Sunday, June 20, 2010

In Other News

Write everyday. It doesn't matter what or how useful it is, just write.


I mentioned a couple days ago, I'm doing a 365 challenge. Basically trying to write Something everyday. So far I'm on day... eeep, math... six, no, seven. So I was just giving a quick update. Some of it I may post on here, some I won't. Like stuff for my book, I probably won't post much. Also, I'm editing somethings that I won't post on here either.

Which reminds me, I could use someone to read over about ten pages of prose. It's contemporary fiction if anyone is interested in giving some honest feedback, I could really use it.

So that's what I'm up to, that's my little "update" on how The Challenge is going. I love random non-descriptive titles. Like in books and movies, when people want an ominous thing. "The Organization." "The Test." "The Center." Dundundun... haha! Okay I'm done now... The Ring... He will try to take the Ring. The Fat One wants it.... okay, really I'm done now.

PS Just figured out how to do delayed posts... LOVE

Friday, June 18, 2010

A Little Tolkienism


Many have thought about reading Lord of the Rings, some have tried, few have succeeded. I succeeded, but only once.
-Anonymous.... okay, me

It's no secret, I LOVE Tolkien. Now, I never read Lord of the Rings in school like some of the older generation did. Though, I did get to read Count of Monte Cristo which is still one of my favorite books. I was only a few pages into Fellowship of the Ring when the movie came out. In my defense, my dad stole it before I could read it, and I had just gotten it back. Translation: He bought it, I took it, and he stole it back... details. Regardless of it being before or after the movie, I was hooked. Since then I've read every Tolkien book I can get my hands on. One particular (not Middle Earth related) favorite being Farmer Giles of Ham. The year Fellowship came out- well, the year after since it came out in December- I read the the entire trilogy. It took some work, and some patience considering he spends a page describing a random tree which has no prevalence to the story. I'm just saying, it's not an important tree, not even an odd looking tree. It's just there. Back on topic, I enjoyed it thoroughly (minus the tree thing), and recommend everyone to read it because it's beautifully written. However, I never read it again. I tried, honestly I tried. The furthest I got was halfway through Two Towers, or to the end of "book three," if you've read it and know it was written in six parts. I'm sure I will someday get through the books again, but so far I haven't been able to.

All this to say, nothing I have read compares to the joy I get when I read The Hobbit. I absolutely love this book. It's charming, funny, suspenseful, mysterious, and a bag of chips (Bag of Chips sold separately). Most books, I'll read once, then never pick up again. Not because I didn't enjoy them, but because I don't forget what I read very easily. I remember the Little House books vividly, and I read them when I was five. The Hobbit, however, I have read three times and am currently reading a fourth time. Keep in mind these were each at least a year apart. I laugh every time I read his little descriptions.

"You would have laughed (from a safe distance), if you had seen the dwarves sitting up in the trees with their beard dangling down, like old gentlemen gone cracked and playing at being boys."
He just has this style about him, C.S. Lewis did it to, where he interrupts himself in the middle of the story. He speaks directly to the reader. This is something I've been told not to do, by many authors. They tell you never to bring the reader out of the story, but I just find it so charming. It has a feel of sitting with Tolkien, and just listening to him tell a story in front of the fire place on a cold night. In my mind, he sits in a dark green armchair, while I lay-with ankles crossed and chin in hands-on a soft rug. It's personable writing. Engaging writing. Writing that doesn't really exist anymore. Many writing nowadays is from a third party view with no personality. That's why I love to read The Hobbit or even The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. Though I've read them many, many times, it's refreshing to be able to read something that feels so personal. Like it was written for you. Personally, I think we could all use a little Tolkienism in our writing.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

I Wear a Turtle Necklace

Today, as part of my "write everyday" project, I wrote an essay I've been mulling over for awhile. It's a very personal essay, and I hope you enjoy it.



Some relationships shape you, some break you, and others define you. The change is invisible, and sometimes undetectable. Occasionally we can look back and see what has happened to us. Many times it takes some backtracking to figure out where the change happened. I remember when I first realized I had a problem with people touching my nails. It took me looking back thirteen years, past my mom trying to pain my nails, past friends playing with my fingers, until I remembered my piano teacher obsessing about the clicking of my nails on the keys. He clipped them himself, and I haven’t let people touch my nails since. It's silly, and I know it's silly.


