The problem with teenagers

Ha! Look at that subject line! There are so many things popping in to my mind with which to make fun of it, myself, and of course, teens. Not the least of which is it should probably read ONE of the problems . . .

But my latest challenge is that my son gets riled and also how-could-you hurt, if I tell him to do stuff. Like, “MO-OM! Why are you always lecturing me? I KNOW! I’ll do it! You don’t have to tell me all the time! You don’t even have to tell me!”

I respect that he wants to be in control more and that he’s growing up, blah-blah-blah. But if I DON’T tell him . . . Can you guess?

HE DOESN’T DO WHATEVER IT IS THAT NEEDS DOING. So then I really nag and lecture.

It’s a vicious, hopeless circle.

(and I promise I’ll have more substantive posts one day. Say . . . around August 25th. Not that I’m counting the days until the next school year ALREADY.)

What would you give up?

My kids were playing this game at breakfast. If you had to live the rest of your life without . . . TV or candy, which would it be? That kind of question. So my nine year old son started asking me, “Mom! What about you? Would you give up . . . coffee or wine?”

Wine.

“Okay, then how about . . . coffee or . . . movies?”

Coffee. I would hate it, but there’s always tea, right?

My five year old daughter added one, “How about movies or flowers, Mommy?”

Ack! That was hard, but I said movies, because I would still have books.

So I asked my son, “How about you? TV or candy?” He chose to give up TV, without hesitation. “Candy or movies?” He would give up candy! I was a bit surprised because he has the classic obsessed kid sweet-tooth. I almost held my breath as I asked “Movies or books?” He said, “ALL books? Every kind?” I said, “Yes, would you live the rest of your life without movies or every kind of book?”

“Oh, I’d give up movies. Definitely.”

Go, books! Woo!

Sick as a dog

Where does that saying even come from, anyway? Dogs don’t get sick more often or more extremely than people in my experience. The opposite is truer. And while I’m asking annoying useless questions, where does the phrase, “working like a dog” come from? I know some dogs work very hard but they have to be a tiny canine minority. And dog-tired . . . okay, stopping now.

But ANY way, that first one, sick as, that’s what I’ve been this week. Knocked down and almost out by a nassssty sinus infection. Although it did give me a chance to read some books–THE TRUE MEANING OF SMEKDAY, and THE BOOK WITHOUT WORDS, both of which I tore through. Fun rides. I think middle grade might be where my heart really is in lit. for young people. It’s so rare that I enjoy a YA title, but I usually like the middle grade novels I try. And I greatly prefer the earlier Harry Potter books to the long-winded, backstory choked, more YA-like final novels.

But I’m feeling better this morning. Although maybe not all better since this is a heckuva babbling kind of post. It’s good I’m on the way back to better though because this is my children’s first day of Summer Break, and I will need all my strength and wits about me.

Bloggy questions

So I’m kind of back and I’m pretty sure I want to stay here, but I keep struggling with how and when to do this. So, for those of you reading this who keep online journals:

Do you have a blogging schedule of any kind? Or do you just post when you have an urge? Do you set yourself a minimum number of times to update your blog each week? Do you post to your own blog(s) before reading and commenting on others, or is it the other way around? Do you have a time of day reserved for bloggish things? Like you always post in the morning and answer comments in the afternoon? Do you set time limits on your blog-related activities?

Huh? Huh?

In other, unrelated but fascinating news, it is 76 degrees outside. 76! Farenheit! AND sunny! I might have to go lie down from the wilting heat.

PLUS, our X-box is back and plugged in, and appears to be working, because of course I had to play Misirlou on GH2 right away.

A few Monday ups and downs

We had spectacular weather this morning . . .

For October! LATE October. And now, in addition to being chill-chill-chilly, it’s raining. Again. WHERE is May? I would really like to see her. Even just for one day. An afternoon?

