Thick Skin

On the Playlist: World Apart - Jars of Clay

This is a topic that comes up quite often around writers’ forums, I find, and it’s one I’ve wanted to address on this blog. I know I’m in danger of crossing a thin line with this post, so I will do my best to make sure that I’m very clear in expressing this opinion.

Writers need to have thick skin. We’ve all heard that, right? Many times, probably. It’s a statement that I don’t agree with. But, I don’t disagree with it either.

Someone who can’t take any criticism, no matter how constructive, probably wouldn’t have much luck as a writer. I won’t argue with that. But, is it fair for a writer to get upset at critiques that are more mean than constructive? Yeah, I think so.

I’ve only received incredibly helpful feedback from awesome people, so I’m not speaking from experience here, but rather as a witness. Also, I’m not innocent. I can be a little snarky in my critiques, but I’m trying really, really hard to change that. Why? There’s no need to be.

You can tell someone what’s wrong with their manuscript without being mean. It’s the difference between “this needs work” and “this is bad” (and yes, I’ve seen the latter, but with a really, really in front of it. Ouch.) Also, you can tell writers what they do right (play on words completely intentional.) I’m yet to read a piece of work where someone does everything wrong, or where I don’t see any potential in them/their story. So, I tell them what (I think) they do wrong, and what they do right.

I’m not saying lie, or give false praise. That doesn’t help anyone. But, come on, how many pieces have you read that are completely beyond saving? Not too many, right? There’s usually something there.

And this is where I’m told, “But, you need thick skin to be a writer. Reviewers won’t be nice to you if you get published.” That’s true. But, guys, we’re all in the same boat here. We’re writers putting ourselves in an insanely vulnerable position; we’re putting our work out there and asking for help. The least we can do is be kind to each other. Of course, we should critique each other, and of course, we shouldn’t lie, but I don’t get why that means we have to be jerks, or can’t be encouraging.

Most crtiqiuers I come across are incredible, and I mean that. This isn’t the majority, but it’s enough people that it bothers me a little.

Even more than this, what bothers me is when someone takes offense to a comment like “YA books are all crap” (invented, but we’ve all heard similar), and someone else replies with, “You’re going to need thicker skin than that to be a writer.”
I don’t buy it. Our skin doesn’t become thicker overnight; it’s a process. My skin is somewhere in-between, and I’m fine with that. Comments can hurt us. Rejections can hurt us. We can take offense to things. There’s no shame in having something upset you.

That doesn’t mean I think it’s cool for writers to throw tantrums, or that I understand when writers threaten to give up at the sight of a negative comment. But, we can hurt. Privately, sure, but we can hurt.

I feel like writers understand humanness better than most. We’re all just human. We’ll get hurt and we’ll get upset by critiques. We’ll get encouraged and motivated by critiques. It’s ok. Be cool about it, and feel what you need to feel.

And off the soapbox I go!

Building Forts Trailer!

So, I'm a dork. I love editing videos, which made this task really, really fun for me.

To me, editing videos is like writing; it's a way to tell a story, just through pictures instead of words. So, after seeing this awesome book trailer yesterday, I was inspired to make one of my own.

I'm actually happier with the finished product than I thought  I would be. Chelsie Hightower (So You Think You Can Dance, Season 4) represents Callie, and BJ Rourke (So You Think You Can Dance Australia, Season 2) represents Chase. They are who I always imagined I'd cast Callie and Chase as.

Talia Fowler (SYTYCDAU S2) represents Terri, and Gev Manoukian (SYTYCD S4) represents Darren. They're not exactly who I picture as Terri and Darren, but they both fit the roles well.

The song in the trailer is Needle and Haystack Life by Switchfoot, which is one of my favourite songs of all time. It actually wasn't on the playlist for this story, but when going through my music to pick a song for this I decided to try it out, and was so surprised (and thrilled) by how well it fit.

Also, you may have noticed that I changed the working title of my WIP from "Fall" to "Building Forts", which is good, because I really hated that first working title.

And now that I've rambled enough, here's the trailer!

Teaser Tuesday

I've been a bad blogger this week, thanks to job hunting and illness stealing my time. I should get back on track this week, starting with a quick teaser today!

So, in the last teaser Darren was visiting Callie in the hospital after the accident. Since then, she's visited Chase, and she's now looking for her aunt so she can finally go home. But, before she finds her aunt, she runs into Terri (kind of her friend/Chase's best friend), and the teaser is their conversation. The math/cooking reference refers to their first conversation. Hope you like it!

