The other night, I was pondering over something a roommate had said to me during my junior year in college. (Yes, it was over four years ago. I'm apparently that chick on the sadly canceled show Unforgettable.) While at dinner with some other young women, the subject turned to families, and I mentioned that my grandparents had been married in a church office in Emporia, VA, with my Granny's aunts serving as witnesses. My Pa was in his early twenties, and Granny was a very mature seventeen. At the time, they weren't Christians, no matter how you define the term. Their conversion would come later. My point is, they had the world's simplest wedding. That was fifty-seven years ago.
I related this story, and my roommate said something to the effect of "Oh yeah, if they weren't Christians, then a church wedding wasn't important to them."
Uh, no, they were poor and didn't have the funds for an "old money" wedding. My other grandparents, who did go to church, had a similarly simple wedding in the church office, with the preacher.
And last night it hit me. Fundamentalism and the rest of the world, together, have ruined marriage, but I'm not quite sure who the real culprit is.
At places like Bob Jones University (the most exposure to fundamentalism I've had) marriage is a goal. It's a finish line. It's practically the reason many women there go to college. Not all, but a heck of a lot. They talk about finding their prince, or their steak (because a hot dog isn't good quality meat, or whatever. I don't know. I think it's a gross analogy.) They talk about how they can wear white on their wedding day and be pure for their husbands and stuff. It's a finish line young men and women reach and collectively go, "Yes! Now we can have sex and it's not bad now!" They seem to overlook the commitment angle. That one day their spouse will do something that really just pisses them off. Not that there will be fights, but I wouldn't be surprised if BJU students, after marriage, are shocked by arguments, because literally all kids do there is gaze at each other (and occasionally one will feed the other, though I've only seen this once in person.) There is no substance. Saving themselves for marriage has become a tool. The wedding night is the goal.
On the opposite end of the spectrum is the rest of the world. I do enjoy watching Bridezillas sometimes. I think it's mostly fake, but sure entertaining in a mindless sort of way (also a good way to get ideas for decor and things. They are nice weddings, even if the people creating them are freaking insane.) It struck me that weddings have simply become an event. A really good excuse to throw a party. And not that there's anything wrong with parties. But $40,000 (and up) for five hours on a Saturday night? We've come to an age where women go "my dress budget is $7,000" without batting an eyelash and tell you that the way a wedding cake looks totally rules over how it tastes. Like it's okay that the cake sucks, as long as the sugar orchids are gorgeous. Even more absurd? Fake cakes. To save money. And serving sheet cake.
Like a foam cake that you pretend to cut while serving a sheet cake to your guests.
What the heck did you spend the money on that you couldn't even have a real cake?
Oh my bad, the 350 guests for which you need a fully stocked bar. Never mind that you really only know about fifty of them.
I'll stop being all frugal-judgey now because I really think it's the fundamentalist/goal oriented weddings that come with healthy doses of narcissism at no extra charge.
"Look, they saved themselves until marriage..." "The bride wore white..." (which is actually a book title, by the way), and all the pride that goes with it. I guess I'm a little prideful myself, I confess. My fiance and I have a relationship with actual conversations about stuff. We're not sex-crazed animals, which all those books and conferences and guides seem to assume all Christian engaged couples are. At BJU, there used to be a class about marriage and family that was required for all students before graduation. Mostly, it was about sex. The other half was funny anecdotes from life (which were enjoyable, actually.) There was a session about finances, but it wasn't marriage specific, and it was of course geared towards those planning a wedding for the week after they graduated. My own roommate (the same one who apparently didn't know that big weddings were for wealthy people), when I once mentioned that my boyfriend (who I wasn't yet engaged to) felt like he was more than that already, had to clarify "like you're really good friends, right?" Well, no, because we had been good friends before getting together anyway. Yeah, I was definitely interested in him, but he was still my friend first. I do not take that lightly.
I don't know who was the first to ruin the marriage, to throw it to the wayside in favor of the wedding. My suspicions lie with the ones who chose to pervert it and change it from a celebration looking forward to a life together to that moment where you can finally take off your purity ring and tell the world you saved yourself and "it's so worth it" because that's all you really cared about. A goal. Congratulations, you made it. Welcome to fifty years of a living nightmare if virginity was the only thing you ever bothered to think about regarding marriage.
