The Importance of Lectures

Hey, you. You're looking nice today. I really like your jaw. Also, your knees. You've got great knees. You should wear tutus more often, you know, to better emphasize them.
Speaking of sparkly clothing, I recently encountered a professor that taught our class about Angels in America while dressed in drag. It was a beautiful sequined red dress that I could never pull off, and one of the strangest classroom experiences I've had while in college. However, while it was a great lecture, and while I later got to see Tony Kushner talk about Angels in person, I have to say, this was not my best lecture in college. Don't get me wrong; both Kushner and my sequined professor gain major props. I mean, for one, sparkles. For another, a hauntingly beautiful Pulitzer prize winning play about death, destruction, and abandonment full of dark humor. I'm a fan of all of these things. Basically, it is . . .

I don't know who let me on the internet.

I go to a lot of lectures. Why not? For one, a lot of my classes require them. I took a Humanities course that has nothing to do with my major but everything to do with my attraction to literature, music, and art, and there were weekly lectures about everything from Descartes to Billie Holiday to things such as this:

I met a lot of wonderful professors and also learned that I really hate Descartes. (No, seriously, I really do.)
Back to lectures. They're great. We get a lot of extra talks for free -- and they're free, so why not go? I've dragged my friends to ones about the role of porn in modern society, what it means to be a country constantly at war, and what running a Fortune 500 company is really like. I like all of these things. It's fascinating, and it's great material for a someday story. 

I'm also a fan of journalists. I go to a school that brings in a lot of journalists, and I find that the lectures they give are some of the most inspiring. They are literally putting their lives on the line to chase a story, and I find that all kinds of cool. I've heard from multiple women held captive in various war zones and men that traveled through the South American jungle to follow a lead. Again, these are wonderful lectures. However, my favorite lecture of my freshman year did not come from a journalist, a writer, a CEO, or an entrepreneur. Instead, it came from a crook.

Or, I guess, a reformed crook.
I was cleaning out my desk in the slow attempt to dig out of my dorm room and I found a ticket stub from Frank Abagnale's speech at my college. If you don't know the story, look it up. Or, heck, you could just watch the movie. He said that it's largely accurate.

Abagnale's speech was eloquent, engaging, heart-breaking, thought provoking, and a lot of other adjectives. You may know that I used to do debate; by which I mean, I obsessively talked about my debate involvement for the past four years. I like speeches. On one level, this was my favorite because -- not surprisingly -- the man was just really, really eloquent. 

For another reason, though, I liked the story. It's a real life tale about a heist; he not only stole and lied, but he did it fantastically well. He was severely flawed, escaping from a divorce that his parents dropped from out of the sky. He fell in love; he got caught. He was internationally infamous and he spent a long time in a cold jail cell, eventually remaining there while his father passed away. It is a story that has you hooked. It's a story with a plot, an almost unbelievably brilliant MC, and ultimately, change. 

These are the reasons why lectures are beautiful. Sometimes, you sit and wonder why you aren't watching Merlin or doing your PoliSci homework. Others, though, you sit on the edge of your seat and take notes on your dying cell phone because you desperately want to remember the story. You keep the ticket stub between the pass that let you into the Presidential Inauguration and your program for the Vagina Monologues. 

Life is full of stories. We're living them every day. Sometimes, hearing other people's is the most exciting and invaluable thing you could be doing with your time -- and if you're in college, I know, there are tons and tons of really cool, glittery parties you can go to instead. Sometimes, though, put down the red solo cup and go grab one of those free tickets. 

That's my spiel, and I'm sticking to it. 

Goodbye, reader that probably does not exist! I must continue digging out of my dorm. Until then:

