Reading YA

“If you are going to go anywhere in life, you have to read a lot of books.” –Roald Dahl

As promised, here is both a new blog post and a post about reading Young Adult (YA) literature. More specifically, a response to the article sweeping its way through the internets, the article which tells me as an adult I should be embarrassed to read YA—this article. 

Wow, I hate this article. My first response on Facebook when someone sent it to me was actually, “Wow, I hate this with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns.” In the few weeks since the article was first published, I’ve calmed down; I’m hovering somewhere around code blue (guarded) to code yellow (elevated).

And truth be told, writing and reading YA as an adult means you are always somewhere around there; always ready to defend your craft, always ready to justify your habits. This, in its simplest form, is why I hated the article in the first place.  

Oh, I’m not the only one. YA authors specifically rallied against the article. After all, it makes a mockery of what we do and who we are. Actually, I’m still trying to figure out if anyone liked the article. Perusing other articles by the same author, I quickly discovered we were not at all the same person. Not in the least. We may both be women in a certain age group, but that’s about where the similarities end; which means she would probably hate reading this blog. And although we will never enjoy the same types of books, I don’t think she should stop reading her Dickens or Wharton. I firmly believe it takes a reader to breathe life into a book.  

And here’s the thing every writer and reader in the world hopes you understand: NEVER BE EMBARRASSED BY WHAT YOU READ. If you take that one thing away from this post, I will be a happy woman.

Throwing my opinion and voice into this debate may not bring anything new to the topic, but how can I not say something. I’ve thought about how many times I’ve told you, blog reader, why I write YA. Why I write at all. It’s not an easy thing. I drone on about writing because it’s what I do, who I am. It makes me both happy and more frustrated than anything else in my life. But what I haven’t done yet is tell you why I read YA.

Of course I can do that in one simple sentence: I READ YA BECAUSE I LIKE IT!

• The article says adults read YA for escapism, instant gratification, and nostalgia. In fact, it’s the whole crux of the article. How dare an adult read for any of these reasons? Well, yeah, I do read YA for all of these reasons. And? I think choosing to read for any reason is a great thing. I’m not sure why someone who writes herself wants to disparage others from reading. It’s very counterproductive.

• The article says: But if they [adults] are substituting maudlin teen dramas for the complexity of great adult literature, then they are missing something. Well, the argument falls apart before it begins:  there are teen dramas that are so much more complex than literary fiction and there is great adult literature that’s so sappy and maudlin I literally cry. Hey, you know what’s great and complex and syrupy and mushy and heart-felt and fun and rewarding and sentimental? LITERATURE. Period.

• The article says, life is so short, and the list of truly great books for adults is so long. I say life is so short, and you will never be able to read all of the great books out there; cherish the books you love, learn from the books that are smarter than you, and forget the books you didn’t like.

Why do I read YA? 

I read YA to be inspired. I read it to perfect my craft. I read YA as a writer to figure out what I’m doing right and what I’m doing wrong. I read YA because it’s what I’m passionate about. I read YA to learn, to understand, to find my place in the world. I read YA because I know or have met a number of YA writers, editors, agents and readers. They are my people and I love them. I read YA to escape and because it’s nostalgic, dammit. I read YA because it is insightful and fun and sad and character driven and plot driven and exhilarating. I read YA because the swearing has a purpose and makes more sense. I read YA because the sex has a consequence--or a reason--and makes more sense. I read YA because it is more diverse than other genres; you can push the boundaries of YA literature further. I read YA because I don’t want to forget where I came from, who I am, or where I’m going.

I read YA because I get to.

And maybe I’m not the girl you should be listening to. Me, the woman made up of words. The one who walks around with a book bag entirely covered in literary quotes; the one with the Harry Potter bracelet and purse; the one wearing her favorite Shakespeare quote on a ring and a scarf with an entire passage from Austen. Maybe I’m too invested in words. It’s entirely possible I don’t understand what it’s like to have no time for reading; to never grasp the full meaning of the words I'm consuming. A co-worker at the part-time job-hobby told me last week he’s never read a book in his life; he simply can’t retain the story. He also sat down with me for half an hour to try and figure out why I like to read and how I retain the story. It was a conversation that left me at once happy and sad. Happy – he wasn’t embarrassed to ask and I wasn’t embarrassed to share. Sad – because that’s a whole lot of joy I’ve found that he’ll never quite figure out.

I may, at the end of my life, discover that my words never reached the masses I hope to inspire. My writing may never get published and my passion for my craft may fizzle out with a stutter instead of burn out in a blaze. But no matter what this world has in store for me, I will always, always be a reader of books. And that’s not embarrassing at all.

“I read widely, indiscriminately. I read historical books, animal books, ballet books, detective books, adventure books, fairy tales, science books, funny books, school stories, and Sweet Valley High books. I am made of books, all kinds of books.” –Anne Ursu

You Must Hold Hands and No Show Tunes

First, yes, it has been about a year. I recently went to a Children’s and Young Adult book conference to reboot my extreme lack of writing. I think it might even have worked. Only time will tell (ugh, the clichés begin already). At least it means another blog post. I’m going to be ambitious and try to do a month of fun days again as well (fingers crossed all). You know, and write—as much as I possibly can.

And now for the worst segue into my actual post ever…

I love to travel, but I hate spending money on vacation. If left to my own devices, I’m fairly certain I would talk myself out of any trip. Good thing I’m rarely left to my own devices.

Chris & I had a very DIY wedding 5 years ago. Not because we were trying to save money, but because that’s the way we both are. I wanted to remember every second of the day and every guest who shared the day with us. It was my day, and I’m biased, but I’m pretty sure that’s the best wedding I’ve been to. And every bride and groom should think this—it means we did something right. DIY weddings can be quite labor intensive. For some reason I thought this meant we shouldn’t have a honeymoon right away. I was very logical about it at the time, I’m sure. But Chris put his foot down. We were going away right after the wedding—and that was that. He told me in no uncertain terms he had plans of us going away every year on our anniversary. Yeah, I know, my lot is rough—every once in a while there’s this incredibly romantic side to my husband that always takes my breath away. 5 years later and so far, British Husband and I have accomplished some sort of trip each year around the third week of August.

