Quizzical

Anyone who has a Facebook account is probably familiar with those “quizzes” that clog timelines and cause users to waste time wondering if some assemblage of random questions can determine which state you are meant to live in, what era you were born in or belong in, or which celebrity you are destined to walk down the aisle with. And I’ll admit, I’ve taken one or two of them, out of pure curiosity, or simply to pass the time. It’s not like they mean, anything right?

Although, I did take one a little while ago… just for fun. To see which Game of Thrones dude I was most compatible with. I was sure I’d get stuck with a loser like Edmure, or a monster like Gregor, but then…

screenshot_2017-08-19-22-52-322071559275.pngBAM. Somehow, I got my favorite character. He’s my favorite for a reason, after all – and part of that reason is that he’s a fine specimen of a man. And thus, I began to wonder… maybe these quizzes do have some credibility to them? I mean… I’m not too crazy about living in the House of Black and White, because that wall of faces creeps me out a little, but Braavos is stunning!

But the questions on this quiz did genuinely seem to be totally random, with nonsensical questions apparently unrelated to the result – and I was sure it would only feature the major characters, like Jon, Robb, Jaime, Bran, etc, but I managed to get a minor/secondary character who is also my fave. What are the odds? Maybe these quizzes do mean something? Maybe there’s a method to their randomness?

screenshot_2018-05-05-19-31-281889245122.pngI took another one recently, just for kicks, about favorite movie genres. And I thought I’d have the quiz stumped, because my palette for film-watching is very broad. How can this paltry, insignificant Facebook quiz know my favorite film genre when I’m not even 100% sure what it is?

Well… I’m not sure how… but it can.

Not only was it able to peg my love for drama films, but it picked my favorite film of 2017 and another film that I loved. HOW COULD THEY TELL? I mean, these quizzes ask silly questions, like showing a picture of four different pieces of cake and asking you to select just one, or asking what your favorite way to spend a rainy afternoon is. How can it determine anything of substance from such seemingly inconsequential questions?

Results like these make me ponder if maybe – just maybe – these quizzes do mean something. Maybe the universe is channeling it’s energy through these Facebook quizzes…telling us who we are as people. Who we are MEANT to be. What path we are meant to follow.

And then, I took a “Which Avenger are you quiz?” and…

screenshot_2018-05-06-17-13-28530251116.png

Yeah… outgoing? Charismatic? Humorous? POSITIVE? Please… I am nothing like Thor. I mean, in my dreams, maybe. I haven’t got an ounce of Pirate/Angel in me! I’m closer to Loki than Thor, by far.

Now I know these quizzes are full of shit.

~~~~~

If you’re in need of a new read, check out my YA novel, I’m With You! The ebook is only $1.99 or (£1.55) and paperback is $9.99 (£7.99) on Amazon Amazon UK.  Nook book is also $1.99 and paperback is $9.99 on BN.com.

Advertisements

Run, Birdy, Run!

There are thousands of mysteries – riddles with no easily discernible answers – that have plagued humanity for centuries. The origin of Stonehenge. The true identity of Jack the Ripper. How many licks it takes to get to the Tootsie-roll center of a Tootsie Pop.

But one of these conundrums has been on my mind for a while, and that is the eternal question of: Why do birds run?

Seriously. I find this absolutely mind-boggling. I wish I could communicate with birds, if only to ask them why they sprint across the street or through grass on their stick-thin, spindly little legs. First of all, they look absurd when they’re doing it. Second of all, THEY HAVE WINGS.

There are exceptions, of course. Ostriches. Emus. Sandpipers. Any bird that’s flightless. This question is predominantly aimed toward smaller strains and common species, birds that can be easily found in your backyard. Birds that terrorize cars with their poo – though that’s not really something they can help, since they lack muscularly functional sphincters.

Countless times, I have been driving down the road only to see a tiny bird, be it a robin or a finch or a sparrow, darting across the street instead of flying. Just this morning, I had to slow down to let a bird cross the road in my neighborhood, and it scuttled along the entire way… then, once across, it took flight and vanished into a copse of trees. A pigeon and a dove have (at separate times) smacked into my windshield, scaring the living daylights out of me and possibly suffering great injury, which could have been avoided if they used their wings and FLEW OUT OF THE WAY.

And to this, I have only one question: WHYYYY????? My mind is boggled. BOGGLED.

I don’t mean to shame birds for this, of course. I think birds are great, even if I don’t understand why they put themselves at risk by scurrying along pavement rather than lifting off with their wings.

I mean, maybe this phenomenon is because they have brains the size of peanuts, so their first instinct isn’t to fly. Or maybe they admire other animals, and want to emulate them, so they use their tiny legs instead of wings. Maybe they want to look for worms along the way, and that’s an activity that is easier to do  from the ground as opposed to the air. Maybe they’re training for a marathon. Maybe we will never have an answer to this enduring mystery. And maybe there is a lesson to be learned here, too.

Don’t let fear ground you. Why run, when you can fly?

