Day 8 and Words I Never Thought I’d Write

983 words–so yay for (almost) breaking the 1,000 barrier! Today is also the first day where I worked on more than one project, which I think is a sign that my inspiration is coming back.

Today’s Tidbit of Random is some things I said/wrote today that I never thought I would:

“I apologize in advance for my handwriting”

“Her body was only a vessel”

“The Law of Demand relates to changes in demand” (my very easy econ class)

“God, I love, love, love my Mac.”

“I like your yaoi pin!”

“We saved the world; it only cost seven million lives. Including yours.”

“This was the most disturbing universe they had been in so far.”

Stalking People in the Supermarket

I’ll admit it–I like people watching perhaps a little too much. Have you ever seen those commercials where they show three items someone bought and then whatever inane scenario they’re going to use them for? There’s one with Batman? I swear they stole that idea from me.

Take the elderly lady in line ahead of me. She was buying scarlet nail polish, a foot bath…and a butcher’s knife.

Or the 20-something guy who spent literally five minutes reading the nutritional information on all the different brands of pickles.

Or the couple who argued about what flavor of Kool-Aid to buy (lime or orange) despite the fact that those things are like a dime apiece and if you’re so hard off that you can’t afford two Kool-Aid packets then you got bigger problems, honey.

Heck, even the kid who kept darting in front of me, shouting “Can  get this? This? This?” until his mother ran him over with the shopping cart. And when he went “Waahh!” she said, “Well look out.”

Whoo boy. I’m sure glad I ain’t her kid.

I don’t know if any of these people will end up as characters in one of my projects (hint: the mom’s a definite) but they’re now filed away in the back of my head. All writers should try stalking grocery shoppers.

Seriously. Social convention, you say? Who’s ever cared about that?

Library Things

I work at a public library. It’s a good job for a student–flexible hours and while its low pay, it’s easy work. It’s also a good job for a writer: we get all the crazy people.

For instance, the local schoolteacher who comes in to choose books for her students to research. Sounds innocent, right? But take this recent project on bugs. She sat in the center of the children’s aisle for seventy-three minutes (I counted) sorting through every single book on bugs we had. And then left everything she didn’t want on the floor.

Or the old lady in the wheelchair (quite nice and harmless looking I might add) with whom I had this conversation:

Old Lady: I’m trying to learn about my iPod! Could you reach that book for me?

Me: Sure…but this is on Google Apps. You can’t use those on an iPod.

O.L: That’s fine!

Me: Okay…

She then proceeded to ask for books on YouTube, Adobe Flash, and Word. Then (you guessed it) she didn’t want any of them so she left them lying on the shelf.

And then there was the guy who followed me around for ten solid minutes, creeper mustache and all. Turns out he was too shy to ask me a question.

None of these people are malicious, per se. But sometimes we get patron whose heads we want to rip off just so that they don’t spread their stupidity.

Like the girl who asked me to get her a “Flightless Birds of the Desert” book, then said. “Wait…I thought this was on penguins.”

Or the woman who comes in to complain that some of the YA books contain *gasp* mature themes! Perish the thought! Why those impressionable young people might just get….ideas! (to which I say, with the state of American education young people could use a few more ideas). And we should have parental warning stickers, because we of course have time to read every single book we own.

At least it’s good story fodder.

P.O.V: You Must Read This Book

I just finished Ian MacDonald’s River of Gods. Jesus, this was the best book I have read in a long time. MacDonald juggles not one, not two, but NINE different P.O.V characters and each one feels unique and sympathetic.

I just finished reading it and can’t stop talking about it. If you like sci-fi, India, beautiful characters, political intrigue, war, or the dizzying terror of the future, you must read this book. Fair warning: at least some part of this book will probably offend you, but you’ll still love it.

 

Race in Literature: Why it’s OK to Not Be PC

I got a stack of old issues of Writer magazine from a friend today, and while paging through saw an article about race in books .Specifically, how white writers are prone to comment on the skin colors of the minority characters but not white characters (if you would like to read the article, you can find it here).

