queen and Price of Magic. I am--ahem--planning on finishing this round of Dragon Queen revising and start querying by the end of summer. Price of Magic is my fallback in case I need a revising break.

I'm also going to start blogging again. At least once a week. Probably on Saturdays. Pinky swear?

And now, to writing!

I'm Not Dead!

Sometimes I feel like I'm the old man in the Monty Python movie that they're trying to put into the wheelbarrow with all of the other plague-ridden bodies. But, "I'm not dead!"

Or maybe I am. A little at least.

Frankly, I've floundered a bit trying to reconcile my old self with my new self. Can I be a writer AND a teacher? Being a teacher makes me feel like I have to walk on eggshells all the time. I'm careful with what I post on social media. I try not to make any reference to inappropriate things (no matter how amusing I find them). I felt like a complete daredevil when I "liked" the song "Follow Your Arrow" by Kacey Musgraves.

That's me: daredevil.

Don't get me wrong: I love teaching. I do. But I am still struggling with trying to keep it from defining every aspect of my life. I mean, I was a goody two-shoes before. Now I think I'm on the list for saints. (Except for those things that I do in the privacy of my home, but we won't talk about that.)

Here's an update on the things that I've been doing (writing-wise):

1. Still working on The Price of Magic. I'm up to 40,000 words now.
2. I started a new story (because I'm ADD) tentatively titled Super Normal, which is basically a parody of the very popular supernatural romances. (I have twins named Sam and Dean Wesson. Get it? Har har.) I got the inspiration for this while I was cooking breakfast this morning.
3. I'm still revising The Dragon Queen. I stuffed so many plot twists and secrets into it, that it's just one big mess. Now I have to figure out how to simplify it.

More updates (not writing-wise):

1. I had to have surgery to remove cancerous cells in my cervix. It was the most painful and horrifying experience of my life. (Get your daughters vaccinated!)
2. Now I'm sure that there is something else wrong with me, which I have to see the doctor about on Monday. Goody.
3. I have now been married for FOUR years. We haven't killed, maimed, or otherwise harmed each other yet. (That's supposed to be a joke, by the way. Again, har har.)
4. I've read some truly awesome Young Adult books, including Etiquette & Espionage, The False Prince, The Iron Trial, Ways to Live Forever, Pictures of Hollis Woods.

Anyway, I'm telling myself that it's still okay to be the naughty (and somewhat dirty-minded) person that I am and still be a good teacher. Those two labels don't have to exactly mesh, but they should coexist. It will be a work in progress though.

It's good to not be dead.

I'm Back . . .kinda sorta

Hi, there!

It's been over a year since my last post. Hopefully you haven't given up on me completely. I just had to put this part of my life on hold for a little bit in order to focus on completing the M.A.T. program. Which I did. Successfully, I might add. I am now a certified teacher! Yay!

But just because I haven't been posting about writing, doesn't mean that it isn't still one of my obsessions. Actually, one of the great things about being a literacy teacher is that it is so inspirational for my writing. Last year, I participated in NaNoWriMo with some 8th grade students and started crafting a really awesome new story, tentatively titled The Price of Magic.

Here's an excerpt from the rough draft:

The beat increased as the women spun around her. Smiles and laughter, screams and cries, formed the melody of the music while the drums throbbed and the tambourine clashed. The pipe’s song went wild, soaring and shrieking into the dawn. The tempo increased along with the beat of Lara’s heart. She spun and twirled, dipped and shook. Her hair stung her face as she threw her head. Her breath quickened. She leapt and, suddenly, the music stopped.

She was on her knees, the cold, wet grass pricking her skin. But she remained there, frozen, gasping. This was the moment, the key moment, when the spirits would either accept or reject her.

