Archive for December, 2009

FUN Day: Or Fricking UNcomfortable Day

Like most families, mine practices the ancient art of dysfunction, and my mother is our shaman. By the time I was fifteen, she’d been married five times with my father holding the glittering crown of Lucky #2. Of course, he was a prince, my mother being his second princess, after which he moved on to marry Princesses #3 and #4. That makes – count them on both hands – four dads and three mothers and a smattering of siblings in a pear tree.

Now, add in a sprinkle of abandonment and a splash of bitterness, and you’ve got a serious recipe for FUN at the holidays. I’m talking the kind of FUN that shows up to the party with a bottle of Southern Comfort and dances on the table until somebody gets a black eye.

Even though we are manic well-adjusted adults, nobody comes home for FUN Day without their matched 6-piece Louis Vuitton WalMart special 3-pieces-for-$99 luggage set.

For example, say you haven’t seen your mom in a few months, and she hasn’t bothered to call you in all that time to see if you’re alive. After an obligatory hello, she proceeds to pretty much ignore your existence like you are a zit on the backside of society.

At said moment, you may unexpectedly experience an odd sensation – the welling of three decades of disappointment, love, and salty bitterness clawing its way up the back of your throat and trying to escape out of your mouth in the monstrous form of a verbal tongue-lashing that would make the Terminator weep. The evil Terminator, not the reprogrammed one in the sequels. You clamp your lips shut, biting them bloody to hold the monster at bay. Because you are a mad pissed-off secure woman.

And, lo and behold, who is this knightess coming in to save you from yourself? Your sister, gleaming in all her jewelry and the pair of boots she thinks her husband doesn’t know she bought. She swoops in, tosses a kid at your hip, and distracts you with a sparkly, snide comment. The witchy monster melts under a deluge of laughter and disappears.

Later, you tell you your sister, “So remember FUN Day? Yeah, I was kind of hating on Mom. Not the real kind of hate, but more the I-momentarily-regressed-to-a-little-girl-why-can’t-she-love-me-the-way-I-want kind of hate.”

And she says, “Really? I didn’t even notice,” and you say, “That’s cause I’m a garbage compressor, and I have the mad ability to stuff my emotions down like yesterday’s trash,” and she’s all, “Seek therapy,” and you eye her all judgey and knowingly until she says, “Yeah, you’re right. You’d never fit in with the family if you were, like, normal” and you sit back, feeling all mighty and vindicated.

Then she smiles and says, “At least you have me,” and you’re all, “Yeah, you’re a prize,” and she says, “Shut up, jerk,” and your eyes meet with all the love you don’t always say out loud cause it’s the kind of love that saves you from witchy monsters and things that go bump in your childhood.

Instead, you go shopping for more boots your sister will hide from your brother-in-law and hit the MAC counter to have them do up a day look that looks more like FUN’s night look. And under all the laughter, you’re both thinking the same thing. “Woo! Christmas is coming! Let’s hear it for FUN Day.”

A Love Letter Found

An old friend from high school reminded me about this essay I wrote a long time ago. The funny thing is that quite a few people from high school have asked me about this piece through the years. I rediscovered the handwritten college-ruled essay in the move to San Francisco, and I’m kind of proud of what a much younger me wrote. A me that had already been scarred by a revolving door of fathers (four by age fifteen) and an absent mom. Who knew that I understood what springtide meant at seventeen? Who knew I had such great handwriting before laziness and writing on post its soured my style? It kind of shocks me that I knew myself so well because, in the grander scheme of things, I’m still that girl. This essay is like a seventeen-year-old me writing present me a love letter and a reminder of who I am.

I am a romantic. I love the softly blended shades of a Monet, the subdued tones of a morning dawn. I am enthralled by poetic words interwoven together to create continuous flowing emotions. I am entranced by beautiful music. I love the dreamy shades of gray on the stark spectrum of black and white. My favorite movies are old musicals where happy endings are not possibilities but realities. I have dreams of a Prince Charming in my future.

I am an idealist. Bad things may happen, but life goes on and you’re a little better for the bad times. The bad times are necessary to value the good ones. I have the dream of a time when every person will have a reason to be happy.

