Writer's Block Exists, But Not in the Way You Think

It's pretty common knowledge that writers (or any other type of artist) need a kick in the pants every so often, and usually that kick needs to come from themselves. Artists are great at getting themselves into creative ruts and flailing helplessly when they realize there's no easy way out. And it can be so tempting to stay in that rut, because while there, you have no artistic responsibilities and can just hang out.

I'll just be down here.

But if you stay in the rut for too long, you realize it's boring as hell. Not being expected to do anything can make you feel useless. If you're an artist who invests a lot of their identity in said art, it can also lead to a slight existential crisis à la, "Why am I even on this planet if I'm not doing [x]?"

This year, I've spent a lot more time in creative ruts than I usually do. I'm no stranger to these ruts, of course, and I don't think any artist is. But the ruts of 2015 proved a lot harder to get out of, and, thanks to a number of circumstances, my willpower was no match for how steep they were.

Why am I even calling these ruts? Why am I not calling it writer's block? Because I don't think writer's block exists, or at least, it doesn't exist in the way most people seem to understand it. When I hear people complain about writer's block, it often comes in the form of, "I can't think of anything to write about. I'm sitting there and nothing is coming out."

Oh, something could come out, all right. All you have to do is think of words and type them onto the page, or scribble them into your notebook or napkin or stone tablet or whatever you use. Your problem is that nothing good is coming out.

Well, duh. That's, like, 75% of writing a first draft. Like I've said before, writing involves wading through a lot of shit before you can get to the good stuff. It's about not judging yourself and trusting that you will be able to look at it with fresh eyes later, to clean up the language and cut out entire sections that aren't working. It's about not being afraid of your own failure because nobody gets it right the first time.

To me, writer's block is less about your creative abilities no longer working and more about some paralyzing fear holding you back from writing at all. It is incredibly hard to push through this, and sometimes, you have a lot working against you. A major event could disrupt your life, whether it's a positive or negative one; you could be battling mental illness; your living conditions might make it more difficult or outright impossible for you to work on your art. But there's a fine line between giving yourself a break because of an obstacle and not pushing yourself to work when you know enough pushing would get you where you need to be.

Clearly, I am still struggling to find this line.

As many of you know, I'm writing a YA fantasy series meant to be four books long. I've written books one, two, and three, but shortly after finishing the third, I took a step back. I didn't want to start book four until I was fairly satisfied with the first three. Book one was polished thanks to a significant rewrite I undertook with it after becoming more familiar with the publishing industry. I was happy with book three, since it was my most recent work and written by a much more mature author than the other two.

But book two was a total mess. So, last year,  I promised myself I would revise the thing before drafting the final book in the series.

I'd been avoiding revising book two for a while, and only recently did I start thinking about why that was. Drafting it had been a messy process. I'd stumbled through the first ten chapters with no idea how to organize it, the last section was plagued with overblown tangents, the main plot got lost in a tangle of subplots. But I also wrote that book during the most difficult emotional period of my life. As a result, the book includes some of my best writing, but also made me not want to look at it.

Re-reading the first several chapters, I had no patience for the miserable kid who'd written the original draft (the me of several years ago). I called her stupid and annoying, cursed her for the monstrosity she'd left me with, and laughed at all her amateur mistakes. Revising her prose proved exhausting, which made it easy to slip into a rut. At some point, I tumbled into the rut and stayed there.

To be fair to myself, I've been up against a lot this year. My last semester of college took a toll on me. I was dealing with a school newspaper fiasco that left me disillusioned with my university and with universities in general. My significant other was studying abroad, and the separation was, to put it mildly, hard. I was teaching a class and my mental health was suffering worse than it ever had during college. Throughout that last semester, I revised book two in small bursts, but not in any sustainable way.

Then I graduated and went to Europe for two months, as my Instagram account can attest to. It was understandable that I didn't revise during this period, since 1) I had no time and 2) I had nowhere to go. Most of my time in Europe was either spent at my significant other's flat in London, which housed like seven other people and not very many rooms, or in an AirBnB, which...is someone else's house. I wasn't about to demand a room I could revise in for two hours every night. Through all of this, I promised myself I would start revising as soon as I got home.

Guess what didn't happen.

We arrived home super jet lagged and not wanting to do anything but laze around the house. I could barely find the energy to move. It's fine, I told myself. The family trip to Alaska is soon. You'll start revising there. Then we got there for our two-week vacation and I found myself repeating the same process every day. I'd announce that I was "planning to edit" later, occupy myself with other, less demanding tasks, and become more and more anxious as the day's hours dwindled. The closer I got to midnight, the more excuses built up. I'll do it in an hour. Okay, half hour. Actually, I can't tonight. I need to spend more time with my siblings. Or I'll just finish this quest in this video game. Tonight isn't a good night because--

These weren't valid excuses anymore. I was stuck in the rut. I'd been there for so much longer than I was used to and couldn't figure out how to get myself out of it. Worse than that, I started to tear myself apart for continually succumbing to whatever was stopping me. I criticized myself every day for it. It didn't exactly do wonders for my self-esteem.

Then one day during our trip, we visited a rocky beach. I was climbing out to one of the larger rocks that was more difficult to reach, since it was further out in the water than the others. I made it there without a scratch, despite the slippery stones I had to step on and the incoming tide. Boy was I proud of myself for being a badass and succeeding in an outdoorsy activity that made me nervous. I was still celebrating on my way back to the beach when I slipped on the barnacle-encrusted rock. I landed right on my butt and earned a cut on my palm, which would later bruise.

