Arresting Developments

Let's Get This Party Started

2012-02-09T09:36:00.000-05:00

Because I am a terrible blogger and mostly blog about music and how I want to live in pajamas, I thought I would join in with the Campaign Challenge at Rachael Harries blog to help build a platform and socialize with other bloggers. I'm not completely sure what's expected or how it will go or what's going to happen, but I'm all for making new friends. Not that my current friends aren't wonderful people. But. You know.

Anyway! So THAT'S happening. I assume more shall come later. :) Oh, and you should totally hang out there and join the fun.

TIRED

2012-01-18T14:58:00.000-05:00

I have fallen into a writer's slump. Partly because it has occurred to me that every time I try to write a story I write the end first and 40,000 words later wonder why nothing has happened. Also because I hate getting out of bed when it's cold. Also, things happen like when I try to google image search something instead of typing what I want to find I google image search "image."

But, THIS was the third picture:

I would probably not write there, either, but I would stick my feet in the water (not my entire body because it's easier to remove feet in the event of a shark or a riptide) and look at the clouds and watch for dolphins and maybe listen to music, but probably just listen to the birds and the water lapping at the wood. And then I'd come back refreshed and ready to write.

Unfortunately, that is not happening. I do have a vacation coming up, but I will be stuck in wintry Virginia (which, admittedly, is better than wintry most-other-places) and have already thought that I might stay in bed until Thursday when I have an appointment to get my hair cut. But maybe (probably) I'll get out of bed before then and I'll write the beginning of my book because my self-imposed first draft deadline is January 31 and I have people coming after me this spring if I do not follow my deadlines.

But it will be nice not to have to set an alarm.

Also, go check out hookedtobooks.com. Because sometimes I write reviews there (like, officially, as opposed to just hanging out randomly). Just did Chime and the next one will be The Fault in our Stars.

And now, until Friday at 5:00 pm (when I will be free until Tuesday, January 31), more coffee.

The Jabberwocky

2012-01-04T11:00:00.000-05:00

I'm fairly certain that I shall be the next Lewis Carroll and it will be completely by accident. Here's why:

I downloaded Dragon Speech Software on my phone so that I could take notes while I'm driving, when I sometimes have my most brilliant thoughts. Then I could email them to myself and I thought, "Well, even if it's not exactly what I said it will be a hint and I can go from there."

You guys. I have NO idea what this means.

Anthony is the starters are the roof of the world but it's not a very practical roof because it left in all of the elements well someone said it's not my choice and the real Ruths Pistos IntoNow and that store the other day because people have nothing to hide them Mike send a guess the world a kiss hey you can just tires and NNO any tray that think about and saying that stars of Oscar the protection or security that he did and that's disappointing to him and that stuff about the sand streets

Mayhaps I mumble? Or Dragon Software just does not get me at all.

Though the "hey you" in the middle makes me giggle.

And I think maybe I need to borrow RB's game of MadGab.

(As for Road Trip Wednesday, I can't come up with anything better than this. Often I think Pam and Quita should make all of my life decisions, like which books to read and where to spend my summer vacation.)

2011 in Music

2011-12-29T14:52:00.001-05:00

It is the end of the year which means it is time to make lists! I like lists. I may not be able to make paragraphs, but I can definitely make lists. Maybe I should make more lists throughout the year? I'll think of things. Lists are fun.

This list is a "play list." It is like a WIP play list, but this one describes my year. I do this every year. Because I am a huge dork. I like going back and seeing what music got me through a particular year. Like, a couple of years ago, the list was filled with songs with swears in their title because I was in a terrible job situation. Lots of swears and also The Flaming Lips' song "Evil Will Prevail." That was a bad year. And last year was a lot about memories and thinking about the past. So in twenty years when I listen to the list I can think, "Oh, that was the year I spent a lot of time reminiscing," or, in the case of the "Evil Will Prevail" year, "That was the year I cried a lot." (It was a very bad time. There are no titles with swears this year because, as a whole, it was a good year.)

I would put this list in a Spotify play list but I don't really understand how Spotify works. Like, one time I used it to listen to the newest Kelly Clarkson album before I just went ahead and purchased it, but that's really the only time I've used it. Maybe I'll figure it out next time I'm on vacation (which will, God willing, be within the next month and will consist of me wearing nothing but pajamas and finishing the first draft of this current book and also, maybe, looking at my Craft and Form thesis again. MAYBE. That might be my summer vacation, the one before the vacation where I have to go to New Jersey and speak in front of a potentially large group of people).

Maybe I'm better at paragraphs than I think. Anyway. On to the list! (There may be some overlapping with the WIP play list, but that's understandable as that is kind of a big part of my year.)

The year began with travel and a return of my somewhat dormant wanderlust and escapist tendencies:

1. Ill With Want - The Avett Brothers ("I am sick with wanting/and it's evil how it's got me/and everyday is worse than the one before/the more I have the more I think/it's almost where I need to be/if only I could get a little more.")

(I did not see this song as being as sad as it sounds...but it definitely summed up that month where I just kept getting in my car and winding up in another state with no plan or idea what I was doing other than wanting to just go, go, go.)

2. Fool for a Lonesome Train - Ben Harper ("It's late and I can't sleep, I've made promises that I can't keep.")

(Sometimes I hear a song and don't know why but I just keep repeating it. Like, a million times. This was one of those. No particular reason. I just loved it.)

3. Far Away - Ingrid Michaelson ("Far away, far away, I want to go far away, to a new life on a new shoreline, where the water is blue and the people are new, to another island and another life.")

(This was also the year of Ingrid Michaelson. I just couldn't get away from her.)

4. The World at Large - Modest Mouse ("If the world's at large, why should I remain?" and "I like songs about drifters, books about the same, they both make me feel a little less insane.")

(Uh...not much more to say about that one.)

5. Dog Days Are Over - Florence and the Machine

(I'm not really a Florence and the Machine fan, but this song makes me want to dance.)

6. Paris (Ooh La La) - Grace Potter and the Nocturnals

(Another song that makes me want to dance. It also makes me want to be a rock star. Seriously. You should hear me in the car when I listen to this song. It's insane the way I scream.)

7. Coney Island - Good Old War ("All these people with their cotton candy eyes/it's so sweet/let's put the train in gear.")

(This band opened for Guster when I saw them for the ??th time last April. They just had an awesome energy and made me want to dance. This lyric killed me, though, when I heard it and if it had been a cassette I would have completely worn it out with how many times I rewound to this line.)

8. I Want Someone Badly - Jeff Buckley

(I feel like I add a different Jeff Buckley song every year. This one is just and bluesy and raw and I played it over and over and over on those many drives to nowhere.)

9. The Edge of Glory - Lady GaGa

(The first Lady GaGa song that I liked enough to want to purchase. (The second was "You and I") I don't know. I don't like the sax part because I just find the sax to be a generally annoying sound, but this song...I don't know. I can't explain myself.)

10. Anna Sun - Walk the Moon ("Fire-crackers in the east; my car parked south/your hands on my cheeks; your shoulder in my mouth/I was up against the wall on the west mezzanine/we rattle this town, we rattle this scene.")

(I mean OBVIOUSLY this song would be on here. It might be my most listened to song of the year. I loved blasting it with the windows down this summer and singing along. I drove around Madison, New Jersey blasting this song while on breaks at the residency and then took my friends Anna and Nina out for a drive and made them love the song. It's so catchy and fun. Love, love, love it.)

11. The Graveyard Near the House - The Airborne Toxic Event ("And if you die before I die I'll carve your name out of the sky/I'll fall asleep with your memory and dream of where you lie.")

(This is one of those moments that I like to call, "death by swooning." It often happens in books (most recently, The Unbecoming of Mara Dyer, because, holy crap, Noah. NOAH. I was dead by swooning so many times), but occasionally it happens in songs. This song inspired a chapter of my book. I wouldn't say my characters are "swoon-worthy," but this line kind of describes their relationship.)

12. Jealous of the Moon - Nickel Creek (Starin' down the stars/jealous of the moon/you wish you could fly/just stayin' where you are/there's nothing you can do/if you're too scared to try.")

(My attorney gave me Nickel Creek CDs and I've never listened to them fully. But this song came up on shuffle one day and I haven't been the same since. It's a beautiful song, also inspired a chapter of my book, and I've listened to it more times than I can count.)
13. If I Die Young - The Band Perry

(Seriously probably the saddest song I've ever heard. But I love it. Absolutely love it.)

14. Rose - The Feeling

(I heard this song on a commercial and now I can't stop listening to it.)

15. Gravity - Stephen Kellogg and the Sixers (Gravity, you're knocking me out/you're shaking me up 'til I twist and I shout/oh gravity/it's okay in the clouds/but I love it right here with my feet on the ground.)

(One of my favorite bands, and probably my favorite album of theirs. I don't always love their lyrics (I find them a little cheesy sometimes), but the lead singer's love for his friends and family and life is so contagious. I love seeing him live, the whole band just rocks out so much.)

16. My Body - Young the Giant

(I love the whole album, but this song in particular.)

AND, last but definitely not least -

17. Life's A Happy Song - The Muppet Movie soundtrack

(Just see previous post. This song... I just love it so. I think Bret McKenzie should write all soundtracks forever. Because this and Muppet or Man are absolutely brilliant. And Pictures in my Mind makes me tear up. Such a great soundtrack.)

I'm still in denial that next year is, actually, 2012, but if it must be then these are my songs for 2011.

YA Superlatives!

2011-12-28T11:09:00.000-05:00

Okay. So, confession. I really like being a "part" of things and that is why I planned on participating in this. But the truth? Of the 86 books I've read this year (two over Christmas because the family let me stay home alone and read!), only...um...13 were YA books published this year. I'm always so behind. So I thought instead of participating "for real" I would make superlatives for the year in general. Because, much like those involved, those were always my favorite part of the yearbook and I really wanted to be in one but I was even overlooked for most quiet. I KNOW! There was someone in my class more quiet than I was. My BFF M was voted "most likely to blow nose in class," and was really embarrassed so she pretended to blow her nose in the shirt sleeve of the fellow nominee so that she could hide her face. If only there had been a category for "most likely to blush when you say her name." I would have been all over that one, rosy cheeks and all.

Anyway. Without further ado, I present to you Megan's "Best of" 2011.

Movie Most Likely to be Watched Daily: The Muppet Movie. (I mean, COME ON.)

Song Most Likely to Turn That Frown Upside Down: "Life's A Happy Song" from, you know, The Muppet Movie. (Mostly because of my favorite part: "Life's a fillet of fish! Uh?...yes it is!")

Best Rediscovery While iPod Was on Shuffle: Littlest Man Band. For real. They made wearing suits cool before I even knew that I loved a man in a suit.

Scene From a Movie I Most Want to Recreate: Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone's first "date" from Crazy, Stupid, Love. Complete with the Dirty Dancing lift.

Best Hair: Emma Stone. I tried to get the color. It didn't work. I will try again next month.

Most Noteworthy New Crush: Jason Segal. (A) The Muppet Movie and (B) How I Met Your Mother. If someone could introduce me to someone like Marshal Erickson, I would be happy to try and recreate the Ryan/Emma date scene. I mean, also I would not be opposed to a Ryan Gosling-type, but I know that I, personally, am much more the Marshal Erickson type.

Show I am Most Grateful to Discover: (Via RB) White Collar. Matt Bomer in a fedora might be my favorite thing ever. I mean, also the show is brilliant, but you guys. MATT BOMER IN A FEDORA. (I might be the only one of my friends to prefer him fully dressed. In a three-piece suit. With a fedora. Not that I hate the scenes in which he is not wearing a shirt. It's just...you know...this is hot.)

Best Newcomer: Hart of Dixie. Cutest show ever? Quite possibly. QUITE POSSIBLY.

Best Use of an Old Crush: James McAvoy in X-Men: First Class

New Favorite Author: Tie between Stephanie Perkins and Ally Carter. I read both Anna and Lola this year and they were both brilliant. I still prefer Anna because of, you know, Paris and stuff, but Lola was just as sweet. And I'm a sucker for art thieves (see section about Matt Bomer in a fedora), so Ally Carter won me over immediately.

Favorite YA Book of 2011: Have to go with Divergent by Veronica Roth.

Most Underwhelming Book of 2011: Ha ha! That would be rude!

Favorite Book of the Year (published at any time): The Great Gatsby Is it cheating if it's a re-read? I say no. Fitzgerald is brilliant and the book is absolute perfection.

Most Interesting Twitter Feeds: Tie between @TweetsofOld and @RealTimeWWII. The former posts excerpts from old newspapers about things like animals getting loose and illnesses and drunk townspeople with funny names, and the latter is going through the events of WWII as though they were happening now and is, quite frankly, fascinating (and horrifying).

Most Likely To Become a Winter Staple: Salted caramel anything. Why did it take so long for me to try salted caramel anything? Coffee, cupcakes, desserts...If it has sea salt and chocolate (caramel a bonus, but not necessary), I will put it in my mouth.

Best Girls' Night: The Wine Kitchen. Wine and sea salt/chocolate desserts in an adorable little Old Town section of Virginia.

Best New Scent: Bath and Body Works "Forever Sunshine." It smells like summer and sun and happiness. Paired with orange slushie lipgloss, I feel like the beach personified.

Most Expected Conversion: I am officially Cult Apple with my phone and iPod and MacBook. Still have a Kindle and feel certain that I don't need the iPad, but who knows what the future will hold.

Most Highly Anticipated (But Completely Unexpected) Gift: My sister-in-law! Meaning, that I'm going to have one! My brother finally proposed (after a decade!) and we're super excited, but had sort of reached the point where we assumed it would never happen. So yay!

Best Song (Overall): I'm not actually sure when they came out, but the songs that got the most play this year were "Jealous of the Moon" by Nickel Creek and "The Graveyard Near the House" by Airborne Toxic Event. Both inspired entire chapters of my WIP and they are haunting and beautiful and amazing.

Best Part of 2011 As a Whole: England/Scotland in January. Standing on the banks of Loch Ness, walking a cocker spaniel along the River Ness, barhopping in Inverness, accidentally finding Buckingham Palace, sitting on a bench in Oxford calling to friends with our minds, and wandering around the town of Wroxton after dark taking pictures and running from ghosts. I'd waited so long to travel and when it finally happened it was magical.

Pajamas

2011-12-19T11:37:00.000-05:00

Fact: Nothing motivates me to write more than having to get up in the morning and put on real clothes. And last night, while lounging around in my new jimjams:

I came to a decision. See, here's how it started. Last weekend we had a girls' weekend, complete with pajamas, gingerbread houses, and strawberry mojitos (and wine...because man, you guys, I do NOT like the taste of basil). My adorable friends, R and T, were lounging in plaid pants and an unintentionally matching shirt and a fleece set of hoodie and pants, respectively, while I wore over-sized striped pants and an over-sized gray t-shirt that I bought from a thrift store the summer I worked as a camp counselor at a sleep-away camp (meaning I have had the shirt for eight and a half years. Relatedly, HOLY CRAP, I wish I had not done that math).

