I was scrolling through Pinterest this morning, you know, as one does before going to the gym. My Pinterest feed is typically cute animals, writing quotes, and ridiculously in shape people.
One of the things I saw was a screenshot of something off of Tumblr. It was a list of ideas to get out of a writing rut.
Guess what the first one was. Go on. I'll wait.
The very first one was 'kill someone'. At the end, someone had written that these were the best writing tips they'd ever some across.
*deep breaths* ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?
So I should explain, so you don't think I need to go to anger management classes. One of the things I hate more than anything else in writing is when writers kill characters for the sake of being brutal or for the sake of creating plot. And let's just be clear- there is difference between a character dying as part of a plot and a character dying to advance the plot.
But let's get back to this idea of killing a character because your story has stalled out.
First, who the fuck do you think you are? George R. R. Martin? Shakespeare?
If the answer is no (hint: it fucking is), then you should probably find a better way to move your plot than just picking a character to kill. Killing a character because you, the writer, haven't figured out what comes next, is the lazy, immature way out.
It's the same as not knowing how (or not wanting to deal with) what naturally comes next in a scene so you knock out the main character, thus saving yourself the trouble of actually writing said scene. Suzanne Collins, I am referring to Mockingjay.
For the sake of argument, let's say you are stuck at a point in the plot and you're not sure what to do. Maybe you had an outline you've since scrapped or maybe you're just writing because it's fun.
This is what I do. I step back. I go for a run (although I've heard walks are just as good but I'm too impatient for walks) and think about what needs to happen after the scene I can't write. I work backwards. Then I write the damn scene. Who cares if it's absolute shit? Revision exists for this precise reason.
The second option is to just skip to the next scene you know how to write. I personally can't do this because I have to go in chronological order otherwise I'd have a beginning and a end, with no middle.
I am not saying you shouldn't ever kill a character because people die. It's a fact of life so it's a fact of writing stories. There's a big damn war going on in my book right now, so yes, I am going to kill characters. But long before I got to this war, back when I was still writing the beginning of B&G I knew which characters were going to die. Their deaths will change the plot but not the overall story arc. Death isn't something that happens to the plot: it's what happens to the characters who don't die.
I suspect those of you who may have read B&G are worried about which characters I'm going to kill in C&C. Good. You should be worried.
But I'm not fucking Shakespeare, so I promise some characters will be alive at the end of the third book.
Friday, January 29, 2016
Wednesday, January 20, 2016
Eleven Years
I've been thinking a lot about how I've changed as a writer recently and I somehow got it into my head that maybe some of you would enjoy reading about how it all started, at least for me. If not, I'm not at all offended. Return to Facebook and enjoy cat videos. Or puppy videos. Hedgehogs. Donkeys. Whatever your heart desires.
When I was in fourth grade, my mom enrolled me in a week long summer writing camp at The Cabin in Boise. For a week, from 9:00-12:00, I hung out with a group of kids my age and wandered downtown Boise doing various writing assignments for our instructors. Nothing huge because even late elementary school kids can't write a whole lot. At the end of the week, we had to read one of our pieces for the other groups and for our parents. I read a poem about the river which my mom still has in a frame at our house.
That was the beginning. Well, okay, not exactly.
I have no memory of this but my parents have told me that when I was young, two or three, I would have them play with me and my set of Winnie the Pooh figurines. But I would tell them what to say and, according to my mom, I always had a little story worked out. Go three year old me! Woo!
I was in fifth grade when I made my first attempt at prose writing (if we can even call it that). I wrote really bad diaries because I was obsessed with the Dear America and Royal Diaries series. Yes, they were all bad and no, nothing could be salvaged from them. Believe me- I've transferred them from every laptop I've owned. More on that later.
So I basically hijacked my mom's laptop by using it so much she never had any time on it so by the time I was in sixth grade, she had given up and given it to me. I used to get up early on the weekends (early meaning my parents weren't awake yet which is even more impressive if you know how incapable my dad is of sleeping in) and go upstairs to write.
I wrote hundreds of half finished, barely begun, terrible stories. Then, in seventh grade, I wrote a story that I actually finished. It came out to roughly 40,000 words which is fucking impressive for a twelve year old and I'll fight anyone who says otherwise. No, it wasn't very good. But it had all the elements necessary for a good story: conflict, tension, rising action, even an ending.
