Argh! or, my thoughts on series books.

I am so sick of series that if I never saw or read one again, it wouldn’t bother me in the least. Now, that’s a sad thing. I’ve read many a good series in my day. But the trouble is with all these new ones, these new series coming out. You pick up book One. You start to read it. It is a really good book; engaging, exciting, well-written, etc. So you stay up all night reading it under your covers, which is the only proper way to read anything suspenseful really, and then.
The End.
Except not.
It’s not the end. It’s The “End of Book One”. With some horrid, cruel, cliffhanger ending.
In short, the whole book was a huge ripoff.

And then to make things worse, book Two isn’t even out yet. So that means by the time it’s finally released in about a year, you’ve already forgotten half the characters and all the cute little details and everything from Book One. But even if Book Two is out, you start to wonder: how many books is this going to turn out to be? A reader can lose hope. Unless it’s called “trilogy” or something, then I start to get wary. How many cliffhanger endings can I deal with? How many 300 page books can I read?

What is wrong with books today????
So many things, my friends. So many, many things.

I mean, the book world, or at least my corner of it (the teen section, ugh), already has enough problems. Now this? This garishly obvious marketing ploy? “Oh, let’s make a cliffhanger ending. Then they’ll have to buy Book Two. And Book Three. And on and on.” Yeah, well, I’ll also have to throw your book at the wall when it’s over because it has a crap ending. So take that!

Seriously, though? No one thinks people deserve a whole book in one piece? No one thinks I deserve a halfway satisfying ending? A reward for all my trouble? It’s fine to write a series. Perfectly acceptable. It’s even OK to have a somewhat uncertain ending, one where the reader understands that they’ll need Book Two and Three and so on to complete the story. You know, where these’s a sense of hope and satisfaction but also uncertaintiy about the future. NOT like someone threw a knife while blindfolded at the manuscript to see where the ending would cut off. 

It takes skill to wrap a book up, to make an ending. I know. And that’s why it bothers me. The author is cheating when they just drop you off a cliff and then type, “the end” like it doesn’t mean anything after all that you were awake all night, waiting, expecting, hoping… only to be ripped off and reminded that everything in the world is just a stupid ploy to get your money. 

Of course, that’s just how the world works. Best we all get used to it. However, there are other ways to make me buy Book Two. Like, oh, I don’t know, writing a good story? Creating memorable characters that I care about? Just a suggestion. It sounds dumb, I know.

Maybe they’re approaching it too much from the “Information Age” perspective. As in, “they will buy Book Two because they will want to know what happens next.” vs “They will buy Book Two because they loved Book One.” I’d sure like to know whether the good team wins or if the guy gets the girl, or whatever. But that comes after the main reason, which is that I’d want to enter that world again. I’d want to revisit these people I’ve come to care about. I’d want to go through it all again.
But when I hit a cliffhanger ending that mean me throw the book across the room and sulk and feel betrayed and pace around and scour the internet for the next installment and pull my hair out and growl and rant and feel ripped off… Well, who wants to do that over and over?

And how can I re-read and re-read and re-read a book that basically has no ending? It can never be my favorite book. It can never be the book that I read when I’m sad or ill or bored or just wanting that good story again… Because it’s simply not worth it. There’s no satisfaction, no comfort. There’s not that feeling of when you finish a book and you just sort of sit there staring into space just turning it over and over in your mind for a while. Once you have the information, there is no reason to read it again.

That is a sad thing.
So don’t write crap endings.
Or else.

And hey– while we’re on the subject of what not to write in books… Don’t kill the dog.
Just don’t.
Why even put a dog in there, and go through the trouble of giving it a name and a personality and making me love it, only to kill it off quickly once the part you needed it for is over?
Don’t do that. Ever again.
Or else.
Two threats in one day… Bad endings put me in a sour mood.

-Pen

 

Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbir– jay.

GAH!!!
I am still dying for Mockingjay. We (Dad and I) are number 19 of 61 holds (I check at least once a day). For the Large Print edition. The regular edition has over 400 holds… Sigh. At least we’re moving up on the list, steadily. But slowly. Ag.

