The Opportunity in Limited Selection

I subscribe to Shelf Awareness. This morning, their quote of the day was from Paul Krugman, with a link to his recent discussion of science fiction. Mr. Krugman said:

As I’ve often said, you can shop online and find whatever you’re looking for, but bookstores are where you find what you weren’t looking for.

For me, this is absolutely true. I’m not saying that I don’t go to buy a book on the internet and, two hours later, look at the clock and realize that the internet gremlins grabbed hold of my mind. ‘Cause that happens far too frequently. The sheer limitlessness of option is overwhelming. It's wonderful and reminds me that there are still millions of books out there that I've yet to read. Which is always a nice thought. But as I traverse further into that labyrinth of choice, sometimes it's more than my mind can process. My eyes glaze over. There may or may not be some drool. 

Basically, I become a zombified version of myself, grunting things like "Book" or "Read" or "Brains." When I finally pull myself out of this, I often end up getting exactly what I'd planned on. Or something strikingly similar. So, not really a tool I use to broaden my horizons, as far as book buying goes. But stick me in a bookstore and who knows what I’ll end up with.

Sure, I’ll initially walk straight towards whatever section holds the book I came in for. But on the way, there are so many tables of other books. It’s a mental impossibility for me to walk past without out at least giving them a short look. And then after I finally get to what I came in there for, all the other rows beckon me to explore. When it comes time for me to leave, I nearly always find my shopping bag heavier and my wallet lighter than I expected going in.

However, even more so than regular bookstores, I find that the place where I discover the most new fiction is the airport. Even though I always travel with a book, I try to pick one up when I’m getting ready to fly. For one, you never know if your flight is going to be delayed for umpteen hours. But also, I know that frequently whatever I get at the airport is not something that I would have bought otherwise.

I think this has to do most with the limited selection. I don’t have the luxury of dancing through cyber waves with the internet gremlins or walking through dozens of rows of books. A lot of airports now have small bookstores, with limited shelves spread out in the narrow space. Or you can go to one of the other shops in the airport where they have one bookshelf next to all the Starbursts and Chex Mix you could want.

This is where I tend to go – and not only for the food (though that doesn’t hurt). But here among the thirty odd books displayed, I can always find something that sounds interesting. Authors I hadn’t yet heard of. Subject that I probably would not have read about if I had been distracted by the cornucopia of choices that a bookstore provides. On rare occasions, I end up with a story that I am not a big fan of. However, far more frequently, I find a new author to follow and a new world to love.

So, the next time you travel, I suggest checking these little nooks out. Even if you don’t read print books anymore, stop in and check out what they have. Make a note of what sounds interesting and go find it later. You may be opening yourself up to your favorite new stories.

First Day Fears

When I was in third grade I went to a new school. It ran Kindergarten through 8^th grade. So, I knew that most of the kids would have already known each other for three years.

I had never been the new kid before. At first I didn’t really think about it. I was so excited about this school. My parents and I had visited two and this one had the better library. I remember thinking it looked like the one from Beauty and the Beast. (It totally didn’t.)

Anyway, the first day of school rolls around and it suddenly struck me that everyone would already know each other. And I would know no one.

My sister started preschool there the year before. Now that she was in Kindergarten, we’d have the same lunch time. I told myself that I would just find her if by the time lunch rolled around I didn’t have any friends.

That first morning, my mom drove us to school. My sister hopped right in, excited to see her friends again. I took a deep breath and followed. Once I’d said goodbye to my mom, I didn’t look back. Mostly because I was pretty sure I was going to cry. And I might be able to handle being the weird kid who didn’t talk to anyone, but I was not going to be a crier on top of that.

My teacher was a very sweet woman, who I had already met. She smiled when she saw me and told me where my seat was. It was all the way in the back of the classroom, by the class’ bookshelf. Looking at the books, I felt a little better. I mean, I could always read if no one would talk to me.

But, seeing as kids are often on the friendlier end, I had barely sat down before the girl next to me said hi. Tentatively, I started talking to her. She had been there since pre-school and was fascinated by the fact that I hadn’t. Still, this conversational track could only go on for so long. And we ran out of things to talk about. So, searching for something, I looked back at the books.

