Conformation and a Bow to the KING of Modern Fiction

I am a pretty avid reader.

I average about a book a week--a habit that was only perpetuated in undergrad where I basically had to  read a novel a week, if not more. To me there's no better way to end the day or pass time that would otherwise be wasted in other pursuits--which has gotten me in trouble in the past. In grade and high school, I used to put a book inside my text book, lean back in my chair and pretend I was intently listening to my teacher lecture or reading the latest chapter in Spanish class. In reality, I was miles away, totally engrossed in whatever story I happened to be reading at the moment. I almost consistently had books taken away from me--the one I remember quite clearly was The Diary of Anne Frank during Spanish class in 8th grade.I argued with Senora for 15 minutes, explaining that no, I could not translate the verbs she had just explained to the class but I could summarize the daily life of the Frank family in Poland.

She didn't find it funny.

 I didn't get my book back for a week.

All this to say, I read quite a bit. I always carry a book with me (and a notebook of course) and try to squeeze in as much reading time as I can a day. I usually have a book or two "waiting in the wings" for me to pick up as soon as I finish one. But imagine my surprise when I finished Tim O'Brien's Tomcat in Love (which if you haven't read O'Brien please do! He is AMAZING and the writer I want to be.He has a pretty large portfolio but I'd start with If I Die in a Combat Zone, his memoir on Vietnam.) and had no "wingman" the next day. I felt lost and utterly perplexed.

Lucky for me, my best friend has the same mentality with reading and we pretty consistently trade books back and forth--because we trust each others judgement and know we will get the borrowed books back once finished (I do not trust people with my library). On my way home from work, I dropped by her house to drop off a few things and she handed me a stack of four books to read. I was almost giddy and couldn't wait to get home to start. "Oh wait! There's one more," she told me and ran upstairs. She came back down and handed me Stephen King's On Writing, A Memoir of the Craft.  I followed this with a look of "Really?"


Ok two things;
As a writer, I think it is the most egotistical thing for a writer to write a book on writing. Like come on now! Is your head the size of a watermelon or something? Are you that perfect to think you can actually teach someone, something that is unteachable? No one can teach someone to write--it is a craft, like a predisposition to music or languages. Someone who has never written a thing in their life cannot wake up one day and say "Today I will write the next Great American Novel," just because they happened to pick your book up. It doesn't happen! I truly believe people are born knowing they will be a writer--trust me, I've known since the age of 5. Writing is not like medicine, where you can memorize answers out of a textbook and then perform brain surgery. Instructional books are bull shit and are obviously geared towards non-writers--because writers would never waste their money on them.

And secondly, I avoid Stephen King like the plague. Horror is not my thing. Gore, blood and serial killers? No thanks. Not to mention that the majority of his book-turned movies scared the shit out of me when I was little. Case in point:

I can barely look at this picture!

If you don't know, the above is Pennywise the Clown from Stephen King's IT. I saw IT for the first time when I was 9 years old and as a result, didn't sleep for weeks and stayed away from drainage grates. This one movie turned me off from the genre in its entirety. Haven't seen a horror movie since. And don't get me wrong, some of King's work I do like--like Stand By Me and Shawshank Redemption. Loved them! Have I read the print versions? No, because I was scared away at the age of 9. The movie adaptations were enough and my memory is still assualted by those images of horror. Truly, I'd rather not give King a dime of my money. Without reading his work, I pretty much believe he was a hack, one-trick pony who had no literary clout. In my eyes, Stephen King was not a good writer.

So when she handed me his memoir, I was secretly planning on never reading it. "Seriously Penny, it's one of the best books I picked up. It made me want to write!" She's never steered me wrong in the past--she turned me on to The Hunger Games and Geraldine Brooks and they were complete home runs. So I took it, deciding to read it first--but  if it sucked in 5 pages, I'd return it the next day.

Welp.

I stand corrected.

 And I apologize to you, Mr. Stephen King.

Within those aforementioned 5 pages, I was completely hooked and understood what the hype was about--Stephen King is a damn good writer!

