My Year in Book Titles

Happy New Year's Eve, folks!

via GIPHY

2016 is knocking on the door and waiting not-so-patiently for us to welcome it in. But we'd just be rude hosts if we didn't take at least a moment to remember all the good times we've had with 2015.

*cues up "Through the Years" and tries to make it not-so-plural*

And, for someone like myself, who spends most of her reflective time staring at the calming, peaceful sight of an overcrowded bookshelf, what better way to think about these last twelve months than through the tomes I so adore?

So, based solely on their lovely titles, here's what 2015 looked like for me....

JANUARY

FEBRUARY

MARCH

APRIL

MAY

JUNE

JULY

AUGUST

SEPTEMBER

OCTOBER

NOVEMBER

DECEMBER

Okay, you're up. How was your year?

Summertime, and the Livin' is Busy (& Awesome)

I have officially embarked on my first summer season with Opera House Arts. And it is ALL THE THINGS.

First off, it's always fun being the new kid on the block.

The folks I work with are buckets of awesome and completely the right kind of crazy - casually dropping into conversations their love of Empire Records and Step Up 2: The Streets.

Plus, they frequently request mid-day singalong/dance breaks.

And very little could eclipse the collective joy we felt when Magical Intern tracked down that taxidermied seagull we all wanted.

Then, of course, there's the place itself. Seriously, look at this view:

Which sometimes includes pirate ships.

It's July, which means that it's not completely freezing in Maine anymore.

And the summer artists are arriving.

There are so many amazing shows coming up, it's bananas. Of course, this means we're a little bit busy...

...but that just has us holding ourselves to a higher standard...

...and forging forward together....

...as a team.

So, all in all...my new job? I'm okay with it...

And what are all of you up to this summer?

I Can't Understand

Every one of us is a storyteller.

Each day we set out to tell our tales. And we like to believe that in at least our own stories, we are the heroes. I believe that this is a very achievable goal. Issues crop up when we start to think of our stories in relation to all the other stories unfolding around us.

The truth is, no matter how awesome we are in our own stories, we are very unlikely to be the hero of someone else's. That doesn't mean that we're the villains. It's just that at best we're supporting characters, while most likely we're really extras. Background to that person's story.

But we want to be heroes.

So, when we hear about the obstacles cropping up in other people's stories, we rush to defend ourselves.

We did not cause that obstacle. Because we are heroes. And we understand everyone's obstacles, whether or not they're ours. Because we are heroes. And it is important that other people know that the obstacle in question was not created by us. Because...well, you know. The whole hero thing.

Except that isn't really important. And we have no real way of understanding the obstacles of someone else's story.

But we act like we do, because heaven forbid we look ignorant.

When I was a kid, my little sister would ask me all sorts of questions. More than half the time, I wouldn't know the answer, but there was no way I was telling her that. So, instead, I made crap up. Because I was her big sister and it was my job to have answers for her.

I went through two years of pre-school, K-12, four years of undergrad and a two year Masters program and never managed to shake the fear of a teacher asking me a question to which I didn't know the answer. Most of the time, I didn't even care whether or not I'd retained the knowledge I was supposed to. I just didn't want everyone else knowing if I hadn't.

Because no one wants to look ignorant.

But even for the smartest, most well-educated people, it's impossible not to suffer some degree of ignorance when it comes to other people's stories.

I identify as a lot of things. Here are a few:

Female. White. Heterosexual. Catholic. Daughter. Little sister. Big sister. Aunt. Godchild. Godmother. Friend. Niece. Cousin. Rape Survivor. Writer. Reader. Storyteller. Development and Communications Director. Former Federal Employee. New Yorker. American University Alumni. Star Wars Fan. Obsessive Quoter of Movies. Nerd. Scrapbooker. Greeting Card Giver. Owner of Embarrassing Number of Adult Onesie Pajamas. Christmas Nut. Superhero Wannabe. Believer That Life is a Musical If You Make It a Musical. Baker. Pie Lover. Turtle Mom. Nutella Consumer.

Now, maybe one of you is reading this and thinking, "Yes! I am every one of those things." To you, I say, "Hello, soul sister." More likely, you're looking at this and thinking, "Yeah, I can relate to some of that."

That's really the best we can hope for. That we'll find things in other people to relate to. Because there is not a person in this world who can fully understand my story, as they haven't lived it. And there is not a person in this world whose story I can fully understand, no matter how close I might be to them.  Because I haven't lived it.

There's danger in claiming that we understand things we haven't experienced. It puts us in a position to dismiss or cut off a conversation that wasn't really ours to control.

When someone complains about the obstacles in their life and we use it as an opportunity to jump in and explain how we are not part of the problem - because we're heroes and we understand - we're hijacking someone else's story to make it our own. Which might not necessarily make us villains, but certainly doesn't make us the solution of obstacles.

Sometimes the best thing we can do is take a break from heroics. To settle in momentarily to being someone else's extra. To say, "I can't understand your story, not because I don't want to, but because it will never be my experience. I don't know whether or not I'll sympathize with it. I don't know whether or not we'll agree with each other when it's over. But I'd like to listen to it anyway." And then to do just that. To let that story take center stage, even when you want to distance yourself from the obstacles. Even when you want to say, "That might be true, but not about me." To play a supporting role.

Because, every one of us is a storyteller. And every one of us deserves at least one commercial free telling of their story.

