BRICKWALLED!

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There are those moments when writing comes easily for me, when the words flow easily from my fingertips and everything is fine and dandy and I can do a couple thousand words easy and everything is hunky doory.

And then…there is the BRICK WALL.

Yeah. Like this one.

Yeah. Like this one.

The ideas stop. The dialogue sucks and the descriptions become non-existant. You get the orrible sinking feeling that you’ve done something wrong. “But yesterday it was so easy!” you cry. “Yesterday my character were doing wonderful things, yesterday the whole thing practically wrote it’s fucking self! WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME!”

You beat the brick wall with a stick, hating it’s cold touch and it’s chalky texture. This is not fair. This always happens! You’re just going along, minding your own business, and then out of nowhere, WHAM! Brick wall.

This is the point I am not now. I know where my characters nee dto go–I know where I need them to be. But getting them there is practically impossible. There’s something hat distracts me, that keeps for me from writing. I have the ides. I think about hem all day at work. Then I get home, and sit down in front of my computer, and…nothing.

Nothing? I spent an entire day writing the book in my head! WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE’S NOTHING!

As an aspiring author there’s nothing that’s more frustrating to me than having to deal with brickwalling, because I have this great sense urgency to become published, and unfortunately for me, I can’t be published if I don’t first write a novel. Also unfortunately, they haven’t created a device where the awesome ideas in my head instantly reveal themselves on the page. I would have ten novels written by now.

I beat myself up tirelessly when I don’t feel like I’ve written enough. “Only three-hundred words today! This is no good!” I yell at myself. That darned brick wall, always in my way.

I know what I should do–I should leave it be. There is no sense in me getting into a staring contest with the brick wall, hoping it submits to my will before I sumbit to it. It is better to write a couple hundred words than to write nothing. But still–I need to be a PUBLISHED.  I don’t like that I’ve been working on this novel for this long, even though this is how long a lot of people work on their first real novels.

But the damned, damned brick wall. It keeps me back! I want to write and make some actual progress on my novel. I hate looking at the screen and having nothing come to me.

Words, please come. Let me hurdle this brick wall, please, pretty please…

KC

In defense of the keyboard…

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Rumor has it that Apple is fast-tracking what would essentially be an oversized iPod touch tablet computer for early 2010, and apparently I am the only person in the world who considers himself kind of a techie who is not messing their pants at the thought of the sheer joy Apple will bring us with such a product. After all, the iPod touch is awesome, and the iPhone would be awesome if it wasn’t married to a wretched bitch of a carrier like at&t, a touchscreen computer would be the most awesome thing that ever awesomed.

After all, this has to be the wave of the future, because in Star Trek: The Next Generation everyone works with touch screen interfaces! Never mind that it seemed like it took way longer than it usually would to get any thing done because the LCARS interface makes MS-DOS look like “My Baby’s First Operating System”, touchscreen flat tables with no noticible feedback are the way to go!

WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE!?

WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE!?

To quote Abraham Lincoln, people who like this sort of thing will find this the sort of thing they like, but what about people like me, who don’t automatically jump in line for every new shiny thing Apple makes. I hate to be a Windows fanboy, but I’m rapidly discovering that’s what I am, because when I’m not actively deciding the best way to murder Justin Long for this PC vs. Mac ads, I find myself being the only one that doesn’t drop everything when Apple announces something new to stand in a line even though if I just waited ten seconds I’d probably get one.

The point of the rant isn’t to bash Apple though, it’s to say that this thought that touchscreens are the way of the future is short sighted. Yes, it’s fun to drag your finger across a screen, but I know some of you have iPhones and I know that typing a tex tmessage on th iPhone is a bitch, because I have an iPod Touch, and trying to tweet on my iPod Touch is not a fun time, since 99.9% of the apps in the app store absolutely refuse to use a landscape keyboard.

And even with a landscape keyboard, it is hard to tell where exactly you’re at while you’re typing. The reason tactile keyboards work is because they’re…well…tactile. A good typist can navigate a keyboard based on touch, and most people can figure out where they re on a keyboard based on touch. People don’t buy laptops because they keyboards suck are too soft or don’t have enough response or are too slick. The QWERTY keyboard as we know it is kind of a perfected thing, no matter how many different variations there are.

Yes, this is an actual thing.

Yes, this is an actual thing.