I am emotional. I love to yell and be passionately angry. I enjoy laughing at nothing and being supremely, unmistakably happy. It is a wonder to feel pain and empathy. It feels so right to cry when exuberant and to sob heart wrenchingly when grieving. To feel and experience is nothing short of miraculous.

I am of high expectations. I want to grasp life tightly in both hands and squeeze all I can out of it. I want success and will settle for no less. I will achieve.

I am a feeler. I love the sensual feel of silk, the crisp, coolness of cotton. Scratchy wools and smooth velvets are things to be savored. The textures of the things I touch bring with them memories of other things I have touched.

I am heart-whole. I am healthy of mind and body. People often scratch and tear at the essence of who I am, but I guard myself jealously. I save who I am for those who will cherish me and recognize what a gift I give them. I allow no one to take more than I can give readily. I care for myself deeply and respect myself before all others. I am able to heal the scars of my own heart when it is necessary.

I am seventeen and of a dying breed of people. I am a dreamer at the springtide of my life.

Road Trip Wednesday #10: Getting to Know YOU!

The writers over at YA Highway want to get to know ME! Okay, they opened it up to everyone who visits their site, but I’m sure they’d love me if they knew me. Unless Kate tells them otherwise. Here are the questions they asked everyone ME:

(1)    What are the three best books you’ve read this year?

1. Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher – my love letter review with Author Q&A can be read here.
2. Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman – My first foray into Gaiman’s world, and it couldn’t have been more entertaining. He has a Dickensian way of creating memorable characters. Richard Mayhew’s adventure through London Below was magical, colorful
3. Academy 7 by Anne Osterlund – I loved these characters and their futuristic world. Aerin, a fugitive slave, is forced to lie about her background to fit in at Academy 7. Dane, the apparent privileged son of a political leader, has secrets of his own. These two meet and a lot of heartache happens. Because I am cynical I kept expecting Osterlund to fall into the cliché path of boy and girl meet and their wounds are magically healed. She proved me wrong. Very smart novel and great writing.

(2)    If you could meet one author (living or dead), who would it be? This is a three-parter since I have living and dead authors I would love to meet and can’t possibly narrow it down to one.

1. First, I have a reciprocal girl crush* on Kate. Every time we chat, we find another obscure detail that we have in common. She’s an amazing beta reader, owns more smileys than anyone I know, and regularly makes me LOL. The real kind of LOL where I actually do laugh out loud. I have yet to see her writing, but I know she will be amazing, if only she gets past the editing stage.
2. Next, I want to go back in time and meet Jane Austen. Her cutting wit is off the scales and her observations about society strike at the heart of hypocrisy. I bet she was a lot of fun in private when she let her hair down.
3. Last, but not least, J.M. Barrie. I read Peter Pan and fell in love. He created this magical world with fantastically original images I’ve never read before or since. Like kisses hidden in the corner of mouths. I’d like to live in his imagination for a day. Seriously, pick up the original sometime and read it. Not the Disney movie, but the actual book. Or read for free here. This book also has a place in copyright law history. Barrie donated all the profits to a children’s hospital so England extended the copyright when it should have gone into public domain.

*as defined by Urban Dictionary – “”Feelings of admiration and adoration which a girl has for another girl, without wanting to shag said girl. A nonsexual attraction, usually based on veneration at some level.”

(3)    What book are you most looking forward to in 2010?

1. Kate’s novel. If she ever gives it to me to beta.

Take a trip of your own! The rules are here.

AW December Blog Chain Theme: 2009 Wrap-up

Okay, this month the AW group voted to do the December Blog chain on a general wrap-up of our writing goals in 2009. Since I’ve been blogging on my writing all year I feel like I’m bludgeoning my readers with a spork. Also, I’m not the greatest at setting long term goals. I set a goal, something shiny distracts me, and then I feel like a failure for not achieving my goal. Although, I can hands down take anyone when it comes to making a list I will never look at twice or color coding an Excel spreadsheet. Therefore, I intend to take a left in Eureka and write about where I ended up this year, goal-less and with a hellish lot to show for it.

