Being Thankful

Hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving who celebrates!

I remember not really being into this holiday as a kid – no presents, all the desserts are weird and non-chocolate, and it’s a bunch of sitting around the table not doing a whole lot (I was the only kid on both sides of the family for a while). I maintained that opinion through a lot of my growing-up years, except for the fact that I usually appreciated the long weekend side of things, and the occasional years where we went shopping on Friday were always life experiences.

But a strange thing started happening about three or four years ago.

I started really enjoying hanging out with all the different generations in my fam. I mean sure, you grow up with the same stories but there’s something about jamming everyone in a room together and hearing all sides of what went on, because everyone has a different memory or opinion on oh, everything. (For years the epic argument among the older generations was where a certain picture hung in a house.  You would not think that mentioning ‘the lamb picture’ could incite an emotional response from everyone in the room, but it did. Those of us who are left and remember this still get amused recalling that argument.) And, of course, there’s no better way to affirm that yes, you do belong to a group of people who will accept you as their own, for better or worse (and sometimes for weirder.). I’ve come to grips with my place at the adult table and have left the ruckus-making to the cousins (though sometimes I still help with that, too, mwahahaha…). And every dish that’s set on that table has its own story and family legend. And it’s…well, nice. It’s nice to feel reconnected every once in a while, despite any drama and day-to-day stress. Despite all the million things going on in my own life, it’s nice to know that this group of loving, crazy people are still here around the table.

In general this year, I found I have a lot to be thankful for. Last year was not the best for me – I was still feeling out of sorts physically at the time, I was still carrying around some baggage from the past few years, I was letting my own thoughts and fretting get the best of me. Since then I’ve done a lot of re-evaluating, a lot of self-reflection and work, and the fact that I’m feeling better helps a lot, too. I’m in a fabulous show that cracks me up nightly, working with an amazing group of people. I’m slowly moving forward on several creative ventures and finding some outlets for my writing. I’m realizing that I can trust myself to make good decisions, and learning not to play the comparison game because in the end it just makes me antsy. There’s no need to compare myself to anyone – for better or worse, I’m right where I’m supposed to be, learning the lessons and experiencing the emotions I’m supposed to experience…and that includes a lot of joy and a lot of gratitude. I’m blessed to have a roof over my head, food in my stomach, the ability to work and always add more projects to my plate, a healthy curiosity and empathy, and the desire to express myself. My energy is up and I have an amazing group of friends and family around me that are willing to help me out, hear me out, and raise an eyebrow when I’m too hard on myself. Between that and some killer pecan and pumpkin pie this year, I’d say I’m doing all right.

Because I’m also learning that yeah, the world is a scary place…a lot can happen in a moment. I could watch the news and everything and be terrified, or freak on myself because I’m not “there” yet. And sometimes I do. And then I remember that I have a lot going for me…as long as I even have the inkling, the merest possibility that I can still keep going and work things out, then that’s what I’m going to do, and be grateful to have that and all the aforementioned. It’s the little things like snuggly warm blankets, a choice of food, the ability to whistle, the ability to breathe on my own, the fact that I can make people laugh and smile. That’s just a tiny bit of all the things I have in my life that I can be thankful for, so I’m going to do just that.

 

 

More than Beauty

So the other day I took my life in my hands and went clothes shopping. I must have defective woman genes because this is something I hate like none other. I like looking cute, I like new things, but from a sewing pov it drives me crazy because quality has really gone down in the past decade. And as a woman, the whole process of going into a badly lit changing room, trying on five million similar items in different sizes and colors in the hopes that one little thing might work…no thanks. If you ever have to wait on me in a changing room, I’m sorry – I am that horrible person that takes five hundred items in at once. I can’t stand the thought of having to constantly do the Dressing Room Walk of Shame back and forth from rack to room when I inevitably grab the wrong size.

The thing is, I know I’m fairly decent. I’m pretty happy with the way I look, but because of my curves I’m actually a weird amalgam of sizes. I’ve been told I’m a size eight…in reality this means I’m anywhere from a size six to a fourteen. And let’s face it, things never look like they do on the hangers. I’ve found gorgeous sweaters that I really wanted, only to find that the arms are so tight it makes me look like a mutant, the torso twists weird on my middle, or suddenly the shoulder seams evolve into weird knit spikes that curl up and bop me in the ear. Yeah, I’m an hourglass, but my torso is also really long, my limbs are thick, I’m short, I have T-Rex arms and Charlie Brown legs, and not everything is directly proportional to each other. I’m shaped like a human woman and apparently designers aren’t designing things for that species anymore. And those little cami tops and cute little skirts that are supposedly “in” and dudes apparently really like? Yeah, well, there’s no way I could wear those without looking like I’m selling something.