I’m having fun again, reading blogs and posting to my own . . . BUT, my Bad Old Habit of then spending too much time online and neglecting my fiction writing is sneaking back into my house. Get OUT, you!

I’ve been exercising more frequently and paying better attention to what I eat and lost six pounds this past month, BUT somehow managed to gain three back over the weekend.

Our X-box 360 is still broken and gone, gone away. *sob* BUT, I called the 1-800-4MYXBOX line today and the charming robot told me it has been repaired and is on its way home. Woohoo! Also, fasten your seatbelt, Lou-CIFER. I’m comin’ to getcha.

What about luck?

A few weeks ago, or more, I lose track of time so easily these days, I read a thought-provoking comments thread on a writer’s blog. The writer’s initial post was about . . . .

Ack! time is apparently not the only thing I lose track of easily these days.

All righty then, I’ve forgotten the heart of the matter concerning the post itself– but the heart of the comments thread, or at least the part that grabbed my attention was this–a number of writers made comments that said when they finally buckled down and really wrote to sell, their next manuscript sold right away, as they knew it would. Because when they got serious, when they wrote to sell, voila! Once they made that decision, or perhaps took that action, they SOLD.

And my first thought was that they sold so quickly, they don’t realize how big a factor luck is in this crazy mixed-up publishing biz.

And I thought of all the manuscripts of friends of mine, who of course wrote them to sell, manuscripts that have great representation, but haven’t sold yet. What does that even mean– I wondered, wrote them to sell. Like other writers are just noodling and doodling around, without any thought for the market? Or what’s good? Or what?

And I remembered this brilliant post by Justine Larbalestier, over here.

But then I wondered … Are these writers who think that when they finally got serious and wrote a manuscript to sell and yes, it sold– are they right on some level? Or are they clueless? Did they just hit the publishing lottery and they don’t realize it? Or did they in fact set out to please the market intentionally and uh HUH, pleased it, so it offered them a contract?

So it turns out that Microsoft

has made something of a shoddy-quality product.

Color ME shocked.

This–

is common! It’s plentiful! X-box 360s are rife with red rings of death! So much so that Microsoft extended everyone’s warranty and even ships you a pre-paid box to send your sick unit back in. When I carried our box into the local UPS office, the gal behind the counter called out, “An X-box!” as I crossed the threshold. I said, “whoa, you’re good” and she replied, “Nah. It’s just that we’re getting 6 or 7 every day.”

Every DAY. In one little UPS office in one suburb of one medium-sized city. Imagine the hail of these boxes pounding the repair center in Mesquite, Texas. I have visions of them landing everywhere, on cows or, um, dogies. Pick-ups overflowing with them.

X-box boxes with lariats?

Dudes!

Hi! Hiya. How’s tricks? Whassup?

My mom’s visit messed up my online rhythms. Disrupted them, such as they were. And then I felt like I had to have something substantial to say when I came back because I’d been away so long.

*waves to her list of ten*

In other random news–

RED RING OF DEATH! Our X-box 360 got it! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaa. Have you seen it? It looks like this

And it means your X-box no longer worketh!

Do you know how it happened in our case? I was about to beat Lou, aka SATAN, on the final battle of Guitar Hero 3. My first time battling him! Yes. And jusssst as I was thisclose to victory,

CRASH.

Coincidence? I think not. That Satan– he’s such a sore loser.

My mom is visitin’

And I shall now refrain from making the old joke involving sporks and eyeballs. Or perhaps braaaiiiinnsss.

She’s been here for a few days and ka-blammo– this time I haven’t been able to even peek online. I didn’t check my email all weekend, until just now. MY EMAIL, PEOPLE. We have definitely vacated Kansas.

So, for the ten or so of you who are still reading my blog,

See you on the other side . . . .

Woo to the Hoo!

I beat Guitar Hero 2 yesterday! I rock!

In a medium way.

So,

Gotta get ‘em started early. So they can keep up with the old lady.