1. Wrote an Entire Damn Novel in 4 months – I said I wouldn’t write about writing. I lied. That feeling you’re experiencing? It’s betrayal. You should really work on that. While you read my novel. About a girl who’s betrayed by everyone she cares about. See what I did there? That’s cause I’m a WRITER.
2. T-boning a Woman Doing 60 and Walking Away from the Wreckage – Let’s be clear – so her fault and not mine. She panicked and came at the barrier across four lanes of freeway. I slammed the breaks and got a mouthful of airbag for my effort. My poor Ford Focus died heroically saving my life. R.I.P., poor baby.
3. Walking the Ramparts Alone at 3:00 AM at Mont St. Michel While Listening to the Tide Come In Around Me– By far the most amazing place I’ve ever been. When I was thirteen, I begged my mom for this 3D puzzle of a castle that turned out to be the Abbey at Mont St. Michel in France. I know, you’re thinking “Hello, Nerd.” Before you cast that stone, I ask you to look in the mirror. I’ll wait… Now that you’ve realized we’re kindred spirits, I can tell you how black the night was without city lights, how the wind ran through me and over the stone streets, and I just knew that same breeze had caressed another woman hundreds of years ago. But don’t be fooled by the savory crepes. They were not, in fact, savory.
4. “I’m YA, and I’m OK” – I intended to write SERIOUS fiction. You know, LITERATURE. Instead, I ended up writing about a teenager. This means (a) I’m not grown up at all despite my age or (b) YA Literature is some of the best literature out there right now. The answer is so obviously (b), and I belong to that genre since I write SERIOUS LITERATURE. Like Dickens. Who wrote for the entire family, including the young adults. Yeah, just try and argue with Great Expectations and A Tale of Two Cities. I’ll sit over here and quietly gloat.
5. A Family Roadtrip – My family is a bit like Gossip Girls without the designer clothes, the money, New York, or vapid teenagers, which technically means we’re nothing like Gossip Girls. (Note to self: Don’t use that analogy again.) So, my family is a bit like UCLA and USC football. Someone is always hatin’ on someone else or stealing our family mascot – a ceramic cow my mother gave me, but that’s another story. Anyway, a ceasefire was recently called, and one of my brothers and my sister drove from Los Angeles to San Francisco in my convertible with the sun beaming down on us and the wind blowing our hair back dramatically. Well, that’s what it was like for my sister and I. My bald brother drove the U-haul with all of my crap, and we frequently pulled up next to him to mock him with our blistered glowing skin and snarled blowy hair. Yeah, you wish you rode with us!
6. I Frickin’ HEART San Francisco – I love my studio apartment with its hardwood floors, giant bay windows, and steam heat that sounds a lot like my brothers after eating chili. I love my 24-hour Starbucks and driving my car down curvy, switchback Lombard Street. Mostly, I love driving through the Presidio with the top down (the car, not me) and Nick Drake singing “Pink Moon” like I’m living in that VW commercial. You know, this one. Except it’s better cause I’m in a MINI.
7. Earned Two Free Rewards Tickets on Southwest – I travel a lot, mostly for work. This year I flew to San Francisco three times, Los Angeles three times, Seattle twice, San Antonio once, plus Paris, Amsterdam, and Barcelona. I’ve learned I love John Wayne Airport and Southwest flight attendants who tell you in the event of an emergency water landing put your head between your knees and kiss your butt goodbye. And I hate sitting in airports for hours on end, getting charged for wireless internet, and idiots who continue to talk on their phones preventing the damn plane from taking off. I see your guilty blush, making you resemble an older Bella from Twilight. Feel my wrath.
8. Paris and Barcelona, Oh My! – Paris is NOT like Amelie, and Barcelona is full of pickpockets. The Mona Lisa is tiny, and Gaudi was an insane, brilliant man. People in Europe drink less. At least in my experience since I was basically dehydrated for three weeks due to 6 ounce glasses of water served over a two-hour meal. That, or they’re trying to kill off Americans one at a time but depriving us of liquids. Oh, and I hated most of the food, but I saw so many amazing things my eyes glazed over and I scared the locals with my glassy stare. Maybe that’s why they didn’t give me water. Also, I got to speak the little bit of French I know and felt insulted when I was somehow NOT mistaken for a local. Whatever. The most majestic sunset award goes to Paris. The best meal I had in Europe? Indian food in Barcelona. Go figure.

