Book Review: Positively

I was positive I was going to love Positively by Courtney Shiemel (har har) but, sadly, it wasn't love. I'm not sure it was even like. If anything, it was a very gentle form of tolerance.

According to the book's blurb:

Since the day Emerson Pressman and her mother were diagnosed as HIV positive, nothing has been the same. When her mother dies of AIDS, Emmy has to go live with the father and stepmother she barely knows, and she feels more alone than ever. Now she has to take pills by herself, and there is no one left who understands what it's like to be afraid every time she has a cold. But when her father decides to send her to Camp Positive, a camp for HIV-positive children, Emmy begins to realize that she's not alone after all, and that sometimes, opening up to other people can make all the difference in the world.


Sounds great, right? I thought so, too. And when Lydia Sharp gave it such a great review, I knew it HAD to be good. And therein lied the problem: I hyped myself up over it so much, that it was doomed to disappoint me.


Am I saying that Positively is a bad book? Absolutely not! It's a very good book and a very interesting tale. I've never known anyone with AIDS, so I enjoyed the personal glimpse into Emmy's life, I enjoyed learning what it was like to be her. I did not, however, enjoy her personality.


I think it's because I've read too many of them lately: the girl whom no one understands feeling sorry for herself. Granted, Emmy has a lot more reason to feel sorry for herself, and a heck of a lot better reason to feel different from everyone else, but it got to the point where I just wanted to shake her and tell her to wake up. Which makes me think that maybe this book wasn't written for me because A) I'm a bit too jaded B) The MC was too young for me to connect with (though I greatly appreciated how much she described stuff as "stupid" (I recall doing the same thing when I was a tween)) and C) Her time moping seemed too long and her "growth" period too short. I wanted more growing/understanding, less time whining.


I had a hard time connecting to any of the characters, to be honest. I liked Whitney, I guess, and I was honestly sad (spoiler alert) when she got sick and had to leave camp. But, other than that, I just felt like I was watching everything from a distance. Emmy wouldn't let any of her family/friends in, and at times I felt she wouldn't let the reader in either. 


However, the writing was excellent, stark and poetic. Overall, a worthwhile read. 


Rating (out of five stars): 3.5
Recommended: Yes. Especially if you're like me and have never had any personal experience with HIV/AIDS.

Book Review: OUTLANDER, My Thoughts So Far

So, I started reading Outlander by Diana Gabaldon. Usually I save my thoughts on a book until after I read the entire thing, but this book is A) extremely long and B) thought provoking so I thought I would share my provoked thoughts, as it were.

Outlander is labeled a historical romance. Well, I'm on page 200-something and its not really sending me romantic vibes. If anything, I feel like I'm involved in a very interesting history lesson about Scotland 1945 and Scotland 1743. Since I love history and Scotland, this doesn't bother me too much, but I'm also an avid romance reader and was looking forward to some good mushiness, so I'm a bit disappointed by the lack thereof. (And no, it's not just because we get the curtain drawn over the sex scenes either.) But at the same time that I'm disappointed, I'm also a bit relieved that it doesn't follow the same constraints as some of the more recent romances I've read (sexual tension from page one, obvious ending from page one and a half). This could be because A) the MC is already married to a likable (if somewhat dull, in my opinion) man B) she's not really looking for romance C) she's OLDER than the "love interest" (I use that term loosely) in 1743. So, it's pretty unconventional. And even when she marries the handsome, scarred and very sweet Jamie, it's not so much about lust, attraction or even affection as it is about keeping Claire (the MC) safe.

And maybe I'm just too used to reading YA and its overwrought emotions, but I would like to see a bit more into Claire's head (and that's really odd considering the story is told from first person POV). She has SEX with her 1743-husband, for goodness sake, therefore CHEATING on her 1945-husband, and merely thinks, "I don't want to bring another man's memory into a marriage bed..." even if she's already married to the other man? Really? And the other thing: she hasn't given up on the possibility of getting back to her own time, so it's not like she's resigned herself to a life in 1743. But she doesn't feel the slightest bit guilty or disgusted at herself? And maybe I could excuse her actions if she'd been blinded by lust and had been wanting Jamie since she met him, but she mostly thinks of him as a "nice kid" and even tries to play matchmaker between him and another girl. So, I'm just having a hard time buying into this whole scenario. I get that Jamie and Claire are friends and that friendship is continuing to grow, but not all friends marry and then have sex with each other (especially when one is already married (though, to Jamie's credit, he doesn't know that)). So, it's just weird to me and I'm having a hard time buying into the little romance that Ms. Gabaldon is building here. If you're going to be unfaithful to your husband (Claire had been married to Frank for 8 years, separated by the war for most of that time, and still never screwed around, so she shouldn't be too twisted up about being away from him for a month, in my opinion), you'd better have some emotional benefit. Not just "Oh, he's going to keep me safe...that makes me horny."