~~~~~

If you’re in need of a new read, check out my YA novel, I’m With You! The ebook is only $1.99 or (£1.55) and paperback is $9.99 (£7.99) on Amazon Amazon UK.  Nook book is also $1.99 and paperback is $9.99 on BN.com.

The Middle

Recently, the mid-twenties doldrums have been bogging me down. I feel as though I am not where I need to be, but I lack the courage and confidence to get myself there. But those thoughts of “Get it together!” get drowned out by fear of failure and doubt in my abilities, a dark cloud consuming every spot of brightness I try and scrounge up.

But sometimes, the perfect song comes on the radio at the perfect time. This week, it was Jimmy Eat World’s anthem The Middle, which goes:

Hey, don’t write yourself off yet,
It’s only in your head you feel left out or looked down on.
Just try your best,
Try everything you can,
And don’t you worry what they tell themselves when you’re away.
It just takes some time,
Little girl, you’re in the middle of the ride,
Everything, everything will be just fine,
Everything, everything will be all right…

This song came on as I was driving home after a difficult day, and I heard it three more times over the course of the week. And it just… made me feel better each time I heard it. Like being stuck in the middle isn’t the worst fate, or even something to be distraught over, because it doesn’t have to be permanent. There is a way out, a lantern to guide your path, no matter how rough or dark a road seems, and it might just take some time until everything is all right. Cliche or not, I think that message rings true.

I think, sometimes, the universe knows what we need to hear, and we need to take it to heart – especially if we hear the same message four times in one week. Or, maybe the local radio stations lack variety, because they also played “Eye of the Tiger” three times this week…or maybe, the message I was meant to receive this week is dual-layered.

It’s okay to be stuck in the middle, but you must have the eye of the tiger to stand up to the challenge of climbing out, and everything will be all right.