She waited. The seconds seemed to stretch into eternity. And then she heard a faint sound, like a bell being rung from far away. The fire sputtered and died, and from the swirl of smoke, a shape emerged. Cat-like, it leapt from the embers and ash and padded toward her. As it approached, she felt her left hand tingle and then burn. She raised it, and the ink glimmered. The tiger, a creature she hadn’t seen since they’d fled their homeland when she was five, drew closer. Inches away, it stopped, and she could smell the heat of its power. The tiger studied her with its fiery eyes. It seemed to peer into her soul, and she felt her magic—always so carefully banked—flicker and flame within her. The smoke tiger bared its fangs and pounced.

She felt the weight of it crush into her, bearing her backwards. But the women caught her before she could fall, and lifted her to her feet. She struggled to breathe. The tiger’s presence filled her, burned her, built an excruciating pressure in her chest. A scream built in her throat, but just as she was about to vent her pain, the feeling abruptly ceased. She staggered, feeling empty, but the women held her up, cooing nonsense into her ears. Bright light glared through the dawn; it was Lara’s hand.

“It is done,” her mother whispered. “You are a woman now.”

“And so much more,” Ishla, elder and chief of their tribe, said. “The spirits have favored you, child. No one has seen the Great Tiger in decades. You have been given a great honor to have it as your spirit guide. Hold its strength within you, Lara.”

Lara nodded, unable to form words of thanks or gratitude, too stunned and shaken by what had just happened to her. Warm arms enfolded her, and she found herself the center of an embrace from all the tribe’s women.

“Welcome, sister,” they said as one, and then withdrew.

I have still also been editing and revising The Dragon Queen. It's probably going to be ready for querying by the end of this year (at least that is my goal...we'll see how much time I have for it; since this will be my first year teaching I will be really busy)!

I'm glad to be back. Don't worry, I haven't given up on writing, and I never will, no matter how busy I am!

Conversations with Myself

I have been busy. Extremely so. Between helping out on my parents' farm (a neverending adventure) and going to class and doing homework and studying for the Praxis II, I haven't had much time for writing. Really, I haven't had much desire to write lately, period.

So the urge to write took me by surprise today. In fact, it happened right in the middle of reading the summary of Oedipus Rex. No idea why. I don't really like the play. But it really made me want to write.

And my class makes me want to write, too. I never realized how much of a grammar nerd I was until this class, but now I find re-learning the rules of grammar actually exciting. Now, instead of saying, "Well, that sentence looks funky, but I'm not sure why" I can actually point out why. (Yes, I am officially a dork.)

Also, being outside, counting cows, learning how to feed hay (and how to drive a huge diesel truck and operate a hay spear), cleaning, rearranging and all that it entails has really inspired me. I've actually caught myself daydreaming while out mucking stalls and chopping wood. A very good thing, because my daydreaming ability has been severely limited as of late. In fact, I believe that it is stifled by sitting in front of a computer screen all day. My best ideas don't come when I'm actually sitting down to write, but when I'm in the middle of doing something physical. Strange, huh?

Speaking of dreams, I also realized that I haven't really had a dream in a while. Granted, I want to be a teacher, so that is sort of a dream, but I tend to think of it more as a goal. A possibility. Something I will come to achieve sooner or later. It's within my reach as long as I keep reaching. But, in that sense, it's a bit depressing. When did I go from a girl with HUGE, practically impossible dreams to one with attainable goals? How boring is that?

What made me think this? My friend. She's continually dreaming up these grand ideas about what she wants to do with her life. She wants to operate a sign business (and is actually doing so now), but she also wants to open an indoor playground/daycare/gym/spa. (Yes, all combined into one.) If you took a picture of her idea, I'm sure it would glitter and have flashing lights and all that, because it is so BIG. It made me sad to think that I didn't have a BIG dream anymore.

What about becoming a novelist? Yes, what about that. I would call it a dream deferred. I haven't written anything in so long . . .I haven't even READ about publishing or querying or anything of that nature in so long, I feel disconnected from it all. Honestly, it feels as if I've given up on it.

I don't know why I feel like that. Maybe I'm suffering from an it's-time-to-grow-up-Wendy moment. Because, honestly, I would love to pursue that dream of being a published (and successful) novelist, but that dream has taken a backseat to the dream of having a job that is not only rewarding, but will give me the first opportunity in my LIFE to stop living paycheck to paycheck. Once I have that, I think I will  be able to focus more on writing. Actually, once I don't have a very important test to study for, I might start writing again. In the meantime, it's back to pursuing those little dreams (a.k.a. goals).

