What Happens When People Ask Me About Books

Yesterday my parents and I were in this beautiful place for the wedding of a family friend:

That doesn't have a lot to do with what I'm about to tell you except that I started thinking about it while I was in this beautiful place, and for some reason places are usually linked with thoughts in my mind, so I figured I should include a picture. 

This thought train actually started a while back at a party held by the family friend who's wedding we attended. My parents and I were chatting with a drama teacher and somehow we got onto the subject of "kids not reading anymore" and then my mom mentioned that I was into writing/reading and the drama teacher asked if I had any book recommendations for teens. I don't know what happened. Suddenly I was listing off book title after book title, the first being The Goose Girl of course, but then branching out into whole other genres. I think she appreciated it, even if she might have been a little overwhelmed by the time I stopped talking.

 I thought this little outburst of bookish enthusiasm was a one time thing until yesterday, when the subject of conversation moved to the Texas Book Festival, which as you may recall, is happening next weekend (!!). As expected I went into hyper drive and gushed for five minutes about how excited I am. (Which is ALOT.) Obviously I can't speak for the other person, but my enthusiastic outbursts are always a little strange for me. I'm usually a pretty quiet person. I speak when I have something meaningful to say...or when the conversation turns to books. And it's usually not until the end of my rant that I stop to think about wether the person I'm talking to is actually interested in what I have to say. What is it about reading that makes we want to yell book titles from a hill top?

Despite the occasional awkwardness, I think I've finally made peace with my little outbursts. Books are something I'm passionate about. I enjoy talking about them, especially with people who share my passion. Sure I may seem a little weird to people who aren't reader types, but I'm sure if I got them talking about their passion they'd want to shout about it on a hill top, too. Well...maybe. 

So next time you're at a party, find someone and get them talking about something they're passionate about. Chances are you'll learn something new, and maybe you can then steer the conversation back to books, which is what you really wanted to talk about. ;)

Photo by Jeff Mills.

Books, Fall, and Cool Buildings: Ohio Recap!

Well, I made it back from the dream-like state that is fall in rural Ohio, only to be greeted by humidity, fall temps that feel more like summer, and a very stressful week. After being welcomed back into my life by mounds of homework, those four days in Ohio almost don't seem real. But, dream or not, I want to share them with you anyway.

 Our first stop was Oberlin, both the name of the college and the town that it's in.

 We saw some absolutely stunning fall foliage. (It may actually get better than this, but we Houstonians take what we can get!)...

 Some really cool architecture...

 And LOTS of bikes!

The above picture is slightly ironic, since the name Oberlin is actually my grandmother's maiden name, and her father owned a Ben Franklin. How freaky is that?! Also, half of this Ben Franklin was a used bookstore, and I sat in a comfy arm chair for about 45 minutes reading a book called Ghostwritten, by David Mitchell. I'm still not exactly sure what it was about, but it was intriguing. Have any of you heard of it/read it?

 Next we visited Kenyon College, which is in the adorable town of Gambier (actually it's more of a single street with businesses along it) and saw more stunning foliage along Middle Path (shown above)....

We ate lunch in a room that could have passed for the Great Hall at Hogwarts...

Experienced more beautiful architecture...

And visited another bookstore!

I think what I loved most about this trip was not just my beautiful surroundings, or bookstores, or even getting to check out two really interesting schools. I think it was something deeper than that. It was taking in the crisp fall air and listening to the crunch of leaves under my feet. It was watching college students interact, and realizing that I will be one of them in less than a year. It was a breather from the cyclical nature that my days have begun to take on lately. I felt free. I felt myself embracing each place that we visited, and everything was fresh and new. Since then, I've been trying not to let that feeling slip away, but it's hard with school and college apps bearing down. Either way, I'm so grateful for this opportunity, and overall it was a great experience.

If you've been enjoying these travel posts, stay tuned for more, because I'll be in Austin, Tx for the next couple of weekends, first for a wedding and then for the Texas Book Festival! Let me know if you're going to be there! (The book festival, not the wedding...unless of course we know the same people...weird. :)

Photos by Jeff Mills.

Travel Log: 30,000 Ft, 6:40 am

I am writing this from an airplane headed for Chicago. Actually our final destination is Cleveland, Ohio, but we are switching planes in Chicago. I’ll be visiting two colleges, Kenyon and Oberlin, and I thought it would be interesting to document the people and places that I encounter. So, I guess think of this series as one long “From a Writer’s Notebook” post. I hope you enjoy reading about my adventures!

This morning my parents dragged me out of bed at 3:45 am. I had a bagel and iced chia tea for breakfast, and then it was out the door and off to the airport. I find airports fascinating, especially when you are there early in the morning or late at night. You can always tell who’s having a bad day, who didn’t get enough sleep the night before (seems like that applies to everyone these days), who’s traveling for business, sporting events, musical gigs, or just for fun. Even with the constant activity, airports have always seemed like large, lonely places to me. Everyone’s detached, all of them going separate ways. I like to imagine them completely empty: no security, no coffee/gift shop employees, no bag checkers, flight attendants, maintenance workers, or passengers. With people, airports are really just buildings you walk through to get from one place to the next. Without people, they are just empty shells with only a vague memory that anyone passed through at all.