For being told that I have the body that every woman wants, there are many times I want to curl up on the floor of a changing room and cry. It doesn’t help that we’re slammed from idealized versions of beauty from five seconds after we’re born, too (That Gerber baby? Totally the precursor to Barbie and supermodels.). It’s a wonder any woman has anything resembling confidence anymore. And that’s a shame, because if you really, really look at people you’ll see they’re unique and gorgeous in their own way. Seriously, try it. Glance at the cashier, at the people you’re passing on the sidewalk…but don’t use the typical I AM JUDGING YOU eyes. People are gorgeous, unique, interesting, fascinating…there is nothing wrong with the way the random woman on the street looks. What is wrong is that we’re fed a line by very successful marketing companies that know how to feed off our insecurities. And somehow, that line translates into fact.

I can honestly say I’ve been every body type: I was a scrawny, gawky teenager, I put on a lot of weight in my early twenties, lost it, gained some of it back, and lost it again last year. And I still have to remind myself that no matter what, I’m worthwhile. My Achilles heel is that I look younger than I am, and no matter what I tend to come off as cute and adorable. For years I was convinced that I could never be gorgeous, sexy, or anything worth a second glance because I wasn’t ten feet tall and blonde. It doesn’t help that as a performer I am constantly hearing how I’m not measuring up, how I need to look slightly different, dress different, etc. I’ve heard it all.

That, combined with past experiences formed a massive chip on my shoulder which really wasn’t doing anything for my attraction factor, or my happiness factor.  And I used to joke about the ten foot blonde thing a lot, but in reality it was a big block in moving forward in my life. At the end of the day it isn’t just about what weight you are, what your physical handicaps or assets are…it matters who you are. It has taken me a long, long time to realize this, and like a couple of days ago in Changing Room Hell, the insecurities still creep up on me at times. Although I have to admit that looking in that mirror, I finally realized the real problem: I’m the only human who is absolutely perfect and because fashion is for the masses, well of course nothing’s going to fit me! Yeah. That’s my theory and I’m sticking to it.

Strangely, post-it notes have saved my sanity. Last year whilst in the middle of some weird health issues (losing weight was an attempt to figure out why my body was revolting…it turned out to be faulty hardware from a past surgery, and luckily everything is hunky dory now.) I found myself just utterly pissed at life, but more so at myself. And then I found the book version of the Operation Beautiful project. You write empowering messages on post-its with the site url on them somewhere. And you spread them, anonymously. I found myself being reminded about the good, simple beauty facts that deep-down I believe. I also found a purpose in spreading that message and pulling myself out of my own funk in the process. What’s also amazing is the other lesson I learned in the process of recuperating – a body that works is a good body. It is a Wonderful body, a Gorgeous body, a BEAUTFUL body. Weight didn’t matter, being the cookie-cutter version of hot didn’t matter…when I suddenly had the energy to work on projects again, when I suddenly was able to have a cold and not have it turn into a six-month long experience my body became a Work of Art.

There’s a chapter of Women Who Run With the Wolves that also touches on what it really means for a woman’s body to be beautiful, and I recommend that book as a whole to any female (or any male who’s curious) wanting to rediscover parts of their dormant soul. Yes, I said dormant soul. I told you, I really talk like that.

Throughout all this I stumbled upon an inspirational essay I’d written years ago. Over the years I’d showed it to The Sibling and various friends, and the curious thing was that most everyone who read it felt like it had been written especially for them. I can’t remember exactly what spawned it, but I think deep down I was probably secretly writing it for myself. I tried submitting it to some magazines and other places bent on empowering women…only to be nicely told the same thing each time: Sorry, this isn’t what women really want to hear.

………what? Have we really become that obsessed with a fake ideal that reminding everyone that they are special is taboo?

I finally decided to submit it to the Operation Beautiful site and see if it could be put to use. To my glee, it was posted on the Change the Way You See page. And then life got in the way and I promptly forgot about it. A few weeks ago I was perusing online on my phone and stumbled across that link. I hadn’t really expected anyone to comment on it. It’s one of those things that meant so much to me while writing it, but like all writing I realize that once you send it out to the universe, it becomes what people want to make of it. And people aren’t always going to let you know.