It was around that time that I decided I needed to get better at writing dialogue so I decided to write plays. Not good plays but we still performed them with the neighbor kids for our parents and it was fun. See, having a writer for a friend can be fun!
Once high school rolled around, I spent my summers writing a series of five books about a girl who could control air, earth, fire, and water. Again, not the best but by the time I finished the fifth book, a few weeks before I left for college, I knew. I wasn't just playing at this. I was a writer.
It took me almost eight years of writing to say it: I am a writer. I've put in the time to get good enough that I know most writing sucks.
It took me almost ten years of writing to say this: I need to revise this. So I did. And then I said the scariest thing yet: I am good enough to be published.
Eleven years I've been writing. Coincidentally, right now I have eleven stories I'd consider book length.
I'm not even twenty one yet. Just think of all the stories I have left to write.
It's going to be wild, terrifying, exhilarating, brilliant, insane, frightening, breath taking and every imaginable thing in between. That's life. That's writing.
When I was in fourth grade, my mom enrolled me in a week long summer writing camp at The Cabin in Boise. For a week, from 9:00-12:00, I hung out with a group of kids my age and wandered downtown Boise doing various writing assignments for our instructors. Nothing huge because even late elementary school kids can't write a whole lot. At the end of the week, we had to read one of our pieces for the other groups and for our parents. I read a poem about the river which my mom still has in a frame at our house.
That was the beginning. Well, okay, not exactly.
I have no memory of this but my parents have told me that when I was young, two or three, I would have them play with me and my set of Winnie the Pooh figurines. But I would tell them what to say and, according to my mom, I always had a little story worked out. Go three year old me! Woo!
I was in fifth grade when I made my first attempt at prose writing (if we can even call it that). I wrote really bad diaries because I was obsessed with the Dear America and Royal Diaries series. Yes, they were all bad and no, nothing could be salvaged from them. Believe me- I've transferred them from every laptop I've owned. More on that later.
So I basically hijacked my mom's laptop by using it so much she never had any time on it so by the time I was in sixth grade, she had given up and given it to me. I used to get up early on the weekends (early meaning my parents weren't awake yet which is even more impressive if you know how incapable my dad is of sleeping in) and go upstairs to write.
I wrote hundreds of half finished, barely begun, terrible stories. Then, in seventh grade, I wrote a story that I actually finished. It came out to roughly 40,000 words which is fucking impressive for a twelve year old and I'll fight anyone who says otherwise. No, it wasn't very good. But it had all the elements necessary for a good story: conflict, tension, rising action, even an ending.
It was around that time that I decided I needed to get better at writing dialogue so I decided to write plays. Not good plays but we still performed them with the neighbor kids for our parents and it was fun. See, having a writer for a friend can be fun!
Once high school rolled around, I spent my summers writing a series of five books about a girl who could control air, earth, fire, and water. Again, not the best but by the time I finished the fifth book, a few weeks before I left for college, I knew. I wasn't just playing at this. I was a writer.
It took me almost eight years of writing to say it: I am a writer. I've put in the time to get good enough that I know most writing sucks.
It took me almost ten years of writing to say this: I need to revise this. So I did. And then I said the scariest thing yet: I am good enough to be published.
Eleven years I've been writing. Coincidentally, right now I have eleven stories I'd consider book length.
I'm not even twenty one yet. Just think of all the stories I have left to write.
It's going to be wild, terrifying, exhilarating, brilliant, insane, frightening, breath taking and every imaginable thing in between. That's life. That's writing.
Sunday, January 10, 2016
Reaching Goals: All Aboard the Struggle Bus
Let's talk about goals. Like, real life person goals, not character goals. It is the new year after all. For me, as a student, the new year doesn't feel like it really starts until second semester starts which isn't for three days so I'm not late at all. I won't be defined by your calendar.
Anyway, goals. We all make them, not just around New Year's but all the time. Little goals, like 'I will not miss class' and bigger ones like 'I want to lose weight' or 'I want to get a really good grade in this class'.
If you're anything like me, some of those big goals turn out to be a lot easier than you thought. And those little goals morph into the biggest mountains you've ever seen. Metaphorically speaking.