Seriously, On Writing is probably one of the best books I have read in a very long time. It should be a prerequisite for all writers--a bible even! Part memoir, part instructional (which is actually pretty funny because he flat out says the instructional part is bullshit and he's just regurgitating the standard stuff because he has to, not because any it actually adheres to true writers. All writers have their own mannerisms, tricks and techniques when it comes to writing. No technique are the same and will work for everyone), he talks about his life in writing and how he got to where he is now. It was inspiring to read about his past and see that his insane passion for writing kept him going, even when things were really bad. I had a preconceived notion on him--that he had it easy, broke into the "biz" overnight at a young age and it's been nothing but rainbows and unicorns since. In reality he struggled for the majority of his life. He came from a broken home, his mother moved him and his brother from relative to relative looking for work. But from a young age, his mother was his biggest supporter and champion in the field (except when she suggested he get a teachers certification just in case "this writing thing" doesn't work out. Which I can definitely relate to). He went to college, met his wife (who, shockingly, he is still married to) and worked menial jobs just to put food on the table. He was broke and living in a trailer with a wife and two kids for the majority of his 20's. He was a college grad but worked in an industrial laundromat or cleaned high school locker rooms for years--this is actually where he got much of his inspiration. But he never stopped writing and dreaming big. His first big break, Carrie, came from cleaning a girls locker room one day. He went home and wrote an entire first draft, but thought it was shit so crumpled it up and threw it away. Lucky for him that his wife saw it when emptying the trashcans, read it and pushed him to finish it. Can you imagine if she hadn't? Images of blood soaked prom queens would never haunt high school gymnasiums!

Truly amazing when you think about it!

After this, he dives right into the fact that reading his book will not make you a writer, to actually stop reading if that's what you intend. Freaking brilliant! Most books I have read (for school of course) use all this flowery language, call themselves experts in the craft of tutoring young authors, and try to "encourage all to write." King doesn't do that. He doesn't claim to be a master of the craft. He is not God--although some would disagree. He cannot make a miracle happen out of nothing. HE CANNOT MAKE YOU A WRITER. As I have already stated and King agrees, writers are not made out of the blue. It is a talent you need to be born with. Sure, all writers need polish and will get a lot out of writers groups, but sitting down and trying to teach someone who has never written is impossible. Give up! It won't happen if it already hasn't! A writer knows they are a writer because they actually write.

Perfect example.
My junior year of college, I took a Creative Non-fiction class. The majority of my classmates were "majors" as we liked to call it--English or creative writing affiliated. But this class was considered a humanities course so anyone could take it. We had a sprinkling of communication and business majors who could in fact write. But then there was one girl--I believe she was a Biology major--who should've dropped the course from day one. This class encompassed a lot of writing obviously, and it was about topics that were personal and needed to be told--Creative NonFiction is the truth, turned up. Every week we had a writing assignment--basically a theme that we had to cover in our writing--and once completed we had to bring copies to the class and pass them out in a small group to be peer edited.Pretty standard in a writing course. This girl was in my editing group a few times and when I say she couldn't write, she couldn't write. Not even a paragraph. There was no style, no story, no writing dynamics. Her "stories" consisted of a mish-mash of thoughts that were pointless. I remember reading them and thinking "How the hell can I critique this? I have to basically tell her how to write a paragraph." It was bad. The edits I handed back were full of the "red marks of death", and I really couldn't look at her while discussing her "writing." And if you don't believe me, one of my followers can attest to this--I remember him turning to me and saying, "Thanks for warning me about that one," after she was in his group for one session.

Obviously this girl thought because she excelled in one aspect of academics, she could succeed in everything. "A stupid writing class will be a breeze." No, not the case.Writing is actual work and not everyone can do it.

This girl had no business writing or being in that class.Harsh, yes. Truth? Yes.

King also says that most writers know they should write when they read something and think "I could've written this better." It takes being able to see flaws and knowing how they should have been corrected. He did this frequently as a child. He was a huge fan of sci-fi and horror obviously, but the majority of prints out there were seedy and not written to par. So, he'd take the stories, rewrite them and sell them to friends at school. It's actually a great writing tip and helps build skill.

Case in point:
Twilight.

Stephenie Meyer's phenomenon that set young girls flocking to stores and dreaming about vampires. It has sold millions of copies worldwide and has successfully dawned 4 (soon to be 5) blockbuster movies.