Finals

Hello, ducklings.
I'm drowning in the waves of finals, currently, and so I am making this brief. I am updating to remind myself of my revived determination to actually write fun things, and to do it well, and because I really, really am sick of studying and this still feels productive.
My life consists currently of a lot of Merlin and even more crying stoic undertakings to understand The Veil of Ignorance (people should make judgement without class or politics or other stupid things being in consideration? Maybe?) and trying to memorize the 117 terms my European History professor thought were necessary for my final. Also, no hablo español y mi examen es pronto. 
I have been accepted to Alpha again this year (I went in 2011) which means I will be learning from Scott Westerfeld, Tamora Pierce, Theodora Goss, and Justine Larbalasteir this summer. I'm even going as a Beta student, which means that my story will be given to all of the attendees of Alpha and I will do my best not to cry as they rip it to shreds learn the magic of critiques in a very intense and awesome setting. 
My goals for the summer include:
Stalking my librarian.
Finishing a rough draft of something. (I am intensely aware of non-writer people that can find this blog and also know me in real life, and I am too awkward to go into more detail about this sort of thing with friends. Obviously, strangers would be totally acceptable.)
Take Macroeconomics at a local university.
Make my mother take me on road trips. (Her job makes her travel. It'll be like Bring Your Kid To Work except College Edition!)
Rewatch episodes of Glee back from before it got terrible.
Annoy my friends, primarily this one. 
Read. Read. Read more. 
And finally, spend as much time as possible watching this:

Bradley James, you are the light in the darkness of Finals.

Prince Arthur has never looked so good.

Good luck to those of you with finals, and to the rest of you, I direct my unmitigated and jealous hate. 

Until then:

Another BIrthday

I don't post on this much anymore. It feels kind of strange too, honestly, especially since this is hooked to my Twitter account. People that I like, actually, know follow that. (Back when I started this blog, Twitter wasn't really a thing. Yeah, that's right, I was basically a hipster.) It's especially odd here in college because most people don't know that I write. Honestly, a lot of my friends here probably don't even know that I read much, because it's not really something I can get away with anymore to read in class, and besides, the classes are (usually) interesting enough that I actually pay attention. (Also, it's amazing how much more you feel obligated to pay attention when you're paying for them.) Regardless, the fact that I write is still fundamental to me personally, but definitely not something that most people would associate me with. It's actually rather odd, now that I think about it.
Anyway.
I'm turning 19 tomorrow. It's odd for a multitude of reasons. For one, I've officially been an American adult now for a year. Like -- what? I mean, sure, I'm picking out my own food now, but it usually consists of this:

\

And no, I'm not kidding. Plus a lot of Sonic because I am a frugal person that understands the value of the Moneyz, I occasionally spend a dollar or two at Sonic in order to consume a little bit of strawberry tea. But only a little bit.

(I've started going to the gym, Internet. Yes, I know. The horror. I refuse to touch the Freshmen Fifteen, though. It will not happen.)

Moving on.

The second reason that it's weird is that this is my last year as a teenager, which means absolutely nothing except for this strange concept that I'm not the same age as my favorite characters anymore. It's very weird. Amid the debates about New Adult as a genre, I can tell you at least one (Actually two, if you add Maggie) teenager is quietly wishing for people to shut up and just let it happen. Seriously, I want more of it. That's a rant for another time, though, when I don't have two hours of Spanish homework looming over my head and finals creeping ever closer. Fundamentally, I am used to talking about YA as 'my people' and 'my genre' and it's very weird to know that I'm 'out-growing' that. I put that all in quotations because I believe in remembering childhood and such, and I will always love YA, but again, that's better saved for another time.

The third reason is realizing how long I've had this blog. I posted about my 16th birthday here. My 17th, my 18th, too. I don't keep a diary, but this blog definitely is a form of one, even if I'm kind of just writing for myself now. But it felt wrong not to talk about turning 19.

In the last year, I:

-Ended high school.

-Placed nationally in debate with a great partner.

-Started college with many of my best friends at my side.

-Am ending my first year of college having fulfilled the cliche of losing many of my best friends as I grow up.

-Gained acceptance to Alpha yet again, where I will meet Scott Westerfeld, among others.

-Was awarded the Honors College Scholarship for a freshman student at my university.

-Ended up on several executive boards of various organizations.

-Attend Obama's second presidential inauguration and saw Washington DC for the first time.

-Met several people that will someday be very, very good bad guys in a novel.

-Remembered that I love to write.

Anyway. I have homework and I'm feeling sappy, which is dangerous on this website, so I'm going to say farewell. Tomorrow is my birthday and on Saturday, I'm going to the RT Book Convention in KC. Farewell, internet. I shall be back. 