We are each a collage of memories and events that have pieced together through the years to make a unique person. These memories and events are littered with people. There is no memory without a person in it, even if the only person is you.


I don’t like my nails touched, and I wear a turtle necklace.


I don’t remember the first time my dad told us the story of Flash and Pokey. I don’t remember him telling us any other stories, though I’m sure he did. Like the slide that seems so much bigger as a child, in my mind he sat with us after dinner every night to tell us a story. I know now it couldn’t have been anywhere near every night. He was rarely home for dinner. Those nights he was, he would pull my brother close to him, and we would beg him to tell us the story of Flash and Pokey. Sometimes he would feign annoyance, but he never said no.


It always started the same. Flash was the fastest in the whole ocean, he would tell us. Flash was a dolphin. Pokey, on the other hand was a poor little turtle who could never keep up. Flash was mean. Pokey never fought back. It may not be all that original of a story, sort of a “Tortoise and the Hare” in the ocean, but we listened with rapt ears every time. We felt for Pokey when the speedy dolphin would call him names. We rooted for him when Flash challenged him to a race. We shook our heads in disbelief, when Flash got distracted by his other dolphin friends doing flips and spins. We rolled our eyes when Flash left the racetrack to chase some fish for lunch. We were saddened when he would Zoom in front of Pokey, who never let up. Every time Flash would poke fun at Pokey (no pun intended), he would respond with a slow sure voice: “I may be slow, but I’m doing the best that I can.”


Flash could have won easily, we knew that, and sometimes he did. Sometimes he won at the last second as he heard the cheers go up for the turtle, who was almost to the finish line. Other times he was no where to be seen after the race. We cheered for Pokey when he won. We were angry at Flash when he won. It never mattered to Pokey. Win or loose, he always had the last word. He always answered the critiques and the praise with: “Well, I just did the best that I could.”


We could tell that story forwards and backwards. So much so, that he stopped telling it as we got older. We never forgot it, though. It impacted no one more than my brother. I didn’t know how much until we were celebrating his birthday one year. My brother, who has Cerebral Palsy, only has the use of one hand, but that never stopped him from playing video games with the boys. That year he was really into a wrestling game. He had his own character. He called himself Nathan the Ninja. He and the boys were going at it for hours. Sometimes he won. Well, usually he won. We were wrapping up the party when he lost the last round. I’ll never forget the look on his face. He has the biggest smile in the world, and tonight was no exception. He received a high five from his competitor, and said to all who were watching.


“Well, I didn’t win, but I just did the best that I could.”


My heart broke. I’m not a sentimental person, but my eyes filled up with tears. Why can’t I do that? I asked myself. Why do I give up when I can’t do as good as someone else? My whole life I had looked up to my other brother. He was, in my eyes, perfect. An athlete, a good student, a musical ear, and charismatic, I wished I could be like him my whole life. No matter how I practiced, I couldn’t play piano like him, and he didn’t even try. So I quit. We played the same sports, but he always got the trophies. So I quit. He had friends around him constantly. I followed him around, afraid of my own awkwardness. I gave up. I had stopped trying because I would never be as good as my brother. Until that night. I realized I was looking up at the wrong brother.


The next day I put on a turtle necklace. It wasn’t anything fancy. It wasn’t expensive. I think I bought it for five dollars. I kept that necklace with me everyday for two years. Sometimes I hung it from a belt loop. Sometimes I wore it. Once I even wrapped it around my ponytail. I cried the day it broke. It was silly, but I felt like I was betraying my brother when I put different necklace on a week later. My turtle hangs from my rearview mirror now, right next to my parking permit. When I’m in my car I hold the turtle, now missing its shell, in my hand, and hear my brother’s voice. He reminds me everyday. It doesn’t matter if I’m the best at something. It doesn’t matter if I ‘win.’ The real victory is knowing that I did the best that I could.


I don’t like my nails touched, and today I bought a new turtle necklace.


Nathan has shaped the way I think. He has broken my cycle of giving up. In no small way, he has defined who I am.

 
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