The Five Superheroes of Grief

I’ve been layering on sweaters for the past week to guard against the chill. That’s right, the chill. Because apparently being within two and a half weeks of the first day of summer isn’t enough to get Mother Nature to stop giving Maine the cold shoulder. My only recourse is therefore to focus on large-scale summery thoughts.

And what’s more large scale and summery than superheroes?

Who, let’s face it, are half-assing their jobs. For all their strengths these super-individuals seem to lack a certain amount of staying power. Sure, they show up and save the day (and scores of lives) time and time again. Don’t get me wrong, that’s great, but what is the quality of these rescued lives?

Undoubtedly, everyone’s feeling pretty elated about the whole being alive thing at first, but what happens when that survivor’s glow wears off? Everyone has to deal with the fact that their entire concept of reality has just been blown to crap. Where, might we ask, are the superheroes then? Maybe they’ve flown the coop for a romantic getaway with that special someone or really had to book it back to school for their U.S. History midterm. Perhaps they’re just settling down for a well-deserved post-averting-the-apocalypse snack.

It doesn’t really matter because the result is always the same – the mere mortals are left to Kubler-Ross it up themselves and put their lives back together piece by piece. Which is particularly unfair when you consider that these five are so equipped to help humanity deal with the various stages of grief:

Denial – Hindsight

In the wake of total and utter destruction, sometimes it’s nice to pretend that none of it ever happened. Everything’s still fine. And who better to help with that than an individual whose claim to fame is his ability to accurately analyze how events could have ended if different choices were made? Carlton LaFroyge can listen for hours while humanity goes on and on about how things are still totally the way they were – no big. And each time he’ll just sagely nod and say, “They could have been.” The main reason Mr. LaFroyge will probably be willing to tackle this somewhat thankless job is for his own safety. I can’t imagine that there is anyone the other superheroes want to punch more in the face than this guy while he’s Monday-morning-quarterbacking their most recent supervillain defeats. Additional bonus, the fact that this gentleman is so intensely punchable will eventually catapult humans to the next stage of their grieving.

Anger – Hulk

There are a lot of angry superheroes. I’m pretty sure that all job listings for the career path state, “Qualified candidates must have a constant, barely contained fury simmering just close enough to the surface that it ruins any personal relationship they endeavor upon.” However, it would be foolish of me to pretend that there is a better face for Terrifyingly Overpowering Rage than Dr. Bruce Banner’s alter ego, the Savage Hulk. Childlike and temperamental, this hero is an expert in the navigating the physical manifestations of anger, aka breaking things. Thankfully, because Dr. Banner is a self-sacrificing sort of person he’ll probably be willing to help us humans smash out our issues and because he’s a genius, he’ll probably take us in controllable groups to a place where we’re less likely to do more damage than necessary to our established infrastructure. Now, odds are pretty good that the whole of humanity will tire before the Hulk does. So, when all the anger has been forced out of you, leaving nothing but an exhausted husk, it’s time to advance to the next stage. But, let’s keep it in the family, shall we?

Bargaining – She-Hulk

When everyone gets to the bargaining stage, Jennifer Walters is who we want in our corner. Generally, a little bit more chill than her cousin, Ms. Walters is a skilled and versatile attorney. She’s represented the whole spectrum of clients – victims of crime, criminals, corporations, superheroes and supervillains. And, she’s won. A lot. Not all that surprising, when you consider her talent for seeing various perspectives – even within herself. After all Ms. Walters and She-Hulk don’t always agree on the issues and they’re the same person. This is a lady truly gifted at the art of debate. Ready to try regaining normalcy through negotiation? Call her immediately. But if you’re feeling more like getting into bed and pulling the blankets over your head for awhile, maybe it’s time to move on.

Depression – Yellowjacket

Sad Henry Pym is sad. Crime fighting just doesn’t hold the same allure it once did. He hasn’t made a big scientific discovery since those Pym particles. Even worse, his failures seem highlighted by the successes of all those around him and it’s throwing him off his game, not to mention making for a fairly miserable home life. Which kind of explains why he jumped the gun and screwed up Captain America’s plan to calm down the Elfqueen, leading to his subsequent court-martial. Spoiler alert: Things for Dr. Pym are going to get worse before they get better, making him the perfect choice for the public when they reach the stage of melancholy and despair. This guy is an expert in those feelings. Just a little tip for humanity – when Pym starts talking about how much greater the world would be if we could all just build a giant robot to attack our friends, you might want to think about scheduling a meeting with our final hero.

Acceptance – Oracle

Barbara Gordon kicked quite a bit of ass as Batgirl. Then the Joker shot and paralyzed her, ending her crime-fighting career. So, what did she do? Built a new freaking crime fighting career – continuing to help Batman, joining up with the Suicide Squad, forming the Birds of Prey, and serving as a member of a little group of well intentioned souls called the Justice League of America. Because when the going gets tough, the tough like to work with Barbara Gordon. Why? She keeps her shit together. Babs doesn’t pretend things are great – whenever her world is totaled, she acknowledges the astronomical level of suck and then keeps on moving forward. Who better, then, to help the general populace reach that final step of accepting that their old lives are over and it’s time to rebuild? Think of how full of purpose they’ll be. 

Right up until the next villain causes countless casualties and trillions upon trillions of dollars in property damage and everyone needs to start this whole damn process all over again.  