So it’s not my current hatred of most things Apple based that drives me to say that I don’t think the Apple tablet will be that big a deal. For one, it’s going to be cost-prohibitive, like $800 bucks for what basically amounts to to a Dell Mini with shiny glass that’s easily scratched and an Apple logo etched on the back, but more importantly, unless Apple pulls some insane innovation out of their ass, what exactly does the world gain from having a slightly larger ipod if one of the key elements of inputting information into said slightly larger iPod is as broken down and gimpes as it is on the iPhone and iPod Touch, and yes, a larger screen will make the experience of typing a slightly more enjoyable one, but we don’t know how much space that keyboard will take up on the screen, or if the apps will be forced to use a portrait mode.

Maybe I should wait until more is known, but what fun would that be?

Alright, folks, I’m heading to bed.

KC

The Ugly Truth (About RomComs)

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If I could, I would make sure a dude never wrote another romantic comedy movie.

All the romantic comedies and chick flicks I see lately are the same movie, and they’re all written by dudes. That’s not to say that men can’t write romatic comedies or romantic novels or romantic anything, but the pattern of these movies is starting to become urksome because it makes both women and men into one note stereotypes. Oh there’s some variation on the stereotypes, but the song remains the same, as it were. It’s an insane world we live in where the last great romantic comedy that came out was Knocked Up and I don’t think that’s even supposed to be a romantic comedy, but I think it’s the most honest movie about two people falling in love that there’s been in a long time, even if it does feature someone like Seth Rogan ending up with someone like Katherine Heigl.

And honestly he doesnt look that bad.

And honestly he doesn't look that bad.

This last year in particular has seen the rise of some truly awful looking movies though, and all I’m saying is that you know you have a bad movie on your hands when I’m more emotionally invested in the relationship between Shia LeBouf and Megan Fox in Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen. That’s right, I’d rather sit through watching the Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen a million effing times than watch Katherine Heigl be told she’s a horrible person because has a career in another movie that seeks to say that women who are more focused on their careers are somehow missing out on the greatness that is having an arrogant prick like Gerard Butler’s character, and it’s not because I have two large wrecking balls swinging between my legs.

Seriously Michael Bay? Seriously?

Seriously Michael Bay? Seriously?

Romantic comedies ten to come in two forms nowadays, sometimes in the same movie. Either the woman is a career woman who shuns men because some a-hole hurt her in the distant pass and rather than get hurt again she decides to become a complete bitch who shuns men, until some wiiillllllld and crrraaaayzzzaaayy guy! comes about and despite being a complete insentive dick who’s only goal in life is to shove his member into the honeypots of every woman who he comes in contact with, she finds something wildly endearing about him. She tries to ginore it at first, but since said guy has a constant need to go after the unattainable he chases this prude of a woman, they fight and bigger and generally annoy the piss out of each other for a while before they have a drunken night of sex, whereupon they break up for some unforseen reason until the end of the movie requires them to get back together.

Or it’s the opposite–girl is a complete dumb vapid bimbo who has nothing going for her, and then she runs into a charming man, and all the same stuff pretty much happens only in reverse, CUE THE WEDDING AT THE END OF THE MOVIE!

I know I’m generalizing, but these movies upset and offend my sensabilities as a man and as someone who raised to treat women with some monicum of respect. I mean come the hell on, Hollywood. How many times can you make he’s just not that into you or 27 Dresses orThe Ugly Truth or Confessions of a Shopaholic? Don’t you understand that your perpetuating negative stereotypes about what relationships are, not just between men and women but just between people?

There are so many mines to be explored. Why no gay romantic comedies, why no comedies about interracial relationships that are stupid slapsticky messes like Guess Who? What happened to the days of When Harry Met Sally? Can a brother get a romantic comedy that doesn’t make me want to jam my DS stylus into my eye?

Chick flicky movies single-handidly took two of the most likeable actresses in the known universe and turned them into the two least likeable people in recent film history? When you can take Anne Hathaway and Kate Hudson and make an hour and a half movie in which two educated, smart women take to destroying each other because they just so happened to have their weddings on the same day, and rather than doing the sane thing and picking different days or getting married, which is what pretty much every character tells them to do, they waste time by escalating sabotage tactics until the end of the movie where the end up getting married at the same time anyway, so why waste my time and money even watching the other part of the movie if I know exactly how it’s going to end?

*sigh* I just want a movie that will make laugh instead of making me want to punch my fucking way through a wall. It’s hard to be sensitive and not stereotypical when you’re hoping something blows up just to keep you entertained…

KC

(Not) Doing It

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Me and my best friend E. Lynn are not doing it.

Yes, I understand why you may not want to hear about the act that I’m not having sex with some one. At least if I was having sex with someone you would be somewhat entertained as I regailed you with tales of my raccous lovemaking. That or you’d find the quickest way to leave my blog and you’d do it rather effing quickly, but I promise I will keep you somewhat invested in this endeavor.