It’s not easy. Every year I think of some reason we shouldn’t spend the money or the time away. And they’re good reasons too—I just lost my job, we just bought a house—totally legit reasons; and every year my husband looks at me and firmly puts his foot down. Oh, I’m not complaining, anymore than I complain about his desire to do all the housework or cook a good portion of the meals; I mostly just sit around stunned by my good fortune in landing this man. He comes with an accent, too!

Last year we headed to that happiest of happy places—Walt Disney World.

Is this just hyped up consumerism?  Hells no! Disney IS the happiest place on earth, why would I want to spend Anniversary 5 anywhere else? The title of this blog comes from the signs posted everywhere at Disney World, and our interpretation of their meaning. Truly, no one wants to hear either one of us sing show tunes.

To be fair and for full disclosure, I—girl who spent a number of my formative years working for Disney—may not be the best judge of Disney’s plot to take over the world, or lack thereof. They got to me young and my brain is thoroughly washed. Still, my form of Disney-itis is very minute; trust me. I’ve seen, and met, and am quite good friends with many who have a more acute case. They are reading this wondering what the hell my problem is; I hadn’t been to a theme park in 5 years after all—that’s far too long. 

So, in August, we went to Florida for a week of anniversary bliss. And here we are months later, and I’ve realized a few things about myself and my love affair with Walt Disney World­­. Somehow, for some reason, my rather large life moments have been plotted out and orchestrated right down the middle of Main Street USA, curving over to InnoVentions and winding their way down to the Tower of Terror.

Blog-Time Over Share!

The first time I entered the Magic Kingdom I was a senior in high school and on a band trip. No, that’s not exactly a life moment. It is just a fact—I’m not unique in this, as I know at least 789 other people who’ve had a similar experience (I’ve been keeping track of my mundane-ity for years now).

Already there’s a side note: There are two events in my life that clearly shaped who I am as a human being. Yes, sure, who I became as an adult; but somehow deeper than that: Two events that defined my very humanness.

One – being in my high school marching band. (Mundane fact #1)

The ages of 14–18 are pivotal in anyone’s life and having a very large group of my peers during that period, an organization with a purpose and lots of discipline – whacky rituals and more fun then most people get in their high school careers. SO. IMPORTANT.

Two – studying abroad in college. (Mundane fact #2)

Everyone should do this. I don’t care when, where, or for how long, but getting outside of your comfort zone and seeing the world is part of the human condition in my book. A necessary part of building morals and ethics and discovering what type of person you want to be, based on informed decisions and the knowledge that not everyone is just like you—and that’s OK.

Number one taught me how to be part of a community, good and bad parts; whilst number two taught me how to break down my egocentric world—get out there and notice other cultures and how their communities may differ from my own.

And now back to my first visit to WDW. It was the end of my senior year of high school and it was also my last band trip. My last time wearing a 7 LB wool uniform and marching in heat and humidity in the world’s most unforgiving, chaffing fabric. There’s a reason I write the books I do—a reason my protagonists tend to be 17-year-old females going through some sort of transition. It’s not just because it’s interesting and there’s lots of fodder there. No, I’m pretty sure it has something to do with this first trip to WDW. I did something really cliché on that trip. I fell in love for the first time (Mundane fact #3). Did I mention it was a transitional period in my life? My last band trip, my last couple months of high school, my first trip to WDW, the first time I fell in love, my first kiss with fireworks (Seriously, there were actual fireworks! Every girl should have that happen…I only know 20 people this has happened to, so I’m not counting first love’s first kiss with real fireworks as a mundane moment. Choose to disagree if you must). Oh, sure, I had boyfriends, and basement make-out sessions, and flirting, and kissing, and hand holding before—Um, I was a teenage girl at the time. The L-word had been bandied about as well—I was in serious like with a number of boys: some unrequited, some mutual, some forbidden; but that first love kind of smacks you between the eyes. Especially when you are a senior and he’s a freshman.

I’m not sure you lot remember your last year of high school; some of you haven’t reached it yet, but I have a very clear memory which has been manipulated and twisted about to make it into my big box mystery novel. The actual memory is me at the end of my junior year watching many of my friends graduating and just being done—so done with all of it. I wanted to be graduating too; I wanted to skip the transition into adulthood and just be there already. I spent that summer with friends who had graduated, got a job, my long-time boyfriend and I split, and I tried burying my head in the sand. But band practice in August and the start of my senior year in September loomed on the horizon; friends started leaving for college and I knew I was trapped in that stone building with an old president’s name for another year. I sucked it up and got on with it. And then I met a boy. A boy who made me laugh, made me think, made me argue about my own viewpoint when he clearly didn’t have the same ideas about anything—religion, politics, technological advancements, authors—you name it. It’s possibly the first time I found myself floundering in life looking for a lifeline. And I found one in Ben. It’s happened since then; I’ve already told you my theory on not choosing your friends—sometimes people do just show up in your life when you need them to (Mundane fact #4). By the WDW trip our friendship was at a tipping point. All of those other seniors with their raging teenage hormones and scary transitional lives sort of pushed me over the edge, and straight into Ben’s arms. Looking back as an adult, I get it. Everyone was going through the same crap in their own way and we were all too preoccupied with our own stuff to really get a handle on anyone else’s (Mundane fact #5).

Looking at this first WDW trip through my adult-filtered memories, I finally realize just how much a few short days in the happiest place on earth played a part—not in me becoming a writer—but, in what I choose to write about. Now you’re saying any other trip could have done that. Maybe you’re right; I’ve just said these experiences are not unique to the 17-year-old transitioning into adulthood. Surely location has very little to do with it. Then again, setting is an important part to any story; I think I have a case for WDW being just the right amount of surreal and fantastical to stick with me more than say the park down the street from my house, or the high school gymnasium.

