February & March Titles

Yeah, I know.  Oops.  I knew in the middle of February that the poor month wasn't going to get its time to shine on this blog.  I could give you the blah-blah-blah excuses of how busy I was, or how little time I've had to read, or so on and so forth, but quite frankly, it really doesn't matter.  I am a bit ashamed of how little I read in the past two months (only three books, which is, to me, depressing), but for what it's worth, here's my brief take on them:

Go Ask Alice by Anonymous: The infamous "diary" written/copied/fabricated/what have you by a young teenager in the 70s detailing her ordinary life's descent into the living nightmares of a drug addict after she unwittingly drinks from a soda laced with LSD.  This is an extremely famous book with something like a gazillion copies sold (I checked; that's a real fact), and I've been wanting to read this book for years, so I did what one should never do about a book: I built it up in my head before reading it.  Hm.  I had a couple of problems accepting that this book could fully and completely be taken from someone's diary.  For a journal, there sure was an awful lot of scene setting and character describing.  Some entries were more believable than others.  I just don't know.  I even would have appreciated/been more accepting if the editor had admitted that parts had been added or fabricated for the sake of the story, but I just can't buy that the whole book is an untouched, unedited journal.  Anyway, for a short book, it was a long read, and I got very tired of the whole thing and only finished it to finish it.  I was hoping the book would give me a gritty insight into a world with which I am fairly unfamiliar, but I was just annoyed by the diarist.  I also think it deserves mentioning that this book was written/copied/fabricated in the late 60s or early 70s, so the writing and dialogue is immensely different from what we're used to reading and hearing, and that threw me off-- though it's equally important to mention that that's no fault of the book.  It was simply disconcerting for me, and distracted me from an already tired story.

Nine Stories by J.D. Salinger: Nine unrelated (or are they?) stories depicting scenes from the lives of nine people/groups/families, all taking place after WWII.  This is the third time I've read it; I have been meaning to pick it up again, and a question about it from my high school English teacher prompted me to move it up my reading list (I'm still working out in my head what you asked, Mrs. Jaunet).  I love this book very much.  How could I ever choose a favorite story?  I absolutely love "A Perfect Day for Bananafish", "For Esmé-- with Love and Squalor", "Pretty Mouth and Green my Eyes", and "De Daumier-Smith's Blue Period" (and that's nearly half of the entire book).  It's an old and familiar friend, but every time I read it, it drives me insane.  I'm always so desperate to find a solid connection between the stories, as if a hidden thread that I just can't see is woven between the pages, and it's got to be more than the war, and it can't possibly be as simple as human consciousness or lost innocence or something, can it?  This book simply begs you for a deeper analysis that is actually a bit frightening to me, as if the more I analyze it, the closer I am to finding out a huge secret about humanity, and I don't know if I could handle that.  But then again, it could be, for all we know, just nine stories.

I highly recommend Nine Stories if you don't mind stretching those brain muscles of yours for nothing more than the sake of literary analysis and an appreciation for abrupt endings.

Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist by Rachel Cohn and David Levithan: Yes, it's a book.  No, I haven't seen the movie... but from the infinite font of knowledge, Wikipedia, it looks to be immensely different from the book.  The book details one long night that Nick and Norah spend together running around by themselves in Manhattan, both trying to get over previous heartbreaks, wavering back and forth (and back and forth and back and forth, and good Lord, BACK AND FORTH) over whether or not they can find an answer to all of life and love's teenage mysteries in the other.  The authors seemed to be playing a delightful little game of "how many F-bombs can we fit on one page?"  (Spoiler alert: page 95 wins with a total of 25 variations of the word.)  Now, I picked up this book not because I'm into Michael Cera or because I'm known for my taste in punk music or anything, but because I'd previously read a book cowritten by David Levithan and John Green, and though my admiration for John Green is strong and true, I found that Levithan upstaged him in character writing, and really kept the book going.  The problem I have with coauthors, though, is that I feel it's difficult for one to write the other author's character within their chapters.  So instead of Nick and Norah, I felt like I was reading two Nicks and two Norahs who just didn't quite jive.  And I kind of hated Norah.  Once again, Levithan kept the book readable for me, and I may go watch the movie just to compare it (Wikipedia's description makes it seem like the film took the basic characters, a bit of the plot, put it in a blender, and came up with a mixed-up concoction that's sort of backwards from the original storyline...?), but I have no desire to reread or really even recommend this book.  A night alone in Manhattan with two angsty teens who are desperately seeking ~true love~ despite their individual mental blocks and hang ups?  Meh.