When I was younger, writing was just something I did because I enjoyed it. I used it to escape, to go live in places more exciting than Boise, Idaho. I used it to entertain myself. Don't get me wrong, sometimes that still happens but now I am older. I won't go so far as to say 'wiser'- I'd settle for 'slightly less naive.'
There are a lot of results from this but the big one is this: now, writing isn't just an escape. It is work. Enjoyable work but work nonetheless. Why? Because I have decided I want to be good at something and no one excels at something without working at it. Don't argue with me- it's true. People a lot older and a hell of a lot wiser than me have said so.
So writing isn't as much fun anymore. Thus, writing has become a goal. In my head, still stuck in the high school mindset that writing is just for fun, I see it as a little goal. It's not. It's a big honking Sisyphean goal. It's got other, slightly less enormous goals attached to it. Like revising.
My goal isn't even really to write that much. My goal is to revise. I have two books that need work. One is more about fine-tuning and the other is in its very rough first form. In the case of the latter, I will get to do a lot of writing because I've got a lot to add.
So how am I going to do this?
That is an excellent question. The first step is I am telling you, Internet, that I am going to do it. This creates accountability. Because I'll feel bad if I don't do something I committed to doing to someone other than myself. This is a trick I use when I need motivation to go for a run on the weekends. It works like a charm for a lot of other stuff too. Humans hate to feel humiliated more than they hate to do uncomfortable things.
My second step is this: I am going to start off slow. A few pages at a time. Because revising is like running a marathon. You can't start out running twelve miles to train for it. You've gotta put in those three and four mile runs to condition yourself. I really need a different metaphor but oh well.
The third part of my expertly devised plan is this: I am going to reward myself for finishing drafts. When I finish another draft (I've lost track of the number, how great is that?) of Black & Gold and the second draft of Crown & Claw, I will buy myself something. Not sure what it's going to be yet but it cannot be a necessity. Otherwise it isn't a reward.
I know there are other people out there with goals on the struggle bus with me. Maybe my plan isn't perfect but if nothing else, I take comfort in this: I will get it done. Because even if nothing else, I want that shiny, new, pretty draft to start in on with my pretty purple pen.
Why not a red pen, you ask?
Because red pen looks like blood all over the page and who wants that stressful shit when you've already got a decimated novel on your hands?
Then why purple, you ask? Why not blue or green or just plain black?
Because fuck you society, I won't live my life your rules and a purple pen is how I choose to express my individuality.
Okay, I should probably go to bed now because unpacking stresses me out and tomorrow I'm moving furniture around and--
Stopping now. Happy New Year, everyone.
Anyway, goals. We all make them, not just around New Year's but all the time. Little goals, like 'I will not miss class' and bigger ones like 'I want to lose weight' or 'I want to get a really good grade in this class'.
If you're anything like me, some of those big goals turn out to be a lot easier than you thought. And those little goals morph into the biggest mountains you've ever seen. Metaphorically speaking.
When I was younger, writing was just something I did because I enjoyed it. I used it to escape, to go live in places more exciting than Boise, Idaho. I used it to entertain myself. Don't get me wrong, sometimes that still happens but now I am older. I won't go so far as to say 'wiser'- I'd settle for 'slightly less naive.'
There are a lot of results from this but the big one is this: now, writing isn't just an escape. It is work. Enjoyable work but work nonetheless. Why? Because I have decided I want to be good at something and no one excels at something without working at it. Don't argue with me- it's true. People a lot older and a hell of a lot wiser than me have said so.
So writing isn't as much fun anymore. Thus, writing has become a goal. In my head, still stuck in the high school mindset that writing is just for fun, I see it as a little goal. It's not. It's a big honking Sisyphean goal. It's got other, slightly less enormous goals attached to it. Like revising.
My goal isn't even really to write that much. My goal is to revise. I have two books that need work. One is more about fine-tuning and the other is in its very rough first form. In the case of the latter, I will get to do a lot of writing because I've got a lot to add.
So how am I going to do this?
That is an excellent question. The first step is I am telling you, Internet, that I am going to do it. This creates accountability. Because I'll feel bad if I don't do something I committed to doing to someone other than myself. This is a trick I use when I need motivation to go for a run on the weekends. It works like a charm for a lot of other stuff too. Humans hate to feel humiliated more than they hate to do uncomfortable things.
