heatherwpetty

Right around this time four years ago, we went to this fish/sushi casino restaurant called Oceana. You can read all about that medicated visit by clicking HERE. 

Tonight, we dined UNDER THE SEA at Oceana. Again! Casinos are twisty, turny places, but we followed the large floating aquatic mammals until we saw the entrance.

( So. Many. Pictures...Collapse )

So, let this serve as a reminder to future me. Four years from now when we contemplate yet ANOTHER trip to this fine establishment of glowing sea-life doom: 

RUN AWAY FROM THE NEON. RUN FOR YOUR SANITY.

*glares at future me*

(omg I'm so full of sushi right now... sooooo fuuuuulllll)

I can't really talk specifics right now, but I've been in this kind of stress place for a long time. I think there were maybe just one (or 39485493) too many pressures in my world, my brain revolted a bit, and then the panic set in. But these last two weeks were really cathartic for me in a lot of ways, and I thought I'd share the cryptically out of context lessons I learned.

1. Closing a cat in your bedroom for six hours leads to karmic payback of epic proportions.
Yeah... I'm not going to elaborate on that one. But suffice it to say that I'm glad my cats would rather do their business on say a stack of dirty towels than the actual carpet.

2. Writing about FEEEEELINGS is rough.
I should've remembered this from memoir class in college. But alas... there is something about writing about one's past that creates an Emotional Black Hole of Need™, which can be consuming. Still, it's always worth it in the end.

3. I have an awesome critique group.
And really, I've known this for much longer than just this week. But the more time I spend with these women, the more lucky I feel to have them in my world. They are especially good at listening to me whine about plot points until I figure out the solution that was always right in front of me. They're also really awesome at making talking about nothing still be inspirational. (Even when they're completely wrong about their hot boy choices.)

4. Sometimes things suck a lot; pursuing your dreams is still awesome.
In keeping with point #3, I have this support structure that won't quit. My friends and family not only allow me the time I need to take this bizzaro journey, they are way too understanding about my silly eccentricities and go out of their way to make sure I have what I need. Even when that's wine, cookies, and pictures of pretty boys. ;)  I'm pretty positive I'll never be able to thank them enough.

5. Falling in love is falling in love...
Honestly, falling in love with a project is just as fun as falling for a boy. And I am finally, FINALLY in love with this book. Any minute now, it should totally bring me flowers.

And that's why I hate illegally downloaded books.

Yeah, I know. Just wait for it...

Okay, so he was really more of a FOLK MUSICIAN, but still. I grew up in a house that was 100% funded by the money my dad made through his music. He booked 200 concerts a year for the first 13 years of my life and recorded and produced 10 albums. We counted on the money he made from record sales and touring to pay for the mortgage, food, expenses, as well as the money he'd need to put out his next record.

Yes, I said record, because eight of the ten albums he recorded were printed on ACTUAL VINYL. (And we can just not talk about how old that makes me.)

We traveled with my dad whenever there wasn't school, or for special trips, and when I got old enough to do money math, I often worked the merch table. That experience is why I'm completely unsurprised that people think it's okay to pirate books and music on the internet. With the ten-year-old daughter of the artist behind a flimsy card table at the back of the venue, people would stand there and say things like,

"Oh, don't buy that album. I have it at home. I'll just record you a copy."

I honestly think that if you've never had to rely on an artist for your livelihood, you just can't understand. So let me explain it.

My friends' parents, for the most part, worked in an office and came home at night. Because I grew up in a suburb of the Bay Area, some of my friends dads lived in the city during the week and came home on the weekends, but regardless, working a typical job means that you go to work and then you come home and do home/life stuff.

Working as an artist is a little more than full-time.

When my dad wasn't traveling, away from his family for days/weeks/a month at a time, his time was spent: 
1. Working his ass off to book concerts to make sure we could make it through the next year
2. Spending hours and hours inside the studio to record the next album (Added bonus: he paid for each of those hours himself)
3. Writing new songs to have something to record
4. Practicing either by himself or with the guys he sometimes toured with
5. Doing all the business stuff like taxes, bookkeeping, etc.

And somewhere in that crazy mix, he made time to attend all of our sports games and school events, take us out for weekly funtime with daddy, and keep up on his Honey-Do list for things that needed doing around the house. He also volunteered with our local church and taught a Bible study in our home.

He worked tirelessly to keep us in a great house, in a great neighborhood, and even managed to send me and my brother to private school.