Before I find Moira, I see Terri. She’s a mess, looks like she was in the accident too. She sees me, so I wave, and she looks at me like how could you wave right now you heartless skank? Or something to that effect.

The look stays, but she hugs me. I’m hugged all the time, but not like this. This hug is shockingly sober, honest, and a little desperate. I feel it, but don’t return it. Too much vulnerability for one night.

“I made pot brownies.”

I’d kind of expected an how are you? considering the circumstances, but nothing has been how it’s supposed to be tonight. “Excuse me?” I ask as I break the hug.

“You know that guy who’s always baked in Home Ec.?” she asks me, and I nod. Doesn’t do much for his baking skills, though. “Well, I bought some weed off him forever ago—really bad day—and then Darren, of all people, calls me about the crash and I just want to bake and I remember the weed—”

“Breathe.”

“—So I go online and get this recipe, but I was out of eggs and so not in the mood to drive to the store, so I thought ok, I’ll just use more pot instead.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“I know!” She looks away from me and tells the walls, “I got it wrong, Callie.”

“Got what wrong?”

“The recipe. I didn't have eggs. When you get math wrong, you have a second chance—”

“But if you screw up a recipe, you don’t get a second chance.”

“Exactly. And I just broke down because Chase got the recipe right, and life still didn’t work out the way it was supposed to for him.”

All because of me.

Teaser Tuesday

On the Playlist: Love, Save the Empty - Erin McCarley

Before I tease, I want to sincerely thank everyone who commented on my first teaser. As excited I was to tease, I was equally nervous, but you were all so nice and helpful! I’ll go through and reply to each comment individually later today, but I just wanted to offer everyone a huge thank you :)

So, today’s tease! It’s another from my current WIP “Fall.” There’s definitely some context needed for this one. Callie (my MC), Chase (dancer dude from the last tease), and Darren (Callie’s friend-with-benefits) were all in a car crash together. Callie’s fine, Darren sprained his arm, and all they know at this point about Chase is that he’s alive. In this scene, Darren sees Callie for the first time after the accident. Also, Callie built a fort in the hospital because her and her brother, Trevor, used to build forts and hide from the world in them.

This a fairly rough draft, and pretty (possibly too) dialogue heavy:

Darren comes into my fort, nearly destroying it in the process. He fixes it with his good arm—it’s so weird that he has a good arm now—and says, “That’s the worst thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve done a lot of crap.”

Has he ever. I’d tell him it’s not his fault, but it’s better than it being my fault. “How is he?”

“All I know is he’s stable,” Darren says, like it’s a relief. It’s not. I always knew he was alive. I just need to see him move. Then, I’ll know he’s ok. “The doctors can only release details to family members.”

“That’s dumb.”

“I know.”

“How’s your arm?” I ask.

He hasn’t looked at me yet. “I don’t care about my arm.”

“Yeah, neither do I.”

“So, you’re fine, right?” Darren asks. “I mean, you look fine, but you’re not messed up inside or anything?”

There’s a loaded question. “I’m a little beat up, but I’m fine.”

“That’s good.”

“No, it’s not.”

He doesn’t question it. “I have to go soon. My dad’s here, just filling out some paperwork.”

“Your dad is here?” I ask. Darren’s dad, though technically still with his mom, is never home. It’s not because he’s some deadbeat; it’s because his wife is a mess who likes needles. Darren doesn’t blame him, but maybe he should.

“Well, my mom’s probably in a hospital somewhere too, so he’s really all I have.”

Darren and I have more in common than I want to admit. He has no one, and I have no one. Loneliness is a weird thing to share with someone.

We used to have each other.

“I’m sad, Darren.”

“I know, this sucks—”

“No. I’ve been sad.”

We’ve never been quiet for so long.

“Me too.”

“Last time I was happy was freshman year,” I tell him. “You know, when I still had you. Once I lost you, I had no one.”

Honesty with Darren, honesty with anyone, scares me, especially since he won’t look at me. But, things are different in a fort. When I was in a fort with Trevor, it was like we were the only people in the world, so we had to trust each other. It’s the same now. I have to trust Darren.

“I don’t get that, Callie. I’ve always been here.”

“For my body, maybe, but not for me.”

He still won’t look at me, and I don’t think he’ll say anything either, so I continue. “After we had sex, it was so weird, it was like my body didn’t belong to me. You took it, and left me with the rest of me.”

