1. “Race in YA Lit: Wake Up & Smell the Coffee-Colored Skin!” by Sarah Ockler

Ockler’s post is a bit long, but brilliant. I think she covers a lot of ground in this important discussion.

Can a black kid slay dragons without turning his quest into an anti-racism manifesto? Dragons can be dangerous. Maybe they need to be slayed, and maybe this kid is quick on his feet and handy with the magic sword… and he happens to be black. Can we see his unique and special worldview as a young black dragon slayer, or does he have to take a stand against bigotry too?

There’s so much I could add, so many fine points and nuances to examine. But my thoughts refuse to be wrangled into a succinct or coherent post. As the Magic 8 Ball would say, “Reply hazy. Try again later.”

We’re writers. Our only responsibility as far as I’m concerned is being honest and authentic in our work. But to be honest and authentic, we have to address this. We live in a diverse world.

2. “10 Things Your Commencement Speaker Won’t Tell You” by Charles Wheelan

File this next to JK Rowling’s brilliant remarks to Harvard grads (about the benefits of failure and importance of imagination) and the inspiring advice Steve Jobs gave at Stanford (stay foolish, stay hungry).

3. Don’t make the world worse. I know that I’m supposed to tell you to aspire to great things. But I’m going to lower the bar here: Just don’t use your prodigious talents to mess things up. Too many smart people are doing that already. And if you really want to cause social mayhem, it helps to have an Ivy League degree. You are smart and motivated and creative. Everyone will tell you that you can change the world. They are right, but remember that “changing the world” also can include things like skirting financial regulations and selling unhealthy foods to increasingly obese children. I am not asking you to cure cancer. I am just asking you not to spread it.

3. “Humor/Truth” by Jon Peters

The more I write, the less I like supposed divisions between genres. I think good dramas are funny, just like good comedies are somewhat serious.

I agree. More, I think genres are labels, convenient little boxes that people put stories in to feel safe and tidy. And after all, we’ve got to organize our shelves somehow.

But the best stories defy categorization.

Here’s my advice: Don’t ham it up, but don’t dry it out either. Write honestly and see. I am a serious believer that if you find the life in the story, all of the necessary humor will follow.

Two words — “write honestly” — really struck me. Struck me so hard, in fact, that I had to make another desktop wallpaper.

As I said, there was a bit of overflow in my Reading Reflections on THE PARIS WIFE. Too many great lines, too many thoughts. I couldn’t get it all down in that first post, so here’s a bit more.

An artist given to sexual excess was almost a cliché, but no one seemed to mind. As long as you were making something good or interesting or sensational, you could have as many lovers as you wanted and ruin them all. What was really unacceptable were bourgeois values, wanting something small and staid and predictable, like one true love, or a child. (145)

Ah, the artist as bohemian. (Borderline heathen.) Sex, drugs, rock ‘n roll. That’s what we’re supposed to be, right? Wild. As if morals, or other “strappings of society,” would dampen our creativity.

I don’t think that stereotype is as strong today as it used to be, but it isn’t completely eradicated. My own mother tells me that I’m too square (lol) and worries that this limits me, that it’s hindering my path to success. I’m never sure exactly what to say to that, except that I think it’s ridiculous.

Creativity is not about being “wild.” It’s about imagination, observation, distillation. And artistry is about pushing creativity to its max. It’s dedication, discipline, mastery.

There’s no reason that I can’t forge that path in a quiet way. In fact, some might argue that the stability of my life allows me the freedom to explore my writing without fear.

(Of course, some would argue that fear is an incredibly motivating force…)

Also, I wish people would stop knocking normal. Not everyone can be “special,” not everyone can “change the world.” Maybe if more of us would teach our kids that being good and ordinary is just as worthy as any other path in life, we’d have a happier, better world.

“I’m trying to keep it alive,” he said. “To stay with the action, and not try to put in what I’m feeling about it. Not think about myself at all, but what really happened. That’s where the real emotion is.” (162)

Upon a suggestion from F. Scott Fitzgerald, Hemingway cuts most of the opening of THE SUN ALSO RISES, which consisted largely of backstory for the main characters. Starting with backstory was apparently the common practice in novels at the time. But instead, Hemingway decides to jump right in with the action, and to strip out the narrative reflection, and to employ sparse, direct prose. All practices that are considered paramount in contemporary writing.

Throughout THE PARIS WIFE, I was fascinated by the evolution of Hemingway as a writer. This quote/anecdote gave me a glimpse into not just his evolution, but the evolution of storytelling as we know it.

I wonder what changes we are seeing — what changes we are making — right now. Young Adult literature as a genre, I think. First person present tense narration as the standard? Closer straddling of the literary-commercial line? What trends are here to stay, versus just marking a place in time? Which authors will have the impact of Hemingway, or Fitzgerald, or Salinger?

That we’ll probably never know the answers to those questions is both beauty and tragedy. It’s for the next generation of readers and writers to uncover.