Dear 16 Year Old Erica,

It's totally worth it.

Do you have that figured out yet?  I mean, you're pretty insightful already, but have you fully grasped the total, complete, full-circle concept of how everything happens for a reason?  Have you yet fallen in love with the idea that whatever suffering you're experiencing only exists to lead you to a greater lesson, to grow you into a better person?  I admit, it's hard to remember in the moment, but it's how you'll learn to get through a lot of stuff.  It's how things will start to make sense.

You/I/we know how headachey time travel, its implications, and its consequences, are.  This is not a "What I Would Tell my 16 Year Old Self if I Could" letter.  This is a "What I Would Tell my 16 Year Old Self if I Could With the Knowledge That This Information Will Never Actually Reach Past Erica and Besides That Would Change How I Acted in Situations and Thus Change the Reasons Things Happened Which Would Make Me a Very Different Person Who Wouldn't Need to Write This Letter" letter.  I know you; you understand what I'm getting at.

So, some thoughts: You will really appreciate all those pictures you take and all that stuff you save.  You may feel silly about it now, but the smiles, tears, and memories they'll bring you later will be worth it (see, there it is again).

Good news: You'll stop biting your nails.  Mostly.  Sometimes.  More good news: You're awesome at folding paper cranes.  Yeah, thought you forgot how to do that, huh?  Someone will teach you again.  Oh, and you're going to need glasses!  Crazy, right?

But in all seriousness, I know that while, for the most part, life is good, sometimes, you're not in a happy place.  And I wish I could give you some specific advice about how to handle the problems of the day, but I can't.  Because I don't remember those problems.  And that is such a beautiful thing.  You will realize how minuscule your problems are.  You will realize that the world extends beyond your lunch table.  There will be serious problems, yes, and for those, I'm sorry.  Those are the ones that stick with you, that I do remember, that I don't blame you for crying over.  But those are the ones that happen for a reason.  Those are the ones that teach you something.  If it's any comfort, you overcome them all beautifully.  Maybe not in the moment, but in the long run, and that's when it counts.

So sit up straight, not only for your posture, but for your self-confidence.  I've noticed you do this thing where you seem to fold in on yourself when you sit, and I know why.  Smile more.  Laugh at yourself. And for the love of God, BREATHE every once in a while, will ya?  There is so much more to life than the things over which you worry.  Some examples:

In about two years, you're going to move out and go to college and watch your protective high school bubble burst.  In about three years, you're going to start on an active journey to become a better person. In about four years, you're going to have the most gorgeous little godson.  In about five years, you're going to start writing a book.  In about six years, you're going to be engaged.

To Michael.  Yeah, you know the guy.  Right now, you're uncertain but giddy and hopeful, and for a while, you'll wonder if it's foolish to think this could last at such a young age.  It is my absolute joy to report-- to confirm-- that it does.  He's going to take you on so many amazing journeys.  You are going to be such a different, braver, kinder, bigger-hearted person because of him.  There will be rough patches and arguments, like all relationships, but ultimately, there will be unshakeable, undeniable, unfailing love.

It's going to be amazing.  Your whole life is going to be such a fantastic ride, and I hope you keep your eyes open where it counts.  I guess in another five, ten, twenty years, I'll be writing more letters to myself, completely oblivious to whatever was keeping me awake tonight and driving me to write this letter.

I'm proud of you.  Believe it.  You will come to find out how much weight those words hold with you. To quote our favorite leading lady, Julie Andrews: "Dear little girl, you are terribly blessed."  I hope you realize and appreciate that.

