Great Lines

Every now and then, something that I write comes across perfectly. More than that, even. It turns out beautiful.

This is rare for me. So I have to celebrate when it does happen.

This is a line that I did almost 2 years ago, but every time I read it, it makes me fist pump and say "Boo-yeah. Bring it, Sir Guy. Bring it." What can I say? Evey is basically my hero.

“You are right, Sir Guy. There are some people who are better than others. But it isn’t because of where they were born. It is their actions that raise and lower men. And judging by your actions, you are one of the lowest pieces of filth to plague this world. Hang me, if you must. Add one more crime to your conscience.”

Richard is unquestionably, the best Sir Guy ever. ^  (Nothing like the Creepy McCreeperton that Evey faces.)

Girls Who Read - Mark Grist

I'm pretty much obsessed with this. Feel free to judge me. I'm not even ashamed.

When a Book Changes Your Life - The Hunger Games

If you get emotionally involved in a story, then it's a good book.

If you can read it a second or third time, and still be just as invested, if not more, then it is a great book.

If your life is irrevocably altered for the better because of what you read, then it is literature of the highest quality. 

Last summer I finished reading The Hunger Games for the second time, and it literally changed everything. 

The movie premiered this past week, so I thought it was a good time to revisit my old blog post. I especially feel that the timing is right, because of some of the anti-Hunger Games sentiment that is going around. 

Every major book is going to have its revilers. For Harry Potter, it was the witchcraft thing. For the Hunger Games it happens to be the brutal combat-to-the-death of 24 teenagers. 

For obvious reasons, I understand where they're coming from. You want me to read a book about young kids being forced to fight each other in a gladiator-esque arena? No thank you. 

I know a lot of people who don't want to read the series because of this. I've even heard people calling it "spiritually damaging." But it's actually the exact opposite. 

I'd go so far as to say that:

The Hunger Games is inspiring and spiritually enlightening.  

Yes, violent things happen. Yes, adorable 12 year old girls get brutally murdered. Yes, people watch it like a sick reality tv show. 

The plot is disturbing. But it's not what the book is about. It's about kids who have to be strong to survive in a hard world. It's about people standing up for their rights. It's about a girl who would offer herself up for certain death, just to protect her little sister. 

Those bad things happen in the plot because they have to be overcome. 

All of those things are inspiring enough to spawn half a dozen blog posts. But there's more. Something that I think we often forget, but I hope I never will. Not after last June. 

As I said, I was re-reading The Hunger Games. The book was awesome enough the first time. That second time though, I really got into it. I already knew the characters and what was going to happen, but I still spent the whole time covering my face and wishing that it would change. Sadly, it didn't. Things still happened, and I still cried.

About ten minutes later, in my after-book stupor, I didn't really know what to do with myself. As usual, I replayed the book over and over in my head, but I'm a multi-tasker by nature. I needed something unobtrusive to do while I analyzed everything. 

I hadn't had dinner, so even though I wasn't particularly hungry, I got in the car and started driving. I didn't feel like having anything I passed, and I ended up at Walmart.

As I drove, I began to be impressed by the sheer absurdity of traffic. How people get so mad at other people, or get so obsessed about their precious cars. I'd thought about that kind of stuff before, so it wasn't new, but it was on my mind more than usual.

Then I walked in through the door of Walmart, and I was suddenly hit with a wave of disgust.

I walked past four or five drink machines, two crane machines, and a red box. The commercialism almost overwhelmed me. The flashy labels. The lights. The totally unnecessary products, and the billions of dollars spent in marketing them.

I have to be honest, I almost turned around and walked right back out then and there. But I needed groceries. So I entered the store itself.

Rows and rows of food, piled up for anyone's taking. Dozens of racks with shirts and pants and jackets and socks. Aisles filled with the most advanced toys a kid could ask for. Video games, movies, cell phones, cameras, TVs, laptops.

I felt like a Capital yuppie.

All I needed were a few clueless people. Selfish, arrogant, decorated and clothed according to fashions, and oblivious to the bounty around them... oh wait, Wal-mart had those too. In abundance. Hundreds of them milling about. Complaining about how hard life is while filling their carts without even a thought.

Isn't it scary? How different are we really? Suzanne Collins might have exaggerated a bit when she wrote the Capitol citizens. But only a bit. A very little bit.

I take so much for granted, and I am guilty of emphasizing things that aren't really important. I'd realized that before, but it never hit me on such a deep, extremely real level.