But, you know... why support him by buying his albums? Just record them from your neighbor! <-- can you even imagine what that would've meant for my family in this day and age, where copies can so easily be shared digitally?

Now, because I'm a little insane, I'm striving to make a living as an artist. I don't have my dad's mad songwriting skills, so I'm writing prose. And eventually, I'll have a book for sale. If current trends continue, it's possible that more copies of my book may be pirated than legally purchased. There's a wide-eyed artist part of me that wants my books to be in the hands of as many people as possible. Then there's the part of me that likes to feed my daughter and pay for the roof over our heads.

If you want to know what effect pirating will most likely have on me as a debut author, read Saundra Mitchell's brilliant blog, "Free" Books Aren't Free.

I would add this: No matter how successful the artist/musician/author/actor is, that person worked hard and sacrified to be where they are, and continues to work hard and sacrifice to entertain, enrich, and bring culture to your life. Luck is definitely a part of it, and maybe you think their life is easier than yours because they get to "play" for a living. But in my experience, I've found that the difference between someone making a living as an artist and someone who wishes they could comes down to one thing: The person making a living was willing to work for it.

Please don't derail their efforts and sacrifices by justifying stealing from them. 

There's a great outrage spinning around the internet this week over a blog on the Marie Claire site. I'm not going to link to it, because I think, as always, the outrage has drawn more hits to the site than any blog would get for the magazine itself.

Like, am I the only one who didn't know this magazine was still being published before yesterday?

But suffice it to say that the blog in question was "written" by a self-proclaimed anorexic who equated being fat to being an alcoholic or heroine addict. She literally said that a fat person walking across the room disturbed her in the same way as watching a drunk stumble across a bar or a heroin addict slump in a chair.

Don't you just love her already? 

The blog was written ("written") poorly, was strikingly unedited, and carried a Mean-Girls-esque tone SO mock worthy, that out of 1000 replies, probably 80% of them were sarcasm deluxe. 

But all of that aside, here's the thing...

Somewhere along the way we lost track of reality. I couldn't tell you when it happened or why, but during the last few decades  and up to this very day, both women and men are expected to allow their self image to be determined by their body image. This is so not okay.

Look, I've been a fat girl most of my life. The fact is that I love food and I don't like to move. There are other reasons, such has hormone levels, genetics, thyroid issues and blah blah blah. But the fact remains that all of my favorite activities are sedentary, and all the activities that count as exercise (except for maybe yoga) are not fun for me. As I gained weight it got worse. If you can imagine how hard it is to hike up a mountain, now imagine it with an extra 50-100+ pounds strapped to your body.

Some people look at me and think I'm lazy. Some look at my shopping cart or dinner plate and judge how much or what I'm eating. I've learned to live with that. But the truth is, the majority of the people who see me dismiss me entirely--as I do to them. Why? Because they don't know me, and it just doesn't matter.

My body has very little to do with who I am.

Sure, sometimes it's a little embarrassing (like when I'm gasping my way up three flights of stairs) or there's something I want to do that I can't. It's also really frustrating to find clothes, and carrying this weight is really hard on my body health-wise. But none of that is me.

My body does not define me.

It took me a REALLY LONG TIME to come to that, but it's the truth. And most people who know me in person and who have hung out with me in real life love me.

Why? 

Because I'm awesome. And me being awesome has nothing at all to do with the shape of my body. That comes from my brain, and the stunning beauty that is me being fully and completely me.

So, if I were to write a letter to Marie Claire, it would look something like this: 

Dear MC,
The one thing worse than being a fat girl is being a mean, spiteful, soulless bully. Because I can always lose the weight, but you'll be an idiot forever.
Yours in going back to ignoring your existence,
Me.

So, every once in a while I hear about a book coming up that makes the INSANELY LONG WAIT seem like torture. And today, I'm lucky enough to give you a sneak peak of one such novel:

The Near Witch is only an old story told to frighten children.
If the wind calls at night, you must not listen. The wind is lonely, and always looking for company.
There are no strangers in the town of Near.

These are the truths that Lexi has heard all her life. But when an actual stranger—a boy who seems to fade like smoke—appears outside her home on the moor at night, she knows that at least one of these sayings is no longer true.

The next night, the children of Near start disappearing from their beds, and the mysterious boy falls under suspicion. Still, he insists on helping Lexi search for them. Something tells her she can trust him.