Twilight is the biggest piece of shit fiction that has graced the shelves of bookstores in recent years. I'm sorry but it's the truth and anyone who wants to argue with me about its validity will be talking to deaf ears. I truly shutter at the fact that its a New York Times BestSeller, simply because it shows the degradation of our society. Young readers couldn't see a bad book if it slapped them in the face, especially if it involves a dreamy male lead. I'll admit I have read all 4 books--which was pretty painful, especially with the 4th one. I truly tried to see the merit in it, especially since it was written by a female in a heavily male-dominated genre. But shit is shit, no matter how you dress it.

Meyers had a good story--original, no, but good. We've seen it how many times; a pair of star-crossed lovers faced with adversity as result of their love. But even comparing Twilight to Romeo and Juliet or Wuthering Heights (which Meyers does in Twilight) is a travesty. Shakespeare is probably rolling in his grave. Where Meyers fell short is her story-telling. All fiction follows a certain pattern--problem is introduced, characters go through trial and adversity, a climax of action occurs where everything comes to a head in a spectacular scene, the problem resolves, story ends. Pretty simple. Meyers started her story out fine, she built up her conflict in the normal matter and even brings the story to a climax. But just when you expect a huge altercation, the story flat lines. The reader expects something huge to happen because of how it is built up, only to turn the page and see that everything very neatly resolves itself in one sentence. She did this in each book and left me scratching my head.

And please, its pretty obvious the woman can't write a love scene. She is a Mormon after all.

If you disagree, follow the link below to see what Stephen King thinks about Ms. Stephenie Meyers.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zb72V_4N5ko&feature=results_main&playnext=1&list=PL9F56C22AEECD5E6E

It's actually hilarious to think Twi-hearts actually accuse Stephen King of being jealous of Twilight. HILARIOUS!

Back to writing now....

King also says that you should never write with the industry or a mass public response in mind. It will blurr your vision and take away from the story. Never ever write because you want to be on the Bestseller list. Honestly it probably will never happen. Write for one person--an Ideal Reader, or IR as he calls it. This IR is the one person in your life who you want to impress at all costs. You write with them in mind--jokes you write are meant to make that person laugh, mysteries are supposed to stump them.Everything you do is for their enjoyment. You write simply to see the look on their face once they have placed the manuscript down.Their opinions of your writing is the only thing that matters. For King, his IR is his wife Tabatha. She is the first person to read every story he has written and her opinion is the only one that matters. He talks about how he likes to sneak peeks at her while she is reading one of his manuscript, just to see her reaction. If she doesn't laugh or gasp at certain moments, he knows it's back to the drawing board. According to King, your spouse or someone you love is the best IR as you know an unbiased opinion is on the way.

Ideal Readers are important to all writers. I know who mine is, but I highly doubt they know....

Wrapping this up here, don't worry.

Seriously, if you want a good read pick up Stephen King's On Writing. You won't be disappointed. It has inspired me to write, once again. And to pick up a few of King's other novels.

Just not IT .

Best MOH Speech

 My older sister got married over the summer, and as tradition states, the Maid of Honor must give a speech at the reception. This honor fell on me. Naturally, being a writer, I had written the whole thing in my head 6 months prior to her big day. I will admit, there wasn't a dry eye in the hall.

            

When you grow up in a house with five women and you have a father like Bob S******, it’s no surprise that you have extremely unrealistic expectations about men. You expect the fairy tale—the complete perfection of romance and selflessness of your partner that we all avidly watched as little girls. You believe “one day my prince will come”, that he will not only be gorgeous and sweep you off your feet with only one sentence uttered, but that he can also slay any dragon with a simple swing of his sword, and for the more time appropriate, wake up at 4am during a blizzard to dig his daughter’s and wife’s 5 cars out of 2 feet of snow so they will get to work or school safely the next day—thanks for that Daddy. He is perfect in every way, and it’s only a matter of finding him. Naturally, this is the home that my big sister grew up in.

  

 Meg has had a lot of “princes” in her day—she started slow with a few school girl crushes. Joey McIntyre from New Kids on the block is the first obsession I remember. She had the sheets, a doll, a life-sized wooden cut out that hung by her bed. She watched their cartoon every Saturday morning and their cassette was on a constant rewind. Little girls grow up eventually and we started hearing more about some of the boys she went to grade school with—who I guarantee my dad still remembers their names. Then she hit her teens and she swore she finally found her prince and it was only a matter of time before he drove to Philadelphia and met her. Bridget and Lauren Michalik can probably guess who I’m talking about. She taped every appearance of his on TV. Bought every magazine he graced the cover of. Plastered her bedroom walls with his picture. Tried to get tickets for every concert in the area. She even started signing her name, “Mrs. Megan Timberlake”. I think we were all a little worried about her for a few years there because she swore to the high heavens he would be hers. And no one could convince her of anything different

As you can see this is not that wedding. And luckily for her and us, she met Bob.