In Which I Show You My Life

Hello! Remember me? Oh. Well. That's okay, I wouldn't either. It's been a long time, after all.
So, because I so very rarely update this anymore, I am going to do just that -- update this blog! With my life! Yay! Exclamation points!
...
Anyway.
I am thick in the second semester of college, attending a lovely university in the Midwest and double majoring in business and political science. (Yep. That's right. Business and political science and still writing fiction. Defying stereotypes over here. You're welcome.) Last semester, I may have sucked at blogging, but I ended up on the Dean's List, stopped sleeping, and started writing a story about demons, so that's all quite good. Also, my coffee maker broke and the girls that live next to me in the dorm never stop talking. No, not even at 3 in the morning. In fact, that's the perfect time to start squealing and laughing and shrieking. I think that might have had something to do with the last bullet presented. (If you aren't in college yet, look forward to dorm life. No, really. Shared showers, in which half eaten apples mysteriously appear? Drunk people wandering the halls and asking if you'll be their mother? It's all very exciting.)

Also, that's my school. Ten points to Gryffindor if you can guess where I am. (Because college has taught me through late night Pottermore games that this is my house.)

So, instead of talking about my books and classes and tests and lack of coffee, I am going to show you something I was fortunate enough to partake in last January.

It started like this:

Actually, it started a lot more like this,  because we had to wake up at 3 am. 

But soon, the excitement overtook the weariness! Kind of. It helped that we weren't plagued by a broken coffeemaker were full of patriotic excitement. Have you guessed where I was yet? No? Does this help?

Notice the rising sun. Now, I'll have you know that the last time I was awake to see the sunrise, it was because I never went to sleep because I was busy watching trashy television with my friends and forgot to sleep. So, if you haven't gotten it yet, realize that this was a VERY IMPORTANT MOMENT. Finally, the sun crept up into the sky, and by crept, I mean it took its sweet time. Now my view looked like this.

Patriotism! Also, I do mean this is my view. A very excited woman in a very large hat got her hands on little American flags and waved them for roughly five hours straight. No, really. Five hours. It was impressive dedication to annoyingness love of country. Minus the flag, this is what I was looking at.

We had good 'seats.' We were the second section back, behind a bunch of celebrities and public figures. (The cast of Modern Family, for instance, waved at us as they went to their seats. How kind, right?) As a measure of why the second section back was so nice, here's a shot of a part -- only a part -- of the crowd.

Have you guessed where I was yet? Yes? Probably. You're smart. If not, don't worry. We were all waiting for this man.

That's right. I was at the 2013 Presidential Inauguration. I drove with some people from my school, crammed in a twelve person van, from Missouri to DC. I had never met any of these kids; we were pulled from various programs and years for the trip. We spent hours in the Smithsonian Museum; I spent hours drooling over the Library of Congress. We went to the monuments. We played word games with strangers in the crowd. And we saw this man:

Take the Presidential Oath of Office.

After, the streets were packed with people. 800,000 people flooded the surrounding area; to walk two blocks, it took almost an hour. If you ever want to know what the apocalypse might look like, put 800k people in a five block radius. Trash lined the streets and, when an ambulance had to come through, it took almost ten minutes for the crowd to get out of the way. The lines for food were hours long. and people kept screaming about various things -- what they were trying to sell, or that we'd just elected a dictator, or the words to Bootylicious. Hours and hours later, we got back to our hotel in Virginia, and within the next thirty hours, we were back in the Midwest.

So yeah. That's my life thus far. I mean, I'm doing other stuff too, but nothing that I really feel like posting pictures about. 

Cheers, all! Stay warm!

Hey, I'm alive

It's been said, on the college campus that I currently call my home, that Thanksgiving is the time in which couples break up. Where old habits are broken. Where things change. I would like to tell you that means I will remember to blog and break the habit in which I suck at life, but that's probably too optimistic. So, um, here, have a cat.

You're welcome.

Anyway. Hi. It's been literally months since I've posted on this, and I expect that the readers of this blog are far away. Someday they come back, though, so hi. Yeah. Anyway. Um. Updates?

College has begun for me, and that explains my blogging hiatus. I am attending a large, large university and I am caught up in the world of text books, papers, and until recently, politics. I have read Don Quixote, Faust, Frankenstein, The Book Thief, part of Casual Vacancy (more on that at another time), a book about gay men in suburban bars, a novel on the importance of yoga, a couple horrible philosophers, a lot about politics, a lot about North Korea, and spent way too little time sleeping. There have been countless amazing lectures, several very cool concerts, and, oh, right, no sleep. None. It's quite rude of college, and quite needy, and I'm ready to flick it on the nose and give it a talking to.

