Talkin’ It Up

We are so overdue for a rap, friends. Get in here.

That might look more sinister than intended if it were anyone but beloved Morpheus. (Let’s take a minute and talk about what Laurence Fishburne means to me, shall we? The answer is everything.)

So, as we recall, I’m one of the Sweet 16s – an awesome part of which is getting to read ARCs (advance reader copies) of awesome debuts!! Three that I’ve adored, thus far?

Desktop2The Abyss Surrounds Us by Emily Skrutskie

The Love That Split The World by Emily Henry (**)

Enter Title Here by Rahul Kanakia

**ETA: While I enjoyed my initial read of TLTSTW and do not deny that, I do think it’s necessary to point to the very problematic content that was brought to our attention after this post was written. Rather than remove its mention here, I’d like to make note of what I learned. While I wasn’t versed enough to be certain of it, scholars on Native Culture as well as Native activists and authors noted the mishandling of troubling subjects such as the adoption of Native children into white families, the lack of tribal recognition or identity while using stories from various, varied Native cultures as though they are monolithic. If you’d like to know more about the criticisms this title received, I recommend Debbie Reese’s storify on the subject. It is my opinion that if we publicly note enjoyment of something we find out is problematic, we should warn our audience of the problematic content. (And now I return you to the original blog post!)

The awesome thing (I like that word) is that these books could not be more different. Abyss appealed to my love of effortless worldbuilding in science fiction, and the originality of these massive beasts trained from birth to defend their ships? Yes, thank you. TLTSTW was basically written specifically for me, I can only assume, based on the magic realism, the wry humor, and the hypnagogic hallucinations (long story, short version of which is, hooray, I used to experience these a lot more often!). And Rahul’s Enter Title Here was legiterally the most refreshing thing I’ve read so far this year. Loved the concept and the construct, and as a norcal girl who went the accelerated program route, this amazing and also sometimes detestable MC felt so real to me – despite that I cannot think of a single person in my program who seemed like her in the least, lol. And it’s set in Norcal, I mean, come on. I am getting to be that person. Allegiances and all that.

In my own debut news, September approaches, and I am SO looking forward to my own cover reveal, designing/ordering/sending out LLoA swag, and getting to attend writerly events! For me, most things remain pretty quiet. Such is the life of a fall debut when it’s only March, I think. 🙂 But my body is ready.

In the meantime, I am both writing the follow-up to LLoA – which, have we talked about why I don’t think the word “sequel” is necessarily accurate?! no? someday – and also, prepping to write other things!

Thing the 1st: an adult scifi novel based on one of my short stories. While I at one time assumed any related novel would be extrapolating on the story from said ss, I now think I need to sort of explode those parameters. Like, blow them up. It pins in the story, when the whole reason for developing it into a novel is because of how much potential I think there is in the concept.

But this took a backseat to Thing the 2nd: a YA urban fantasy about these present times of ours. This has eaten my brain. I’m co-writing it with my sister, which would be the first co-writing situation of my life, if one could possibly forget that we’ve done this before. Literal decades ago. When we, sisters who decided we are more accurately described as twins despite being two years apart, wrote the story of Megs and Pegs. Two twin sisters entering kindergarten. (I’m peeling my skin off as I tell you.) ::abruptly stops::

THINK FAST! Ever wondered if my contrarianism is a new development? Pretty sure it isn’t but want that certainty confirmed? Well, the lovely Ami Allen-Vath is debuting this month with a lovely novel called, LIARS AND LOSERS LIKE US, and in prep, she invited me to take part in a blog post about prom! For which I even donated a picture from my Senior Ball. Wanna see? Click away!

Finally, did you miss my Valentine’s Day interview as part of my #WO2016 crew’s blog hop? Check it out!

Aaaand I think that’s everything.

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Spotting Sweet 16s!

The year of debut is finally here, not just for me, but also for all my Sweet 16 siblings! One thing I didn’t realize was how exciting it would be to go into Barnes and Noble and spot their books in the wild! So fun!

I met up with Margot Harrison, author of the forthcoming THE KILLER IN ME, in Burlington, VT, and scoped out the debuters already on the shelves!