The point being, that I decided that when the day comes (okay...IF the day comes) that I am a full-time writer, the first thing I will do will be to burn the work clothes and fill my drawers with matching pajamas.

No longer will I sign for my delivered food wearing an over-sized (and, admittedly, slightly stained) WVU hoodie (also approximately eight or nine years old) and over-sized pants. No. I will be the girl wearing the adorable owl pajamas or the plaid pajamas or the silk pajamas (for special occasions...I have a pair that is red with white and black polka dots and, to be completely honest, silk is kind of annoying) and in the summer I will have short sets. It will be my thing. I will forever, until the day I die, wear matching pajamas.

Sure, I will keep some real clothes for those times when I must (a) be social, or (b) am forced out to do errands or buy food or something. I mean, when I burn the work clothes I mostly mean work pants. I'll probably keep the cardigans, obviously. I promise not to turn into one of those people who wears yoga pants to lunch (not that there is anything wrong with that, but I definitely want to keep an "outside" persona and an "inside" persona).

I've already been known to say, "They say to dress for the job you want and I dress like I'd rather be home in my pajamas," so I'd like to think I'm totally living up to my own personal aspirations already. Some people wear suits to their retail jobs, and to my office job I wear the wrinkled clothes that I threw on the foot of my bed because I could not be bothered to fold them.

LIVE YOUR DREAM. And my dream is pajamas.

Merry Christmas! Now Give Me My Presents!

2011-12-16T16:35:00.000-05:00

Had an interesting conversation over lunch today. We were discussing shopping and how completely impossible some people are to buy for and then I was asked what I requested on my Christmas list this year.

"I made a list of books and DVDs I want. Also an air purifier."

Then I was asked, "Nothing frivolous?"

To which I replied, "Aren't books frivolous?"

The answer: "Not for you."

Oh....

But as someone I work with refuses to buy me books, I did request arm warmers (fingerless gloves). So that's frivolous, right?

When did I become so boring?

Magic

2011-12-07T12:27:00.000-05:00

The other day I was walking out of Barnes & Noble thinking about learning to juggle, a thought I have quite frequently if we're being honest, and a thought which is the sole reason I even bother to pair and ball up my clean socks (for practice), when I was struck with a memory I hadn't thought about in years.

I make no secret of my desire to run away with the circus. Last year during a sort of existential crisis I looked up jobs with Barnum & Bailey (their headquarters is so close to my house, but to RUN AWAY with them you must possess certain skills or not be afraid of animal feces, two categories in which I do not find myself). In college I made friends go to the circus with me and when I told my mother I was going to run away with the circus it was the only thing she ever believed I might actually do (after calling and saying, "I'm going to pick strawberries in France for a summer," or "I think I'm going to be an anthropologist and dig for bones in Egypt."). To the crazy things she merely responded with, "Okay." But when I mentioned the circus she got really angry and told me that she would hunt me down if I didn't finish college first. So, obviously, the circus thing was pretty serious. And when I found out that there is a prestigious clown college in Paris I was pretty much done and figured that my life path had been completely wasted.

All this being said I could never quite place WHERE the idea came from. The other night I think I remembered.

My grandparents had these friends they knew in New Jersey. (I say "had," but I think the wife is still alive.) When I was six my grandfather threw my grandmother a surprise 60th birthday party and these friends had traveled for the weekend and were staying with my grandparents. (They were the excuse to get her out of the house). The husband was a magician. I'm pretty sure he had a real job and just performed magic on the side (like, for some reason I kind of think he was a science teacher), but in my head he was nothing but a magician. One night during their stay, the magician set up a card table and put on a show for us. And it was amazing. Then, another night, we went out to dinner. When the magician was paying he performed a trick with the money for the waitress. I can't remember what it was, exactly, but it was pretty spectacular and the waitress called all of her waitress friends over to see it and the whole time I just sat at the table and thought, "Yeah. It's cool for you. But I'm WITH him. What!"

I don't think there has been a time since then that I have felt as cool as I did at that moment. And maybe, subconsciously, I think that running away with the circus, or even just learning to juggle, will bring some of that magic back.

I Have No Idea

2011-11-23T09:38:00.002-05:00

Number Eight is what my life is like inside my head.

Friday Fives

2011-11-18T15:48:00.000-05:00

Look at me being all unpredictable! It's because it's a slow day at the office and instead of looking at cute pictures of baby animals it's time to do something with words. So. The lovely contributors of Paper Hangover ask:

What are the FIVE things you need to write with, other than pen, paper, and a computer.
1. A WARM Space. I hate being cold. I'm a bit of a "nester." Even in the summer I hate sleeping without a blanket over me, so I put a fan as close to my person as possible. I like being warm and cozy.  So I'm still searching for the perfect writing spot (since my beloved Borders is gone).  The Barnes & Noble with the best seating is freezing, the cafe that is far away and really warm gets TOO hot (I am sort of like Goldilocks in this quest for perfection). My house is too cold in the spring/fall/winter, even when I wear my Snuggie (shut up, I love that thing), and too hot in the summer (just when all of the cafes turn up the air conditioning making them even more cold). And the library, though having the best temperature, has the worst seating. The armchairs are not cozy enough and the tables are too high for the accompanying chairs.  I am never satisfied. Seriously. But winter is the worst. I always know when it gets close to freezing outside because I have to sleep with my hair over my face or my nose turns into an icicle.

2. Noise.  Complete silence makes me tired so I either have the TV or music on in the background. Plus, it's nice when I want a break that there's already something available to focus on and I don't have to waste time searching.

3. Tasty Beverages. I am someone who would rather drink my calories than eat them, so I stock up on Starbucks or soda. I wish I could be satisfied with only water, but then I just eat more chocolate. There I go again searching for the perfect middle ground. But I'm hoping for a single-serving coffeemaker for Christmas that I can keep in my office and maybe that will satisfy, especially on those days when it's too cold to even venture outside because then I'll NEVER be warm. (Also, I'm kind of a spoiled brat.)

Side note - speaking of Goldilocks, does anyone else find it completely strange that they leave the house just when they set out the food?  Am I forgetting the story? But all three bowls were different temperatures so you have to assume that they wanted it that way in the first place.  Then they're like, "oh, hey, dinner time! Let's go for a walk." So, basically, they were ASKING for Goldilocks to come in. They wanted it to happen so they could have some drama. Because surely bears who eat porridge are not the most happening bears in the forest.

4. Wireless Keyboard. Years of hand bell ringing in the church left me with carpal tunnel and my wrists are miserable after a day of writing. So when I do write at home, my ergonomic keyboard is a necessity. I'm like an old person with my need for blankets and ergonomic keyboards.

I think that's it. See, I'm not THAT spoiled or particular.

Irrational Things For Which I Wish

2011-11-07T10:59:00.000-05:00

A pet tiger.
A magic carpet.
I'll settle for a kitten if I can't have a tiger but my landlord won't even let me have that.

Time to slow down so I can catch up.
A machine that showers, dries, and dresses me without me having to leave my bed.
All of the books in the world to be implanted into my brain so I can say I've read all of the books in the world.
Teleportation device so I can go to Loch Ness whenever I feel like it (which is always).

NaNoWriMo (Or, What I'm Doing Instead)

2011-11-04T10:35:00.000-04:00

By which I mean, I am participating in NaNoWriMo. I have decided to write a book about a town where people are not allowed to speak. Three days in I have realized that this is kind of a stupid idea and nobody is going to want to read a book without dialogue. There IS dialogue. Just not a lot. You guys. It is a really bad idea. But I'm not giving up! I'm just procrastinating. Like today at work when we're slow and I totally could be writing but instead am having the following exchange with a friend through email:

Friend: (Basically) "I want to go to here."

Me: WHAT?? I CAN'T HEAR YOU OVER THE ROAR OF THE PLANE.

Friend: It makes me sad that it's not my life.

Me: Exactly:

Friend:

Me:

I like us.

Friend:

This guy is not invited to my wedding.

Me:

Just make sure to invite him:

Friend:

I wonder if he caters...

Me:

Friend:

So. You know. We make our own fun.

Oh, HELLO!

2011-10-28T18:48:00.000-04:00

Here's the thing. I don't particularly like blogging because I have nothing to say. If someone gave me topics, I'd be all over it. I'd blow you away with how all over things I'd be. Except sometimes some awesome websites DO give me topics and I still don't do it. This is because I'm lazy. And also because I've been giving my energies to the blog at fivegirlstv.blogspot.com because writing about TV is so much more fun than hearing about how I'm addicted to Angry Birds and find monkeys to be creepy. Oh wait...No, I mentioned that in the TV blog as well..

Anyway. So, if you find you need a dose of me please check there. Unless I have something witty and awesome to say here then you'll find me here. Basically, what I'm saying is, I'm everywhere and you'll never know where I'll show up. I could show up at your house. (No I won't.)

But since this is my official "writing" blog, perhaps I should mention that I'm all set to begin NaNoWriMo in four days (no I'm not), and that I'm making considerable progress on my MFA book (slightly more true). And now you know everything. Including my newly-discovered fear of monkeys (it's their hands).

RTW: On not Judging Books by their Covers

2011-09-21T15:40:00.000-04:00

The Road Trip Wednesday question of the week is what's your favorite book cover?

I'm not really a cover person. I'll notice them, but they won't be enough to make me pick up a book or not pick up a book. To me they are kind of separate from what's inside. But then sometimes the cover is just so amazing that I am forced to recognize and acknowledge it. But, honestly, this is really rare. Anyway, I'm totally going to cheat because my favorite book cover is also my favorite book and also it's not the US cover. Still counts, right?

The US version has dominoes and I honestly have no idea what that has to do with the book. But THIS UK cover? Death dancing with Liesel? It is so brilliant, it perfectly represents their relationship, and I completely drooled all over it when I saw it. I love how the titles looks like it was painted on a wall, which also perfectly represents a major plot point. The whole thing. It's just perfect. It is my coveted edition. It will never be read. I just want to look at its perfection forever.

On Truth-Telling

2011-09-16T16:15:00.000-04:00

I never really wanted to tell anyone that I was going back to school for an MFA in creative writing. If I'd had my way, I would have done it on my own and kept it a huge secret. That's pretty much how I handle most things in my life. But due to the fact that I would require vacation time to attend the residencies and people in my office are incredibly nosy, I had to tell them what was going on.

The problem, now, is that there is all this expectation from the people around me. I'm fortunate in that my job is not so demanding and I'm able to sometimes write at work. It's how I got through a first draft in three months. It's how I'm making major progress on my school project right now. But people see me clicking out of Word when they pass, or they hear me typing all day and when I tell them I'm writing they say things like, "still?" Or upon mentioning that I'd finished a first draft they say, "So what are you working on now? I thought you were done?" Not understanding that one finished draft is nothing. It's a needle in a haystack in the world of publishing. Though I do like when my co-worker says, "You have to write a whole book?" with astonishment ringing through her voice. Just for a moment I feel special, superior. And then reality knocks me right back to the ground when she follows it up with, "so when can I read it?" Or someone asks, "when will it be published?" And I stutter and try to change the topic because I don't want to have to say, "well, actually, it may NEVER be published, to be honest, because there are a lot of factors at play, and sometimes it's just luck or timing, and who knows, maybe I'll just be here until I die."

This dream has been boiling inside me for a long time and I'd come to terms with it. I could imagine great scenarios and awards and money and houses by the sea without the major crushing blow when I thought about the work ahead of me. I could handle the disappointment in my own isolated way. But now other people know my dream. Now it's no longer just me to be disappointed in the end. If I never accomplish anything I will be that girl who had big dreams but never went anywhere. I imagine lots of pitying looks and clucking of tongues as they discuss my fate by the water cooler. "What a waste of money," they'll say. "Spending the big bucks for an MFA and she's still doing the nothing but the filing."

Having it out there, having people ask these questions, does make it a little easier. It lights the fire in the part of me that is determined to prove everybody wrong. I know there is judgment. A degree in creative writing? What can she do with that? I know it's there because I thought the same thing. So now I work harder and write more and research thoroughly because I can't be that girl they discuss in hushed tones, the quiet girl mailing out packages of bitterness and failure. I hate that they know. I hate that they keep me accountable in this way, that they keep questioning what I'm doing and demanding to be a part of it.

But also? It's kind of amazing to put it out there. To be able to say, "yep, this is what I want and until I get it I will not settle for anything else. You can take this office job and SHOVE IT because this is not enough for me." Yeah, I may be here (or somewhere like it) forever. And that's fine. What's not fine is knowing that I let go of a dream because I was too afraid to tell people I had it. It's not fine to let failure win because I was scared of having to admit to others when it did. I need accountability. It's why I went back to school. I didn't expect to come out of my program riding at the top of the NYT best-seller list. All I wanted was to be able to say, "Oh, so, hey, you know what? I WANT TO WRITE BOOKS."

So I told complete strangers at a school in New Jersey. I told my friends and family that this wasn't just a dream. It was a need. And then I told my co-workers. Maybe I'll wait years for that first step, or maybe my books will never see the light of day. But the thought of that can't stop me. So I'll keep telling people, and I'll keep making them ask, because that's what keeps me going.

We Already Deja'd that Vu

2011-09-14T16:05:00.000-04:00

Maybe because it is a slow day at the office. Maybe because I received a boost of energy from my string cheese. Maybe because I've finally finished watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer and feel like my life is my own again. Whatever the reason, it is back to participating in various Road Trips and Hangovers until (or while?) I come up with brilliant content of my own. It's back to writing and reading and emerging from the rabbit hole of "I'll never be so creative!" and "WHERE IS THE ICE CREAM." Back to trying to make this whole writing thing work and coming up with goals and attempting to meet them. Coming back from my MFA residency is hard, you guys. But I'm over it! Things will be back to normal now! (Maybe.)

Anyway. This week's question from the ladies at YA Highway is:

What themes, settings, motifs, scenes, or other elements do you find recurring in your work?

Um....my books are basically all the same.

But, to be specific: there will always be talk of religion. My grandfather is a pastor; I just can't escape these themes and stories. The sun and the moon always play crucial roles. The night sky will always be featured. There will be star-gazing and cloud-watching and dreaming of escape. There will be water, usually the ocean. Either it will give life or it will take life, but no matter what life is intertwined with water. There will always be red hair, curls, and blue eyes (though not always necessarily on the same person). There will be death. There will be loss. There will be an attempt to find the thing that was lost. There will be purple skies on summer nights. Relationships will always stem from friendship.

I need new ideas.

Remember That Time We Almost Died in the Earthquake?

2011-08-23T21:27:00.000-04:00

Let me tell you about the time I felt the Earth move under my feet. Or, more accurately, the time the building swayed and threatened to collapse and I ran around trying to shove people out of doorways because I needed a place to stand.