My second step is this: I am going to start off slow. A few pages at a time. Because revising is like running a marathon. You can't start out running twelve miles to train for it. You've gotta put in those three and four mile runs to condition yourself. I really need a different metaphor but oh well.
The third part of my expertly devised plan is this: I am going to reward myself for finishing drafts. When I finish another draft (I've lost track of the number, how great is that?) of Black & Gold and the second draft of Crown & Claw, I will buy myself something. Not sure what it's going to be yet but it cannot be a necessity. Otherwise it isn't a reward.
I know there are other people out there with goals on the struggle bus with me. Maybe my plan isn't perfect but if nothing else, I take comfort in this: I will get it done. Because even if nothing else, I want that shiny, new, pretty draft to start in on with my pretty purple pen.
Why not a red pen, you ask?
Because red pen looks like blood all over the page and who wants that stressful shit when you've already got a decimated novel on your hands?
Then why purple, you ask? Why not blue or green or just plain black?
Because fuck you society, I won't live my life your rules and a purple pen is how I choose to express my individuality.
Okay, I should probably go to bed now because unpacking stresses me out and tomorrow I'm moving furniture around and--
Stopping now. Happy New Year, everyone.
Friday, November 13, 2015
Friday Morning Thoughts
I posted a few days ago on Facebook about how first drafts are like falling in love. They are. It's exciting and new. Every time you sit down, you get to discover your characters. The main character especially- I just discovered that the main character in my NaNo WriMo story is a badass with a knife.
So yes, first drafts are a lot of fun. Like falling in love, when you're obsessed with each other and spend way too much of your free time (and not-so-free time) thinking about the other person. (I'm just assuming this is a generalization. If not, I swear I'm not creepy.)
But then you finish that first draft and it's not new anymore. You know your characters. You know what happens. You know the parts that aren't so exciting.
In relationships, this tends to come out at the end of the so-called 'honeymoon' phase.
As a writer you have two choices. One, you can move on to a new story and go through the new exciting phase again. Two, you can buckle down and go into revision.
To be fair, it took me eight years of writing to actually manage option two. Before that, I was firmly in the moving on to another new thing category.
It might be a little depressing to liken staying in a relationship to revising a book. Especially if you are at all familiar with how much I bitch about revising.
Here's my big secret: I love revising. GASP!
Not because every part of it is fun and believe me, it has its moments, but I get to explore my characters even more, get to fix things that I was too lazy to worry about the first time around. I get to make it better.
This to me (in my admittedly limited experience) is a lot like being in a relationship that survives the honeymoon phase. You get to the point where you annoy each other and you've told all your stories. But now you're done falling. Now you're just in love.
Contrary to popular movies and books, it's not glamorous and full of rose petals and champagne. But when you think about it, wouldn't you rather eat a whole loaf of garlic bread together and watch really bad movies and laugh when one of you (me) magically falls off an ottoman?
I'd rather have a really good story, one that's been revised and cared for, than a hundred first drafts. Because it is fun to write that first draft but it is so much more rewarding to work on a story long enough it looks more like a book than a first draft.
Note to You Know Who You Are: Notice how I did not mention anything embarrassing about you? Yeah. Remember that.
So yes, first drafts are a lot of fun. Like falling in love, when you're obsessed with each other and spend way too much of your free time (and not-so-free time) thinking about the other person. (I'm just assuming this is a generalization. If not, I swear I'm not creepy.)
But then you finish that first draft and it's not new anymore. You know your characters. You know what happens. You know the parts that aren't so exciting.
In relationships, this tends to come out at the end of the so-called 'honeymoon' phase.
As a writer you have two choices. One, you can move on to a new story and go through the new exciting phase again. Two, you can buckle down and go into revision.
To be fair, it took me eight years of writing to actually manage option two. Before that, I was firmly in the moving on to another new thing category.
It might be a little depressing to liken staying in a relationship to revising a book. Especially if you are at all familiar with how much I bitch about revising.
Here's my big secret: I love revising. GASP!
Not because every part of it is fun and believe me, it has its moments, but I get to explore my characters even more, get to fix things that I was too lazy to worry about the first time around. I get to make it better.
This to me (in my admittedly limited experience) is a lot like being in a relationship that survives the honeymoon phase. You get to the point where you annoy each other and you've told all your stories. But now you're done falling. Now you're just in love.
