On Morals and Consequence

Welcome to July, everyone. I hope the year has treated you well thus far. I've been away from the blogosphere for a while now, so I've been catching up on my "reading" and came across this post by a gal who is wise beyond her years (even though she won't admit it). The thing is, it's got me thinking about YA and where I fit into it. And if I have the guts to write for that audience. And whether or not writing for that audience is really about guts at all.

You see, I'm a Christian. I love the Lord and follow the commandments of his Word. So it's true that a lot of the times, my own beliefs and values--- my own morals and my own view of the world--- comes into and effects my writing. And I'm not saying that's a bad thing. In fact, I think that if you're going to be a writer, it's probably because you A.) have a story to tell, or B.) have an opinion/ view of the world to share. My perspective is unique and therefore isn't a bad thing to want to share, but... do you ever notice the people who have an opinion and are, like, adamantly and passionately intent on you sharing it with them?

The post kind of touched on the fact that, on the one hand, YA aims not to be preachy. It wants to reach as wide of an audience as it possibly can. It doesn't want to hurt anyone's feelings. It wants to make everyone happy. But, on the other hand, most YA comes with the hidden message that, if you do bad things, there will be bad consequences. And I admit it--- a lot of the time when you're reading YA, you come across these things that sound like your mother. "Don't have sex or you'll get pregnant!" "Don't do drugs or you'll overdose!" "Don't drink alcohol or you'll get in a car accident!" "Wash your hands or you'll die of malaria!"

Here's the thing: I don't believe in sex, drugs, and rock and roll as a lifestyle choice. I have never tolerated the "it's just one time!" approach, or the "live every day like it's your last!" method. I'm never going to write about unprotected sex or getting high "wid da homies." I can't. Partly because I wouldn't know what it was like, but also because, yeah, I have these moralistic ideas that prevent me from wanting to write about it. But let's say I did write about those things. Do you honestly think that just because my characters want to have sex, get high, and die in car crashes, that I, personally, am endorsing those things?
Heck to the freaking no.

And double heck no.

Just because an author writes about these things, doesn't necessarily mean they think you should go out and do them. When a writer is good, their characters take on lives of their own, and it's then that they start making their own choices and shaping their own existence in a fictional world. Personally, the reason I think most authors bring "bad ends" to characters who do these things is because the people who publish the books are afraid that readers are going to get the idea that an author is saying it's A-okay to do X, Y, and Z. The truth, though, is that, when an author can acknowledge that not all actions have (as Vee says) an "explosive" consequence, they're just writing the truth. The truth is, the truth can be rough for people with a moralistic way of thinking, but those people (the ones like me) don't have to pick up the books that talk about the things they are uncomfortable with.

 Opinions can be dangerous and that's why there are people out there who hate dishing out advice. But for the open-minded person, I'd like to present you with an opinion. It is my belief that the only way to write YA is to write the truth. The truth about unprotected sex is that sometimes it leads to pregnancy, and sometimes it doesn't. The truth about sex, in general, is that some people are having it and some people aren't. The truth about drugs is that some people do them and some people don't. The truth about doing them is that most times it ends in addiction, and sometimes, it doesn't. If you can write about the truth, then you're ready to write about young adults. But if you can't handle the truth, you're better suited for younger readers who have stories to tell, too, without all the craziness of reality clouding the air around them.

If you can handle it, then congratulations! You've entered the Wrilight Zone. Do with your stories what you will, because, the awesome thing about writing is this: we don't all have to write the same stories. Some will be serious, others entertaining. Some will preach and others will mock. Some will contain violence and others will be about peace, love, and other drugs. You don't have to have thick skin to write for the big kids. You just have to write a story worth telling, and, since that's the hardest part, I suggest putting your energy into that side of the process now, and all these other sheningans after you've got your polished, ready-to-go manuscript waiting for a chance to see the sun.

Whew! Glad that's settled,
Deserae McGlothen

P.S. "I give my readers what I can. Instead of offering all the right answers, I offer, I hope, all the right questions." -Vahini Naidoo

P.P.S. Go read that post!

Preservatives

*Quick note: I wrote this post yesterday, but Blogger wouldn't post it. Cross your fingers for luck today.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
One of my sister's friends turned seventeen today, and we were one of the few people who celebrated with her. It got me thinking. About the people I call my friends and the things I value most... And I wondered if two people called me on my birthday, could be as cool with it as she was. If I'm spoiled because, when I turn eighteen, I want everybody and their mama's dialing me up to wish me a happy 1-8.

I realized that I'm not rude or vain or silly or selfish for wanting to be remembered. I'm just... me.