This morning however, the airport was crowded with interesting people. A few of the characters I saw were:

- A twenty-something who was dressed in a sweater, black skinny jeans, and leather boots. She was carrying a broad rimmed black hat, and a vintage leather bag. Her hair was done up in a cylinder-like shape  on the top of her head, and she had an air that said, “I’m anything but mainstream.”

- A middle aged man in a white v-neck and khaki shorts, with a gold chain around his neck. He was talking on his phone and I overheard him say, “If I get a chance to go to the LAX candy store, what did Sarah say she wanted? I’ve already forgotten.”

- A mom with two bright pink suitcases, a pink outfit, and a little girl dressed in pink, too.

- An Asian woman boarding the plane with a musical instrument case under her arm. 

When our plane took off it was 6am, and the world was still dark. We rose above Houston and the lights stretched out beneath us like stars. Now it’s almost 8 o’ clock, the sun is up, and according to the pilot we’ll be landing in Chicago shortly. 

The Road Less Taken: My thoughts on social media

Being a human is hard. Compared to other species, our existence is so much more complicated than eating, sleeping, and making babies. We have relationships and careers and hopes and dreams. We spend innumerable moments pondering questions that we know have no answer, while at the same time deciding what to have for dinner. One of my favorite quotes of all time, from (I believe) one of the best books on writing ever written, puts it this way:

"Our lives are at once ordinary and mythical. We live and die, age beautifully, or full of wrinkles. We wake in the morning, buy yellow cheese, and hope we have enough money to pay for it. At the same time we have these magnificent hearts that pump through all sorrow and all winters we are alive on the earth. We are important and our lives are important, magnificent really, and their details are worthy to be recorded."- Natalie Goldberg, Writing Down the Bones. 

This, I think, was one of the original goals of social media. It was meant to give us a place to record both the mundanities and the mythologies of our everyday lives and connect with the things that are important to us. While I think it still does this to a certain extent, I also think that it is quickly becoming a substitute for real relationships and real intellectual thought. Summarizing our ideas in a tweet or Facebook status makes us consolidate our thoughts. It causes us to move from one train of thought to another too quickly, without actually thinking deeply about what we are saying or absorbing from others. That means shorter attentions spans. It means jumping to conclusions, and not taking the time to consider sides before spouting our opinions to the world. And that brings up another problem. There are so many people out there who are doing this. They are all interesting people with thoughts worth sharing. But by trying to listen to all of them at once, are we really listening to any of them? 

I've been reading a lot of blog posts lately about people who have become discontented with social media. I don't know if I really fall into that category, and I'm not sure I'd  be willing to delete my Twitter or Facebook accounts just yet. But what I do know is that we need to start learning how to listen to people again, and how to start thinking deeply about what we put out into the world. We are human beings and we have complex thoughts and feelings. No matter how hard we try, we will never be able to fit "all sorrow and all winters" into 140 characters.

The Perks of Being an Author

Everyone talks about becoming a writer because they love writing. And I mean really love it. For most people who call themselves writers, writing is something they will do no matter what circumstances they find themselves in. Even if these hypothetical people are flipping burgers or working as lawyers or dog trainers or astronauts, chances are they are still finding (or trying to find) time to write. But let's face it. Not everyone is happy with just writing. Most aspiring novelists hope and dream that someday they too will join the ever coveted realm of the Authors. 

Texas Book Festival 2011

I feel this wish (with a burning, soul crushing intensity) every time I am in the presence of an Author, especially a group of Authors. Being in their company just makes me want, more and more, to be one of them. Over the years I've written on this blog about attending events in which Authors congregate, such as the Texas Library Association Conference (where I got to meet my idol, Shannon Hale), and the Texas Book Festival, which you can read an account of here. And yes, I write first and foremost because I love it with all of my being. I will always be a writer, and I will always write. It's like a part of my identity. But despite loving what I do, part of me feels like I won't ever be fully happy until I become an Author. Here's why:

1. Community: Authors are a very close knit group. Case in point: I was watching an old Youtube video today in which John Green was having a writing party with Maureen Johnson and Scott Westerfeld. In another he was talking about how Libba Bray had managed to break both her elbows and how that is totally something that would happen to her, as opposed to oh, I don't know...Sarah Dessen? The only thing I could think while watching these videos was, "How do you know all of these awesome people?!" and  "I would break both my elbows to be part of the company you keep!" 

2. Lifestyle: Besides being awesome and getting to hang out with awesome people, Authors have it pretty good as far as work goes, too. Sure, the actual writing part can be stressful and demeaning to the point where they probably want to burn their manuscript by the time they're done with it, but I like the fact that they can work in their pajamas if they feel like it. No dress suits and high heels for me! Give me a cup of coffee, a comfy chair, and a computer with a word processor and I'm the happiest girl in the world.