I not only had comments on it, but I’m not ashamed to say that reading them while walking to my car that evening, I cried all over my phone. I think a lot of people put pen to paper hoping to convey their emotions and feelings that are important to them. Sometimes that’s veiled in genre, other times it’s all out there. And for something I’ve written to touch people openly and for them to share parts of themselves in return…that is incredibly humble. And Beautiful.

For those who are interested, my essay is You are More  If it speaks to you, if it makes you think, if it makes you feel, if it makes you treat someone else with a little more kindness and respect, then I’m  very glad I could be a quiet, momentary voice for that.

Even so, I’m still never going to like buying clothes.

Yay for YA! (writing, that is…)

Got so much stuff I want to cover. Hopefully I’ll get back in a rhythm, because I really want to talk about the HorrorHound Cinci con and some other stuff soon. But first, with Breaking Dawn pt. 1 out and my most recent trip to the library (yep, I go that much when I have time), I’ve been thinking about Young Adult literature.

Why is it we seem to feel like anything goes if it’s for pre-teens and teens? There are some genuinely good titles out there, both old and new, but I’m always floored when I glance at book jackets in this section. It’s like if it could possibly make money, be glorified franchised fan fiction,  maybe kinda teach a lesson, or just be plain weird, then it’s Young Adult. I’m floored sometimes that we’ve actually retained an adult fantasy genre (in a fiction sense, not a penthouse sense!) because obviously if it involves magic/vampires/werewolves/life problems then it’s a teen book. Because, you know, adults don’t have problems and apparently aren’t worthy of other dimensions or magic powers.

Does anyone besides me remember Problem Literature or whatever it was really called? That was the trend when I was a teenager, and it still boggles my mind that this was considered acceptable. Not only was it popular, but it was required reading in a lot of schools. I’m talking about books where the sole purpose was to show the young reader that life is not a piece of cake and you are going to have a lot of problems that will weigh down your entire life and make hope futile. A lot of the time these things featured kidnappings, runaways, domestic abuse, rape, molestation, incest, financial turmoil, you name it…sometimes all in the same book.  I wish I was kidding.  Old-school titles like The Outsiders, Pig Man,  etc fall into this category, but there were tons of new titles that were popular among library book groups when I was in high school. The only one I remember vividly was Crosses, because it scared the crap out of me.

To this day I have the clear memory of joining a summer book group at the library only to find out that all the book options were like this. After reading one book about a family of illegal immigrants that smuggled themselves to America, were forced to endure horrible factory conditions, and the main female lead was nearly molested or raped a half-dozen times, I switched books to a fantasy title. I forget what the book was, but it was something about a really hideous forest creature who falls in love with an arrogant prince, and then manages to become beautiful for a little while, but the sole point of the book is that it doesn’t last and she becomes hideous again because that was what she was to begin with and she was ridiculous for ever hoping for love. And I think she maybe dies or something. In short, it was kind of like every day in school for me.

It was at that point when I quit the book group and went right to the comics section of the library and loaded up on Charles Schultz books. And then I went and checked out half of the BSC series to wipe my mind of that depressing crud. Say what you want about the BSC (and I’ll agree with you on most of it), at that point all I wanted was something happy that could make me think good things at school were possible.

I will never understand why writers and publishers felt that the problem movement was a good idea, just like I don’t understand why publishing any old thing that has some fantasy element in it these days is a good idea. Good YA titles should be like good adult titles. They should inspire, teach, and make a reader feel. (Yeah, this is a big one with me. I really don’t care if I agree with an author’s viewpoint or not; if you can make me have a visceral or emotional reaction, you’re good. The exception to this is problem literature, because the sole point of it is to slam it’s depressing message on the reader. There’s no reason for that, especially in an age group that already has so much to deal with.)

So I started thinking about the titles that could fit in this age bracket that I really love. And yeah, I still read YA lit every now and again. I have younger relatives and I feel I should know at least some options to tell them. These are far from the only good titles out there, but these are the ones I particularly love. And these are in no particular order, so nobody get your knickers in a twist!