 I have not read anything in about a week. This is not good news for my mental state.
[Maybe it's even what's been causing my EXTREMELY PAINFUL writer's block, which is not really a block but--
Curse you, Prefrontoral Cortex!
Is that even the right part of the brain? Hmm? It's the only one I know. That and the hippocampus, because the word hippocampus makes me think of hippos camping, or going to college maybe... SEE what's happening? I'm going off the deep end here!]

Anyway.

Yeah. So, I have been trying to find an alternative thing to read. There is pretty much nothing. This is the part of the show where I would usually go off on a tangent about the inexcusable idiocy of my library, and the suckiness of vampires (heh), etcetera. However, I am determined, despite my deteriorating mental standpoint, to write about something besides that which I have already mentioned, and mentioned numerous times before.

Ahem.
Ready?

I hereby propose that the literary world needs to re-configure its non-adult genres.
Firstly, there needs to be a separate genre for readers between the ages of, oh, 12-14. You see, when a good reader (ie, me) reaches the age of twelve, they walk into the library and there is. Nothing. To. Read.
They’ve already read all the good Middle Grade books (there aren’t that many…), and they are too advanced and intelligent for the rest of the MG books. But they’re too young for the Teen/YA books. So what is there to read?
Nothing!!!!
Now, all the adults like to complain that teens don’t read. Well, you wanna know why? It’s because by the time they were 12-13, there was nothing TO read. They end up going weeks, months, maybe a year without really reading much of anything, and so they lose their appetite for reading. They might try to come back to it when they’re 14 or so, but they’re instantly put off their feed again by the flagrant use of the word “puberty” in all those lovely Teen books. Like, if you want to keep kids away from something, like sugary drinks, just put “puberty” really big on the label. Believe me, they will be repulsed.
So anyway, by the time these young teens are old enough to actually read YA, they don’t care for reading anymore and therefore miss out. Only the handful of kids (myself included) who make it through those 3 or so years of literary starvation did so by reading the classics, or settling for absolute crap. I did a bit of both, sad to say. I discovered Alice in Wonderland, but I also read stupid stuff that was an insult to my intellect.

My second idea is to draw the line, a very clear, very dark line, between the genres of Teen and YA.
You see, Teen books somehow don’t have the same oomph as one I would call YA. Frankie Landau-Banks is YA. Curse of the Zombie Prom Date is Teen. See the difference? How the YA one is not pop-culture trend-following, not insulting to my intelligence, not bad writing with a lot of cliche and crap and words like puberty? Because Teen books are the ones that are about ”growing up” “finding yourself” “the changes that come with becoming a teenager”, blah blah blah. YA is sort of about that stuff… I mean, Frankie Landau-Banks is sort of about how she ”finds herself” or whatever, but it’s more than that. It’s more real. It’s not trying to be about that, you know? It’s really a book about an awesome girl with an incredible mind and what happens her sophomore year. Its underlying themes are just that– underlying themes. Not Morals to the Fake-O Story.
Teen books are the ones that try to be funny, and say stuff about bras, and boys, and being unpopular, and being insecure.
YA books are the ones that make you laugh out loud in public, and quote the characters, and actually use your brain, and think about them long after you’ve finished them.
Teen books are the ones that have cheesy titles, and white on the covers like they think they’re Seventeen magazine or something, and follow book trends, and were clearly written by some lady who thinks she must be super hip, but really she’s just a teacher with some kind of stupid degree that says she knows what youth are thinking and what they’re like.
YA books are the ones that have interesting titles, and use a wider vocabulary, and stand alone from the culture so that if your kids read it years from now they wouldn’t think it was lame, and you don’t even think about who wrote it because it seems like it wasn’t written, it was spoken or lived or told to you and only you, for the whole time you’re reading the book, until you finish it and immediately want to talk to someone else about it, and think about it with them, and so you suggest it to all your friends or your dad or your mom’s book club and then you talk about it with them for two hours straight.
See the difference? See? YA doesn’t belong under Teen. YA should have its own shelf, heck, it’s own library– it’s in a whole other league. If YA and Teen were spearate, I wouldn’t have to pick through a million crap books before finding the one that was worth it all.