My ludicrous, Perpetual-New-Kid, Zelig-like hunger to be liked . . .

. . . extends even to virtual people.

Yesterday, when I was playing Guitar Hero, my son stopped by to watch. Then he said, “Mom, you don’t need to practice. Just play the song and try to win.”

But if I don’t practice, the simulated crowd will boo on occasion! I’ll drop out of the “You Rock” zone into the booing area. I CAN’T STAND THAT.

He said, “So what? You only lose if it goes into the red and stays there.”

Do I dare to start playing the songs without practicing first so that I’m at least 90% in control of them? Do I dare to eat a peach?

On the other hand, if you win a section, the game asks you to play an encore “they’re hungry for more!” and if you decline they go, “AWWWWW! Aw, MAN!” and make other disappointed noises, which I ALSO CANNOT STAND. So I’ve played some songs without any practice, focussing like a crazy lady, so THEY WON’T BOO. I actually break out into a light sweat.

I need help.

“Easter’s all about love and candy.”

According to my five-year old daughter.

It’s also apparently about knocking me clean off the intarweb, as holidays are wont to do. Although I shouldn’t lay it only at Easter’s door, or basket. It’s also because my oldest son’s fourteenth birthday was that same week, plus four, no wait, make that five doctor’s appointments, plus plans for our middle child’s upcoming ninth birthday. Not to mention the fact that we were out of town, in Gatlinburg, TN for part of our Spring Break.*

Whew, I’m feeling a bit tired just summarizing all of it. It was a heckuva crazy-busy week or ten days or maybe even two weeks.

At least it felt like spring down in Tennessee. Where is spring up here? Where are my flowers? Forsythia was a-blaze down in the Smokies. And Bradford pears were fluffy with blossoms.

The scenery in that area is gorgeous and we had a great mountain view from the cabin we rented, but I’m not sure it’s a place I’d ever vacation in if I didn’t have children. So much fun stuff for kids, like candy stores and mini-golf on every block, but so much tacky touristy stuff that adult-me is interested in seeing the spectacle of, but not that interested to participate in. Sort of like how I feel about Las Vegas. For example, we ate at Dolly Parton’s Dixie Stampede which is a huge meal– an entire roast chicken per person (a wee one, but still– a whole chicken), a slice of pork loin, half a baked potato, a cheese biscuit, a cup of soup, corn on the cob, and an apple pastry, all served with a cold drink from mason jars and no silverware. And which you eat while watching trick riders–like the beautiful spandexed gal who jumped two horses through a ring of fire while standing on them, and other riders racing ostriches, or buggies, or doing a relay race on horseback with swords and rings hanging by threads.

But now it’s back to work and school and me catching up with the online corner of my life. Hope you’re all swimming in love and enjoying a wide variety of candies.

(*And really not to mention the fact that I’ve started playing my son’s Guitar Hero games, which is the first video game since Tetris that doesn’t make me motion sick and which I seem to have a knack for as the Easy level was too easy for me on GH 2 so I started out on medium and it totally ROCKS.)

Two for two!

I just finished another YA novel that I enjoyed all the way through! I’m on a roll.

It was Crissa-Jean Chappell’s Total Constant Order,

which I should have read a while ago because I’ve been reading and enjoying her LJ for some time. This novel is every bit as intriguing and inspiring as I’ve found her posts. Beautifully written and I adored the characters so much I’d read more books about them.

Musing about characters with edges

I’ve been pondering that truism about how mean, or nasty, or slippery, or just-plain-difficult characters grab hold of a reader’s attention better or are more interesting. More entertaining? Or a good-hearted character with some giant flaw is more compelling than a good-hearted characters full stop. I know in my own YA ms, the character most readers have an immediate vocal response about is the most sarcastic, kind of mean, one.

I recently read an oral biography of Hunter S. Thompson and am currently reading Michael Palin’s Diaries 1969-1979. Thompson was . . . not a wonderful person, whereas Palin apparently is. But the Thompson bio was more gripping, in part, I’m sure because he was something of a monster. But if you could choose to know either one, I’d choose Palin in a heartbeat.