Sweet 16s January

I know onlookers must’ve thought we were holding our own books, haha! But it was so exciting! So cool to have something to send them, like checking in on your friend’s kid away at uni or something. 😀 They’re doing fine and thriving and they love you, Laurie and Marieke!

Just in case you haven’t heard of Laurie’s FIRSTS and Marieke’s THIS IS WHERE IT ENDS – somehow, some way – you’ll find their titles linked to Goodreads, so go have a look!

Holy goodness. Someday this will be my book, spotted places I didn’t put her, exciting fellow Sweet 16ers. ::head explodes:: Cannot imagine!

 

What We Lie About When We Talk About Diversity

People don’t buy books with people of color on the cover.

People don’t read books with people of color as narrator or MC.

People can’t relate.

First of all, one of the best things about that collection of quotes explaining racism is that it calls us out for not identifying who is being racist. Because of the way we police our speech, there are no racists, right? Just racist things that are happening all on their own. Just a machine already in motion (which is true) that no one is controlling (which could be true but that doesn’t negate) that someone is benefiting from. So s/he is responsible for shutting it down.

So we’re not talking about “people.” We’re talking about white people. White people is not a dirty word, you guys, unless you insist on just being people while the rest of us have always been identified by our phenotype or ethnicity. Which says something. (I’m convinced that there are at least a slight number of people who – if they had something pointed out – can get the message.)

And while others have already eloquently spoken on the fact that the thing about diversity is that white people shouldn’t have to be able to relate to everything in the marketplace – which I will sum up as follows: Diversity in literature is having something for everyone, not everything for someone – what I wanna talk about is how that’s baloney. That whole can’t-relate dealie. Is baloney.

Because the thing is: none of us fell out of the womb relating. We were *taught* how to relate to the default voice. From the first reading assignment through to the last, by whom we were assigned to read, by the way we were taught to decipher it, we were taught how to relate to literature.

Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Frost, Atwood, Wharton, and everyone else we read. We were taught how to read them. We were socialized to identify and identify with the style, the imagery, the pentameter, the allusions, the themes. We were taught.

Which means you can learn. Anyone who wants to. Everyone. Because – instead of trying to edit out the minority voice – the standard response should be, lemme stretch myself so I can hear the things I’m not hearing. Let me learn a new way to read, just like all of the western world was taught to hear the white, (mostly) male voice.

Learn to read, y’all.

And if you need to hear it again, please go read this. Because TRUTH:

White is an ethnicity as well. Which is why you can’t take a white character, slap a skin color on, and say, “Tada, now you’re (insert race)!” Because your character, depending on what race and background they have, isn’t going to look at white things the way a white person would.

#We

#Need

#Diverse

#Authors

And I’m keeping my voice.

 

Morning Glory

Now that I’ve described the mental process of writing as a writer of color (or tried to, anyway), on to what I want to write. Presently, anyway. It evolves and I’m glad for it.

My broseph-in-law, Andy, is actually the person who asked whether I was going to post this somewhere. Having edited gently to remove indicators of to whom this was originally submitted, here is a recent essay about My Story and why it’s being told overwhelmingly in speculative literary form.

*

I’ve long been conscious of what is inaccurately regarded as merely a Black predicament – and that such consciousness isn’t a characteristic of being Black – so, a devourer of gorgeous general fiction, I bared my soul in short stories and novels where the only character more important than language itself was the overwhelming social commentary. Overwhelming because it seemed inherently more aggressive in my present-day settings than the commentary in the work I adored.

My father was born a Black man in the Midwest in 1944 and when Affirmative Action debuted it wasn’t a dig, it was a divine intervention. His isn’t my story.

As much as I love whatever brought us Lupita Nyong’o, the Academy most honors PoC stories sub-titled: When We Were Slaves – but that’s not my story either.

I adore them but I’m not Toni Morrison’s Denver, whose safety and wholeness is most possible in a world necessarily away from white people, or Octavia Butler’s Dana, whose engrossing tale is untellable without reliving the past. I am closer to Elsie in my novella, Keepsake – a clone born of a memory extraction who doesn’t live (and die) as she’s expected, who straddles two worlds, who’s not real but isn’t a Mem, who wants her loved ones to tell her who and what she is until she understands: they don’t know.