True Love Never Dies...Or Something About The Force Being With Me

When I was a kid, my ideal day would have been pitching a blanket fort in front of the TV, watching a nonstop movie marathon and dumping my giant bin of Legos on the floor and building to my heart's content.

To be honest, that would still be a pretty ideal day for Adult-Kelly. The only difference is, I'd probably do all of this in jeans and t-shirt. Back in the day, I was a little bit fancier - or at least had more time to do movie-binge-preparations. So, rather than going with a run of the mill outfit, I would dress up in the manner of the characters I was watching.

It didn't matter what genre of movie. I dressed up like Zorro. I dressed up like a Mighty Duck. I dressed up like Eliza Doolittle.

There's a reason I work at a theater and spend my free time creating fictional words and people.

But while all of my beloved childhood films still hold a special place in my heart, there has never been any that has rivaled my affection for the original Star Wars trilogy. My parents took me to see the re-release in 1997. I was eleven years old and within minutes of the credits I had given my heart over completely.

I went home, searched through dozens of VHS tapes until I found ones on which my family had recorded the movies when they'd been on TV. I couldn't wait for Empire and Jedi on the big screen - though I would of course see them there - I had to watch them immediately. Even if it meant spending hours fast forwarding tapes until I could find them.

I read every Extended Universe novel I could get my hands on. My parents started assuming that any time I said their name it was going to end in a request to be taken to the closest book store or Blockbuster. I skipped school when Episode I came out a couple years later.

Over time there were things in books and/or films that took the story in directions that I wasn't a huge fan of, but not even that could shake my love for these stories.

Today the trailer for the newest installment has been released and I can already feel myself getting lost in the wonderful quicksand of repeat viewings.

Now, I can't say from this teaser what this movie will bring. If it will be everything that I want it to be. But I do know that when I watch it, I feel like that little girl who watched Empire on loop for a full sunny August day, despite her father's requests that she at least take a fifteen minute break for some fresh air. Whose mother came home after work to find her standing in the living dressed in her best Leia on Hoth costume, because that was the natural choice when watching Empire. Who thought it was necessary to memorize the serial number on the Millennium Falcon's main engine block....you know, because. Who felt like everything was magic when she heard the first few chords of the well-known score. Who decided a notebook like this was necessary.

The little girl who dreamt of being a princess who kicked ass.

And that just gives me one more reason to be excited about next Christmas.

My mother was surprised to come home
to this, but not so surprised she didn't
grab a camera. 

And maybe to practice my hair braiding....just in case.

Working Titles

I knew when I opened up the the moving truck and saw the solid wall of things inside - this was going to be a marathon, not a sprint. And so the unpacking continues!

My new place is definitely starting to look like a home instead of the box fort of a deranged lunatic, but I've some distance to go before every evening isn't spent building my severely lacking upper body strength lugging boxes from one room to another.

One thing I can say for myself, I'm a very specific label-er. When I start clawing past the packing tape, I know exactly what I will find there.

The labels can not, however, tell me why I packed my 
Polaroid camera in a different box from the film. 
But, hey, at least I know where my '80s jacket is. 

Looking at all the labels, I started wondering what my possessions say about me, which lead to other existential quandaries revolving around the art of unpacking. My thoughts all solidified in book titles (naturally) and now, at the very least, I have the title of my future memoir.

• "Pillows & Books:" The Rests and Ruminations of Kelly Johnson 

Too many boxes were labelled this way for me not to take the hint. And then, of course, there was the expression I kept seeing on the faces of all the lovely friends and family hauling my things out of the moving truck.

• Fill the Box Entirely With Books; and Other Ways to Get Rid of Those Well-Meaning Loved Ones

Why, Past Kelly, why?

I've taken to just issuing blanket apologies before anyone starts to move anything, despite the wary looks that puts in everyone's eyes.

Once, I started actually getting things out of their cardboard prisons, things really got fun. Going through all the things I've stored for the last two years is like a mix of Christmas and some weird kid's time capsule. Some things I'm so excited to find again, others I'm truly puzzled as to why I ever thought they were worth saving. I'm looking at you 95% empty jar of lotion.

• Home Stylings for the Nerd Chic

That tome will definitely include the best placement for one's Death Star cookie jar and how to incorporate one's troll dolls in with one's living room decor to form a cohesive decorative theme. Or something along those lines. Furniture construction has also been a fertile ground for future book ideas.

• They Found Me Crushed: Improperly Fastened Book Shelves and Other Real Physical Threats to Your Average Avid Book Collector

I'm not saying that I've ever been the victim of shelving upheaval. I'm also not not saying it. Make of that what you will.

And finally, there is the piece that I must get back to working on right this second:

• Never Ending: One Woman's Story of Unpacking

I already know how that one turns out. Spoiler alert: She never finishes unpacking, just gets sucked into a labyrinth of boxes.

Now, if you'll excuse me, it looks like there might be a Minotaur coming around that corner.

Where the hell did I pack that sword?

The Great Return

My time in limbo is coming to a close! My new apartment is ready as of this weekend, which means no more temporary housing. I've been staying in a lovely place, but I'm definitely ready to stop living out of a suitcase.

But not even having my own space again can compete with the real glory of this coming week, because...I'm getting my books back! *cartwheels down the street, flipping into a snow bank to make the mother of all snow angels*

With all of my traveling, the bulk of my worldly goods have been in storage for almost two years. And the bulk of my worldly goods are, of course, books - much to the dismay of any kind-hearted person who has ever offered to help me move.