Over the shelf, in big construction paper letters, was written, “Dive into reading.” It was surrounded by construction paper waves and fish. In my panic, I awkwardly made a joke about literally diving into reading and then pretended to actually dive into the book shelf.

It was a desperate gamble. And I looked like an idiot.

But she laughed so hard she nearly fell out of her chair.

Was it really that funny? No. But as kids, we’re an easy bunch to amuse. So, feeling bolstered by her appreciation for my comedic genius, I continued to make dumb jokes about reading and diving for the rest of the morning. And she continued to laugh. We talked about the books we’d read and the one we wanted too. We gave each other suggestions on what to read next. And we laughed a lot.

This girl and I were friendly for the rest of our time in that school. We were never best friends. Ultimately, other than big birthday parties, we did not end up hanging out together all that much. But every time I pick up Stuart Little or see one of the classroom signs inviting me to “Dive into reading,” or anything similar, I smile and think of the girl and the books that made me feel comfortable on a day when I thought I could never be more scared.

Backspace

Sometimes when I’m writing, it can feel like a very solitary pursuit. Picture me, sitting in a dark room. Harsh light emanates from my computer, illuminating a face that has turned gremlin-ish due to concentration on my literary pursuits. My back is hunched, from hours at the keyboard, in a manner that would make Quasimodo’s posture seem exemplary. I mutter in a Gollum-esque fashion, skittering under my desk and crying over my Precious if the Roomie dares turn on a light.

Not really a pretty picture. (And truly sincere apologies to the Roomie for the number of times she’s had to see that crazed look in my eyes.)

But wonder of wonders….I have discovered that I am not alone.

Last week I mentioned that I was headed to the Backspace conference. I spent Thursday, Friday, and Saturday up to my ears in all things writing. Not only was I finally able to put voices to the agents whose blogs I follow, but I actually got to speak to them about my work. Which was both supremely exciting and mildly nauseating. I got some positive feedback and some really constructive suggestions on how to make my work better.

I listened to published authors talk about their books and journeys. I heard presentations on how to more effectively use social media. And in perhaps one of the most helpful sessions, I took down questions from Donald Maass designed to make my characters’ lives harder and my story better.

All of these things made this the most useful conference I have ever attended. However, the best part of this experience was meeting all the other people who are trying to do exactly what I’m trying to do. Dozens and dozens of individuals who have also completed books and are now embarking on the fairly terrifying road to possible publication. I heard so many different phenomenal story summaries from these people and I got to talk to them about how nervous they were about being there. And about reading their work out loud in front of people they’d never met. And about accepting both criticism and praise gracefully.

So, I am going to head back to my computer and revert to my gremlin-y ways. Only now, I know what new directions to explore when I’m writing. And now, I know that when I come up for air, there are a whole bunch of people with whom I can email and commiserate.

And that’s just a world of awesome.

Back on Tuesday

I'm not going to be around for the next few days. I’m heading to New York for the Backspace Conference. Super, super excited, but also very nervous. So, basically, I kind of want to throw up….but in a good way.

I hope everyone has a fantastic rest of the week and weekend and I'll be back on Tuesday. In the meantime, don't forget, fun weekend plans should not distract you from the continuing fight against the Squirrel Menace. The ability to multitask is essential to the destruction of this threat: For instance, celebrating an impending marriage whilst waging ferocious battle.

The Struggle Between Good and Evil

Horror movies and superhero movies have a lot in common.

For starters, no one ever really dies. In terms of the big characters, that is. Sure, they may look like they’re dead, you can even watch them in the dying process, but odds are they’ll find their way back at some point. This leads to the second similarity – these two types of movies, more than any others it would seem, have endless sequel possibilities. Since you can always count on people not really being dead, there are always more stories to explore. Both these types of movies tend to tell stories with moral applications. They show both attributes to aspire to and those that need to be fought.

Like superhero movies, horror movies often have a main protagonist that shows up in subsequent movies, and is forced into fighting the bad guy once again. And in both types of movies, while the threat may subside for a time, it never goes away completely.