I guess it makes for a lot of stories, though, and the best part of college? It's fun and it's crazy and it's reminding me that I like to write, that writing keeps me calm and that it's able to fit in even in the most random moments. (Like, um, when I should be paying attention in Sociology.) (But really, there's not much need for that, right?)
Anyway.
I essentially just posted this to remind myself that I have a blog and should remember to write. I have a job set up next year as a writing tutor. I plan on applying for Alpha again this year, and I have a five week Christmas break that might as well be Nano-Wri-Mo for the bored college student.
Happy Giving of Thanks, dears!

The Wonderful World of Made Up Worlds

I have such a talent for post titles. Truly. You should all bow down to my awesome skillz. Or not. Hi. You're pretty. I really like your nose. And your teeth. 

Anyway.

 I went out to lunch the other day with my wonderful librarian (Also known as Green Bean Teen Queen)  and Maggie. We talked about a bunch of things, many of them deliciously centered in the book world, and one of those things happened to be trends. Trends fascinate me. There is no new story; that's an old adage. Trends, however, take whatever new aspects we might see in a genre and push them into the market. Recently, we've seen the Twilight craze of Paranormal:

And even more recently, we've seen the Dystopian trend explode due to this wonderful book:

Most recently, though, a new trend has started. A new book is coming out that looks absolutely fantastic called A Throne of Glass, and it's not alone in the market. All of a sudden, fantasy novels are back in style. My guess? Game of Thrones has changed the game again. The book is now a hit show, and America -- and for that matter, a lot of the world -- is enthralled.

I'm amused. Fantasy has always been one of my favorite genres. I grew up on Robin McKinley, Diana Wynne Jones, and most of all, Tamora Pierce. Harry Potter was set in a fantasy world, and those aspects were always some of my favorites; Lord of the Rings is your classic fantasy novel, yet we haven't seen the trend too recently in YA. Still, there are some fantastic fantasy novels in the past five years, and if you're looking for something while waiting for the next George RR Martin, I suggest these:

General Winston's Daughter is fantastic. It is one of the most realistic worlds that I've ever encountered, with breathing characters and a beautifully crafted social structure. 

Enchanted and Entwined are both smart, well done fairy tale mashups set in fantasy worlds. They're both clever and bright reads, without being difficult worlds or random story lines to sift through.

There are these as well:

All of these are relatively recent fantasy novels, all intricately built and easy to read. If you're waiting for fantasy novels after finishing Game of Thrones, there are plenty of books out there to look to now. And if you haven't already, seriously, dude. Read Tamora Pierce.  (But of course you have. Why wouldn't you have? You're much too smart to have never read Tamora Pierce.)

Anyway. More later!

Winning

I talk a lot about debate on this blog. It's funny, and kind of random, because this blog was born out of my love for books. That love hasn't changed in the past four years, but something else did -- me. It isn't from writing, though, that I've become different. The part of me that loves books and words will always be there. The part that got good at using those words, though, came from debate.

That actually has very little to do with anything, but it makes me laugh.
So.

I graduated high school in May. It wasn't a particularly stunning event, honestly. Nothing felt any different. I was sad to leave my friends, and it's odd to think about going to college and waking up on my own, working on my own, but none of those things are the most troubling aspects of leaving school. No -- for me, it was leaving the debate room.
Yep. I'm a nerd. It's not disputed. (But come on, dudes, this is a literary blog. Do you expect much different?)

That's me. Yep.

Here's the thing, though.
I started high school shy. No, seriously. I was relatively quiet. I was political, but didn't like voicing it. I was very, very insecure. I was, however, still incredibly competitive. I planned on only two years of debate, taken with the purpose of securing a good college. Funny thing was, by my junior year, my grades were often slipping, because I was too busy with this:

I filled binders with literally hundreds of pages of research each month. I learned how to speak. I choked on nerves. My sophomore year, I barely did anything in terms of debate at all -- I couldn't get past those stupid, idiotic nerves. And then, toward the end of the year, my coach did something totally and utterly horrendous. He made me get up in front of my class, in front of kids that honestly, kind of scared me, and I started a speech. I say started because seriously, that's what it is. I never finished that dang speech. Instead, I started it 22 times.