“What’s the rest of you?”

“Just…me.” I don’t want to say what I need to say, but I’m alone with Darren in the world, so I better trust him. “You know, my heart.”

Silence.

“I have to go,” Darren says, and moves to leave the fort.

He’s almost gone, but before he leaves he says, “I couldn’t have taken your heart. Would’ve been in the wrong hands.”

“How do you know?”

“I know my hands.”

Darren leaves. I destroy the fort. Honesty is overrated.

Tonight sucks.

Let's Talk About Sex

On the Playlist: Hate on Me - Glee Cast

I’m the good little Christian girl who comes from the True Love Waits camp. So, it might seem strange that in my current WIP, my character is definitely not a virgin, and kind of sex obsessed.

Though not all of my characters turn everything into a double entendre like she does, all of the YA characters I’ve written in the past have dealt with sex in some way. Whatever their religion, and whether or not they were sexually active (or wanted to be), they thought about it. This is because I’m yet to meet a teenager who doesn’t (this where someone tells me in the comments that they’re a teenager who doesn’t think about sex.)

That doesn’t mean they think about it all the time, or that it’s even a significant part of their lives, just that it is a part of their lives. I think about sex. I think about what it would be like. I think about how it would affect me, good and bad. I think about how my decision not to have it and how it affects me, good and bad. I even channel my inner Lorelai Gilmore and say “dirty” whenever anything that could possibly be construed as innuendo is said.

So, I find it strange when I read about teenagers who don’t explore their sexuality when the plot calls for it. If a teenager is falling in love for the first time, I’m going to expect them to think about sex.

What do you think? Is it odd to you when a character, provided it fits with the story, doesn’t think about sex? Or, do you not notice? Do you think some characters think about sex too much? Others not enough?

Teaser Tuesday

It’s my first time participating in Teaser Tuesday, and I’m quite excited! This teaser is the beginning of my current WIP, the working title of which is "Fall." I hope you like it!

Anyone who lives as much as he does would die.

But he still jumps and slides, contorts like he’s meant to be twisted, all with a smile on his face. The music stops, but he still goes.

My hands hurt. This suitcase is so heavy, all because Mom refuses to let me use anything of Moira’s, like using plastic cutlery will turn me into trailer trash. It’s ridiculous. I want to put the suitcase down, but if I move, he might stop, and I don’t want that. I want to see how far he’ll go, if he’ll go too far, if he’ll fall like I did.

My stomach hollows as he climbs on top of a dumpster. He’ll go too far. He’ll fall.

He flips instead, lands with only a small stumble. “What did you think?” he asks the girl who’s with him, the one who controlled the music. She’s short, pretty. Too pretty.

“That I need to put 9-1-1 on speed dial.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“Bodies aren’t meant to do that. I don’t get how yours can…bend like that.” Wow. She wants in his pants.

He grins. “I’ll teach you.” Ew. That might have been really dirty.

“I like keeping my body in one piece, thanks.”

“Boring.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket, brings me out of someone else’s world and into mine. I’d rather stay in his. “Hello?”

My voice catches the attention of the dancer, but as soon as I meet his gaze, he looks away, slings his arm over his slutty friend’s shoulder, and they go inside without explanation, like it’s totally normal to dance in a parking lot.

Writing Rules

On the Playlist: Oh Well - Fiona Apple

I have learned extremely valuable lessons from writers’ forums and communities, including the following rules:

• Young Adult novels should be written in first person (someone tell JK Rowling!), but a first time novelist shouldn’t write in first person (someone tell Sarah Dessen!).
• First person present is always bad. It is accepted more in the YA genre, but we all know YA writers are on the crack.
• You can’t use multiple narrators in first person. You know, unless you’re Jodi Picoult.
• You can’t write about sex, drugs, or anything else that teenagers actually go through.
• Too much dialogue is bad, unless you’re writing YA. But, again, we all know YA writers are on the crack.
• You can’t write YA if you’re young.
• You can’t write YA if you’re old.

I know now that all rules for writers come with an unless you do it well at the end. But, I didn’t when I started my search. So, I’ve come up with one rule that won’t confuse or panic any new writers, and still tells them all they need to know:

Write well.

What are some other writing rules that should never be broken, unless they’re done well?

"You can dance for inspiration"

On the Playlist: The Power of Madonna by the Glee Cast

The playlist choice put me on a Madonna kick, which inspired this post about dancing. The title is lyrics from "Into the Groove" by Madonna.

