Reading Like A Writer

Well, it's been far too long since I've done any blogging. However, I am happy to report that my time has been filled with a myriad of other equally wonderful and worthwhile things, one of which is reading. Confession: technically, I shouldn't have time to read “just for fun”. As a journalist major, I'm supposed to be reading the newspaper every day and at least one magazine a week, plus my textbooks and extra material (although I should probably be honest and admit that the whole newspaper-a-day thing isn't happening). I love studying, I truly do. But in the past month, I have realized two things: (1) Reading for enjoyment MUST happen at some point in the week. End of story. Or I will go insane. And (2), that if I want to make time for said reading, no matter how much those words “making time” strike fear into my procrastinator's heart, I have to fight for it. My admiration for those people who instinctively know how to maximize every single minute of their day is boundless.

Despite my uncanny ability to let time get away from me (I like to think of it as an anti-superpower), I have learned to snag reading opportunities here and there: on the bus, in the break room at work, late at night when I'm supposed to be sleeping, etc. But I no longer have the time to devour books in one sitting like I did in high school. Gone are the days of coming home every week with stacks of books and ability to finish all of them at my leisure. I think back rather wistfully to the weekend in eleventh grade in which I inhaled the entirety of Victor Hugo's The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and I wonder, “How on earth did I do that?”

At the same time, even though part of me misses those days, I'm beginning to believe that my slowed-down reading pace isn't necessarily a bad thing. Why? Well, partly because of this wonderful book I just finished called Reading Like A Writer by Francine Prose. (And by the way, isn't that name almost too perfect for an author? Kinda makes you suspicious... hmmm...) I read her book for the first time as a junior in high school and absolutely loved it. Last month I picked it up again and just finished it last week. My verdict: everyone – yes, I mean EVERYONE – who loves books and the written word should read this. As in, go. Now. To the library.

Until I read this book, I had never heard of close reading before. Maybe you haven't either. There are lots of ways to define the term, but I'm gonna be all scholarly and quote the Wikipedia article (ahem): “Close reading describes, in literary criticism, the careful, sustained interpretation of a brief passage of text. Such a reading places great emphasis on the particular over the general, paying close attention to individual words, syntax, and the order in which sentences and ideas unfold as they are read.” (Hey, not too shabby, Wikipedia.) In the first chapter, Prose gives an in-depth description of close reading, providing groundwork for the rest of her book in which she analyzes short stories, essays, and novels from a wide gamut of authors (Jane Austen, Scott F. Fitzgerald, Flannery O'Conner, Ernest Hemingway, Franz Kafka, Shakespeare, Leo Tolstoy, Henry James, and Emily Brontë, just to name a few). And not just works from long-dead writers of classics, either. She references a handful of present-day novelists as well.

In eleven chapters, Prose builds from words, sentences, and paragraphs, to narration, character, dialogue, detail, and gesture. But she doesn't teach you anything about writing, at least not directly. Instead, she quotes beautiful passages of literary works, ranging in length from a few sentences to several pages, adds her own musings, and allows you to ponder and make observations. If anything, the overarching theme of the book is that for every literary rule you encounter, you will find an exception. As I finished each chapter over the last five weeks, I found myself slowing to a crawl, not wanting the book to be over. I carried it to work with me, sneaked pages here and there on my lunch break, and gave myself a headache reading on the bus. When I found a quoted passage that I particularly liked, I'd made a note of the author and title and rush to the library after work.

As a junior paging through Reading Like A Writer, I remember feeling like I was learning to read for the first time. Prose made reading seem like an art, like wine-tasting instead of gobbling down a feast in one sitting. It became something more purposeful, deliberate, and overall more delightful. And both times after finishing her book, I found myself more inspired to write – and equipped with the courage to do so. Take that, Inner Editor.