It’s not a story I could satisfactorily tell when I was writing purely general fiction. The characters kept getting reduced to their Blackness, to their remarkable ability to express themselves and decode the world. They were all poets and writers and professors, none of which is bad, but it was the “exceptional voice” all over again. It took place in the real world with a decided default class and therefore automatically became an “issue book” from which I shielded loved ones. They wouldn’t understand; they weren’t ready to hear; they’d reveal their own prejudices and I’d be faced with how to respond.

Because my story is having had to choose between the token – a story wherein the Black protagonist is inevitably the only PoC – and the exception – wherein a) the Black character is “not as colored as she seems” and her wavy hair, her green eyes, her lighter-shades-of-coffee skin are incessantly described, or b) every Black character is a genius, a master, a far cry from being average. My story is living in a post-movement world where a “normal” story is what we’re disallowed; we earn a story either because we’re victims still destructively reeling from the world we never made or because we’re noble pantheons of bootstrapping achievement. Society taught me I must be one or the other. But fighting that in black and white sometimes felt reductive, too.

Science fiction lets us hold the truth just far enough away to see it in our world. To speak directly while outfoxing those among us who refuse to acknowledge it or care. Should people need such coddling? Of course not. But if internet comments prove nothing else, privilege cripples. That’s never more obvious than when we call for diversity in the genre, not just on the page but behind the typewriter.

Right now, I write for the colored girls living the normal life we’re not supposed to. Who, like my character Avrilis, are the heroines in their story not because they’re exceptional “for colored girls” – but because they’re exceptional. Because they get to have love and planet-hopping steampunk adventures, too. (And because I know on such a journey, their hair wouldn’t be an after-thought.)

I’ll keep writing it because only after finishing Keepsake did I hear it speak to the way oppression and identity policing aren’t safely in our past, but are woven into a sometimes beautiful world that, yes, can knock the wind out of us when discrimination catches us off-guard.

*

Abrupt finish, I know. The last (omitted) sentence referred, you may have guessed, to the scholarship for which I was applying.

Final thought – which I hope won’t be too big a distraction to my above point: the chasm between genre fiction and the respectability of general fiction is particularly unfair to writers of color. And I say that as someone who didn’t know I’d end up on this side.

While my experience of feeling burdened and caged in cannot be applied to everyone else – because there are clearly too many writers of color writing beautiful and contemporary and yes sometimes historical works of art in general fiction (that give.me.LIFE) – I can’t escape the feeling that by writing anything else, my work is even further from ever being seen as capable of universal truth. I resent the feeling that I’m not writing “important work” anymore. And I disagree. (And heaven forfend, because that steampunky story I keep referring to? It’s YA to boot!) But just in case anyone else is in the same place as me, I wanted to let you know.

Burn. Down. The House.

I’ve been applying for a lot of fellow/scholarships for writers of color or diverse literature. For these, I’ve written a few essays, one of which I’m going to share with you tomorrow. I’m not looking for it to blow your mind. I’m hoping it can do what diverse, or rather realistic, writing can do – speak back to somebody who thought no one else knew.

The essay is about who I’m writing and how writing speculative literary fiction has been expansive for me. But today – before that – I want to tell you what the actual writing is like. Because while I’m making up these other worlds, I’m living in the real one.

I’ve observed that privilege is largely what you don’t have to know. For those of you who don’t, here’s a glimpse into things I think about when presenting a character.

Scratch that. Necessarily first, lemme give you a glimpse into how my brain works when I want to tell you anything.

Disclaimers abound. Know that. Because I have to say, do not try to apply this to every Black writer. If you meet a Black writer and they say something different, do not say, “But I know a Black writer and she said…”

Then I think about how I shouldn’t have to tell anyone that.