To say I'm excited to be in the same room as my tomes again seems both unnecessary and insufficient - BUT I CAN'T HELP MYSELF.

I have undoubtedly fallen in love with my eReader over the last couple years of motion. It's an amazing invention and, also, a dangerous one. The temptation to buy a new book, regardless of how many new books I already have, has always been overwhelming. But once I used to have to put on real pants, get in a car and get myself to a book store. Now, I only have to hit a button. So, whereas 50% of my income used to go towards books, now it's been raised to about 99%. Because I have found that the opportunity to simply hit a button erases all memory of from where the money for said buttoned thing is coming.

So, eReader = awesome + bank-account-draining. Naturally, I love it.

But, I have missed my hard covers and paperbacks - my very first loves. And they are now returning to me. I have already allocated a room in my new place to be their new home and while not everyone will understand the thrill of setting up one's home library, I'm pretty sure all of you reading this can.

Tomorrow shall be spent on the wondrous task of putting together all my new bookcases. My apartment must be ready for the glorious book arrival of Sunday. Whatever else is floating around in those boxes will just have to wait. Thankfully, I know I'll be able to find the books easily. After all, they were packed by Stage 3.

When all the books have been safely tucked away, ready yourself for some pictures as I play that age-old storage game: "I Forgot All About This Exciting Thing!!/Why Did I Ever Think This Was Worth Saving??"

Traveling today...come join me!

Hey everyone!

I'm being interviewed today in my new position as Development and Communications Director with Opera House Arts. Come join me on OHA's blog!

Have a wonderful (like 2-or-3-books-read-wonderful) weekend.

Writers for All Seasons

I don’t know what the weather is like where you are, but it’s quite chilly in these parts – like two sets of pajamas worn simultaneously each night chilly.  

It is absolutely beautiful, looking out the snow covered rooftops and the boats floating over the (I’m sure) frigid water. But actually going outside is the thing of nightmares. Just the thought of it prompts a chill to set in my bones.

Which was perfect for this past weekend. Why, you may ask, do I so appreciate that it feels like I’m breathing in icicles the moment I step out the door?

ALL THE REVISING.

There is nothing like being afraid of frostbite to get me to buckle down and get to work. Sure, I have to wear glittens* as I do, but that just adds to the fun. It's one of the many reasons that winter is my favorite writing season. 

Which got me wondering about other writers and their weather preferences. So, out I went into the swirling snows of the Internet and conducted a very scientific (read: completely informal) survey.

Here are the results:

Winter

Ava Jae
"Few things beat being huddled over my keyboard during a blizzard with a steaming cup of tea beside me."

Caitlin Sinead

“My favorite writing season is winter because I feel really guilty when I stay inside and write on gorgeous days (which doesn’t mean I don’t still do it). But when it’s cold out, then it seems like the best thing to do is put on fuzzy socks, drink tea, and disappear into a blanket and worlds I make up.

Rebecca Yarros

“I have to say that I love winter the best for writing, because my kids are busy with school, we take long hockey trips where I can plot in the car, and the sun sets earlier, which is great for this night owl! Not to mention the snow keeps us cozied up inside!”

Spring

Emmie Mears

“My imagination comes out of hibernation in spring and I have my best ideas as the world comes back to life.”

Gail Nall
"Fall is my favorite season, but as far as writing goes, I'd have to pick spring. There's something about the newness of everything in spring, the hope in the air, and the fact that the mosquitoes aren't out yet makes me feel as if I can write anything!"

Summer

N.K. Travers

“Summer is my favorite writing season by far. Nothing stokes the muse like the sun and a warm breeze through open windows.”

Fall

Molly Lee
"My favorite season to write is in the Fall. I'm a Midwest girl and once the air gets the crisp scent of Fall, my creative juices start flowing at full speed! I've written most of my novels in between the months of October and January for this exact reason."

Fiona McLaren
"My favorite season to write is in Autumn (the Fall), because it's a moment of metamorphosis...the world starting to enter a deep sleep, waiting for the following years' seasons to bloom with something new. The quiet and change, the period of waiting and preparation, all of these help spur my creative muse into life."

Other

Brooks Benjamin
"Mine would have to be spring and fall. Maybe it's the way the weather sort of wiggles back and forth between warm and cold, but something about that time keeps my writing senses all tingly and alert."

Jessica Cluess
“Fall is undoubtedly my favorite season to write. Not because of the wether, since I live in always-sunny Los Angeles, but because Starbucks has great seasonal drinks. I often write in Starbucks. Actually, my favorite season to write is Starbucks.”

Scarlett Cole
"I have a terrible habit of writing books that occur during the opposite season to the one I am in. Writing books set in summer during the winter, and fall books during the spring. My favorite season to write in would be the one that matches the book I'm working on. Otherwise I end up playing Christmas carols in June to set the mood."

Lauren Grimley
"For me, there isn't a magical season. All my books were written during different seasons and all had magical writing moments, most of which occurred late at night. Like reading a good book, I know my creativity is at its peak when it can keep me up past midnight, obliterating all thoughts of the morning's obligations. I guess I never outgrew that rush of staying up past my bedtime, because I feel there's something special, empowering even, about writing down your dreams and fantasies while the rest of the world are sleeping through theirs."