See, I've been this way since I was little. I hung out with my teachers before my peers. To this day, even my first grade teacher remembers me by name. I liked to leave pieces of me behind at my schools. Before I graduated, I stuck a letter under a desk in my Creative Writing class, and am waiting for some curious sould to find it and reply back to me. I think I have a severe case of Memoritis--- a regenerative disease that makes you stronger by keeping you in the lives of others longer.

I want to be remembered. I can't help it. I think that was why I was always fascinated with books. They'd sit on my shelf but every time I opened them, I was plunged back into that world that, if created correctly, stays fresh and preserved, waiting for me to come back to it. Today, I'm writing my own story. It starts with me, now, and, hopefully, will never end.

Adios, Peeps,
Deserae McGlothen

I Forgot to Remember

Agh!

Have you ever been involved in so much at once where you forget to remember the REALLY important stuff?

I forgot something EXTREMELY important, Loves.

Eh. And double eh.

-Deserae McGlothen

In Search of Sanity

I'm not sure when it was that I decided I wanted to write professionally, but I remember that the moment I realized it, everything changed. Gone were the days of simply wanting to tell a story. Replacing it was the need to tell the right story--- the story that mattered, the story that would change its reader for better or for worse.

I remember my fourth grade year, writing a "book" to amuse my friends. They were the cast, their lives highly exaggerated, and I was the puppeteer pulling the strings, trying to move them along with this new girl I created and force them into a world where they weren't exactly the stars. For the first time ever, I'd seen something through from beginning to end. I saw it in chapters and in words and in a hilarious way. I won many a callus writing the entire thing out by hand.

And even though I can't remember when it hit me, I woke up one day and decided I wanted to be an author. Not a writer. An author. I had been a writer since grade two when I wrote poems on the backs of my arithmetic tests, and penned short narratives for my friends in grade four. Heck. I was a writer (or a story teller which is what a writer is in their simplest form) when my friend Stephanie and I kept up the hugest (fictional) story of both of us attending an after school program called G.E.M.S. We piggy-backed off of one another on a weekly basis, retelling our adventures to anyone who was unfortunate enough to try to engage in our conversations. I wanted to move beyond writing. I wanted writing to be my craft, and story-telling to be my art. I wanted to be an author, and I wanted to be good at it. So I didn't sit back and wait for author to happen to me; I went out there in the big bad world and learned how to do it.

What I learned right away were the following three things: you don't have to be an adult to be an author, you have to write to be an author, and there are two types of authors--- published and unpublished.

Currently, I'm unpublished. Do I want to be published one day? Absolutely. That's the goal, I'm not going to lie, but I realize that in order to reach that goal, I had to actually write a book first. So I did. And I liked how that went so I wrote another one. And then I liked how that went and re-read the first one. It was terrible. I went back to the beginning and started from scratch, revamping a story I cherished and cared for and although it's better, it either A.) needs professional help or B.) should forever hold its peace.

And seriously, that's alright. Everything I've written has come to be because I wanted to write it. I didn't set a word to paper that, at one point, I wasn't absolutely proud of. I've just grown A LOT from point A (wanting to be an author) to point B (actually becoming one). Am I good at it? I'll be honest and say that's for the reader to decide. I've had people read and love my stuff, and others read and hate it. And since I simply write for my own sanity, what do I know about the quality? I make it a point not to compare myself to other authors because what I write is what I write. I KNOW it's not perfect, but it's a reflection of me. I'm not perfect, it's not perfect, and, for now, I'm okay with that. Like I do in my own life, I review, I analyze, I spot the problem, and I make a couple of changes. There's no harm in being wrong the first time as long as the second time around, we're definitely getting better and one step closer to amazing.

The truth is, the journey to finding myself here at Author Type II (the unpublished) has lead me directly and incidentally to finding me. I was looking for something, I think, in the realm of fiction to help me hide away from the things of the world around me, but, as with all good things, it lead me straight back around to the heart of what I was running from and made me face it, head on. I had to take a hard look at the things that were surrounding me and the person I was turning into because of circumstance and weak knees and I had to pull out a pen and show myself what was going on. In a way, I had to look at myself through the mirror. I had to use my words to see what was happening to me.

I think I'm just thankful to language, itself, for giving us an outlet--- a way to say what we mean and express how we feel. But I've always been thankful that writing kind of found me, because it's saved me from myself, from those ruts others talk about, and, ultimately, from being someone else. It's weird to say "I like myself," but I do. I like who I am. And I found all that through my quest for sanity; and I found sanity through a mess of words that let me untangle them long enough to see the light of day.

I hope writing's done something just as magical for you. I can't express how much I love hearing great stories about how words have changed someone's life, so if you have a tale for me, feel free to leave it in the comments.