The plight of the superhero never ends. They never achieve the ultimate victory where they can easily pack away their cape, shield, lantern, spandex body suit, or what have you, and think, Well, now that that’s all finished, I can finally open that profiterole shop I’ve always dreamed of. No, there are always new and returning bad guys.

The surviving victims of the crazy serial killer from movie one may think that they’ve gotten their lives back and then bam, crazy serial killer returns to show them they’ve had no such luck. Or in the case of C. Thomas Howell in The Hitcher II: I’ve Been Waiting, the character just keeps allowing homicidal strangers into his car.

And the cycle goes ‘round and ‘round.

Despite the similarities, I find that I hate horror movies almost as much as I love superhero movies.

Now, I don’t mind if a movie is scary or suspenseful. I can deal with occasionally jumping while I’m watching the film. But I don’t want to feel all creepified for hours after the movie is over. I get that residual emotion is a sign that a movie has done its job. My hatred of horror movies has nothing to do with their quality. Some are definitely top notch. I just know that if I watch one, regardless of whether or not it’s well made, I’m going to be sleeping with my lights on. And by sleeping, I mean sitting in my room with my lights on thinking about how I’ll probably never sleep again.

Even more than not wanting to be scared for long periods of time, I don’t want to feel depressed after watching a movie. I want to know that the good guy will, nine times out of ten, succeed in saving whoever needs saving. I want to know that the same good guy will be back in the subsequent movies and not be killed off in the second or third so that loved ones are stuck continuing the fight against the never-diminishing evil. And if the good guy does die, I want it to be in some heroic sacrifice. Not because he or she ran upstairs when they should have just gone outside, or insisted on walking through the house without turning on any lights even though they know that someone wants to kill them, or just because they keep picking up those damn hitchhikers (seriously, just stop it). I want good to prevail.

Now, I’m sure some of my friends who are devout lovers of the horror genre could make some legitimate arguments in favor of these movies that I avoid watching. But what it comes down to for me is that when a superhero movie is over I think, Why not me? And when a horror movie ends, all I think is, Why?

Phrasing Pioneer

I’ve mentioned my interest in the origins of words, so it’s probably not surprising that I’m also curious about popular phrases.

According to family legend, my grandfather coined “Get off my back” during World War II. The validity of this assertion can, I’m sure, be challenged. But, the fact is that at some point in the past someone strung some words together and everyone else eventually decided, You know that really sums up my feelings perfectly. I’m going to start saying that too.

And a phrase was born.

I happen to know a gentleman who seems to be trying very hard to become one of those phrasing pioneers. Once, when describing how another individual was going to react to something, he said, “He’ll be happy as….straw….or whatever…..or grass.”

“Happy as a clam” just didn’t cut it for this fella. Which I kind of get. Why should clams have the monopoly on happiness? I bet both straw and grass are just as joyful on any given day.

Anyway, that particular phrase didn’t quite land, but he hasn’t given up. Even better than that is that he acts as though the things he says are already commonly known. For instance, when people looked at him strangely after he said, “It’s like a lobster dip,” he didn’t balk. Instead he just went on to say, “You should only take bites, not eat the whole thing,” as if everyone else was ridiculous for not immediately understanding that. And no, the conversation that sparked this observation had nothing to do with food.

This guy hasn’t struck gold yet in his endeavors to coin the next awesome phrase, but you have to respect the effort. Because as ridiculous as all these things might sound, all those years ago, someone was probably thinking, What the hell does that mean? Get off my back. I’m not on his back. Clearly. I’m all the way over here. That guy’s so weird. Acting like I should know what he’s talking about. What a clown.

So if you find yourself discontent with the current array of phrases at your disposal, go ahead and try to make one up yourself. Will they all be winners? Absolutely not. But, odds are someone is eventually going to say something that one hundred years down the line is just part of the accepted common vernacular. And why can't it be you? Until you find the perfect phrase though, you can just take the bits work from your trashed phrases and leave the rest behind.