Love,

22 Year Old Erica

P.S. That thing you do, where you hide money from yourself now in order to find later?  Yeah, keep doing that.  It's working out really awesome for me.  Thanks.

January Titles

I've decided to catalogue what books I read this year, starting, of course, with January.  This month's titles include The Alchemist; Thirteen Reasons Why; The Bell Jar; and A Year of Writing Dangerously: 365 Days of Inspiration & Encouragement.

The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho: A short tale of a boy on a mission to achieve his life's dream.  I had heard that this book was supposed to be life-changing, revealing secrets of the world and life unto its readers.  Not to be snobby or uppity, but I only sort of enjoyed it.  I felt like I had already been introduced to the life secrets and ways of living that the book discussed.  That was disappointing, but all in all, it was a good read.  Very easy, fast-paced, to the point.  I don't regret having read it-- it just wasn't the life-changer I was expecting and maybe even hoping for.  However, the introduction hit home for me, in a very powerful way, and that made the whole book completely worth it.

Thireteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher: A girl records thirteen tapes of herself explaining her reason for suicide, then mails them to those thirteen people whom she considers semi-responsible for her death.  The sense of guilt was overwhelming within the pages.  What I took away most from it, though, was the sense of how we're all interconnected, a topic very close to my own heart.  The smallest actions can have the biggest effects on people.  Probably should have read this book in high school, as that seemed to be the reading level, but I still appreciated that it made me stop and think.

The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath:  Ooooooh.  OOOOH.  I wasn't sure what to expect from this book-- a nearly autobiographical description of the main character's slow descent into madness-- but I LOVED it.  This book had me trying to figure out if maybe I weren't just as crazy.  Sylvia Plath's writing describes the descent in such a subtle, sensible way that you can barely tell the difference between Esther "normal" and Esther "crazy."  I practically ate this text right off the page, it was such a delicious story of madness and healing and slipping and finding yourself and losing yourself.  I highly recommend this one, if you're not afraid to get down and dirty with what it meant to be a woman in the 50s who wasn't quite right-- or was she?

A Year of Writing Dangerously by Barbara Abercrombie:  FAVORITE.  365 short "entries" about writing, encouragement, inspiration,  blunt acknowledgement of difficulties, stress, joy-- and a quote from an author tied in to each entry.  I am so in love with this book.  If you are a writer, consider yourself a writer, want to be a writer, or have any affiliation with writing, stop what you're doing, get in your car, and go find a copy of this book.  This book came at the perfect time in my life.

I have always felt different, abnormal, and weird for the things that go on in my headspace.  But this book reassured me in the most peaceful way.  It confirmed that the things I think, do, love, cry over, enjoy, stress about, etc.-- it's normal, because I see things through the eyes of a writer.  It confirmed in my mind for me that this is TRULY what I want to do with my life, and it gave me the courage and strength I needed to move forward.  It made me excited about coming home, exhausted after work, and squeezing in even just minutes of writing before bed.  I read this book greedily, in a week, instead of an entry a day for a year.  I needed the inspiration and comfort in large gulps, not doses.

I wanted to share some of my favorite quotes from it, but honestly, 90% of them resonated so strongly with me that all I can say is to just go out and read the book for yourself.  It calmed me in a way that brought tears of joy to my eyes-- that's how happy and relieved I was to have the author tell me that not only is living this way normal, it's wonderful.  It's scary and exciting and dangerous and bizarre and looked down upon and praised and lonesome and fulfilling-- it's part of being a writer.

Looking forward to whatever titles pass under my eyes in February.  Read on!

Nola

I hear you easy in the morning

when your notes slip gold from your trumpet
and slide down the empty underbelly
of the interstate on-ramp,
floating fresh and clean and pure
above the dirty wet pavement

You are the grit beneath
my bitten fingernails
that I can’t ever scrub away,
while the homeless wilt beneath
that great big boiling sun,
under the unseeing glazed eyes
of dead men forever immortalized in stone,
the statues high above on sturdy columns

And it’s all so sad and beautiful,
just desolate enough to completely break my heart,
but enough shades of beauty
to keep me under this paperweight,
and you and I both know
that there are countless tiny reasons,
both beautiful and sad,
that hold me down, against my will,
but completely my own choice. 