I was disgusted. Almost to the point of nausea.

There really aren't any words that convey the depth of my revulsion for the society in which I found myself. Suffice it to say that I was shocked in a way that I have never been shocked before.

It's been almost a year since then. I am once again capable of shopping in Wal-mart without puking. I almost wish that I wasn't. If it weren't for that silly thing about needing to eat to stay alive... 

Every time I read the books, I remember that night. And every time, I remember that I am not starving. I have clothes. I have shelter. I have the right to vote. 

I have piles of food. Literally. High quality, disease free, pre-harvested piles of food, to be more specific. And how often do we walk past this without even realizing how fantastic it is?

So word to the wise: Don't go to Wal-mart 5 minutes after reading The Hunger Games. Or better yet, DO. 

Reiteration

I posted this on my other blog a long time ago. I was going through old posts tonight, and thought that this was a good one to revisit.


I have begun to accept the fact that I will never be eloquent.

Some people just aren't born to be that way. And I'm becoming increasingly sure that I am one of those people. It sucks sometimes because there are occasions when I suddenly understand some concept really well, or come to a realization about my life that I'm sure would help other people if they got it too. And then I try to explain it and it blows up in my face. I never do it justice.

Like now, for example. I've already erased sentences that were an attempt to explain this idea in a more prosy way. And they were stupid.


This is also weird because I do write things. Like stories. People automatically assume that if someone writes stories, they are good with words. Unfortunately, this is an egregious falsehood.

Maybe I'm too dramatic for prosy, flowery description. I like exaggeration and explosions and sword fights and words like egregious. Things that are just too big for poetry.

Maybe I'm meant to be an understander, but not an explainer. It could be that it's one of my life trials to never be able to clearly communicate what my brain so effectively comprehends.

But also, maybe there are just too many people who use too many words. As nice as it would be to lend credibility to my little speeches through eloquence, maybe that's not what the world needs more of right now. Maybe we need more people who see it and tell it like it is, even if it is rough around the edges. It could be that we need more people who focus on the meat of the issue, and not the saying of it in a favorable way. Who can explain something so everyone can understand it, and not just the "intellectuals".

It's not a great thing, sometimes. People quite often look down on you if you can't present yourself just right. Appearance and sophistication are everything in this world. If you don't have it, you're no one. Which causes for a lot of... left-out-ness. I'm taken as a no one on so many levels. After all, if you're not pretty in the face or pretty in words, what else is there?

But I'm starting to notice that being so very different is good. If every person was the same, the world would be really, really, REALLY boring. It's hard. And there are days when I wish I could just fit in. But most of the time I'm starting to appreciate it. After all, there are things that I have that no one else does, and they do it to themselves. They could be happy in that way, or stressless in that way, or whatever it is. But they don't, because they care too much about pleasing the man.

Even now, while I'm trying to explain that it's okay to not be prosy, I still keep trying. And it's really not that good. But it's an ongoing process. Being alright with not fitting in will not happen overnight. But I'm sure it will eventually.

These things always turn out a lot longer than I'd like. I also have a problem with being succinct.Which I suppose is related to my lack of explaining ability.

Writing is hard. Why do you do it?

I've heard a lot of different reasons for writing. I want to be famous. I want to get rich like J. K. Rowling. I want to work from my home when my kids are asleep. They run the gamut.

But by far, the most common response I hear is:

"I write for me."

Without accusing these people of lying, I ask: What does that even mean?

I'm not being sarcastic here. I really want to know. Because I sure don't spend hours typing, and correcting, and re-reading, and correcting again, and banging my head into the wall just "for me". I don't get it.

When I do say that to myself, it comes across in one of two ways.

1) A pretentious way of saying "You didn't want to publish me? Well screw you. I didn't write it to be published anyway."

2) As a self defense mechanism. "I actually do want to be published more than anything in the world, but if I tell people that I only write for me, then it won't be so crushing when I get rejection letters."

Whatever the case, though, writing is hard. And to do it well takes a lot of work. "I write for me" isn't strong enough on its own to justify all that work. People who say it must have more specific reasons. I just don't know what they are.

Why do I write?

I have a crippling shyness. It is a real process to get me warmed up in a crowd of people that I don't know.

And then when you do get me talking, I don't shut up. On, and on, and on, and on, about things that they really didn't need to know. (My blogs are more like my talking than my writing.) I've shocked a lot of people that way. They never see it coming. The energizer bunny of rambling.

Let's just say I'm really bad with people. The Supreme Chancellor of All Awkwardness.