Please note: My “Reading Reflections” are not reviews. They are simply my thoughts in response to certain passages.

…

Truth be told, THE PARIS WIFE by Paula McLain is not the type of book I would have picked up on my own. A “biofic,” it might be called. But after seeing McLain at Books by the Banks last year, I wanted to know if her eloquence and enthusiasm translated to the page. (IMO, it did.) The story is told from the point of view of Hadley Hemingway, Ernest’s first wife, and focuses on their years together. As a woman in a committed relationship, I did connect with Hadley, but to my surprise, I found myself drawn more strongly to Ernest himself. Despite his boorish behavior at times, he was a writer, an artist above all else, and his absolute, uncompromising conviction stirred a lot of emotion in me.

(As did his insecurities. And Hadley’s.)

As I read, I wondered if Andy would identify with Hadley to some degree too. They’re both highly sensible, yet with enough of an artistic sensibility to connect with their creative partners, and they both have to deal with supporting — indirectly enduring? — the unstable, untraditional path of a writer. Granted, I don’t get drunk or fight bulls like Hemingway did… but still. I know it isn’t easy.

Anyway, I highlighted the HECK out of this book, and it was extremely hard to choose which quotes to feature here. I may end up having to do a couple short follow-up posts, actually, but these will do for now.

The whole time he talked fast about his plans, all the things he wanted for himself, the poems, stories, and sketches he was burning to write. I’d never met anyone so vibrant or alive. He moved like light. He never stopped moving — or thinking, or dreaming apparently. (15)

I remember showing my writing journals to Andy for the first time. How vulnerable and exposed I felt, because here were all my innermost ideas, laid bare to be read, possibly judged. Each hastily scribbled line was a seed; whether it would bloom or not, I had no idea. This was not a beautiful garden so much as a vast field that I tended and watched with tentative hope.

Fortunately Andy didn’t say much. He just flipped pages slowly, taking it all in, taking me in, with a kind of reverence that I noticed and appreciated.

His mood was pretty low during this time. He’d gotten several more rejections on stories he’d sent to magazines, and it hurt his pride. It was one thing when he was writing part-time and having no success. But now he was devoted to his craft, working every day, and still failing. What did that mean for the future? (67)

Oy, do I feel this. When you’ve put everything on the line — your reputation, your fortune, your heart — you can’t help but feel it. I am so lucky and thrilled that I could afford to quit my job and pursue writing full-time. But I’m terrified too.

In our circle, everyone believed things would hit for him, and that it was only a matter of time. “You’re making something new,” Pound told him one day in his studio. “Don’t forget that when it starts to hurt.”

“It only hurts to wait.”

“The waiting helps you boil it down. That’s essential, and the hurting helps everything along in its way.” (127)

Patience really is the hardest part. Thank god for the people who believe in you.

Now, switching from the writing focus to the relationship bits…

“Let’s always tell each other the truth. We can choose that, can’t we?” (47)

I feel like that’s a good motto in any relationship, but in a marriage especially. The truth may not always be easy or pretty, but it’s the only foundation you can build anything long-term on.

I also liked to look around at the houses surrounding the park and wonder about the people who filled them, what kinds of marriages they had and how they loved or hurt each other on any given day, and if they were happy, and whether they thought happiness was a sustainable thing. (92)

Do you ever play this game? I know I do. I speculate about couples at restaurants and on the bus, about celebrity couples, about couples I actually know. It’s as if I think figuring out their problems will help me solve — or avoid — my own.

But the truth is, we can’t compare our relationships to anyone else’s. There’s so much that goes on within each person’s heart, head, and home that we never see.

It gave me a sharp kind of sadness to think that no matter how much I loved him and tried to put him back together again, he might stay broken forever. (100)

I felt that way about someone once. I don’t love him anymore, not in that way, but I still think of him from time to time, and wonder about him, and hope for him.

“Sometimes I wish we could rub out all of our mistakes and start fresh, from the beginning,” I said. “And sometimes I think there isn’t anything to us but our mistakes.” (220)

Please note: My “Reading Reflections” are not reviews. They are simply my thoughts in response to certain passages.

…

A couple weeks ago, I finished the book HALF THE SKY by Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn. They’re the first husband-wife duo to win a Pulitzer for their work, and their goal was to shine light on the troubles of women around the world (particularly India, Africa, and the Middle East). Now, we in the U.S. have plenty to be worried about in our own country, but even with my deep sadness and anger and frustration about certain issues, I can’t help thinking how privileged American women generally are compared to so many other places in the world.

What would men be without women? Scarce, sir, mighty scarce. – Mark Twain

One point the book raises is that the term “women’s issues” can be problematic. Many men tune out as soon as they hear it, automatically assuming that whatever follows doesn’t affect them. But women’s issues are in fact universal, because hey, guess where you came from? That’s right: a woman.

