Most Influential Person

Today on his blog, Nathan Bransford posed an interesting question:

"Who Have Been the Most Influential People in Your Writing Life?"

For me there is only one real answer. "I blame my little sister." (And yes, blame is the appropriate verb.)

When we were little, my sister demanded I play with her. (I know, outrageous). She is only two years younger, so it wasn't exactly hard to play at her level (or rather, pull her up to mine - because that was exactly what I demanded). First we played with what we called "peoples", plastic toys in the shape of people made for young children. My sister would play with one particular people , a girl, and I would give life to all of her family, giving them personalities and such. Then we grew out of peoples and moved on to Barbies. My sister would pick one Barbie to be her own and demand that I enliven the rest of them.

Many a Barbie saga was lived out in our bedroom. (Yes we shared a room). The bookshelf became an apartment complex. The bunkbeds were a mansion. The dresser was the school. We had a regular Barbie armada - though thanks to my brother not all the Barbies kept their limbs or heads. (And some were burned to death re-enacting the burning of Atlanta for his high school history project - but that's another story).

The first generation of Barbies would arise - getting married to our GI Joes (because Ken dolls just simply aren't good enough). We even created a clever system where the gender of children they had was determined by a coin toss. The first generationers then raised their children until they grew into the second generation of Barbies and the whole process started again. Barbies lived, worked, loved, had families, and even went to war in our bedroom. Of course, all the storylines revolved around my little sister's main character - who was usually fabulously wealthy or a lost princess.

When I was in middle school, Zenon came out. My sister loved Zenon. She watched it over and over again, and then she demanded we play a game of make-believe where she was Zenon and we were living on a space station. While she played and acted as Zenon, I had to be all the other students at the school, the teachers, parents, and any other character simultaneously.

I rose to the challenge but instead of creating the space station as represented in the movie - I created our own space station. In our space station - children from all the planets attended. I created a unique civilization (or so I thought) for each planet - where humans had secretly been living for centuries, watching Earth mature into something worthy of their attention.

From this my first attempt at a story was born "Jaij of Jupiter". Clearly, it was about a girl from Jupiter. I outlined an entire series that covered characters from each of the nine planets, all of it converging on a man named Justin - who had to overcome the painful loss of his beautiful young wife, admit to his family that he had secretly been the smartest man in the galaxy for sometime, and then prove to the Universe that our galaxy was finally ready to join their Universal Senate.

Really the story outline was a little ambitious for an eleven-year-old, and my writing could not handle it - back then I didn't write so well. In time other ideas came and my writing abilities developed. I wrote my first complete novel-ish story when I was in the seventh grade. (It was really awful but it was an accomplishment).

So you see - my writing is really my little sister's fault. She demanded I tax my imagination to create worlds and games for her. And I discovered that I loved doing it.

Really, she hosed herself over - because I started writing in earnest in the eighth grade. Writing took away the need to play with her to stretch my imagination - I could now play make believe by myself. I didn't need to play with my sister and didn't want to play by her rules. However, my little sister wasn't willing to give up easily - so I ended up playing Barbies and make-believe with her until she grew out of it.

Now she reads my stories, so I like to think we're all satisfied with the situation.

So really, my little sister was the most influential person in my writing life. She demanded I create worlds, and now I'm just doing my best to live by that command.

Ugh

This morning I went about my routine as normal - on time to get to work at 7:15 am, like I always do. At 6:45, I walked out to my car with keys in hand, ready to be off.

I stopped when I saw streaks of yellow on my car. Confusion was quickly followed by anger.

Someone had egged my car.

I then spent the next half an hour washing my car - making me later than normal to work.

Why would someone egg my car? It's so stupid. Practically no one in this city even knows me - so it's not that someone was mad at me. It was a stupid and random act.

What a great start to what's going to be an absolutely uplifting weekend! Hopefully when I head out tomorrow, dressed in mourning black, preparing myself mentally for Mike's memorial, I won't find my car egged again.

Something Small

So I know Yoda would disagree with me on this one. He would say not to let your negative feelings control you - put anger aside - "your weapons, you need not", etc etc.

But Yoda is a jedimaster, not an aspiring author.

Yesterday I found out someone I knew in high school died. At first, I didn't feel much of a connection to this death. After all, I haven't spoken to this person in five years - so isn't he (for all intents and purposes) already dead to me?