That’s my proposition.

You know, everyone makes a big deal out of writing books for teens, books that all teens will want to read and not just the ones like me who are voracious readers. So they dumb stuff down. Well guess what? You’re just losing more readers, because most of the teens reading are NOT your every-teen, they are the reading teens, which means they stuck it out through 3 or so years of wasteland, and now what happens? More puberty talk? Stupid cliches? Bras and vampires?
This is not what young readers want. Yeah, the culture wants it, but the real readers who are there with a book day in and day out, who may not make you as rich as Stephanie Meyer but who are true and loyal and valiant and smart, do not want crap Teen books.
We demand YA!!!!!

Well.

It was nice to finally get that out of my system. All the exclamation points were building up pressure.

Yours till the Teen books don’t suck
(or in summary, Forever Yours),
Pen

 

How to Write for Teens

Step One: Think about what teens like to read. As an adult, you sure do know the answer to that one! Cuz you have market research! And aren’t those vampire books soooo popular? So let’s make those! Oh, and also, let’s make lots of books about “growing up” and the changes that come with that. Yeah, all those confusing emotional changes. Then, let’s make all the books have “meanings”, too. Because teens will read it and not notice that we’re really just lecturing them! But make sure you don’t use any grown-up words, because weak-minded teens might not comprehend– I mean, know– what you’re saying in the dialogue– I mean, talking parts. Oh, and make sure to add some slang and abbreviations, like this: “Yo, my homefries. Wanna come hang?” “IDK, let me ask my parental unit. BRB.” “Fo shizzle, dude.” “K, I’ll CU L8R.”  

Step Two: Once your book is finished, you want to make sure you have a catchy title, one that will really resonate with teens. Some examples are: The Hottie Vampire I Sit Next to in Class Who I didn’t Know was a Vampire Even Though He’s Remarkably Pale and Has Fangs; My Parents are Jerks; The Zombie Prom Date; Liar Liar Bras on Fire; The Mom is Dead and the Dad is Withdrawn; AngstAngstAngst. Now all you have to do is write up a little description for your book, which will go something like: “Sophie is an outcast. She has no friends and a pitiful life. her parents suck and won’t let her do anything. Finally she meets a cute guy who is coincidentally very popular and likes her even though she is of course a total geek, and also wears high-tops because she can kick your butt. But is her new BF human? She will soon find out….” Then get a stock photo of, say, a pair of Converse sneakers, and make that your cover. Now publish your book.

Congratulations! You’ve just written and published a book that is exactly like every other book on the shelf! Teens will love it! Now you can be as rich as that guy who wrote Twilight! or those Hippie Snotter books! Those were written by the same person, right? Oh, and your book will be made into a movie on Disney Channel! Except of course all those swearwords you put in to appeal to teens will have to be omitted. Still, Yay You, Adult Writing For Teens!! You’re fab!!

Ahhh. I feel much better now. All that sarcasm was building up pressure in my brain. But maybe I used too many grownup words in my little piece up there… well, basically it boils down to: I Teen. Library Stinky. Boooooo. Angstangstangst.

TTYL my salty homefries,
Pen

PS: this was going to be a post about how to fix the whole literary world in reagrds to teen and YA, but this came out of left field and I didn’t think my more serious essay would make a good compainion to it, so… another day, yes?

 

Who are You?

"Who are you?" "I-I hardly know, sir... At least, I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then... I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, because I'm not myself, you see."

Yesterday and the day before, I spent much of my time reading. I finished two pretty intense books in the span of a few hours, and while the books weren’t perfect, they made me think.

The first was about a boy named Q whose neighbor and ex-friend Margo disappeared, leaving clues behind that seem to be meant for him. What was interesting about this book is that as Q searches, involving his friends and others who knew Margo, he realizes that she’s not who he thought she was. She’s not who anyone thought she was, because they all knew different versions of her. They all percieved her in different ways, but they realize that they never knew the real her. They were looking at her through something that was “more mirror than window”, as Q says.