1. Anything by Madeline L’Engle that involves the Murray family or the O’Keefe family – This pretty much starts with A Wrinkle in Time and goes through Many Waters, then picks up with The Arm of the Starfish through An Acceptable Time. Please have all young women read this instead of Twilight. You have your romance, you have actual real-world problems, and your heroines get to save the universe.  Meg has the self-doubts all of us had at that age. Plus, Meg’s daughter faces some  heavy emotional issues that are really bold and deep. I know some people feel L’Engle gets a little religious and a little sciencey, but she actually walks a very good line and brings up that stuff more in a story-telling sense than anything else. This is a very positive series, though not always wrapped up in a nice big bow. Because I also believe that parents/older siblings/other relatives or someone in their life should be reading what they are, it’s also got some good conversational topics in it. For a very female-positive alternative to Twilight, this is your series.

2. Coraline or The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman – Now I will say I prefer the book and graphic novel version of Coraline to the movie. Again, I like the plucky, strong-willed girl heroine and Gaiman not only captures that well but plunges her into a creepy, real-but-not-real world. And what kid hasn’t wondered what it would be like to go home but have it not really be your home? The Graveyard Book is about the boy Nobody who lives in a graveyard with ghosts until his potential murderer can be found. These probably aren’t for the under ten group, but they are a really good pre-teen introduction to fantasy and horror. While I’m not necessarily bashing the likes of say, R.L. Stine, I think these titles ring more emotionally true and are generally more interesting than the sensationalist alternatives.

3. Fat Vampire: A Never Coming of Age Story by Adam Rex – I read this last year and regained faith in the teen vampire genre. This is hilarious. I must’ve read this thing three times in a week because it is so ridiculously funny. It’s the story of a boy who’s accidentally turned into a vampire, but unlike the image we’re always presented with he’s a stocky comic nerd who now will never grow out of his awkward phase. And the girl who could potentially be his love interest is an exchange student from India trying to cure her illness “the google.” It’s fabulous. It takes the stereotypical teen archetypes in new directions, it introduces a reality-show subplot without being dumb, and it also spoofs my favorite vampire movie ever (no I’m not spoiling what this is), so extra bonus points for that! It also doesn’t pull any punches  and doesn’t attempt to make the protagonists nice. Really, the second-bananas in this book are the more endearing ones, and the ending was one that I didn’t see coming.

4. Born to Rock by Gordon Korman –  This is the story of Leo, a young, highschool-aged republican who for reasons I’m not going to give away loses his full scholarship to Harvard. Unable to fathom how he’s going to ever make it ahead in life, he suddenly finds out that his real father is an aging punk rock singer, who is reuniting with his band and going out on tour. In an effort to reconnect and try to get his dad to pay for his college, Leo becomes a roadie. The adventures they go on, Leo trying to come to terms with his own friends, his family, and himself, plus  the eventual resolution is outstanding. I love all things rock n’ roll and I was intrigued by the jacket blurb enough to give this a try. Korman really makes some brave choices at the end, and I was so glad that I randomly picked this up off a display.

5. Something Wicked This Way Comes or Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury – These are more dated, but they are important examples of genre fiction. Something Wicked is much more obvious than Dandelion Wine, but both tell very age-defining stories. In the first you have two boys struggling with their inner natures, egged on by a mysterious dark carnival. In the latter you have the summer Doug turns thirteen and all the myriad of humdrum adventures that he goes on. Dandelion celebrates the little things in life and centers more around the realization that at some point we all must realize that we’re alive and that at some point we won’t be. They’re very different books but both deal with very real life truths and are the originals for a lot of copycats out there. I’d also say that From Dust Returned would be a good runner-up to either of these books if you want more of the typical creepy stuff with a humanist leaning.

6. Tithe, Valiant, Ironside by Holly Black – I love this series. I would also rate this 16+ because it does deal with things that some parents may not want a ten or twelve-year-old reading (same-sex relationships, heavier relationships in general, injecting glamour as a drug). However, this is urban fantasy at its best, whether it be YA or adult. All the characters are going though identity issues, everything is never as it seems, and just when you think that the author is going to pull back, she goes where you don’t expect her to. How many changeling stories do we get to see after things have been switched back? How many love stories happen with a troll? The faeries in this series can be kind (if they choose) or cruel, but they are always wild, which is what they should be. What I love is although there is a heavy theme of alienation and finding out who you are in the series, there is also a heavy theme of belonging. And again, it is mostly a girl-centric series where the leads actually go through a lot and are strong enough to come up with solutions or put up a fight along with having romantic entanglements.

