Musings

Diary of a Young Girl

Musings

Recently, I have been cleaning around the house and so I’ve been reading some of my old notebooks and journals. Sometimes they are funny, sometimes embarrassing, sometimes quite insightful. I especially love some of my opinions on writing and art. Here are a few excerpts.

June 11, 1996: …My stories Always come out confusing don’t they. Well at least I wrote it with my imagination and it a good story…

Yeah, I sound brainwashed. I should note that that was written on my 9th birthday. Here’s another:

January 31, 2000: …Writing’s a lovely subject. Writing is hard. When you finally think the story is going well, you just sort of lose it. Is this how all authors felt when they were 12? Is this how they feel now? Argh. I say that a lot nowadays. I can’t help it…

I should mention that the longest continuous work I’ve ever written I penned when I was 10-11 years old. This is a fact that depresses me often, but I hope to change it this year. It is one of my resolutions for 2011, in fact: to finally finish a full-length novel, or at least get past the 20,000 word mark in a single story. Fast forward a few years to age 15:

May 25, 2003: I’ve been writing a lot less in the past few weeks. It feels weird for me to not write (yes, I’m aware that I’m splitting infinitives, but it sounds better that way, so there.) Here’s the deal. I love to write. it is one of my favorite things to do, third only to visual art and dance. But now I can’t stand reading any of it. All I see are the flaws, and lately they’re everywhere. Time ceases to exist when I’m drawing or designing. I can be working on something for hours without even realizing it. I never felt that way about writing. […] I always told myself writing was the only way I could be another person while still being me… I’m determined to go back to writing and to how it used to make feel–that I could do anything. This summer I’m going to write my heart out. If it wasn’t meant to be then it wasn’t. But I’m not going to go down without a fight. I love life too much and I want to write too badly to see it end like this…

First of all, I should mention that I was disgustingly emo in high school and everything I wrote was dripping with teenage angst. I assure you that I was never suicidal, even if those last few sentences sound highly suspicious. But as I said, I loved life too much to ever think about dying. In fact, I have always been afraid of death. I had a strong reaction, reading this entry just now (It was titled “get it together”) but I will save my thoughts for the next entry because they could get quite long.

Let’s Talk About Craft

Honors, Musings

Yes, that would be “Craft” with a C, not a K. Kraft Singles are the best though, make no mistake.

I remember writing a craft paper on Christopher Coake’s short story “All Through the House” (one of my all-time faves; it always reminds me of Harold Pinter’s brilliant play “Betrayal” as well) back in 2007 for a Fiction Forms workshop. One of the things I discussed in it is the difference between a movie and a piece of literature and the differences in the construction of each.

My parents are classic film buffs. It’s kind of a non-secret that my sister and I were both named after film stars from that era. I grew up watching movies, and wanting to be in movies, and wanting to direct movies. Eventually I think I realized film wasn’t really the medium for me; I needed something that was a bit more solitary. However, I still love films, often more than books, and I still love to make films in my head. I admire anyone who makes them for real because I think it’s a very difficult task. But what draws me to writing is the challenge. While making a movie, you have so many tools at your disposal: the lighting, the set design, costumes, music, editing, direction, all the nuances of acting. You can literally show and not tell. And people say this about good writing, that it shows, doesn’t tell. But you can’t really show anything it writing, you have to tell. Because all you have are words and blank sheets of paper, and somehow you have to tell. It’s the way you tell that makes the difference. You really have to be able to be manipulate words and sentence structure and be a genuine wordsmith.

I’ve been thinking about this lately because I have actually been writing (hallelujah!) and I’ve been struggling a little with the challenge. I don’t know how other people are, but when I’m writing, I’m reading it out loud, I’m seeing it happen like a movie, acting it out, the whole bit. Finding a way to invoke a certain feeling or emotion in the reader like they would experience if they were watching it unfold on screen is sometimes simple. At other times, it seems almost impossible. But that’s why I keep doing this, year after year, to make it possible for myself. I’ve been writing fiction since I was about 6 years old. Sometimes, I find myself a bit jaded by the whole process. Over the years, I’ve quit writing “forever” more times than I can count. But I’m obviously here to stay.