I dance more than I walk.

Now, I should say that I can’t really dance. Sure, I can ball change; shanae turn; and on a good day, pirouette, but you won’t see me doing fouettes, arabesques, or tilts. Still, I’m always dancing.

I look ridiculous most of the time. I love improv, meaning I put on a song and go. Usually, the result is lots of flailing, dramatic pauses, and inspiration.

Dance inspires my writing like nothing else, both watching dance and actually dancing. In my current WIP, my main male character, Chase, is an improv instructor (which yes, does sound like an oxymoron), who teaches my main female character, Callie, to dance. His teaching techniques are unique, and there’s little mention of pointing toes or spotting. He just wants her to dance to find and express herself.

I love writing scenes where he’s teaching her to dance. They’re probably my favourite scenes to write, actually. They’re tricky, though, because it’s hard to get readers to see a dance they can’t actually witness. That’s not what’s important, though. What’s important is that they understand how Chase and Callie feel when they dance.

I fell in love with the WIP through dancing. I’d written a few chapters, and I was enjoying it, but I wasn’t at the I’ll-go-crazy-if-I-don’t-write-this stage yet. Then, after watching Dirty Dancing one night, I danced out a scene of Callie and Chase in the studio. When it was done, I got to that point where I, finally, understood the characters like they were myself, and suddenly the story had to be written.

What inspires you?

Body Image

On the Playlist: A Little More You by Little Big Town

I had no idea what to write for my first blog post.

Should I introduce myself? Should I introduce my writing? Should I discuss an element of writing? Should I review a book? What’s important? What’s interesting? What should I do?

Lucky for me, other YA blogs directed me to Kristin Otts' post about body image, which included a challenge to post a picture of yourself without makeup, fancy hair, or beautiful clothes.

That was when all the aforementioned questions disappeared; the choice was obvious. This topic means too much to me to ignore.

I got a book when I was ten that asked me to answer questions about myself: Who do I like? What do I want to do when I grow up? How would I rate my hair? Only as I write this am I noticing how weird it is that I was asked to rate an aspect of my appearance. That never shocked me; our culture constantly asks us to rate ourselves. Are we pretty enough, are we thin enough?

What shocked me was that I gave my hair a ten. When I hit 12, when I hit puberty, when I hit junior high, any confidence I had disappeared. My hair was ugly. My teeth were ugly. My face was ugly. I was ugly. These beliefs controlled my life, and I wish that was an exaggeration.

They didn’t go away quickly, either. Sure, some days were better than others, but the beliefs were always there. I’m 18 now; I graduated from high school last June. When I saw my graduation photos, I cried. So, my dad doesn’t even have them around the house, because he knows they made me sad. That’s what makes me really sad.

The beliefs didn’t disappear overnight, but for the most part, they’re gone. That doesn’t mean I don’t worry about that one, awkward strand of hair, or the way my shirt makes my stomach look. However, those thoughts no longer control my life. What helped me was the realization that no one cares near as much as I do about what I look like, and if they do, that’s their problem, not mine. What helped me even more than that was the realization that my looks shouldn’t and don’t define me. Clichéd, maybe, but so true: it’s what’s on the inside that counts.

Think of a cell phone, and think of its case. If you were buying a cell phone, what would you care more about: the cell phone itself, or its case? Our bodies are just our cases. I wrote a lyric from the incredible song “Mirror” by  Barlow Girl and stuck it on the mirror in my dorm room: Sorry, you won’t define me. Don’t let your mirror define you. It doesn’t even know you.

What saddens me the most is not that I let my looks define me for six years (though that does sadden me), but that so many, too many, other girls let their looks define them all their lives. It needs to stop, and it's our responsibility to make it stop. We’re the ones who tear each other apart because of how we look. Instead, we need to work together to make everyone feel beautiful.

That’s why I love Kristin’s post; it challenges us to work as a team. Lets do it.

At first, I decided to take a picture where I made a stupid face and cuddled my teddy bear:

Then, I realized I was missing the point. Sure, I wasn’t wearing makeup and my hair was a hot wavy mess, but you couldn’t see my teeth. I still haven’t gotten over my insecurities with my teeth, though I used to hate them much more. My teeth are what keep me from smiling in every picture that’s taken of me.

So, I smiled:

And, you know what? I like the second picture better. To smile in a picture was liberating. Thanks, Kristin.