Oh, and by the way... another perk to checking out Reading Like A Writer is for the wonderful book list included at the end, entitled “Books To Be Read Immediately.” She's got some seriously fantastic titles in there. And here's a quote for you, because I like quotes and this one seems to sum it all up:

“If we want to write, it makes sense to read – and to read like a writer. If we wanted to grow roses, we would want to visit rose gardens and try to see them the way that a rose gardener would.” – Francine Prose, Reading Like A Writer

The Paradox of a Virtual Life

Some people love summertime because of the sunshine, the beach, and the flip-flop tans. Some people love it for the picnics, sweet corn, and warm evenings glittering with fireflies. I love summer because it has become the only time of year in which I can leave my phone turned off in the bottom of my suitcase for as long as I want to and nobody asks indignantly if I got their text message. I love it because for once, Facebook and email are a chore rather than a necessity. I love it because I don't have to sit in front of a computer screen when all I want is a good heart-to-heart.

Both this summer and last summer I worked at a Christian camp from June until August. For a blissful nine weeks, I lived almost completely technology-free.  You don't have time for gadgets when you're hiking up a mountain in the pouring rain, building sandcastles at the playground with kindergartners, spraying shaving cream on a crowd of gleefully squealing middle-school girls, or splashing through mud puddles to get to the dining hall in the middle of a downpour. Yes, I checked my Facebook and phone on the weekends... but it wasn't something I thought or even cared much about. Cleaning out my inbox, scanning notifications, and replying to texts became an afterthought. “Yeah, I should probably do that later,” I would tell myself on my weekends off, and sometimes I'd just conveniently forget. My summer was one of adventures, laughter, and conversation. As mid-August crept closer, the staff talked about dreading going back to “real life”, but I think we had it backwards because nothing could have been more real. Maybe we've simply forgotten what real life is supposed to be like.

I've been home for three weeks now... and I've found that without the constant interaction and face-to-face communication that defines camp life, I don't quite know what to do with myself. In three weeks, I have checked my Facebook account more than a dozen times a day and sent and received more text messages than my phone processed over the course of the entire summer. I hate feeling obligated to carry my cell phone and compelled to check my messages over and over again. I hate the fact that I've gone straight back to doing what I was so happy to be free of for three months. Most of all, I hate the fact that I could stop... and won't.

Last year at the beginning of October, I decided enough was enough and deactivated my Facebook account. My goal was to stay away from social networking until the new year. Then it turned into a month. Then, three and a half weeks later, I caved.  Much as I felt like I was cheating, it simply didn't seem practical, especially for those long-distance friendships in which Facebook was our only link.  However, I recently stumbled across an article in a year-old Newsweek magazine entitled “iCrazy: How Connection Addiction Is Rewiring Our Brains” and a video (on Facebook, of all places) that got the wheels turning again.

Shimi Cohen, creator of the four-minute video entitled “The Innovation of Loneliness”, describes with simple clarity why social networking has become such a crutch in our lives. “We're collecting friends like stamps, not distinguishing quantity versus quality, and converting the deep meaning and intimacy of friendship with exchanging photos and chat conversations. By doing so, we're sacrificing conversation for mere connection, and so a paradoxical situation is created in which we claim to have many friends while actually being lonely.” You can watch the video here: The Innovation of Loneliness

It's beautifully stated.  In a society that glorifies the individual, we've become addicted to affirmation and the reassurance that we'll never have to be alone, yet we're lonelier than ever.  We spend time crafting the perfect virtual self and surrounding ourselves in a bubble of virtual friends so that we'll never have to feel the ache of loneliness, but we're only fooling ourselves.

The media and social networking has a place in our lives whether we like it or not.  Regardless, I don't want to settle for connection over conversation.  I don't want to settle for anything less than REAL.  I don't want something that was intended to be a tool to become a lifestyle. Cohen said it perfectly: “We slip into thinking that always being connected is going to make us feel less alone. But we are at risk, because the opposite is true. If we are not able to be alone, we're only going to know how to be lonely.”

Good Books Are Like Macaroni and Cheese

I have a love-hate relationship with top ten lists. I love reading other people's lists, and I love the idea of creating my own... but when it actually comes down to it, I struggle to pick just ten. Especially books. It's like choosing a favorite kid, for crying out loud! Yet here I am, trying once again to concoct such a list, because it seems like an appropriate thing to do before the semester starts. Actually, I'm going to be unconventional with a list of Top Eleven. Somehow that extra book makes me feel better about being selective. The titles listed below are my tried-and-trues, the ones I go for when I'm tired of hunting through the library shelves and just want to curl up with something familiar.  To me these books are like macaroni and cheese - comfort food in readable form.  My hope is that you'll find something interesting here to add to your own bowl of mac n' cheese. (By the way, much as I adore them, this does NOT include picture books... because that's a little too ambitious for my taste.  We'll save that list for another day.)