Now before I start in on what is a spectacularly unpopular opinion, let me set a few things straight. I am female. I am part of an age group marginalized by most of “responsible” society. I count among my close friends people who are Indian, Chinese, gay, African-American, biracial, bisexual, and mentally disabled. But articles like this make me want to punch someone.

Why?

Simply put, the author is working off the premise that just mentioning the race of a character while describing them is in of itself racist. Give me a break.

I’ll admit if you describe a main character as being “the Asian woman” obviously there’s a problem. But when describing a crowd, there’s nothing wrong with saying “in the corner of the train station, an Asian woman and a tall Hispanic man talked quietly.” This is what’s known as a generalization. Being offended by this is like me being offended by every male writer who puts “the female detective” in a crime novel with no extra description.

So what if this detective could be fat, skinny, tall, stout, or polka-dot. No one cares. The fact that the detective is a woman gives the reader a mental picture of the character without the writer having to spend a paragraph on description because god forbid that he write about a general female.

Also there’s the demographics. Odds are, in America, that 72.4% of the books readership is white. Hell, odds are that the main character is white. If your story is set in small-town Ohio, or even Cinncinati, there will be fewer minority characters than white characters. This is just a fact of life. You describe what makes someone different from the majority. A character in a wheelchair is described as being in a wheelchair, and an African-American person in Upper Peninsula Michigan will probably stand out too.

Thirdly, it is just as racist to assume that because a person’s race is not mentioned they are automatically white. I find that that sort of attitude feeds into the sudden spat of stories with “Surprise! They’re black!” endings. These are of course meant to make people consider racism, yada yada yada, but in the end I find they feel cheap and insincere. You can write a story because you want to talk about an issue, but you can’t write a story about an issue, and frankly no one likes a plot driven by overinvolved self-righteousness. You are not Toni Morrison. Sorry.

In the end, I think this is one of those issues that makes waaayyy too much of itself. To say that any small omission in a story is racism  is overblown and frankly false outrage. Go fight for Rwanda and Tibet, people.

The Ever-present Mystery Girl

I was digging through my stuff today (continuing from when I attempted to clean but got distracted by all the lost things on my computer), and of course I found more things–namely, my first three “novels”.

The first is about eight pages written in purple magic marker on a third-grade dare. It’s called Angle Kid (because as a third-grader I couldn’t spell “Angel” apparently). The first line is “Cam (short for Cameron) was again daydreaming.” The rest of the story (or the 2 1/2 chapters I completed) is about Cam making friends with a mysterious girl who lives in the forest by her house.

The second is from fifth grade, around 30 pages this time. This one was titled Children of Fate and began, “New York City’s Central Park. An area for fun and nature. Unseen, however, are hints of other things. Poverty, hunger, and unknown magic.” This one is about a rich boy who meets a girl who lives in Central Park, and they go have an adventure in a magical land.

The third (and last) of my childhood novels is called Legion and is the only one that’s actually finished–if you count 114 handwritten pages as ‘finished’ but I digress. I thought I’d lost this one until I found it in a box of random papers under my bed. It’s the tale of a gang of superhero teenagers and essentially follows what you would expect from a comic book put to paper. And yes, there was another metahuman whom they discover–a mysterious girl.

For awhile I tried to resist this character, but the stories I wrote during that time were never quite as important to me. Eventually I matured a bit (or hopefully a lot), and finished my first novel. And then I promptly realized that that book’s leading lady was just Mystery Girl named Becky instead of Anya. Holy crap, can I not get rid of this chick?

I put that novel down and started my three most recent projects (Project Carson, Project Karen, and The Revolutionaries).  Karen failed. The other two, in one way or another, both have forms of the Mystery Girl in them. Not always main characters, but they’re there, darn it.

Augh.

So I guess I’ve got to accept that this weird green-eyed chick keeps invading my stories. Some writers have themes (Andrew Clements and child empowerment, anyone?), or settings, or heck even weirdly specific genres that permeate their body of work. Maybe I’ll get famous someday and years afterward English students will curse my name because they have to analyze the significance of the green-eyed girl, and how she evolves throughout my fiction.

(Well I can dream at least)