As the hunt for the children intensifies, so does Lexi’s need to know—about the witch that just might be more than a bedtime story, about the wind that seems to speak through the walls at night, and about the history of this nameless boy.

Part fairy tale, part love story, Victoria Schwab’s debut novel is entirely original yet achingly familiar: a song you heard long ago, a whisper carried by the wind, and a dream you won’t soon forget.


Hooked? 

You think you are, but look at this fab cover introduced by the brilliant, ever beautiful, and insanely talented author who wrote the novel: 




So, now that your keys are probably in your hand and your brain is halfway to the bookstore, I have good news and bad news.

The Bad News? The book doesn't come out until AUGUST, 2011!!?!?!?! I know... I feel your pain.

But there is good news:

YOU CAN NOW PREORDER ON AMAZON. You can rest assured that you get a copy of this lovely book the very day it comes out just by clicking the previous link.

So, um... WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE?!?!

Go order. And in August, we can party together on release day!!

Today, the book community is speaking out about SPEAK, Laurie Halse Anderson's controversial and award-winning book about rape and how hard it is to give voice to our pain.

And, of course, as it's the season for book banning, someone wrote an article about how disgusting it is that there are books in our school libraries, being taught in the classrooms, that talk about all of the icky real life evils in the world.

His argument can be summed up with: "How can they call themselves Christians and still allow this filth in our schools?!"

"HOW DARE THEY!" he cried, claiming that a book with a rape scene could somehow be considered pornography.

This blatant display of horrifying ignorance aside, today, I wanted to deal with the WHY... why book banners think that silence is better than discussion--and why books like SPEAK are so important. 

Certain people act like if we stop talking about it...

Stop reading about it...
Stop writing about it...

That somehow, if we just ignore all of the big scary, painful, gross things that happen to kids, they'll just stop happening.

But what those people fail to realize, the book banners, politicos, and concerned protesters, is that in every classroom there is a child who has been raped or abused or exposed to some other world evil. In every school, no matter the wealth or status of the neighborhood where it resides, there are hurting kids who are being tempted down ugly paths.

And none of that has anything to do with the books in the school library.

Part of me wishes it were that easy to explain. Wouldn't it be so great if all of the victimization of children was caused by books, movies, television, or video games? Wouldn't it be nice if we could just remove the idea of pain and the actual pain would go with it? What a utopia that would be. How simple.

But nothing is simple in this world.

Pain is complicated.
Evil is complicated.

There are no easy answers.

And as much as I know most of the outrage and banning and posturing comes from a place of fear and helplessness, we can't stand by and let it happen. We have to speak out.

Books like SPEAK, CRANK by Ellen Hopkins, SOME GIRLS ARE by Sara Zarr, and countless others, serve so many purposes in the lives of kids. For some they serve as comfort--to let hurting kids know they're not alone in the world, that evil can be survived, that there is hope no matter what you're going through. For others, they serve as a warning, to be vigilant and think about the paths you take and the consequences of even the most petty decision. But for all of us, these books force us to come face to face with the ugly realities of the world, help us to see the secret pains that people carry around, and allow us to start the long road to accepting each other as we are.

To love people as they are and walk with them toward a better path--that is the message of Jesus that is so often overlooked when Christianity is invoked on these campaigns to "protect the children" from books and everything else we choose to blame. Empathy is what  Jesus taught, not denial--it's also what's offered in the experience of reading books like SPEAK.

For truly touching and amazing insights on this issue, I'd point you to  Laurie Halse Anderson's blog on the article, and especially her video of a poem she wrote about the book, which is amazing. Also, to Myra McEntire's brilliant blog, which says everything i feel about what it means to be a Christian and write secular books. 

So, this is how the conversation started: 

"Can you tell me why there's so much freaking romance in Urban Fantasy these days? It's like now that women are writing it, that's all the books are about anymore." 

*REACTION CENSORED* Let's just say that my inner-feminist 'SPLODED all over him until he was a sniveling backtracking mess of a man.

Once I was able to subdue my need to push him out of my house and lock the door, I helped him to see* that romantic content has little to do with the gender of the writer. He then reworded his question thusly (again with my gentle** nudging): 

"So, why are they shelving books that are really romance novels with urban fantasy casings in the Fantasy section. I don't mind romance in the book, I just want it to mainly be about something else." 

Which is a decent point. I explained to him that he was probably picking up Paranormal and UF Romance titles that were being shelved with the more straight UF titles.

"But why would they shelve it there? Fantasy and science fiction are mostly for men." 