Me and my best friend E. Lynn have known each other for about ten years now, but only in the last couple years have we actually become best friends in the entire universe. That’s right, THE WHOLE UNIVERSE. We lost touch in high school because she was being chatised and ridiculed for being “different” (read: not a bitch, not concerned with popularity, well read and well spoken and creative, which we knows is pretty much the curse of death in the realm of politics) and I was too busy being getting my self-esteem beaten into a bloody pulp by a series of increasingly insane girls.

Let it also be known that I have loved this girl since our eighth grade field trip to New York, at which point I stood out in the rain with her for the entirety of a ferry ride because I didn’t want her to be lonely, and because I had spent the better part of two days trying to stare at her ass and it give me a rather good opportunity to do so. Over the years this unrequited love has grown from middle school crush to high school crush to me being so hopeless that I would literally beg her, BEG her to date me in college. Said conversations went something like this;

KC: DATE ME PLEASE!

E.Lynn: No.

KC: WHY NOT!?

E. Lynn: Because I think of you as a friend.

KC: You know, you’re only saying that because <insert psychobabble bullshit here, usually revolving around her parents>, you really do like me!

And so on and so forth. Over the last couple years I’ve finally calmed down and while I still love her dearly and would date her the second she asked me to because she’s that fucking awesome, it’s starting to become that more friendshipy “we can flirt while not wanting to date each other” kind of love, and that’s not a terrible place to be. But with that being said, I must say this.

Me and my best friend E. Lynn are not doing it.

It’s not for lack of trying. We hang out every couple of weeks. Every couple weeks she totally winds me up and test my will. Every couple weeks I try and vain to turn her on. As of yet, in one hundred or so attempts I’ve succeeded maybe ONCE. For the most part it’s harmless fun though, and since we both have buckets of pent up sexual tension it serves as a nice outlet to work some of those things out without burning out wires or having our hands cramp.

That being said, we are NOT doing it.

No one believes us when we say we aren’t doing it. Her parents, my parents, her brother, my aunt, my cousin, our friends. Everyone either thinks we are or should be shagging (mostly the former).

We are not. We are not doing it.

An argument can be made that we should be, but we are not. And we can’t convince anyone we’re not. Neither of us understand why–we are not outwardly affectionate with each other when we’re in public or in the company of others. We are not boyfriend and girlfriend. We share the occasional cuddle and the occasional grope, but we are not dating.

And we are certainly not doing it.

I would tell people if we were doing it. I would shout it from the heavens. You do not hide the fact that you’re sleeping with a person this beautiful from the world.

WOULD YOU DENY DOING IT WITH THIS!?

WOULD YOU DENY DOING IT WITH HER!?

But we are not doing it.

We may have touched each others unmentionables exactly once, but we are not doing it.

So this post has some kind of point (mostly it’s just a rant because people automatically assume we do it), one of the characters in my novel Fiona has kind of the same problem–she is constantly told that she likes one boy, when she doesn’t like one boy.

She just wants to do it with him.

She doesn’t want a relationship or some long-term fling. She fancies a shag and then wants to get on with her life. All around her, her friends tell her that she wants something more from this guy, but she doesn’t. The boy is a jerk who’s only redeeming quality is that he’s attractive and may be in good in bed.

She does not want to date him. She just wants to do it.

It’s even something that might be lost on my readers, hich I have to work on. I don’t think it’s ever happened that way, that a main character only wants to hop in the sack with another. Maybe I’m being original!

I mean, probably not, but maybe.

I love E. Lynn dearly. I don’t know what I’d do without her in my life, besides being miserable. I can talk to her and she can talk to me. We call each other on our bullshit. I still hold out the vague hope that one day we “can be”, whatever that means, but I’m getting better. I’d rather have her be a friend today than an ex-girlfriend sometime down the line–I don’t know what I’d do if that happened.

But, we are not doing it. Seriously. To anyone of my friends who might be reading it, WE ARE NOT DOING IT. I have me it perfectly clear that if I even get close, I will be the first one on my roof screaming “I FUCKED E. LYNN! I HAVE WALKED THE PATH TO EL DORADO, THE CITY OF GOLD, AND I HAVE DRANK AND BATHED IN IT’S FOUNTAINS!”. This is no lie. The police will have to be called. I will have to be carted away in the back of a police car, and the whole time I will be going “I have lived a good life, I have gotten into those knickers with the skull and the crossbones, lock me away forever, I can die happy, even though I’m terrified of dying”. I would say that, but I never will.