Why I've Been AWOL

It's not because of shiny objects, I promise.

I'm actually in the midst of a family crisis. It started the Tuesday before last when my stepdad fell off some scaffolding and severely injured his spine. Yes, severely injured his spine. It's as serious as it sounds. He's been in the hospital since and was just today transferred out of ICU and CCU. The road to recovery will be a long one.

Needless to say, most of my energies have been wrapped up with that and what energies I can spare have been devoted to school work, work-work and exercising (the last so I don't lose my sanity).

Sorry for my absence and general flakiness, I'll try to be better once things get slightly back to normal (which might be a long time . . .just a warning).

Secret-keeper or Blabbermouth?

I realized recently that I've kept my submission(s) for publication under the wraps. Maybe that sounds like I'm not submitting anything, too busy refining novels that have been refined to death and pouring new, horribly cliche ideas onto paper.

But I am submitting. I'm just more reluctant to tell people about it.

When I first got "serious" about being published, I told all my friends, relatives, coworkers and strangers on the street that I had this story out to that editor and queries out to those agents. I was so psyched just to be submitting, that I didn't really care (or consider) that my submissions might not be well-received. So when a few of them (okay, most of them) weren't, I was stuck with explaining the result to the people who were just dying to know when my story would be published. Can you say, awkward?

I'll take a dozen, please!

So, I've learned to keep it to myself. Not because I'm ashamed of submitting, or even worried it won't be accepted (there's a 50/50 chance), but I just don't want to have any more awkward conversations. Also, it's easier to deal with rejection when no one else knows you've failed (except, maybe, your spouse because your demands for chocolate therapy have exceeded their normal amounts). Also, there's some part of me that wants to keep my struggles getting published private for now. Because I haven't really "made it" yet, so all my failures are far outweighing my successes. One day, I look forward to making that "I've finally done it" speech, but for now, I'm just keeping my mouth shut.

What about you? Do you let everyone know you're trying to get published or keep it under wraps? Please, share!

Dystopian Novels and Real-Life Civil Rights

I recently read an article by Amy Alkon regarding her experiences with a TSA agent violating her civil liberties by sexually molesting her.

Some might think Ms. Alkon's take on the incident (being subjected to a pat-down) is extreme and overwrought. You might even think that she deserves to pay the $500,000 lawsuit filed against her for taking her story to her blog and accusing the agent of rape. But whether you think her outcry was justified or not, if you read any dystopian novels, it probably gave you a little twinge of unease.

There are many dystopian novels out there, especially when it comes to Young Adult literature, and of those I've read, many of them deal with a society where people have surrendered their rights (in most cases, willingly) for the "protection" of the government.

In The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins, children were sacrificed to a violent, sadistic game and forced to kill each other in exchange for the provisions the government provided.

In Matched by Allie Condie, people married not for love, but for biological and genetic purposes to produce the most viable offspring. The government tells the characters what to read, what to do and what to think. The consequences for going against the Society were severe and often included death.

In Delirium by Lauren Oliver, love is seen as a disease and people flock like sheep to be cured. Those who'd rather not be cured, are persecuted and exterminated.

These are just a couple examples, and each of them made me a tad uneasy when I read them because I see a parallel in our own society. Sure, it's just a pat-down right now (because why shouldn't we allow our persons to be violated just because we want to visit our grandma and paid an outrageous amount to do so?), but what else will we surrender for the "protection" of the government?

I'm not a radical or activist by any means, but I'm beginning to resent how much the government interferes in my personal life—something I will keep in mind this November.

Movie Time: Dragon Hunters

It's been a while since I've watched a movie that I cared to review. I'm not a movie critic, buff or fanatic by any means. But, thanks to Netflix, my movie-viewing options have expanded and, based on my likes and dislikes, it brought up the movie Dragon Hunters as a suggestion.