1. The Princess Bride by William Goldman – Everyone has seen the movie. How many people even know the book exists? Okay, maybe everyone knows and I was just in the dark for years. Thanks for telling me, guys. Anyway, it's hilarious, possibly even funnier than the movie. You should read it. Really. It's my go-to when I need something fun and don't want to think very hard.

2. Arthur: The Seeing Stone by Kevin Crossley-Holland – This is the first in a trilogy. (Appreciate my sneakiness here – that's three for the price of one!) If you like medieval fiction or Arthurian legends and have not read this... well, for shame! Get thyself a copy. Beautiful prose and vivid characters.

3. Tuck Everlasting by Natalie Babbitt – In a nutshell, it's about an eleven-year-old girl who finds the fountain of youth in the woods beyond her house. When I was younger, I used to read this during the first week of every August, because that's where the story begins. I've since broken the tradition, but I still read the book at least once a year.

4. Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones – I was foolish enough to start the first chapter at ten o' clock in the evening. But then again, how was I supposed to know that I wouldn't be able to put it down? I ended up hunched under a blanket with a flashlight and sore elbows at two o' clock in the morning. If you like fantasy... heck, if you like to laugh and enjoy clever prose, this is for you. Spells, mobile castles, cranky fire demons, melodramatic wizards, eighteen-year-old girls disguised as old women... lots of exciting stuff, folks. PS: Hayao Miyazaki adapted the story into an equally quirky animated film.

5. Flight: Volume II edited by Kazu Kibuishi – Throwing you for a loop here. This one's the first on the list that isn't a novel. It's a comic anthology of thirty-three stories by young, unconventional artists. Volume II is lovely, displaying a diverse blend of styles and genres. The stories range from oddly poetic to downright eerie. A must-read if you like graphic novels or art in general.

6. Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie – Everyone knows the story of Peter Pan. (Thank you, Disney.) I'm not sure the same number of people have read the original book, but to miss the opportunity would be a tragedy. J.M. Barrie is brilliant. You can't help laughing out loud at his wonderful, spot-on dialogue. Few authors know how to write children with so much honesty. This is one of the most enchanting stories I've ever read. (The edition featuring Scott Gustafson's illustrations makes it even better.)

7. The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis – He's one of my all-time favorite authors. And The Great Divorce just might be my favorite thing he's ever written. In brief, it's about a bus ride from heaven to hell. C.S. Lewis is one of those authors who can write about eternity without sounding saccharine or preachy. The book is thoughtful, convicting, sometimes funny, and always full of joy.

8. Willful Creatures by Aimee Bender – Here you will find fifteen diverse short stories. Bender writes surreal speculative fiction that is both bizarre (a boy with keys for fingers, potato babies, a child born with an iron head) and utterly heartfelt. Her short stories are some of the best I've read in the genre.

9. The Book Thief by Marcus Zusak – It's a story about World War II, and it's narrated by Death. Wait, you say, doesn't that sound terribly morbid? Well, yes... I suppose it does. Yet Zusak somehow manages to make it humorous, heartbreaking, and bittersweet. Besides, it's pretty hard not to be intrigued by a first chapter entitled “Death and Chocolate.”

10. How Green Was My Valley by Richard Llewellyn – Set in the coal mines of Wales, this story contains some of the strongest characters I have ever met. I say “met” because that's how real they are – by the second chapter, you feel like you've known Huw Morgan and his boisterous family your whole life. The book is like a wilder, grittier, Welsh version of Little House on the Prairie. Except much, much better.

11. The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery – My lists change all the time, practically every time I read a new book. It takes a lot for a book to stay on the list for more than a year, let alone permanently. The Little Prince is one of the few exceptions. This title has been a favorite ever since I read it for the first time as a freshman in high school. Narrated by a pilot stranded in the desert, it's the whimsical story of a prince who leaves his tiny asteroid and journeys to earth. From the endearing dedication page to the melancholy last page, I love, love, LOVE every word of this story. Saint-Exupery knows how to write straight at the human heart.