Contrary to popular movies and books, it's not glamorous and full of rose petals and champagne. But when you think about it, wouldn't you rather eat a whole loaf of garlic bread together and watch really bad movies and laugh when one of you (me) magically falls off an ottoman?
I'd rather have a really good story, one that's been revised and cared for, than a hundred first drafts. Because it is fun to write that first draft but it is so much more rewarding to work on a story long enough it looks more like a book than a first draft.
Note to You Know Who You Are: Notice how I did not mention anything embarrassing about you? Yeah. Remember that.
Friday, November 6, 2015
JUST KISS! (Thoughts on Shipping)
How many of you are familiar with the term 'shipping'? It refers to wishing two characters (be they in movies, TV, or books) would get together. Frequently, they stubbornly refuse to do so.
*there will be spoilers beyond this point. Just so you know. I haven't decided what they are yet but you can't say I didn't warn you*
Also, too frequently, one or both of them end up dying right before they can get together or even worse, right after.
As an avid reader and movie/TV watcher, I am familiar with the pains of loving two characters and wanting them to get together. I am familiar with the irritating trope of 'Will they or won't they?' that I so despise but also enjoy so very, very much.
Maybe another topic will be how my story addiction has messed with my emotional stability.
Anyway, I know how much people love their 'shipping'. And I understood the hate and anger when writers killed one or both of the characters (as long as the characters are breathing, the ship will never die, even if they both end up married to other people. Sorry.)
Veronica Roth is particularly evil in this respect because she killed Tris. JK Rowling killed Tonks and Lupin. And don't even get me started on Snape. That's a whole other issue. Bones played with our emotions in horrible ways for years. Pick a fandom and you can be sure there is at least one couple that was horribly ripped apart by what many fans believe was a horrible act of God.
In reality, it was just a writer deciding one character really needed to die.
As much as I hate when writers pull shit like that, I am more a writer now than I am a reader or viewer.
And the idea of tearing a couple apart or refusing to let them get together makes me giddy. Let's not talk about how sick that might be.
My defense is this: plot runs on tension. Since I love to write character driven stories, the plot is dependent on tension within those characters and between them as well. If a couple gets together, there has to be some kind of tension to replace the uncertainty of how they feel. If they don't get together, that tension is still there.
Also, there is nothing I love more than writing dialogue that could lead to two characters confessing their feelings but then doesn't. MUAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
That was my evil laugh, in case you were wondering. Because I am a twisted, heartless, soulless person who loves to break the hearts of the few people who have read my stories.
Seriously. Ask my best friend Shelby. She'll tell you. In fact, I'm a little worried what she'll do if I kill one of her favorite characters (again).
But before you write me off as a hopeless writer who thrives on the pain of her readers, let me tell you something. I do enjoy the tension of all the 'will they or won't they' tropes. I do. But there nothing, nothing, that breaks my heart like having to kill one of my characters. Because once I do, they aren't in my head anymore. It doesn't matter that I have revision to do, they're just gone.
And if you think you miss your favorite book/movie/TV character when they die, just know that it is ten thousand times worse when you are the one who killed them and no matter how much you cry, you can't bring them back.
Okay, so this ending wasn't very funny, so here's a picture of some puppies.
http://alaskanmalamute.org/malamutes/finding-a-malamute
*there will be spoilers beyond this point. Just so you know. I haven't decided what they are yet but you can't say I didn't warn you*
Also, too frequently, one or both of them end up dying right before they can get together or even worse, right after.
As an avid reader and movie/TV watcher, I am familiar with the pains of loving two characters and wanting them to get together. I am familiar with the irritating trope of 'Will they or won't they?' that I so despise but also enjoy so very, very much.
Maybe another topic will be how my story addiction has messed with my emotional stability.
Anyway, I know how much people love their 'shipping'. And I understood the hate and anger when writers killed one or both of the characters (as long as the characters are breathing, the ship will never die, even if they both end up married to other people. Sorry.)
Veronica Roth is particularly evil in this respect because she killed Tris. JK Rowling killed Tonks and Lupin. And don't even get me started on Snape. That's a whole other issue. Bones played with our emotions in horrible ways for years. Pick a fandom and you can be sure there is at least one couple that was horribly ripped apart by what many fans believe was a horrible act of God.
In reality, it was just a writer deciding one character really needed to die.