Honestly, the party weddings have it more on point. Those people, even if they're over the top, legitimately seem to be celebrating a life together. If all you're excited about is that you found a husband or wife and can now have a raucous wedding night and have met your goal and saved yourself, well, you've officially missed the point. Good job.
Showing posts with label experiences. Show all posts
Showing posts with label experiences. Show all posts
Monday, June 4, 2012
Thursday, February 2, 2012
That Really Bugs Me
Here's a random list of stuff that annoys, confuses, or otherwise bothers me.
1. The smell of peanut butter
Status: Bother
I really cannot stand the smell of peanut butter.
By this I mean I literally get nauseated when I get a whiff of the stuff.
I blame this diet I went on in 8th grade. One of the strange meals involved 2 tablespoons of natural (meaning unsweetened) peanut butter on a bread.
It was an unholy alliance, and I still don't make peanut butter cookies.
2. My blood is a second class citizen.
Status: Annoying/confusing/bother
Whenever I heard anyone talk about giving blood, there was always the mention of how the most requested blood type in hospitals is O type blood.
I always feel a little flicker of shame.
See, my blood type is A-positive, because I am apparently just that awesome. Back in 1986 or so, there were at least a couple of people who decided to donate blood who were A-positive. Yet somehow...it doesn't have that O-type magic that everyone just craves.
You always get a feeling that the nurses are all like "oh...A-positive...well, I guess we'll take it" in their minds. Then you feel a little defiant.
Yeah, heck right, my blood's good enough. What.
3. I'm female, so I'm all over chocolate like Dracula in a blood bank.
Status: Confusing
I'll take a second to explain. While I was in college, I heard this one a lot. "Girls, don't you just crave chocolate sometime..." "Oooh, truffles..." "Girls, doesn't chocolate just make everything better..."
Uhm. No.
Now, I do like chocolate. I imagine a lot of people do, and I've only met a couple of people who don't prefer it. Fine by me; my candy of choice is Haribo Happy Colas, because they are scientifically proven to be that ambrosia stuff the Greeks kept going on about.
But, in an interesting twist of things, my fiance is the one with the sweet tooth. Mostly, sugar makes my teeth hurt and gives me a touch of heartburn. I don't eat meal replacement bars for that reason.
I actually refer to my taste as a "meat tooth."
I also don't drink, so I had a double advantage at BJU while all my fellow women students had their wits compromised by the presence of Lindor truffles.
4. "I pushed my blond hair away from my face, and my violet eyes stared across the land..."
Status: Annoyance, to say the very least.
I see this a lot in way too many first-person books. Usually they have younger characters. Sometimes they're self-published, sometimes they're bestsellers.
There's a pretty big reason you probably should avoid this.
By probably, I mean definitely.
Ready for it?
Here goes...
No one describes themselves when they're telling a story. I don't care if you're writing in a journal or telling a story to someone face-to-face. If you've resorted to having your main character describe himself or herself, then back off for a second. Look at it through the eyes of another person.
And don't freaking do it.
Honestly, readers will picture a character any way they please, regardless of your input. Also, if that character absolutely has to take the time to describe how mind-blowing their eye color is, then they're at best self-absorbed.
And yes, I just snuck writing tips in. Deal with it.
5. "Are you German?/You look German..."/"You look like your name should be Helga."
Status: Bother/Back the heck away now.
The first two aren't so bad, except they don't make a whole lot of sense.
I went to Bob Jones University for college, and because of apparent nutritional deficiencies within fundamentalism, I was among the taller of the students there. Also, people from Michigan are short. So there's that.
Apparently being tall makes you German, in BJU-World.
Now, sure, it would make sense if I had actual blond hair and fit any stereotype whatsoever, but I have brown hair. Yes, I have blue eyes, but that particular trait is more indicitive of my actual ancestry, which is partly of the British Isles. And BJU people are really good at asking awkward questions, like if you're German because "you're so tall."