'Til next time, Bloggers,
~Deserae McGlothen

Maybe, Baby

There's a wonderful word in this world called maybe, and I've learned to embrace it for all that it is.

Maybe is not a no, so when I ask my mom if I can go to an author signing in La Habra and she says, "Maybe," I try not to throw hissy fits anymore or blame her for ruining my life.

Maybe is almost a yes, so when my sister asks if she can borrow my blazer and I tell her, "Maybe," I notice that she smiles and leaves me alone for a while. I always give in despite the fact that everyone tells her she looks great in it, and I haven't gotten compliments on it in two flipping years.

Maybe means thought is being given, so when my teachers start the class with, "Well, maybe..." I can tell they're considering giving us a break. And I find that I'm beyond grateful that they even took the time to consider this. They could have started the class with "Page three hundred and ninety-four," without thought for my feelings or of what I wanted to do. So when I hear maybe, I'm thankful. Very, very thankful.

Maybe is a good thing. It spares you outright rejection. I've been rejected before and it hurts. Maybe, at least, shows you there was something that attracted a person to you in the first place. Maybe means there's something they liked enough to not just walk away, and maybe that's a good thing don't you think?

Maybe's full of hope. Hope for what could be only had a fifty-fifty chance before maybe stepped in. It's opened a whole can of possibilities. Possibilities beget opportunities, and opportunities, as you know, are hard to come by. There's hope in some words, but not so much as there is in a maybe. Maybe that's just a coincidence. But maybe--- maybe it's not.

I have a thought for you. It starts with a "what if." What if you embraced maybe for all that it is? Maybe it'll help you take pride in yourself, your writing, and the maybes you come by on a daily basis. Here's another: what if you started to appreciate them and open yourself up to the possibilities a maybe presents to you? There's something big attached to the whole "positive thinking" thing. The cards are in your favor so long as you remember you've already turned the tide. Maybe you should try it. Tell me how believing in the power of the "maybe" works out for you.

:)
~Deserae McGlothen

Pitch Contest with Natalie Fischer

Every once in a while, a once in a lifetime opportunity will arrive on your doorstep.

It will never be dressed all in white, on the back of a mighty steed, adorned in sparkling jewels or flashing neon lights--- it will present itself modestly, subtly, and usually at the most inconvenient time.

Why that is, I will never know, but the fact of the matter is this: that it arrives. That it chooses you. That it knocks and it says, "Here's a chance! Are you willing to take it?" And it will be up to you to decide if you just stare at it through the peephole until it gives up and goes away, or if you open the door, and see what happens.

As I said, these don't come around very often. And if you saw the title of this post, you'll know (maybe exactly) what this particular opportunity is. But instead of giving you the ins and outs, the ups and downs, the yay-says and the no-ways, I'll give you the knock. Knock, knock, knock. It's up to you to open the door.

Best of luck,
Deserae McGlothen

I'm Writing a Book

Hello, Lovelies!

Long time no see. It's been longer than I wanted it to be (and ohemgee! I have a mini blog series I TOTALLY wanted to finish and must finish some time soon!), but I thought I'd come by and share something I read today.

You see, there's a lovely lady called Rachel Vail (author of IF WE KISS, and the LUCKY, GORGEOUS, BRILLIANT books) and she's put up a post about a trick she uses to overcome writer's block. Although I won't go into the logistics of it, I thought I'd share about my recent ventures into editing my latest WIP because I feel that maybe, just maybe, it'll be theraputic to talk about.

I've been working with this project for at least a gillion (eight) years, so I know the characters, the plot, and the flaws inside-out. In this draft, the rough edges have been smoothed, the humor has been amplified, and it's good--- that is until we hit chapter eight. Chapter eight is where I've gone dark. Where the elusive (imaginary) writer's block has reared its ugly head. Up until this point, it's been all about rearranging, subtractions, multiplications, a little bit of division and some slight additions but CHAPTER EIGHT is kicking my butt. Why? Because now, it doesn't exist. There's chapter seven. There's chapter nine. And in between there is this hole the size of Jupiter, saying, "What now?" and I'm staring at it wondering the exact same thing.

But then I read Rachel's post, and, to some, that simple exercise may not mean much, but it was like the light in the darkness that made me say, "I know what to do" and my manuscript answered, "Whoopee! Let's do it!" Short exercise, nothing much to it, but the right something to get me motivated.

It's nothing secial but I'm writing a book, and what I've learned on the blogosphere is that to do so, one must actually WRITE. So here is my word of encouragement to you: write, Baby, write; you won't ever regret it (and can always edit it later).

BTW, that video up there is not for the faint of heart. Watch it at your own risk. :)

TTYS,
Deserae McGlothen