Dragon Hunters is not a new movie (or animation, however you choose to view it), but I'd never heard of it. But since the husband and I were bickering over whether to watch a bloody, gore-filled movie (his choice) or another episode of The Biggest Loser (I'm a junkie), we compromised with this.

O.M.G. I haven't been so amused by a cartoon in a long time. This movie literally shocked the laughter out of me. It was sweet, it was odd, it was just slightly WRONG. Hector, especially, the little blue rabbit/dog thing with extremely sharp teeth had me cackling like a senseless person. He farts fire and is obsessed with Zoe, following her around and growling "Girl!" Zoe, too, is a charming chatterbox, inspiring even the money-minded Gwizdo to become a hero. And Lian Chu is so sweet, and his deadly knitting needles cracked me up.

Plus, the animation is amazing. (At least it impressed me.)

I think if you enjoyed Shrek, you'd probably get a kick out of this movie. Check it out!

Note: This film was originally released in France, hence never hearing about it.

Hit or Miss? Does It Exist?

I recently finished reading Cassandra Clare's City of Bones and have to admit that I really enjoyed it (besides the whole Jace and Clare being related thing . . .I thought they both accepted it too easily, especially since it came from The Bad Guy and also since they had the hots for one another, but I digress).

As I was reading some of the reviews on Goodreads.com, however, I discovered that, while some others absolutely loved it, there were an equal number that absolutely loathed it. Rarely did I come across someone who was in the middle of the road. Which got me thinking about something that happened to me recently in a critique group.

I had been getting rave reviews (or critiques, whatever) on my story. Most of the critters thought the MC was funny, charming and spunky. They thought the story was interesting, the plot solid. They couldn't wait to read more.

And then I had a reader who wasn't so thrilled. Whereas the other readers found my MC likable, this reader found her annoying, selfish and vapid. She didn't like the setting, the fact that she was a princess, and a whole grocery list of other things.

Now, I value each and every critique I receive and have learned through experience that sometimes the most negative critique can be the most helpful, but as the critter's critiques progressed in much the same manner, I realized that there was very little I could do to "fix it" without compromising the whole story.

So I gathered all the critiques I'd been given on the story and combed through them, wondering what I could do to make the character more likable for this one person without taking away what other readers had come to admire about her.

The conclusion: I couldn't. The very things that some readers admired about my MC, were the same things the one critter couldn't stand. I struggled with this for a while, because I am nothing but the queen of let's-make-everyone-happy, but it took reading City of Bones for me to realize that there is such a thing as a hit-or-miss book.

Want another example? How about Twilight by Stephenie Meyer? Hate it or love it? Usually readers feel one way or the other. I have yet to come across someone who read it who was merely indifferent. So, a hit-or-miss is possible. And, better yet, it's okay. It's okay for some people not to like your character or your book, for that matter, because others will. I think it boils down to audience--who the book was written for. When I mentioned that possibility to the critter, it was, of course, shot down and I was credited with being a "bad writer," but the more I think on it, the more I believe that it's true. My book wasn't written for that person, but it was for all those others. I just have to learn to be okay with that.

What about you? Have you read any hit or miss books lately? Had this same writing experience? Please share!

Book Review: Delirium

Delirium by Lauren Oliver
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

It's been a while since I've felt so passionately about a book's ending.

WITHER's ending annoyed me. DELIRIUM's ending infuriated me.

It was an ending that made me feel like the 400+ pages that came before it were all pointless. Here we are, in a society where love is considered a dangerous disease, and, of course, the MC, Lena, falls in love. Though at first she is just another sheep following the government's edicts, she falls in love and begins to realize just how horrible and wrong the government is. She risks discovery, death and ostracism to be with Alex. And when her disease is finally discovered, there is almost a whole chapter devoted to how she would rather die than be cured . . .and therefore be without Alex.

Ah, melodrama, right?