  

 I wished and hoped for a long time that my big sister would find happiness and love in the real world. It’s really been my biggest hope since I was a little girl. And it finally happened.

I was away at college when I got a frantic call from Megan. It was early in the morning and I’m pretty sure she woke me up. I wanted to be angry but the first thing she said to me was “I met someone”. She started telling me about this guy named Bob Sinclair, who she had known for awhile and she described as “tall with red hair and looked like a leprechaun.” Naturally, my first thought was looking like a leprechaun is not a good thing. But then she started telling me the reason why she called. The night before she was getting ready for bed after hanging out with her friends and Bob, when her phone got a text. It was after 2 am so she was a bit confused when she read the text “is yours’ the house with the big red door.” A little freaked out she responded yes. An answer came and it said “come to the door.”  

 “So I went downstairs and opened the door,” she told me, "and it was Bob. He kissed me right there. It was like a fairy tale”. The minute she said that little phrase, I knew this was the real deal.

And I guess the rest is history! 

 I am nothing but happy and overjoyed for my big sister and welcoming Bob into our family. When I was 9 years old, I asked Santa for a baby brother—so I guess I’m just getting an early Christmas present, 16 years late. I know you will make her happy, Bob. I can tell just by the way you look at her, and laugh at her. Meg, I love you with all my heart. I am honored to have been a part of today and of the beginning of your life together. Always remember what Mommy has told us--that no matter what happens in life, no matter where we go, everything started in our house. We will be as close as we are today, 50 years from now simply because we are sisters. I wish you both a lifetime of joy and to have a marriage like the fairy tales. I wish you as many happy endings as you can stomach and a marriage like our parents. 

To Megan and Bob.

An Optimistic View on New Beginnings

So I have successfully navigated my first week in the publishing field. 5 days of editing, proofing and reading until my brain hurts. Really pretty intense to tell you the truth. I've basically had to learn a new language in a matter of days--if any of you have used AMA style on a weekly basis, or at all, seriously God bless you. I have a new found respect for doctors, nurses, anyone really in the medical field. Seriously, there is a book the size and weight of my head (it has to be over a 1000 pages long) that states all the rules, usages, common mistakes, numerical rules, citations, commonly used acronyms (etc., etc., etc) that I basically have to memorize and adhere to. Trust me,  I've editing and proof read articles before, but with this style there is a whole new way of doing it--4 pages of the 1000 list just the symbols to use in editing. Then there are words like disease modyifying antirhuematic drugs (commonly known as DMARD), treatment pathways, lipids and Bosytinid Efficacy and safety in Chronic Myeloid Luekemia ( BELA) that are now common in my vernacular.

If its not obvious, I have absolutely no fucking clue what any of that means!

It may as well be Japanese. And trust me, if some of these words are spelled wrong, I wouldn't be able to tell you. On the flip side, I'm supposed to know when these words are spelled wrong! Oh the irony! Literally, I went in for my first day, was handed a manuscript and told to "Go to Town". Well....not really. They kind of just handed me the edit sheet, told me I was coming at the worst possible time of the month, they were behind on deadline and didn't have much time to formerly train me.

Yes....a bit nerve-wracking.

 I guess most would run away screaming, but I saw it as a challenge. And I'm not one to ever back down to a challenge. I sat down at my desk with the edits and went to work. I guess I did okay since they just kept handing more to do. In reality, I felt like a chicken with my head cut off--wobbling this way and that, grasping onto the ground for dear life. Yeah, I was scared.

5 o'clock couldn't have come fast enough that first day. Had a splitting headache from all the information I had absorbed and my eyes were starting to go crossed. But, I'm not complaining. I realize with all new jobs, there's always a lot to get used to. Here's a short list I've made for myself.

My Co-Workers
I'm used to a pretty large, rambunctious, loud and hilarious team of co-workers. We laughed all day long and helped each other get through the day. Now, I am exactly 1 of 6 in the editorial department (1 of about 40 in the entire firm). I am one of 3 editors, 1 proofreader and a layout coordinator. My desk is located in what is known as "Quadrant 4". I'm not quite sure what it means, but hey I'll go along with it.