In conclusion, with the same certainly that you can know that somewhere an episode of Law & Order is on, you can be sure that no matter what the time or weather, somewhere someone is writing. 

*Warning: The wearing of glittens while
writing will undoubtedly increase
your number of glitten-related typos.
But they're so cozy!

Alternate Bannings

Happy Banned Books Week, folks!

I hope you're celebrating this always exciting time by reading absolutely whatever the hell floats your boat. But if you're looking for other thematic activities, check out these offered by the American Library Association.

In the meantime, while I've been shaking my head in an exasperated fashion over the very idea of banning books, I have come up with a short list of things of which I would support the prohibition:

• Wedding receptions with more than two group/line dancing songs.
• Electric Slide, Cupid Shuffle, Cha Cha Slide, Cotton Eyed Joe, the YMCA - the list goes on and seems to be getting longer every year. And let's be honest, even two in one night is probably more than anyone needs.

• Calling it a "funny bone."
• I mean, I love ironic names as much as the next person who has pain reverberating up and down her arm. But, maybe we should just stop this. 

• Accidentally stepping in water whilst wearing only socks
• I don't know what it is about feeling liquid soak into my socks, but it make me want to destroy all the things.

• The phrase "You know what I'm saying?"
• If I make a solemn vow that I will ask if I don't, can this stop being inserted into conversation?

• Saying "I could care less" when you mean "I couldn't care less."
• This oldie but goodie drives me bug nuts. We could all care less about a whole slew of things, so unless you're confessing that you're closer to a situation than you'd like, it doesn't seem worth mentioning. And it especially shouldn't be said in the same tone as telling someone to shove it. 

And as a bonus:

• Squirrels
• Do I really need to say more?

So, those are some of my bannables. What about yours?

Literary Deathmatch: Round 2

I have finished another round of editing, which means it break time. For me, break time means two things:

- Binge watching Haven and Emma Approved.
- Trying to decide which literary character would win in a drag-down, knock-out fight.

On the first topic, all I'm going to say is that if you don't watch those two things, you really should. Two very different tones, both extremely awesome.

It's my second break time activity that I'm focusing on right now. Last time I wrote about one of these (not the last time I thought about it - because I think about these things all. the. time.) it was Ms. Bennet and Ms. Eyre donning their boxing gloves. This time, I'm looking at two women of a slightly different moral caliber.

By Airman 1st Class Kerelin Molina [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

"Okay, I'm going to need a pair of these in snow white and a pair
in cotton candy pink. Yes, the contenders are very serious
about their color choices."

In this corner, in starched and pressed white, we have one Nurse Ratched!

This contender is no stranger to wielding absolute power. Through manipulation, guilt, deprivation of food and the occasional shock therapy, she keeps the inmates of Oregon State Hospital toeing the line. Ratched has been known to drive men to suicide, but when she finds herself unable to successfully push someone's buttons, she is not above lobotomizing her foe.


And in this corner, in a stunning uniform of pink - No, ma'am. Wands must be left at the door. Fight rules. - is Madame Undersecretary Professor Delores Jane Umbridge!

Don't let her constant prim smiling fool you folks, this is no demure lady. This contender is a Slytherin alum who not only embraces her bigotry, but ensures that she is in the appropriate position of power to act on it. She not only undermines the education of children, she actively harms them both emotionally and physically. As for adults, she happily sent them to prison with the soul sucking Dementors if she so much as disapproved of their lineage.




Seeing as there is no magical or pharmaceutical tools allowed in the ring, these women are fairly well matched. As they are both concerned with giving off a composed appearance, this fight might be a little slow starting. I would assume that it would begin first with each trying to exercise her uncanny knack for seeing the emotional weaknesses of others. However, when they find themselves equals on that front, a physical altercation will be all that's left.

While in a twisted way, these two women probably have enough similar interests to be great friends, neither will yield when the fists start flying - both see the public loss of face as too cruel a punishment to bear.

Physically, they're both of similar matronly builds. Both rely heavily on the tools of their trade (whether that be drugs and surgery or wands and blood quills) to reach their goals, however, the nature of Nurse Ratched's work likely gives her an advantage in terms of physical strength. The work of a nurse, in general, requires stamina and one would assume that this would be particularly true in a mental institution. It is not unlikely that she has had physical altercations with some of the patients at one time or another. After all, approaching a patient with a needle or pills requires one to get much closer to the other individual than approaching someone with a wand.

Delores Umbridge is not someone who will go down easily - a person evil enough to feel strengthened by a horcrux is not one to be trifled with. That being said, without the aid of magic, I believe I would bet on Nurse Ratched. Despite ruling the roost over at OSH, Ratched lives her life constantly surrounded by men who hate her and never being presented with the option of a quick Stupefy - or, more likely, Cruciatus - I'm guessing she's more physically prepared for whatever's thrown at her.

What do you guys think?

The End of Spring's Winter Impersonation!

Hello all!

Sorry for the radio silence lately. Lot of moving and shaking going on.

I am, of course, still reeling from last month's auction and the generosity shown by all of you. Followed that up with some public speaking at a luncheon being held in honor of Sexual Abuse Awareness Month. *cut to me gripping a podium that thankfully hides the fact that my legs are about to just shake right off.* Thankfully, minoring in theater left me with the tools to smile when what I really want to do is hurl all my cookies. And not vomiting is the scale upon which I base all public speaking success. So, win!