Because me and my best friend E. Lynn are not doing it. And as long as it keeps our friendship the way it is, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Awwwwwwwwww....

Awwwwwwwwww....

At least until we are doing it. Then I’d prefer to get it whenever I can.

KC

P.S. What the hell was this post about? There goes the goodwill I built with the whitewashing and Twilight posts…

The Trouble With Twilight 2: Bella Swan

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When the main character in a story isn’t interesting and rather annoying, you have a problem.

This is the issue I faced upon reading the first Twilight book–as I began reading I noticed that I made no connection whatsoever with the main character. She seemed rather whiny and kind of bland and uninteresting–she even described herself as such. It’s rather difficult to read a story in the perspective of a person who thinks they have no interesting features what’s so ever. I mean, isn’t that what reading fiction about–interesting people doing interesting things for interesting reasons? Those first couple pages and first few chapters were hard to get through–I found myself grasping at straws, trying hang in there, because as I’d been told, it got better, and I just needed to hang in there and ait, and the good bit was coming. And then it became “Oh, well Twilight’s not the best book, but you’ll love New Moon.” That morphed into “Eclipse is way better than the first two books!”, before people became rather split on Breaking Dawn.

Through all four of those novels, the one harrowing, difficult thing remains isn’t Edward Cullen’s obsessive douchiness (though that’s a tough one, believe me)–it’s the fact that Isabella Swan doesn’t change. She’s as bland and uninspiring in Twilight as she is in Breaking Dawn, and more than any other character in the books, her progression as a character stays as still and stagnant as ever.

Change is an essential part of writing any novel. This is ultimately what compells us to read books in the first place–we want to observe those characters as they change and become better or even worse people. It’s the thing that keeps us reading and keeps us hooked throughout the narrative. It’s called the Hero’s Journey for a reason–the character has to start in one place and end up in another. Even in book series, characters are ever changing, ever evolving people. This is the opposite of TV shows, where a simple thing like a haircut can destroy you and start you down a long line of increasingly awesome but ultimately cancelled TV shows.

Over the course of four books, Bella Swan doesn’t change at all. She starts off plain and uninteresting and continues to be so until Breaking Dawn. There is no growth in the character–she exist merely to tell the story.

There’s a term that comes from the world of fanfiction called a Mary Sue. A Mary Sue is someone that lacks flaws, spontaneously grows abilities and in general serves as wish-fulfillment either for the person writing or the people reading it. They’re often plain with no distiguishable features (brown hair, brown eyes, pale skin), consider themselves to be outcast (ahem ahem), have issues with their parents that they also happen to be smarter than (ahem ahem ahem)…you see where I’m going with this.

Bella goes beyond being your average Mary Sue, though, and just becomes a character that’s…well, plain badly written. Upon arriving in Forks, on her first day she is practically accosted by an onslaught of boys that wants them. I know that books craft a somewhat idealized vision f the world, but plain, indistinguishable, boring girls don’t attention thrown upon them on their first day. It sucks, but that’s the plain truth. What’s striking is that Bella spends the first few chapters talking about how she had no friends back home and how she’s leaving nothing but her mom and stepdad behind (in which case, I don’t understand why she’s so sad about leaving Arizona to begin with), but the second she comes to school, she has an onslaught of friends, all of whom she doesn’t seem to want.

Lonely. People. Want. Friends. Unless you’re a sociapath. But Bella is so much smarter and more mature than them, hence why all the friends who are practically heaved at her in the first few chapters of the book are instantly treated like unwanted trespassers on her life.

This plain, uninteresting girl is also almost instantly pursued by a bloodthirsty, half crazed vampire. This is where the real problems begin to come into play, and it becomes clear that Bella is something beyond a Mary Sue. At least Mary Sue’s, as annoying as they may be, ultimately live up to some kind of life goal, and are the heroes of their stories.

From the first time Bella meets Edward, Bella shifts into damsel mode and never comes out of it. Her every whim, desire, and need has to deal with Edward, and she’d be nothing without Edward, and she loves Edward within ten minutes of knowing him.

Anyone claiming that Bella is a feminist character needs to redefinie their definition of feminist, and do it ten minutes ago. Bella is no feminist–she constantly, CONSTANTLY relies on the other people around her to save her. I can’t recall a single situation that Bella escapes by herself with the aid of Edward, Jacob, or someone else. She is quite literally carried–CARRIED, dammit–around because she can’t be trusted to not fall and split herself open. This a girl who jumps off a cliff to get the attention of her boyfriend.