When you really think about it, the whole phrasing process? It's kinda like a lobster dip.*




*You know, unless you're like me and would totally just eat the whole thing.

And the strange dreams continue...

This one, though, was not nearly as fun as my ghostly employment opportunity.

In the dream, my sister was possessed by a candle. The best way I can figure it out is that the candle acted in the same vein as a horcrux. The longer she was in proximity to the waxy thing, the more evil she became.

I knew that destroying it was the only way to get my sister back, but every time I tried to, she would thwart me. Thinking back on it, she was kind of acting like the little girl from The Bad Seed.

In the dream my sister also had the crazy eyes that this young lady is sporting. 
Plus, those bangs? Straight out of old family photos of the little sis. Except hers were shorter. 
Which is really more terrifying than anything else I’ve discussed here.

But, finally, I was able to get rid of the thing, but by that time, she had done some evil magic on a can of paint. So, the horcrux-ish nature of the candle was now in the paint can. And the paint can was on a wall of paint cans.

I was just getting ready to start the laborious process of figuring out which paint can to destroy (destroying all the paint cans never occurred to me, for some reason), I woke up.

Now, I don’t know why my dreams have been particularly vivid lately. Roomie has accused me of having the weirdest dreams of anyone she's ever known, but I think that's an exaggeration due to the fact that her craziest dreams generally have to do with being late to work or picking out which shoes to wear. Riveting stuff. She did once dream about walking down a street where all the trees were on fire. That was kind of cool. She blamed me for it. Not entirely sure how I caused such a mental wandering, but I'm happy to take credit. (One of the earliest signs of my zombieist tendencies.)

Anyway, back to my recent dreams. They’ve had Harry Potter elements throughout. The only explanation I have for that is that I haven’t read any HP books or watched any of the movies since last summer and maybe my mind is rebelling against that and once I read the books again, the weird dreams will disperse.

Or the candle one could have just been my sister getting back at me for all the times I was a dream jerk to her.

Regardless of the reason, I’m going to steer the sister away from candles and paint for the time being. You know.....just in case.

Possible Future Job Opportunity

So, I had a totally awesome dream last night.

I was in what can only be described as a Hogwarts-esque castle and had just been informed that I’d died. Which doesn’t sound all that awesome, except for the fact that I was also told that I was going to be employed as a ghost for the castle. I was pretty pumped about that. I’d be a great haunter.

I was also allotted a certain amount of ghost magic to use in the aid of those in the castle worthy of such a boon. However, I was warned that if I used the magic for my own personal gain, not only would it blow up in my face, but I would become corporeal and visible to everyone around me for a few minutes, so that they could all know who was causing the problems. I’ll be honest with you, there was one point in my dream where I decided to test this and it ended exactly as I was told it would – poorly. Weirdly enough, at that point I was in the part of the castle that the Jetsons were apparently inhabiting. They weren’t cartoons, but real live versions of these characters. Can’t really remember what I was trying to do for my own personal gain in the Jetsons’ wing, but odds are it had something to do with stealing flying car plans.

What I do remember was that Judy was arguing with her parents about not being able to go to a concert. Which makes sense, ‘cause Judy was pretty much always talking about going to concerts. Anyway, I used the magic and everything went to hell. Also, I apparently had roped Roomie into going on this mission with me and she was not a ghost and therefore, fairly visible from the get go. Probably not my stealthiest move, even if the magic had worked. In the ensuing fiasco, I somehow ended up being pushed off a balcony and falling three stories to the ground. As I was punished with corporeal-ness, that kind of hurt. But I shook it off and went back to my job, sufficiently chastised for my selfish actions. Not really sure what happened to Roomie (sorry, buddy) though she did turn up again later in the dream, seemingly no worse for wear.

Other than the celebrity appearance by everyone’s favorite space-age family, all the other people who I ran into in the castle were either family, friends or generic strangers. I could stop and chat with them whenever I wanted, which is totally something I’d want the ability to do if I were a ghost. And I could be visible to people and impact the physical world whenever I wanted, if I really, really concentrated on it. Also a plus. I remember throwing books at people in the library, a classic ghostly pastime.