"Well, not anymore. Recently there's been a huge upsurge in adult women buying UF, and that audience also likes ParaRomance/UF Romance, so they're probably cross shelving to bring more women to the section." 

I was about to decry this as marketing genius, but another person in the room piped up with: 

"They need better marketing people--so that men know where to find the books they like." 

After YET ANOTHER clenched jaw feminist explosion, I managed to say, "Actually, it's because the marketing people are so brilliant that they are finally marketing books to THE PEOPLE WHO BUY THEM. Mainly... WOMEN. Women buy more fiction than men--waaaaay more. Why in the world would any marketing type with any kind of skill market to their smallest demographic. They market to the money." And then I smiled. "And we have the money." 

After commenting how nice I look tonight ***, he then asked why romance had to be so central in books anyway.

Sigh.

"Well, because in books with depth and wonder, there is an EMOTIONAL ARC in addition to a story arc, and some people use LOVE AND FEELINGS to accomplish said growth. Also because it's awesome. So butch up." 

He laughed nervously, but NO, I WAS NOT DONE.****

Because seriously, for YEARS AND YEARS AND YEARS AND YEARS (read: DECADES), books have been BY, ABOUT, and FOR men. Women have read these books in interest, because contrary to what some people think, Women actually like books that veer away from the stereotypical things that women are supposed to like. In fact. (*gasp*) WE LIKE LOTS OF DIFFERENT THINGS.

We women are so tricksy.

But one thing this woman likes is a hot-smoochy romance arc mixed into her urban fantasy fight scenes (especially with SWORDS and other WEAPONRY). And you know what? I'm not going to apologize for that or be embarrassed about it--and I'm especially not going to make excuses because a man wants to dictate what is included in an entire genre of books JUST TO SUIT HIS TASTES.

I jokingly offered him a Men's Fiction section--which would protect him from all those evil EMOTIONS and FEELINGS that might somehow GROW HIM AS A PERSON or whatever... but he only chuckled.

Yeah.  And then I chuckled.***** And he backed away slowly.

Look, I'm not opposed to people finding what they are looking for in the books they read. Books are supposed to be fun and entertaining. But for him to pan an entire gender of writers just because two of the books he picked up recently were more Paranormal Romance than straight up Urban Fantasy... (insert growling and loathing here).

There are no words.

This may be an example of why my husband tries to keep his friends from engaging me in conversation when I'm having writing time... Smart man, really.

* And by "helped him to see," I basically mean made him apologize for wording his question that way... and look around himself nervously.
** Not really all that gentle.
*** I may have stopped listening closely in order to maintain the violence-free part of my personality that I'm so proud of.
**** Not even slightly done.
***** Doomily, and with much evil.

Just a quick post today. But since I've seen this question a lot lately, I thought I'd try to define voice as it pertains to writing.

Voice is the specialized way a character thinks and speaks that makes them a unique entity--a real, definable person.

So, the challenge for a novelist (or I suppose any narrative writer) is to give each member of a cast of characters their own distinct voice that not only differentiates them, but gives them their motivation and makes their reactions and actions believable for them.

But there is another layer. Every author has their own "voice." It's that style that is unique to every writer--that thing that would make you think of the author, even if you didn't know she wrote the book.

Voice lends believability, authenticity, and most of all gives the reader something to respond to, whether with love or hate. It's the ultimate "show" in the show-v.-tell ideal. Without voice, even the most compelling concept in the world falls flat.

Writers... did I miss anything here? Do you have a way of defining voice that will wow us with your super powers of doom and right? 

(Um, if so, don't just say yes... actually share. You get that, right?)

 I had an interesting conversation with a friend this week about what it means to be a writer and to market yourself and your work in the land of social networking. He was under the impression that as an author there were three things that really were REQUIRED:

1. Twitter.
2. Facebook/MySpace/Etc.
3. Blogging

He had thought through his position, of course, telling me in detail why he thought each of these was necessary to establish himself as part of the author landscape, and how he knew he needed to start early to make an impact. He had it all planned out, and quoted from agent/editor blogs, gave me his whole game plan... and then he admitted that it seemed like a lot of work and asked me how I managed it when I was day jobbing it, raising a child, and writing a book all at the same time.

That's when I told him the nefarious secret to my survival in the social network landscape:

I DO NOT BLOG.

*gasp* *horror* *run screaming through the city streets on fire*

Or... whatever.

