Blog: I don't have an identical book twin. Do you?

I saw bunches of status updates about TANGLED this weekend. They were along the lines of this:  

 My Friend: Tangled = ♥ 

 My Other Friend:  So cute! So fun! I adored every second of Tangled!

My Other Other Friend: Add Tangled to my list of all-time favorite Disney movies! So, so good!

My Other Other Other Friend: I loved TANGLED. It was very [XYZ] and [123]. 

I left a comment for one of them like this: Wow! I want to see this movie and I’m hearing so much great stuff. I might have to check it out very soon! 

Then I saw a status update like this from My Other Other Other Other Friend: TANGLED was such a disappointment. I heard that it was so great from so many people and that it was very [XYZ], but it wasn’t. And it was only a little bit [123]. What a letdown! 

I left a comment for MOOOOF saying: Thank you! I was going to see this based upon the other glowing recommendations, but now that I’ve read your comments, I won’t waste my time. I mean, I thought it was going to be [XYZ] and [123]. Since you say that it isn’t, why even bother?
 
Okay, actually, that didn’t happen. Not that last part. And, in fact, not that second to last part either. But I see this ALL THE TIME with online book reviews. A book gets some good or even great reviews. People leave comments on those reviews saying they can’t wait to read it. Someone else writes a review saying that they read the book because it was recommended highly, but actually, the book wasn’t all that. People then leave comments saying that they were going to read it and thought it sounded good, but now they aren’t going to because they read this review that apparently tells it like it is. 

As an author, I find it disheartening when I come across this, and not only when the book being discussed is one written by me. 

As a reader, I find it perplexing. I’ve seen so many books that I’ve liked and loved get this kind of treatment and I think, You’re interested in this book. Dozens/Hundreds of other readers love it. But you won’t read it now because THIS PERSON didn’t fall in love with it? Are they your identical book twin or something? 

If there is a book that I want to read, there are times when I do like to check out well-written critical reviews to see what the non-lovers of a book have to say.  Not because I need to be persuaded not to read it. Not because I think that the way they feel is the way that I am going to feel. I just find it interesting to see opposing views. I like to predict where I’m going to fall on the spectrum when I do finally get my hands on the book.  In some cases, I love to be surprised when I’m wrong.

There is no one person out there who loves exactly the same books that I love.  There is no guarantee that I'll love or hate the things that I expect to love and hate.  Isn't that part of what makes life interesting?  Making these discoveries?  

Blog: The truth is, I hate writing.

I hate writing. I love having written. –Dorothy Parker

The first time I read the above quote, I was shocked by the first sentence.  That's just wrong, right?  For a writer to hate writing?  And to admit to it?

Well, honestly, when I search not too incredibly deep into my soul, I can admit that I don't enjoy writing.  Not novels, at least.  While it's happening, I find the process to be frustrating, difficult, depressing, annoying, stressful, and IMPOSSIBLE.  I'm constantly moping around and making exclamations such as, "I'll never finish this!" and "It's so hard!"

But I keep going.  Little by little.  Sentences, paragraphs, pages, scenes, chapters.  AFTER I've written these things, I love them.  I especially love when, together, they form a finished manuscript.  For me, finished manuscripts are Best Thing Ever, The.  I was so high from the accomplishment of finishing my last one (which, sadly, was a long time ago) that I didn't sleep for three days afterward.  Even something small like finishing a five-page scene gives me a rush that will sometimes last for hours. 

I hear advice all the time that if you don't love writing, you should follow other pursuits in life.  Odds are, you aren't going to make enough money from it to support yourself anyway, so why put yourself through that? 

While I'm in the seemingly endless process of writing/revising a manuscript, I find myself pondering if I'd be better off taking that advice.  I can't, though.  Because even though I don't love writing, I do love having written more than just about anything. 

Blog: An Update Regarding My Nemeses List.

Remember this past summer when I wrote about My Nemeses and you learned a little bit about how I feel about abstinence-only education? 

Well, today I blogged about at the Contemps site about the same thing.  Except there is now updated information.  And a PSA starring Nemesis #1 herself (still hyperbole, of course) and some guy from Jersey Shore or whatever.  

Please check it out!  And join in on the discussion!  :-)

Blog: I sort of . . . lost a year.

Last night, Dwayne had NPR on in the car and I heard someone mention that Obama has been in office for two years.  I was like, "WAIT JUST A SECOND!"

So, actually, his inauguration was January 20, 2009, which is a couple of months short of two years ago.  Still, it's closer to two years than it is to one.  I asked Dwayne how this happened.  How in the world I lost a year of my life.  Because to me, it really, truly feels like it's only coming up on the one-year anniversary.  He said, "Well.  You have been preoccupied with Freefall for all of Obama's presidency."

And, yes.  That is true.  My offer of representation was on January 6th, I accepted the offer on January 12th, Obama's inauguration was January 20th, and my book sold in May.  The truth is, aside from trips I've taken, I don't have many specific memories of May 2009 to October 2010.  Or maybe it's more like, the things I remember feel like they happened within a few months of each other instead of a year and a half. 

It's very strange.  The book has been out for about six weeks now, and I feel like I've slowly been coming out of this fog.  I still think about Freefall every day, but I think about other things (like my current manuscript) even more now.  And that's good news.  I suspect that I'll always look back on the year that I was age 32 as my missing year; I don't remember WHAT I was doing, but I was so insanely busy and stressed that I was clearly doing a lot of it. 

(I'm blaming the book because to think that this is what life is going to be like for me moving forward is too alarming to contemplate at this time!)

Blog: A memory of a dysfunctional friendship

When I was fifteen, I was friends with a girl who decided that to "strenghten our friendship" we should each tell one thing we didn't like about the other's appearance. 

I wasn't really sure how that was going be a good thing, but she went first and said, "I don't like it when you wear combs in your hair.  Everytime you show up for school like that I'm like, 'No!  Not the combs!'  I just thought you should know."

By the way, they were this kind:                                                                       Not this kind:

                                       

I blinked at her, feeling a bit like I'd been slapped and said, "Oh."

She got all smiley and said, "Your turn! What don't you like about me sometimes?"

Honestly, there wasn't really anything that made me look at her and think,"No!  How could she humiliate me by looking like THAT?!"  I had enough insecurities about my own appearance to worry about what my friends looked like. 

I didn't particularly care for her haircut, but I knew that she liked it a lot.  And saying, "I think your hair would look better longer" wasn't as easy a fix for her as me not wearing the combs.  But she was waiting for an answer so I said the first thing that came to my mind, "Sometimes I wish you wouldn't wear so much eyeshadow."

The thing is, it wasn't even true! 

Afterward, she talked about how this had made us better friends because we knew we could always be honest with each other.  Secretly, I didn't agree because I hadn't been honest at all. I felt like she'd attacked me and that she'd goaded me into attacking her back.  It made me feel kind of awful at the time.  It made me feel kind of awful today--eighteen years later--when I remembered that it happened.
 
(And I know she'll never read this, but if somehow she does: I never thought your eyeshadow looked bad. You always did a great job with your makeup.)