Is this a difference between the reading experience and life? I mean, that Shakespeare quote about holding the mirror up to nature bobs around my brain when I’m mulling the writing process. But really, I don’t think we want the things we find compelling in stories in our actual lives.

Another example– I’ve read quotes from Joss Whedon where he discusses the fact that his characters who are Truly in Love always have something bad happen to them because otherwise it’s boring for the audience. Happy in-love is dull. Contented good-partner relationships– yawn.

But that’s not how we feel about them in life. And I don’t mean just for ourselves– in terms of being around a couple, hanging out with them, you don’t want to have a glass of wine with George and Martha, from Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf.

But then what about holding the mirror up to nature? There are good people in the world, and contented couples. Are they not good material for fiction?

Do children’s books protect children from tough themes?

For this post, I wish I was still on LiveJournal, because it has such a conversational layout.

In last Sunday’s NY Times Book Review, Scott Turow wrote (when reviewing the novel The Blue Star by Tony Earley):

It’s such a deceptively simple strategy– to take the unembellished storytelling style of children’s literature and to bend it to adult themes–that many novelists will feel like smacking themselves on the side of the head for not having thought of it themselves. But it is no easy feat, especially to stay inside the hazard lines of sentimentality. We protect children from what we feel they cannot fully cope with or understand, and the risks of writing a children’s book for grown-ups are that it may tell us that life and humans are better than we know to be the case or that we may succumb to the comfort offered by familiar material.

I’ve been musing about this, on and off, all week. It raises a lot of questions in my mind. DO children’s books protect children? That statement makes me think Turow hasn’t read a lot of recent children’s lit. One of my whinges about contemporary children’s literature is that it SO often tackles dark themes. I’ve said if you showed aliens a year’s worth of recent children’s books, they would think our young people all regularly encounter death, which of course isn’t true for most of them.

And if you go back further in time . . . I still think there are many stories for young readers that do not spare them the dark side of life at all. I remember being upset to the point of nausea by being made to read certain things when I was in middle school.

But I suppose some children’s literature does shield them? Or slants off into sentimental territory? Hmm. I think there’s plenty of lit. for adults that you could say the same thing about though.

I wonder if opinions like Turow’s are the reason so many in the children’s literature world seem to have a big chip on their shoulders?

Grrrraarrgh

Warning– pointless ranting ahead.

The other day, I read another editor or agent saying . . . this, this thing many of them say, about how they have to loveloveLOVE your manuscript so MUCH before they can even consider taking it on

Because . . .

There are so FEW spots open on publishers’ lists for debut novelists. And there are so MANY great manuscripts out there to choose from. And with all this GREAT stuff being published, they have to feel the Big Lovin’ for you– the competition you are up against is FIERCE, people.

So, which part of this makes me feel ranty?

Is it the statement that there are so many wonderful manuscripts out there?

Why no. I personally can think of at least six or seven novel mss by friends of mine that are either brilliant, lyrical, great, absorbing, funny, thoroughly entertaining, or some mixture of those things. I know first-hand that there are a lot of great unpublished writers out there.

But the thing that gets me riled up is this idea that everything that gets published is likewise brilliant, lyrical, great, et-aggravating-cetera. Because, setting aside the fact that I write, as do many of my friends, I am also a reader. Big time reader–always have been, always will be. I read (or try to read) a lot of what gets published. And speaking only as a reader, I can tell you that a lot of it is mediocre to the blah degree. Some of it is even bad.

So stop already with this myth about how there’s so much GREAT stuff being published and that’s why it’s so hard to break through!

See? I told you this would be pointless.