My first trip to Walt Disney World: I fell in love and left feeling awesome and awful at the same time. I suddenly had a tragic love affair on my hands (Mundane fact #6 through #12); we were both in love, but our parents couldn’t possibly condone the relationship (to be fair, we never checked with our parents on this); and now we had to leave the most wonderful place on earth and return to reality. Which we did with tortured looks at each other across the bus and airplane; both surrounded by our own groups of not-understanding friends. (Another side note: Oh, the melodrama! I’m certain Shakespeare made Romeo & Juliet so young because teenagers make everything so very dire. It really wouldn’t work with two older leads. But, I digress.) I still have a little plush Figment—purchased for me—to commemorate the trip.

Horrified by all the things in my life that were changing, I back-pedaled and decided as much as I was done the year before was as much as I wasn’t ready to be done with high school after that trip. Of course, time moves in a forward motion for all of us—whether we’re transitioning or stagnant. (I’m going to stop counting the mundane moments in my life story at this point, you get it.) I graduated and went off to college. Chapter closed.

And almost exactly two years later I was back at WDW for my second trip—this time with my mom and a co-worker and her daughter. My stagnant self is currently amazed at just how fast things change when you are at a transitioning age. I see trip number two as an end of the really drastic change/transition into adulthood. I’d just finished my second year of college, I proclaimed my major and minor and had all my classes lined up, I was working a couple jobs to pay for school, I had different friends and was living with my future husband. Disney World was different too. No longer on a class trip, I could come and go as I pleased; and since I was working at the Disney Store, I got into the parks for free and treated them as my own playground. It was all new and different until I came across that little resting place in EPCOT; the place that marked the kiss with the fireworks. I feigned sore feet and sat there for a good 15 minutes, just remembering.

Ironically, I chose that moment, sitting there to decide I would definitely not go to WDW for my honeymoon. It had too many memories already. Alas, the happiest place on earth is for making memories. If only my life were a novel—this moment plays out with more foreshadowing then I’ve ever actually been able to write into a scene.

I went to WDW again, and again, and at least four more times after that. I went with friends, I went with relatives, I went with perfect strangers hauled from the Seattle airport when we couldn’t get standby flights to Hawaii, I went with Chris—we took my mom for her 50^th birthday and dragged others with us, I went with my best friend because she said she wouldn’t have any fun at a touristy, theme park and I had to prove her wrong (I did). I became a walking guide at work and helped people plan their trips; shared short-cuts and time-saving ideas gleaned from others. I got engaged (on a plane flying over the French Alps, not Disney World) and realized I wanted a small wedding so one of my London friends (since Chris couldn’t take time off and I was going to go by myself) and I spent five days looking at all the places you could actually get married in the parks—with the Munchkins in the Great Movie Ride possibly the strangest—and looking through pictures of friends’ weddings that actually took place in the parks. In the end, I got married in an actual park in MN, reserving WDW for our honeymoon. Didn’t see that one coming did you?

I’m one of those people who’s actually lost track of just how many times I’ve been to WDW. Soon I’ll join the “Figment People” I’ve met three times at EPCOT; I think they might live there. You’ll put me up there with the illustrated Disney man—he has so many Disney tattoos I’m not sure where he stops and his tattoos start.

My Constant Marriage

The most important thing I learned about my husband the first time we went to WDW is his attitude about the spinning teacups. Watch out! Vomit inducing spins and twirls will ensue if you get in a cup with this man. Yet, I still do. I later learned, when my sister-in-law shared her similar misadventures, that this is a quintessential Whurr brother trait. A theory recently proved when the last brother-in-law got married in April and honeymooned in WDW. This time my sister-in-law and I made sure to warn our newest sister-in-law what she was in for. True to form, Paul did not disappoint. Jillian sent a photo to my phone as they were getting on the whirling teacups and I knew she was officially part of the family: Trial by teacup and all.

And there is that life moment again. I fell in love for the first time at WDW, why not fall in love for the forever time there as well? I’m not sure I can actually tell you when or where I fell in love with my husband, but what if? Those teacups are crazy­—there’s no way around it—I’d have to love him to keep going on those things with him.

I mean I really don’t think you can possibly understand the extreme spinning on the teacups:

• Rockin’ Roller Coaster? My screams on the teacups are louder than any Aerosmith song you’ll hear here.
• Space Mountain? Child’s play in comparison. It’s dark in Space Mountain, but you have to close your eyes to keep them from popping out of your head on the teacups. 
• Splash Mountain? Sure, there’s a really big drop and lots of laughter. Still, not even close! At some point you’re spinning so fast on the teacups you can’t help but laugh. In fact, you can’t stop laughing; which is terrifying—because at some point you need to breathe! 

My first time on the teacups with Chris I thought, “This man is crazy! How do I get off of these things?” The second time was our honeymoon and although I knew what to expect, I knew I had to get back on. This third trip to WDW, and consequently third spin around the teacups, sealed the deal. He may bring me to terrifying experiences, but he will also bring me through them. Because honestly, as fast as he spins that little wheel, and as dizzy as I am when I get off¸ (no, seriously, this last time I overheard a castmember say she’s never seen them go that fast) he always keeps a hand on my back until I can stand upright alone and never spins fast enough for me to actually vomit.

I feel exhilarated but safe the entire time.

What more can you ask for in a marriage or in life?

Changing My State with Kings

I’m having a serious relationship with Mumford & Sons right now. It’s been going on for a couple of months. I think Chris knows. I keep singing along off key when I think he’s not in the room—only to realize he’s standing right next to me trying to ask me a question. It’s not at all surprising that I like a folksy/alternative group from the UK; try to contain your shock. Still, I find myself saying, “Yes. Exactly!” out loud, repeatedly as I walk around with my iPod plugged in.