The Helga thing actually hurt a little. I'm not even sure where it came from, or what the intent was, but it was said with a derisive giggle, by people I didn't even know well. It bothered me because nothing about my clothes or hairstyle invited such a statement. In BJU-World, someone with the name "Helga," however inaccurate the perception, is heavy-browed and lumbering.
I already know I'm quite far from being pretty by anyone's standards, but this little incident was just one more reason I was glad to graduate and get away from there, mostly because people there were willing to say anything about you behind your back, as long as it's "good clean fun."
6. I have a history degree, so I just know tons about the Civil War.
Status: Confusing
'Cause I really don't.
I mean, I really, really don't.
I never took a single Civil War-focus class in all my four years of college. Heck, I only took one American history class beyond the required U.S. History classes. Most of my choices included the ancient world and the 20th century. My personal favorite choices were a study of Germany from 1933 to 1945 and World War II. I woulda taken a bazillion classes on the latter if I could.
My favorite century is the 20th. I like seeing how it all meshes together. I love seeing how everything, from technology to pop culture to warfare, changed in just 100 years. The 20th century is like no other.
'Bout the only thing I know about the Civil War is the correct pronunciation of Antietam. Call me negligent, but it wasn't what really captured my attention as I grew up. At some point in high school, WWII caught my eye and everything just unfolded from there.
7. "Well, you can do stuff giving blood, because you're taller/bigger/like a giant..."
Status: Really freaking annoying
I think I first noticed this in earnest a little while back, when I was discussing a blood drive with some people. Now, as I've said before, I'm not exactly petite. By that I mean that I am 5 feet, 9 inches tall.
Not exactly a giant, either.
See, when I was a baby, my white blood cells decided to go on a witch hunt. Like most witch hunts, it went badly, and my poor innocent red blood cells were being eaten in pretty great numbers. I imagine it looked somewhat like when the T-rex in Jurassic Park ate that goat. I had to receive a blood transfusion of packed red cells. That's a heck of a lot of A-positive blood types. The crisis was averted, and I am here today, delivering your daily-ish dose of snark.
So you could say that giving blood is close to my heart.* I've done it two times now in my lifetime, and I'm trying to get my fiance to do it so we can have an excuse to go out for a steak afterwards. I try to encourage people to give blood if they can, when the subject comes up.
The replies are always what really get me. I can see if someone just plain doesn't want to. I mean, if you're squeamish, that's fine. Or, alternatively, you can't, for whatever health reason.
The annoying part is when smaller people say stuff like "well, I'd just get sick and have to go to bed all day; you're a lot bigger than me, so you can afford to give blood."
Uhm, actually, no I can't. The average human has about 10 pints of blood. The range for women tends to be 8-10 pints. I have as much blood in my body as I'm supposed to; when I give a pint, it's a lot.
See, I have trouble gauging what "a lot of food" is. What seems to me like it might be a lot of food very likely isn't. The last time I gave blood, I'd had a good breakfast, but "eat a lot" for me, that day, meant adding a piece of toast, which, you might have guessed, isn't iron rich. Couple that with having an upset stomach sometime that morning. I was running on empty and decided to give anyway. For some reason, filling the bag didn't take as long the second time around. I'd estimate 5-10 minutes, which is short for a donation. I got pretty nauseous after that. If I actually bled a pint, it would make a mess.
So no, tiny people, actually, I can't just "afford" to do without a whole pint of my blood. It's not money. I can't save it up and decide to splurge on a trip to the Red Cross. So spare me the excuses and just be honest, okay?
So now you know.
And it probably explains a lot.
*I swear, that wording was an accident.
1. The smell of peanut butter
Status: Bother
I really cannot stand the smell of peanut butter.
By this I mean I literally get nauseated when I get a whiff of the stuff.
I blame this diet I went on in 8th grade. One of the strange meals involved 2 tablespoons of natural (meaning unsweetened) peanut butter on a bread.
It was an unholy alliance, and I still don't make peanut butter cookies.
2. My blood is a second class citizen.
Status: Annoying/confusing/bother
Whenever I heard anyone talk about giving blood, there was always the mention of how the most requested blood type in hospitals is O type blood.