All in all, my short time as a ghost wasn’t really all that different from my life now. I just had magic and a really kick ass job. Sure, it’s not a job that I have any desire to be eligible for at this point in time, but I hope it’s one that actually exists. Because, oh, I don’t know, maybe eighty plus years down the line, I'll probably be looking for work. And I think I’d really enjoy this career path.

Until then though, I’ll just think of the dreams as a training course.

Assembling the Avengers

So, last night I got a super awesome fantastico graduation gift….

Greatest things ever, right? Not only have I not gotten any new Legos in forever, but Captain America and Iron Man? Hello, most badass Lego team in the world. And, to top it all off, there are pictures on the back of both boxes showing a superhero hybrid, combining pieces from both sets. 

My life is complete.

Even amid eardrum-shattering excitement (apologies to the Roomie, whose ears were bleeding a little), though, I couldn’t help but notice that Lego was kind of trying to mess with my head. First of all, what’s with the age range? 

I’m pretty sure what you meant to write was “6 and Up.” Or “Fun for all ages, as long as you don’t try to eat the pieces!” (Which only the Iron Man box really seems all that worried about anyway.)

And then there are the translations. 

Stop trying to confuse me, Lego.

Of course, all box confusion got pushed to the side as I ripped the things open to assemble my Avengers. And assemble them I did.

And it was awesome. 

  I feel much safer knowing these two are watching over my apartment.

And I kind of want to go see The Avengers again. For, maybe, the third time.

Gonna get worse before it gets better

I subscribe to the StoryPeople “Story of the Day.” If you don’t know who StoryPeople are, you should really check them out. ‘Cause they’re awesome.

Last week, one of the stories was called “Before Dawn,” and read:

“I’ve always liked the time before dawn because there’s no one around to remind me who I’m supposed to be, so it’s easier to remember who I am.”

Being a night owl, I liked this one. There is absolutely something about the quiet, when everyone else is asleep, that is very centering. Reading this quote I could hear Sky Masterson singing “My Time of Day” in the back of my head.

But the story also made me think about the less literal moments before dawn that show who people really are.

A couple of months ago I was reading a post by the Authoress on the merits of Blake Snyder’s “beat sheet.” It’s a tool designed for screenplays, but can also definitely be helpful in mapping out a novel. I’m trying it for the book I’m working on and finding it very helpful. But that’s not the point. The point is that the twelfth “beat” is called “Dark Night of the Soul.” This is the point in the story were everything seems lost and the heroes seem beaten. It’s Han Solo encased in carbonite as Leia and Chewbacca are led away by Stormtroopers and Luke is getting his hand cut off. Basically, it’s when the mean writer decides to torture the poor characters in the bleakest way possible. It’s kind of depressing and entirely necessary to the story.

This is something I’ve read in a lot of different writer or agent blogs. As an author, you have to be willing to be cruel to the characters you create. Otherwise, you’ll never show the reader what your character is really made of. Because it’s when everything is at its worst that you really see who someone is.

Now, in real life, some of the dark moments are truly life-altering-ly horrible, but they can also occur on a smaller level. You can learn a lot about a person by how they react to the small things that pile up on not so great days – work frustrations, laundry coming out of the drier damp, someone cutting you off on the road, dinner getting all burn-y. All those little things that alone don’t really matter, but when strung together in a twenty four hour period can drive you to the far edge of your good mood. 

In stories, there isn’t always as much time to develop these sorts of insights, so the “dark nights” are often really dark. This can just mean that the worse thing these characters could imagine is happening, or it can cross right on over into apocalyptic. And when it’s all said and done, you get to see which characters fade to the background, which fight the good fight, which come out heroes and which small number are even more than that.

So, if you're reading, watching, or writing stories and getting bummed about how hard the characters have it (the way I sometimes do), know that this is just their "dark night." They'll come out of it stronger and if they finally make it to their happy ending, they'll have earned it.

‘Cause remember, Benny “the Jet” Rodriguez was just a normal kid (albeit very good at baseball) until the Beast escaped. Then he became a legend.