It was approaching 2:00 p.m. I was staring at my email, as I do. I was also obsessively checking and updating Twitter, as I also do. The light fixtures overhead began to shake. I figured it was construction. They've been working on the floor above ours for months and I often hear loud crashes and things that I assume are people training to slay vampires or just practicing everyday swords play. But then the shaking got stronger. The file cabinets behind me began to rattle. The walls shook, the floor moved, I ran out of my station and attorneys came rushing out of their offices. Looks of panic were on their faces as they asked, "What's going on? Is it an earthquake? It's an earthquake! Are we having an earthquake?" Because even attorneys lose the ability to be eloquent during natural disasters. Partner attorney stood in her doorway. The other secretary took the doorway of the empty office. British attorney stood in her doorway. I was standing awkwardly in the hallway. Then I rushed toward British attorney's doorway. She shifted slightly as her eyes said, "what the f$&# are you doing?" I thought, can we both fit in this doorway? We can both fit in this doorway. That will definitely work. Until I realized that it wouldn't work and I returned to standing awkwardly in the hallway, with both attorneys staring at me as though I were out of my mind. In the moment it never occurred to me to open the closed door of one of the many empty offices. It never crossed my mind that I could have had my own doorway.

We later found out that people evacuated the building, but nobody had told my corner of the office that this had happened, and, really, running outside during an earthquake to stand BELOW a crashing building just didn't seem like a good idea. Not that remaining on the sixth floor of a building probably not constructed to withstand earthquakes was any better, but I thought I'd take my chances running awkwardly (and barefoot, I should add that I was most definitely barefoot and, really, most of my decision to remain inside rested on that very fact) through the halls.

But we survived. We stayed inside and lived to tell the tale. I will always remember this day as the day we cheated death. The day the world tried to collapse, but we stayed strong. Or the day that the East Coast felt a sort of mild tremor and everybody freaked out and even the girl who blows EVERYTHING out of proportion kind of wished people would just chill after a while. Fortunately, it was also the day that everyone panicked and left Tysons immediately, making the evening commute the most pleasant commute in weeks. So at least there was that.

Writerly Crushes

2011-07-01T12:03:00.000-04:00

So I am not following ANY rules this week. I am making up my own things (even though I love both prompts from my favorite places this week like Paper Hangover's "writing cliches" to which I will only add, "There's a storm coming!" It is such a pet peeve. Why must there always be a storm? Also, I'm pretty sure I just used it in Project Number One.

Anyway. So people talk a lot of about literary crushes. Four! Etienne!! Heathcliff! Mr. Darcy! Jace! (Why can I only think of a few adult literary crushes...I feel so illegal.) But what about writerly crushes? The authors who blow you away with their words and you want to find them and have lots of little writerly babies with them? Let's discuss those ones (ignoring the drugs and promiscuity and early death by alcohol poisoning and focusing solely on their words).

Jack Kerouac - Because he gets so EXCITED about life and language and compares people to fireworks (WAY before Katy Perry ever even THOUGHT about it) and says "wow!" and uses exclamation points even though everybody tells you to never do that.

F. Scott Fitzgerald - I love Fitzgerald to an unhealthy extent because he writes about the rich in a melancholy way and there are parties and sometimes when I'm reading his work I draw hearts in the margins with our initials, F.S.S. + M.O. = 4 eva (I'm kidding about the initials but not about the hearts) and he writes breathtakingly beautiful descriptions that kill me and make me want to never write again because he's done it so much better.

Marcus Zusak (with apologies to his wife) - I don't know what it is about me that I'm so attracted to writing that makes me WEEP.

David Foster Wallace - Because of raw emotion and powerful, understated descriptions, and because he was so incredibly smart and didn't use that in a way that condescended to his readers and because even with everything going on in his life, he still LOVED it and wanted to explore and define and discover just what it is that keeps us going, moving, loving, desiring something greater.

Jonathan Safran Foer - He performs acrobatic feats with unskilled English speakers and he writes from a child's perspective in an adult way. His characters are just quirky enough to not be annoying but they are lovable and I want to hug all of his characters in one big group hug and love them forever and ever and listen to JSF tell me stories for all of the day about wacky neighbors and people he met in the supermarket. That's what I want.

I'm sure there are others. But these are at the top of my list. Writers who slay me with their words. I think we should all get together (fictionally, obviously, as some are dead and those who aren't are married and even those who are dead were at one time married and I am many things but I am not a homewrecker) and create lots of writerly babies for people to swoon over in the decades to come (and by writerly babies I obviously mean works of art and not actual, literal babies because I'm sometimes still not at all sure about that). (I might mean actual literal babies, but let's pretend that I don't, yeah?)

Everything's All Topsy-Turvy

2011-06-30T20:17:00.000-04:00

I go to the hometown for one weekend and everything goes all wonky. My work schedule is off, my life schedule is off, and I didn't get to participate in Road Trip Wednesday this week. So, I'm just gonna go ahead and declare this the blog post of Awesome Books so I can talk about the awesome books I've recently read and pretend like it was totally my idea all along.

Often when I visit my mother at the farm I just take over the remote control and watch The Cable for days and days to make up for not having it here. I spend some time cuddling my cat(s) and generally just doing absolutely nothing. This didn't happen. This time I picked up BOOKS and read three books in two days. And it was awesome. Now is when I tell you what they were.

First up was Maureen Johnson's The Name of the Star which I reviewed for my dear friend Chelle who will post it closer to the release date because, oh yeah, guess what haters! It's not out until this fall! And I've already read it and I LOVE it. Short review: It was awesome. Long review: (You can read that later.) It involves serial killers and ghosts and I was a little bit afraid to go to bed that night and thanked God that I wasn't all alone in the farmhouse.

Then I read Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children. I honestly knew nothing about this book other than it was accompanied by pictures of creepy (or, "peculiar") children. So it was kind of a relief when it turned out to be awesome. (Words I overuse: awesome.) I had no idea how the pictures would be worked in and I really want to tell you the major plot twist which, okay, maybe it's not a "twist" so much as just part of the story but not knowing it was going to happen allowed it to totally blow my mind and made it better for me. Let's just say, Jacob goes into a tunnel and when he comes out things are not what they were. Which, really, is my favorite kind of story. There's just a lovely story here and as it was once my dream to write about circus freaks, though this is not quite the same, the story was bound to hold a dear place in my heart.

Book the third was It's Kind of a Funny Story. I didn't love this as much as I loved the other two, but I did appreciate it for it's honest portrayal of depression. The cast of characters was amazing and reading it I could definitely see why they'd want to put this on film. I totally want to see the movie now and see how they were brought to life, quirks and all.

Some books I'm anxiously waiting for: I just FINALLY read The Forest of Hands and Teeth and LOVED it, so I need to read the next one (is there only one more?). I want the third in Diana Peterfreund's Killer Unicorn series (though I'm not even completely sure that's out yet) and I went to B&N on Sunday to find Demon's Surrender by Sarah Rees Brennan, but the Pittsburgh B&N had a slightly pathetic YA section.

So. Those are awesome books. This weekend I hope to read more and write more and also catch up on all of the blogs. It's getting scary...

Wednesday

2011-06-22T10:03:00.000-04:00

I wrote another review! You can read it here on my friend Chelle's blog. One day that girl is going to help make me famous, but for now I do HER favors. :) The book is Brother/Sister and SPOILER! I couldn't finish it. But that doesn't mean that YOU shouldn't read it (and then tell me what happens). (My guess is split personality or werewolves, but I've been wrong before.)

Now, onto this week's Road Trip Wednesday, hosted by YA Highway. This week's prompt?

The house is on fire and you've only got time to grab five things. What are they?
First, here is something you should know. Burning to death is one of my biggest fears. Like, it ranks up there PRETTY high on list of ways I don't want to die. When I was a kid I used to be so afraid that our apartment would catch on fire that I refused to ever latch my bedroom door at night so that I wouldn't risk the doorknob getting too hot to touch, thus locking me inside to burn to death while my family grabbed my cat (THEY BETTER HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT GRABBING THE CAT) and watched from the street until I was nothing but charcoal. There was one pretty close incident when I used to wear a flannel nightgown that would get snagged on the bottom of my bedspread and cause sparks and I screamed for my mom, certain that I was going to burst into flames at any second. In my current life, I have been known to ruin my roommate's food because she ran the Crock Pot overnight and the smell of split pea soup invaded both my nose and my dreams and I woke up sure that we were going to die in a split pea-inspired explosion of some sort. So I turned it off. But I am not logical in the night.

SO. In the very rare, unlikely, mostly impossible event that my house catches on fire (this is going to cause some serious night terrors, so thanks for THAT YA Highway), the five things I would grab, in no particular order are:

1. Computer. God bless technology. No, seriously. Because back in the day this would have resulted in my needing shopping carts and luggage to carry out groups of things. Like "CD's" (totally counts as one), or "books." But now I can just say my computer and all of my music is in one handy location. Assuming I can't find my iPod (which, c'mon, my house is on fire, the chances of my not finding it are extremely high), everything is already stored on this bright green, easy-to-locate machine of convenience.

2. Kindle. Is it bad that my first thought was "My UK copy of The Book Thief!" Then realized that in case of emergencies I have that book (plus a plethora of others) on my Kindle. I would be extremely sad to lose some of the books I've collected since high school, but at least I wouldn't be completely word-less.

3. Wallet. Well, bag containing all things like credit cards, a couple of checks, and probably my cell phone and my orange slushie lip gloss. I'll need money on the outside and I'll need to call people to rescue me and I'll need my orange slushie lip gloss in case there is an attractive fireman who has to rescue me from my second-story window because the doorknob was too hot for me to touch. Truthfully, if my Kindle is not by my bed, it is probably also in this bag, which makes it super convenient.

4. My Comforter. I probably won't make it to pull the crushed velvet one from the top shelf of the closet (it is still my "blankie" for mental emergencies), but I will need something big and fluffy that I can wrap around me and if my house is on fire it's probably winter (I don't know why, but I'm more terrified of fire in the winter) and those fireman blankets are not going to make me feel better.

5. TV on DVD. I'm leaving this one kind of general and basically basing it on whichever I find first, but I'm hoping that it will be either White Collar or Mad Men because if something is going to make me forget that I just lost everything, it will be Neal Caffrey or Don Draper.

I feel like I should have important things on there. Like, passport, birth certificate, etc, but that is why fire proof boxes were invented (which I currently don't have, WHY GOD DO I NOT HAVE A FIRE PROOF BOX). And the only jewelry that matters is already on my person (a silver triple ring I bought in college). I'd be sad to lose the other things. Pictures, or items people have purchased for me over the years, but all items can be replaced. Even the ones I mentioned grabbing. Because in the real event of a fire, I doubt I grab anything at all and merely run as quickly as possible out to the street, weeping tears of relief and gratitude that I did not burn to death. That's really the most important thing.

Did You Steal That From My Brain?

2011-06-17T21:34:00.000-04:00

Friday night. 9:30 p.m. Eating dinner and re-watching this week's White Collar. LIKE I DO.

I hear a knock at the door. I assume it's someone delivering food for the basement roommate. They knock again. She never hears it. I never answer. I figure if she wants food she should listen for the door, I'm not her butler. They usually end up calling her. She comes up apologizing. It all works itself out.

The knocking continues. Urgent. Not just three or four knocks. Knock after knock after knock. With the side of the fist, not the knuckles.

Someone is here to murder me. I walk to the top of the stairs and peek through the window at the top of the door.

There are children on my front steps. Approximately sixteen of them. As far as I know it is not Halloween. Even if it were Halloween we never have that many children come to our door. Also they are not in costume.

They start screaming. The children are screaming. I could open my door and save them from whatever has them fearing for their lives, thus risking letting in whatever that thing is and risking my own life in the process. Or I could leave them out there to perish. I wait a little longer.

I recognize one. She lives next door. I hesitantly make my way down the steps and open the door. There is a tiny one looking up at me. He barely reaches my hip. I'm so confused. The neighbor girl turns and yells to a truck idling in the parking lot.

"SOMEONE ANSWERED!"

The man in the unfamiliar truck yells, "Megan! Do you have our extra key?"

It is my neighbor. He wants me to supply these sixteen children with his house key while he, apparently, drives off in unfamiliar vehicles.

I hope he does not return and ask me to babysit. Nobody died tonight. But in that scenario someone very well could.

2011-06-15T21:34:00.000-04:00

In honor of the fact that after a crappy day it took almost two hours to get home tonight which, yes, I admit had something to do with me accidentally getting on the Beltway and having to turn around and start over, but I don't want to discuss that it is so not relevant, and traffic really sucked and I was trying to avoid it and found myself always in the wrong lane, stupid Tysons why are there so many lanes??

I MEAN, seeing as how I was in my car for two hours focusing on things that suck I have decided to instead write a blog on things that DON'T suck. Here, in no particular order, are things that are good.

So You Think You Can Dance. Yay summer!
White Collar. (Duh.)
The smell of summer. (flowers and grass and sun)
This lyric from Good Old War: "It's all these people with their cotton candy eyes/it's so sweet now put the train in gear."
This lyric from The Avett Brothers: "Last night I dreamt the whole night long/I woke with a head full of songs/I spent the whole day/I wrote em down but its a shame/Tonight I'll burn the lyrics/cause every chorus was your name."
Sun, breeze, windows down, music so loud people in other cars look over and pointedly roll up their windows.
Divergent. Yep. I'm reading it a second time.
While stuck at a light I saw a bunny.

So there are good things. Now I feel better. Thanks. But now I must finish because there was just ANOTHER Travis Wall piece and I must gush about him on Twitter. Also, they danced to Ingrid Michaelson and that is another thing that doesn't suck. So many people are shoving Ingrid Michaelson at me lately and I'm kind of in love.

Learning To Write From Television (Or, An Excuse For My White Collar Obsession)

2011-06-10T18:01:00.001-04:00

I am full of suck these days and this week I can blame it on the fact that I had a deadline on Monday and the week after a school deadline is always spent in a stupor watching mindless television. Even so! It's not necessarily a good thing. It's just...here's the thing. I'm 100 (double-spaced) pages into my Project of Love and decided that I wanted to change a major plot point which means going back to the beginning. Again. So I've been avoiding. And to aid in my avoidance I have continued on my quest to memorize every episode of White Collar currently available to me. Since I just totally ACED both the "who said it" and "Season One Trivia" games on usanetwork.com, I'd say I'm doing pretty well.

I told a friend that I can call it research. She may have believed me until I sent her a picture of Neal Caffrey. Then she began putting research in quotation marks. But I heartily argue that both things are true (that I am LEARNING and that he is HOT). Because aside from him being, pretty much, perfection (I just love an artist, con or non), the rest of the show is kind of amazing from a writerly standpoint. And here's why:

There's a Chekhov quote (I believe it's Chekhov, though I've also seen it attributed to Nabokov) about how if you are going to show a gun in Act One, you'd better eventually pull the trigger. Which means, obviously, that you can't casually say or do something in a story and then forget it later. And White Collar is AWESOME at this. In one episode that I (re)watched, I looked for this. As the camera panned over a certain area, certain objects were obvious to the viewer. Casually you might think nothing of it, but upon a repeat viewing you notice that every single thing shown in that scene comes back later for some reason. There's nothing extraneous, which is saying something for a 45 minute episode. It would be so easy to pad the show with random bits of information or scenery, but they make use of everything. Obviously a lot of thought is put into just how situations are going to be handled and what will be needed in order to get out of them. These aren't writers just settling in and coming up with a concept. Every detail is imagined.