Maybe I'm missing something. After all, Gabaldon is a subtle author. Maybe I missed all those lustful glances, attributing them to concern or something, and should have seen this easy slide into adultery coming like a runaway horse. But...it's really bugging me that Claire is so...secretive about what she really feels. She's all action, not a lot of introspection, and in a situation like this, I'm going to need some introspection or else she's going to come across as a wishy-washy adulteress (times two, now).

I'm still reading. I haven't given up hope. Everyone raves about this book, and not usually for the historical factor...so I'll keep at it and maybe at the end I'll rave, too. Crossing fingers.

Charlie Brown Teacher-Speak

I'm not sure what to say anymore, and each time I try to gather my thoughts, they flit away like little sparks of light that mock me for trying to catch them in the first place. So I apologize if this blog post sounds like the Charlie Brown's teacher: wanhnwanh wanh wanh wahnwahn.

I want to tell you guys a lot of things. Like about my New Year's resolutions and how I made them but they don't really amount to much.

How I keep riding the roller-coaster of "Believe in Yourself/Give Up."

How I'm on Week 4 of P90X and am somewhere between really, really loving it and despairing that it will never be over with.

How I'm really sick and tired of reading YA and am reconsidering trying to WRITE it.

How sometimes I really, really hate other writers who are better than me. And yet, how I am also really, really happy for their success.

I want to tell you how happy I am in my marriage and grateful that I am with someone who loves me so much, and whom I love.

I want to tell you about all my personal issues, but I won't. Hopefully EVER.

I want to talk to you about my writing with passion again, but anymore it's like I'm scared to.

I want to write poetry, but I can't. It all comes out wahnwahn wahn wahn wahnwahn.

How I want to run until I throw up, and then run some more in the hopes that it will make me feel like I'm going SOMEWHERE.

But I can't elaborate. Every time I try, it ends up muddled and confused.

How more often than not, I feel like a YA character and that really ticks me off.

It's all Charlie Brown teacher-speak, though! Gah! Frustrating!

(BONUS) Book Review: Matched

(All right, I goofed. This was supposed to be for the Wednesday after next, but well, I'm frozen and un-caffeinated, so here you go. Happy Unbirthday!)


Matched by Ally Condie is getting a reputation for being either one of those books you either love or love to hate. Which is why I found it weird that I only ended up "in like" with the book.

According to the book's blurb:

Cassia has always trusted the Society to make the right choices for her: what to read, what to watch, what to believe. So when Xander's face appears on-screen at her Matching ceremony, Cassia knows with complete certainty that he is her ideal mate . . . until she sees Ky Markham's face flash for an instant before the screen fades to black.

The Society tells her it's a glitch, a rare malfunction, and that she should focus on the happy life she's destined to lead with Xander. But Cassia can't stop thinking about Ky, and as they slowly fall in love, Cassia begins to doubt the Society's infallibility and is faced with an impossible choice: between Xander and Ky, between the only life she's known and a path that no one else has dared to follow.

Maybe it's my post-Twilight caution distancing me. After all, Matched was a really, really good read. There was emotion. There was tension. There was a love story that was actually believable. But there was also the fact that I wanted MORE to happen. More physical action, that is. I also wanted MORE of a revelation on Cassia's part because when she realizes (SPOILER ALERT) that the Society has been using her in an experiment, she still fails to wonder (at least enough to satisfy me) why she was more interested in Ky than Xander. Which left me a bit disappointed. Not enough to jerk me away from the story or completely ruin the Ky-Cassia love story, but enough to make me take a step back.

Ms. Condie, however, can write. Her prose is fresh, unadorned, and direct, and puts me eerily in mind of the Society she is depicting. She crafted a page-turner, making this book a hard one to put down...but (maybe it's my busy lifestyle) I didn't find it too difficult to leave down once it got there. I don't think this is Ms. Condie's fault. It's probably mine because I'm just a little fed-up with the love triangle thing in YA. Maybe I'm putting too much judgement on something that A) obviously works and B) is every teenage girl's fantasy (okay, every FEMALE's fantasy to some extent), but I would like a different wrench for the plot if you know what I'm talking about. It's not that I HATE them, it's just that they are so abundant nowadays that they all read the same. (So, whoever can direct me to a love triangle-free story...I will love you to the ends of the earth.)

Despite the love-triangle dilemma, I liked all the characters. Xander was well-rounded and interesting in spite of just being "the match." Ky reminded me a little too much of a guy I knew in high school, which is pretty cool because rarely do characters remind  me of actual PEOPLE, and even Cassia surpassed the pretty-girl-caught-in-the-middle stereotype by a long mile.

I loved Ms. Condie's incorporation of poetry ("Do Not Go Gentle" by Dylan Thomas is one of my favorite poems) and the arc of the story. But it still just felt like the first act. It ended with me wanting more. And, bloodthirsty wench that I am, I wanted a physical fight.

I'll hold my breath for Crossed, which I hope gives me a battle.

Rating (out of five stars): 4.5 stars
Recommended: Yep!

Hate Me Because I'm Beautiful

Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I just wanted to say that.

No, the real purpose of this post is to let everyone know that I'm WRITING again! Like, writing toward a goal. Writing with the intention (or at least delusion) to get published.