Today I discovered, its not the same at all. Before he wasn't dead - despite the fact that he was out of sight and out of mind. Today sitting in my cube, my writer's imagination got the better of me. I was thinking about Mike - his death - and about the wife he left behind. They were married in November. They've only been married for seven months and now he's dead. I began trying to fathom how awful this all must be for her. I began to attempt to imagine how sad and angry she must be (presuming the truth has fully hit her and she's not in denial). And I began to get angry. (I'll also admit I teared up a little).

I began to troll the web, looking for some clue that someone had stood up and taken notice of the fact that Mike McGahan was dead. I found a few articles, but only in local papers. I was angry that cnn.com and bbc.com and the other major news network websites I read did not care that 10 people died in Afghanistan on Sunday/Monday (depending on time zone). It was one of the deadliest days for NATO troops since we entered Afghanistan. Already it was old news to them - not something they would be discussing anymore (if they had ever discussed it all). This made me angry.

And this anger made me want to write in my new WIP (WIP = work in progress = the novel I'm currently writing. I'm not making this acronym up. Writer types us it all the time).

My critiquers (aka critters) don't know this yet because they're only on chapter three, but my new WIP is much darker than the other things I've written. I don't think they're expecting that because one of my critters made the comment to one of my characters statements: "This makes the character seem too dark. I think I would change this." I didn't change it because you're supposed to think that character is a little dark.

So I used my anger that I'm feeling at Mike's death to write a scene that's coming in my WIP - a scene where my MC (main character) is also angry because someone she cares deeply for just died. She's angry at Fate/God for letting it happen, she's angry at herself for standing by and letting it happen, and she's angry at the society that created the situation where this would happen. She's angry at everyone.

It's been a long time since someone I know died. The last death in my family was a suicide - which is an entirely different type of feeling from someone getting killed like the character in this story.

I finished writing that future scene - finished capturing those feelings that are so fresh in me - and then I thought "maybe that's good enough - maybe that rid me of all these feelings and I can just go read and enjoy a book now". But it hasn't. I tried to read and just got fed up with the book not expressing the feelings I want to express. So I went back to my WIP and starting working on the next chapter.

Granted Chapter 4 isn't exactly a tragic death scene and most of the emotions felt are on the happier side of the scale. However, I know where the story is going - and if some of the darkness I'm feeling leaks into my writing, then it's just doing a better job of setting the tone the story needs.

Because this story is dark - probably the darkest I've ever undertaken.

So for this once I'm going to set aside Yoda's advice. I'm going to use my anger and darkness to write about a character who is angry and dark. I'm going to use my anger at society - at a world that has wars and lets good men like Mike McGahan die - to write about a character who is angry at society.

And maybe a small thing will grow out of Mike's death. Just a novel - something inconsequential in the grand scheme of things that will mean nothing to his wife who must be filled with sorrow - but it is something. It's the best I can do. It's all I have to offer. So it's what I'm giving. Today I write for Mike and Miranda.

A Boy Who Smiled

We all know that everyone dies. It's a fact that we all learn from a very young age. Yet despite this a lot of people secretly believe we're immortal. It's hard for us to fathom that one day this life will end. Even Christians like myself who know that we're in God hands and we'll be in heaven one day often don't think about the idea that any moment now something could fall out of the sky, end my life here on Earth, and send me to heaven. Sure "one day" I'll die, but not tomorrow. Not next week. That day is far far off. I'm immortal.

Then something happens, something that reminds us that we're not immortal.

Someone we know dies. Someone we remember laughing, smiling, and joking dies. Someone who was so very much alive dies.

Mike McGahan died this week. You may have read about it in the news if you're from Central Florida or went to UF. If you're one of my friends from Atlanta, you don't know Mike. He's just a name to you.

To me, Mike McGahan was a boy I met in high school. Like me, he was an APEX student, which means nothing to people who didn't go to Olympia. What is meant for us is that we had pretty much every class together from sophomore year to senior year.

Most of my memories of Mike are him laughing or smiling. I also remember specifically in sophomore English that he would speak up and give his opinion - sometimes in contention to my own. Mike was part of the peanut gallery of students who always had a comment and an opinion in history class. However, unlike some of his classmates, Mike knew when to get serious - when it was time to be quiet and listen to the teacher.

It's been five years since I last saw Mike. In my mind he is still that laughing boy from senior year, tall and gangly with a smile on his face.

Mike McGahan died in Afghanistan where he was a combat engineer for the army. He was 23.

We all die. And it can come any time, whether 100 or 23.

Mike McGahan was a friend in high school, and my heart goes to his family - especially his wife, Miranda, who was also my friend in high school. God will be with them, and I don't know what His plan is - I don't pretend to know how this fits in - but everything is worked in the end for God's glory.