Springtime here in Ohiya

Friday morning this started:

And by Saturday morning, the same view out our back door:

And the view from our front porch:

So of course then we get this view:

Even though like everyone I’m weary of the ice and the cold and the ice-cold, snowstorms like this are beautiful and fun. I love the clean quiet of them. And the excited anticipation of the children, not to mention a few ::coughs:: adults. I think our total snowfall was thirteen inches, which is rare enough here to be a kind of thrill.

My new least favorite teenagerism

“You are.”

Aaugh. This is worse than the elementary school stages of copying everything you say, or asking endless riddles. Yes! Even worse than riddles, AND knock-knock jokes. Worse than riddles plus knock-knock jokes with an extra helping of endless recapping the cartoon “Ed Edd n Eddy.”

Perhaps you are fuddled. Perhaps you are murmuring, “But Dot, what’s ‘you are’?”

It’s when they answer EVERYTHING you say with some version of “you are” or “you’re.” Like this–

Me: You need to get off Runescape now and do your homework.

My son: YOU need to get off Runescape now and do your homework.

–

Me: Don’t talk that way about him–that’s inappropriate.

My son: You’re inappropriate.

–

Me: Wow, it’s cold outside.

My son: You’re cold outside.

–

Although sometimes it comes in kinda handy–

My son: That’s what you’re making for dinner? Yuck, it’s disgusting!

Me: You’re yuck and disgusting.

Someday This Pain Will Be Useful to You

By Peter Cameron.

Why haven’t I heard more about this book?

It is made of teh awesome. I must be reading the wrong blogs or not enough book review type blogs, because I hadn’t seen any mention of it until I saw it on some list—ack, I’ve forgotten which one. Not the Quick Picks for Reluctant Readers, I don’t think, but something like that. And I fell in love with the title. What a great title. I envied that title. I wanted that title for one of my own novels, even though it wouldn’t match anything I write. Or maybe for my new blog—wouldn’t it be an AWESOME blog title?

So I had to read the book right away. To see if it lived up, even a little, to its awesome title.

Usually when I read middle-grade novels, or YA, it’s like homework. I make myself read certain books because I want to be aware of what the market is interested in, or what certain editors have a taste for, blah-de-boring-blah. But many novels don’t interest me much, although I might find them mildly entertaining or passable. I make it through to the end, but know I won’t ever reread them. And I don’t even finish a fair number.

But reading Someday This Pain Will be Useful to You was like when you make a new friend, someone you really click with, and can’t wait to see again, and get that happy thrill at the thought of seeing–say you have a date to meet for coffee that evening and you feel exuberant every time you think “oh! I get to see so-and-so today!” I loved it when I had a chance to get back to reading it, felt that oh boy thrill that I haven’t gotten from a book in a while. It’s deeply funny and heartwrenching and you feel like you’ve fallen into someone else’s life and world and mind and heart. It made me want to be a better writer.

If only more novels like it got published.

Some notes from my past

I’m still mulling the idea of posting excerpts from the journals I’ve kept over the years. Well actually, to be more accurate, I haven’t had a chance to reread them lately and see if they contain much that would be of interest to anyone besides me.

But I thought you might get a kick out of this:

It hangs over our family PC. Those are three notes, written when I was . . . about eight years old. My parents had gone somewhere one morning before my brother and I were up. If I was eight, my brother Gregg was fifteen. Our dad left the first note for us to find upon waking. It reads:

Dorothy and Gregg–

If you start the day looking for something fun to do you will waste your day.

If you get up– get a good healthy breakfast and start right in putting the house and yard in order you’ll waste nothing, have plenty of time for play, and feel good about it all in the evening — That’s the fun of living. — That is what it’s about for those who don’t want to waste their lives.

Dad

Our mom left us one too, right next to Dad’s. It reads:

Gregg and Dorothy,

Surprise me with all the good ideas you put into practice today by making our home prettier and cleaner and learning some new songs on the piano and recorders.

Love,

Mom

I got up before my brother and added a note of my own, for him:

Gregg,

Spend your day wisly and well. I have gone to play.

Love,

Dot