I am without a doubt the youngest working employee. My first two days, people kept asking me if I was someone's daughter, shadowing for the day. "No, no, no. I work here. Yep. I'm on payroll. I'm actually 25." There is at least a 10-year age gap between me and the other youngest person. This being said, it's definitely a different dynamic. There's laughing and joking around, sure, but it's a lot more serious. And quiet. Very quiet.

The Editorial Director, my boss, is a character to herself. She's in her late 50's, middle height and has a very strong European accent. I say European because I haven't quite placed it yet. Definitely not England or the British Isles. Could be French. Possibly Italian. Maybe Eastern European. Let's just say it's foreign, thick and hard to grasp at times. During my initial interview, I sat--as she spoke--and all I could think about was figuring out where the heck she was from. Literally had to refocus myself a few times when she asked direct questions. On my third day, she mentioned to one of the other editors that she was going "home" over the summer and started to mention where that was, but naturally the heating system turned on at the same time and I completely missed it. Damn heat! More investigation to follow--I will report back!

My other co-workers have different accents. Being of the New Yorkian breed. Which makes sense as my job is pretty close to the "Big Apple." Don't get me wrong, I have a pretty thick Philadelphia accent (or so I've been told), but its funny for me to hear it. The differing pronunciation of vowels is the most prominent. If I'm there for long term, I may just pick up a few things!

I'm still trying to feel out if my new team actually likes me. I'm not sure about one woman--I can't tell if she hates me or is just pissed because she quit smoking a few weeks ago. Really could be either! We shall see.

The Bathrooms
Our offices are located in a renovated grade-school from the 1950's. Our offices are on the second floor and we share gender-specific bathrooms with the other inhabitants of the building. As I was given my tour of the building on my first day, I was shown the bathroom and also handed a key--that I would need to get inside.

Does that sound strange to anyone? Needing a key to get into a bathroom in an office building? Feels kind of like a gas station--where you had to ask the dirty attendant inside for a key to the nastiest hole in hell because you can't hold it any longer and you'd rather not go in the woods. Except this one is pink, has fake flowers on the sink and "Call Tina for a good time" isn't etched into the stall walls.

Also kind of need to trust that everyone who uses the key, washes their hands after "doing their business." Or begs the question, "Where do you put the key?" Hopefully the other "users" are leaving the key on the sink, as I am doing, and not taking it into the stall with them.

On the topic of washing your hands; I'm still trying to un-train my memory from the past.The bathrooms at my old job had sensorized faucets.After lathering up, all you had to do was position your hands under the faucet and the sensor would trigger the water to start running. Most public bathrooms have them these days.

Well, my current employer does not.

And I have yet to remember that.

All last week I stood at the faucet, placed my hands under the faucet and waited for the water to pour. When nothing happened, I pulled my hands in and out, even banged on the faucet to make it start. Then I looked down to the water knobs and felt like a complete ass. There was not sensor! Seriously did it all week and have left the bathroom feeling like a complete fool.

Goal for next week: Think before the Rinse.

Driving
I undoubtedly agreed to a hell-of-a commute to work.It's about a 45 to 1 hour drive each way. 5 days a week.On the New Jersey Turnpike. Gas prices and tolls are going to kill me, this I realize.

For me, the drive isn't too bad. It's actually kind of nice. Great time to to clear my head and listen to music (BTW- Any good music you can suggest will be appreciated. Stating to get tired of personal music catalog).

Ok, maybe I'm idealizing the drive. It's a bitch.Especially with traffic. And New Jersey drivers are really the worst (no offense to all New Jersians). Not to say I'm the best driver in the world either--I'd probably rate myself pretty poorly and I'd get lost in a paper-bag--but I've seen a lot of dumb shit the last few days. Like cutting people off, driving 20 miles an hour on the interstate, talking on the cell-phone, or--the worst--merging into traffic without even watching for other cars. Haven't had so many close calls with accidents in my entire driving past. My brakes are working overtime!


All in all, an okay start to my new career. It's been rough and I assuredly have a long road ahead of me. I just have to stop, breathe and realize that I cannot be perfect in 1 day. This new job will take awhile to get used to and master. But I know it will be worth it. Anything is better than my last job! Just going to keep my eyes bright and my attitude shining.