Why, why is Bella looked at as a feminist? Why is this girl who is plain, ordinary, boring and in constant need of assistance and rescue the second most recognizable protagonist in YA next to Harry effin’ Potter?

I think my Twitter friend and fellow writer Emily Hainsworth kind of said it best, even though it was mostly in jest.

Emily_YA: Bella was ok for comic relief, but I wouldn’t say I LIKED her. Maybe thought *I* would make a better Bella? LOL”

I do think there’s some truth to this joke. We all like to say we’d do something differently than someone else did. Isn’t that the whole point of horror movies? “WHY DID THEY RUN UPSTAIRS! YOU DON’T RUN UPSTAIRS! I WOULD NEVER RUN UPSTAIRS!”, or the ever so popular, “Man, fuck dat shit, I’d just punch the homicidal maniac in the face!”.

I think people like to think they’d do things differently than Bella. She’s a blank slate, an empty shell onto which we project our own thoughts. Girls think “if were Bella I’d do this differently”, which might be good.

My problems with Bella are less plentiful, but that’s because there’s less to hate. She’s not fully fleshed out and fully formed. Her treatment of those around her that don’t sparkle is cold at best and bitch at worse. She toys with Jacob Black throughout New Moon, fully acknowleding that she doesn’t and probably won’t love Jacob, because her love for Edward soprings eternal This is negated almost immediately when Jacob becomes something of a raging dick and practically forces himself on Bella. At first she’s disgusted. Then after being disgusted, she randomly decides that she must be in love with Jacob. She follows this up by not being able to be in love with Jacob because she’s too in love with Edward. Bella then sires a child specifically so Jacob can have someone to love.

There’s less problems with Bella because there’s less to love–she has practically very little personality, and the personality she does display is that of a needy, helpless, impossibly devoted girl. A girl who, despite being all those things, is loved unanimously by almost everyone. Without question. It’s annoying to read a protagonist with no faults, and more annoying that Bella is being touted as a feminist role model just because she just so happens to be female. It’s like saying Edward’s a good role model for young boys just because he’s happens to have a penis.

And here we end another rant on Twilight. And yes, I have more to rant about. I have many rants to rant about many things.

KC

Black or White (Or Brown As Is The Case)

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I was kind of taken back when I read Justine Larabalestier’s blog yesterday and saw this post. The gist of it, for those of you who don’t want to read, is that in her new novel Liar, the main character is African-American. You’ll notice that the girl on the cover of the book isn’t African-American. She is described as a black girl with nappy hair, yet the girl on the cover is very much white and has straight hair.

Sorry the text is so small

Sorry the picture is so small

It’s started something of a fire storm amongst people that have gotten advanced copies of the book and amongst Larabalestier’s readers. With a title like Liar, and a protagonist that describes herself as a pathological liar, it’s easy to think that the main character Micah is simply lying about her appearance. If she lies about everything else, why wouldn’t she lie about the way she looks?

You know, other than Larabaslestier (I’m going to butcher that as least once) keeps saying that the main characters isn’t lying about her race. And I’d like to believe that the author of the book would know better than the publishers or people who have read it what she is and isn’t writing about.

And even if Micah were lying, so what? She describes herself as an African-American girl, and it’s never revealed otherwise. The title and subject matter have given the publishers and other people an easy out–she’s a liar, therefore it’s perfectly reasonable that she lied, therefore she probably lied, therefore the cover doesn’t matter, since Micah is an unreliable protagonist anyway.

This ignores the fact that even if she is lying, it shouldn’t make one damn bit of difference. There’s still no real reason for a white girl to be on the cover of the book. The Australian cover of the book is far cooler in my opinion, without a picture of a girl on the cover.

I knew that whitewashing occured in the publishing ndustry, but something about this jarred me. This idea that books with black people on the covers won’t sell is disheartening at worst and fucking maddening at best.

I don’t like walking into bookstores and seeing the “Urban Fiction” section. I hate the term “urban” in general–are you telling me white people don’t live in work in “urban” areas? Why is the definition of urban anyway? Seeing books written by African-American people about African-American people seperated from the rest of the fiction and literature seems to mean to me “this is the lesser stuff. This is the stuff that’s not worthy of being in with the other books. Only black people read these books,” and I hate it even more when I see YA shoved into these sections, where they’ll likely never be found by actual young adults.

And not just black young adults, but young adults period. YA is not a closed of genre like others–people who read young adult fiction read everything. Sci-fi, horror, sex comedies and romance and high school drama and historical fiction and everything in between. I honestly think teens are blind to the things hat adults think are important–race, social status, sexual orientation. They’re a little bit more open to know things, which explains why there’s all sorts of different YA that sells well, while there’s only certain types of everything else that sells well.