Of course, it helped that the people there showed themselves to be as wonderful as all of you, further reaffirming the whole "world contains a lot of goodness" mindset. And if that weren't enough, it's finally not freezing anymore!

I don't know about where you all are, but the weather has been pretty damn nice around here for the last week or so. Even today's rain was nice, because it finally has that spring rain smell that I love so much. Everything's starting to look all green and beautiful, which should be good for everyone's writerly pursuits as looking at green may make you more creative. And means I finally have an explanation for the inspiration I feel whenever confronted with a picture of a Ninja Turtle.

I mean, sure, spring decided to pretend it was still winter for the first month and a half, but who among us can say that we haven't enjoyed a little play acting from time to time. How can we begrudge spring its fun? Even if it did mean that I started having reoccurring nightmares that this was the harbinger of sentient snowmen rising up from our icy backyards to rule the newly frozen world with us as their frostbitten minions.

Not to be dramatic, or anything.

Anyway, we still have a little over a month of spring to enjoy (provided, of course, the little comedian doesn't decide it wants to do its admittedly impressive summer impersonation). To that end, I'll be doing some spring related posts. Going to kick it off on Monday with the characters that most remind me of this brief, but awesome season.

Until then, have a great weekend!

The Vomit Test

My nephew has recently started understanding that certain things are funny. As a result, he's big into laughing now. Last night, we really had him going. Something about bringing our heads really close, really fast without smashing them together just does it for him. He handled his mirth well - laughing as hard as he could until the only possible next move was completely emptying the contents of his stomach all over me. 

He handled it with panache. Quick, quiet expulsion and then he was back to laughing. Honestly, it took me a second to process what happened. 

But what I'm sure was my comical expression of horror as the realization dawned is not the point of this retelling. The point is laughing not only until you vomit, but through the vomiting itself. 

I mean, that is a high level of merriment. We've all laughed until our faces hurt. Or our stomachs cramped. Or maybe even until our bladders weakened. But throwing up and smiling about it? I don't know about you, but I haven't hit that tier of excitement yet. 

I have, however, decided that I'd like to see every fictional character have a moment like this. Okay, it doesn't have to actually involve vomit, but I'd like to see a character so overjoyed by something that in that moment no adverse thing spewed at them is enough to make them stop smiling. That would tell us a lot about the character. What passes his or her vomit test? What is it that can make him or her that completely happy? 

And then, because I'm mean, I'd like to take it away from them. Because if something can make you smile through vomiting, I'm willing to bet you'd do a lot to get if back. 

And that's a story in which I could really get invested. 

Dispensing Good (but Mostly Non) Fortune

I had a lovely evening recently of researching fortune tellers and eating Chinese food. Once I had fully consumed my fortune cookie (as I was told I must), I was again struck by how much the "fortunes" aren't fortunes. 

1. Order. 2. Order. 3. Observation. 

In reference to #3...stop watching me cookie makers!

I was also very aware that I don't care about that at all. I love these silly things. They're rather like the Dove Miniatures' affirmations, only with slightly fewer references to chocolate.

Long ago, for some reason that I can no longer remember, I decided that I would never throw the fortunes away. However, I have no plans on appearing on Hoarders: Fortune Cookie Edition. Thus was born my containment method.

If I happen upon a "fortune" that I really enjoy, I keep it, but hide it from myself. Stick it in a pocket or a purse or a book - somewhere I'm likely to forget about and find again down the road. And then try to remember why the hell I thought this particular one was worth saving.

Now if the "fortune" doesn't resonate with me, that's when the real fun begins. I neither trash them nor keep them. Instead they become the property of unwitting family, friends, coworker and occasional strangers. No, not any of the people reading this, of course. I would never do that to you. The random fortunes you've found in your belongings came from another Fortune Dispenser. 

Obviously.

Stop looking at me, already.

Okay, you know what, we should really talk about one of your quirks now. Mostly because I need something to distract the person next to me so I can slip this fortune in her pocket.

Out with the Old, In with the More Logical

All right, folks. It’s question time.

Do you ever have one of those days where for some strange reason you can not get a rather inane query out of your head? Just to be clear, that’s not actually my question. Just one of those annoying rhetoricals that regardless of how you answer can not keep me from blabbering on.

The point is, I had one of those days today. And it was a question that has haunted me similarly on past such days. A question I do believe will continue to irk my brain until we do something about it.

Why, in the world, are we still calling the garment we place on our lower halves a “pair of pants?”

Why?

Not why we did originally. That makes sense to me. Pantaloons were made up of two unjoined legs. You wanted your whole lower half covered? You needed a pair of them. Great.

But why are we still doing it?

I’ve received varying answers over the years when I’ve railed at whoever would listen.

“It’s just what we’ve always called them.”

Hey, I love traditions as much as the next gal. Believe me. But it seems we didn’t care quite enough about it to keep calling them pantaloons. So if your argument is simply that we are slaves to custom, then you really shouldn’t be half-assing it. Tell me that you’re going out to pick up a new pair of denim pantaloons and I might put more stock in this statement.

“People are too used to it. It’ll never change.”

Really? Laziness?

Humans not only created the original leg coverings, but then later on decided, “You know what? This whole two separate things held together by a belt is annoying. Let’s just add a piece on top and make it one thing. Maybe then I’ll stop misplacing that damn right pantaloon,” and made it happen. And then they went further and made these mystical objects in a wonderful variety of materials. Corduroy! Denim! Linen! Velour! Let’s make them really flared on the bottom! Nope, sick of that. Let’s make them so tight on the bottom that it’s hard to wear even ankle socks! How about a few regularly cut ones for the rest of us? We can make those too? Perfect!  