I think something I have trouble with is making my characters unique. If I were to take away the names I'm not sure anyone would know that a different person was speaking. So it's necessary to make each character's voice distinct and the characters on White Collar are amazingly distinct. Of course, this is true for any television show with a group ensemble. It HAS to be. But it's one thing to make unique characters that interact with each other on a day-to-day basis. It's another to add depths of background story to each character without a huge info dump or flashback. You really learn about these characters in how they play off of each other, the things they say behind each other's backs, how they react to certain events. The best part is that you truly understand how they connect and actually enjoy one another's company.

I was thinking of other shows with ensemble casts, like Lost. That show did an excellent job of making the characters unique. BUT they only came together because of a plane crash so they really had nothing but that to connect them. I mean, yes, their desire to get off the island was absolutely a significant bond, but a majority of the characters were never friends. They were always trying to kill one another and sabotage each other for their own gain. Which definitely worked for that show, so it's not a complaint. I'm just saying that while they were each amazing in their own ways, they were, through the whole series (in my opinion) singular characters. Or on a show like Friends which would obviously depend on that ensemble mentality. Each character was unique (sometimes to an absurd or stereotypical way), but a viewer (again, MY opinion) never really got why they were friends in the first place. I can look at my own life and wonder how certain people came together or how we continue to build our relationships, but at the heart of the matter there is something important bonding us. Something I never really found with Friends. But the characters on White Collar are so great because even though they were brought together (in some cases) under bizarre circumstances, you can understand why they grow in their relationships. Why would it make sense for an FBI agent to become friends with a con artist? That's what the writers have to show and I think they did it brilliantly. Mozz and Neal are very different so they have to show, other than conning, what brought them together. All of the characters on the show have one underlying commonality (the most basic of which is their intelligence) which helps make sense of why they work.

The only other show I can think of that I've watched recently that does this as well is Ugly Betty. This was a show in which really different characters had to survive in the same environment and while at first it seemed like it shouldn't have worked, the writers gave them a back story which made their attraction to each other make sense. Marc and Betty couldn't be more different, except in their mutual desire to be an editor and not an assistant. And Amanda, who was so different from Betty, made sense as a Betty acquaintance (or even friend?) because at heart they both cared for family. Betty who had one, and Amanda who did not but desperately wanted one. (Completely unrelated, I feel like I could have watched entire episodes of Marc and Amanda interacting. They were amazing characters.)

Plot is an important aspect of a story, obviously, but unless your characters are believable and relatable, then the plot suffers. If you don't care about the character, why would you care about what they're doing? And if you haven't fleshed out a character enough, how can you even come up with a plot? How do you know their motivation?

See? RESEARCH! And now I must take all this research and apply it to Project Number One which suffers from both lack of plot and undefined characters. Thank you White Collar (and RB).

My New Life Goal

2011-06-06T11:22:00.001-04:00

Sometimes it is necessary for one to set the writing aside and go out and have an adventure. Which is exactly what I did Friday night. And if by adventure I had really meant, "ensuring R never gets into a car with me again," then I shall only say about Friday: MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.

Then, when I should have been working on finishing my non-fiction work, I spent the weekend mainlining season one episodes of White Collar like a junkie going on her final binge. Like that last drink on the plane before you enter the rehab. I wasn't even really watching it, sometimes. I just liked that it was on. That it was there. It was a comfort thing. Working on something else then seeing Matt Bomer there on my television and wondering why (1) I am so ATTRACTED to him (though, come one, that's OBVIOUS), and (2) why I so desperately want to BE him. Because now I have this intense urge to go to Italy and steal a priceless Caravaggio, or ransack a palace and come away with timeless heirlooms.

How does one get into this line of work? Does anyone know an art thief/forger who needs a morally ambiguous female sidekick (kind of like Alex, but with a lot more kissing. I hear there is more kissing in season two. Is it Alex? Don't tell me, I'll find out soon. I just think that if I were working cons with Neal Caffrey there would be A LOT of kissing)? The problem (the ONLY problem) is that I am not, nor could I ever be, morally ambiguous. My guilty conscience would get the best of me. I'd be easily intercepted by the FBI and then I would comply with their requests in exchange for immunity because there is no way I would survive in prison. The only way I COULD be the morally ambiguous female sidekick would be if my thief/forger could guarantee that I would in no possible way be implicated for any crimes. I would be completely clean. And my morally ambiguous, but do-gooder art thief would take all of the blame and go to prison for me while I waited in our loft apartment with the breath-taking view, sipping beverages from martini glasses all dramatic and forlorn until my thief returns to me after fulfilling his entire sentence and then we will drive off in a classic convertible to return to our life of high-profile heists.

This happens in real life, yes? It's just that I can't think of a better life than one filled with vintage designers suits and cocktails and the occasional fedora. I guess I'll need to start hanging out in the art galleries more regularly.

2011-05-27T18:26:00.000-04:00

So, I was hoping to get back into a regular blogging routine, but you know. Sometimes things happen. Like, recently I've been consumed with my latest WIP which was an idea which kind of came fully formed. I've been kicking ass with the writing and am almost at my halfway point. Not to say it's easy. I think this weekend will be the weeping and tearing at clothes part of the process as I try to tie up loose ends and fix the things that don't make sense. But for the most part? It's been the most satisfying thing I've done. And even if nothing comes of it, at least it's opened my eyes to the fact that my biggest writing fail is PLOT. I am terrible at plot. I can write scenes for days and days, but just don't ask me to make things happen in the scene.

Other than writing, I mostly spend my time reading or staring blankly at walls. I've read Divergent and Anna and the French Kiss in the past two weeks, both of which are amazing and the next book I pick up has some HUGE shoes to fill after these two. (Like, for real, you guys? Etienne St. Clair? I love him more than anything. My previous love was Jace from The Mortal Instruments, but after reading Anna, I was kinda like, "Jace who?" I love Etienne. So. Much.) I also finished Beauty Queens and wrote about it here on my friend Chelle's awesome blog. I'll be doing at least two more reviews for her this summer.

As for today, I've been meaning to participate in the Friday Five's with Paper Hangover for a while (partly because their name is AWESOME), but always wind up distracted by something. Which is FUNNY, since that's the theme this week:

1. IMDB. Sometimes I go to find out who was in what show or movie and then I click on something else they were in and then I think, "oh, I don't remember that guy!" and I click on another name and FIVE HOURS LATER, I'm back to what I was doing originally. IMDB is a rabbit hole of Hollywood information. It is no joke.

2. Dictionary or Thesaurus.com. You see, for a writer, I am terrible with words. Terrible. I leave myself notes like, [the thing that is almost like laughing], or [insert word here that has something to do with trees], or "they sat on a [thing people sit on]."* It's terrible. Then I click on ALL the options in the thesaurus just to make sure it's the RIGHT one.

3. Twitter. Sometimes I think if I just look away for a second the word will come to me on its own. Usually at that moment I click over to Twitter to see what's going on in the world. People knock Twitter, but I'm pretty sure I would know nothing without out. It's how I found out about Bin Laden. It's how I knew Mother's Day was a week earlier than I thought. Twitter does so much good for the world. (Don't tell the adults in my life. I like to pretend I read newspapers.)

4. YouTube. After I've been to a concert, I will spend days watching videos of the band I just saw. Or sometimes I just look for weird videos trying to one-up R's husband since he sent me "Dream Hands" and though I found the sequel, HE IS STILL WINNING AND THIS CANNOT BE. (Please forward all amazing videos to me. Thanks.)

5. Google Reader. My Reader is in a ridiculous state right now as I usually read things while at work, but lately I've been writing while at work. Things just keep piling up, but I have anxiety attacks about marking things as read. What if I miss something amazing or life-changing? Something that WASN'T on Twitter? Then what? Ugh, life is so hard.

So, now back to the writing. Actually, back to my house because it's FINALLY 6:30 and I can go home. I'll try to write better things than, "here is a list of what I've done this week!" But maybe I won't. *side eyes, mysterious music.* **

*Not real notes. Just examples.
** No, really. I probably won't.

Nobody Said It Was Easy

2011-05-18T13:41:00.000-04:00

I'm in an "I love writing!" kind of mood these days which is always a nice mood to be in. These are the kinds of days when words come easily and all I want to do is write. I wrote 2,3443 words yesterday of my current piece and so far today I have 1,594 words going in Project #2 because I just wanted to get off the island for a day. It's only 1:17pm and I still have places I can go with it. And it's exciting and I think things like, IT IS TOTALLY GOING TO HAPPEN, I'M GOING TO BE RICH AND LIVE BY THE SEA!

Unfortunately, these moods only last a few days so I must take as much from them as I can. Other times it's like pricking my finger and squeezing the pinpoint to get all of the blood in my body to come out. Things sound stupid or juvenile and I remain convinced that a five-year-old could do a better job than I'm doing. I can't come up with the right word choice. I have my characters walk for pages upon pages because I don't know what to do with them, what can keep the story moving. And sometimes I just sit in front of my computer willing myself to write, or with paper and pen in hand and I plead with myself. Just ten words. Just start with that. But nothing. And I give up, defeated for that day. This can sometimes last weeks. That's just me, though. I am a defeatist.

But this week? It's like I can't hold the words in if I sewed my entire self shut. And I like it. So back I go to the stories. Until I can't anymore, again.

On the Loss of My Childhood

2011-05-13T14:02:00.002-04:00

My current WIP is about a little boy who lives on Long Beach Island, New Jersey. We used to go to LBI every summer for two weeks, from the time I was 7 until I was 20. As I got older it lost a bit of its magic, as family vacations as the only kid are wont to do, but I still loved going there and the place holds some of my best memories. As I seem to be obsessed with both the stars and the water and can't decide which to focus on it seemed only appropriate to set my book someplace with a lot of both.

I've been doing some research the past couple of days. Looking up places I used to go, discovering street view on Google maps, that sort of thing. Obviously I knew that in the eight years since I'd been there that things would have changed. Things changed over the time I DID go. My grandparents visited a couple of years ago and said that the "Bird House" had been repainted (a house at the end of Dune Lane (the street where we stayed, renting a house from friends of my grandparents) with a border of white birds along the top which always told us which boardwalk* was ours when we got lost on the beach), and that their other friend Dorothy's house was gone and replaced with some monstrosity (a fact which made my grandmother cry). But there were some things I assumed would last until the end of time. And one of those things was the ice cream parlor Honey Bubbles.

I'm not sure I can accurately convey the dismay I felt when I realized that this place has closed. I believe my exact reaction was, while staring at the computer scanning the words and letting it sink in, saying out loud, "Oh Dear God."

It's been gone so long that I can't even find a picture of the logo on-line anywhere (which was a bear blowing bubbles**).*** The building was pink, which to my seven-year-old eyes made it like Heaven. It smelled of waffle cones, even outside, as ice cream parlors tend to do. It wasn't anything amazing. I mean, they sold Haagen Dazs ice cream, but they had every topping imaginable (imagine my current love, Pinkberry, but with ice cream rather than frozen yogurt). You could, if you were feeling especially adventurous, purchase a bucket of ice cream, which was a sand pail (clean, of course) filled to the top with ice cream and served with a small shovel. We went at least four times over the course of our two weeks, no joke.

While perusing an LBI web page and reading comments by other people experiencing similar devastation (although, apparently this happened a few years ago...like 2005), I came across this post which pretty much broke my heart:

That was where my Hubby and I first kissed in 1921.

I will never eat ice cream again.

You know. Until I realized that this was practically a mathematical impossibility and was, perhaps, a joke making fun of all of the devastated people, but up to that point it seemed so sad and I completely understood how they felt. I would really like to have ice cream right now, but I just don't know if I can.****

* LBI doesn't have a boardwalk in the conventional sense. The island is mostly private residences and B&B's with just a few hotels. The "boardwalks" are just walkways stretching from street to sand, like so:

And even that's a step up from what was there when I first started going, which was something like one of those swinging bridges (planks connected by rope), except laying flat on the sand.

** I had a t-shirt.
*** Word of caution: DO NOT google images of "Honey Bubbles." I don't know what people think that MEANS.
****At least today. Ice cream is one of my main food groups, so I'm sure after the grieving process has ended, Honey Bubbles will understand that I had to man-up and move on.

I miss this place so much.

SPEAKING of Audiobooks...

2011-05-12T11:17:00.000-04:00

My friend Chelle, middle-school librarian/YA addict/book blogger extraordinaire, posted about this thing about free audio books. So, you know, if you're into that sort of thing you may want to check it out. I like the idea of pairing new with old. Seems like a cool idea.

Road Trip Wednesday

2011-05-11T10:02:00.000-04:00

Road Trip Wednesday is a ‘Blog Carnival,’ where YA Highway's contributors post a weekly writing- or reading-related question that begs to be answered. In the comments, you can hop from destination to destination and get everybody's unique take on the topic.

If you got to choose a celebrity narrator for the audio book of your WIP or your favorite novel, who would it be and why?
This is a hard question because, honestly, I don't really like audio books. I am very particular about the voice I let invade my ears. I enjoy pleasant sounds and there are people I have known who I didn't enjoy talking to simply because their voice did not embody what I considered to be "pleasant." (Also because I'm a horrible person, but that's another topic!)

My friend tried to introduce me to a new musician who, yes, was extremely talented, but his voice was so far from the definition of pleasant that I could not enjoy him. The only audio book I have ever listened to was "The Pleasure of My Company," read by the author, Steve Martin (yes, THAT Steve Martin), and that was mostly because of the panic attacks I was experiencing at the dentist office and his voice soothed me doing a root canal. But even then I didn't listen to the whole book and have not desired to listen to it since. And Steve Martin has a lovely voice.

That being said, if I were to pick someone to read my audio book it would have to be someone I would want to listen to over and over. It would have to be a voice I wouldn't mind listening to for hours on end. It would have to a voice with an accent.

It would have to be James McAvoy. I don't know that he really represents a child with a superhero complex, but his Scottish accent is subtle and beautiful, and his voice is pleasant. And also he's pretty. Which has no bearing on an audio book, but it certainly doesn't hurt things, you know?

Because It Is One of THOSE Days.

2011-05-10T17:56:00.001-04:00

Because it is important to remind yourself of things that are good. It is important to acknowledge the things that BLOW YOUR MIND with awesome, that make you weep with joy and amazement, that is what I dedicate today to doing. Here, in no particular order, are things that are blowing my mind with awesome.

*Pandora Radio Because, really, why did it take me so long to gather the courage to play this while at work? It's so not a big deal as long as I keep it low. And sometimes I hear songs that completely kill me. Like Damien Rice? I know he is incredible, and I always seem to forget. Like, "oh, what music do you like?" and I say, "oh, this and this and this," and never remember Damien Rice until he shows up on shuffle or, now, on Pandora and his voice comes through the speakers, all full of passion, and I die all over again. And then sometimes songs come on that make me want to dance but I can't because I'M AT WORK, but that's such a new feeling! Wanting to dance while at work! Whatever will happen next?