Mumford & Sons recently released their second album, and it’s good. I, however, am obsessed with their first album, Sigh No More. Without doing a lot of review reading, I’m guessing most people agree the first and titular song is heavily influenced by Shakespeare—that rat bastard. Using actual lines from Much Ado about Nothing, kind of makes that critique a given. A quick interwebs search—I do like to have my own opinion after all—reveals a generic view about literary works as inspiration for this album. I get that. But I have to tell you: Every time I listen to this album I’m transported back to a college Shakespeare class—like for every single song. In my mind, each song evokes a Shakespeare play or sonnet.

Listen to “Awake My Soul”:

This song makes me think of Shakespeare’s sonnets on friendship. I’m of the opinion that his first 126 sonnets are about friendship—many are on the bandwagon with me, but I know not everyone is. Choose to disagree and we can have awesome Shakespeare rants on my blog! Do it! You know you want to. All the cool kids are having awesome Shakespeare rants. Really! 

Yes, yes. These boys are obviously strong in their religious faith as well; didn’t miss the obvious, promise. But a good song, like a good book and a good painting, has layers of meaning and plenty of room for listeners, readers, viewers to find their own way. It’s also up for a little critical analysis.   

Was that a really long way to go to tell you I’m writing about friends and friendship in this blog post? Listening to that particular song and thinking about Shakespeare’s sonnets led me to thoughts on friendship. That led me to the old adage, and also Harper Lee quotation below, about friendship:

“Atticus says you can choose your friends but you sho’ can’t choose your family, an’ they’re still kin to you no matter whether you acknowledge ‘em or not, and it makes you look right silly when you don’t.”

                                                                                                --To Kill a Mockingbird

Combine all of these thoughts and ideas and you get to the crux of my current dilemma. It’s not so much a dilemma as a question:  Can you really choose your friends? 

You think I’m just plain silly now, don’t you?  But, honestly, can you?  I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this and walking through a list of my friends. Literally, I looked at each of my friends on facebook; and not quite so literal, when I left a school or a job, which friends stayed with me and which friends were probably just acquaintances? It gets tricky pretty quickly when you combine your literal and non-literal lists. Quite a few people show up in both my “just acquaintance” column and my “Facebook friend” column. Another dilemma; does social media clutter our lives with people who don’t need to be there? If you are tweety-twatting, the answer is yes. Of course you are. But then I’m a little biased. Although, truth be told, I’m wearing down on the Twitter-­is-all-bad front. Possibly—if you know how to be non-boring and monotonous—Twitter is a good place for you. Like if you are Steve Martin. I’ve actually almost joined Twitter to get his tweets. There is only one Steve Martin, so I think 90% of you are still just telling me the color of your couch (something I did in a Facebook status update just last week…dammit). Alright, one dilemma at a time, please:  Can you choose your friends anymore than you can choose your family? I just don’t think you can. I know I’m crazy, but I think I might also be right. 

I’m not saying our lives are pre-ordained or anything; but I do think, sometimes, people come into our lives when we need them or they need us. It’s happened too many times in my own life for me to chalk it up to coincidence. And those “just acquaintance” people I mentioned before sometimes turn out to be actual friends you just don’t need to talk to that frequently. You know these people. You run into them randomly after months or years without talking and you pick up like you’ve just had a conversation. It gets really weird when you compare notes and realize you’ve been living somewhat similar lives on opposite ends of the world—or, similar lives almost next door to each other. I tell you: this is why we invented cyber stalking. To keep track of the friends you don’t get to see often, but who’ve somehow managed to have a deep impact on your life. Just to make sure they’re doing OK, they got that career they’ve always wanted, wrote that novel, finally met the one; accomplished those things in life that brought out the true potential you always knew was there.

But did you choose that person to care about? Because that’s what friendship is to me.  That’s what Shakespeare is writing about in those sonnets and Mumford & Sons are singing about in those songs. You support your friends, you care about them, you listen when they talk and you share when they want to listen.

I am lucky enough to have a ridiculous amount of support in most things I attempt, and a fair number of true, devoted friends who listen to me babble (at best, bandy words about willy-nilly, really) without repercussions. There are at least 4 people I can say anything in the world to and they won’t hold it against me. There are a handful of others who support me, but call me on the carpet when I do or say something I shouldn’t. You need both kinds of people to survive. I truly believe this.

Currently, I’m spending most of my spare time trying to get the box store murder mystery manuscript to a completed second draft status so a call-me-on-the-carpet friend of mine can read it while she sits through her chemotherapy. This is proving to be a crazy task, as I keep breaking down whilst writing. It’s too close to home. My friend, in her seventies, has uterine cancer. This same friend was quite helpful when I was having my own uterus trauma and then went and contracted the disease herself. It’s a horrible sort of irony I still can’t quite wrap my head around. And there’s my guilt again, right on schedule. I shouldn’t be. I didn’t give her cancer. Feeling guilty just puts my ego into her disease, and I really have no place there. It is her fight and battle. But really? Seriously? Why do some people have so much on their plate? Why are the good ones not safe from horrible diseases? Why am I asking cliché questions there’s no good answer to?

When I’m overwhelmed with the writing and the tears, I do what anyone else would do, I turn to a friend and vent. I do it like everyday though. I vent to another friend every day. And for some reason, the friend I choose to vent to is the exact opposite of a 70-year-old woman: he’s a twenty something guy I can say anything to. I like the dichotomy; it’s somehow reassuring and sort of balancing. And, you know, good friends listen. Or read, as most of my venting/word vomit comes in the form of Facebook messenger chatter. So, yeah, if I were choosing my friends I’m not so sure I’d be spending most days worried about, caring about, thinking about and talking to an older woman and a younger man.   

In a nutshell: I think both Shakespeare and Mumford & Sons are trying to tell us you can’t actually choose your friends.

Sonnet 29

When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
   For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
   That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

I may not be able to choose my friends, but I can certainly thank them for their support and general awesomeness. I am one lucky girl who gets more than a little help from her friends.