Starting new chapters... literally.

I haven't made a New Year's resolution in... years.  I don't like them at all.

I think it's an enormous amount of unreasonable, and often vague, pressure to put on a person.  I know myself well enough to understand that I cannot stick to a goal for an entire year unless it is something concrete that I can take day by day, like my One Good Thing a Day journal.  Perhaps other people can handle year-long resolutions better than I, but I am fully aware of my own inability and am not ashamed of it.  It's just how I function as a person.

However, I am a firm believer in setting goals to help one's self down the road of self-improvement.  I try to set smaller goals (which I've talked about in this blog before), even daily goals just to test myself and push myself out of my comfort zone.  The longest my goals have ever been set for were semester-long goals, but now that I've graduated, those semesterly goals are over.  I need a new version of my semi-long-term goals to move myself forward.

That being said, I am, in fact, challenging myself to a vague, year-long goal, though not quite a resolution.  My NaNoWriMo project has been sitting practically untouched since November 30.  I got my 50k+ words, successfully completing the challenge (and accomplishing a personal goal, score!), but I did not finish the actual novel.  I gave myself December "off" with the intention of working on it not when I could, but when I felt like it, which turned out to be less than I expected, for various reasons.  December was an extremely difficult month for me, and I do not feel bad about having let my project sit without my attention.

But I do want to move forward with it.  I just don't know how to break it up into bite-sized goals because I'm not familiar with this type of thing.  So I'm giving myself the entire year to come up with an edited first draft of my NaNo novel.  That's right-- I hope to have a first draft of a novel in my hot little hands by December 2013!  That's such a big thing for me... a tangible product of a life-long dream.  I've been thinking of it for years, and now, it's time to act upon it and make it a reality.

Is a year too little?  Too long?  I guess I'll find out!  Starting a new chapter in my life!  Or rather... starting several new chapters.  A whole novel's worth.

Practice; Preach

Forgive your broken heart
And forgive your fallen star
And clean out the space you carry
In the hollow of your chest
Dust off the cobwebs of your mind
For a life lesson’s never far
And the learning never stops
And, my dear, that’s for the best

Make peace with all your worries
Let faith be greater than your fear
For every candle that you blow out
Strike a match to carry high
Don’t take things at face value
(They may be more or less than they appear)
And for every tear you weep
May you laugh until you cry

Celebrate the good and new
But honor that of yesterday
Stand up straight and drop your shoulders
To bear all burdens with easy grace
Cherish traditions and memories
But accept the change that comes your way
And, my dear, know that I love you—
I hope this helps you find your place

Excerpt from Journal: December 7, 2012

The only reason it hurts so badly is because I have been so blessed.  I would not be so sad if I had not experienced those things and loved those people and had them love me back.  It is worth it.  As heartbroken as I am, it just shows the extent of how good I had it, and I couldn't be more grateful.  I am in so much emotional anguish and pain over these partings because at one point, my happiness was boundless, and this was the price.

-----

On goodbyes and graduating; I could not be more surprised at my own emotions.  I put tentative roots down in a city I thought I could never grow to love, but grow I did.  I met the most extraordinary people and learned so much, in and outside of the classroom.  And while I am thrilled to be home, and have looked forward to this for so long, I am so sad to leave my close friends.  It's an awful tug-of-war on my heart, but I am doing my best to not dwell on it all (though I have failed at that so far).

In my sadness, I am grateful.  Sending my love to all of my friends back in Lafayette.  I apologize for the excessive melodrama that I've been spouting for the past week or so.  And I apologize if this particular post is nonsensical.  I've been quite emotional.  But for good reason.  At least, I hope the stress of graduating and growing up and all that is good reason.

I've been so scatterbrained, I truly cannot think of a good way to end this post.  Just know that yes, I have been very emotional lately, and saying goodbye to a place I would sometimes slip up and call "home" every once in a while was extremely difficult, but that I wouldn't have it any other way.