*David Foster Wallace Confession. I never forget that David Foster Wallace makes me weep with joy. But I am currently into a section in The Pale King that is so amazing and wonderful and describes PERFECTLY life of the modern generation and uselessness and wastoids and he just GETS it. He just put into words things that everybody tries to say but which everybody fails so magnificently to say. This man. I weep with joy for his words and sorrow for his life.

*The Spring It's true. I have been restless and wandering these past few days, hardly able to stay in one place for even an hour, just constantly on the go to nowhere in particular. Just the feeling of MOVING, of going somewhere, and wanting to escape but knowing realistically that is both a stupid option and a pointless option so I just drive and drive around town wasting gas with the music loud and the windows down and everything feels like it will work out. I sing and sometimes dance (how do you NOT "move your hips like yeah" when Miley tells you to, I ask you honestly? How do you NOT?) and I pretend that I'm not embarrassed when cars pull up next to me at the stoplight. Driving around certainly does not cure the wanderlust, but it's better than staring out of the window at grass. Which I do, also, but which is not at all beneficial for anything.

*Google Maps So, my current work is set on Long Beach Island, New Jersey and I have been using Google maps in order to remember street names and figure out where things are. And today I was wandering around Holgate when I clicked something I didn't mean to click and next thing I knew I was pretty much looking right at the dunes. This is the moment I discovered street view and my entire life changed. Seriously. The future! It is so much fun! I desperately tried to walk the street where we used to stay when we took family vacations (from the roofs I have narrowed down which house it was to two) and I wanted to see the front and get the house number, but I guess there is no camera on that street. But still. Google maps! You have officially blown my mind.

2011-05-08T21:36:00.000-04:00

Sunflowers are my favorite flower and here's why: my grandfather used to grow sunflowers in this rented lot behind a cement garage. When I was little the sunflowers were taller than I was. In my head, they'd still be taller than me. I can picture them peeking over the edge of the fence surrounding the lot. But this may not be accurate. I was approximately four-years-old and at that age everyone and everything was giant. As my grandfather is gone and the sunflowers surely perished years ago, I have no way of checking for sure. I think I'll continue to remember them this way, though. Giant and cheerful. The stems as tall as a person, the flowers as big as heads.

He and my grandmother met at a German work camp during WWII and they were both originally from the Ukraine. They came here shortly after the war. Sunflowers are kind of a big deal in the Ukraine and it was my grandfather's way of bringing a little bit of home to America. I wish the rest of their story were as sweet as I'm making it sound. Unfortunately, it wasn't. But that's another story. This is about the flowers.

About two years ago a co-worker went to a picnic and brought me back a grow-your-own-sunflowers kit. I've been keeping it on my desk ever since. Recently another co-worker was talking to me about her garden and I asked her if she wanted my sunflowers. She convinced me to grow them at work, but warned me that the seeds may no longer be good. She was wrong. The seeds are still good.

Here are my sunflowers now, just over a week after planting them:

They aren't quite flowers yet, but they are on their way. My desk is not near a window so I've taken over the window ledge in my out-of-town attorney's office. I'm sure he won't mind. I check on them constantly and sometimes over-water them and I pet them (wipe the dirt off of the green) and I love them more than anything. Maybe it's the fact that they are growing and normally I'm the type of person who kills plants almost as soon as I touch them (RIP Veronica). Maybe it's bringing back a little bit of my childhood. Either way, I honestly worry about them when I'm not there.

Monday is my day off, so Friday afternoon I sent the following email to a co-worker who agreed to check on them:

Please don’t forget to check my flowers. I may have over-watered them by putting the tiniest bit of water in the bottom of the bowl, but I didn’t want them to go thirsty over the weekend. So they may be dead, but don’t worry. If they are I acknowledge that it’s my fault. I just really love them and want them to be happy.

She is the one who warned me that I could drown them. I hope I didn't kill them. I considered stopping in this weekend to make sure they were okay, but thought it might be extreme. These are my flowers and I love them. I will keep them alive forever and ever and ever.

I hope.

Sarah Dessen Kicked My Ass

2011-05-05T17:58:00.000-04:00

So, I've read other Sarah Dessen books. Maybe one. Maybe Just Listen. Which I really liked. Thought it was great. Vaguely remember it being a sweet love story where some things go wrong but, in the end, ultimately everyone winds up better. But since finishing Dreamland I wonder if maybe I blocked some things, repressed some memories, because holy crap you guys. This book! Let me walk you through it as though you are reading it. I will assume how you will feel, for that is how I roll.

Now, the book starts off kind of sweet. Girl in sister's shadow, sister runs away, girl has to figure out what that means for her. Then she meets this boy. He's kind of perfect. He's the guy you see when you close your eyes (minus the dreadlocks (for me, at least). I changed that part in my head, but otherwise, you know. Perfection). Things go well with the guy. Great, in fact. And then something happens and you, as a reader, are kind of like, "woah." (Yes, exactly like that.)

So you continue reading, thinking that there is NO POSSIBLE WAY dear, sweet, Sarah Dessen will let that happen again. And then it does. And this time, you are literally sick. It's like a kick in the gut. Disbelief. And then it happens a few times and you just want to shout, "make it stop!" I mean, maybe you do. I won't go so far as to assume that you don't.

Then it ends and things wrap up, still some lingering feelings and whatnot, and you close the book worrying that things are not great and that it will happen again because it happened multiple times already and crap you guys, this book is a TOUGH book.

That is to say, I loved it. I chose it for the title: Dreamland. I like dreams. I think they're fascinating. But this was not a book about dreams. This was a book that challenged my thinking and left me incapacitated. And how in the world did she do that to her character? Of course, that's a great lesson. Because, you know? I LOVE my character. So much. He's adorable and sweet and just wants to do good things. But something is going to happen. And I know what it will be and then I think, but is that enough? And then I feel like a horrible person. But I guess I can't be that way. In books, it's go big or go home. Nobody wants to read a story in which the protagonist has everything go right. But can I do it? I keep thinking about this one scene and CANNOT believe she even wrote it. What do you have to put INTO it to get that OUT of it? It was just...terrible. (The thing, not the writing.)

Then it made me wonder if I remembered Just Listen correctly. Surely this terrible, cruel author must do this in all of her books. She must be really terrible. (I can say with conviction that I'm sure the author is a truly lovely person. Just read her blog and try to imagine otherwise.)

But still! THIS BOOK. Ugh. Who would have thought I'd learn such harsh truths from a book called Dreamland?? Dreamland!!

These Are Mondays

2011-05-02T15:57:00.000-04:00

Two concerts in two weekends! It's like I am an exciting person who does this sort of thing all of the time, but this is not the case. But! This weekend! Oh, the fun times that were had!

I drove to Pittsburgh on Saturday and first thing I got to have a salad with french fries. Maybe you know this but this is one of my favorite things about Pittsburgh and I never knew it was strange until I moved away and I always wondered why ALL restaurants did not put french fries on their salads. It should be a thing. At least one restaurant in every city should do this. Maybe we can work on that now that we've taken care of one terrorist in particular? Let's get back to the important things, right?

Then I went to see Guster. I have seen Guster numerous times. So many, in fact, that I have lost count. It is somewhere around eight, I believe. But still! That is a lot of times. And I still love them after all these years. And I have fallen in love with so many of their opening bands and this time was no exception. The Good Old War are kind of awesome and the drummer has a really pretty smile, but that's definitely not the only reason they were great. They made me want to dance and this is a desire I very rarely have (in public). (Unless I've been watching So You Think You Can Dance, then I want to dance ALL OF THE TIME.)

There were lots of drunk people. One girl was so drunk she couldn't even speak, but she could definitely dance. And she did. All over the boy she was with and sometimes all over the girl she was with. Then she fell over and security made her leave. Then another drunk girl took her place and danced all up in our space. I punched her in the back a few times to let her know that I was going to stand my ground. She could flail her arms all she liked, but I was not going to move, no I was not. When she stopped dancing she dropped her head to her chest and kept rubbing her hand on her mouth and I spent almost all of "Barrel of a Gun" preparing to jump out of the way of vomit or a falling body, but she took it upon herself to leave. Also, to my left, two people were tag-teaming the dancing. One would go crazy until she got tired and then she would tag the boy in and he would go crazy and this went back and forth ALL NIGHT. It was not weird, not at all.

AND THEN!! Then, on Sunday I went to a fancy brunch with my brother and his lady, and when were driving out of the parking lot we saw a man running and another man chasing him. We thought, "Oh, that's weird." Until a third man also went running and my brother said, "wait, what's happening? Did you see that first guy? It looked like he was carrying a cash register." So I and his lady laughed, because he's always saying crazy things. But then when we approached the gate of the lot we heard a woman screaming and so we rolled down the windows and she was hysterical, shouting that her purse had been snatched, and when the gentlemen wearing the yellow plastic jumpsuits heard about it, they floored the golf cart and were ON THE CASE. I don't know what happened after that.

It was such an exciting weekend, you have no idea.

A Love Letter (of sorts) to My Home City

2011-05-01T20:03:00.000-04:00

Hey Pittsburgh,

Um, this is kind of awkward. Sorry I haven't called or been in touch. But I want you to know that it's not me. It's definitely you. We should hash this all out because I think it's only fair for you to know exactly what happened.   I never want to be anything but fair. So here goes:

It's the way you always looked gray, even on the sunniest days. And how three of the entrances into the city have tunnels and people still couldn't seem to figure out how to enter them without stopping first. And it's how you hid things from me. Like signs for highways, way up in the rafters. I thought we were past that, you know? I thought you'd want to tell me things, not make me force them out of you. It's careless, really, is what it is. I felt like I was always going in circles.

It's about the times you broke my trust. I can only forgive so many times before it's unhealthy for both of us. It's about how you kept changing the names of things, as though they never existed in the first place. Like I made the whole thing up. I looked like a fool. It's how everything looked the same but was actually different. I couldn't keep up. It's about that horrible Fourth of July when the fireworks fell at our feet and I cried but you didn't care. Then you wouldn't let me leave, lining up the people and over-crowding the buses. That was one of your worst moments. I don't know if I'll ever forgive that one.

It's about the promises you couldn't keep. And things you showed me but wouldn't let me have and the memories and the brokenness.  I tried. I really did. I felt like you didn't try at all, and that's why I had to leave.

I don't want you to get the wrong impression. It wasn't all bad. There were definitely good times. I miss the salads with french fries and being in a place where everybody knows what perogies and hoagies are.  And the concerts. Oh, the concerts. We were musical, weren't we?

There was the after-Christmas shopping, before you closed all of your doors. The blizzard, back when snow was still magical. And late-night walks under purple summer skies and driving through town in reverse and the illegal fireworks.  Why was it always about fireworks with you?

There were the backyard conversations and too many people on the couch and the laughing! We did love to laugh, you and I. And the way you look at night. I can't deny that you're beautiful in the moonlight. And how from certain spots in my town I could see you, shining in the distance and oh, I was so proud. I would boast of you like no other. "That's MY city!" I would say. "And I am filled with joy!" But then I'd look other times and you'd be covered in fog and no matter how hard I tried I couldn't see you at all.  It started to feel like you were covered in fog more often than you shone in the sun.

Please don't be offended when I avert my gaze or stare at my feet. I'm just not ready to acknowledge what happened between us. You have to understand. You were there. Don't take it personally. Maybe it wasn't you. Maybe it was both of us. I'll take some of the blame, because I can. Because I'd feel guilty laying it all on you. And maybe that was another of our problems. How I'd always let you back in because you mastered that sheepish look, that tearful apology. I can't resist you, Pittsburgh. That's why I stay away.

Maybe we need to time to figure things out on our own. You're still changing, I'm still changing. You know how it is. First loves rarely last. Maybe one day we can reconcile. Maybe one day I will see you standing there and I will be proud again and I will say to whomever I'm with, "That is where I am from! Isn't it beautiful?" Maybe. One day.

Happy Royal Wedding Day!!

2011-04-29T10:13:00.000-04:00

I was up at 4:30am to watch coverage of the Royal Wedding, from the arrival of the guests to when William and Catherine departed in their carriage. I love a good fairy tale, and this one? Royalty weds non-royal? That's a good one. Catherine (we'll call her Catherine now that she's a Princess) is beautiful and seems well-suited to royal life. And on the balcony, after their kiss, she just seemed so happy and it made my cold heart melt.

I only shed one tear through the whole thing and that was when Princess Catherine curtsied to her Queen on the way out of the ceremony.

And don't the Princes just seem like nice, down-to-Earth guys who genuinely like each other? I love that. And I love them and the way Harry had a mischevious look on his face the whole time and the way William looked toward him, grateful he was by his side. And the shyness evident between the new couple as they share this day with the entire world. It was beautiful the whole way through. But enough about the Royals. You are probably sick of hearing about them! Let's talk about Princess Megan.

This is me as a Princess. I gave myself freckles because I've always wanted them. And a tiara because I've also always wanted one of those. And a balcony on a moonlit night. But the rest? That is what I look like every day.*

When I was a child I had a pink satin nightgown with a ruffle along the bottom and I used to walk around the house pretending to be a Princess. I named myself Victoria, or Alexandria, or something regal. I lived in towers and longed to be rescued. I've probably told this story a million times. But to actually go to sleep at night and know that when you wake up the next day you're marrying a Prince and by the end of the night you will officially be a Princess? It's a dream come true for billions of little girls. Maybe the Reverend was right in saying that all marriages are royal marriages. Being unmarried, I can't say for sure. The marriages I've seen up close certainly haven't been. But maybe that's why I cling so tightly to this. And I refuse to believe I'll never be called Princess.**

* EVERY. DAY.
** I'll take it as a joke.

On How Cassie Clare is a Genius (And Some Other Things)

2011-04-28T13:01:00.000-04:00

SPOILER(!!!) for City of Fallen Angels. So, maybe skip this if you haven't read it.

So I was reading the above-mentioned book over the weekend and I came across the section where Jace and Clary on the balcony during her mom's engagement party. Jace starts talking and (the reader) can tell right away that something is off. I started getting annoyed and saying, "Ugh, that's SO obvious it's not Jace. This is terrible." Until I later realized, NO. It's actually quite genius. It takes a really great writer to create such a distinct character voice that just by changing wording or inflection you know immediately that it's not actually the character talking. It's something I struggle with constantly, positive that all of my characters sound the same and that they actually sound like extensions of me.

I'm reading something a friend wrote who is amazing at creating a distinct character voice. No matter where I am in the story, I can always pick it up and say, "Oh, that's so-and-so," or "this is definitely ______." Sometimes when introduced to a new character I read the dialogue and then I'm surprised when the author tells me that the character has an accent. I always have to go back and re-read everything that character said up to that point because it completely changes everything. But in my friend's story, I could hear the accent before she even mentioned that he had one.