And before, during and after having said something, I will wonder if the way I said it will keep you from hearing what I said. Because privilege is precious. It is aggressive and yet easily threatened. I must be calm (rational) and gracious. Passion = rage, if you’re a person of color. Ask …any human. The hardest part about telling people what things are really like is knowing that you’re supposed to care most about what it’s like for them. Even the telling. Discomfort might be a way of life for you but you’ve got to make the telling of it palatable. Or you’ve got to set it so far in the past that it doesn’t threaten them now…but that’s a separate story.

And now, we will actually come to What I Wanted To Tell You In The First Place. (See how we’re already exhausted?)

It is frustrating to:

A) be denied the privilege that doesn’t have to introduce itself (because if I don’t tell you my character is Black, and sometimes even after I do, you’ll misrepresent her)

while B) also keeping said required introduction from becoming part of the story (because my character’s adventure shouldn’t have to be overwhelmed by the un-privileged experience of not being white)

when C) there are so many ways I already *shouldn’t* introduce her. She can’t be brown like anything that is in reality brown because comparison offends. So I must somehow and without politicizing my story tell you she’s a Black girl except she isn’t because this is a story set on a different world so the entire predicament that brought about who I am does not exist.

And then, inevitably, someone will ask why it matters what color she is. And the exhale will feel as long and decisive as a final breath because sometimes you have to know what is just a brick wall. But this is my blog and everybody deserves some corner of sanity, so let me answer: if it didn’t matter, you wouldn’t default her to one specific race of people.

If it didn’t matter, innumerable stories with white protagonists would seem like overkill before two stories featuring people of another race did.

That story about the Asian-kid-at-summer-camp book getting rejected [because one already exists] brings to mind how unpleasantly editors and publishers tend to react to the idea of instituting racial (and/or gender) quotas as a mechanism for diversifying their lists. But, as that incident and so many others reveal, informal quotas are already in place.

– Jennifer Pan, Hatred of Publishing

They got it so right, Sarah and Jennifer.* There is already a quota, it just doesn’t work in my favor.

And newsflash? I don’t want it to matter either! I’m not fighting to keep this system of injustice in place. (Feel like I need to throw in a how-dare-you for that one, y’all.) Talking about a problem and acknowledging that it is a problem is not the same as creating the problem.

I want it not to matter anymore, just not in the “I don’t see color” way, because let’s not even. In the way that my character (like me!) is ready for adventure! She’s ready for a fire-fight in another universe without getting bogged down by the baggage you’re trying to assign her and the lengths we have to go to so you see her in the right skin but not in the wrong light. I am MORE than ready to be done with that. I’m more than ready to be done with having the poetic negro story be the only one that seems marketable and of lasting value for a Black American author to tell – not to mention the only one to be considered “authentic.”

I’m ready to be done with the diversity that means, “Showcasing Marginalized Groups in Order to Provide Colorful, Enriching Cultural Experiences for White People” (Jennifer Pan).

I’m tired of the burden to educate when my character wants to escape. In the first place because it’s a trap. If it’s historically accurate, it’s heavy, it’s issue-driven, it is the story and we’ve already decided who we’re willing to hear the truth from. If we throw historicity to the wind, it’s unbelievable. (More and more that burning down the house bit seems like the right answer. Throw the imperial, euro-centric steampunk restrictions away from the start and I won’t have to worry about the circumstances under which my character would be there in the first place.)

I promise. I want to be past that at least as much as you do.

But we’re not.

So.I.Rise.

maya-angelou-top-quotes-4

Be careful that while we mourn a great orator, poet, activist, VOICE, we don’t send the message to younger women of color to keep quiet.

*Read the article, if you haven’t already. And comment if you’ve got something to say – I did! And to see descriptions of my writing, check out my Writing page.

There’s A Choice We’re Makin’

You would think I haven’t had much to say. And you would be wrong. The problem is moreso that there hasn’t been a brain-to-blog plug-in yet that works. Get on that, nerds.

Okay, but I’m not gonna try to remember all the things I thought to tell you over the past month so we’ll just do the most important stuff. Starting here:

1stBBQ

Boom.

First ribs of the season. If we facebook, you’ve already seen this but I mean… can you ever see this picture too much? Montreal does this thing where she waits until you’re pretty sure you cannot handle cold any more and then she keeps it cold for about three months longer and then when it lifts, you have never loved a city so much. She’s a cunning little minx.