I always feel a little flicker of shame.
See, my blood type is A-positive, because I am apparently just that awesome. Back in 1986 or so, there were at least a couple of people who decided to donate blood who were A-positive. Yet somehow...it doesn't have that O-type magic that everyone just craves.
You always get a feeling that the nurses are all like "oh...A-positive...well, I guess we'll take it" in their minds. Then you feel a little defiant.
Yeah, heck right, my blood's good enough. What.
3. I'm female, so I'm all over chocolate like Dracula in a blood bank.
Status: Confusing
I'll take a second to explain. While I was in college, I heard this one a lot. "Girls, don't you just crave chocolate sometime..." "Oooh, truffles..." "Girls, doesn't chocolate just make everything better..."
Uhm. No.
Now, I do like chocolate. I imagine a lot of people do, and I've only met a couple of people who don't prefer it. Fine by me; my candy of choice is Haribo Happy Colas, because they are scientifically proven to be that ambrosia stuff the Greeks kept going on about.
But, in an interesting twist of things, my fiance is the one with the sweet tooth. Mostly, sugar makes my teeth hurt and gives me a touch of heartburn. I don't eat meal replacement bars for that reason.
I actually refer to my taste as a "meat tooth."
I also don't drink, so I had a double advantage at BJU while all my fellow women students had their wits compromised by the presence of Lindor truffles.
4. "I pushed my blond hair away from my face, and my violet eyes stared across the land..."
Status: Annoyance, to say the very least.
I see this a lot in way too many first-person books. Usually they have younger characters. Sometimes they're self-published, sometimes they're bestsellers.
There's a pretty big reason you probably should avoid this.
By probably, I mean definitely.
Ready for it?
Here goes...
No one describes themselves when they're telling a story. I don't care if you're writing in a journal or telling a story to someone face-to-face. If you've resorted to having your main character describe himself or herself, then back off for a second. Look at it through the eyes of another person.
And don't freaking do it.
Honestly, readers will picture a character any way they please, regardless of your input. Also, if that character absolutely has to take the time to describe how mind-blowing their eye color is, then they're at best self-absorbed.
And yes, I just snuck writing tips in. Deal with it.
5. "Are you German?/You look German..."/"You look like your name should be Helga."
Status: Bother/Back the heck away now.
The first two aren't so bad, except they don't make a whole lot of sense.
I went to Bob Jones University for college, and because of apparent nutritional deficiencies within fundamentalism, I was among the taller of the students there. Also, people from Michigan are short. So there's that.
Apparently being tall makes you German, in BJU-World.
Now, sure, it would make sense if I had actual blond hair and fit any stereotype whatsoever, but I have brown hair. Yes, I have blue eyes, but that particular trait is more indicitive of my actual ancestry, which is partly of the British Isles. And BJU people are really good at asking awkward questions, like if you're German because "you're so tall."
The Helga thing actually hurt a little. I'm not even sure where it came from, or what the intent was, but it was said with a derisive giggle, by people I didn't even know well. It bothered me because nothing about my clothes or hairstyle invited such a statement. In BJU-World, someone with the name "Helga," however inaccurate the perception, is heavy-browed and lumbering.
I already know I'm quite far from being pretty by anyone's standards, but this little incident was just one more reason I was glad to graduate and get away from there, mostly because people there were willing to say anything about you behind your back, as long as it's "good clean fun."
6. I have a history degree, so I just know tons about the Civil War.
Status: Confusing
'Cause I really don't.
I mean, I really, really don't.
I never took a single Civil War-focus class in all my four years of college. Heck, I only took one American history class beyond the required U.S. History classes. Most of my choices included the ancient world and the 20th century. My personal favorite choices were a study of Germany from 1933 to 1945 and World War II. I woulda taken a bazillion classes on the latter if I could.
My favorite century is the 20th. I like seeing how it all meshes together. I love seeing how everything, from technology to pop culture to warfare, changed in just 100 years. The 20th century is like no other.