While covers are important, I don’t think a book with a picture of a blackl girl on the cover of Liar would dissuade people from reaing it. Infact I think the exact opposite-I think that cover might’ve been more provacative. If a book interests you, you’re not going to put it down simply because there’s a black girl on the front of it. You may not like the writing or the story may not interest you when you give it the “first page test”, but this “books with black people on the covers” assumption needs to come to an end.

This is a self-fulfilling prophecy–if you believe that books with black people on the covers won’t sell, you won’t put black people on the cover. The books with black people on the covers don’t get the same kind of marketing or placement or get pushed into the “urban fiction” section, regardless of their actual genre. People–all people–will simply ignore it if they see a book with a black person on the cover, because it’s treated like it’s different from ever other type of story telling, when that’s not the case.

Would the entire publishing industry collapse if suddenly there was an influx of brown people on the cover of books? God I hope not; I’d hate to see what that says about us. The biggest issue in race today isn’t the fringe extremist who chant the slurs–it’s tiny little things like this. People who read will want to read a great story regardless of who’s on the cover, and if said cover is designed well and provactive and eye catching, what does it matter who’s on the cover, and what does it matter what race that person is?

The novels I write have multiple ethnicities in them, and I’d like to think that will never hinder them, should I ever be published one day. It’s a little disheartening to think that one of my black or Hispanic or bi-racial or Asian characters might be left off a cover because they don’t sell as well as white people. I mean, plain, average white people are boring anyway! (No offense to plain, boring white people–I love you all as much s my non-boring white friends, :-) ). I’d love to walk into my local Waldenbooks (which, BTW, just smushed all the young adult next to the picture books and middle grade stuff….UUUGGGGHH) and see lots of different colored faces staring back at me.

We don’t live in a world where white people dominate the covers anymore–in fact, plain white people are starting to become something of a minority. I think it’s about time that books of all kinds started to show the shift in demographics. When we as a society say things like “books with black people on the covers don’t sell” we’re limiting ourselves and stagnating. The only way we start to tear down this issue of race is to stop treating it like it seperates us and start using it as something that brings us together. Let the white boys and girls read the books with black people on the covers, and see, actually see if it makes a difference.

I don’t think it should, and I don’t think it does. Holding onto horrible standards for the sake of not taking a chance, a single, tiny little chance hurts us all, and I hope this issue starts a serious discussion amongst authors and publishers about race in fiction.

Because I’d really, really like it if I could see the interracial couple I see in my head on a book one day. Here’s hoping that one day it’ll happen.

KC

P.S.

In case you’re wondering, yes, my dissection of Bella Swan is coming. Priorities and what ot.

What’s in a name?

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I used to have the worst time in the world trying to come up with names for my characters. It used to be that I had three or four names I had that I recycled through everything I wrote–short stories, fan fiction, novels, everything. I used the SAME. FOUR. NAMES.

Okay, not the same four names. Just slightly different variations of the same names. At some point, my best friend (let’s just call her E. Lynn) pointed out that not only was I using the same names, but I wasd pretty much recycling the same characters. And she was more or less right.

After all, Blake Foster became Justin Stewart became Jake Oliver, but they all the same guy. Brink became Clu became cutter, but I ripped both those names off from Disney shows and movies. (Bonus points if you can tell me from which ones). I think until recently I had a character named Morgan in every single story I wrote.

Only recently has E. Lynn shaken me out of my “name everyone the same thing” mode, and only recently have my characters finally become their own people, with their own distinctive personalities and quirks. It’s funny, looking back on the older things I’ve written (it’s also painful) and realizing that there’s practically no difference from one character to the next. Name all the characters the same thing kept me safe; I didn’t have to try to hard too write them or give them different speech patterns or things of that nature because I’d been writing them since I was like, eight. And the thing about writing the same characters you’ve been writing since you were eight is that those characters is that the cracks in those characters begin to show themselves pretty well.

Since E. Lynn hammered it into my head that I HAD to name my characters different names (less she stop being my beta reader), I’ve freed myself from the same boring “these three characters go through wacky hijinks over and over again” pattern. The characters only sort of changed, but the stories were always the same, which made for super boring stories.

Now, since around November, I’ve written loads more interesting people and MC’s, and characters I have a way deeper connection with. Fiona Avery Brooks, the girl with the STD, became the first character I actually knew, and could describe in detail without seeming like I was talking out of my ass. Teralynn Myers, the girl who grew in  ultra-Christian household, happened completely by accident–it shocked me how much I ended up liking her after I wrote that first NaNoWriMo story. And now, Broderick Allan Hetfield is the most compelling guy character I’ve ever written.