Come to think of it, this was a really jam-packed year. Good thing I don’t make a lot of plans. I hope this teaches you obsessive planners a lesson.

PARTICIPANTS
bsolah – http://benjaminsolah.com/blog
DavidZahir – http://zahirblue.blogspot.com/
RavenCorinnCarluk – http://ravencorinncarluk.blogspot.com
Ralph Pines – http://ralfast.wordpress.com/
shethinkstoomuch – http://shethinkstoomuch.wordpress.com
Lady Cat – http://www.randomwriterlythoughts.blogspot.com
truelyana – http://expressiveworld.com
misaditas – http://misaditas-novels.blogspot.com/
laharrison – http://lesleyharrison.wordpress.com/
beawhiz – http://beawrites.wordpress.com
razibahmed – http://www.blogging37.com
FreshHell – http://freshhell.wordpress.com
AlissaC – http://alissacarleton.blogspot.com

When Someone Reads You, I Mean, Your Novel

So, if you’re a writer or a child of six who just learned how to draw a clown, then you know the gut-wrenching horror of standing under a hangman’s noose AKA lying to a jury about double-parking so you could steal buy a candy bar AKA showing yourself work to someone and waiting for them to judge you it. I love myself work, so if you don’t love me it as well, you obviously kick puppies and crush joy everywhere by lying about how Santa isn’t real. Of course Santa’s real. Duh.

Imagine my terror when I showed my sister the first 100 pages of a fiction novel that I stressed was loosely based on our family, but not really. More it bore a slight resemblance like how boxer briefs look like boxers and briefs but aren’t either. They’re just underwear, original non-boxer, non-brief underwear. Keeping this undie dichotomy in mind, she reads me my story. I mentally bite my nails, and she finally looks up and says, “The brother in this is nothing like our brother,” and I’m thinking, “What part of loose don’t you get?” and she’s all “The part where you loosely resemble a writer,” and I’m all, “You never support me,” and she’s all, “What are you talking about? I changed your diapers. That’s love.” And the argument in my head ends because you can’t argue with someone who changed your diapers.

Fast forward a few years in which I never showed her my writing. You can see why. I mean, how much harsher could she get than, “The brother in this is nothing like our brother.” It’s like she tore me my story apart with a paper shredder and a spatula. Then, I write a novella for my Master’s project, and I’m really proud of it and the students and teachers are praising me and my sister’s like, “When do I get to read it?” and I’m thinking, “Uh, never. My ego story can’t take it” and she’s all “I’m really proud of you” which of course I interpret as thinly veiled censure. But then she actually comes to my project defense and beams with pride and cries (you’re not fooling anyone, sis, with your Machiavellian ways) and I’m emotionally blackmailed into giving her a copy of my project. Which sits on her shelf for two years. Unread. Luckily, I can interpret SILENCE, and I know she thinks me my work is crap, and I think, “You suck,” and she’s all “I feel like I’m eavesdropping because you ripped your soul out to write this” and I’m all, “Just wipe the blood off the pages and it’s like new. Legible even” and she puts it back on the shelf, and I say, “You told the kids that Santa doesn’t exist, didn’t you?” and she’s all, “Huh?”

Fast forward another couple years, and I write a novel. I tell her, “Look, I wrote a masterpiece!” and she reaches for the pages, and I gasp, “You don’t read it!” And she’s like, “Are you going to make me buy it in the store?” and I’m thinking, “That’s not a bad idea. Let’s run with that. I’ll write a really great dedication that would make you EVIL if you said anything negative like, you know, with your SILENCE.” And then I post Teaser Tuesdays on my blog, and she stealthily clicks on the link I emailed her and reads them and she’s all “You better give me a copy.” And I’m thinking, “No way in hell,” and she’s all, “Remember who changed your diapers. And gave you nieces and nephews. And it’s my pre-birthday” and I’m all “Damn it. I hate pre-birthdays.” So I give her a copy all nonchalant like because, as you know, I don’t care what she thinks. And I prepare myself for her criticism of me my work and wonder how many puppies she kicks every day. Probably seven. Maybe ten if they stray in her yard. Then this email arrives.