And then Mother’s Day happened, which was awesome and I’ll post a picture at the end because there’s this one other thing that got in my craw (assuming that’s how you spell that) and I want to end on a high note.

So, pre-picture honest time: the worst thing you can do during a campaign about needing diversity in literature is be the guy/gal who – blinded by the privilege of having a voice (see Orange Is The New Black for more examples) – is completely ignorant to the fact that a problem which involves an overrepresentation of white writers is not also going to be solved by white writers writing about diverse people.

Like…why would that be your go-to plan A?

Seriously.

Don’t be the person who has to interrupt to say diversity isn’t just what I’m writing about either. (Have you noticed this??) The “what about ___” response? To which I always answer: one story isn’t enough. MY story isn’t enough. Why would it be expected that ALL the diversity need be in one place? The imperialism is staggering. We this way, you that way = stop it. There’s room in here, guys. You just might have to give up some of yours.

And where I could link to the individuals who have tweeted something that made me shake my head, I’m just gonna say: it happens or I wouldn’t be mentioning it. Instead of trying to justify or explain or point out that you don’t do that – as though I’m incapable of appreciating that not all people of a demographic are the same (hold for indignant snort at all the ironies) – maybe go further out of your way to not just tweet the real solution, but to also support diverse authors. Support presses dedicated to supporting diversity. And if you’re in doubt, listen to what #diversityisnot. Ask questions. Just make sure you respect the reality enough to not make your questions about you. Don’t ask immediately whether you should write diversity, don’t ask how you should go about it, don’t interrupt to tell us that you did. You are not being called upon to save the day. The whole point of this is every story isn’t yours. It’s true of everyone else and we survive. You’ll be fine.

Now this is not a link round-up because we all have fingers and search engines and book stores and seriously, feed yourself or you’ll starve. Here instead is a place to start supporting.

And you know what, understand diversity isn’t the same as multiculturalism. I think I may have mentioned this before. My story is not safely segregated from the mainstream and it won’t make you feel enlightened and worldly to read it. It’s not about the past (not the one you’re thinking of anyway) or some far away place of my own developing world. It’s about a black girl, right now, in the same space who has the right to lead the story.

Me and my kin

In Face of Certain Defeat

Perhaps you haven’t discovered your favorite author until you feel – after reading their work – like you have nothing to say. Or nothing worth saying. In written word. Which is the vehicle said author used and therefore one that you could not possibly wield to any estimation of success.

I don’t know. I’m not a doctor.

All I know is, I thought I couldn’t love someone as much as or more than Toni Morrison. I lay awake at night, struggling with my love for Orson Scott Card in fact, trying to make sense of them both in this hierarchical world we’ve created. But all of that was before. Not before I started Invisible Man – I take a notoriously long time to either read amazing books or else to move beyond them…which is why this is also before I was able to wean myself off of Ender’s Game enough to read Speaker…and I can’t even …..try to….

I’m sorry. Where were we. So no, not before I started Invisible Man, but before I was WRECKED by it. It stopped everything. Half my life came to a screeching halt somewhere around the union of factory workers. I’d known it was going to happen back when the man had him read the letters he’d been handing out. I knew it was coming, even though it had never happened before. That’s the power of this narrative. The narrative.

[Total sidebar because that was meant to be a complete sentence but then Twelfth Night overtook it and it became, “The narrative itself til seven years heat shall not behold her face at ample view but like a cloistress she will veiled walk and water once a day her chamber round allthistoseasonabrothersdeadlovethatshewouldkeepfreshandlastinginhersadremembrance!” And somehow it totally works. Ahem.]

The narrative carried me, that’s the only way to explain it. I didn’t want to read ever again. It’s like eating something and being in ecstasy which is dampened all the while by the fact that you know this won’t be the last thing you ever taste. And that’s only dealing with the LANGUAGE.