I'm not too proud to admit that I gave up on myself for a while there. Not sure why. It might have been author envy, a realigning of the stars, or just a funk, but from about November through now I kept telling myself, "You're good, but not good enough. So why bother?"

Why bother? Because I LOVE to write, okay! And I would really love to share my stories with other people.

AND it's not like I'm entering 2011 without hope of publication. My short story, The Seer's Mask, will be published soon through Circlet Press. (Yay!) So I sucked it up, smacked my dreary self around, and began submitting short stories for publication again.

But I hadn't really WROTE anything until just this past week. I'd piddled around in some WIPs, but hadn't really added anything new. And then I got the juice back. My muse returned from her Bahama vacation, showing off her tan, but ready to get down to BUSINESS. So, I'm back. Look out 2011, you're my year for writing!

Book Review: Wicked Lovely

Wicked Lovely  by by Melissa Marr is a prime example of a book that has it all. Another good cover. Another good concept. Another good author.

Except, for some reason, I couldn't really get "into" it, you know?

According to the book's blurb:

All teenagers have problems, but few of them can match those of Aislinn, who has the power to see faeries. Quite understandably, she wishes that she could share her friends' obliviousness and tries hard to avoid these invisible intruders. But one faery in particular refuses to leave her alone. Keenan the Summer King is convinced beyond all reasoning that Aislinn is the queen he has been seeking for nine centuries. What's a 21st-century girl to do when she's stalked by a suitor nobody else can see? A debut fantasy romance for the ages; superlative summer read.

It didn't sing to me. Probably because almost right off the bat, I didn't like any of the characters. And maybe that was the point. They're pretty "human" with their flaws and failings, but in the end it seemed like they were just so flawed that I didn't have any interest in them. I didn't root for any of them. Honestly, it took me a long while into the book before I even cared if they lived or died.

The one exception was Donia. But the story wasn't really about her. It was more about Aislinn and Keenan and Seth. I remember thinking when I read the first scene from her POV "Why isn't this book about her?" She's the interesting one. She's the one who's suffered. Who's given up everything to be with someone who may or may not have loved her.

Instead it was about Aislinn, AKA the Summer Queen. Which, really, is never in any doubt. Even the characters find it out a little too easily, in my opinion. So, that tension, that plot, sort of fell flat. And, call me bloodthirsty, but the villain was terminated just a little too easily.

What DID appeal to me was the gritty, urbanity of the story. I've read quite a few urban fantasies, and the only one that surpasses this one in its "real-world" hardcore appeal is the Mercy Thompson series by Patricia Briggs. Very seldom do we see the girls like Aislinn taking center stage in a YA. It's either the cruel popular girl or the artistic outcast. Aislinn falls somewhere solidly in-between, reminding me of my own status in high school. I liked the setting: the railroad tracks, the concrete, the secret "green" places. I liked that the main love interest had multiple piercings. I liked that there was a realistic (though not flagrant) view of sex (and foreplay). I liked how very "teenage" Aislinn was. Spontaneous, strong-willed, passionate, but not always making the best decisions.

So, you see, there were a lot of good things about this book, but it just wasn't my cup of tea.

Monday Madness: How to Tell if You're a Writer

I've been thinking a lot lately about what makes a writer, and if I even qualify as one anymore. I feel like I've been slacking. Sure, I've never been one of those industrious people who write every day. I don't have word goals or scene goals or anything like that. I'm not even published yet (though that will be remedied soon). I don't feel like I'm vastly talented or even "better" than any other writer. I still feel like I need to improve. Like I have a lot to learn. I don't put my work out there as much as I used to. Not for critique and not for potential publication. So what gives me the right to call myself a writer?

What gives me the right to give advice to other writers, either? Yes, I have a bachelor's degree in creative writing, but I'm not expert. Heck, I don't even know what I'm doing most of the time. I don't have structures or guidelines that I follow. I just sit down and write. What comes, comes. And sometimes it doesn't.

My imagination isn't the best. Sometimes I come up with ideas that are good, but I still get that niggling feeling that no idea I have is good enough or original enough. Sometimes I think that all that comes from me is garbage.

But I still call myself a writer.

I'm a writer because I have to write. What I write might not be publishable. It might not be original or amazing or even legible. But, still, I have to write it. I have to create characters. I have to tell their stories. Because if I don't I'm halfway convinced that they'll bore out of my skull themselves.

I write because I like to pretend. I like to build and breathe life into places that never were, but could be. I write because if I don't, there's this strange, urgent pressure that builds inside of me until I think I might explode.

If you're a writer, you probably know what I'm talking about. But even if you don't, that doesn't mean you're not a writer...that just means you're a different kind. As long as you feel it in your soul, beneath your skin, as long as you have ONE story to tell--you're a writer.

You might not be a bestseller novelist. You might not be published at all. You might have just finished the rough draft of your first story, but you're still a writer. You might not have written three words since November, but you're still a writer.

It's not a profession. It's a calling. And people will mock you (kindly or cruelly) for daring to write, but you will write all the same. Because you have no other option.

That's how you know you're a writer.