7. Smile by Raina Telgemeir - this is an autobiographical graphic novel about the author’s dental experiences from early jr. high through high school. I just read this last night and couldn’t put it down. She ends up falling and knocking out her two front teeth and what should have been easily taken care of goes on…and on…and on. Through all her worries about her teeth she deals with feelings about herself, boys, and a group of friends who are far from supportive. This resonated with me because I’ve had my own dental epic drama and at about the same age I was dealing with the minefield that is jr. high school friendship. The pictures are adorable and emote off the page. You feel so much for Raina because she tries so hard and wants to be liked so badly. This speaks to any girl in that age bracket and also rings very true from a teeth-perspective, too. If you’ve been picked on or had any sort of mouth work done, you’ll identify with this book.

8. Persepolis 1 & 2  by Marjane Sartrapi – I love these books. These are a little heavy and should be read by an age-appropriate audience (2 has more teenage/college themes), but they are so important for connecting with different cultures. They’re about the author’s life experiences during and after the Islamic Revolution in Iran. The chance to read things from a differing perspective than one’s own is humbling, informative, and because the core emotions are so much what everyone goes through the reader will feel a sense of  empathy with the author by time it’s all done.

So how about it? Any other titles that anyone remembers fondly or have rediscovered? Anything that traumatized you flipped through and were promptly traumatized by?

Genre work vs. ‘real’ writing

So much going on, so much I want to talk about, but I’ve got rehearsal this evening so one thing at a time is probably best. I’m actually nervous for tonight – not so much about getting in and working with the script; I’m always raring to get started on a show in that respect. But being the newbie, walking in for the first time and getting acquainted with everyone and how things work…that tends to be the thing that scares me to death.

I’m outspoken, I have my opinions, and creatively I suppose I border on bold. But man, put me in a social situation and my poor heart is pounding out of my chest. Give me a script, give me music, give me a pen and paper, give me a sewing machine and I’m fine. Throw me into a crowded room and make me hold a conversation? Check, please. But I also realize that once I push past that initial “oh my god” moment, I’m usually okay. And if I never tried anything new, I would never have some of the incredible experiences I’ve had. It’s just getting past those first few moments…

Anyway, I’ve been thinking a lot about genre stuff lately, especially horror/fantasy stuff. Blame it on Horrorhound this weekend, blame it on my library run yesterday, blame it on a lot of things. But I have been occupied on the topic of genre fiction. As I go through submitting to different places, it intrigues me that a lot of ezines and mags are coming out saying that they want genre fiction that’s more like literary fiction. And to that I say – shouldn’t a good story be a good story? Why are we trying to make a distinction that shouldn’t even have to be made? It just takes me back to my creative writing classes in college, where we had to listen to the professor go on and on about how he only wanted stories based in real life. That’s fair, it was his course, but in going back and looking at some of the pieces I wrote during that time…yeah, they were set in the real world, but they were just as full of plot holes or loose points as some genre work I’ve read. And yet he ate stuff up simply because it was “real.”

I really hate that a lot of people blow off  the speculative/fantasy/horror genres as not “real” literature or as being the stuff that’s geared towards a lesser audience, that’s suited to a young adult audience, that’s written to cash in. I would like to think I am reasonably well-read. I’ve read a lot of real-world, literary, true-to-life stuff. Some is really good. Admittedly I prefer it in play form (Tennessee Williams, Chekov, David Hare, Arthur Miller, A. R. Gurney – I love them all) because I feel like it’s a little easier to be engaged by what’s going on. If I’m going to be distracted from my real life by more real-ish life, I’d rather see it play out in front of me than on a page.

Not all genre work is good. I will totally admit that. I’ve read a lot of sucktacular titles trying to find good stuff. For every “American Gods” there’s something like “The Travelling Vampire Show.” (yes I know a lot of people like that book. That’s fine. Personally I would rather it fall on my skull from a very high place than read it again, but to each his own.) And I agree that a lot of fantasy and horror are  being used as a vehicle for merchandising or as lite material for a young adult audience. But when it’s done well, when it really succeeds I feel like those stories can be a huge metaphor for any sort of life experience.