Furthermore, studies have shown that investing in the women of any given area does more social and economic good than investing in the men. Women tend to spend on food, clothing, and education for their family and themselves, whereas men tend to spend on alcohol, gambling, and prostitutes.* (Sorry, guys, I’m just repeating the findings.) Yet men dominate business and government in most societies worldwide (including ours — let’s not deceive ourselves).

Part of the solution is training everyone to care about so-called “women’s issues.” We should all be concerned about the maternal mortality rate of women in Sierra Leone, and about the number of female village leaders in India, and about the education levels of girls in Pakistan. Not only out of compassion (though I wish that were enough) but also because those numbers have widespread effects on the growth and stability of those regions, which then have effects on politics and economies worldwide.

I’ll step off the soapbox now, but needless to say, “women’s issues” are important to me. You can see that threaded throughout my stories, even in the ones from childhood, and especially in the ones to come.

Yes, we’ve come a long way, but we still have a long way to go.

The tide of history is turning women from beasts of burden and sexual playthings into full-fledged human beings. The economic advantages of empowering women are so vast as to persuade nations to move in that direction. Before long, we will consider sex slavery, honor killings, and acid attacks as unfathomable as foot-binding. The question is how long that transformation will take and how many girls will be kidnapped into brothels before it is complete — and whether each of us will be part of that historical movement, or a bystander. (251)

By coincidence, screenwriter John August blogged today about “citizenship.” Not belonging to a country, but understanding and participating in a community. Local, national, global. I’ve been thinking about that myself lately. About my citizenship. About what I can do to make a difference.

If you, like me, want to be part of the movement, here’s one way: join the micro-lending organization Kiva and take advantage of a free trial, meaning your first $25 loan is FREE (for a limited time). By doing so, you can help a young woman finish her college education, or a widower expand his village business. (*Obviously I’m not suggesting that we should lend only to women. All Kiva loanees have been vetted.) There are thousands of enterprising individuals around the world who have applied for these loans, for all sorts of ventures that will improve life for their families and/or their communities. You can support a budding artist, or a farmer, or a construction worker. All at low/no cost to yourself.

A man goes out on the beach and sees that it is covered with starfish that have washed up in the tide. A little boy is walking along, picking them up and throwing them back into the water.

“What are you doing, son?” the man asks. “You see how many starfish there are? You’ll never make a difference.”

The boy paused thoughtfully, and picked up another starfish and threw it into the ocean.

“It sure made a difference to that one,” he said. (Hawaiian parable)

Fellow blogger and writer Amanda Kendle has been micro-lending for some time and said she’s never not been paid back. Her reassurance about the whole process, along with John Green’s tweets about the free trials, encouraged me to take the plunge, which I’d been wanting to do for a while. Four of my friends joined shortly after.

Maybe we’re all just throwing starfish into the ocean. Maybe there are thousands we’ll never get to. But maybe some is better than none.

A blog reader named Lucy emailed me the other day, just to say hi and remark on some coincidental connections we had. I always love emails like that, especially when they lead me to lovely writing like this:

I remain in the dark, watching them shoot hoops. They always play at night, when darkness softens the day’s glaring heat. Arms and legs tangle in the rough choreography of a pick-up ball game. After another 30 minutes of shots, fouls, passes, and baskets, the tallest one pauses, wipes his face with his soaked-through white t-shirt, and says something to the others. They all agree and lope off the court.

Minutes later, I hear a soft tapping at our door.

Her piece is about Houston, and guy friends playing basketball, and House of Pies. Very much a shared past, even though we were strangers until she contacted me.

Another memory that both is and isn’t mine:

Endings are always the most difficult part for me, but when I was lying on my shiny green bedspread, scribbling away at my masterpiece, it didn’t bother me at all that I didn’t know how to end it. All I wanted to do was keep the illusion going, feed my little character with my words and drawings until she lived and breathed on the page.

Sometimes I miss that time, when I didn’t worry about adverbs and plot arcs and Goodreads and facebook pages, when the only thing that interrupted my writing was my mom telling me to wash the dishes or turn off the lights.

Elissa’s book Kiss the Morning Star is coming out soon (6 weeks!) and I can’t wait. I’ve got my copy on pre-order. We met through the St. Martin’s Press contest, which we both won, and since then she has become a friend and inspiration.

Speaking of inspiration, affirmation, education…

I learned that my most glaring flaw as a writer was that the dream stayed in my head. As I wrote sentences, read them over, and revised them, my mind would fill in the many wide gaps in the “story” that never made it from my head to the page. I’d see the dream for myself because it was mine; meanwhile I wasn’t giving the reader a decent shot at even glimpsing it. I had to learn to stop living and dying one line at a time, and to focus on the methodical presentation of a story.

That’s the lesson that I learned a few years ago. Much later than I would have liked, but not too late to fix. For me, returning to my love of mainstream literature opened my eyes. David Goguen explains how he came to the realization and how it made him a better writer in “Ballad of a Sentence Writer.”