Humans can do all that, along with a couple other things over the course of history, but we don’t have the get-up-and-go to alter the way we talk about something?

For shame.

Of course, even this excuse is better than the one that I receive the vast majority of the time:

“Well, you’ve got two legs, don’t you?”

Let’s, for the sake of expediency, put aside the bizarre implications of this statement if we extend it out to why in all of hell we refer to our lower undergarment as a “pair of underwear.” Well, expediency and the fact that I’m not actually comfortable asking if any of you have more than one ass.

So, yes, I do have two legs. I also have two arms, which are often covered by sleeves. However, the garment the sleeves are attached to is called a shirt. Singular. I don’t get up in the morning and pull on my shirts. Well, I mean….I do if I’m layering, I guess. But you get what I’m saying.

Now, for the ladies reading, let us consider our upper undergarment. Yes, there are two cups, but when sewn together, they become a bra. Again singular, despite also being able to boast that it covers something of which I have more than one.

And for today’s final example of why this argument is the height of ridiculousness,* I offer you a picture of me this past Christmas:

Yes, envy and awe are the correct emotions with 

which to view this photo.

This garment covers everything with the exception of my hands and head. Despite this, we refer to in the singular. Further, we are so enamored with the marvel of this singularity, we have built it right into the name.

The onesie.

And if we can do that for this article of clothing, taking into account all it covers, I do not ever again want to hear that they are called pants because I have two legs.

Now, I believe in us, as a people. Together, we can effect change. We can ensure that our great-grandchildren aren’t still having this conversation.

And we can start today.

Well, maybe tomorrow. It’s getting kind of late over here and I need to put on pajamas.

No!

Procrastination is the enemy!

Forget pajamas. I’m going to put on a sweatpant!

That’s right, folks. I said it.

So, what are you doing to help the cause?

*Bold statement to make in light of this entire post, I know. But I’m sticking by it. 

Yodeling

Do you remember how when Peter Pan was really pleased, he just had to crow? He just had too much excitement in him to express with words. Crowing like a rooster was just more appropriate.

I get how he feels. Except I'm not big on the crowing. I favor the yodel.

You see, when was a kid, the extended family used to sometimes get together at my grandma's house. She was one of eleven, so those barbeques were pretty well attended.

I've been told that I once ran up to the porch, saw all those lovely white-haired ladies and stopped dead in my tracks. My five-year-old brain was apparently a little overwhelmed by the sight and I had to ask those around me, "Which one is grandma?"

So, I may not have always been able to tell one person from another right away, but there was one thing that I consistently expected.

As my great aunt Peggy would drive away from the curb outside my grandma's, beginning her trek back to New Jersey, she would roll down her car window and yodel.

Every single time.

The window would roll down and yodeling would begin. It was her way of saying, "Had a phenomenal time! I'll miss you!," when words just wouldn't cut it.

We'd run after the car, waving and yodeling back. Because what else do you do when someone yodels to you, but yodel back? Trust me, you hear a sound like that and it's almost impossible not to respond in kind.

Now it's hardwired into me. I hear yodeling and I feel happy. Simple cause and effect.

So, what's your happy cry?

Jubilation

 

Happiness is the best, isn’t it? Whether there’s an obvious reason for it, or you just woke up in the right frame of mind. Happiness just feels good.

This is obvious, of course. What’s a little less obvious is the reasoning behind some of the ways we choose

to express this glee.

For instance, I would really like to know who was the first person to think: 

Sweet baby monkeys, I am so completely thrilled with what just happened that I can think of no verbal way to express this feeling of utter joy. Nay, words will not do. The only manner in which to show this level of merriment is to smash my limbs together!

I have to assume that the first person who ever started clapping got a lot of “what the hell” looks from those around him.

Of course, once this milestone was reached, it opened a plethora of doors.

The slow clap, for one. Who in the world doesn’t enjoy a good, solid slow clap? The origin of this one is pretty easy to figure out. I mean, once clapping was a thing, it was only a matter of time before some intrepid human thought: 

Nope, just not dramatic enough. I have joy, you see. But mine is a deep, abiding joy. Nothing that can be expressed so simply in a random burst of excitement. It must be nursed, it must build. For at the top of that mountain, you will see the light that I now see. And we will be together in our jubilance.

But what about once we’re together?

I’m so happy with you. You’re just the best. Wait? You think I’m this best too?!? I can feel the elation growing. My fingers are tingling. But it seems wrong just to clap, almost like I’m leaving you out. I know! I’ll take one of my limbs and smash it against one of yours!

And thus the high-five was born, paving the way for low-fives, double high fives, air fives and fist bumps. Also, of course, the “Up high/Down low/Too slow.” But you’ve got to take the bad with the good, I guess.

You know what? I still don’t know exactly why all this hand smacking started, but thinking about it sure has put me in a good mood. How about you?

Cyber five!

Influx of Ideas

I’m not sure if you know this, but this past Monday was Rex Manning Day. An exciting time for any Empire Records fan, it gives us one more excuse to quote random lines to our friends.

One of my favorites?