Switching Genres: Anticipating The Casual Vacancy

See how there’s more blog time now!  The freelancing-office-fun-time job has ended and I once again have the time to use Barnes & Noble, Caribou or Centennial Lakes as my office space.  Yes, instead of sitting in front of a computer making money, I’m spending money on tea and those yummy lemon-raspberry squares; but $4 dollars a day is cheap rent considering how much time I can spend in these locations.  A horrible, really bad day at the part-time job hobby can be totally eclipsed by walking across the street and pulling out my laptop!

Now down to business.  Geeky book business that is imperative to the world as a whole; I tell you.  Who is going to buy, read, or borrow the new JK Rowling book?  It arrives on September 27^th and is apparently already the #1 bestseller at Amazon this year. Thoughts on diversifying your rhetoric as an author – specifically one who writes for a sub-genre (albeit huge…mostly because of her) like fantasy YA?  Goodreads says this book, The Casual Vacancy, is illustrated by Joel Holland.  Who is that?  I think I fell off the information train at some point during the last year.  Who wants to fill me in? Anyone? 

Here’s the goodreads (A site I am addicted to - you know - like tennis and tea) description:

 When Barry Fairweather (hideous name, but also tongue-in-cheek funny) dies in his early forties, the town of Pagford is left in shock.

Pagford is, seemingly, an English idyll, with a cobbled market square and an ancient abbey (Was she on the set of HP when they were filming in Lacock?  Because that is an excellent description of both town and abbey and now what I will picture when reading this book.), but what lies behind the pretty façade is a town at war.

Rich at war with poor, teenagers at war with their parents, wives at war with their husbands, teachers at war with their pupils (At first I thought every Roald Dahl book ever, but then I went to a Hot Fuzz place, and there I’m staying. Simon Pegg and all)…Pragford is not what it first seems (Look, someone more cliché than me!!).

And the empty seat left by Barry on the parish council soon becomes the catalyst for the biggest war the town has yet seen.  (There's a lot of war in this book.  I do not think it means what they think it means - or this would be a very dark book indeed.) Who will triumph in an election fraught with passion, duplicity and unexpected revelations? (OK? I’m a lot afraid, not going to lie.  But, much like sitting through The Hobbit in three movies; who’s not going to read this, really?) 

And here is the Barnes & Noble blurb they sent to my email account. (Owning a nook means I get more email from B&N than any actual person I know and correspond with.):

A councilman’s death is the catalyst for a cascading series of intrigues in “A Casual Vacancy,” the first novel written expressly for adults by JK Rowling (You say novel but then you put the title in quotes…I expect more from you B&N emailer/copy lackey), creator of the Harry Potter series.  Not everything is as it seems in Pagford, the English countryside town where this irresistible novel is set. (At least the cliché is not lacking from you, B&N lakey).

The actual description on the site is the same as the goodreads site, so I’m assuming this has come from the publisher (Also, I’d do that job and probably love it.  Proudly call me a copy lackey then).  B&N has left in this gem that goodreads removed: Blackly comic, thought-provoking and constantly surprising, The Casual Vacancy is JK Rowling’s first novel for adults.  (Is ‘thought-provoking’, especially combined with ‘constantly surprising’, the kiss-of-death for book blurbs?  Like ‘have a nice summer’ or ‘stay sweet’ is for yearbook signings?)

The goodreads readers seem to be seriously disappointed in the cover…reminds me of the infamous hanging chad on the 2000 ballot and also old school Agatha Christie covers. I think I'm just fine with it and probably it is showcasing Joel Holland's illustrations.  On a side note, why does a book written "expressly for adults" need an illustrator?  Oh, publishing world and your confounding, fair weather ways.

I want to have a serious opinion about this entire thing, but I find I don’t.  I’m not as excited as I usually am when a favorite author pens a new novel.  And really, besides YA I read a lot of mystery (I really need to own more cats to establish my quirky crazy lady vibe) and I’m fine with the cozy, it’s what I grew up on.  I don’t think they are always well written – although Ms. Christie and Dorothy L. Sayers certainly had it going on in the writing department – but HP is so very epic.  The kind of thing you end your career with; not start it with.  JK is possibly just working in reverse.  For all I know the publisher and press kit have ruined the actually book to get it out there; maybe it’s not at all like I imagine from these quick blurbs?   Possibly it’s not a mystery or a cozy either, but just feels that way from the cover and blurbs I’ve looked at. Maybe I'm putting too many of my own  preconceived notions onto a book that I haven't read and know very little about.  No, that can't be it! Oh, wait...

I’m not entirely sure I have a strong opinion about switching genres either.  I write YA.  I read YA because I write it and also because I like it.  The book that is closest to being ready for a publisher to look at - in other words, the one I use when querying agents - is a mystery YA, so a sub-genre.  My first and probably most epic like novel (see I’ve already contradicted what I wrote up there about JK and HP?!) is strictly not YA according to a YA publisher I’ve chatted up.  He’s not willing to see anything with a protagonist older than 18 – and I think even that might be pushing it.  Proving once again that everything in the writing world is in the eye of the beholder and mostly based on a whim.

Ahem, I feel like this has turned into a rant about the book publishing world.  Sorry, sometimes I get a little carried away.  All the time in my head, but only sometimes in the blog.  Promise.  

Where were we?  Yes, I’ve thought about writing a few other things/genres, even a cookbook or travelogue to break into print.  But once I’m a writer, who doesn’t need a part-time job hobby, (I just snorted into my tea) would I switch genres?  I guess if the muse took me there.  As long as you have something to say and it’s worth putting out there, why not?  

Oh, I can feel the publishing world rant coming back.  Briefly, I think categorizing is one of the biggest issues/problems facing an unpublished author.  We've been told to put ourselves into these boxes and they don't always - might I even dare say, rarely - fit what we're actually writing.  In recent events like the self-publishing/big house publishing crossovers arising (I'm talking about Penguin Group recently acquiring Author Solutions Inc - a self-publishing service provider) I'm not sure it works in the publishing world anymore either.  The hard part is figuring out when to mold and twist to fit into the publishing pocket and when to hold and stand firm with your convictions, your writing and your characters.  I'm really done now.    

Thoughts, ideas, plot points you’re willing to share? About any or all of that?