I know there’s a lot of published authors who say that the names don’t really matter, but if not for being pushed to change the names and actually think about what I was naming my characters and why iI was naming them, I’d still be writing the same old boring stories that never got finished. Those old characters never fit in the mold of a girl dealing with an STD, a girl coming to grips with the pro’s and cons of her faith, or a guy coming to grips with his sexuality.

Nope,  those three characters would just be sitting at a table right now, having a one dimension conversation about one dimensional things and generally being pretty boring.

Is it any wonder I love E. Lynn? (Aside from the staggering beauty and the incessant flirting and general awesomeness…but that’s for another blog).

KC

The Trouble With Twilight 1: Edward Cullen

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There have been few books in recent years that have divided book readers quite like the Twilight Saga. It’s truly a case of either you love it or you hate it, and if you love it, you REALLY love it, and if you hate it, you buy used copies specifically to sacrifice to the Dark Lord by roasting it over an open flame.

Before I get into it, let me just say that I think anyone writing YA or hoping to publish young adult fiction owes a HUGE debt to Stephanie Meyer. She’s bought an entirely new generation of readers to the genre, both young and old, and has shed the light on what’s typically considered the “whatever” genre of fiction. Published YA authors always comment on how authors of literature and mainstream fiction ask them when they’re going to write “real” books–in some since YA is still looked at as just for kids, ranking just below sci-fi and just above picture books on the spectrum of “books that matter”. Suffice it to say I think people are taking YA a tiny bit more seriously because of Twilight, and the ever expanding young adult sections in book stores is a testament to that.

That being said, I have a lot, a lot of issues with Twilight.  There are a whole plethora (YAY FOR BIG WORDS!) of issues I have with it, but I’ll start with the biggest issue of them all (until I write about Bella).

Edward Cullen.

I imagine some people just went we went in the knees while others bent over and wretched.

Edward Cullen is anomaly like I’ve never seen before. In a lot of YA romance stories, the guy that act like a jerk is vilified in favor of the nicer, friendlier man, the one that actually knows how to treat a girl. Tons of books have been written where the MC’s boyfriend (or girlfriend) is righteous in the overall douchiness, and often this characters are painted as antagonist. These characters exist with an air of perfection around them, but as the MC grows over the arc of a story, they begin to see the cracks in the facade and, ultimately, usually, dump these losers to the curb either in favor of someone else or in favor of their own sanity.

Edward Cullen is the rare a-hole spouse who has entire fan clubs of girls swooning after him, even before Robert Pattison took over the role.

Edward is not a good boyfriend. I don’t think he even pretends to be. He is abrasive, emotionally-distant and abusive, and insanely controlling. He plays Bella like a harp over the course over of four novels, screwing with her brain as he pulls the “I want to be with you/WE ARE FORBIDDEN TO BE TOGETHER” card over and over again, while Bella swoons at his alleged perfection.

Edward is the embodiment of every high school shmoe’s living nightmare; the guy who acts like  complete ass, but gets all the girls. He is selfish, he’s arrogant, and he’s a basketball jersey and a backwards baseball cap from being the disposable loser boyfriend that gets dumped in the first fifteen minutes of Transformers.

So why the obsession?  I know girls are supposed to like bad boys, but Edward is even a bad boy–he’s just a prick. A super idealized prick, but a prick none the less. And yet Bella spends the entirety of four novels thinking Edward is the best thing to happen since sliced bread. (And sliced bread is WAY more awesome than Edward).

His perfection is elaborated on in page after page–his marble skin and his liquid topaz eyes and the kisses that LITERALLY (ugh) stop Bella’s heart. His looks are put above his personality every single time.  He’s surrounded by guys who I think would be much better for Bella, and are interesting that Edward.

I mean, there’s a reason why Jacob goes through a complete character assassination in he last two books–people started to like Jacob, and they should’ve been liking Edward. (But that’s for another blog.)

The idealized relationship between Bella and Edward isn’t ideal at all–it’s horrible. I often ask people who profess to love these books why they love them, and the most surprising thing is that it seems many of them don’t even like Bella. That’s right; they don’t even like the main character, but they stick with the story because they love Edward. And I’m stumped. I’m truly stumped as to why anyone would fall so hard over a man who forbids his girlfriend from hanging out with her friends. He steals car parts from her so she can’t go anywhere. He stalks her, showing up unexpectedly when she’s somewhere without him, and watching her sleep for months.