And yet, unlike a lot of writers, I am not all that introverted. I need people. I need to communicate with people. To connect with them, and share ideas with them. Everything about me works better when I have someone else there to help me.

As you can see, this creates quite a problem.

That's why writing is perfect for me. I can share ideas, tell a story, make someone laugh or cry. I can connect with someone. But I can type it out, read it a few hundred times, and make sure it says the right thing first.

"I just write for me" will never work in my case. Because I NEED the audience. I need to be heard. I need to be responded to. And writing is the only way I can do that effectively.

I write because I need to communicate.

Why do you write? If "I write for me" is applicable, what does it actually mean to you?

Writer's Horoscope

This is my dailyhoroscope.com forecast for today.

There are restless energies from everywhere and everyone, including you. It may be hard to get down to business and do your work today. If you do not concentrate on the business at hand you may find yourself working late. If you are in sales or some sort of social work, you will make great headway in work production. Mental stimulation from others is the key for you--it is a good idea to cooperate and compromise with others. Any previous doubts you toyed with, regarding the direction of your profession, will be turning toward a most positive direction--success is the name of the game! You have a pleasant disposition toward all you come into contact with and you gain a great deal of focus as a result of this interaction with others.

When I first read this, I think "Wow. That is so applicable to me." I am working late right now. I do have questions about my future profession. And I do brainstorm better with other people than on my own.

Then I look at it a second time and realize that so does most of the rest of the world.

If you really look at the sentences, they're completely devoid of substance.

"There are restless energies from everywhere and everyone." What does that even mean?

"If you do not concentrate on the business at hand you may find yourself working late." Um, yes. Usually things do work that way when you procrastinate.

Then why do they sound so good? Why do so many people swear by them?

Horoscopes are written in a clever way. Every single sentence is as vague as they come. Because it's so vague, it can apply to almost anyone.

At the same time, we are well aware of the trials and successes that we're currently dealing with. Because those thoughts are so active in our minds, our brains automatically use them to interpret the horoscope in a way that makes sense to us.

This technique works for horoscopes because the readers already know the story.


Don't Do This.

Sometimes writers will also craft paragraphs of meaningless vagueties. But a writer's job is to tell us a story that we don't already know. And if we don't know it, those sentences will continue to be meaningless.

A young girl lives a hard life. Nothing comes easy, and nothing comes without a price, especially when the girl must put her life on the line in order to save her sister. Thrown into a life-or-death contest, she struggles to survive. And the fight isn't just about food or water. Who should she trust? There are enemies everywhere, and one wrong move could cost her everything. 

It sounds good, but doesn't tell us anything. What makes her life hard? What happened to her sister? How will she save her? What kind of contest is it? We don't even know what genre this story is. It could apply to practically anything. (We won't even go into the cliches.)

Compare it to this:

Starving to death is a common occurrence, but Katniss Everdeen beats the odds. She keeps her family alive by being tough and good with a bow. But starvation isn't the only danger in District 12. Every year, two teenagers from each district are thrown into an arena where they are forced to fight to the death. Only one can survive. Katniss will need more than good odds if she wants to get home alive. The Hunger Games are about to begin.

Don't judge my cover copy too harshly. I'm not Suzanne Collins. But can you see the difference? In this one we get who she is, what she's like, where she lives, what is happening to her, and what the stakes are, all without sacrificing the dramatic phrasing.

Have I mentioned how hyped I am for this movie? 

Once you know that the blurb is about the Hunger Games, the first one makes sense. And that's how we see our own writing sometimes. When we know the story, we know what each sentence means, even when it's terrible and confusing.

Clear and well constructed sentences are crucial to good writing. Rhythm and cadence are just as important as grammar and spelling.

You don't have an unlimited word count here. Make every sentence mean something.

My Mattress is Breathing

It’s definitely out to get me. My mattress, that is. I’m sure it swallowed the person before me.

Mattresses are like anacondas, you know. Once they eat, it takes a long while before they need to again. They digest things ever so slowly, and hardly move while they do.

That’s how I know it’s after me.

It’s been moving. Rumbling. Seeming remarkably empty. I’ve been waiting for the day that it just snaps me up. I wonder what they did with the last girl’s stuff. Mine will be a pain to move, if it gets me.

Sure, they might seem all innocent. They’re great at luring you into a false sense of security. But even the safe ones still need to eat. Those socks that go missing? And the way the blankets seem to gradually disappear? That’s no accident.