But I'm okay with that. In fact, I love melodrama, sappiness and doomed romance. But then there was the ending. An ending where Lena not only abandons her love, she doesn't even LOOK BACK. Alex tells her to run and there is no arguing, no second guessing, no great exclamations of "I won't leave you," she just runs. And that soured the whole book for me, and, in fact, made me feel like the whole message--that love is worth everything--was completely undermined.

I've given this ending a lot of thought, mind you, and I didn't miss the whole "love is sacrifice" theme going on. But Lena did not sacrifice. She ran. She saved her own skin and let her love die. The coldest act in a love story possible. Seriously, WTF? Babble to me about how it works all you like, but I will never believe it was love that made Lena run. It was self-preservation. I don't care what my significant other told me to do, I would not leave him to be gunned down, captured, tortured and/or cured. I just wouldn't. THAT is the sacrifice. Sacrificing your own safety/well-being/life to be with the one you love. Sacrifice is NOT running because your boyfriend tells you to.

In the end, I simply believed that the only love that existed was the one Alex had for Lena. And she didn't deserve it.

There, now that I've gotten the ending out of the way (grr), there was another thing about this book that REALLY bothered me.

The pets.

In a world where love, affection and caring is frowned upon, why do they have pets? I can see livestock or guard dogs, but there is one neighbor who has a dog that seems to serve no purpose other than being the dog (who we get to watch die in such a heart-breaking way--thanks for that, Ms. Oliver). It makes no sense. Why do people have pets? Because they want to have something to CARE for and LOVE. I see this as a major flaw in the story. Such a flaw, in fact, that I spent a great deal of time frustrated about it and even more time appalled that this poor animal (yes, it's fiction, but sue me) served no other purpose than as a plot device so the main character can ruminate on how WRONG everything is becoming. Grr.

Okay, I will have to admit that I didn't hate the whole book (just the ending). In fact, I really enjoyed most of the book. Lauren Oliver is an amazing wordsmith. She brings a rare, fresh beauty to her writing and her descriptions seriously make me curl my toes in pleasure. Her first novel, BEFORE I FALL, is one of my all-time favorite books, and while I can't say that I will ever think of DELIRIUM with anything less than aggravation, it didn't completely spoil my love for the author. Instead, I look at my impression of the book as just that: MY impression. Some readers might love the ending. They might think it is the best thing in the world. I just can't say the same. Which is why I gave a potentially 5 star book only a 3 star rating.

P.S. If there is a sequel, I will read it in hopes that Lena redeems herself.


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Writing, Drawing and Running

What do writing, drawing and running all have in common?

Once you step away from one of them for a while, it's almost like you have to start all over again.

Due to my hectic schedule, my writing has been sporadic at best. And drawing? Well, I haven't so much as doodled in a long time. But since I am currently in the lovely throes of winter break, I've found myself bombarded with the urge to create--both words and pictures.

Too bad everything I've produced is less than stellar.

My sentences are flat, my dialogue is lackluster, and my drawings look like misshapen cartoon characters. A five year old could do better. While it is very frustrating, it made me realize that writing and drawing, while requiring a certain amount of talent, require even more practice. Without practice, talent cannot grow. In some ways, it is like learning how to run.

In January 2011, I couldn't run a mile. Now, due to hard work, dedication and, yes, practice, I am running 5Ks and training to run a 10K. I have grown as a runner because I kept at it. I might have always had a "talent" for running (okay, more of an "ability") but if I'd stopped midway through the year, I couldn't very well be running 5Ks right now, could I?

I think the same idea--dedication, hard work and practice--applies to creative arts as well. Without constantly working at it, you can't improve. At best, your talent stagnates. At worst, it reverts (as with my drawing skills).

Now, I'm not saying it's not okay to take a short break from writing, drawing or even running at times, but it's best to keep in mind that letting something go too long can only harm your goals, whatever they might be. Trust me, I'm speaking from experience here. ;)

Book Review: Entwined

Entwined by Heather Dixon
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

ENTWINED by Heather Dixon was like Beauty and the Beast meets Harry Potter meets Pride and Prejudice--romantic, magical and quirky.