Language is interesting in all its quirks. Like how when a child learns to speak and she picks up on the rules even if she doesn't understand them right away. She learns through listening that the past-tense often ends in -ed, so she'll say something like "the phone ringed," instead of "the phone rang." And by just this tiny little detail you know immediately that the speaker is either a child, or someone just learning English. I used to teach an ESL class and it was always fascinating to watch foreign speakers try to pick up on the intricacies of English. Even as they pick up on the words, sentence structure is incredibly complicated. So they might say, "Do you know where is so-and-so?" Which is correct, technically, in that it combines two correct questions ("Do you know" and "Where is"), but together it makes a wrong sentence. But how do you explain that? I never know the WHY of these things, just that they ARE. And they never, ever, no matter how well they learn the English language, seem to catch on to contractions.

So there are all these little things that can be used to create a distinct character voice. As a reader, you don't even notice them, really. I can't tell you what was different about Jace's voice in that section, just that it was noticeably so. Even down to word choice, so you can say, "Oh, this character would NEVER say that." David Foster Wallace also does this brilliantly. He HAD to. With as many characters as his books have, each one has to have a distinct voice or you'd never make it through the story.

These are my deep thoughts, all beginning with a moment on a balcony (I believe that all important moments happen on balcony because of the scene in Aladdin with the magic carpet). It's something I'll be working on as I move forward. Paying attention to wording and sentiment. Like, what are the differences between the old and the young and how do you portray that in the same story?

These are the things that make writing hard (and also everything else).

Look at the Stars, Look How They Shine For You

2011-04-27T22:06:00.000-04:00

It is Road Trip Wednesday again, hosted by YA Highway, in which they ask a reading or writing related question. This weeks question:

If your WIP or favorite book were music, what song(s) would it be?

I LOVE this question. And obviously I had to wait until I got home and could look at my playlists to see. I love music. I can't always write with music playing, but I do make playlists for my WIP and sometimes play them in my car so I can think about it while I'm driving. This isn't the complete playlist, but the top songs for my current project, about a boy and water and the stars, are:

California Stars - Billy Bragg and Wilco do a Guthrie tribute full of amazingness.
Caught by the River - The Doves
Star, Star - The Frames
Swim Until You Can't See Land - Frightened Rabbit
Fallen From the Sky - Glen Hansard (ONCE soundtrack) (He's also the lead singer of The Frames, so he's pretty awesome)
After the Storm - Mumford & Sons
Walk on the Ocean - Toad the Wet Sprocket

They are full of angst and drowning and longing. Which I think completely represents my book (and writing and general. So much angst and drowning and longing. Well...not so much drowning, but definitely the other two).

I Just... I Just Love This Man.

2011-04-24T18:38:00.000-04:00

In a completely talent-wise way. And yes, I WILL post a video every time I see him in concert.

So, that is Stephen Kellogg. Normally he tours with his band (The Sixers), but he took to the road solo this spring. He's an interesting artist in that I'd heard only two of his songs before I (accidentally) saw him live the first time, but I didn't think they were anything special. But seeing him live is like a whole other experience. There's so much energy and passion that doesn't come through in the recording and he punctuates the songs with anecdotes and he'd be a perfect subject for a Behind The Music special (do they still do that?). This is in contrast with musicians who are also insanely talented, but put on incredibly boring shows (looking at you Foo Fighters).

I felt like I had a point about story-telling and music and not giving away too many secrets about the writing process, but it got lost somewhere along the way. So I'm not going to talk about that. Or anything, actually. I'm just going to continue scouring YouTube for videos of Stephen Kellogg. I typically do this for about two days after seeing him live. It's like tradition.

Later this week I'll discuss exactly why Cassie Clare is a genius, but I doubt that fact is a secret to anyone.

2011-04-21T17:39:00.002-04:00

Okay. But SERIOUSLY? I already wanted to see Disney's CATS and now I'm going to have to see CHIMPANZEE?

Why does Disney keep doing this? First Pixar makes me weep in public, now they're using REAL LIVE BABY ANIMALS to toy with my emotions and I don't think I can handle it.

Road Trip Wednesday

2011-04-20T10:17:00.000-04:00

Welcome to another Road Trip Wednesday. Road Trip Wednesday is a 'Blog Carnival,' where YA Highway's contributors post a weekly writing-or reading- related question that begs to be answered. This week's question:

Compare your first kiss with your favorite character's first kiss.

Interesting that I would broach this topic JUST LAST WEEK. Okay. So, when I was a kid, my neighbors had one of these -->

Except it was a little bit bigger. There was room to walk around and hang out inside and also inside was a small bench. It was under that bench that six-year-old Megan received her first kiss from the dreamy boy next door, Michael. (Is it coincidence that my protagonist is named Mikey? I had never actually thought of it before, but maybe it was on purpose! Interesting!) We used to spoon under that bench, playing husband and wife. Like kids do. In the "morning" I would kiss him goodbye and he'd ride off into the alley on his "motorcycle" to take the kids to school. The weirdest thing about this is that I used to enjoy playing house and now that I'm an adult with adult responsibilities, "playing house" is the absolute worst. Oh, innocence.

We also used to sneak into the scary yard of an abandoned house and I would wait with my hands around the pole of a clothesline for him to ride up the path on his bike and rescue me from dragons and nefarious kidnappers. I've always wanted to be a Princess in Distress.

Michael and I "dated" for almost two years. His mom used to have me over for fried chicken and corn, but my parents refused to acknowledge his existence. We were doomed, much like Romeo and Juliet. And then he decided he was finished with me, sometime in the third grade, and we made our friend Kelly choose between us. Kelly was in sixth grade and smoke cigarettes and she chose me, but quickly dumped me when I rebounded with Mark. (I was quite the player in those early years.)

I guess I am probably going about these things all wrong and they are probably supposed to somehow relate to writing, but I kind of just like answering the questions. I can't think of any book that involves promiscuous grade-schoolers, so I'm not sure I can compare my experience to anything. I suppose I could think to later years, but that's boring and this was the first one. The one that mattered. The one I'll always remember when I see backyard jungle gyms and abandoned yards with overgrown grass and soggy, gray clothesline. Or motorcycles that are actually bicycles. Or princesses and dragons or paths strewn with dead leaves and branches...

2011-04-15T11:07:00.001-04:00

Taking a ~~page~~ post from Paper Hangover, I'm answering Friday's question of WHICH FIVE BOOK CHARACTERS WOULD YOU SWITCH PLACES WITH FOR A DAY?

This also happens to be a really hard question.

1. Definitely Clary from The Mortal Instruments series because, hello, Jace. This one was so obvious.

2. The Little Prince from The Little Prince because he lives on an asteroid and watches a million sunsets and talks to flowers and can hop to other asteroids and he just wants a sheep. I mean, I know he's lonely, but it's only one day. And once I've seen what it's like, I can bring him back here to live with me so that he's NOT lonely and he can wax philosophical for days and days while I just love him.

For real. This is so hard.

3. Elizabeth Bennet from Pride and Prejudice because, duh, Mr. Darcy. I feel like this one is too obvious. EVERYONE wants to be Elizabeth Bennet and wants to take long walks wearing those dresses which I kind of love and go to dances and whatnot.

4. Alice from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland because WONDERLAND.

5. Blair Waldorf from Gossip Girl. To be honest, I have not actually read many of the Gossip Girl books (and by "many" I mean I read the first one only), but I DO watch the show and since it is BASED (however loosely) on the books, I think it totally counts and because Blair wears the best dresses ever and also CHUCK BASS and also she spends summers in Paris and also her hair is REALLY pretty and even when she's sometimes evil she is still, sometimes, a really nice person and a good friend (sometimes). I think she's one of the best characters (on television). (Okay, I'm totally cheating.)

I Am Signaling You Through the Flames. The North Pole is Not Where It Used To Be.

2011-04-14T14:53:00.000-04:00

It is National Poetry Month! This is the month when I go around reciting things like, "I grow old, I grow old, I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled." (Eliot - "Prufrock" - My fave AND birthday-appropriate)

Or, "The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life? Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse." (Whitman - "Oh Me, Oh Life" - Dead Poets Society FOR LIFE)

And tonight I want to go home and soak in a bath of Ferlinghetti ("Poetry as Insurgent Art" (see title of post and also, OH MY), O'Hara ("The Day Lady Died" CHANGED MY LIFE*), and Ginsberg (Because, seriously? "Howl?" Are you kidding me?), for truly I am a Beat at the heart of things (or, at least the one watching from the corner saying, "Wow! Look at LIFE" but not actually participating because they did DRUGS you guys and drugs are bad). But still, you know? I love their words and their PASSION for things.

So here. Because I know you CARE, I am giving you Frank O'Hara's "Why I Am Not A Painter."

I am not a painter, I am a poet.
Why? I think I would rather be
a painter, but I am not. Well,

for instance, Mike Goldberg
is starting a painting. I drop in.
"Sit down and have a drink" he
says. I drink; we drink. I look
up. "You have SARDINES in it."
"Yes, it needed something there."
"Oh." I go and the days go by
and I drop in again. The painting
is going on, and I go, and the days
go by. I drop in. The painting is 
finished. "Where's SARDINES?"
All that's left is just
letters, "It was too much," Mike says.

But me? One day I am thinking of
a color: orange. I write a line
about orange. Pretty soon it is a 
whole page of words, not lines.
Then another page. There should be
so much more, not of orange, of
words, of how terrible orange is
and life. Days go by. It is even in
prose, I am a real poet. My poem
is finished and I haven't mentioned
orange yet. It's twelve poems, I call
it ORANGES. And one day in a gallery
I see Mike's painting, called SARDINES.

*I realize that one day I must stop describing EVERYTHING as life-changing, but...it really all is just that. Especially Frank O'Hara. The first poem I ever tried to write (for my first ever creative writing class, not like...on my own. I would never do that) was an attempt at a Lunch Poem. It was horrendous. So now I just read them.

Road Trip Wednesday

2011-04-13T15:10:00.000-04:00

I'm starting to play other peoples' games in order to be more social online, so I'm starting with YA Highway's Road Trip Wednesday. Road Trip Wednesday is a "Blog Carnival," where YA Highway's contributors post a weekly writing-or reading-related question that begs to be answered. In the comments, you can hop from destination to destination and get every body's unique take on the topic.

I like answering questions. So without further ado:

This Week's Topic:
What is the story of your best scar?

The summer of my sixth year, my mother married my step dad and shipped me off to stay with strangers while they went on their honeymoon. I mean, okay, they weren’t exactly strangers. It was my mom’s maid-of-honor and family and I only vaguely knew the woman because she worked with my mother.

The point is, they had a dog. The dog was about 172-years-old (in people years) and was cranky and lazy and her name was Zooey and I loved her a little bit. One afternoon, after running around playing kickball, or riding a bike, or playing Ghostbusters, or whatever it was I did with boys back when I was six (kissed them in the playground. But that’s another story), we returned to the house, entering through the back, up the porch, where Zooey was faithfully keeping watch of all who entered or exited her home. She was sitting on her back haunches and I probably said something like, “Zooey, I love you SO much,” before bending down to give her a kiss on the nose.

Zooey did not like being kissed on the nose and she bit my mouth as my puckered lips came toward her. I begged the woman’s son to not tell anyone, even though there was blood coming out from that spot right above my lip and under my nose that is kind of indented and weird. His mother noticed, of course, as my lip had swelled to three times its size, but no stitches were required. And that’s why I don’t like dogs and later in life dropped an adorable puppy on his head (by ACCIDENT).

This scar is mostly unnoticeable by now, of course. Unlike the numerous scars on my hands and wrists, but it’s fine, they are from my cat Precious who was a long-haired grey almost-looked-Persian four-pound furry ball of adorable who was the love of my pet life, but whom I horribly abused because I was a child and didn’t know things and I still feel so much guilt over it to the point it makes me want to cry and I don’t want to talk about it anymore.

I miss her so much.

2011-04-12T11:00:00.000-04:00

So, non-fiction writing is hard. Harder than fiction because in fiction you make things up and hide behind the lies. In non-fiction you can still hide, but it's much more difficult. If you lie you come off as a fake (*coughjamesfreycough*), and I have a long history of hiding behind emotions and joking about my awesome-ness in order to hide my insecurities. I've become an expert at avoidance (in that it's probably obvious to everyone else I am avoiding talking, but to me I think it makes me seem extremely interested in the other person because I keep asking questions and returning the subject to them). And no matter what you write in non-fiction (unless it's a journalistic piece or biography of someone else), some part of you must be revealed or it's just boring.

I can start an essay (never memoir, I could never reveal that much) about the homeless man in Starbucks with the dirty coffee cup, reading the paper and cursing the Arts section, but eventually it turns into how I wish I were free to indulge in my crazy.

Or maybe I'm inspired by the girl with the innapropriately low-cut shirt in Borders and then I'm revealing how in the sixth grade I _________________________ (ha ha, LIKE I'D TELL YOU.)

Or talking about cards from significant others leads me to discussing secret admirer notes in junior high, but I'd have to tell you what they said and I just can't. Let's just say that this was the time in my life when Dan C. would walk home from school licking his lips and calling people "Sugar Nipples." Not that my notes went to Dan C., though I was mildly attracted to him. (He was a pastor's son and I was a pastor's granddaughter so obviously we were meant to be. He of the innapropriate name-calling and me with my secret admirer notes of shame.)

Or how as an impressionable five-year-old I had a book with anatomically correct naked people showing me where I came from and how I'm pretty sure that book had some bearing on my fear of babies because all I can picture are the pages and pages filled with smiling sperm.

Actually, that last one has worked itself into my current essay titled, appropriately, "Where Did I Come From?" but has less to do with sex than with "Who Am I, Really?" and was ultimately inspired my R's letter to Daddy Trumpbucks. But if I give too much away, you won't want to read my book.

The thing is, I kind of love non-fiction. A little David Sedaris (he of the rock star signings) and Sloane Crosley and (now) Tina Fey make for a happy Megan. And when I considered being a writer in college I was thinking non-fiction. (There's a reason I started with journalism and then quit.) So it's good that I'm taking this module because it scares the crap out of me and I can use that fear to eventually make my fiction more emotionally appealing. But man, you guys. Other people are going to read about how when I was seventeen ______________________, BUT IT WAS DARK AND I SWEAR I COULD HARDLY SEE A THING (but if you must know, yes, I looked).

2011-04-07T10:13:00.000-04:00

I often tell people, when I'm feeling particularly insane and trapped (which happens more often than not these days), right after I say, "I'm going to sell my possessions and run off to Asia!" or "You have to have a SKILL to run away with the circus," I tell them, "It's just that I feel I'm going to waste away at this job and one day I'll be found under my desk in the fetal position, long since dead, and the cleaning crew will say, "Ah, it is nice to finally put a face to the Snickers wrapper." This no longer really applies as my hours have changed and I am no longer a stranger to the cleaning crew. In fact, the lady who empties my garbage can always says "hi!" as she's clearing the day's contents and I feel horror as I think, "Is she judging me? Is she thinking, 'Ah, this is the one who eats the candy.' She should stop that." I mean, she's right. I SHOULD stop that. And she's really nice and I fear what would happen if she found a dead body under the desk. Because I'm trying to be less selfish, I will do my best to make sure that doesn't happen. FOR HER.