No. Seriously. 22 times. I was cut off with 'Speak slower' and 'Sound calmer' and 'Sam, chill out' 22 times. I left school basically in tears like the pathetic and emotional kid that I was and then I ranted a lot about my coach to my friends with calm vigor and newfound respect for my coach.

Or...I might have acted like this for several weeks toward him.

Then came Junior year. I've talked about that a lot on this blog. I don't really know why, except  for this: for me, Junior year was my turning point. It was when I attended Alpha. It was when I first experienced the hell of high school drama first hand, first went through that stupid melodramatic thing sad first heart break that everyone has to experience, and when I first won a varsity tournament. It was the first time I qualified to Nationals. It was when I became a National semi-finalist in a supplemental debate.

And then my senior year. 

There's not as much on this blog about my last year of high school. In large part, that's because it passed so quickly. I've been wanting to write this post for some time, but it needed to wait until now. I want to talk about winning.

I am incredibly competitive. I said that earlier. It's a problem. I don't have the grace to apply that to sports, but it does apply to academics, and with debate, I found something that I was good at. Beyond that, though, I found something that if I truly worked at, I could make myself better. And I did: I brought home a lot of first place trophies this year. It got to the point where I was incredibly cocky. Like, beyond words kind of cocky. The kind I was ashamed to admit to and yet didn't really understand just how bad it was.

And then I lost.

But I didn't lose something small. I lost Districts. I lost the bid to Nationals, and the bid to State. I was someone who was slated to very possibly win State in my event ...  and then I didn't qualify.

It was -- quite bad. I made Maggie  pick me up and deal with my emotional breakdown  calm confusion. It wasn't just that I had lost -- it was that I had lost something that I had poured my heart into, that I had built my world around, that I had assumed was mine already. 

Sound familiar?

A lot of writers, I think, feel that way. To finish a novel, you have to break off a piece of your soul and press it into the pages. When that still isn't enough, when you still can't get published, when people still don't take notice, it is heart breaking.

But that isn't the point of this never ending post.

I still qualified to Nationals. I qualified in something called Public Forum debate. Puf, as we call it. Puf has always been the event I liked more, but it was not the one I won as often. At semester, I switched debate partners and ended up debating with one of my close friends. We made it together to Nationals. Even so, it hurt so horribly to give up the event that had been my baby. The thing I had loved, that I had poured so much of myself into.

Debate Nationals for high school, 2012, this year came in the form of Indianapolis. I attended, along with about 250 other teams. The best teams in the country. Many of them were private school. Many of them had much, much more money and resources than us, and they were quite happy to tell us about that.

Right. Here's the thing, and finally, the elusive point.

Two weeks ago, I ended up coming home with one of these.

I ended my high school career walking off the National stage with a very large trophy and a significant scholarship. I ended up placing very, very high, higher than I ever could have imagined and higher than anyone from my school ever has. My coach ends his career with that behind him, and my new coach, the assistant that I loved all year, saw his first Nationals end with my partner and I walking off that stage. Someone on my team had also done exponentially well, and as such, our little public school did better than anyone could have imagined. 

I spent my last four years enveloped in debate. I learned to speak. I learned to research. I learned to be part of a team. I learned to dress, walk, and talk as if I have confidence, even when I don't. And even though I lost -- I lost so badly, even as recently as this year -- I ended up winning more than I ever, ever could have hoped for. I walked off stage with someone that I love and trust, I left a team that I honestly think I might have helped make better, and I left better. I left different.

So. Back to writing.

Sometimes you lose.

Not even that. Often, you will lose. Ask anyone that writes. Hell, ask me: I entered my last year of high school pleased and confident after leaving Alpha, and ending up often hating writing for reasons that have nothing to do with recreational habits and everything to do with some poor choices in a class room. 

But.

You can win. You will win. Sometimes, when it seems as if everything is done, it really hasn't even started yet. Just keep working. Yeah, I know. None of this is shocking or new. But it is something I have always believed in, and I am so, so glad to have seen it proven to myself not just once or twice in the past years, but time and time again. My life has bled high lighter ink and statistics and quotes, and it's hard as anything I've ever done to leave it all behind. But moving on is moving forward. Debate is over, but I still have writing, and I still have everything I learned. That is priceless.

More later. Someday, maybe I'll even go back to putting up legit book stuff, like reviews! (Or more likely, a spiel about Game of Thrones.)