These are things that I was raised to believe were either a.) creepy, b.) jailable offenses and c.) downright cruel to whatever woman I happened to be dating. Is this what love is supposed to be, a young girl falling for a guy who constantly seems annoyed by her continued existence, who seemingly marries said young girl only begrudgingly so? Is this the kind of guy girls want, one who becomes scared and distant the second they become pregnant? A man who spends four books constantly annoyed by his girlfriend ends up marrying her just to pork her and shut her up. The end. What the hell is the moral of this story!

Things could’ve been different if Edward had grown any in the span between Twilight and Breaking Dawn. If he started off a spoiled kid confused by his desire to simultaneous sex up and eat Bella at the same time and then grown into a man who was confident and assured in her love for her, I could give him a pass. But he doesn’t–he starts off mean and only gets meaner and more distant.

Maybe that’s the real problem I have with him, is that he doesn’t grow and become the true hero that he’s made out to be. This is the entire reason books were invented, so that as the characters grow we feel like we’re growing, that we feel like we can relate to them because they aren’t perfect creatures who are incapable of wrong doing, because honestly, perfect people make for boring stories. I think that point was brilliantly displayed in the Uglies trilogy by Scott Westerfeld but in particularly in the second book Pretties, we’re life is essentially perfect for the main characters, but nothing exciting actually happens until that perfection is shattered. Perfection is an illusion, and a terribly boring at that.

Bella never questions Edward once, she only bows down to the fact that he’s perfect now and will be perfect forever, and when Stephanie Meyer wrote Edward that way she handicapped herself and her ability to write a compelling story. Flaws are what makes us human and what makes our short time on these blue marble of ours otherwise bearable, but when you write a book with someone who’s flawless (or presented as such) you remove the person’s humanity.

Edward is a hollow shell of a man presented as the answer to every woman’s prayers, which is why it’s so disturbing that so many young girls and even adult woman are attracted to him, which is ultimately my problem. When you present perfection as the only means to happiness, what exactly are you telling your readers? And when that perfection isn’t perfection, but emotionally abusive and oppressive, it sends an even worse message. Every day I write I strive to give all my characters, protagonist and antagonist, something inherently likeable and dislikable about them, because I like seeing my characters grow as people.

Edward Cullen never grows–he only stagnates, and becomes the ultimate “BUT I COULD CHANGE HIM!” figure for millions of readers. Unfortunately, he was never built to change–he was built to be perfect, built to be ideal.

And quite frankly, at the end of the day, being perfect and ideal is plain fucking boring.

KC

New blogs and quieting the plotbunnies…

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It’s been ages since I’ve blogged. Seriously, it’s been ages since I’ve blogged. The last blog I wrote was in June of last year, and it wasn’t really so much a blog as it was to show off what the stories I was working on looked like in Wordle, a story that I have since abandoned in favor of several other stories. Which brings me to my next point.

Plotbunnies. How I despise plotbunnies.

They bounce up and down in my head, tumbling all over whatever story I happen to be working on. This is usually during the hard part of writing any given novel, which would be the middle, i.e., the part where stuffs happens and you don’t need to be distracted by other story ideas.

The beginning of a novel is so easy, isn’t it? After all, it’s the beginning! The characters are fresh in your head, you’ve got an incredible idea and an interesting ideas of how to introduce people and settings, and it’s a joyous, awesome time. And the end? That’s the easy part! That’s what’s referred to as the falling action. That’s the easy part, the end.

The hardest part of writing ANYTHING is when stuff actually needs to happen, where an idea ceases to be an idea and becomes an actually story, be it a short story, a novel, a screenplay, even a poem. The part where the characters you’ve created actually have to do the things you created them to do is the best/worst most awesome/terrifying and writing.

It’s also the time when plotbunnies like to bounce across your head and ruin whatever progress you’ve made.

It’s always easy to start something new and say “well, I’ll just work on this thing a little, and then I’ll get back to the old thing”. Before you know it, you’re 30,000 words into the new thing and you haven’t touched the old thing in months. And 30,000 words in might very well be the place where you stopped last time. And here it comes.

Little Plotbunny Foo Foo, hopping through the forest, taking half-finished novels and boppin’ them on the head.

I’m at that point now, where I’m trying to push through the brick wall and not start an entirely different novel. I wonder how many authors their are that feel that way, or how many people don’t finish great novels because they think of great novel ideas. It’s a cycle that only ended recently with me, and even now, the plotbunny, he calls.

I will ignore it. I will ignore it! …Unless it holds up something shiny. Then I don’t think I’ll have a choice. I mean, come on, shiny things are awesome.

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