"But, Heather," you say, pointing around us at all the words you're reading this very second. "This, right here, appears to be a blog." 

Yeah, but it's not. It's a Live Journal post. And while that may seem a ridiculous splitting of cliché hairs, it's really not. There are people who use LiveJournal as their blogging platform, but I don't. (Which may be why I continue to love LJ, while others growl in frustration that it does not, in fact, meet their blogging needs.) I've referred to this as my "blog' in social networking circles or in interviews, mostly because unless you have a LiveJournal, you may not understand what that means. But I would never include myself in the pantheon of YA Author Bloggers, because I don't use LJ as a blog.

I use LiveJournal as... wait for it... my online journal.

Nefarious, right? Just like keeping a paper journal or diary, sometimes I write in it every hour, sometimes every day. Sometimes, it'll be weeks or months between entries. Because it's not about creating an audience or establishing myself as a blogging writer or whatever. To me, my LiveJournal is a place for me to talk about the things I want to talk about, to share things I think are cool, talk through events I want to remember, or tell stories in a whacked out way that makes me giggle. Sometimes I use it to connect, sometimes just to vent, and sometimes I write entries that only I will ever see.

But I never, ever use it as a blog.

And here's the kicker... THAT'S OKAY.

Since I'm pretty sure he thinks of me as Social Networking Addict of the World, I think my friend was shocked out of his mind when I said that while I agree that all of the things he listed can be really great for a writer/author to take part in, I really don't think any of them are REQUIRED.

My absolute rule for social networking authors in general: 

Do what you like to do.

I know. Genius, right? 

It doesn't feel like I should have to say it, but the truth of the matter is that if you don't like doing something, IT SHOWS. If I'm forcing myself to blog on some kind of schedule and I hate it, people will note the toxic green bitterness dripping out from between the words. If Twitter were a pain in my ass, and not in fact my Internet Overlord (as it so clearly, clearly is), it would feel more like talking to myself in a room rather than participating in the various party conversations and chats.

The beauty of social networking is that it works at its best when you are being entirely yourself--participating in only those things you enjoy and where you are comfortable.

And that's why I don't blog. It's also why I suck at NaNoWriMo. I'm not sure if it's just immaturity or the never-ending dregs of my rebellious nature, but the moment I try to schedule creativity, I lose it. That's not to say I can't meet a deadline. (In fact, I work better under deadline, whether it's hard-presed or self-imposed.) But something about daily goals or scheduled entries drains my inspiration and gives me hives.

That's not to say that I don't admire those blog gods and goddesses in the writing world. People who make blogging their priority and love it are amazing to me. I follow them, read them, and love what they do for the community and their readers. But I will guarantee that the reason I enjoy them so much is that they love what they do... and it shows.

Social networking is a powerful tool for authors. I think it's a vital tool, and not something to ignore or run away from because you don't understand it. But to force yourself to participate in something you hate, or to stress yourself out over a self-imposed schedule? I guess that's just not my thing.

So, I took the night off tonight. Between beta reading, critiquing, revising, and working on my new project, I've been filling every free moment with something. Both of our cars broke down and we're trying to take care of all the details surrounding our house and what we're going to do going forward. My head has just been so full of stress and excitement and fear and worry and loads of other feeling type words.

When I finally had a night to myself, I knew I should spend it diving into my new project or doing more of my research reading. But instead, I decided to spend it watching cheesy television on Hulu and messing around on Twitter.

And, really, what can get cheesier than America's Got Talent?

I admit that part of the attraction of the early shows is their tendency to go the way of the train wreck. But there's always that one story that is designed to yank heartstrings. And usually I can shrug it off or smile at the talent, gush about it with my mom, and walk away. Not tonight.

I sat and watched a story about a vet who was living homeless on the street for 25 years, then spent the next 10 years getting his life back together. And all of that was after he spent years serving in the military.

I turned 36 last year. This man literally spent my lifetime falling down and picking himself back up.

What is it that drives us to that kind of determination? 

And how petty do all of my frustrations seem tonight? 

He found his way back through art, by the way. One day, on the streets of L.A., he heard about a group of previously homeless military men and women who were forming an acapella choir. He took his shopping cart and pushed it 28 miles to the center where they practiced, and then spent the next 10 years fighting to reclaim his life. And on this pathetically cheesy television program, he sang the bass lead for Old Man River, just to show his fellow vets, "That it's okay for a warrior to ask for help." 



I can't even pretend to shrug that off.