Tag: writing

In Honor of This Year’s Banned Books Week…Speaking Loudly for Speak

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Cover of "Speak"

Cover of Speak

CENSORSHIP Silences

I’m not here to decry Censorship, even though I am vehemently against it.  It’s such a huge and multi-faceted debate, and even now, my mind is too unsettled (and maybe too inferior) to put into words all the random thoughts that are pinging around in there involving the big and abstract concept of Censorship.

So, instead of talking about Censorship, or even about the much-celebrated “Banned Books Week,” I will just react to the Twitter and Blogging buzz that surrounded Laurie Halse Anderson’s book, Speak this past week.  Basically, Dr. Wesley Scroggins wrote to the School Board of Republic, MO (and also an opinion piece in the News-Leader of Springfield, MO), equating two (delicately handled) rape scenes to soft-core pornography; for these scenes, and for the irreverent tone of the novel (I don’t think he understands irony or wit), he believes the book ought to be banned from being taught in schools.

Of course, there’s a lot to respond to, especially since Dr. Scroggins says a lot of provocative statements.  But, I don’t want to talk about Him, and His Illogical Conclusions. Nor, do I want to talk about Parental Supervision and Parents’ Rights in Raising Their Child.  These are Important Issues, sure, but are quite frankly, superficial.

The issues of Censorship and Parental Rights and even School Board Responsibilities are so BIG, that they detract (and distract) people about the worth and beauty found in the singularity and uniqueness of a specific book, like Speak.  I believe that the best way to handle Censorship is to take abstract and general words (Sex or Disrespectful Behavior or Uncomfortableness) away from a Group of Books, and instead take the time to handle each book individually.

There are other important books that were banned from school, or threatened with banning, too, and should have their moment in the spotlight (I was saddened to hear that Sherman Alexie’s The Absolutely True Story of a Part-Time Indian was banned from several school districts this year).  I chose to champion Speak, because of the heart-breaking feedback, discussions, whispered statements that I have read/heard resulting from this one specific book.

SPEAK…

…saved my life.

…helped me say the word “rape.”

…gave words to my anguish.

…helped me feel that I am not alone.

All these beautiful words…and that’s only a casual glance at readers’ remarks.  A tenth anniversary poem which is basically a compilation from letters to Anderson can be found here.

We read to know that we are not alone. (CS Lewis)

I read a passing tweet that said, “keeping Speak in schools won’t stop rape from happening.”  Of course that’s true.  But again, not the point.

Speak is for the rape survivors.  Speak gives the survivors words for their pain.  Speak gives the survivor’s loved ones words of comfort to share.  Speak provides a community for a survivor who might otherwise feel ostracized.

Speak makes specific and personal that which can easily become General, Vague, and Meaningless.

Final Words

Please never forget that this world is so large, and we can oftentimes feel so distant and disconnected, even among our own peers.  But, This Book…This Specific Book, Speak, can help bridge that distance, and I am so proud to know and be a part of a (writing) community that would support something as beautiful as Speak.

The Little Things are Not Important…Until They Are

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PONTO DE VISTA - Point of View

hm, I like this Point of View

Writers have such a hard job, and until sitting down and really focusing on my current WIP (like, for real this time, and not a flight of fancy like it was in the past), I never thought about little things like “Voice” and “Perspective” and “Point of View.”  I always figured they would work themselves out, as I wrote, no problems, since they would be a natural extension of The Story.

Well, all those things seem so little compared to the other things that come into play when writing, but when they don’t mesh well with the story, they become really BIG things.  As a reader, I judge a book’s readworthiness by how well the book kept me engaged.  If it was a breath of fresh air to read, then I know that book was ridiculously good.  (Yeah, I don’t buy into that stupid notion that if a book is hard to understand, or difficult to read, then the book has to be good.  Or, the flip side: if the book was easy to read, then it must not be good.  Who came up with that?  Stupid people who want to feel stupid, that’s who. Sorry for the harshness.  You can imagine me saying that in a cute little squirrel voice to lessen the blow.)

Part of what makes a book enjoyable to me, is a “Voice” that matches the “Point of View” and/or “Perspective.”  But, it’s these things that have me going around in circles recently (and honestly, I don’t know why.)

I’m concerned because I feel like my subject matter is supposed to be “bleak” and “serious.”  But, whenever I write “seriously” (imagine scholarly librarian here :)), I end up with a silly, sarcastic voice (which is probably just my own stupid commentary) that I keep needing to edit out. (Hm, maybe my pretty purple robe doesn’t set me up for a serious mindset…nah, that can’t be it.) 🙂

My initial instinct is just to keep writing and experimenting, and I know it will eventually work itself out once I know more of The Story, but I didn’t realize how “blocked” I am about it till I tried to sit down to work on The Novel today.  I actually thought to myself, “What if I get all the way through in third person point of view with multiple perspectives, and I actually should have gone with first person point of view, single perspective through the main character?”