I shall forever remember Mike McGahan.

The Pen and the Computer

I am an engineer and the product of the digital age. I learned how to properly type in the second grade in computer class. I was the fastest typer in my seventh grade computer class. I received my first laptop when I was fifteen. I am the minute taker for my research team because I can type almost as fast as people can talk. All of this makes me perfectly tuned to writing my novels and my stories on my computer - theoretically.

Unfortunately the theory doesn't hold.

Writing a story on paper versus on the computer is something I've gone back and forth between most of my life. Until I was eighteen, I wrote everything by hand and then typed it into the computer - using this process to create my first revision. Once I got to college and no longer had my parents buying my notebooks I attempted to start writing them on the computer. Recently I started writing a novel in a notebook my sister bought me for my birthday. I wrote the first chapter in the notebook and then thought, I should be able to type the second chapter. So I did. The next day I went back and read the words I had typed and had one thought, "Gross."

This is a common occurrence when I try to type a story. I look at my computerized words and think "I can write better than this. This is awful." Then I look at my handwritten words and think "These are great."

I write better when I hand write things. Years of writing supports this hypothesis. But why? Why is this? Shouldn't it be the same? It's just words.

I type fast, and I think this hurts my writing. When I type, I'm all about getting the story down as succinctly and efficiently as possible. When I write by hand - when the pen flows across the paper writing in cursive in some strange colored pen (probably green or purple) - the words flow beautifully, thoughtfully. I pause to think more. Every stroke of the pen is purposeful, is slow, and is a thought. I write better when I write by hand. I write more beautifully when I write by hand.

I think sometimes we lose sight of the benefits of taking the slow road. We are so quick to go digital because it is more efficient, because its faster. We forget the experience of watching a movie in the theater instead of streaming it to our computer. We forget the tactile experience of actually selecting music when with a touch of a button our iPod can do it for us. We forget that stories are someone's thought child - like Athena is to Zeus - and deserves our full concentration, just not a quick click through.

Maybe next time you read or write you'll take the slow road. Maybe you'll break out the pen and paper. Maybe you'll buy a hardback book instead of an e-book. But then again, maybe you write better when typing, and I guess that's a different thing all together.

For me, I'll keep my pen and paper handy, and continue buying notebooks to write my stories in.

Blogging, Schedules, and Inconsistency

I have been a fairly bad blogger for this sight when it comes to consistency. In the past month I have read far more than one book and yet I didn't post any of it. I received ideas for blog posts in my mind, but nothing came of them. I apologize. School has been absolutely crazy. We had our critical design review for research on March 1. Then came Midterms. Then came spring break - which was anything but a break for this grad student. It seems its always one thing or another.

I promise in the future to be better about blogging things. I'm going to try for a Tuesday/Thursday schedule (discounting book reviews which I post as soon as I finish reading a book). That's not a lot, but its all I can manage while in school. When I'm interning this summer, I will be able to blog more often.

My apologies. I am going to try to type up some more book reviews for the books I've read over the past month tonight. I recently read the entire Percy Jackson series as well as The Last Theorem by Frederick Pohl and Arthur C. Clarke. I might have read some other books as well, so I'll look through my shelves and see.

I hope you're March is going well.

A Book Review: The Name of the WInd

Title: The Name of the Wind
Author: Patrick Rothfus
Genre: Fantasy
Length: 722

Quality Rating: 9
Content Rating: PG-13

This book came up in conversation with one of my friends, and so I immediately looked into it. All I can really say is that my mind was basically blown. I bought the book on a Friday afternoon and finished it on Sunday afternoon (taking a long Sunday morning break for church, lunch, and handbells rehearsal). This book kept me gripped from beginning to end. For a debut novel, you really can't ask for much more. I look forward to reading the rest of the story - that's a lie - I'm DYING to read the rest of the story. I know great things are on the horizon for Patrick Rothfuss, and I highly encourage you to pick up this book and discover Kvothe for yourself. But to give you a sketchy idea of what it's about - its a man telling his story - a great story of love, adventure, tragedy, music, and knowledge. This first book only covers the first 16 years of the man's life, and it leaves you dying to know the rest.

This book gets a PG-13 rating for some hard truths behind life on the streets as well as violence - both plain violence and fantasy level violence. Language is fairly mild since most curse words in fantasy novels are made up, and there is very little sexual content in this book (though it does have a fair amount of innuendo - and I claim to have only gotten a small portion of it -lol).

All in all, I highly recommend this book.