Category: writing

Listening to Characters

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I’ve read so many articles where writers described how their characters talked to them. How the characters led the story and made decisions of their own. And I thought it was so cool. I wanted that to happen. I wanted my characters to come alive and be something more than 2D ideas. But every time I wrote, it never happened. I realized later it was because I never got to know them enough to allow them to come alive.

As I wrote TNWSY, I had a general idea of how the book would start and end. I had a beginning fleshed out and finish line all of the characters were running towards. But as for the middle, there was just a bare skeleton guiding me. Sure, I had ideas of what would happen to get them from point a to point b, but never real concrete plans. I was scared, of course, that I wouldn’t figure it all out.

But as I approached an undecided part, I found scenes coming to me. Not always easily, but they came quickly and excitingly. My characters decided they didn’t want to stay at a party, instead they wanted to go out. They told me where they should go, they led the story. And it was absolutely amazing. Even my ending, the one I previously plotted, was changed. They thought it was too cheesy, of course.

After I finished, I went back and re-read it. Starting with the first chapter, I noticed how out of character some quotes were, how unauthentic. That’s how I realized my characters had voices. As soon as I realized that, I knew I was on the right track.

That’s not to say my story is perfect or even complete – even right now I’m finding new things to change and add. I’m just saying that, despite it never happening before, it is possible for characters to come alive. It’s amazing and crazy and, well, magical. They create stories of their own, and, as a writer, it’s our job to just catch up.

Writing a Book

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So, I wrote a book. Crazy, right? It’s something I’ve wanted to do for years. Years. I’m the kind of person who does everything to get what they want. If I want a new job, I do everything in my power to get one. (And, so far, it’s worked rather well.) If I want to get in shape, I work out regularly. (Okay, this usually only lasts for, like, two weeks…but I try!) Creative writing has been the only thing I’ve been…more reserved about. I’ve had a ton of nonfiction articles published (See: my last job), but fiction? Never. And it’s always been my goal. And year after year I’ve pushed it to the side, in fear of, well, failing.

But not doing anything essentially made me fail.

So this year I participated in National Novel Writing Month. I figured if I had a deadline, as well as other people working towards the same goal with me, I’d do it. I didn’t just think I could conquer it, I knew I could. And I think it was that insane determination that helped me through. Because 27 days later…I completed my first novel. All 51,000+ words.  Honestly? I’ve never been prouder. I actually cried as I typed the last sentence. CRIED.

But obviously, that’s not the end. Writing something in 27 days means it’s far from perfect. So that’s what I’m doing now – making this book perfect (or, manuscript perfect at least). I self-edited it once, checking the grammar and spelling and ensuring everything made sense (at least to me). After, I sent it to two friends who I knew would offer insightful critiques, as well as an unbiased reading.

And it was so scary. These girls are my friends, I know they’ll be kind, but the idea that someone else is reading my creative writing is absolutely frightening. Someone is meeting my characters, envisioning my plot. The work is officially not just mine anymore, it’s living in the minds of others.

What if they didn’t like it? What if it was bad?

So two nights ago, my friend Katie came over with a ton of critiques. She commented on what worked, and what didn’t. She corrected some more grammar and said I used certain words too much. (Which, I do.) The thing is – the comments didn’t hurt as I thought they would. Yes, she’s saying some parts weren’t great, but I took the critique and used it to better the draft. I didn’t take it to heart, instead I took it to the pen. Or the computer, moreso, because I knew if something didn’t work for her, it wouldn’t work for other readers. And I want other readers to see it. I want them to enjoy it. So even though it hurts to change my book, I know it’s for the best. So i’m doing that.

But on the plus side, she actually liked it. And I couldn’t stop smiling for days after hearing that.

The is a long way of saying that I’ve written a book. I’m going to be working on it a lot now, and eventually searching for literary agents to hopefully represent me, and it. I know it will be a long process. I know it will be a hard process, but I’m ready. I want to take my writing out into the world. I want people to meet my characters and see what they’re like. I want people to experience their lives.

And I’m going to do everything in my power to get this done.

An Idealistic Hope for Tomorrow

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Everyone has a story detailing their experience with 9-11. I’ve never really shared mine because I don’t find it very different from anyone else’s. I woke up. I saw the news. I cried. But with it back in the news once again, I can’t help but feel…reflective.