I know, I know.  Little thing to quibble about, and as soon as I post this, I will go back and work my multiple perspectives, one perspective at a time, from beginning to the end of the plot chronology, working in my character biographies one person at a time.  I just needed not to feel like I’m crazy thinking about these “little things.”

Please tell me that you have felt this way, so I feel less crazy.  Thank you!

I Remember

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Nine Years Ago…Around This Time (just before 9AM)…

I remember waking up in my apartment in Virginia because my phone would not stop ringing.

I remember eventually getting up and just missing the last phone call by one ring. Then listening to a friend’s voicemail about how the country was at war and would her husband be drafted.

I remember turning on the television, shrugging my shoulders at my friend’s incoherency.

I remember seeing the Twin Towers on fire. Then flipping the channel. Each channel showed the same image.

I remember wondering if my TV was broken. Then I saw a plane flying toward the South Tower.

I remember blinking. Why is a plane flying so close to the buildings? Why isn’t it changing course? Aren’t there people on the plane? Maybe my eyes were broken. I kept blinking.

I remember seeing the plane fly into building one. I flipped the channels too fast to see anything clearly. The images blurred together and all I saw was a world on fire.

I don’t remember much after that.

I think I called my friend. I think I left messages on my family’s answering machines back home in New York. I think I even tried to get ready for school, only to be sent home.

The bus driver had a news program playing on the radio. Evidently, the Pentagon also had a plane fly into it, too.

September 11, 2001 attacks in New York City: V...

Months go by…

I remember in the months that followed, moviemakers were scrambling to cut out any footage of the Twin Towers or any reference to bombs or explosions. I thought they were being silly. Americans were tougher than that.

Then, I watched an action movie on TV, and sobbed at the opening pan shot of the New York City skyline.

I remember the prof of my Advanced Composition class asked if anyone knew the shortest verse in the Bible. I answered, “Jesus wept” then promptly cried.

I remember walking Lower Manhattan with my cousin that winter. We didn’t talk much outside. I don’t know about her, but I couldn’t help thinking that I was inhaling building debris and dead bodies.

I remember the beautiful stories told on the one-year anniversary. The heart broken children who will never know their mother or father. The husband who lost his wife. The wife proud of her husband’s bravery.

Then the years go by…

I remember hearing coworkers wonder why 9/11 was such a big deal.

I remember seeing shrugs and eye rolls.

“Never Forget,” indeed.

More like “We Will Remember”…when it’s convenient for us.

I remember being in a crowd of indifference while I still can’t bear the thought of watching United 93 or World Trade Center.

Now

I look forward to the day when the skyline is whole again. It should be any year now. Believe me, I will take as many pictures as possible, hoping to replace the burning buildings scorched into my mind’s eye.

I remember seeing Fringe last year. The show is a blur of X-Filesian episodes; great action and story, but nothing too outstanding (at least, nothing that hasn’t been done before in that genre.) Then, the finale episode of their first season showed the Twin Towers whole and beautiful, in a universe where they never fell.

I remember how I teared up just seeing the skyline like that in a present world, and not in years gone by. That show has forever won my loyalty.

I remember reading somewhere that the most effective affirmations for changing/sustaining mindset and behavior are written in the present tense, and focusing on what I want rather than what I want to avoid.

This is why I don’t say that I will never forget. I say that I remember.

What do you remember?

Silly Self-Talk

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The Path

One little obstacle

It’s almost hilarious to me that no matter how much I work at ensuring that my mindset is where it’s supposed to be, and that I surround myself with affirmations and inspiring quotations, that one little obstacle (that turned out not to be an obstacle at all) can easily destroy all that careful building up.

I read somewhere that “A word of encouragement during a failure is worth more than an hour of praise after a success.”  Not that I’m planning to fail, or feel like a failure, but writing to me is one of the most personalized journeys that I can make and own (second only to a body transformation).  I only have myself to compare to, my own level of focus and dedication…and to see me compare what I did accomplish to what I could accomplish, well, I may be a harsh critic, but I often see myself coming up short.  There’s a fine line between berating and constructive criticism, and believe me, I dance with that line a lot.

I don’t tend to dwell on the things that I can’t control; but I definitely criticize myself when I do dwell on those uncontrollable things.  Also, when there are things that I can control, and fail to use or maximize them, more criticism is waiting for me.  (I don’t seem to give myself any slack or respite).

For example, when I encountered a story that at first, seemed eerily similar to mine, I automatically broke down and went into a “woe is me, what’s the point in continuing” mode.  I got over myself after chatting with some funny people and was able to move on and roll my eyes at myself.  But, I should have realized sooner that I was being silly.  I should have realized that I can’t go back in time and work on my story earlier.  I shouldn’t even be comparing myself to another writer.   I should not have allowed myself to become discouraged.  But I did anyway.

So, I don’t necessarily have a solution other than to say that I am reaffirming my commitment, and I promise myself not to be so crazy and delusional (and quite frankly, finding excuses to quit).  And, I will own my affirmation throughout the rest of my hundred day challenge to a finished rough draft.

(Here’s a great blogpost that talks about crazies, and I should have recognized the crazy in me while I was in the midst of craziness.)