As far as plots go, this was one of the most well-written I have read in YA literature in a long time. All the events entwined (pardon the pun) in the most beautiful, elegant and exceptional way. While I might have seen some of the "twists" coming, they came in such a way that didn't make me roll my eyes or feel like the author was treating me like someone with minimal intelligence. (Instead, I just felt very self-satisfied and smug.)

Another thing I found interesting and refreshing about this story was the way it was written: it has a Victorian feel to it. More so, I thought, than that of a fairy tale, though there were of course those elements. The writing was very polite and proper, which made the moments that weren't that much more sparkling. The descriptions were vivid and a few phrases even had me chuckling at their cleverness (the rug at the end had me laughing out loud).

The more I think about this book, the more I admire it--the humor, the imagery, the characters. It feels so FRESH in a YA world of regurgitated ideas and plot devices. I will definitely keep this author on my "to watch" list.

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Book Review: Wither

Wither by Lauren DeStefano
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

This book opens with the quotation from T.S. Eliot "This is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but a whimper." I felt that same quote could apply to the ending of this book. I won't reiterate a summary . . .that's easy enough to find either through goodreads.com or Amazon, so I'm going to discuss how I thought this book fell short of its potential.

All throughout Rhine's story, there are hints of dark and horrible things happening within the mansion where she is imprisoned--the unwilling bride of a rich, sheltered boy, and sister-wife to two other girls. There is Housemaster Vaughn, the House Governor Linden's father, who is obsessed with finding a cure for the virus that takes male children at 25 and female children at 20. It is hinted that he dissects and experiments on corpses of those who've succumbed to the illness, including his son's first wife, Rose. There are even hints that he is a sadistic, cruel and evil man who would stop at nothing to ensure that his son is happy, which includes making sure his wives stay compliant. When they don't, he kills them or their babies.

But that's never actually proven.

And, really, as far as villains go, Vaughn didn't scare me. Not even a little. The wives and servants were terrified of him, but I was never given a significant reason. Sure, Jenna dies prematurely. Maybe he did something to her because she was troublesome, but that's still not proven. When he discovers that Rhine has feelings for the servant Gabriel, he removes him to the basement . . .but doesn't actually do anything horrible to him. I went along with it, however, because I was so sure there was going to be a culmination of Vaughn's atrocities, where all his evil-doings were revealed and Rhine faced him in the ultimate showdown, which, upon victory, would grant her her freedom.

Pffbt. Vaughn's horrible crimes are never proven, and Rhine never faces him. Instead, she and Gabriel escape into the snowy Florida night with the help of a nameless attendant. No pursuit follows. No life-or-death scenarios. It's such a simple escape, that it makes me wonder why it was such a big deal to escape.

I get that this is a trilogy and that the possibility for a showdown with Vaughn still exists, but it annoys me when such a promising book doesn't deliver.

Granted, I liked the book. I'll even pick up the next in the trilogy just to find out what happens. But if the second book doesn't show more depth, I'll probably stop there.

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The Coolest Thing About Becoming a Secondary Education Teacher

The coolest thing about becoming a secondary education teacher: I get to read YA novels and call it "research."

I kid you not.

At a recent meeting for prospective MAT (that's Masters of Arts in Teaching) students, we were ENCOURAGED to read young adult literature because, and I quote "it's a gateway into the mind of an adolescent." I'm sure you YA writers are squeeing with excitement at this. To think, that TEACHERS are reading about love triangles and were-creatures and sparkly vampires to better understand their students.

Honestly, it makes me giddy that this was one of the suggestions to the new recruits, even if I thought, "Well, duh. All high school teachers should read YA so they know what their students are into." But then it made me realize that I never ONCE saw any of my teachers with a YA book. It's a shame, really. We might have had more to talk about. But then, back in my day (yeah, I'm ancient), I didn't really understand what YA literature was. It was just stuff I read for fun, while the teachers prattled on about how awesome Of Mice and Men and The Last of the Mohicans were.

And, call me crazy, but I seriously hope that I will be able to introduce some YA novels into the required reading and, you know, actually DISCUSS them on an intellectual level. Ah, daydreams.