'Bout the only thing I know about the Civil War is the correct pronunciation of Antietam. Call me negligent, but it wasn't what really captured my attention as I grew up. At some point in high school, WWII caught my eye and everything just unfolded from there.
7. "Well, you can do stuff giving blood, because you're taller/bigger/like a giant..."
Status: Really freaking annoying
I think I first noticed this in earnest a little while back, when I was discussing a blood drive with some people. Now, as I've said before, I'm not exactly petite. By that I mean that I am 5 feet, 9 inches tall.
Not exactly a giant, either.
See, when I was a baby, my white blood cells decided to go on a witch hunt. Like most witch hunts, it went badly, and my poor innocent red blood cells were being eaten in pretty great numbers. I imagine it looked somewhat like when the T-rex in Jurassic Park ate that goat. I had to receive a blood transfusion of packed red cells. That's a heck of a lot of A-positive blood types. The crisis was averted, and I am here today, delivering your daily-ish dose of snark.
So you could say that giving blood is close to my heart.* I've done it two times now in my lifetime, and I'm trying to get my fiance to do it so we can have an excuse to go out for a steak afterwards. I try to encourage people to give blood if they can, when the subject comes up.
The replies are always what really get me. I can see if someone just plain doesn't want to. I mean, if you're squeamish, that's fine. Or, alternatively, you can't, for whatever health reason.
The annoying part is when smaller people say stuff like "well, I'd just get sick and have to go to bed all day; you're a lot bigger than me, so you can afford to give blood."
Uhm, actually, no I can't. The average human has about 10 pints of blood. The range for women tends to be 8-10 pints. I have as much blood in my body as I'm supposed to; when I give a pint, it's a lot.
See, I have trouble gauging what "a lot of food" is. What seems to me like it might be a lot of food very likely isn't. The last time I gave blood, I'd had a good breakfast, but "eat a lot" for me, that day, meant adding a piece of toast, which, you might have guessed, isn't iron rich. Couple that with having an upset stomach sometime that morning. I was running on empty and decided to give anyway. For some reason, filling the bag didn't take as long the second time around. I'd estimate 5-10 minutes, which is short for a donation. I got pretty nauseous after that. If I actually bled a pint, it would make a mess.
So no, tiny people, actually, I can't just "afford" to do without a whole pint of my blood. It's not money. I can't save it up and decide to splurge on a trip to the Red Cross. So spare me the excuses and just be honest, okay?
So now you know.
And it probably explains a lot.
*I swear, that wording was an accident.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Fried Slice: Do I Really Need to Know?
So wedding stuff makes me grumpy. Just a bit.
Don't get me wrong. My own wedding is something I'm excited for. I'm going to get an awesome dress and a great cake and eat good food and marry the man I love. Sweet.
Hmm. Maybe I'm not talking about wedding stuff. Maybe I'm talking about marriage stuff. It's more important. The heart has to be ready, and that really has nothing at all to do with contracts or gum paste flowers or the lighting effects on the dance floor. That fact is pretty obvious, right? So let me back up and explain myself.
My fiance and I have been together for over five years. A good portion of that has consisted of a long-distance relationship. I live in North Carolina, he lives in Missouri. We have long visits. My dog loves him (and that's amazing.) Together, we've made a relationship that has had a lot of love and a few fights. We know we have quirks, because we've seen them up close. We also know that everything's gonna get really real at about 2:00 A.M. sometime in the future when one of us gets a wake-up call via the "icy foot zap." So yeah, I know relationships take work. Five years, remember?
Obviously, being a (reluctant) Twentysomething, I've had a few friends get engaged and married over the years. Yeah, I've only been engaged since January, but that sorta just made it official. I've always sort of known. My man's still in school and I'm paying for the wedding myself. Yeah, it's gonna be a minute. When I see my all friends getting speedily engaged and hitched like little matrimony moon rockets, I cringe a little.
'Cause I know and fear what's coming next.
The SAGELY SAGE ADVICE.
Okay, to be fair, only one person has actually offered THE ADVICE and that was quite some time ago. This individual had known the intended spouse for a few years, they dated for a short while (like very very very very very short) got engaged in the spring of 2010, and were married by the end of summer 2010. A few months later, after I posted my engagement announcement on Facebook, this person ADVISED me that marriage was hard work, but worth it.