SERIOUSLY. I can’t stress that enough. It’s written down on a stark, pale screen, so you couldn’t possibly understand me, but try, my pet. Because I remember the way a man walks down the street, that’s what Ralph Ellison has done. I remember the air at a party, the darkness interrupted in a bedroom. And we haven’t even gotten to what cannot even be considered commentary because it is too authentically encapsulated in this farce of a world he reveals to us to be something as trite as “commentary”. (Commentary is now trite, that’s what Ralph Ellison has done.)

No. I did not just read the book. But I wish I had. Although nothing I’ve written since would’ve happened, because why bother.

It does make me love ToMo more, as well, because her voice is her own and there’s room for her genius. I’ll admit I’ve read others and all I could think was they’ve read Ralph and it wrecked them.

So, why now. When I couldn’t even talk about this book in complete sentences for what seemed forever. Oh, no reason really, except that SOME DUDE CLAIMED IT HAD NO LITERARY MERIT. And usually, I wouldn’t mind. But someone printed his words because they apparently had something to do with this novel being BANNED in North Carolina.

We’re not gonna discuss banning books or the way it is sometimes for better or worse “understandable” – because you don’t need to discuss the controversy of banning to discuss that RALPH ELLISON’S INVISIBLE MAN IS BANNED SOMEWHERE. That is enough. No commentary or context needed. But just in case you want some:

Ralph Ellison BannedAnd aside from the fact that it was the 50s not the 40s: You get me. I want that man publicly shamed.

*By the by, click the pic to see the NPR link. Only the first paragraph is about RayRay, but read the second one too because WHUT!

*P.S. I read this last night. Today I am sick. Coincidence? I think not.

The Enemy’s Gate Is Down

I’m a writer. (Doy. But there’s always a reason when I state the obvious – because everything I write here or speak in real life is measured and precise. …. Just kidding, I’m an idiot.)

Okay, so I’m a writer, and I write projects I intend to present through various mediums. I also started as a film major in college, which we’ve already talked about somewhere and also, who cares. More to the point, I made a film while there, based on my own short story. Moral: Things change in the translation. They have to. I won’t bore you with the details (suffice it to say my favorite part of the movie is the title…and the fact that we did it). So I said all that to say, I do not consider a novel and a film based on a novel to be the same thing, nor do I expect the film to attempt plastering book pages to the screen.

And I honestly, genuinely, consistently feel that way.

Unless Ender’s Game forces me to give up that religion. O_O

[youtube:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2UNWLgY-wuo%5D

….and of course, I can’t really say what concerns me about that trailer in any sort of detail because I’m trying not to help the editor do what s/he was clearly trying to do which is RUIN THE GREATEST SCI-FI STORY EVER BEGUN. (Begun because – come on. Speaker For The Dead. I will seriously die next to that book.)

I mean, seriously, this looks like a pretty (aesthetically speaking) rendition of the “He’s our greatest hope because he’s just a military/warrior god” Independence Day dealie but with a kid. AND NO. IT IS NOT. So that’s *one* reason I’m concerned.

Another would be the glaring error in what I hope is just the approach taken by the trailer team. WHICH I CAN’T COMMENT ON BECAUSE OISJDJOFJLDIJDFGL;DFG.

I just. No. I get that a film is not a book. BUT WHY ADAPT THIS PARTICULAR BOOK IF NOT BECAUSE OF THE WAY IT GUTS YOU AND IF YOU’RE GOING TO DO THAT WHY RUIN THAT FROM THE GET?!

You’re making it really hard to keep my faith, Trailer.

…Get it together, Trailer.

Eleventy Queries

So, the other part of that lovely award granted by the Pen Punks was a set of questions.

