Confessions Part III

I have a confession to make. Maybe it’s not on the level of “my chick on the side said she got one on the way” confessions, but it’s nonetheless something I keep to myself most times, out of – shame? Embarrassment? I can’t pinpoint the exact reason. Still, it's something I feel is super important if I’m going to be upfront about writing on this blog.

So, here goes: I’ve never finished writing a novel. Ever.

I’ve never even gotten close.

(You can’t tell, but I just let out a massive exhale. This is the moment in “Confessions Part II” when Usher finally tells his girlfriend about the affair, and it just feels so good. Except maybe it feels better for me than it did for Usher.)

In the past, I've blamed my inability to finish a novel on perfectionism, which makes total sense if you ignore the fact that I'm not a perfectionist about any other aspect of my life. And, wait a second, how is it that I went to a performing arts high school for four years and could consistently crank out short stories and sonnets and novellas for my portfolios every six weeks? Maybe what I wrote wasn't great, but first drafts never are. At least I had a first draft, right?

If it wasn't perfectionism, then surely my problem is that I'm a slow writer. Unless you count that time I wrote almost 30,000 words in a matter of weeks. Still, whenever NaNoWriMo rolls around, I tell myself that this time I'll do it, before quitting by day ten and saying, "I just can't write like this!" But who says I can't?

I guess I've sort of reached a point where I know there's something blocking me from writing, but I just can't figure out what.

Though I think I have a hunch....

See, I have anxiety. Like, the type of anxiety that interferes with your social life and steals away your ability to concentrate and makes you want to throw up every waking hour of the day. I've always been what my mother would call a worrier, but this past year, this worrying morphed into a Very Big Problem. 

I've struggled with anxiety since ninth grade, but it has never been as bad as it is right now. It basically ruined my sophomore year of college, it's on the verge of ruining my summer, and I'm starting to think that it's ruining my writing. Or maybe it's just ruining my perception of my writing.

Either way, I'm almost positive that my anxiety is the culprit, and at this very moment, I'm Nancy Drew having just figured out the mystery, but the suspect is still at large and I only have so many leads left to follow. 

I want to clarify: I do think, to an extent, that anxiety about my writing is what's holding me back. I'm obsessed with looking at books that are published now and seeing how something I might write could fit into the market, and then I worry that the market for character-driven contemporary YA will be down by the time I want to query an agent and hopefully publish, and then I start to worry about which agent is right for me (I seriously have more than 30 different agents bookmarked to represent a book I haven't finished), and then, and then---you get the picture. 

It's something I understand is irrational, and also a little obsessive. Like, I'm twenty years old. I have plenty of time to write a novel, and find representation for it, and publish it. It's easy to get wrapped up in the fantasy of being a published author, and even easier to get wrapped up in the fear that you're so, so far from that goal. 

But this writing-related anxiety is just a subplot. 

I wish it was possible for me to sit down in front of my laptop, open up a blank document, and type out the story that's been finished in my head for almost two years. But there's a disconnect between what's inside and what comes out. Mainly in that nothing ends up coming out most days, which has caused me to develop a major dislike (I wouldn't call it hatred -- yet) for the story I want to write.

But what has this story done wrong other than existing in a head that can't figure out how to tell it? 

There are a lot of thoughts competing for attention inside my brain, and I have a massively hard time streamlining them. And even when I write, when I should, theoretically, be able to lose myself, the thoughts are still there, humming in my head, like static. It's a noise I can't ignore, and suddenly this time I've devoted to writing turns into a time when I'm making myself feel sick because I'm so nervous and upset, except I don't know what about. 

I want to write so badly. When I let myself think about the future, I imagine that my books will be good--but, more so, I imagine that my readers will relate to them in a way that can change their lives. That's what reading YA did for me, and I'd be honored if I could pay it forward. 

But I'm not in a place where I can do that right now. I sometimes try to comfort myself after my latest attempt at writing has ended with me crying into a bag of gluten-free pretzels by saying that this is for the best. That the timing isn't right, that there's a reason for this. 

This doesn't stop me from wishing the time was right, or wishing that I could get this story out of my head and on to paper, even if it sucks. 