Durr.
For me, that was the equivalent of someone informing me in a condescending tone that the invasion of Normandy occurred on June 6th, 1944. But imagine that the teacher or whoever was sharing this advice because I'd shared with them my intention to write my dissertation in pursuit of a doctorate, the subject of said project being the strategies and movements of the U.S. Airborne units during Operation Neptune and an exploration into the assault on Brecourt Manor. At this point, I think it would be pretty clear that I know what I'm talking about and have known for quite some time. Imagine the person with the condescending attitude having just watched the first scene of Saving Private Ryan like five minutes before and that being the first time they'd ever heard of the invasion of Normandy, let alone Operation Neptune or Operation Overlord.
That's sorta what it felt like.
And while that individual has been the only one to offer SAGELY SAGE ADVICE, I still have this reflex of...something, every time. There is joy for my friends, because finding the one person who is literally your other half is awesome. What I don't welcome is the advice that has the possibility of coming.
If you've just seen a clip of a film that features a few bloody minutes on one beach in Normandy, and that's all you know, as much as it has touched you and changed you, you cannot give me a full-on lecture about leg bags and the problems therewith. You can't tell me merely about the existence of Operation Market-Garden. I already know, and I've known a lot longer than you.
I don't hate advice, and I don't hate learning. Most people are like that. Because of the time I've invested in a long-distance relationship, just as if I'd dedicated my life to studying the details in World War II, I know stuff that others don't yet. I know what it's like to be hurt. I know what it's like to argue. Heck, I know how to fight dirty. But I also know how to love, how to forgive, and how to savor moments, even when the theater's heater is broken and it's 20 degrees Fahrenheit outside and somewhere in the 50-60 range inside.
This doesn't make me any better than the ADVICE offerer I mentioned earlier. But I do have the distinct advantage of time and patience and sadness and fights and near-breakups and forgiveness and love and joy and laughter.
In a word, life.
A better teacher by far than all the ADVICE I could ever get.
Don't get me wrong. My own wedding is something I'm excited for. I'm going to get an awesome dress and a great cake and eat good food and marry the man I love. Sweet.
Hmm. Maybe I'm not talking about wedding stuff. Maybe I'm talking about marriage stuff. It's more important. The heart has to be ready, and that really has nothing at all to do with contracts or gum paste flowers or the lighting effects on the dance floor. That fact is pretty obvious, right? So let me back up and explain myself.
My fiance and I have been together for over five years. A good portion of that has consisted of a long-distance relationship. I live in North Carolina, he lives in Missouri. We have long visits. My dog loves him (and that's amazing.) Together, we've made a relationship that has had a lot of love and a few fights. We know we have quirks, because we've seen them up close. We also know that everything's gonna get really real at about 2:00 A.M. sometime in the future when one of us gets a wake-up call via the "icy foot zap." So yeah, I know relationships take work. Five years, remember?
Obviously, being a (reluctant) Twentysomething, I've had a few friends get engaged and married over the years. Yeah, I've only been engaged since January, but that sorta just made it official. I've always sort of known. My man's still in school and I'm paying for the wedding myself. Yeah, it's gonna be a minute. When I see my all friends getting speedily engaged and hitched like little matrimony moon rockets, I cringe a little.
'Cause I know and fear what's coming next.
The SAGELY SAGE ADVICE.
Okay, to be fair, only one person has actually offered THE ADVICE and that was quite some time ago. This individual had known the intended spouse for a few years, they dated for a short while (like very very very very very short) got engaged in the spring of 2010, and were married by the end of summer 2010. A few months later, after I posted my engagement announcement on Facebook, this person ADVISED me that marriage was hard work, but worth it.
Durr.