1. What is your biggest personal achievement?

My family. My hubby, little boy, me family. ❤
2. Do you have a goal for this year? If so, what is it?
Who…has no goals… just out of curiosity. Lol – yes, I have a goal. I want to hold on to what I’ve realized through my recent re-vision (yep, Imma be obnoxious and keep saying it thusly – HAH, see that, Jen?!). I want to be ever more courageous in my work. Actually, in all aspects of life, though it’ll look different depending on the area.
3. If you could pick any imaginary world (from novels/movies) to live in, which would it be and why?
Weeell. I’d love to see if I have what it takes for Battle School… otherwise, I’m a loyalist. We’ve talked about this before. I am bound to my world, my people, etc. I always root for the human, haha. So while I looove so many imaginary worlds (esp sci-fi), I don’t care to be in them. I like reality. (Is this a huge disappointment coming from a writer?)
4. If you could spend a day with any celebrity, whom would you choose and why?
Well, I’d love to spend a day with: Toni Morrison (obvious reasons – I already know I love to hear her talk thanks to multiple episodes of Charlie Rose); Bill Cosby; Charles Stanley. These are people I want to hear speak, up close, before their time is done.
5. What’s the last book you read that surprised you?
Speaker for the Dead – and YES, I’M STILL ON PAUSE BECAUSE IT’S SO OVERWHELMINGLY GOOD. And yes, every page, it seems, is a surprise. Just. The crafting. The clarity. The worlds. Gah.
I’d say Invisible Man surprised me, as well, in a different and yet similar way. I cried. I don’t know that I’ve literally, physically cried before while reading a book. I can be moved and carried aWAY by literature without physical tears falling – but they did. It was brilliant. Brilliant.
6. What’s your favorite game show to watch, and would you actually want to be a contestant on it?
I guess Wheel of Fortune? I really can’t be sure, I just know I loved playing that on the computer back in the time of floppy disks. 😀
7. If you could pick any novel besides your own to be made into a movie, which would it? Why?
Well, Ender’s Game is coming out soon. 😀 ICANTEVEN.
8. What is your favorite YouTube Video?
That. Is a weird question, hahaha. If we’re talking representative videos (like music videos, whether homemade or professional) than it depends on what mood/season/stage of the writing process I’m in. I’m loving Hammock right now, if I haven’t been clear enough – and there are full albums on YouTube.
If it’s just ridiculous clips. Too many. #TooMany
9. What is a book you hate but wish you liked?
I’m sorry, I cannot. I can talk about films, shows, music by name when I hate it but I can’t with books. Except that one time, but it so doesn’t fit this question. I like it just as much as I wanted to.
10. Who is one of your favorite philosophers?
Way too loaded of a question. With far too many qualifiers. I will choose Herbert Marcuse and spare you all the diatribe of why and why not.

11. Where do you do your best thinking about deep questions?

On my bed, when I’m comfy with ice water and my laptop. Or near water – whether it’s in the bath tub, at an overlook point somewhere on West Cliff Drive, at Sentinel Point… it sort of centers on water.

This does not capture it at all. And, if you promise not to prosecute, I’ll admit that I actually did my best thinking past that bench, down a short drop to the actual cliff where you couldn’t hear much more than the waves.

Something Something Books Have Powers

First things first, if you didn’t read the reblog from yesterday, shame on you. Because this is where you go to have fingers wagged at you, you’re welcome. And my friends are on a roll because my girl, Babs, just dropped a mic, as well, and you should go to. (That was a link. Click it.)

Speaking of Babs, she just LITERALLY blew my mind. (Yes, I’m giggling to myself. Figuratively.) So I tweeted about how as we walked home in the not so gently falling snow [read: it was sort of like getting occasionally punched on top of my head by someone made of mush] my 8 year old son told me that he’d put a snowball in his pocket at recess. To which my mom brain went: …of course you did. See, you might have been ready to ask “why”…but then. You might not be a parent. Onward!

So anyway! At some point, I realized he meant, “I put a snowball in my pocket at recess… and it’s still in my pocket.” Which still basically got this response:

And believe me, it’s not even that he’s ever done this before. It’s just that I’ve known him a few years now.

So, I tweet about it. And Babs asks if I know a book by Ezra Jack Keats called “The Snowy Day”. And that the boy puts a snowball in his pocket to take home. And then my brain straight fell. down. Because my son’s name is Ezra. O_O I mean, because this:

EJK

Seeing as he used the word “ain’t” the other day because he’s reading the book Shiloh, I feel like maybe my son should be watched extra close. Like forever because I totally can’t remember every book he’s ever read and how they might translate into our lives. But I do know he’s read all of the How To Train Your Dragon books thus far. So that can’t be good. >.>