3. Readers: Almost as much I want to belong to a community of Authors I also want a community of Readers. I want to get mail from people who have read my work and who will ask interesting questions and tell me honestly what they think. I want to sign copies of books for anyone who's willing to take them. Most of all I want to know that there are people out there who have read my words and been moved by them.

Sounds pretty great, right? Of course it does! One of the reasons I wanted to write about this topic is because I am attending this year's Texas Book Festival in late October and I'm super excited! Just getting to spend time surrounded by books and Authors is a wonderful feeling, and while hopefully someday I will achieve Authordom, right now I can be happy by simply being in the presence of intelligent, compassionate people who write fantastic books.

'Till next time, and thanks for reading!

Overcoming Expectations

Writing was so much easier when I was younger. That's what I caught myself thinking the other day. I suppose there was some truth in that statement, but the more I thought about it, the more it felt...wrong. Because, while writing may have felt easy when I was younger, it wasn't any more or less difficult than it is now.  My expectations were just lower. In fact, I didn't have any expectations. I wrote because it was fun.

It seems that as we get older we loose that blissful freedom to write without expectation. Instead, we are suddenly bombarded by outside pressures. First, it's the pressure to be something. I've wanted to be a writer for as long as I can remember. I've also always known it would take work, that I'd have to struggle to become who I wanted to be, just like everybody else. But sometimes it feels like I'm cheating. I mean, in essence, I can do what I've always wanted to right now. I don't have to wait until I've graduated from college, or landed a job in  my desired profession. I can be a writer right now.

So why does it feel like I still have so far to go? The answer? Expectation. When you've done something your whole life, you're expected to improve. And if you work diligently at it, you do. That's pretty much an established fact. However, you can't judge yourself based on this fact, because most likely you will feel like you haven't improved enough, not matter how far you've come. I've been playing piano since the fourth grade, but there are times when I'll look at a new piece and feel like a novice again, my fingers fumbling clumsily for the correct notes. It's times like these when it's most important to remember what it was like to be a kid. Think about why you wanted to be a writer (or a musician) in the first place. Embrace the joy of simply creating, and not caring if your dialogue is lame-sounding or if you still can't get the timing on that musical phrase to sound right. That's okay. Because art is not about what you or anyone else expects. It's about making something that speaks to you, and that you enjoy making. Make art for yourself, trust that you will always improve, and try not to think about what's expected of you.

Why I Love Mary O'Connell's "The Sharp Time" and I Haven't Even Finished Reading it Yet

I have made it to page one-hundred of The Sharp Time, a novel by Mary O'Connell, but I can honestly say that I knew I was going to love this book from the very first page. It had been on my radar for a few months, mainly because I was enchanted by the cover. And like most of the books that have changed my life, I stumbled across this one in a library.

Of course, I can't say with certainty that this book will change my life. That kind of thing doesn't happen on page one or one-hundred or even right after someone closes a book. I don't think you realize how a book has affected you until much later. But I can tell you why I like The Sharp Time. Why, one-hundred pages in, I decided to stop reading it and tell you about it:

1. The First Page:  Before I get into that, here's the premise: "Sandinista Jones is a high school senior with a punk rock name and a broken heart. The death of her single mother has left Sandinista alone in the world, subject to the random vulnerability of everyday life. When the school system lets her down, her grief and instability intensify, and she ponders a violent act of revenge.

Still, in the midst of her crisis, she gets a job at The Pale Circus, a funky vintage clothing shop, and finds friendship and camaraderie with her coworker, a boy struggling with his own secrets.

Even as Sandinista sees the failures of those with power and authority, she's offered the chance to survive through the redemptive power of friendship. Now she must choose between faith and forgiveness or violence and vengeance."- Goodreads

 This sounds like a pretty typical YA book, right? I figured it would be a slow starter. The reader would follow this Sandanista Jones through her day, maybe start with her fist day back at school after the death of her mother. Instead, Ms. O'Connell throws you head first into the story, starting instead with Sandinista being interviewed for a job at The Pale Circus. 

Not to mention it has this delicious first line: "Anybody can tell that the pretentious ass who runs the Pale Circus fancies himself an artiste of sorts: a purveyor of poplin and mohair, an architect of nostalgia."

Wow. I mean, who wouldn't be hooked by that first line?

2. Colors: Reading this book is like being lost in a candy shop. That's the only way I can think to describe it. Everything is coral, cream, and green, or sometimes cool turquoise, dark cherry, cinnamon brown. And of course the colors on the cover match perfectly.

3. Voice: Sandinista(!) Jones is one of the most fascinating narrators I've ever read. She is constantly thinking up witty asides that the reader is always privy to. Her thoughts and actions ring true and yet I feel like there will always be more to learn about her. She's hurting and she thinks dark thoughts sometimes, but ultimately we want to believe in her. Or rather, we want to believe that she will make the right choices.  I don't know what will happen next or how she will deal with it, but if it means spending more time inside her head, I want to be there.

 I still have 128 more pages before I finish The Sharp Time. I am absolutely loving it so far, and I can only hope that the rest doesn't let me down. I can't wait to let you all know what I think after I've finished!

Now it's your turn: What was the last book that you loved (or thought you were going to love) from the very first page?