The second book was, again, about a boy and a girl, except they were never friends and they didn’t even meet until the girl died and came back as a ghost or whatever to help the boy– well, the plot’s not important. What’s important is what she said about people. To paraphrase, she said that we’re too big. Too big to be fully understood by each other, too big to ever really fit into this world or our mortal bodies.

Both the books also talked about being connected to each other. The first used the example of grass, which is connected by the same root system though each blade is individual. The second had the girl talking about death/heaven, and saying that part of it is feeling connected.

It’s really lucky chance that I read these books in direct succession, because together, they present an interesting view of humanity, and one that feels true at least to me. First of all, I definitely think that we don’t really see each other for who we are. How can we? I act differently depending on who I’m with, so if all my friends got together maybe they wouldn’t know which version of me was the real me, either. When really all of them/none of them are. And the mirror effect that Q talks about is true, too, but it’s not entirely the viewer’s fault that they see me through a mirror and not a window. I perpetuate the mirror by acting like the viewer. Do you know what I mean?

And I definitely feel the “too big” analogy. I feel like when I die and shed my earthly body, I won’t look a thing like it. In my mind I look a completely different way so that every time I look in the mirror or at a picture of myself… It’s not that I think I look bad, just off somehow. Same way as if I hear my voice on a recording. 
I feel too big for my name, too. But as much as I’ve scoured the internet, name books, other languages… there’s nothing I would change my name to. It’s like I must have a name, but it’s a word that’s never been invented and never will be.

All of this makes me wonder who I really am. It makes me wonder if I’m a combination of my mirrored selves or none of them at all. I wonder if I will be someone else when I grow up. I wonder who I would be if I, like Margo, tore off my old life like a band-aid and started over completely fresh, in a new place with new people. Sometimes I feel like I can’t really be myself around the people that I know because they might think less of me. Like they might see me through a window and decide that they don’t like me anymore. I know, I know, that’s weird and paranoid. And incredibly insecure. 

I’m half considering not posting this at all, because people I know might read it. See? “Exhibit A: Subject is afraid to voice private opinion even on her blog.”

Is there any way to overcome this fear? Is there any way to really know someone else? Is there any way to really know oneself?

"I can't help you if you don't even know who you are, stupid girl."

Whether I like it or not, God knows everything about me. I can’t be a mirror-version of myself even if I tried, because He would know who I really am. All the good things, all the bad things. Things I tell people and things I keep to myself. I suppose He’s the only one ever who can see me fully, beyond mirrors and windows, opinions, the way I dress or speak around different groups of people, beyond my fears or my insecurities. It’s a bit scary to think that God would know everything about me. Indescribable to think that He would love me anyway.

It’s more than just loving me despite my sins, it’s loving me for who I am. I don’t even think I love my own self that much; I can hardly stand myself oftentimes. Humans are such complicated beings; we have so many layers and that’s why the heroes in books also have their flaws. I’m sure God is the only one who can stand knowing everything, every detail of who we are and love us anyway.

Maybe I don’t make any sense right now– that’s all right. I can’t seem to say exactly what I mean, but I hope you get the general idea…

Much Love,
The Real Pen
(She’s here somewhere.)

 

“Everything shipshape in Bristol with the fake mustache?”

I felt like quoting The Thief Lord movie today.
I need to watch it again. (Riiight. For about the thousandth time. ;P )

Well, I have a very funny story to tell you today. 

To begin, I must say that I am supposed to help the DHFs work on a project. We’re making something on movie maker for a dinner that is being had for a bunch of priests, it being the year of the priest and everything. We decided that I would be dropped off at their house on Tuesday morning.
So I woke up this morning (Monday, but I didn’t know that yet) and FREAKED OUT. Mom had already left for work, and I suddenly panicked because I thought for sure it was Tuesday, and I flew downstairs and shot off an email to Eliza, FREAKING OUT on her and basically blathering crazily. I hit send.
Then I looked at the date on the lower right hand side of the computer screen.
I sent another email, which said:
oh hey today’s monday.
heh. 
yeah i’ll be there tomorrow.