It was my first semester at college and I fought with my roommate Kaitlin the night before. We were friends from high school, we knew everything about one another, but living together seemed to dampen our friendship a bit. Come to think about it – I don’t even remember what we fought about.

I woke up for class and found a note on my keyboard from her. The silence in the hallways didn’t phase me. Curious, and ready for another argument, I glanced at her writing. “Last night doesn’t matter,” she started, “the World Trade Center was attacked. Meet me downstairs.” We didn’t have a TV in our room, so, still in my pajamas, I left our room. Next door, our suitemates were sitting silently on their beds. Jessica, blonde and perfect, had suffered from alcohol poisoning the week before. She was brought back to the dorm near unconscious, and despite the fact she was underage, we all agreed to call for help. Sure, she might get in trouble, but her life was more important. I walked in and watched the news with them, watching the towers crumble. Her dance with death seemed so long ago.

I ran downstairs after, looking for Kaitlin in the community room. Whether she meant to reserve it or not, there was an empty seat waiting for me next to her. We didn’t talk, we just watched, bathed in the light of the screen. Whispers and sniffles passed around us, and while I took it all in, I ultimately felt…numb.

Finally, she leaned over to me and whispered, “we should start making calls.”

Of course, we knew the phone lines would be dead, attacked by the desire to call everyone and anyone. We both had family up there, both had friends attending college. It was before Facebook and Twitter, and even jumping onto AIM didn’t help much. No one seemed to be online.

Then, our phone rang. It was my mom, frantic and worried. We didn’t even think danger could be heading our way, but she reminded me that not only were we in the state’s capitol, but our governor was the president’s brother. There was reason to be scared. I vowed not to go downtown, and tentatively asked about family. Only one person, my uncle, was in the city that day. He was in the first tower.

At that moment, I could only image the fear and shrieks going through my aunt, who was settled on Long Island assuming it was just another day. My uncle survived, he got out in time, but part of him was never the same. He watched his boss die in the rubble. Not long after, he quit his job, and later moved to Florida with his wife. He never talks about the event. He works at Disney now.

Katilin’s family was fine, too, and slowly we heard from our friends. A guy we were in theatre with in high school posted photos on his blog, taken from his apartment window. They were frightening, and made everything a bit more real.

Feeling helpless, we decided to go give blood, like the rest of the city. Packed, Red Cross had us wait for over an hour. I was denied the ability to give, as I was under 100 pounds. Instead, I found cookies for Kaitlin.

We watched Bush address the nation from the workout room on the second floor. No one used it, so we knew it would be quiet. Sitting on the stationary bikes, we learned what might come next, and how to move on. I looked at Kaitlin and knew that the fight wasn’t important – nothing was in comparison. And that to see the next day, we’d have to move on together.

But what I remember most about the time was the overwhelming sense of pride and unity. American bumper stickers were everywhere, the National Anthem was sung at everything. Everyone was proud to be American…and everyone was a bit nicer for a small amount of time, at least where I was. We were all in the same boat, all scared of the future, but confident in the present. We were all freshmen, learning what it was like to take the next step.

Two nights ago, while watching Obama’s address to the nation, hearing the cheers from outside the White House broadcasted on TV, I waited for the feeling again. Twitter and Facebook exploded with virtual high fives and proclamations of victory. I’m not for celebrating someone’s death, but this was different. And I understood what the situation meant. It was like every ghost from 9-11 breathed a sigh of closure. Of course, it’s not over, but it’s one step. Samir and I smiled, knowing that while sitting on our couch late that Sunday night, we witnessed history. I looked forward to the following day, expecting the same as before.

But as the minutes rolled on and night turned to day, the excitement turned to cynicism and questions. That unifying sense of pride was dashed, and instead the Internet was a hodgepodge of ideas and beliefs and doubts and concerns. It’s impossible for happiness to last long, it seems. And I’m not saying people should be happy over death – people should feel as they wish – however, I expected so much more. Over time, the United States became less united, and more pieced apart. Each side clinging to its beliefs, not wanting to compromise. Sadly, only death brought the country together, and this time, not even that seemed to work.