There you have it: my current top ten eleven list.  This is my bowl of macaroni and cheese.  (Gosh, all this talk of metaphorical noodles is seriously making me hungry.  I need to stop.)  How about you? Do you have a list of your own? Like I said, this is the time of year in which I start hunting for new titles... so recommendations are welcome! Who knows, in a couple of months I might just have to revise my selections.  In the meantime, check these books out if you haven't already done so.  Happy eating!  Er, reading...

Let's Take The U.S. Postal Service By Storm

I used to loathe the very idea of social networking websites. I thought they were a shallow, stupid way to avoid real friendships while still feeling “popular.” That was before I got a Facebook account, of course. “I'll never be on Facebook!” I used to rant to the amusement of my friends, who had already been lured away by the siren song of social networking. “There are better ways to maintain long distance friendships! I'll rebel! I'll – I'll write letters!” And for a while I did. That very day I sat down at my desk, pen and stationary in hand, and composed several epistles. It was fun. I felt like a character in a Jane Austen novel. To my great delight, a few people even wrote back once or twice. Okay, two people. One of whom was my grandma. But still. A letter is a letter, right?

Several months later, I broke down and made a Facebook account anyway. Well... so much for revolutionizing the world with letter-writing. I, um, sort of tried. The problem with letters is that most people don't have the time to write back, or even to write in the first place. (At least, that's what everyone says. My personal theory is that all our potential letter-writing time gets sucked away by... other sources. *cough, Facebook, cough*) So the sad fact about letters in today's world is that everyone loves getting them and almost nobody has the motivation to write them, except for those rare souls like my grandma.

Happy news: I'm blessed to have a handful of those rare souls as friends. In fact, they're the reason I'm typing away here, simultaneously lamenting the lack of letters in our world and rejoicing in the fact that... (drumroll, please) I GOT MAIL TODAY! Huzzah! Nothing makes my heart sing like a letter with my name on the envelope. This morning when I woke up, I found not one but TWO letters pushed under my bedroom door. My heart could have sung an entire opera.

Now, don't take this the wrong way: I'm not saying we should all delete our Facebook accounts (or blogs), throw our laptops into the nearest dumpster, and start buying stationary in bulk. Modern conveniences like email and social networking sites can be incredibly useful. Relying on mail delivery for everything would be a royal pain. I like the fact that I don't have to plan three days in advance every time I need to contact my boss or want to plan a get-together with a friend. However... there's just something sad about opening your mailbox every morning only to find bills and junk mail. A well-crafted, lovingly doodled-on letter is a beautiful thing. To all my letter-writing friends (and you know who you are): thank you! You are quite inspiring. I'm thrilled that I'm not the only one still licking envelopes and buying stamps.

So, I've decided to try something this year because I like goals, and I like challenges. Here it is: The Letter-A-Week Challenge. Fairly self-explanatory. Pick one person each week, and write them a good old-fashioned letter. Who's with me? Seriously, you should do it. Make someone's heart sing an opera.

As for me, I'm off to be Jane-Austenish and write a letter or two.

Grave of the Fireflies

Stories are dangerous things. Every time we open a book, sit in a darkened theater, or watch a film in the privacy of our own living room, we choose to leave our worlds behind, to become so fully absorbed in the characters that we almost forget ourselves. We spend hours in their skin, rejoicing and weeping with them. In a way, we know them. Whether or not they exist as tangible beings in our world is beside the point – they have become real.

Yesterday I met Seita and Setsuko in the 1988 Studio Ghibli film Grave of the Fireflies. I've loved Studio Ghibli for years. Their canon of films has a kind of beauty, strength, and childlike whimsy unlike anything else. Grave of the Fireflies, directed by the studio's co-founder Isao Takahata (friend of Hayao Miyazaki, who created classics such as My Neighbor Totoro and Princess Mononoke) absolutely took my breath away. Five minutes into the film, Seita and Setsuko stole my heart. Yes, it sounds cliché, but I can't think of a better way to phrase it. Ten minutes later, I found myself in tears. Even now I can't stop replaying scenes over and over in my head. It will be days until they fade.  