Eliza happened to be on the computer the same time and called me to say that she was cracking up, and “Did you get the days stright now, dear?” (We call each other honey, dear, etc– and then sometimes laugh at ourselves because we sound old. How we got into this habit I don’t know, but it’s our pet names for each other now.)

Everything is shipshape in Bristol with me and my calendar now, happily. ;)

And guess what?!?!?!?!?!?!???
Dad took me on a field trip today, to the library!!! (thereby saving me from certain death– or at least extreme boredom.) I got 11 books, one of which was for Dad, since he finished Catching Fire yesterday when he was “watching” the superbowl. In fact he was sitting on the couch reading while the TV blared irrelevantly in the background. None of us watched the susperbowl. OK, we did for like five minutes, but then it was 9:00 and I changed the channel to watch part 3 of Emma on Masterpiece Classic. (Love! a perfect movie before Valentine’s day.)
But anyway… I spent a good part of my day reading The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks, which I finished tonight at Mom’s work (I went to help her answer the door and then only 3 people came; but I digress) and it was SO GOOD!!!!! I’m putting it in my Hall of Fave right now!!!

I will write a review for it later… I have to stuff a pillow for Girl Scouts. Oh, and I must mention before I go that Mrs. Dockril, my flute teacher, gave me a mini loaf of banana bread today…. I had some and it was amazing. I’ve been wanting banana bread so badly lately, too. 
Mrs. Dockril is awesome. :) I love her.

Well, ta ta for now….

Peace,
Pen

 

Heat Wave!

Dude, we’re having a heat wave here. It’s upwards of 30 degrees! I think it might hit 40 this weekend, thank goodness. Dad and I are going camping this weekend at Atwood, and I am so excited!! Last year it was really fun but soooo cold. So hopefully we’ll get a break this year and I’ll actually be able to go outside without having to bundle up everything except my eyeballs. It’s so funny though– whenever I go camping, I always end up wearing clothes that used to belong to either my grandfather or my dad. And they fit me. Especially my grandpa’s (my dad’s dad, not Grandpa Vegas) wool shirt thing from when he was in the army when he was seventeen. And here I am and it fits me very flatteringly. Haha.

Our icicles are melting, too. :( We had some on the front of our house but now they’re shrinking. Nooo! When we used to play elaborate gams outside in the snow we would always knock them down and use them as knives, spears, and ice picks. Good times, good times.

So what else is up today? Hmmm. Well, I am dying because AP says I have 0 posts and I NEED to put up part 6 of White Funeral!! I hate having 0 posts. Alas. I need to write some poetry, too, though. I haven’t written any AP-worthy poems in a while. I did write one weird poem that I will probably never post anywhere about this hill that my dad told me about.

Oh! Speaking of Dad, I had him read The Hunger Games, and he just finished yesterday. He was totally glued to the book all of Tuesday. I knew he would love it! So yesterday we had a little book discussion and…
Me: “What did you think of the ending?”
Dad: “I can’t believe it’s only the first book! Glad she ditched the doughboy though.”
Me: (a little incredulously) “But… But I liked Peeta!” Then again I was pretty undecided the second time I read it and then Catching Fire was total torture because I could not decide if I wanted her to pick Gale or Peeta. Sometimes I think Gale because, well, it’s Gale and they’ve always been together, they’re so alike, they make a great team and Gale really loves her… But then I also think Peeta because, well, it’s Peeta and he’s very sweet, he and Katniss are different so they kind of balance each other out, and let’s face it, he’d be completely crushed if she picked Gale. But Gale would still have Madge so it’s not really fair.
Wow. I have no life. But I love those books anyway.

Well, I guess that’s all for now…. Peace out, homies!! LOL. I was saying that to my mom and my ASL teacher yesterday because my ASL teacher said soemthing about “peeps”.