Much like the country, my friendship with Kaitlin separated over time, but never over unfriendly terms. We shared too much for that. But after witnessing what happened Sunday, I felt the need to message her, say hello. Because if death brought us together – why couldn’t it do it again.

And while I can’t change the world with a message, or even a blog post, I can hope to feel a moment when everyone is together once again, this time not brought upon by something horrific, but by something good. When red and blue make purple, and borders come down only to reveal billions of people all on the same team. It won’t happen, I know, but I can always hope, right?

Emerging Adulthood

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A bit ago, my friend Dan linked me to the New York Times story that everyone seems to be talking about: What is it About 20-Somethings. The article discussed how 20-somethings today are much different than those before. For example:

  • One-third of people in their 20s move to a new residence every year.
  • Forty percent move back home with their parents at least once. 
  • They go through an average of seven jobs in their 20s, more job changes than in any other stretch. 
  • Two-thirds spend at least some time living with a romantic partner without being married. 
  • Marriage occurs later than ever. The median age at first marriage in the early 1970s, when the baby boomers were young, was 21 for women and 23 for men; by 2009 it had climbed to 26 for women and 28 for men, five years in a little more than a generation.
I know these statistics hold true for me: 
  • I’ve lived in five different places
  • I moved back home with my parents twice
  • I’ve had five different jobs 
  • I’m living with my boyfriend right now
  • And, at 26, I’m not married
So what is it with our generation? 

In my young adult literature class, we discussed this phrase. Jeffrey Jensen Arnett coined the term emerging adulthood, which relates to those just past adolescence (with adolescence defined as those around 10-18). According to Arnett, “in the past half century what most people experience during the years from age 18 to 29 has changed dramatically in industrialized societies. Instead of entering marriage and parenthood in their very early twenties, most people now postpone these transitions until at least their late twenties, and spend their late teens through their mid-twenties in self-focused exploration as they try out different possibilities in love and work. Essentially, a new developmental stage has been created between adolescence and young adulthood.”

Further, emerging adulthood could be characterized as a period of self-exploration of love and work issues. It’s a time for the 20-somethings to explore their own lives before focusing on marriage and children. They live more in the now, rather than the future.

I, for one, agree with this newfound age group, as it generally applies to me. But what interests me most is – why did we change? 

There’s no scientific proof as to why this generation of 20-somethings is different than the previous ones, but I suppose there could be some factors that, I know, were an influence to me:

1. We Don’t Settle – My grandfather stayed at the same job for most of his life. He didn’t switch jobs because something else came along. I’m different. If a job makes me unhappy, I try something else. At 26, I’ve not only changed jobs, I’ve changed career paths. It’s this desire to be happy at the job that pushes us to achieve more. In the same sense, we don’t settle within relationships. If a guy (or girl) makes us unhappy, we move on. We have one-night stands, we date for fun. When we find someone great, we hold on – but sometimes that doesn’t even work out.

2. We Focus on our Careers – We focus on our career first, family second. Most don’t want to settle down and have a family until they’re not only financially stable, but stable within a working environment. And with all the job changing, sometimes that’s hard.

4. We Have a Desire to be Different – How many people want to be like their parents? How many want to do the things their parents never did? I’m not saying my parents are horrible – they’re actually quite wonderful – but I want to do so much more before I settle down. I want to say I’ve lived, loved, and learned before I’m ready to move on to the next section of my life.

5. The Economy – Although it’s something that’s only been a major problem within the past year or so, the economy’s decline has effected many people. We can’t find jobs. We go back to school. We start over.

6. The Media – I’m not denying that the whole media revolution isn’t, well, appealing. Reality shows show us that it’s cool (and easy) to be a celebrity. Scripted shows tell us to go for what makes us happy, be it the sparkly vampire or the head of surgery. Heck, sometimes I even want to be a Gossip Girl. Sure, I don’t actually go through with emulating any of those on TV – but, honestly, when i’m behind at work – it’s tempting.

Essentially, we want more before we’re ready to move on.

Those are just some reasons i’ve come up with, and I’m sure there are many, many more (and I’m also sure that some of these don’t even relate to everyone). I’m just incredibly interested in why we changed so much that we brought upon a new term. And, in the end, is it a good thing?

Are you an emerging adult, too?