I know it's not that easy. None of this is. But I'm taking every measure I can to make sure I manage this anxiety and am in a better place. I'm excited for the day when this doesn't feel so hard anymore. I'm excited for the day when the blank page in front of me isn't as daunting as it seems. 

Maybe by then I can find my words. 

Courtney Summers Read-Along? He'll Yeah.

Hey, y'all!

So, as you may or may not--but probably do not--know, Courtney Summers is my favorite YA author. Period. She's a literal master of character-driven YA, and also she's Canadian. These two facts are not connected. That I know of.

As Courtney (oh, look at this, I'm acting like I'm on a first-name basis with her...) posted on her Facebook page, there's a read-along of all of Courtney's starting this September over at Lost at Midnight Reviews!

What I'm trying to say is, Courtney Summers is perfect, and if you can manage it (which you should be able to, since her books are pretty short) you should seriously seriously seriously take part in this!

Let's Talk About Feminism In YA, Baby // Let's Talk About Sexism and Misogyny

If Julie Andrews as Maria von Trapp were to suddenly appear in front of me and demand a list of my favorite things, "feminism" and "YA lit" would be right at the top. And when those two worlds collide--whoa, man. I love me some feminist YA protagonists, I love authors who identify as feminist, I love novels that explore the topic.

And I love, love, love that this is something people are talking about.

Sexism and misogyny abound in all facets of life, and the two are particularly evident in publishing. Take, for instance, Nice and Pretty and Brave and Smart, two children's books. Guess which one is marketed to young girls.

Or how about that time Nicholas Sparks insisted that his books are fiction, not romance, and that "love stories" are somehow entirely separate from romance novels. Right, okay. I'm sure your disdain has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that it's women who are usually relegated into the romance genre.

Then there's the whole "domination" of women in YA lit which, as it turns out, doesn't end sexism. Especially when you consider that one of the most prolific, recognized, and critically-acclaimed young adult authors is a man.

This is why, when I see articles and blog posts and tweets bringing attention to feminism in YA, my heart gets all a-flutter--I'm just so happy about it.

Recently, Jezebel--a self-described feminist blog--had an article by Rachel Shukert called "How to Write a Feminist Young Adult Novel." I'm not the biggest fan of Jezebel, but I had to read that post.

Except once I did, I immediately wished I hadn't. (Though you may want to, just so some of my points end up making more sense.)

Disregarding the fact that the article is more a plug for Shukert's latest book than the actual how-to the title promised, I found myself very uncomfortable by the bits of the article that did stay on-topic. The same night this came out, a few YA authors, Maureen Johnson in particular, tweeted their disappointment in the article, too.

But their reasons for being annoyed--mainly that Shukert isn't very experienced as a YA author, and that there are LOTS of feminist YA authors already out there who have more to say on the topic--didn't exactly match up with mine.

I read the article one, two, three times through before it hit me: I was upset with the article because Shukert and the YA authors on Twitter never once mention why feminism in YA is important.

Yes, I'm really thrilled that there are feminist characters in YA lit. Yes, I'm glad the authors are proud of this fact.

I do not, however, need a list of every single feminist trait these characters have.

When I see that, do you know what I'm thinking? It's not, "Wow, this character sounds really inspirational and potentially influential to the girls reading this novel." Often, my thoughts are more along the lines of, "Huh. Cool. Should I give you a pat on the back?"

Because saying, "Look how feminist this character/book is!" is irrelevant without first asking, "Why do we need feminist characters/books?"

Let me give you a snapshot of who I was in high school: Braces. Frizzy hair. An entire wardrobe consisting of Delia's clothes. Jewelry from Claire's. Total and complete lack of awareness of my own internalized misogyny.

I was a slut-shamer. I criticized other girls based on their appearance, as though I was really one to talk. I'm actually almost positive that the sentence, "Feminists are so annoying," was a legitimate thing that came out of my mouth.

But I was also hopelessly insecure. I had a massive self-loathing for my own body. I had zero command of my sexuality.

My main forms of escape were reading and writing--you guessed it--young adult lit.

Do you know how many books I read in high school that had a masturbation scene featuring a boy? At least five. It's Kind of a Funny Story sticks out the most clearly in my mind, but The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian is a biggie, too.