I have been writing. And writing. And writing. And it feels amazing, like I want to do nothing else and I have so many words that I want to get down and so many ideas I want to express and I'm afraid that if I stop for a moment I'll lose it all and I'm depressed when I'm at work and I'm annoyed when I have to sleep and I'm frustrated that I have other things I need to do, like shower and eat and breathe because I just want to get this all out at once. Until it's finished and I collapse.

At some point it has to slow down and I ~~may~~ will grow discouraged, but for right now it's good and new and exciting and I don't know how I'm supposed to LIVE when I have this thing just suffocating me. Like if I don't do it I'll die. And as we've discussed, I can't let that happen.

But I can't run away (I have neither the resources nor the skills necessary to do so) and for now (and maybe forever), I have to work and I have to accept that even though it's COMPLETELY hindering what could be a very productive and rewarding (both emotionally and monetarily) career, it's a fact of life that I can't deny. So I will eat my Snickers and I will write when no one is watching and I will click out of the screen (very obviously) when someone walks by because this is the only way I can make it happen. I will not waste away.

It's Like I'm From THE STREETS.

2011-04-05T17:13:00.000-04:00

I am thinking about keeping the scrape on my car because I think it makes me look tough. Like a tattoo (unless it is MY tattoo because should I ever get one the one that I would get is very far from tough. People might say, "oh, isn't she.....literary...." but they would never say,"oh, she is so tough." Especially if they know how I react to needles which is to be "fine" while it's happening, and then pass out twenty minutes later, like when I had my nerve testing and was like, "yeah! I'm good!" and then it was all over and she was telling me the results and I was all, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but can I have some water or something because I'm going to pass out," and then I had to lie back down and she put my feet up on a pillow and it was highly humiliating. I doubt tattoo artists keep pillows for my feet in the event I pass out after the fact. But I digress).

Before this incident, cars considered me mostly invisible. Maybe safe. They'd glance over and see no scrapes on my car and they'd think, "oh, she must be a good driver!" (not true) "surely she is one who pays attention and always knows when danger is about to erupt (true. I am so aware of when things are going to happen that I often beep at people just because I know they are THINKING about doing something. That is how aware I am). But now they will glance over and say, "oh (I don't know why in my imagination people always begin their sentences with "oh" but they do and it makes me happy), stay away from her. She is DANGEROUS. Look at that scrape on the side of her car!" Little would they know that it was merely the result of misjudging a turn and crashing (you should have heard it. I am surprised people did not come running) into a cement wall). I will wear my scrape like a badge of HONOR.

I Will Not Quote the Song FRIDAY, Even Though I REALLY Want To.

2011-04-01T16:01:00.000-04:00

Sometimes, mostly because of INSANITY, I send rambling emails to friends. To accurately convey my state of mind on this particular week, I bring you the emails I wrote (the first a combination of Wednesday and Thursday):

I've taken to leaving the office for lunch because I can't handle the conversations that happen every. single. day. But I can't just sit at my desk and read because, apparently, that's rude. So I have to go sit in my car in the parking lots of various fast food establishments, using gas and/or running down my battery. If they had consulted me before closing my Borders, I would have told them it's a terrible idea because now where am I supposed to go when I want to get out of my office at lunch and go somewhere not crowded?

My co-workers don't seem to understand this need to leave the office and as I haven't stayed for lunch once this week one woman asked if I was staying today. I said, "no," and she gasped, really and truly gasped, as though she couldn't believe it. I wanted to say something like, I'm not sure why this surprises you. I can go anywhere for lunch and go through our whole routine on my own.

It starts like this, "Oh, YOUR lunch looks good! What is it? Did you make it? How about those poor people in Japan? Oh, it's just awful. Did you see on the news about that girl who was abducted? So scary! The world has become such a terrible place! It's so sad. You have to always watch what you're doing now. Remember when we could smoke indoors? I remember at the bank we would just sit answering phones and smoking and you could smoke on airplanes? I mean, that was back in the 80's, but still. You just think about how much things have changed, the things you can't do anymore." Sometimes there is the conversation about old TV that starts with: "I love the old Match game. I love watching those old game shows on the Game Show Network. Remember [insert various old shows here]? Or how about [another show] with his [insert various distinguishing characteristic]." And then. As soon as there is a moment of silence, EVERY SINGLE DAY, one woman says: "Mm. I could use a nap." You really have no idea how often these exact things are repeated.

After a while it can drive a girl nuts and so she goes and sits in her car reading a book about the end of the world which is narrated by one of the angels of the apocalypse because IT IS MORE UPLIFTING THAN THAT DRIVEL EVERY DAY.

And then Friday happened:

Today I was leaving for lunch when I hit the parking garage wall. There is a scrape the general size of a beach ball on my back passenger door, also a pretty deep cut and a minor dent. This is very sad. And it looks like it will cost me more to re-paint the door than it will to have my front brakes replaced which, according to my recent state inspection, will probably need to be done before the end of the year. Stupid car. I hate that I need him. Him. Yes. My previous car was also a him and he was an amazing blue color called "Atomic Blue Metallic" and I called him "Atomic Awesome." We did everything together, Atomic Awesome and I. Until some D-bag hydroplaned into Atomic Awesome's side on the Beltway during an apocalyptic rainstorm. I cried when the insurance company told me he was totalled. I did not cry when I smashed this car in the wall. Because I just do not love him in the same way I loved Atomic Awesome. I haven't even named him. Because how does one follow the glory of the Double AA?

So, that's FRIDAY.

How are you? The week is almost over. Tomorrow I have to write because a friend and I have decided that we will have completed drafts of our novel by August, but she wants everything I have NOW (NOW being tomorrow). What I have is not much. But it will be more tomorrow. Then I'm going to sleep forever and be less insane next week. Also, I have to have needles put into my arm on Monday. (Nerve testing for the problematic wrist.) So things can only go up from there. I did not realize that nerve testing would involve shoving needles into my arm, and had I realized I probably would not have sought medical assistance.

And a five-year-old just brought me a cupcake. So I guess today is okay.

2011-03-10T10:17:00.000-05:00

I am currently feuding with someone. This someone doesn't know. I find this to be the preferable way to feud as no confrontation is required. This is nice when the issue is a stupid one, as this one is, though I know the other person does not think it is stupid, but that is because this person is crazy. It has recently turned into a screaming match, but has not yet become something that I actually need to address. There are just hints as to how the other person is feeling. But the way I see it, both sides are valid. The other person is controlling and annoying and I am disorganized (and therefore, probably, also annoying).

I feud with people a lot (in my head). It helps feed the "winner" inside of me. Does that make me sound like Charlie Sheen? I avoided that whole fiasco, heard nothing of his rants, until a friend sent me the Charlie Sheen New Yorker cartoons and, well, I laughed. And also, pretty much everything everybody else was saying started making sense.

It has come to my attention that I might need a baby-sitter. Someone to drink coffee with who will occasionally look up and say, "hey, you haven't turned a page in a while." This is because I have perfected the art of zoning out while staring at the page. Zoning out used to require me staring off into space, but now I cross my eyes a little and the page disappears so that it is kind of like staring into space but without looking weird or anyone knowing. Until they realize that I haven't turned the page in forty minutes and then I start to whine and say, "THIS BOOK. IT MAKES ME CRAZY. I AM GOING INSANE. WHY WOULD SOMEONE DO THIS TO ME." All in caps. Sometimes I think in capital letters, but it doesn't mean I'm screaming. It is for EMPHASIS.

In order to avoid reading this particular book I have done a lot of things this week that I am not proud of, but which I do not regret. They mostly involve indulging in various forms of pop culture, like reading (more) celebrity memoirs (feeding my inner rock star), and catching up on a television show (instead of buying a new computer, I used a portion of my tax refund to purchase the DVDs of a particular show that I missed almost an entire season of due to utter stupidity but now I have corrected this mistake and am soooooo in love with a horrible and evil character. Even more so than I already was. He is just so amazing and not COMPLETELY evil because he knows how to LOVE but is it weird I like him best when he is all disheveled and drunk?). I have no choice but to read this book, but I'd rather scratch my eyeballs out with a fork. The only other book to ever make me feel this way was The English Patient. So. At least it is in good company.

2011-03-09T13:03:00.000-05:00

I can't complain about my job. I mean, I DO. As do most people. It's not what I want to be doing. But the place I work isn't the worst. And it has its perks. And I can write emails to my bosses that say:

I'm going to leave early for lunch to go to a doctor's appointment. It's possible I may lose my hand, but I shall carry on.

And then receive responses like:

My husband just got a new chain saw. Let me know if you need it.

So, you know. It's not the worst.

The Journey to Adulthood

2011-03-04T14:44:00.000-05:00

I'll never be an adult and I guess I'm okay with it. I mean, yesterday I had chips and salsa for lunch because I haven't been to the grocery store in weeks and I could buy those things at the drugstore. I'm driving five hours tomorrow so that my mother will do my laundry. Just last night I unpacked from a trip I returned from in January. I can never make it to the post office or the bank in a timely manner and I finally, just this week, sent back Netflix movies that I watched before Christmas. I'm never on time for anything. I used to be domestic. I used to cook and clean regularly and even dusted. And I suppose one day I'll need to do these things again, but for now I shall claim to be scatterbrained because I am creative. I cannot be expected to do things that normal people do. For now this excuse works for me.

Something else that works for me is that last night I dreamed I was secretly a Princess (like in The Princess Diaries). There were royal jewels hidden in the attic of a pub along with frilly dresses. If I were to be a Princess I would not be a Princess like Kate Middleton. I'd want to be an old-school Princess with dragons and heroic deeds and ball gowns and masquerade balls. Not the kind who is expected to mingle with the commoners.

I meant to take off my nail polish last night, but the way it has chipped on my pinky makes it look like a smiley face. So I couldn't remove it. Obviously.

Tonight I shall wander galleries and look at art and hear live music of the acoustic and folk sort and then drink wine. Which is going to be as close to adulthood as I get, I guess.

2011-03-02T15:17:00.000-05:00

Monday was gray and rainy and I thought, "It is a perfect day to read for fun and not leave the house!" Thirty minutes later I was dressed and ready to go because I can't stay in my house all day. I can't even stay in my house long enough to do laundry, which is why I either go to the laundromat or save it all up to take home to the farm.

I decided on Cosi and ordered a salad and a drink and reached into my bag and found that I'd forgotten my wallet. I told the manager, who took my order, and he shook his head and mumbled something that sounded like, "You look honest, you'll pay me back." I couldn't believe that this was what he said so I stood there stupidly for a minute before he picked up the cup, shook it in my face and said, "go get your drink, I'll bring your salad." And I settled myself into the booth and thought about how there are still decent and kind people in the world and my faith in humanity had been almost totally and completely restored.

After eating and reading for a bit, I left to get my wallet. I returned immediately, but the shifts had changed and a new manager was on duty. I told him what had happened and he looked around but there was no note of anything because the other manager had refused to take my name or information. So he said, "he let you go, don't worry about it! But THANK YOU for coming back! Would you like some chips while you are here? Or, why don't you take this survey that will give you $2 off your next purchase! Come again soon!" So, basically what happened was, I got a free lunch, was offered MORE free food, and then was given $2 off the next time I actually make a purchase.

I left very bewildered. Did that really happen? It seems so unlikely. But maybe not everyone is as jaded and cynical as I. Maybe the managers of this particular Cosi BELIEVE in people and LIKE people. I must return and learn from them.

2011-02-25T12:13:00.000-05:00

One day, my sophomore year of college, I was wandering the shampoo aisle of the local dollar store when I noticed that I was being followed by a boy. I made my way to the toy section thinking something like, no one would want to follow me to the toy section! That's for children! I was wrong. I was looking at coloring books or baby dolls and I heard a voice behind me.

"Hey, what are you doing tonight?" it asked.
I turned around. It was the boy who had been lurking behind me while I looked at Suave conditioner. "Um...working," I said.
"What about after work?" he asked.
"Studying..." I said.
"Are you free tomorrow?"
"Uh, I'm working then too."
"Oh," he said. "Doyouwannagooutsometime?"
"No."

I bought my shampoo and left quickly.

A couple weeks later I was at the local laundromat and while I was folding my clothes to put back in the basket for the long walk back up the massive hill, a thug and his girlfriend entered. She started putting laundry in the washing machine and he came and stood next to me.

"Do you use this laundromat often?"
"Yes," I said, though I knew our definition of the word "often" might differ.
"Where do you live?"
I thought, Aren't you here with your girlfriend? But I said, "Up the hill." Which was the truth. That massive, massive hill that I fell down numerous times during that awful winter.
"Oh! You have to walk up that big one?"
"Yes."
"Is your laundry heavy?"
"Yes."
"Do you want me to carry it for you?"
"No."

I rushed up the hill with my laundry, surely burning off about 70,000 calories in the process.

These incidents are, of course, nothing compared to the interaction with the homeless man in the lobby of White Hall. As I descended the deserted stairs after Geology he moved toward me and held out his arms. He called me by some name and hugged me and said, "I've missed you," and I am fairly certain he tried to cop a feel, but my coat was too long and thick.

I thought these days were over when I graduated. No more being asked out in weird situations! was my one and only thought after I'd cried a little and left The Roommate behind. But then, just this week, it happened again.

Tuesday night I went to Barnes & Noble to do some work. I chose the small table, perfect for one person, and spread out my paper and books. The big table behind me was littered with Excel books and a thoroughly-overwhelmed gentleman sat slouching in his chair.

Then I heard, "what's your name?"
"Megan," I answered.
"Megan. That's a nice name. I'm Anton."
"Hi," I said. I never turned fully around so that he would get the impression that I was much more interested in what I had in front of me.
"Where are you from?"
"Here," I said.
"I'm from Morocco," he said.
"Oh, that's nice."
"What do you do?"

It went on like this for about ten minutes. I replied in short one-word answers with my body still turned mostly away and he told me his entire life story. Finally I had turned my back to him when I heard him get up and next thing I knew he was standing beside my table.

"May I sit here?" he asked.
"Actually, I have a lot of work to do."
"Can I see you again?"
"Um, well, I'm here sometimes..."
"Here?"
"Yeah..."
"Okay."

He left and came back about a half hour later at which point I packed up my things and returned home. I have been told by my friend E that I am never allowed to return there. It's a little disappointing that in all of the beautiful people I saw over the course of the weekend, it was the creeper who tried to make a move. Men of the World! Step Up!

In Which I Melodramatically Take the Borders Closing Much, Much Too Personally

2011-02-20T21:50:00.000-05:00

My world has crashed down around me. This is long and sad.