Yours till the tea leaves (oooh that was a good one!)
-Pen

 

Cobwebs on a Wednesday under a Baseball Moon

I just have to tell you about my most recent favorite books. I mean, I read constantly, about a book or so a day, so I go to the library a lot. And most of the time I end up getting books that are okay, but not fabulous. And some of them are like, ‘ewwww!’ and I don’t end up reading the whole thing at all. But lately I’ve found some books that I was surprised at, books I wasn’t really expecting to make me feel the way I do about them. So here they are:                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   Under the Baseball Moon by John H. Ritter: an awesome book. I’m not even halfway through yet, but I’m already putting it in my Hall of Fave. It’s making me want to go improv with my flute, too, which is not something common for me. The only instrument I ever improv on is the piano, and that’s only becuase I can’t actually play it. Flute… I can’t believe all this time I’ve been playing I’ve never tried to play without music before. And I love how Andy (the main character, whose POV the book is written from) says he’s ‘painting’ when he plays. It’s great. And not only is the music part of it good, the characters are cool. Also, it’s one of those awful books that make you want to get up and do something (in this case play the flute) while at the same time you don’t want to put it down… oh, man. It’s torture, but I’m lovin’ it all the way. And I can see that this book is only going to get better and better as the story moves along. I love it. Dude.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 Cobwebs by Karen Romano Young: Amazing. It’s one of those books you can taste. I know that sounds weird, but the way it’s descriptions are and the way everything is written… it’s like eating chocolate. So, so good. And I love Nancy, the main character. I knit, too, like her, and I love her wild tights. It’s a great story, too– it even made me like spiders more. I mean, I always liked them (proof for all of you that I’m a weird child: at camp, kids were screaming and I went and picked it up and let it crawl up my arm. “See? It’s just a Daddy Longleg. Aww, it’s cute. Don’t kill ‘em.” Yeah.) but this book made them one of my favorite creatures of all time. The imagery was beautiful and real, the characters were lovable (especially her dad, idk but he was just cool) and I’m going to read it again. Definitely the mark of a great story.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              The Wednesday Wars by Gary D. Schmidt: Dude. Hilarious and touching, and it made me go read some Shakespeare. I’ve done Shakespeare before while i wa still in regular school (Enrichment every Wednesday, baby!) but I never really read the plays in their original play form. I read the cartoons. Yes, I know, a crime– especially after this books showed me how cool the actual plays were. Plus it taught me some history, too, because the story takes place in the sixties. The poor sister, too! I must say, I’m guilty– if i lived in that time I’d probably have been a flower child too. And my dad would not have appreciated that, although I think he’d have been nicer than Mr. Hoodhood. Also, I went on youtube and listened to Eleanor Rigby after reading this. I like it. Holling (the main character, a sevenh grader) is funny and cool and his class reminds me of my own (well, my old one from last year, my own seventh grade year). It was a great read becuase there was more than one emotion, and it moved along well, never got boring.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              The Other Side of the Island by Allegra Goodman: A chilling vision of the future…. it’s creepy becuase i can see it happening. ‘Earth Mother’ playing on people’s environmental fears, trying to seal the earth over so she can control the weather, trying to make everything neat and orderly and… oooooh. It’s good. And freaky. But if it wasn’t creepy or freaky or plausible then it wouldn’t work. I mean, what was cool was that I thought, this might actually happen, with Earth Mother and the schools and the ocean overflowing and making the land into islands, most of it sinking underwater. Not that it’s a good thing, but it made the book seem so real. Plus Honor (the main character) has an awesome name and she was interesting becuase you could see how she was starting relly believe the things they were teaching her at school, and how the stuff called Planet Safe (a chemical thing that’s in everything from food to launry detergent) was affecting her memory. Chilling, as I said before, but with a pretty good ending. Always kept me guessing, although one of my hunches proved to be right. But then they surprised me again, so it really kept things moving and me reading. When i told my mom about it, she even wanted to read it. In today’s world, it really strikes a chord becuase everyone’s flipping out about global warming and stuff.    

These are some great books. But you don’t have to take my word for it (little Reading Rainbow there): Read them yourself! Enjoy them! ‘Cause I know you will. They’re amazing and even if you hate reading I recommend them becuase they won’t bore you or try and teach you anything, you’ll just take so much more from them than you could ever take from… something else. The thing about books is that even though they’re stories, and a lot of them are fiction and they don’t try to teach you anything, you still learn from them. They change you. As someone once said (I forget who): ‘You never came out the way you came in.’ It’s true.