For me, that was the equivalent of someone informing me in a condescending tone that the invasion of Normandy occurred on June 6th, 1944. But imagine that the teacher or whoever was sharing this advice because I'd shared with them my intention to write my dissertation in pursuit of a doctorate, the subject of said project being the strategies and movements of the U.S. Airborne units during Operation Neptune and an exploration into the assault on Brecourt Manor. At this point, I think it would be pretty clear that I know what I'm talking about and have known for quite some time. Imagine the person with the condescending attitude having just watched the first scene of Saving Private Ryan like five minutes before and that being the first time they'd ever heard of the invasion of Normandy, let alone Operation Neptune or Operation Overlord.
That's sorta what it felt like.
And while that individual has been the only one to offer SAGELY SAGE ADVICE, I still have this reflex of...something, every time. There is joy for my friends, because finding the one person who is literally your other half is awesome. What I don't welcome is the advice that has the possibility of coming.
If you've just seen a clip of a film that features a few bloody minutes on one beach in Normandy, and that's all you know, as much as it has touched you and changed you, you cannot give me a full-on lecture about leg bags and the problems therewith. You can't tell me merely about the existence of Operation Market-Garden. I already know, and I've known a lot longer than you.
I don't hate advice, and I don't hate learning. Most people are like that. Because of the time I've invested in a long-distance relationship, just as if I'd dedicated my life to studying the details in World War II, I know stuff that others don't yet. I know what it's like to be hurt. I know what it's like to argue. Heck, I know how to fight dirty. But I also know how to love, how to forgive, and how to savor moments, even when the theater's heater is broken and it's 20 degrees Fahrenheit outside and somewhere in the 50-60 range inside.
This doesn't make me any better than the ADVICE offerer I mentioned earlier. But I do have the distinct advantage of time and patience and sadness and fights and near-breakups and forgiveness and love and joy and laughter.
In a word, life.
A better teacher by far than all the ADVICE I could ever get.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Your Style
Your writing style can make or break your career as a writer. When your audience reads your work, they expect to be entertained, just as if they were watching a movie. It’s your job to deliver what the readers are looking for. You may have a great story in your head, but if you are unable to effectively communicate that onto paper, your story will be passed up for the next one. The next question is, how do you captivate the people that read your work?
You need to decide first who you are and distance yourself mentally from your favorite writers. I said before that you should read a lot, but one mistake that you may find yourself making is writing like the authors you love. I once wrote a short, page-long part of a story, and at the time I was deep in Ted Dekker’s Black. It’s a great novel, with elements of fantasy, political thriller, and mystery, but the story segment I wrote too much resembled how Dekker writes. It was raw, a little dark, and kind of chilling. In other words: the words were mine, but style was not. I have since rewritten the passage to better suit the story. I have my own style, and I always did, but for many years, I tried to be like other authors. Tolkien, Lewis, and Coville were some of my inspiration. My characters became some mix between Hobbits, the Pevensies, and quite tragically noble unicorns. I look back and laugh out loud at my earliest work. Ironically, it’s my journals that make me laugh less.
Those journals are where my personality comes through because they’re parts of a chronicle of my life. They’re real, sometimes funny, and sometimes painful, and sometimes a little bit weird. (One journal page from fifth grade features an old Band-aid scrawled with names of Star Wars characters and stuck to the page, which is itself in possession of a grease spot from Neosporin.) In short, they are me at different stages of life.
A great way to develop your style is to write in a journal on a regular basis. It doesn’t have to be every day. It can be every week or every few days, as long as it is regular. Don’t try to make up stories; just tell your own. The way you tell your own story will be a clue as to how you will tell other stories that you invent.
When writing your own story, you need material. Don’t worry, your life doesn’t have to be dramatic and exciting all the time. What’s important is that you take time to experience life and incorporate your experiences in your writing. Feel free to edit or change stories to use in fiction, but never discount your life because it isn’t “exciting enough.” Write what you know. Write the places you’ve been and the people you’ve seen. (On a side note, try to avoid writing about places and people you haven’t seen. Getting the facts wrong because you’ve never been to New York City, Seattle, or Atlanta can be insulting. I’ve never met a New Yorker who is as rude in real life as his fictional counterpart usually is, and I can tell you as a native Southerner: we don’t drawl sentences. I’ll cover this subject more in depth later).