As much as I hate when writers pull shit like that, I am more a writer now than I am a reader or viewer.
And the idea of tearing a couple apart or refusing to let them get together makes me giddy. Let's not talk about how sick that might be.
My defense is this: plot runs on tension. Since I love to write character driven stories, the plot is dependent on tension within those characters and between them as well. If a couple gets together, there has to be some kind of tension to replace the uncertainty of how they feel. If they don't get together, that tension is still there.
Also, there is nothing I love more than writing dialogue that could lead to two characters confessing their feelings but then doesn't. MUAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
That was my evil laugh, in case you were wondering. Because I am a twisted, heartless, soulless person who loves to break the hearts of the few people who have read my stories.
Seriously. Ask my best friend Shelby. She'll tell you. In fact, I'm a little worried what she'll do if I kill one of her favorite characters (again).
But before you write me off as a hopeless writer who thrives on the pain of her readers, let me tell you something. I do enjoy the tension of all the 'will they or won't they' tropes. I do. But there nothing, nothing, that breaks my heart like having to kill one of my characters. Because once I do, they aren't in my head anymore. It doesn't matter that I have revision to do, they're just gone.
And if you think you miss your favorite book/movie/TV character when they die, just know that it is ten thousand times worse when you are the one who killed them and no matter how much you cry, you can't bring them back.
Okay, so this ending wasn't very funny, so here's a picture of some puppies.
http://alaskanmalamute.org/malamutes/finding-a-malamute
Friday, October 2, 2015
On Writing Certain Scenes
Let's talk about sex.
Well, okay, not just sex. Sex in books and then of course the stuff before sex like kissing.
I started writing when I was 10 years old. I could not even say the word sex without blushing. So it was not something I really considered until I got to high school and found myself faced with two characters having sex.
Now, I went through a phase where I wrote only love stories that made the first kiss the be all end all of the story. I wrote the most dramatic first kisses ever and it took me a few years to look back and realize how unrealistic they all were. But oh so much fun to imagine a really dramatic kiss.
I know one of the reasons I was so obsessed with love stories and first kiss stories. I was a young teenage girl and I wanted more than anything to be in love. I was also incredibly naive about the whole concept but we'll come back to that. As a result of this, most of my love stories (all of them were bad and will never see the light of day) ended with the first kiss. I never had to deal with what came after the kiss.
Then I grew up a little bit and my senior year of high school, I wrote a love story that was about more than the first kiss. It was about how two people in love would react knowing one of them was going to die in less than a year. So as a writer I was forced to explore the realities of a relationship after the first kiss (Disclaimer: I did not at the time, nor had I ever before, had a boyfriend.)
This inevitably led to a sex scene. I had never written one and so I fell back on a cliche: I wrote everything up to the first piece of clothing being removed and skipped to afterward.
When I was revising, Black & Gold, I had another sex scene to write. This time, I was not going to take the easy way out and skip it. These were two people in love and I could not skip it.
Have you ever read a really hot and heavy sex scene in a book? Did it make you uncomfortable even though you knew no one else knew what you were reading? Or maybe you've been watching a movie with your parents and suddenly there's a sex scene and you're really, really embarrassed? No, just me? Cool.
Writing that sex scene, which was less than 500 words long, was the most excruciating thing I have ever written. AP essays, midterms, timed writes included. It took me close to forty five minutes because I would sit down to type and have to get up because I was so uncomfortable. Physically uncomfortable, like my skin didn't fit right. Then I'd manage one sentence and start hyperventilating.
Sitting in my Human Sexuality class (it's an actual psychology class, I swear), I started thinking about how uncomfortable a topic sex is. I started to think that if sex wasn't such a taboo topic, I would not have struggled as much as I did. Would that have made it better? I don't know. I do know the people who have read Black & Gold told me it was pretty well done. So I guess that's good.
I haven't had to write another sex scene since then but I know I will. Hopefully it will be easier this time but I seriously doubt it.
I mean, it's not like I can just type "He yanked off her pants and they started going at it like circus monkeys." That, while kind of entertaining, is not good writing.
Although I did manage to write it without any panic or anxiety so maybe there is hope for me. That or listening to my professor talk about blow jobs has raised my threshold for feeling uncomfortable.
Well, okay, not just sex. Sex in books and then of course the stuff before sex like kissing.