Friday night I needed to go to a bookstore and buy a gift for my Scottish relatives (because I can't keep letting my cold be the only thing I gave them for their hospitality). I wandered around the shelves looking for a nice book about D.C., so I could share my home as they shared theirs, and I overheard snippets of conversation. Things like, "we got so busy tonight. Why don't they realize this is THE WORST night to come shopping here?" Then, when I went upstairs, I noticed signs on the racks saying, "shelves not for sale." My stomach dropped. It couldn't possibly mean what I thought it meant, right? And then the actual words happened. A girl walked in asking about a book she had ordered. The employee said:

"We're not going to be doing this anymore. They're closing this location."

You should have seen me. I'm pretty sure my mouth dropped to the floor and I looked around wildly to see if anyone else had been as impacted by this blow as I. All I found was a friendly guy in a leather jacket who said, "they closed the cafe for the night! I can't think without my coffee!" I chuckled politely and sped through the fiction section. It couldn't be happening. It couldn't. This was MY store. I didn't see it on the list. This store was my savior when I moved here, my calm in many storms. This was impossible. Then I heard the girl ask:

"Oh. Are you going to be having a sale?"

I wanted to scream. As though a sale was the most important part. As though a sale could erase the trauma of finding out that this store would no longer exist. I walked out of the store with a tear or two in my eye, aware that my reaction was insane but unable to help myself. And I went home and I thought about it and I decided that I would go back for the sale. I would support them to the end and I would go down with my ship. But when I woke up Saturday morning I couldn't do it.

This was the first Borders I discovered when I moved here. I spent weekends there cultivating a love for poetry that had previously not existed. It's where I spent my lunch hours when I was working on my pieces for my MFA application. It became my home on weekends and days off. I have written more in that Borders than I have ever written in my house. I was there the night I was waiting to hear news about the Baby Bing. It was the first place I went when I returned from Scotland. I set myself up with my computer and when I went to the cafe to order my drink the barista said, "Megan, right? And you get the raspberry mocha?" I hadn't been there in almost a month and he remembered me. There were employees who may not have known my name but who knew me and always nodded and said hello. I've spent hours staring out of the upstairs windows out into Tysons traffic. Sure, we had our problems. Occasionally they didn't have room for me. There was the creepy guy with the murderous eyes. But these were minor. Over the course of our four-year relationship, these things can be forgiven. And now it will be gone. And I feel betrayed. I had trusted it to always be there and now it won't be and I don't think I can walk through those doors again. When I left on Friday, that was my goodbye. I can't do it again.

I thought I was okay. I had lots of work to do this weekend and Saturday I settled myself into my newly discovered local coffee shop. The owner is friendly and kind and there are couches and bookshelves and they serve ice cream. I thought I can do this. Then my coffee shop grew crowded. The tables filled with a large group and as I'd already been there a few hours I thought I'd abandon my post. But when I got in my car it all came back to me. WHERE DO I GO NOW? was the question. There are two other Borders in my area so I thought that it was time to try them out.

First I went to Bailey's Crossroads. It is the Borders where David Sedaris gave me stationary. They have a loft-like second floor with a glass wall looking over the first floor. But there aren't many chairs and I sat on the floor with my back against a display and the glass cut off almost all sound and it was silent and nice, but it wasn't the same. The cafe is set too close to the books and it is always crowded and loud. It didn't feel right. It is also the Borders I used to stop at on my way home from the Terrible Job and it brought back bad memories. I couldn't stay.

I tried the Fairfax location. It's the one I go to when I'm on my way to or from South Riding and sometimes when I just need a change. The cafe is a little less crowded, a little quieter, but the usual barista is a bit of a snob. But it's only one level and chairs are set awkwardly in between stacks of books, not at all like the entire section of MY Borders that has only chairs. The book sections are more crowded and closer together. It also wasn't right. I felt disaster coming. I bought a book because I was sad. I asked, though I already knew the answer, "Is this location closing?" The cashier said, "no, we're fine. Only D.C. and Tysons." "Yeah," I said. "The Tysons closing broke my heart." He said, "oh." Because what else do you say to a sad-looking girl who tells you she loved the other store?

The worst part might be that the building that housed (still houses, but I refuse to acknowledge it. It is dead to me already) MY Borders, also housed a Filene's Basement that closed over a year ago. The sign still remains and I have a feeling that the Borders sign will remain and that now there will be a huge cement brick telling the world of what used to be. The rent is too high, is the reason they are giving for closing that location. It's understandable. It's close to the mall and it's tucked back in the strip with the Tiffany's and Hermes and other high-quality stores. It couldn't compete.

But still. You guys. It breaks my heart.

Come Fly With Me, Come Fly Away

2011-02-17T13:19:00.000-05:00

I have been recruited to be a founding member of the office Wellness Committee. I assume this is punishment for when I laughed at the Fun Squad. I'm not really sure what a Wellness Committee does, but I imagine it has something to do with making people eat apples and drink more water. I had a Snickers bar and Coke for breakfast. But I was pre-medicating what could have potentially been a terrible headache. Though sometimes I think I make myself believe I have a headache because I really just want Coke for breakfast. I think the committee came to be after my attorney offered everyone cherry tomatoes at 10:30 in the morning and nobody wanted one. She said, "I bet if I had cookies everyone would want one." But I don't think that was the point. I think the point was that it was 10:30 in the morning.

It has been almost one month since I returned from the UK and I FINALLY feel like I have things to say about it. I've been thinking about things like how when we accidentally found Buckingham Palace and we only saw about four coins in the fountain but decided it was a wishing fountain anyway and as I stood there holding my coin I could think of absolutely nothing to wish for. I tried so hard to come up with something and couldn't, so eventually I just made a generic hope for the future and tossed it in. At the time it bothered me so much that I could think of nothing I thought worthy of wishing for at the Royal Palace. But now I guess it doesn't matter and, in a way, isn't nice to feel like you don't NEED to wish for anything? Like maybe you have everything you need right at that moment? And I kinda did. Because right then was perfect.

Also, it is exactly one month to the day that I arrived in Inverness and I can't get the place out of my head. The pictures don't do the country justice. I have never seen anything so beautiful. At one point I shouted (in my head), "Hey! Guess what, America! Scotland has purple mountains too!" The flight was so surreal. About halfway in my ears plugged up and the plane was eerily silent. I kept snapping my finger by my ear to make sure I wasn't fully deaf and out of the window all I could see was black. It was a clear night, but we went by so much uninhabited land. There was a dot of light here and there but, for the most part, nothing. And when we finally reached Inverness it wasn't the cluster of lights I was used to flying into like in Pittsburgh or DC (despite mixed feelings about the DC area, it is an AMAZING place to fly into at night). It was like this strange little section of land set in the middle of nothing. Driving around later in the week I realized it was because everything is either water or mountains, but at the time it was like venturing into unknown territory. Which I guess for me it kinda was.

At lunch today I revealed my sordid past. The lying, the detentions, the stealing, the (very minimal) cheating. But I did not mention the slumber parties and absolutely did not mention the secret admirer notes. Nope. Nobody will EVER know about the secret admirer notes and the two people who do were only privy to such information because I'd already finished my electric blue beverage and things just come out when I drink electric blue beverages.

My Thoughts Were So Loud I Couldn't Hear My Mouth

2011-02-11T11:04:00.000-05:00

I have some more questions.

Things like, if you really stop to think about it, isn't "hello?" a strange way to answer the phone?

And, how bad is acetaminophen, really?

Also, would it have any impact on the world as a whole if I furthered my French language skills?

I'm really worried that I slip into a Picksburgh acksent more often than I think I do. I don't wanna go back 'ere.

Sometimes I can see my life changing before my eyes and I'm not too sure whether or not that's a good thing. In some ways it is. In other ways it becomes really difficult.

Our office had a coffee tasting this morning and in addition to all sorts of coffee and tea, the machine they used had the ability to make a chai latte. Just by inserting different packages! I was won over. Now I want a Flavia machine. They only run between $300 and $1,000, so I can probably pick one up this weekend (in my dream world).

Song of the month is: Modest Mouse - The World At Large

Near Death Experience (Or Not So Much)

2011-02-07T16:14:00.000-05:00

I was supposed to be in DC all day Saturday for the final day of the AWP (American Writing Programs) conference. I meant to leave my house at 7:30am and arrive around 8:30am. But as it was raining, I did not get out of bed until 9:00am, had to find coffee, and so I did not actually arrive at the conference until 11. I then spent the majority of my time sitting at our booth, charming people into taking information on our school and our literary journal. Then I had lunch with two friends and left to go see a movie. The conference was, apparently, amazing and I really should have stayed. But, again, it was raining and I have no control over things when it rains. I make rash decisions. My rash decision was that I'd rather go see a movie and have a drink with some friends.

Standing on the Metro platform after I left the hotel, I was confronted by two people. The sidled up next to me and smiled like they knew me. I smiled back and said "hello" like I did know them.

They said, "We're American University students and want to know if we can ask you a few questions?"
"Oh, sure," I said, disappointed that I had put so much effort into pretending to recognize them.
The questions were simple. "Where are you from, how long have you lived here, etc. ect." I was being recorded, which made me nervous, so when they asked, "what makes you laugh," I started to giggle awkwardly. "Well, this, for starters," I did not say, because I am only clever after the fact. And then they got into the deeper stuff.
"How do you like the Metro?" the girl asked.
"Um, it's okay. It's clean, usually runs on time."
"Okay," she said. "Do you feel safe?"
"Uh...yeah," I said. Then, "not so much anymore, though," and I started looking over my shoulder. Like, thanks for bringing it up, right?
"Have you ever been close to death?"
"No," I said immediately. And then, "Are you going to kill me?" *
The girl and the guy looked at each other, giggled a little.

Then they thanked me for my time and walked away. I did not notice them go up to anyone else.

They did not look like the type who would kill me. But as I've been in situations before where I worried that a seemingly decent person might turn out to be a murderer, I have found it best to just ask the question. This way I catch them off guard and if they proceed with the act they had anticipated performing, they will be plagued with guilt knowing that I knew exactly what they were after and called them out on it. Of course, this could also backfire in that they realize they must kill me sooner lest I scream for help or run away. But so far, I've been lucky (in that I'm pretty sure I have never once in my life been in close proximity to a murderer).

*I did not ask that but thought only moments later how clever that would have been. ALWAYS clever AFTER the fact! Curses! Why must my brain be so slow?

I Have Questions

2011-02-04T16:48:00.000-05:00

So many questions. Questions like, when do I have to stop using "jetlag" as an excuse for my apathy and laziness?

And why does it take three hours for my sleep aid to kick in?

Does World Market sell Randoms? Today I found a button, a train, and a unicorn and it made me so happy.

Okay. Three questions.

There is someone in my office that I would like to sell to the UN to work in their space ambassador program. Because I believe that if aliens have contact with her, they will assume all humans are awful and terrible and then they will turn around and fly away. And then she will have done some good in the world. Unless it's Doctor Who. Then they can put him in touch with me.

After being picked up at Heathrow, I was in the very first seat on the bus to the Abbey and couldn't hear anyone talking. But then, four rows back, my friends started talking about Doctor Who. Those were the only words I heard so I turned around and said, "I LOOOVE Doctor Who!" and then turned back around to look out the window for sheep (of which I saw plenty).

My friend A likes to ruin all of the magic in my world. When I said, "I want to hug a sheep," she said, "Sheep are mean." And on twitter when I said, "I want a bunny," she said, "No, you most certainly do not," and went on to tell me that they're dirty and not cuddly. But how can they NOT be cuddly with ears like that? I've said it before and I'll say it again: If I were a superhero, baby animals would be my kryptonite.

Is This My Comeback? Also, Sorry. *

2011-02-01T15:03:00.000-05:00

I am very fortunate in that I am able to work a four day work week. This one day off each week (currently Monday) is supposed to be so that I can focus a whole day on school work rather than staying up until all hours of the night the rest of the week. Except what normally happens is that I don’t get out of bed and make myself presentable until nearly lunchtime which lends itself to all sorts of complications.

So I might start at Panera and get a decent table. Then the lunch crowd comes and I feel guilty staying at my seat when I’ve already finished eating, even though I have my computer open and need the outlet or I’m hastily ~~drawing hearts~~ scribbling notes in my copy of The Great Gatsby (I have a literary crush on F. Scott Fitzgerald). So then I think that I’ll move on to Borders where the barista knows both my drink and my name and when my order is ready he calls me “Miss Megan” and I love it there and if I don’t have my computer I can sit upstairs by the window and watch the passing traffic. Or if I do have my computer I can hope that there is a seat by the outlet available though I find that there rarely is. So if I have my computer and the outlet seat is not available I must move on again. Oh, where is a girl to go and why are there not more outlets in Northern Virginia? I feel like sitting in Starbucks as the struggling writer is cliché, so I don’t go there ever to sit. Barnes and Noble is rarely user-friendly in that the one closest to me has one outlet that never works, and the one in the mall is so loud and crowded how are people supposed to get work done there, and why is it so hard to find a decent place to work that is not my house even though my house is comfortable and has a nice set-up, but I get so restless why am I so restless there must be a cure for this somewhere won’t someone give me a pill of some sort I’m really good at taking pills, but my house is cold and I thought that once I had a Snuggie it would change everything but I can’t use my coffee maker because my roommate didn’t want it in the kitchen and now it’s such a hassle to carry the water all the way from the kitchen to the dining room, and now I’m giving my coffee maker away because it’s just a decoration and if I could make coffee maybe I could sit at home but I doubt that would have any effect at all as I’m just a restless soul please I just want to write.

Ahem.
I thought that after my vacation this restless spirit would be sated. I’ve seen the world! Surely now I can accept my small place in it! But alas, this was not the case. What has happened in the week that I have been home is that I’ve googled such things as “how to become an expat” or “how can an American legally work overseas?” I know that living overseas would in no way *change* things. I would still be looking for a way out. But the idea, “the escapist fantasy!” as my friend and fellow escapist calls it, is just so magical compared to this tedious life of fluorescent lights and cubicles and ice storms and snow. It wouldn’t magically turn me into a writer even though in my head the only way to *be* a writer is to live in Paris and write furiously in my Moleskin about how tortured I am and how hard it is to be a writer in Paris while simultaneously not producing anything of value (kind of like now, minus the Paris and…well, mostly minus the part about how tortured I am. Just depends on the day you ask). I know that these are all excuses that keeping me from doing the one thing I mean and want to do.

But. Paris looks so pretty in photographs.

So that was Monday. And then I said to a friend, “Guess what happened in London? I went to Hyde Park where I discovered I like Indian food and we also accidentally stumbled upon a major historic landmark. Only one of those things can be replicated here, so how about we have dinner at Haandi?” I had some sort of eggplant vegetable thing because all of their dishes include cheese cubes which is not how I remember the place in London where I had the vegetable khorma and it changed my life.

*I've been inspired because I think this might be the best blog ever. Even though I will never be that.

To Be Continued

2010-12-17T17:44:00.000-05:00

Yes, I've removed all of the old posts.

I guess we could call it a hiatus.