Inject your take on life into your work. You may see things differently, and that can be refreshing for readers. Be different, but avoid being different for the sake of the shock value. If you don’t feel comfortable with a certain style, don’t write it. The big deal now may be paranormal romances with various non-human love interests (vampires and werewolves are big, but I’m seeing more books about tortured angels falling in love), but if your work reeks of a trend, then it won’t last and will most likely be seen as another way to cash in on your joining a bandwagon. Write in a style that is exciting, because even the mundane is fascinating when the words describing it are superbly chosen.
My brother once said that some of the best bands don’t write to be famous. They write what is in their hearts. They pour who they are into their work, and it is usually quality music. Their work is successful not because it is the latest thing, but because it’s so very real. Your writing style should reflect who you are, because then you will know that what you write rings true and pulls your readers in to your story to get lost for a little while until you lead them back out again. After that, they’ll trust you with the next story.
Coming soon: a preliminary review of Feather by Abra Ebner. I'm in the process of re-reading it now and I'm really looking forward to sharing what I have found about it. Stay tuned!
You need to decide first who you are and distance yourself mentally from your favorite writers. I said before that you should read a lot, but one mistake that you may find yourself making is writing like the authors you love. I once wrote a short, page-long part of a story, and at the time I was deep in Ted Dekker’s Black. It’s a great novel, with elements of fantasy, political thriller, and mystery, but the story segment I wrote too much resembled how Dekker writes. It was raw, a little dark, and kind of chilling. In other words: the words were mine, but style was not. I have since rewritten the passage to better suit the story. I have my own style, and I always did, but for many years, I tried to be like other authors. Tolkien, Lewis, and Coville were some of my inspiration. My characters became some mix between Hobbits, the Pevensies, and quite tragically noble unicorns. I look back and laugh out loud at my earliest work. Ironically, it’s my journals that make me laugh less.
Those journals are where my personality comes through because they’re parts of a chronicle of my life. They’re real, sometimes funny, and sometimes painful, and sometimes a little bit weird. (One journal page from fifth grade features an old Band-aid scrawled with names of Star Wars characters and stuck to the page, which is itself in possession of a grease spot from Neosporin.) In short, they are me at different stages of life.
A great way to develop your style is to write in a journal on a regular basis. It doesn’t have to be every day. It can be every week or every few days, as long as it is regular. Don’t try to make up stories; just tell your own. The way you tell your own story will be a clue as to how you will tell other stories that you invent.
When writing your own story, you need material. Don’t worry, your life doesn’t have to be dramatic and exciting all the time. What’s important is that you take time to experience life and incorporate your experiences in your writing. Feel free to edit or change stories to use in fiction, but never discount your life because it isn’t “exciting enough.” Write what you know. Write the places you’ve been and the people you’ve seen. (On a side note, try to avoid writing about places and people you haven’t seen. Getting the facts wrong because you’ve never been to New York City, Seattle, or Atlanta can be insulting. I’ve never met a New Yorker who is as rude in real life as his fictional counterpart usually is, and I can tell you as a native Southerner: we don’t drawl sentences. I’ll cover this subject more in depth later).
Inject your take on life into your work. You may see things differently, and that can be refreshing for readers. Be different, but avoid being different for the sake of the shock value. If you don’t feel comfortable with a certain style, don’t write it. The big deal now may be paranormal romances with various non-human love interests (vampires and werewolves are big, but I’m seeing more books about tortured angels falling in love), but if your work reeks of a trend, then it won’t last and will most likely be seen as another way to cash in on your joining a bandwagon. Write in a style that is exciting, because even the mundane is fascinating when the words describing it are superbly chosen.
My brother once said that some of the best bands don’t write to be famous. They write what is in their hearts. They pour who they are into their work, and it is usually quality music. Their work is successful not because it is the latest thing, but because it’s so very real. Your writing style should reflect who you are, because then you will know that what you write rings true and pulls your readers in to your story to get lost for a little while until you lead them back out again. After that, they’ll trust you with the next story.
Coming soon: a preliminary review of Feather by Abra Ebner. I'm in the process of re-reading it now and I'm really looking forward to sharing what I have found about it. Stay tuned!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)