Before I forget again, because I realize I never posted about this, I want to thank the editors at Rougarou for nominating my story “What Goes Down, Must Come Back Up” for the Pushcart Prize and “Best of the Web” anthology last year! 2010 was definitely a great year for me. I hope to make 2011 even better, and I hope I’ll have some exciting news in the next few months! I keep saying I will blog about my list of favorite novels of all time, but I’m lazy. It’ll happen eventually.

The Inside, The Outside

Musings, News

I wrote this on November 22 but I’m an idiot and saved it as a draft instead of publishing it.  Well, I’m publishing it now, and no, I’m still not ready to talk about House of Leaves.

Wow, almost 2 months since my last update!  I knew blogging regularly would take some getting used to.  Part of the problem is that I’ve been ill and also unmotivated lately.  I’m working on a variety of projects right now, but I seem to be stuck on all of them, or at least plowing through them rather sluggishly.  More details to come when I’m closer to completion.  Also, I finally read Mark Z. Danielewski’s House of Leaves in its entirety at the beginning of October and wanted to write about it but haven’t felt quite ready.  It’s a brilliant work of literature, definitely an inspiration to those who write experimental fiction.  Hopefully I will be able to devote a post to it soon.

What I want to talk about today are common themes of YA fiction.  A lot of the novels I grew up reading featured protagonists who were outcasts, who were hiding some sort of secret, who felt uncomfortable in their own skin somehow or felt they didn’t belong.  Often, they were insecure, didn’t think they were pretty or good-looking–sometimes overweight or plain, but definitely not homecoming queen material.  However, they were usually “beautiful on the inside,” that is to say that they were very kind or thoughtful, maybe smart or talented.  I can’t speak for other countries, but in America especially, we seem obsessed with teaching our children that it’s what’s inside that counts, and these types of stories seem to be the result.  I’ve always found myself more fascinated by characters on the other end of the spectrum though.  The girls or boys who seem to have it all on the outside (usually cast to a supporting role in YA lit) but are really quite ugly on the inside and often unlikable.  They seem to be the characters I enjoy writing most.  Just a couple hours ago, I wondered about converting that idea to something more visual and tactile.  A series of art pieces that have a clear “outside” and “inside,” where the beautiful hides the not-so-beautiful.  It would definitely force me to explore what the definition of beautiful is in each circumstance.  Anyway, obviously that idea needs some developing but I think there might be something there.

Until next time.

A Way to Understand

Musings

My last post back in November (?) seems to have been deleted.  How strange.  In any case, it has again been a long time.  A difficult time, one might say.  But what to say right now?

Back in high school, I started writing a story from the first person POV of a guy who was beating his girlfriend.  I’ve been trying to find it again (so far, no luck) because I had the sudden urge to continue it.  In creative writing, we often discuss the use of first person vs. third person in a work of fiction.  For longer works, I tend to prefer first person.  It’s not because I’m more comfortable writing first person or because what I’m writing is autobiographical.  It’s because when I was a child, I wanted to act before I wanted to write.  I enjoy being other people, not just observing them.  That makes all the difference for me.  And when I write a certain character, it’s because I want to understand him/her.  I wrote The Butterfly Collector because I wanted to understand a girl who steals and lies and sleeps around, who misses this idea of her father so much that she would do anything to get closer to him.  It was a difficult character to write, in the sense that I had very little personal experience to feed off of, and also in the sense that it was hard for me to be so close to someone, fictional or not.  In the end, I think I came away with a much richer understanding of the character, however.  Right now, I’m very interested in the mindset and past of an abusive person.

The Stage Where I Want It

Musings

I want to talk about the word stage in two of its common definitions. 