A Month of Fundays: Day 28 – Wander around a Museum

I realize some people think they are boring, but I’ve always loved a good museum. Art, history, science, tin, Barbie, MoMA…whatever – museums are high up on my list of fun things. Sometimes randomness is fun and it’s amazing what people collect.

Whilst traveling, Chris and I have made a habit of going to museums. I’m not exactly sure when this started – maybe we always have; he is an artist after all. I think my favorite trip was Chicago a couple years ago when we ended up at 5 different museums and spent a good two hours in The Thorne Miniature Room exhibit. Who knew how fun tiny things could be?

Today we went to the Science Museum of Minnesota to see the King Tut exhibit before it ends. The Science Museum was a favorite school field trip when I was little. There’s lots of hands-on for children and I’ve always enjoyed their collection of old-school medical/quackery devices. I think the Science Museum is where I discovered how gullible people can be. And they have musical stairs – musical stairs are cool!

I honestly don’t know if I liked the Tut exhibit or not. I’m guessing most of the antiquities are replicas because they weren’t in cases and I didn’t see a lot of temperature and humidity gauges; but nothing said it was a replica in print anywhere in the plague copy. Well, except for Tutankhamen – he was a replica. On the other hand, the cartouches were cool and the size and amount of stuff was impressive. Not over-stimulating, I’ll-never-be-able-to-see-it-all like the Egyptian collection at The British Museum, which I think was the last museum I was at this summer. Today was still enjoyable and fun.

My favorite part of museum wandering is the scope of imagination just sitting there in a palpable state waiting to be discovered. I started bringing a notebook to write down story ideas because I’m always inspired by something on exhibit. Today’s story idea came from a video about finding King Tut’s sarcophagus. Apparently a local, unnamed water boy helping out at the dig was the first person to come across the steps leading down and into the burial site. I think a mid-grade or picture book version from the boy’s perspective would be good. Naming the Water Boy: See how I already have a title and everything – by ‘everything’ I mean all but the actual writing, plot or characterization.

Museums: Educational, inspirational but mostly FUN.

Picture: The exhibit you are looking at or museum you decided to go to. What’s your favorite item on display?

Song: Barnaked Ladies’ “If I had a Million Dollars” if only for the art comments and a real green dress is cruel. Also Indigo Girls’ “Galileo”, a man who seems very museum-y to me...OK, this song also reminds me of all the artists, musicians and scientists who try to enlighten out human existence through their genius. And those things all end up in museums.

Tomorrow: Go Someplace in Your Town/City You’ve Never Been Before

A Month of Fundays: Day 27 – Garden Party or Barbeque

I had visions of making this the last blog post for my fundays and filling it with pictures of a great big garden party in my backyard with lots of homemade Mexican food a la Rick Bayless; including a river of Sangria and a mountain of fresh salsa. All of my friends would be gathered around and we’d talk for hours – but honestly, that was my wedding and this is normal, every day life. Oh, and we had Italian at the wedding.

Then I wrote this post and realized it was the same as the dinner party and the hanging out with friends and also, possibly I have a social eating problem – my really fun, relaxing times tend to deal with food. Because when I’m at home by myself I have things like tea with toast and grapes with cheese as a meal. I deleted that post and will try again.

No fancy garden party – tonight we did a Matt & Mara dinner night – but with BBQ! Actually, that’s not unheard of because Matt makes the best hamburgers on the grill and we ask for them repeatedly. There was quite a crew tonight – Matt & Mara with their baby Xander, and also Chris & I and my mom, and then both Shane and Amy made it as well. Full house of fun times – especially when you toss in the two Labradors – Kayleigh and Riley.

There IS something about eating outside – it makes the food taste better or something. Plus the bunnies and squirrels become much more interested in you when there’s food around. But really, in the end my fun day activity revolves around boring you with how lucky I am some days. I complain about money, and the part-time job-hobby, and the lack of being published and the economy and politics and my country and the world and SO MANY things. I complain a lot, trust me. And then for 31 days I decide to do something fun – not expensive or really that out of the ordinary for me – and discover that I am one lucky girl when I DO stop and think about it. What exactly am I complaining about? Today I got to spend the evening chatting, eating, looking at baby pictures, petting cuddly dogs and playing with a baby and all while spending time with some of my favorite people in the entire world - people whom genuinely care about me. Before I wrote it down I never realized how many of those people I’ve included in my day to day life. SO LUCKY!

The BBQ was fun – a garden party would be cool too – but mostly, tonight, I’m just happy to be me and spend time with those people embracing everything fun I’ve done this month. I’m even lucky to be old, yo – because it takes a while to collect those people into your life and even longer to enjoy having them there.

Picture: What are you serving at the garden party/BBQ? How are you decorating? What music are you playing – yes, that’s not a picture; it’s a question though…feel free to answer.

Song: I’m obvious again: Going with Ricky Nelson’s “Garden Party”; and also leaving you with Nelson’s version – which is more like a memorial for their dad, but still quite good. I think I might have underrated Nelson.

Tomorrow: Wander around a Museum

PS – I know the month is over, but I’m still a few days behind so you’ll get blog posts musing for the next few days to finish up. I did the things, I might as well write about them!

A Month of Fundays: Day 25 – Fly a Kite

The last day at the corporate office job TM in 2009 was peculiar. I was the last one in my department to leave that day as I was trying to get everything sorted out and ready to move on for the takeover company (Yes, I blame my mother for instilling me with this work ethic). Maybe my day was peculiar because I didn’t take the lay-off like most people do. I was kind of relieved to be done with the stress and office hours and take-home work.

By the time I reached my house that night I was a mixed bag of emotions. I had a goodbye happy hour the next night for separation and closure, but that first night I felt a little un-tethered. And yes, no matter how many people are sad to see you go; no matter how many emails, cards and phone messages you get wishing you luck in the future; no matter how much you know it is not your own work performance – it is hard not to feel at least a little rejected. So I was the last one to leave the office that day and my husband had to work that night; I knew I’d have four or five hours to think about my rejection once I got home.