I started writing when I was 10 years old. I could not even say the word sex without blushing. So it was not something I really considered until I got to high school and found myself faced with two characters having sex.
Now, I went through a phase where I wrote only love stories that made the first kiss the be all end all of the story. I wrote the most dramatic first kisses ever and it took me a few years to look back and realize how unrealistic they all were. But oh so much fun to imagine a really dramatic kiss.
I know one of the reasons I was so obsessed with love stories and first kiss stories. I was a young teenage girl and I wanted more than anything to be in love. I was also incredibly naive about the whole concept but we'll come back to that. As a result of this, most of my love stories (all of them were bad and will never see the light of day) ended with the first kiss. I never had to deal with what came after the kiss.
Then I grew up a little bit and my senior year of high school, I wrote a love story that was about more than the first kiss. It was about how two people in love would react knowing one of them was going to die in less than a year. So as a writer I was forced to explore the realities of a relationship after the first kiss (Disclaimer: I did not at the time, nor had I ever before, had a boyfriend.)
This inevitably led to a sex scene. I had never written one and so I fell back on a cliche: I wrote everything up to the first piece of clothing being removed and skipped to afterward.
When I was revising, Black & Gold, I had another sex scene to write. This time, I was not going to take the easy way out and skip it. These were two people in love and I could not skip it.
Have you ever read a really hot and heavy sex scene in a book? Did it make you uncomfortable even though you knew no one else knew what you were reading? Or maybe you've been watching a movie with your parents and suddenly there's a sex scene and you're really, really embarrassed? No, just me? Cool.
Writing that sex scene, which was less than 500 words long, was the most excruciating thing I have ever written. AP essays, midterms, timed writes included. It took me close to forty five minutes because I would sit down to type and have to get up because I was so uncomfortable. Physically uncomfortable, like my skin didn't fit right. Then I'd manage one sentence and start hyperventilating.
Sitting in my Human Sexuality class (it's an actual psychology class, I swear), I started thinking about how uncomfortable a topic sex is. I started to think that if sex wasn't such a taboo topic, I would not have struggled as much as I did. Would that have made it better? I don't know. I do know the people who have read Black & Gold told me it was pretty well done. So I guess that's good.
I haven't had to write another sex scene since then but I know I will. Hopefully it will be easier this time but I seriously doubt it.
I mean, it's not like I can just type "He yanked off her pants and they started going at it like circus monkeys." That, while kind of entertaining, is not good writing.
Although I did manage to write it without any panic or anxiety so maybe there is hope for me. That or listening to my professor talk about blow jobs has raised my threshold for feeling uncomfortable.
Sunday, August 2, 2015
Banned Books
This is not going to be funny.
I sometimes visit Veronica Roth's tumblr ( http://theartofnotwriting.tumblr.com/ ) and this morning, she had posted a response to an article about how a parent in Charleston lobbied for a book, Some Girls Are by Courtney Summers, to be removed as an option from a summer reading list for her freshman daughter. Here's the link to the original article: After parent outcry....
The mother's complaint regarding the book was that the way it presented issues of bullying, drugs, and sex was 'destructive' to kids. She wanted to read the book with her daughter and made it to page 74 before she decided it was inappropriate. While I applaud her for wanting to read the same book as her daughter, I am also disappointed.
There was a time when I would have been furious. Earlier this year, parents in Meridian, Idaho lobbied for Sherman Alexie's The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian to be removed from an additional reading list. I believe the reason was that the book talked about masturbation. This school district is not the first in the nation to ban Alexie's book but Meridian is close to home for me. And I was furious with those parents, just like I was furious when my mom told me one of my friends wasn't allowed to read Harry Potter because it had wizards and this somehow offended God.
The unbelievable arrogance of people who think that they know best about what is appropriate in books is staggering to me. Now I am not saying that parents don't have the right to tell their kids if they aren't old enough to read something. There are certainly kids out there who might pick up books they aren't emotionally ready to read. But the key word is their kids. Just because a parent believes a book is inappropriate does not give them the right say it is inappropriate for every single kid in a school district. And given that both of these books were choices and not required reading, their reaction seems even more ridiculous and makes me want to scream at the top of my lungs.