…Or something like that, perhaps.

~~~~~

If you’re in need of a new read, check out my YA novel, I’m With You! The ebook is only $1.99 or (£1.55) and paperback is $9.99 (£7.99) on Amazon Amazon UK.  Nook book is also $1.99 and paperback is $9.99 on BN.com.

The Spark

I’ve mentioned this in previous posts, but I generally attribute my love and appreciation for film to my decision to minor in film during my college years, since I got to experience a broad spectrum of different genres and styles from a multitude of different directors and eras.

Prior to that, I didn’t go to the movies all that much – at least, not as often as I would have liked. Now, I try to go once a week or every couple of weeks, and sometimes I go three times in one week, it all depends on what’s showing at the two theaters in my tiny backwoods town. I also get my friends saying things like, “Please tell me you didn’t go to see Pete’s Dragon by yourself,” like it’s a bad thing to take in a 10AM Saturday show solo to enjoy a nice Disney flick with some gummy bears.

But there is one film that I consider to be my “aha!” moment – the one that opened my eyes to how beautiful, compelling, and powerful cinema can be. And that film is Chris Nolan’s 2008 genre-breaking superhero flick, The Dark Knight.

MV5BMTMxNTMwODM0NF5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwODAyMTk2Mw@@._V1_UX182_CR0,0,182,268_AL_This was before the days of assigned (and reclining) movie theater seating, so my parents and my best friend and I showed up an hour early in order to ensure we got the best seats in the house. As a massive Batman fan, I was psyched to see the Caped Crusader take on the newest iteration of his arch-nemesis, the menacing Joker. As the film unfurled onscreen, I was totally blown away. The music, Heath Ledger’s unforgettable performance, and the more grounded version of Gotham and Batman that Nolan crafted quickly became one of my all-time favorites, and I left the theater already yearning to see it again… which I did. Twice more, including a one hour trip to see it in IMAX with my dad. To this day, I have a huge movie poster of the Joker hanging over my bed; the first film poster I ever bought for myself. Now, many others have joined the ranks. I will still see any film that Christian Bale is in, regardless of ratings, will always spy a bit of Commissioner Gordon in any Gary Oldman performance, and will forever contend that The Dark Knight was robbed of a Best Picture nom at the Oscars.

As such, I consider The Dark Knight to be “the spark” that ignited my adoration of the cinema, the first film that made me think about how movies work and how all the parts come together to make one solid, functional piece of art capable of wowing and moving audiences. It opened the door to a whole new world, for me – and it didn’t even require a death-defying magic carpet ride to get there. Sure, I loved other movies before that, but The Dark Knight is special for me, and it always will be. Now, I’m one of those obnoxious people who love to talk about mise-en-scene and cinema verite and the male gaze and all that jazz, and I have a comic book movie to thank for that.

If any one else reading this has had a similar experience, what was your “spark?”

Allergies

Friday evening, I worked until 7PM and decided to do some grocery shopping on my way home from work, so I wouldn’t have to contend with weekend crowds. I generally loathe grocery shopping, so I ensure I get in and out as soon as possible. The whole “scan it” and bag your own stuff revolution is a marvelous thing.

In total, I had about re-usable five bags full of food and a jug of milk. I wheeled my cart back to the vestibule and weighed my options. I could take the cart out to my car, or I could risk it and carry all my bags with my spindly noodle arms. I think you can discern what choice I made, because I imagine myself to be a moderately self-reliant person who can handle her own groceries. I don’t need a cart. Spoiler alert: I needed a cart.

So, I hooked two bags onto one arm, two onto the other, had the milk jug in one hand and the final bag in my other hand, and my purse over one shoulder. I was somewhat overburdened, but it was manageable. I just had to make the long trek across the parking lot as the setting sun cast an orange-gold glow over the land.

I made it across the crosswalk just fine, and then they struck. The dreaded allergies.

Pennsylvania has had a temperamental spring thus far, as we can’t seem to shake the last remnants of winter. But the last couple of days have been practically balmy compared to some. One might say that spring has sprung. I was fine all day on Friday, but as I was journeying to my car, arms laden with bags of sustenance, my eyes began to water and my nose started to run.

And this wasn’t just a couple of tears and a sniffle or two. It was a full-on assault, both nasal and optical. I also am one of those people who park their car far away from everyone else because I can’t stand the way people drive in parking lots, so my little Nissan was WAY out in the distance. I have never hated my parking habits more than in that moment.

I couldn’t back out, or slow down. My eyes grew so blurry with tears behind my glasses they started coursing down my face. My nose was running so badly I could barely breathe. My arms were weighed down with bags, milk, and my purse, and I don’t exactly give the impression that I am the pinnacle of strength. I am sure, to the strangers who witnessed this event, I looked like I was having a public breakdown on a Friday night in a grocery store parking lot with my weak, struggling arms full of bags. Quite a picture.

When I finally made it to my car, I slammed the milk down on my trunk, dug my keys out of my purse, propped my bags against the side of my car and threw open my driver’s side door and scrambled for my tissues. It took me two minutes to get myself under control, eyes red and stinging and nose stuffy, then I packed up my bags and thankfully remembered to retrieve my milk from the trunk. With a deep breath, I drove off, and made it home without another strike from the dreaded allergies.

But, while this was happening to me, my parents were at a child’s birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese. So, I suppose, it could always be worse.

~~~~~

If you’re in need of a new read, check out my YA novel, I’m With You! The ebook is only $1.99 or (£1.55) and paperback is $9.99 (£7.99) on Amazon Amazon UK.  Nook book is also $1.99 and paperback is $9.99 on BN.com.

Forking Irrational

Lots of folks have irrational fears. I have a few myself. Jewelry, car washes (I have been making strides against this one, however), mascots, and things with holes in them (not as severe as most who share this fear, thankfully).

But what about irrational anger? Or hatred? I mean, at some point in life, I’m sure almost everyone is guilty of being irrationally angry about some scenario or comment or interaction, or someone feels irrational, inexplicable hatred toward some being or item.

Me? I have an irrational hatred toward forks. Three-pronged forks, to be exact.