I should really know Chris better than that by now – two years later and I finally do. There were balloons waiting for me when I got home and a card. This is something I would maybe think about doing – not totally surprising or out of the ordinary. The extraordinary: Beside the balloons and card was a basket of stuff.

The stuff in the basket:
- A movie, a puzzle book and a paperback to be lazy with.
- A bag of m&ms and a four pack of Woodpecker cider in case I wanted to indulge in food and drink.
- Some scratch off lottery tickets and a Power Ball for my windfall (I won $5)
- A blank journal, a pen and a jump drive to pursue my writing.
- Finally, there was a cheap, tiny kite with a picture of Snow White on it and a 20 ft tail made of red cellophane.

I know, right?! He’s mine; you can’t have him.

I remember instantly taking a shower and changing into yoga pants and a tank top and going out on our deck to test out the kite. It was kind of like the official end: Washing off the corporate job, taking off the uniform and becoming me – not some girl who writes copy in an office. You can define me as a writer, but I never really wanted to be a writer of copy. I’m sure the kite flying was somehow symbolic of my soul taking flight or something obnoxious but meaningful like that. I just thought it was great fun! I can’t remember the last time I went kite flying. It was brilliant.

It’s hard, getting that kite up in the air. Inevitably I will run it into the only tree for miles or get the tail all twisted up in itself. This diminutive kite was a little simpler to get up in the air – although I’m surprised it didn’t rip apart on the first go. It was a lot too windy out that May day to fly such a tiny thing, but it put a smile on my face quicker than anything else would have. And that’s the thing – as hard as it is to get into the air, once it is up there soaring through the clouds – for a short span of time, the weight of the world is lifted right off your shoulders.

That little kite from Chris’ basket has made a few trips into the air since then, and not just by me. I mail, give or pass that kite out to people when they loose their jobs and if it comes back to me, I send it out again. Only I would create a loosing-your-job tradition, but putting a smile on a friend’s face is totally worth it!

Say it with me now: Let’s go fly a kite.

Picture: The kite you are flying or where you are flying said kite.

Song: Yes, I am that obvious. Come on, how could I not. “Let’s Go Fly a Kite” from Mary Poppins. Sorry, you just can’t take the Disney out of this girl.

Tomorrow: Boating, Tubing, Paddle Boating, Kayaking, Canoeing, or a Water Sport.

A Month of Fundays: Day 24 – Re-watch a Favorite Movie from Your Childhood

Re-watching a childhood movie is fun if you are a writer of YA and mid-grade stuff and your husband is a computer animator who produces TV commercials. It’s probably fun for everyone else too, so you should try it. Movies have always been the great equalizer for Chris and me. Plot is important in both of our day jobs and therefore, movies fill the gap between painting a picture with words and painting a picture with a computer program…or paint…or lighting, scene and set design. He wins again, doesn’t he? I have words!

I had a tough decision today: Annie or The Goonies. The look Chris shot me when I showed him the case for Annie made me put it back in the movie cupboard and pop The Goonies into the blue-ray. But not before I sang my rendition of “It’s a Hard-Knock Life”. It’s been stuck in my head for three hours now, but since I just watched that other movie; the song in my head has become a mash-up of “It’s a Hard-Knock Life” and Cyndi Lauper’s “Good Enough”. It’s awesome (insert a bucket full of sarcasm here).

Let the fun begin. Who doesn’t like The Goonies? I mean, The Truffle-Shuffle transcends all race, creed and religion.

Questions to Ponder While Watching Your Movie:
Does the movie hold up?
Do you like it as an adult?
What the hell were they wearing?
Who decided that was a good hair style?
Oh wow, is that _________________ (Joey “Pants” Pantoliano/Bill Paxton/Bill Pullman/JT Walsh. One of these four men is in every movie ever made. I checked.)?
What makes the movie hold up?
What do you like/dislike about the dialogue? OK, maybe that is just a me question; I hate writing dialogue so I tend to pick apart dialogue I really like. This may be why I can quote my favorite movies verbatim.

I feel like I just assigned you homework. Don’t answer or think about any of those questions. Just sit down and watch/share a favorite childhood movie today.

I DID answer the questions and many more while watching The Goonies today. Sure, some of it was nostalgic. Like, I’m pretty sure I decided to take Spanish in school because Mouth could speak it and Mouth was cool. Yes, Sean Astin was my first celebrity crush – followed quickly (and still currently) by John Cusack. But also, I noticed more YA language and themes then I did as a kid – go figure. The Goonies is one of those family movies adults won’t be bored with. More importantly, it doesn’t talk down to kids – SO MANY movies and books do that now. It’s like we think the younger generations coming up will be stupider than their predecessors; self-fulfilling prophecy I don’t plan to partake in as a writer, or person. Kids are smart if you let them be dammit.

Moving away from the rant – I really liked today. It wasn’t as nostalgic as I thought it might be. I feel a little bit like I cheated with my funday activity because it made me think about and work on my own writing. Cross-checking with the movie when it came to the group self-discovery concept and young/teenage boy dialogue (which is quite possibly the worst, most stunted dialogue I’ve ever had the pleasure to write. Thank you goon squad for showing me my boy characters don’t have to be obsessed with sports or cookie-cutter like in their emotions to have witty dialogue.

Much like bow-ties, pirates and treasure maps are always going to be cool! The Goonies remains one of my childhood favorites on the re-watch, and also a fun way to spend a lazy afternoon with the British man.

Picture: Um, how about you just tell me what your favorite childhood movie is.

Song: They're both still in my head..."It's a Hard-Knock Life" from Annie and "Goonies 'R' Good Enough" from The Goonies. Although, Annie also has "Let's Go to the Movies" which is fairly spot on for this blog post.



Tomorrow: Fly a Kite

A Month of Fundays: Day 22 – Go Play in a Playground

If you want to do something that will make you grin until your face hurts and laugh uncontrollably, then go play in a playground today. Swing on a swing set, climb a jungle gym, teeter on a teeter-totter, or dangle on the monkey-bars – any of these things will make your day. I still can’t stop smiling.