Do they think by banning a book with bullying in it will mean their kid never witnesses bullying, never bullies? Do they think by banning a book that mentions oral sex their kid will never hear it at school, on the Internet or on TV? Do they think by banning a book that talks about masturbation their kid won't do it? Don't they realize that the best writers, the ones who write books English teachers choose, write things that are true about the world? Don't they understand that no matter what they believe, banning a book is by definition forcing those beliefs onto someone else's kid, a kid who is trying to figure out who they are and what they believe? Don't they see the damage of taking away those choices?
Yes, there was a time when it would have made me furious.
But now when I see that parents have banned a book from being read in school, I cannot help but smile after I let my initial anger wash away. This country does not support censorship and so even if a book is banned in every school district, it will still be available in book stores and in libraries. If a kid wants to read it, they will find a way to read it.
Because there is power in reading and I think these parents know it. They know how powerful books can be and it scares them. But to be afraid of books, of reading, is so sad. The best books are the ones that crack open your heart and examine the pieces of your soul that spill out. They are the books we hid flashlights in our rooms for, so that we could stay up late on a school night reading. They are the books that let us cry for characters when we can't cry for ourselves. They are the books that let us know that it's going to be okay, because someone else has been where we are and they made it out.
I have come to think of getting a book banned as a badge of honor. Because if someone somewhere was scared enough by what was written in that book, it must mean that it is true.
And at the end of the day, people are scared by the uncomfortable truths that come from being human.
I sometimes visit Veronica Roth's tumblr ( http://theartofnotwriting.tumblr.com/ ) and this morning, she had posted a response to an article about how a parent in Charleston lobbied for a book, Some Girls Are by Courtney Summers, to be removed as an option from a summer reading list for her freshman daughter. Here's the link to the original article: After parent outcry....
The mother's complaint regarding the book was that the way it presented issues of bullying, drugs, and sex was 'destructive' to kids. She wanted to read the book with her daughter and made it to page 74 before she decided it was inappropriate. While I applaud her for wanting to read the same book as her daughter, I am also disappointed.
There was a time when I would have been furious. Earlier this year, parents in Meridian, Idaho lobbied for Sherman Alexie's The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian to be removed from an additional reading list. I believe the reason was that the book talked about masturbation. This school district is not the first in the nation to ban Alexie's book but Meridian is close to home for me. And I was furious with those parents, just like I was furious when my mom told me one of my friends wasn't allowed to read Harry Potter because it had wizards and this somehow offended God.
The unbelievable arrogance of people who think that they know best about what is appropriate in books is staggering to me. Now I am not saying that parents don't have the right to tell their kids if they aren't old enough to read something. There are certainly kids out there who might pick up books they aren't emotionally ready to read. But the key word is their kids. Just because a parent believes a book is inappropriate does not give them the right say it is inappropriate for every single kid in a school district. And given that both of these books were choices and not required reading, their reaction seems even more ridiculous and makes me want to scream at the top of my lungs.
Do they think by banning a book with bullying in it will mean their kid never witnesses bullying, never bullies? Do they think by banning a book that mentions oral sex their kid will never hear it at school, on the Internet or on TV? Do they think by banning a book that talks about masturbation their kid won't do it? Don't they realize that the best writers, the ones who write books English teachers choose, write things that are true about the world? Don't they understand that no matter what they believe, banning a book is by definition forcing those beliefs onto someone else's kid, a kid who is trying to figure out who they are and what they believe? Don't they see the damage of taking away those choices?
Yes, there was a time when it would have made me furious.
But now when I see that parents have banned a book from being read in school, I cannot help but smile after I let my initial anger wash away. This country does not support censorship and so even if a book is banned in every school district, it will still be available in book stores and in libraries. If a kid wants to read it, they will find a way to read it.
Because there is power in reading and I think these parents know it. They know how powerful books can be and it scares them. But to be afraid of books, of reading, is so sad. The best books are the ones that crack open your heart and examine the pieces of your soul that spill out. They are the books we hid flashlights in our rooms for, so that we could stay up late on a school night reading. They are the books that let us cry for characters when we can't cry for ourselves. They are the books that let us know that it's going to be okay, because someone else has been where we are and they made it out.
I have come to think of getting a book banned as a badge of honor. Because if someone somewhere was scared enough by what was written in that book, it must mean that it is true.
And at the end of the day, people are scared by the uncomfortable truths that come from being human.
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