You want to know about helplessness, about how petty people can act, about the fear of not being in control? Stephen King explores all of that masterfully. You want to focus in on the weirdness of coming of age, about love versus the other thousand emotions coursing through a young girl’s brain, about being not knowing who or what you are? Madeline L’Engle and Holly Black handle this expertly in very different ways.  Neil Gaiman’s love for stories and what they do for and to people pours off the page of any of his books. I have a huge respect and love for Gaiman (he’s my second fave, right behind Bradbury) because he treats his characters (women especially) with respect and doesn’t write down to a situation because it’s fantasy. There are no punches pulled in his work, but there’s also a unique, subtle vulnerable quality there that is  the same sort of quality found in a lot of Tennessee Williams plays that I’ve sat through.  Different situations, different techniques, but the emotional core is there in both.

Look at Clive Barker’s ‘Imajica’ and tell me that it doesn’t have a lot to say about religion, reality, and gender roles.  And Ray Bradbury…oh Bradbury, writer of my heart, my fears, my most bizarre dreams. Yes, he’s known for writing about distant worlds and crazy situations, but he always, always finds the emotional truth for his characters. You are never in any doubt about their love, their fears, their hate, their motivations, because they are the same emotions that rule every one of us. He may not have gone through every situation he writes about, himself, but they are all based on very real feelings he has had; they are grounded in some sort of experience he has gone through. And that makes good writing no matter what category you put it in.

Yes, genre work serves as escapism, but is that really so bad? Sometimes we need to be coyly reminded that life is okay, that there is hope. Is it any wonder that ‘The Wizard of Oz’ was hugely popular during the Depression? People didn’t want true to life experiences; they wanted hope, they wanted adventure. They wanted to forget for just a few moments about all the things they couldn’t control. It’s no wonder that pulp literature also came into its own around that time. And with horror – it also can remind us that life isn’t all that bad in comparison, or maybe we need to think about our behavior a little more. Haven’t you ever recognized unflattering parts of yourself in someone’s scary story?

Anything can be done well or not so well. Just because things take place on other planets, other realities, just because they feature supernatural characters and seemingly “unrealistic” situations should not dumb them down as lite fiction. Because at the end of the day a successful story should make a person think. It should stick with a person long after they’ve closed the book or turned off the Kindle. But most of all, a really successful piece of work should connect with a person and Should Make Them Feel.

And if it takes faeries, vampires, and alternate realities to get people to pay attention, then that’s what it takes.

 

And suddenly I’m a writer

I am so excited I can’t stand it.

Besides starting rehearsals for a holiday show I’m doing this week, besides having a great time at HorrorHound this past weekend, besides finally getting a chance to clean out my closet, I am being published, baby!

A horror story of mine is going to be released as an ebook with No Boundaries Press! I’m still a little shocked that this is actually happening, so any coherent attempt at a post is a little iffy at the moment.

Though as thrilled as I am, I’ve turned right around and kept working on an urban fantasy/YA thing that I started a few months ago. It’s not that I’m not doing a dance, but I stumbled across some advice months ago that rings very, very true for writers and for anyone involved in any sort of artistic pursuit, really. I wish I could remember the source, but I believe it was the blog or interview of a children’s writer. Anyway, basically to paraphrase the advice was that to keep from going crazy about the status one project, always have something else to turn to. That way you’ll never have to over-worry about if project A doesn’t get picked up or you’re not hearing about it fast enough, etc, because you’ve got this other thing to keep you distracted and keep you moving forward.

And really, it’s the best way to keep the blues of rejection away. To give some perspective, about two hours after I’d gotten word that I’d gotten the contract for this I got three rejection letters for other projects. I have at least twenty-five other stories out at the moment.  Because believe me, if you are going to do anything in the arts – write, act, design, build, model, draw, etc, etc, etc the one piece of advice I can give right off the bat is get used to hearing No and learn not to take it personally. It doesn’t matter how good you are, what level you’re at. At some point you’re going to hear a lot more no’s than yes’s. And yeah, it’s hard, it hurts sometimes, but it also isn’t always a reflection on you.

I’ve learned that auditioning/interviewing/submitting is kind of like dating (that other supposedly fun activity that is supposed to lead you to life fulfillment, but in the meantime can’t be taken personally or you’ll just want to jump off a cliff). Sometimes you and a client/company/whatever completely match up with your intentions and meld together as one and it’s beautiful and the stuff of hearts and violins and weird little birdies. Most of the time you can work really well together with some negotiation back and forth to form a good, solid relationship. And then there are the times you’re just stomped on without being given a reason or the times that are so bizarre and so ridiculous that the only thing they’re good for is a tell-all memoir. (Oh, believe me, I’ve had interviews and dates that fit into that latter category. The longer I live the more I feel like I’ve fallen into one of the fictional worlds I write about some days.)