The first is a tangible, expansive, and ever-present place in my life: the stage on which we dance and sing and act out the most honest of truths in our lives.  I associate it with curtains and applause and lights and costumes and most importantly, the part that is hidden, that the audience can’t see.  I never thought I would miss it as much as I do.  Watching a production or performance from the wings, not quite on stage but not quite in audience either.  Instead, somewhere in the middle.  Or waiting there, right before a curtain call, with every other person who made the night what it was.  These days, it’s believing I’ll find myself in that place again that gets me through life.  Sometimes, I tell myself that it’s a pipe dream and I’m just wasting my time, but I don’t really believe that.

And that brings me to the other stages, the ones that are abtract and representative of the steps we have to take toward some other goal.  I’ve always had a problem with diving into things headfirst, not really considering first the consequences, and taking situations to the extreme.  What happens is life usually spits me back out as if I’m not ready for this, whatever this is.  Because I haven’t taken the time to figure that out.  When I was younger, I always wanted to be famous, I was always chasing fame.  I didn’t really know what else I wanted out of the arts and out of life especially.  It’s been a struggle for me to re-evaluate that as I get older.  I’m jealous of people who know exactly what they want and are good at it and are on their way there.  On the otherhand, it almost seems too easy.  I’m still figuring things out.  There’s a song by Winterpills called “Want the Want.”  For me, the lines in the chorus (and the rest of the song, which is a lovely compilation of couplets and heavy in imagery) really pinpoint the situation with surprising accuracy: You want (if it doesn’t kill you first) the want (it might just drive you mad).  It’s about wanting to want something that perhaps comes easy for you and everyone wants you to have but that you personally don’t think is the right path to take…yet.

From A Far Away Place

Musings

In terms of writing, I was thinking about how I like to work from personal experiences but view them from a different angle.  For example, if I’m writing about something that I actually experienced first-hand, I’ll try to approach it through the eyes of an outsider or someone who is indirectly affected by it.  On the other hand, if I’m reading about something in the news that has some impact on me,  I try to imagine the person or the life behind the story.  What has the news left out?  What has been twisted?

A Desire for Mastery

Inspiration, Musings, News

Welcome to my new blog!  For the longest time, I’ve had a hard time organizing my thoughts about my work in a consistent manner, and it’ll still probably take a while before blogging becomes a habit, but now that I’m no longer in school, I’ll try.

Last weekend, I finally finished reading Annie Tremmel Wilcox’s A Degree of Mastery, her memoir about her apprenticeship in Book Arts and restoration at the University of Iowa.  While I don’t think it was the most compelling narrative and wouldn’t really recommend it to people who are not Book Arts practicioners or at least interested in the craft, I was definitely pulled in by her description of process and long hours in the studio.  Jealous, even.  I’ve always been the kind of person who can never figure out what I want–because it changes from year to year or month to month, sometimes even day to day.  I really think I’m ready to dedicate myself to this for the next few years though.  I would love to at least try. 

One thing about the book that I found annoying however: Wilcox hardly talks about her life outside of the studio.  Sure, she mentions teaching rhetoric and pursuing a PhD at the same time as her apprenticeship, but never goes much deeper than that.  And I understand that that’s not what the book is about, that Book Arts in all-consuming in many ways.  But the way I see and approach art, all kinds of art, is with its constant marriage to life.  I don’t understand how one can repair books all day and not have that process bleed into their personal life and vice versa.

As for me, I just finished up designing the jackets for my last thesis art book.  It involves a layering of different book jackets, each representing a different part of the manuscript and a different year.  Right now I’m still going back and forth on what the whole piece should be called.  Thick Skin or Onion or simply, Skin?  I don’t know but I have a lot of time to decide.  I’ll actually get the jackets printed and cut in the next few weeks. 

Projects that are coming up:  After reading about clam-shell boxes, I feel like I should make one for I’m Sorry But We’re Closed, maybe one that allows for it to stand up on display.  I’m also starting a some-what secret project, pictures of which will hopefully be posted once it is finished.  I am excited…  Also, I am still trying to decide whether to apply to graduate programs for Fall 2010 admission.  Classes began again at UH today.  In some ways, I still don’t feel like I’ve graduated.