Now, back to my current YA novel.

Last Day

Tuesday was my last day at the junior high where I've been volunteering.

A part of me is a little sad about this. After all, it was an interesting, informative and even enjoyable experience. It certainly taught me a lot about what to expect from teenagers in a classroom-type setting.

Another part of me is just SO glad it is over with.

Because I learned that I'm not a fan of junior high kids. They're drama-drama-drama. I hated junior high when I was IN junior high, and going back, even in a position of authority, is no different. There is still the backstabbing, the cliques, the mean girls (yes, they exist in high school, too, but not to the same extent), and the hurricane of hormones. OMG, the hormones. Girls and boys are starting to "like" each other, but it's that immature "I like her so I'm going to pull her hair" kind of like. Ugg. It can be amusing to watch, but also irritating because it constantly interferes with the lessons. Also, my chihuahua has a longer attention span than most of these kids. Jeez.

But it's over now. Now, it's all about writing a paper and turning in hours logged and then one more tutoring session with Upward Bound students (high schoolers, thank God) and I'm done for the semester. Yay!

But I think I will miss it. Even the eighth graders.

Cavemen Were Not Depressed

I don't think Cavemen had to deal with all the mental illnesses that we deal with today.

Why?

They were too busy trying to find food and, you know, being chased by saber-toothed tigers. Doesn't give much time to wallow or explore feelings. All of their energy was put into SURVIVING. And, if by some chance, one of the cavemen stopped to cry or whatever, he would have been picked off and eaten.

Just sayin'.

Do I look depressed to you?

This post was inspired by this article.

I Wanna Be More Like Her

Can I tell you a secret?

This is who I want to be . . .right now. Not when I "grow up" (seriously, 25 is too old for that), but right now.

In case you don't know (what are you, a cave man?) this is P!NK. In case you don't own a radio, she's a singer. An AWESOME singer. I first discovered her music when I was 15 with the CD Missundaztood. The song "Don't Let Me Get Me" did not describe me, but it resonated. And almost every song since has had that same resonation. Her lyrics speak to me in a primal way, awakening that dormat badass girl sleeping within.

That's why I love P!NK. She makes me feel like a sexy, powerful woman. With attitude, with sass. The kind of woman that doesn't take anyone else's bullshit.

The kind of woman I really, really want to be.

I think if I were more like P!NK, I wouldn't care as much about what people thought of me, and I sure as hell wouldn't be so sensitive. I wouldn't let people disrespect me, bully me, or talk to me like I was something on the bottom of their shoe.

I certainly wouldn't let them get away with hurting me.

So, this New Year's one of my resolutions is going to be "Be more like P!NK." But I'm going to go ahead and start right now.

In Cold Blood: Awesome Book. "Meh" Movie.

I recently read In Cold Blood by Truman Capote. 


Let's just start off that I am one of those people who struggle with reading non-fiction. In fact, I usually avoid it altogether, but if more non-fiction was written like this, I think I might branch out.


In Cold Blood in a non-fiction novel. It reads like fiction, which is great for people who don't normally read non-fiction.


For those of you (like me) who have never heard of In Cold Blood, let me give you a brief summary, courtesy of Goodreads.com:


On November 15, 1959, in the small town of Holcomb, Kansas, four members of the Clutter family were savagely murdered by blasts from a shotgun held a few inches from their faces. There was no apparent motive for the crime, and there were almost no clues. 
As Truman Capote reconstructs the murder and the investigation that led to the capture, trial, and execution of the killers, he generates both mesmerizing suspense and astonishing empathy. In Cold Blood is a work that transcends its moment, yielding poignant insights into the nature of American violence.


The interesting thing about this work is that Capote garners empathy not just for the murder victims, but for the murderers. We gain intimate knowledge of the killers--who they are, what they feel, etc. It's a bit eerie, a bit unnerving, to feel sorry for cold-blooded killers, but it's impossible not to. And that is not because Capote portrays them in a sympathetic light. No, everything in the story is a black-and-white, these-are-the-facts depiction. 