Three prongs simply are not enough. I must have four prongs on my forks. I’m not so anal about it that I specifically request four-pronged forks when I go to restaurants, but if it is within my power to procure a fork with four prongs as opposed to one with three, I will do so.

If I could eliminate three-pronged forks from the universe, I absolutely would, no question. I do not care about any potential detriment to etiquette their extinction would cause, three-pronged forks are an abomination and deserve to be destroyed.

Where did this irrational hatred come from? No clue. But the sight of three-pronged forks fills me with intense, fiery hatred. They are the most inferior members of the fork family, of that I will never be dissuaded. In fact, they might even be the lowliest of all utensils… or perhaps that is reserved for the spork.

And, since it’s not causing harm to anyone, I have more or less accepted the fact that, although this particular hatred is 100% forking irrational, there’s nothing wrong with it, and so I shall continue my fork hating ways undeterred.

~~~~~

If you’re in need of a new read, check out my YA novel, I’m With You! The ebook is only $1.99 or (£1.55) and paperback is $9.99 (£7.99) on Amazon Amazon UK.  Nook book is also $1.99 and paperback is $9.99 on BN.com.

 

Writing Techniques: Out of Order

It’s almost safe to say that no writer writes exactly the same way – it’s a unique process for most. Some folks must have absolute silence, some prefer total isolation, others can be productive in a busy coffee shop whilst other patrons are slurping lattes and chatting with friends. It’s all up to the writer.

And how a person writes vastly differs as well.

When I was writing I’m With You, I wrote the first draft entirely in order until around chapters 13-15 range (can’t remember the specific chapter), then I got stuck. I tried to slog through it, but couldn’t figure out exactly how to puzzle out that segment, so I just moved on to what became chapters 17-19. I had a better idea of where I wanted that portion of the store to go and what I hoped to achieve with it, since it’s a fairly contained section of the narrative. Thus, it was easier for me to draft.

I used to think I had to write in a strictly linear pattern – point A to point B to point C and so on – so when I hit a roadblock, I’d just… stop. Several bouts of frustration and stress later, I’d manage to get momentum going again, but it didn’t occur to me until around my college years that I could write out of order. I could go from point A to point J if I wanted. It doesn’t matter, so long as you can seamlessly link the parts together after they’re all done.

That realization – though simple for some, it was a groundbreaking revelation for me – actually first came to me while writing essays for college. English majors have to write a lot of essays. A crap ton, one might say. And the bane of many college writers is the intro paragraph, which contains the dreaded thesis statement. I used to sit and stare at my computer for ages, trying to think of a compelling intro with a powerful hook, as the cursor blinked mockingly at me from an empty document. To be fair, I’ve encountered many other students and writers who also thought that you had to do the intro first. How else would you know what to write, if you haven’t yet set it up?

I learned, by my senior year, that, as long as I had at least some idea of what I was going to write about, I could just skip the intro, write out the rest of my essay, and then hope motivation and momentum carry me enough to pump out an intro by the time the rest of it is done. Or, if sudden inspiration happened to strike, I could go back and write it out at any point. There are no rules dictating the order in which you write an essay, or a narrative, or any piece of creative work.

By my last couple of semesters, my drafts starting looking like this:

487009_4395092474564_234789100_n

For the record, I do still believe that intro paragraphs can die in a hole. As you can see, the start of this draft is ugly, my thesis ends with “something something something,” and I haven’t even got a title.

But here is the final version, which came together as I was writing the rest of the essay:

final scor.PNG

A bit wordy, but it gets the job done. Your thesis and intro can take shape during the development of the body paragraphs. A lot of the time, I would have no idea how to word my thesis, but I knew what I was trying to prove… and working through the meat of the essay helped me find the right words.

For my current MS, I got stuck on a particular chapter for months – but I didn’t dwell on it very long. I didn’t forget about it entirely, of course, but when I felt hopelessly stuck and had no idea what to write next, I just moved on and kept chugging away at the other sections of the story, the ones I did have a clear path for. Ultimately, I worked past the roadblock and got the chapter done. So, if your writing patterns and habits seem a little unorthodox, don’t let others tell you that your style is out of order. Sometimes, being out of order is exactly what a writer needs.

~~~

If you’re in need of a new read, check out my YA novel, I’m With You! The ebook is only $1.99 or (£1.55) and paperback is $9.99 (£7.99) on Amazon Amazon UK. Paperback is also $9.99 on BN.com.