For me, keeping my attention on  a few different things is how I can stay sane and not overly-invest myself emotionally in one particular project. Don’t get me wrong – every single thing I do is a piece of myself (some deeper than others), but at some point you need to be able to get some distance so you can be objective. It’s not just about doing something brilliant; you also have to do something brilliant that people are going to want.  I think sometimes I have too many things on the back burner, but it does help to have something else to turn to. Between this and a book I was doing covert research for at the con this weekend, I’m having a good ol’ time.

 

Lingering wisps of pumpkin smoke

I had wanted to post something Halloweeny yesterday, really I did, but after recovering from a heavy work-filled weekend I realized that it would be the first time in like five years that I would Actually Get To Enjoy Halloween. You have no idea how huge this is. It’s my favorite holiday, one I never really get burnt out on (or if I do it’s considerably less than other holidays). This year alone I had to be focused on parts of the holiday around at least April, and yet I still found myself anticipating October. Getting to spend the 31 of October in a festive way that isn’t dedicated to making other people feel creeped out is a big, big thing for me.

I totally slept as late as I could, I won’t lie. And I loved every second of it.

I didn’t have it in me to go out somewhere this year, and truth be told I kind of like to vicariously live through the kids that plow through the neighborhood with their floppy pillowcases and plastic pumpkins. I miss that self-imposed magic that kids just kind of radiate. Growing up in small towns, I really got the last true bits of the holiday. Back in my day (oh lord, here I go…) we were allowed to be out after dark (gasp!) and we took short cuts through alleys (oh my gawd!), and went to homes we kind of sort of knew (the agony!). Sometimes, if it was from someone we knew, mind you, we even got…homemade treats (The horror, the humanity!)

Seriously, kids today don’t know what they’re missing. Buying a costume in o’ bag is nothing compared to the imagination it takes to believe that you can whip up a spectacular costume out of your mom’s old coat. I’m sure that’s partially where I got the costume design bug…there were a series of years where my attempts were so bizarre for a tween or teen girl, I can’t even say. There was the invisible man, Harpo Marx, Darth Vader, a Jedi, an elf sitting on a mushroom, one witch giving another witch a piggyback ride…don’t ask me what inspired those, but they were a lot of fun. It was fun to be something I wasn’t and suspend all belief in logic and all that dumb real-world stuff for a night where I could run around town scaring the crap out of myself because I just knew a witch or a serial killer was lurking around the next corner. And admittedly I’ve always liked the cutesie elements, too. I suppose my Halloween tastes are part lilian vernon catalogue and part Charles Addams.

So yesterday found me watching my copy of the old special The Halloween Tree (if you haven’t seen this, you’re missing out. Truly an animated masterpiece that is also informative on the origins of the holiday. And it’s by Ray Bradbury so it’s extra-zomg. Different than the book, but as its own beast it’s magnificent). By six (bah, the sun was still out! boooo!) it was out to clump with the neighbors – we all sit around and give out treats in one unit here. While my adult self can appreciate the efficiency and admit that  it’s fun to sit around and eat and catch up, I did wonder what the kids thought about the one-stop shopping. Though wow, I never thought I’d meet a kid that had to be told it was okay for them to take more candy…our block has its manners down, but geez…it’s Halloween! Take the candy, it’s okay! I am also pleased to report that most of the costumes that I saw this year were Star Wars related (so sue me, I’m a big geek). I was severely tempted to run up and throw my Princess Leia outfit on, but was thankfully reminded that since it was thirty degrees, my sweats were probably a better option. I’m pretty sure I managed to freak out some at least one poor neighbor kid by squealing “OH MY GOD IT’S A FETT! WHICH ONE ARE YOU, BOBA OR JANGO!?!?” Thankfully Jango’s mom appreciated my fangirling and didn’t feel the need to get a restraining order.

So now it’s November first. There has never been a more depressing date. Seriously, Halloween and growing older intrigue me. It’s like I can almost, almost still get that same ooga booga dark magic vibe if I squint right and try really hard, but it’s just not quite the same. Which makes the holiday special and a little sad all at once.

But oh, how I still love it!