As Japan erupts in a storm of firebombs and ash during World War II, Seita and his little sister Setsuko fight to survive in a place stripped of everything they once knew to be safe. After losing their mother in an air raid, the children are sent to live with their aunt, a harsh woman who chastises them relentlessly and eventually drives them out of the house with her coldness. Left with only each other, the siblings build a home for themselves in an abandoned bomb shelter. Seita does everything he can to provide for himself and Setsuko, but without food or resources, his efforts are not enough to save them.

Takahata makes it clear from Seita's first line (“September 21^st, 1945. That was the night I died.”) that our two small heroes will become casualties of the war. In fact, the opening scene ends with Seita and Setsuko's ghosts leaving an empty train station as symbolic fireflies dot the grass around them. The scene then switches back to the first air raid and the red haze of firebombs and smoke. Yet in the midst of chaos, starvation, and broken villages, the story is full of light. Takahata's depictions of Seita's loyalty and love for Setsuko are beautiful. At the beach, running through the rain, sharing fruit drops at the train station, releasing fireflies under the mosquito net... Seita doing endless flips on the school chin-up bar to coax a smile from his crying sister... Setsuko weeping over Seita's bruises after he is caught stealing sugar cane for her... Lovely scenes, and almost too overwhelming to watch in one sitting.  I had to keep hitting pause because I couldn't see the screen through so many tears.

Grave of the Fireflies is the most powerful war movie I've ever seen. Sitting in front of my laptop, I felt like I was there. I flinched at the sound of sirens, cringed as airplanes droned overhead, and wept with Setsuko as she hunched in the dirt and cried for her mother. This is not a film to be watched on a whim. Although it's a visual masterpiece, it's not meant to be entertainment or a pretty piece of storytelling. It will change you. It should change you. I've heard Grave of the Fireflies described as an anti-war film, but I don't think Takahata's message is as dogmatic or clear-cut as that. The story is powerful not because of what is said, but because of what is left unsaid. Takahata wastes no time preaching, manipulating, or pressing an agenda. He simply shows us the lives of two doomed children caught in the wrong time and the wrong place, and he dares us to love them anyway. We're left to draw our own conclusions. That is, perhaps, the most powerful thing he could have done after all.

I Like To Write In The Witching Hour...

...or something like that.  I just love that there's an hour known as The Witching Hour.  It sounds like an hour full of adventurous things waiting to happen.  Actually, writing at this time of night always seems to happen whether I like it or not.  Maybe it's a procrastinator thing.  I get stuff done when it's technically way too late to be anywhere but bed.  Most likely I'll regret this in the morning, but the blog had to get finished and I didn't want to leave it completely empty of words.

I have a blog!  Yay!  I've been toying with the idea all year.  So, what's this blog all about, you ask?  Hmm... I'm not entirely sure yet.  Probably a lot of book, film, and music posts, as well as many ramblings on the craft of writing.  Yes, I am a writer.  No, I am not famous or well-known (obviously!).  I'm not even little-known.  In fact, I only have one published short story to my name, and that isn't out yet.  (I'll post a link when it is!)  However, I do write a lot - novels, short stories, essays, articles... all kinds of things.  If I have to be called anything, maybe it should be Compulsive Word-Dabbler.  That suits me quite well at this point.

The Dreamer's Day Job is an apt title for my blog because, well... I'm a bit of a dreamer, and freelance writing is my idea of the perfect day job.  Right now the title brings with it a touch of irony, because in real life I'm a soon-to-be journalism student who works at a restaurant and stays up into the wee hours of the morning writing short stories.  But I like where I am, and I like the adventures life flings my way.  I'll have some good stories.  Probably some good potential blog posts.

For now, I'm going to sleep.  Stay tuned, I'll have a film review for tomorrow.

Caved In At Last...

Ahhhh! I finally succumbed to the world of blogs and posts and am now knee-deep in blogger mumbo jumbo as I try to figure out how this all works. Egads! Why is the Internet so complicated? I just want to write, for goodness' sake.  Confession: sometimes technology scares me.

A real post will hopefully appear quite soon. For now, I'm off to cure my ignorance regarding CSS, galleries, links, and polls.