But that same in-depth research into the characters that made them so empathetic, so "human" in the written work, is a bit glossed over in the movie. Sure, we get glimpses of it, but it's not there in the degree that gives you chills in the novel. Of course, a movie is a movie and a book is a book, but if I hadn't read the book, I'm not sure I would have finished the movie. It was a bit boring, honestly. And that magic quality that enraptured and yet unsettled the reader in the book--the big thing that makes the story, in my opinion--was not present in the movie. Without that, it was just another tale about two psychos who murdered a family.


I am planning to watch the biographical movie "Capote" which illustrates Capote's research into the crime. I've heard it's really great--and I'm hoping that this movie will possess the qualities in the book that the movie "In Cold Blood" lacked.

I love PURPLE.

Prose, that is.


I love purple prose. Call it a weakness, an indulgence, a slide into writer-insanity, but I seriously love purple prose.

According to Wikipedia: Purple prose is a term of literary criticism used to describe passages, or sometimes entire literary works, written in prose so extravagant, ornate, or flowery as to break the flow and draw attention to itself. Purple prose is sensually evocative beyond the requirements of its context. It also refers to writing that employs certain rhetorical effects such as exaggerated sentiment or pathos in an attempt to manipulate a reader's response.


Honestly, most of my first drafts are so full of purple prose that it would make most writers cringe. Despite the above paragraph, I don't do this to "draw attention" to my writing. Instead, I do it because it's what comes naturally to me. I naturally write in that flowery, ornate way. To stifle that, or to try to correct myself, was seriously a pain in the neck and made first draft processes extremely long. Now, I embrace my purple prose and just write.


Funny, the more I learn about writing, the more I embrace the philosophy that in order to "be" a writer, you need to "just write." Ignore all the advice out there (good, great, and bad) and just write. 


When you get those words on paper then—and only then—do you take that advice (hopefully just the good and great kind) and apply it to your story. I've found that this is not only the best way to keep the vein of your story about, well, the story, but it will also help you stay true to your own voice.

The Pointless Journey of Self-Discovery

About once a week I have an epiphany. An "ah-ha!" moment where I discover some aspect of myself that was previously hidden from me. You'd think at that rate, I should have a pretty good grasp on who I am. And that would probably be true, if I would quit changing.

See, as we become more aware of certain traits in ourselves (and sometimes even traits in others), we adapt to embrace or reject that trait. (I think that might be the royal we.) For example, I've known for a long time that I'm a perfectionist. I could either embrace that aspect of myself or I could reject it. What did I decide? Um. Still working on that.

No, this isn't my arm. I'm not that hairy.

But I have decided that I'm going to quit trying to "find" myself, because once I do, I inevitably flit away again. Maybe that means I'm wishy-washy, but I prefer to call myself malleable.

I'm the type of person (most of the time) who will try anything once (the exception being something stupid or dangerous or both). Because of this, I find and gain interests at a rapid pace. I pretty much like everything, actually. I like politics, science, mathematics, English, poetry, foreign languages, crafts, mechanics (though I pretend ignorance so my husband doesn't actually make me change my own oil), dancing, music (ALL KINDS), crocheting, typing, puzzles, writing, gardening, fishing (surprise, surprise), exercising, running, shadow-boxing, painting, baking, cooking, drawing, etc. I could go on and on. In fact, most of the time I feel a bit overwhelmed by all my interests and will find myself torn over which ones to pursue. (You ever heard that song by Terri Clark, "I Wanna Do it All"? That's totally me. But at the same time that I have all these diverse interests, I'm hesitant to share them with people for fear of coming across as less than knowledgeable/talented/experienced. Why? Must be the perfectionism kicking in.

But I'm slowly becoming okay with my wishy-washiness, my scatter-brained eagerness to discover and learn and try more and more things. Now, if that perfectionist side of me would only get with the program and let me crow about my interests without fear that someone will come along and call my efforts pathetic.

What are your interests? Any that you've recently acquired?