Again, this is one of those nostalgic funday things. I’ve decided I must be taking the month to get into that childlike innocence mindset for my own book writing. There’s one school playground on my walk home from the part-time job-hobby and then another two playgrounds within a 5 minute walk from my house. I don’t think I’ve ever taken the time to notice just how prolific the playground is in my neighborhood. Is it that way in every neighborhood? How many of you live by run-down playgrounds – which are very sad things but also eerily evocative for some reason.

What else have I noticed?

Well, since it is the summer, I’ve noticed mostly teenagers and adults using the playground equipment. Yes, some of them brought their children or are chaperoning, but I think this is just an excuse to have a swing or a teeter. I did feel a little self conscious without a child and seriously thought about seeing if my niece wanted to come over so we could go play in the playground together. Maybe that sharing the playground experience is part of the nostalgia. When I walk home with school in session, the playground is full of kids at recess and teachers with megaphones watching over them – even then, the teachers seem a little wistful.

Surprisingly, the playground is a good date night with your husband/significant other. We had a blast. And again with the never-ending laughter and goofy grins, we couldn’t stop. However, be careful of the merry-go-round thing. Chris is notorious for fast-spinning until I get nauseous. DO NOT go on the Mad-Hatter Tea Cups at Disney World with anyone in his family. You are asking for trouble and at least two hours of dizziness afterwards.

Picture: Your favorite playground apparatus. Your smile after a little bit of play time. My face still hurts.

Song: I’m going to have to go with a guilty pleasure song; one that makes me smile goofy just like swinging on a swing: Len’s “Steal my Sunshine”. Also, for some reason Sixpence None the Richer’s “Kiss Me” is stuck in my head - the some reason is the “swing, swing, swing the spinning step” lyric. Oh, and also the “swing me upon its hanging tire” lyric. See, it totally makes sense.

Tomorrow: Go for a Bike Ride

A Month of Fundays: Day 20 – Play a Round of Miniature Golf or Some Other Lawn Sport

I’m not very motivated today. Currently, I’m watching a crow chase a squirrel around the water tower. No, that’s not code or a euphemism – it’s an actual crow chasing an actual squirrel in actual circles around and around the water tower in my back garden. Are there any good birds? Crows are the bullies of the avian world – or more – since one is currently chasing a squirrel – which the last time I checked, is not a bird. The squirrel seems a little bit stupid too; I don’t know if a tree is really where you want to go when being chased by something with wings who nests in that same tree. Yes, that is what’s currently keeping me from writing today’s blog post.

Onto the topic at hand: I don’t want to take away from your croquet, lawn bowling, cricket, badminton and bocce ball experiences – so post in the comments about any of those lawn games if you prefer. I’m sticking with mini-golf. Although, I have no idea how to play bocce ball so it could be the best sport ever and I’m missing out. This also means I must understand croquet, badminton, lawn bowling and cricket on some level. It’s true – all of those things do make sense to me…scary thought.

Again though, I’m wondering what makes mini-golf fun?
I feel like I’m doing a lot of nostalgic things this month and wondering why those are fun – or why I feel the need to do them right now. Before I get too esoteric, let’s just stick with the art of golf. A sport I find boring to watch, difficult to play, but for some reason can’t help liking. Mini-golf is absolutely more my speed when it comes to participating. And no, I don’t think the two have a lot in common – well, except for the course we like to play at Centennial Lakes which is really just 18 holes of putting greens.

Think about it: Have you ever had a bad time playing mini-golf?

I haven’t. It’s like Christmas, the game changes as you grow up; it starts to mean different things. Did I say I wasn’t going to be obscure? Yes, I guess I could say the same thing about cupcakes and red wagons and bicycles even; but you know what I mean. I hope. Do you?

Mini-golf is kind of iconic: The windmill, the clown face, the chemically enhanced blue water. When you’re little, the putt-putt is magical, family fun; like going to Disney World without the airplane flight. Then you go to Disney World and realize that’s not at all true; but, to a 5-year-old imagination, they are similar (Side note: One of my favorite mini-golf courses is Fantasia Gardens at Disney World – that has to pertain somehow, right?).

Then mini-golf is that thing you do in junior high on your “first date” with a boy you like and a group of your friends. The date your parents let you go on because there’s a gaggle of you and a parent around at all times. The date you think you’re on with one boy and then half-way through the course, whilst trying to sink your ball into a hole on the other side of the castle (Yeah, that’s not a euphemism either; although I can see why you’re confused.) you find yourself holding hands with a different boy.

As an adult, you may take your own children to the putt-putt course to teach them hand/eye coordination and good sportsmanship. I haven’t reached this stage yet but some of my friends have. For Chris and me it’s always been something to do in the summer when we don’t want to go for a walk or bike ride. We’re competitive to a point – the point where he’s better at everything than I am so always wins; I feel successful if I get within 10 strokes of his score.

Part of that childhood magic still must exist for me; I’ve used a run-down mini-golf course as the setting for one of my books. A Middle Grade novel where the golf course holes come to life and the three children trapped in the mini-golf world have to figure out how to play through each hole before exiting – as a MG book there are some life lessons about trust and strength and choices. Huh, maybe I have reached that adult stage.

Nostalgia, life lessons or budding romance – whichever it is – enjoy.

Picture: Your favorite hole. Wow, it is hard to take this post seriously; I keep snickering. The hole in my book that was the most fun to write has to be the pirate ship. Now, if someone could tell me where there is a mini-golf course with a pirate ship, I would be grateful.

Song: I’ve got nothing today. When I think of golf type words: green, ball, hole, club, ball rolling - I end up with Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep”. That seems not so very golfy but can you really go wrong with Adele? I will juxtapose Adele with this Whose Line is it Any Way? video of a golf song compilation…just to mess with you. Really, I think the squirrel brings this post full circle.



Tomorrow: Finding Shapes in the Clouds