However, despite my love of saying this, I don’t actually believe thoughts just appear out of nothing. At least not the majority of them. I get the occasional rando-s whose path I can’t trace, but for the most part, if I think something I can generally figure out what prompted it. Even if it takes a few minutes – and it's not at all clearly linear.

For instance, the other day I was packing up some books and got to a shelf with a few X-Files novels and began singing Shania Twain’s “Man, I Feel Like a Woman.” At first, these are two completely unrelated things, until I remember that I got the first of the novels when I was visiting my cousins in Washington state. And while I was out there, they taught my sister and I to line dance to Ms. Twain. Hence, seeing the book and singing the song.

This same process holds true for story ideas. Sometimes I feel as though they just appear to me out of no where, but if I go back and really think about it, I can usually determine what spurred things along. Which is really beneficial because then when I’m feeling stuck I have ideas as to what inspires me, giving me a place to start my creative searches.

Here are a few of my tried and true Idea Stations:

-          Movies from my childhood

o       Particularly cartoon musicals. They put me back in the mindset of believing that anything’s possible and once I’m feeling that way, it’s easier to create pathways through difficult plot points.

-          Airports

o       When I was a kid, I used to like to watch people talking and try to make up conversations for them based on their facial expressions and mannerisms. No better place to people watch than an airport. Plus airports have such a wealth of emotions – anticipation or dread of a coming journey, relief or disappointment at the end of a trip.

-          Painting ceramics

o       It calms the mind, making it easier to fix the problems that have been tripping me up. Also, I get to take something home….like this bitchin’ flying saucer nightlight:

 A fabulous addition to any home.

So, when you feel like you’re running in circles ideas-wise, where do you go to get untangled?

Always Pack Books First....Always

I am in the process of packing up my apartment.

Of course, books must be dealt with first. For the uninitiated, this does not mean that I load all my books into a couple giant boxes. Because that is a path of madness leading straight to split cardboard and broken backs. No, books need to be spread out among multiple carriers. And this needs to be a priority. Otherwise things can go to a very dark place.

You see, I go through five distinct stages when I prepare for a move.

Stage One:

I am meticulous. Everything is beautifully organized. The boxes make complete sense. Items separated by room in which they belong. A symphony of compartmentalized perfection. I am invincible. A packing god. You may take a moment to bow. I’ll wait.

Stage Two:

Not feeling quite so divine. But that’s okay. I’ve always been fond of the whole being human thing. And all my belongings are still pretty orderly. Sure, there might be some kitchen hand towels in the box with bathroom hand towels, but that’s not the end of the world. Probably.

Stage Three:

Man, packing takes a long time. When did I get so much stuff? This can’t all be mine. What should I label this stupid box? “Books/Linens/Snuggie/Mugs(2)/Light bulb/Avenger Chibis.” Yeah, that’s perfect. You know, labeling everything “Misc.” is just more efficient. Why was I wasting all that time before? Just get all of it in boxes. Then maybe a nap.

Stage Four:

You know what? If it doesn’t fit in a box, throw it out. I don’t need all this crap.

Stage Five:

Not already in a box? Fine. Setting you on fire. Done and done. Where the hell did I pack the damn matches?

There’s always a moment while I’m heating my hands by the pretty flames when I wonder if perhaps I’ve been a wee bit rash.

I feel a rush of panic, but then I remember all the books were packed by Stage Three. Relief warms my heart even as the bonfire formally known as my possessions warms the room.

Books are safe.

Everything else is expendable.

Reason number one to always pack books first.

And it’s totally not my fault if Roomie left some of her stuff in the blaze path.

That’s on her.

Literary Celebrity Deathmatch

Do you remember this MTV show from the late ‘90s? Claymation celebrities would face off in the ring and quite literally rip each other apart.

Well, I’m going to be honest with you, sometimes I think about book characters this way. Complete with claymation features. And I wonder who would win in a fight.

Take for instance, two of the most classic female heroines, Jane Eyre and Elizabeth Bennet.

In an all-out fight, who would walk away victorious?

Let’s first look at the contenders:

Ms. Eyre:

She had a very difficult upbringing and as a result is a little socially awkward, but very independent. This independence is not simply something she strived for, but a necessity for her survival. And looking at her life, Ms. Eyre is nothing if not a survivor. A trait that would serve her well in the ring. That being said, Ms. Eyre is also exceedingly moral. She is likely not to approve of physical altercations, which may lead to delay in her ring reactions that could result in defeat.

Ms. Bennet:

Though at times dissatisfied with her family, she has lived a fairly happy life, free of turmoil. Her lowest point is when her younger sister makes a dumb decision regarding a gentleman caller. Added to this, though Ms. Bennet is frequently frustrated by those around her, there is rarely a situation where she is left entirely on her own to deal with. When given the choice she is independent, but situations in her life frequently require interdependence. That she is used to such support could work against her in the ring. However, she is more open-minded than Ms. Eyre and while certainly not immoral, more flexible. For instance, she would probably be more willing to alter her skirts, giving her room to sweep the leg. Which always comes in handy in such fights as these. 

Honestly, I do think this would be a rather fair fight. Still, while I would probably rather be best friends for life with Elizabeth, I think I’d have to put my money on Jane for the fight. I think her morality would ensure that she wasn’t taking any cheap shots, but when the chips are down Ms. Eyre already knows how to survive. Ms. Bennet would probably learn more about that from this fight than she has from any other event in her life (that is, if she walked away from it intact).

Who would you bet on?