Do you know how many books I read in high school that had a masturbation scene featuring a girl? None. Zero. Zip. I'd heard of Judy Blume's Deenie, but never read it, and even now I don't think I can name any recent titles with a girl masturbating. (If you know of any, lemme know!)

The thing is, I never even realized that there was something wrong with this. I was under the (false) impression that sexual exploration was for pubescent boys only, despite sex-ed classes and late-night sleepover conversations telling me otherwise. But it's one thing to hear these things than to be able to apply them to yourself.

A huge aspect of reading is that it allows the reader to find a bit of herself in the character she's reading. It's what makes books and stories such an intimate experience. And, at that point in my life, when I figured I was confined to waiting for a boy to give me pleasure rather than giving it to myself, it would have been massively helpful to read about a character going through that same struggle. It would have been massively helpful to see the experience through someone else and realize that I am so much more than a future plaything for a boy, and that my self-worth and self-love are not dependent on another person.

I know these are struggles that other girls go through, too, but we're taught not to talk about them for any variety of reasons. But maybe if we could read about them, talking might get a little easier.

When I read books that featured huge amounts of slut-shaming--usually aimed at a peripheral character with much more sexual experience than the (typically) virginal protagonist--I didn't bat an eyelash. I thought that was normal. I thought I was allowed to dislike a girl because of how much sex she had.

I was wrong.

It wasn't until I started college that I began reading up on feminism and realizing, wow, this is something that's extremely important to me, and it wasn't until just recently that I became comfortable enough to proclaim, "Hell yeah, I'm a feminist. What's it to ya?"

I just needed the right role models and motivation.

Which is where feminism in YA comes in.

I'm sure it's clear, but in case you missed it, I was a total asshole in high school. But that doesn't mean I was incapable of change.

So, while it's wonderful that we're talking about feminist characters and feminist YA, repeatedly praising books just for this fact without going into the reasons why this is such a great thing doesn't really get us anywhere. Yeah, cool, no on slut-shames in this book--but why is slut-shaming harmful and what are the consequences of it to teenage girls? Great, this character is allowed into an exclusive science club--but why is it that girls are so often pushed away from math and science?

This is about a conversation. Conversation that doesn't deny that teenage readers are capable of changing their views and opinions, conversation that doesn't alienate these readers, conversation about how feminism in YA might be the very spark someone needs.

So. Let's talk.

And I Say Hey (HEY!)

Nothing like a lyric from the Arthur theme song to transition into my introductory, yo-what's-up-welcome-to-my-blog blog post.

So, hey, MTV! What's up? Welcome to my blog!

This is maybe the--seventh? Yeah, that seems right. This is the seventh blog I've created, and this is the seventh time I'm going to say, "I promise, I'll keep up with it this time!"

Except I really will now. Because, finally, I've got it all figured out. I hope. 

After years and years and years of not knowing what I want to be when I grow up, which has been a little problematic lately considering I'm starting my junior year of college in less than two months, I figured out my dream job. All within the span of, like, a week. 

But, here it is: I want to be a librarian. 

Even though Leslie Knope hates librarians. 

I can only pray that Leslie Knope wouldn't hate me.

Specifically, I want to be a librarian who specializes in youth services, because youth are great and so are books aimed at youth and I honestly and truly believe that books can change lives. 

This recent epiphany of mine is one of the reasons I'm starting up another blog. Now I won't have to spend eight hours a day Googling "things to do with a BA in English" and crying when I realize that I literally forgot the word "jobs" and typed "things" instead.

Second reason I'm blogging again: I love YA novels more than anything. I love talking about 'em and reading 'em and writing 'em, and since I'm officially out of the audience age range, most of my friends kind of roll their eyes when I start talking about YA. But people on the Internet don't roll their eyes! At least, not that I can see.

I had a third reason, too, but I can't remember it anymore, so it must not have been very important. Or maybe it was and I'll remember it in the middle of the night and get really mad at myself for being so comfortable, because that means I won't get up and edit this post to add in that third reason.

Anyway, welcome!

Let's cross our fingers this doesn't suck.