Subject: stoop!!

I have gotten lost in your book my time at the gym was not long enough and I will have to take more pages tomorrow 35 was not enough I can’t wait to get back to it!!  You are a lovely writer I am so proud of you!!!
kisses
Me

At first I admire her fervent stand against punctuation and radical use of exclamation points. Then I sigh in relief, which of course, irritates me because how could she not love me my writing. Of course, I am indignant as any sane writer would be. Really, she owes me an apology. For her deafening SILENCES. And for kicking puppies.

UPDATE: My sister snuck in like a ninja and read this. She confirmed that she will continue to avert her eyes to punctuation AND capitalization. How can you be mad at someone with such off-their-rocker ideals?  

Tweet, Tweet: A Writer’s Love Affair with Social Media

I work in marketing. Day in and day out, I live and breathe advertising, promotions, and social media. Many companies are weighing in on the benefit of using Facebook, Twitter, blogs, and other online methods to spread the love about the products/services. I believe in the power of social media as a marketer. As a consumer, though, I didn’t want to be a lemming jumping on the latest bandwagon. Personally, I like to feel superior to the lemmings because I would never (gasp!) be on trend. That’s right. I’m original. (I say this in between talking on my totally unique, one-of-a-kind iphone in my leggings and boots. Nope. Nobody else in the world is doing that. And if you are, stop copying me.)

I have been known to mock people who spend their free time on forums (get some friends, losers). I blacklist anyone who seeds me a hug or Easter Egg Hunt via Facebook. And don’t get me started on those self-important people who tweet about getting a Diet Coke from McDonalds (we know you also got a large fries and a Big Mac. You’re not fooling anyone!).

And then, I finished my novel and twiddled my thumbs not knowing what to do next. Thankfully, I found a virtual community to help provide guidance. Unfortunately (or fortunately), the online masses converted me from an original I-turn-my-nose-up-at-following-trends to hi-my-name-is-Cory-can-I-join-your-club?. Insert mockery here.

1. I’m on Facebook – I still ferociously hate people who send me apps (you know who you are). Do not even think about asking me to play Farmville or Mafia Wars. I’m also not sure it’s the best idea in the world to reconnect with those who knew me as a cheerleader in high school. Still, it’s a great way to spread the news about your writing and befriend anyone who is willing to listen to find out Cory is: (a) sick, (b) tired, or (c) sick and tired of being asked to take a quiz because 6 of my other friends did.
2. I blog – What’s not to love? Insta-feedback on my writing via Teaser Tuesdays. Sharing what I’ve learned about craft with other writers through red marks my professors leave on my pages. WordPress stats that feed my obsessive need to know how many people are visiting me on a daily basis (love me, love me, love me!).
3. I read blogs – Reading the Teaser Tuesdays of other writers and their writing tips can only help my writing to grow. See? I’m at least a millimeter taller.
4. I chat on forums – Really, I abuse the other AWers with my version of humor. Amongst all the LOLs and Twilight jokes, we sometimes manage to offer each other encouragement and loving criticism.
5. I tweet – This one wasn’t even on my radar. Only needy, narcissistic people tweet. Lesson #87 of the week: I’m needy and narcissistic. Who knew? Personality disorders aside, I’ve also learned that agents, editors, and writers galore are out there offering invaluable tips on the world of publishing. Plus it’s another way to spread the abuse to my fellow AWers.

Please excuse me now while I update my FB status, check my blog stats, read the AWer blogs, wreak havoc in the forums, and then stalk my friends on Twitter.

*Runs off to make a tee emblazoned with “I’m an original @Lemming. Follow me.”*

BTW: If you just looked up that address on Twitter and it exists, it’s not me and you are probably one of those people who send me Facebook apps. Stop it. Seriously.

Teaser Tuesday

A new work to tease from! Hallelujah! This is the opening of Chapter One of a new work – uncut and unedited. Working title: INTERIOR OF THE HEART. I’d love to know what you think!

*Removed snip*