Asshole barnacles.

It was a shallow cut that barely broke the skin. It wasn't even that big, and there wasn't much blood. But what did I do? I, a 22-year-old woman who has always had a low pain tolerance, started crying.

I didn't cry in front of anyone who wasn't understanding (just my significant other, who is very pro-feel-what-you-feel), but still, I felt humiliated. I'm not very patient with myself when it comes to having an emotional reaction I don't consider reasonable. If I'd had it my way, I would have jumped back up all Mercutio-like and said, "Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch!" But I cried, which definitely did not match the badass-outdoorsy-warrior mood I'd been indulging in a moment before. I felt ashamed.

This, of all things, made me remember why I was writing my YA fantasy in the first place.

My YA fantasy's main character has been thrust into a combat situation that doesn't match her personality at all. She, like me, is prone to crying for every reason under the sun, whether it be physical pain, interpersonal, frustration, anger, etc. Her best friend is a much more conventional warrior, and tears from her are pretty rare.

But there's a reason my main character has the spotlight instead of her friend. I want to show her fighting for her life through tears. I want her emotional outbursts to fuel her rather than indicate weakness. Through these books, I want to show people that emotion can lend us enormous strength though it may seem to hinder us. I am working against our culture's criticisms of "excessive" emotion and how it encourages people to suppress it. I especially want teenagers of all genders to read these books and feel validated when they cry. I want them to see crying as a source of power the way I couldn't as a teenager.

There is no way I'm gonna be able to do that unless I sit down and revise book two, damn it.

And you know what? When I got back to it, I thanked my younger self. Even though she didn't really know what she was doing, she'd fought through the muck to get words down during the hardest time of her life. Sure, it's a lot to revise. But without her, I wouldn't have anything to revise at all. She stayed out of her rut long enough to write this craptastic first draft. I am so proud of her.

So it took an assful of barnacles to get me out of my rut this time. Well, it didn't get me out on its own. It just threw down a rope. It still took me a few days to haul myself out of there and get down to business. Now, finally, I am revising again, and I feel much more comfortable with myself. I feel I'm doing good, important work that I hope will someday benefit other people.

Writer's block may be tough to deal with, but thinking about it in terms of fear instead of a short supply of creativity gives me a lot more control over how I handle it. I'm always better when I'm working on my craft, and I'm happy to be back on board.

If you have any methods for getting yourselves out of artistic ruts, let me know in the comments. I could sure use more ideas.

-Morgan

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My Love/Meh Relationship with Frozen

Pretty personal post ahead. But I thought it was important to share on this blog, since it is closely linked with the role fiction can play in one's life and in one's identity.

If you've been on the Internet at any point over the past three months, you definitely haven't encountered this totally obscure Disney movie, Frozen. On the off chance you do know which movie I'm talking about, be warned that this post contains spoilers.

The moment the movie came out, every other person I talked to told me I needed to see it as soon as possible. People said it was the best Disney princess movie since Beauty and the Beast. I practically knew all the songs before I actually saw the thing. Two of my college-aged friends have seen the movie in theaters five times. I thought, whoa, this movie must be Pixar-level amazing. So I walked into the theater with extremely high expectations...

...and walked out confused. Disappointed. My sister agreed with me. The movie was trying too hard to be Tangled--the Sven character was completely interchangeable with the horse from Rapunzel's film. Out of all the jokes in the movie, one made me laugh. One. Even then, it was just a little "heh." I couldn't stand Olaf (I feel so bad saying that, because he's cute and sweet, just not funny to me). Elsa rubbed me the wrong way. Much of the plot "twists" were incredibly predictable. I was glad Disney finally subscribed to a type of "true love" that wasn't romantic, but I just wish I hadn't seen it coming from a mile away. Don't even get me started on Disney's choice to make Hans evil. Why were people so crazy about this movie?

Well, big deal, right? I don't have to love a movie everyone else is, for some reason, obsessed with. I participated in the cultural phenomenon and now I can move on. I tend to be a harsh critic of movies in general, anyway, so this shouldn't bother me so much.

But then there's this:

That is a picture of me and my sister, Wendy, above the movie's sister characters, Anna and Elsa. It's great that Anna is the younger sister and Elsa older, because as far as my sister and I go, the personalities match us almost perfectly. If someone had told me, "Hey, they're gonna make a movie about an older sister who has emotional issues that she doesn't know how to control and a sweet, optimistic sister who has complete faith in her," I would have thought the scriptwriters were spying on my family.

Remember, I wasn't a big fan of the movie. But the fact that I wasn't a huge fan kept bothering me, long after I'd seen it. Part of it may have related to the fact that I felt left out, since everyone else latched onto it. But I've come up with a couple more reasons that the bitterness stuck with me:

1) I'm mad that this movie didn't come out in the 90s.

Ariel!...and Eric. Belle!....and the Beast. Kiara!...and Kovu. These are the main characters of some of the Disney movies my sister and I watched (and acted out in front of the screen) as kids. Notice something about these movies? They're running low on female characters. This meant that, unless one of us wanted to be one of Gaston's fangirls or Lion King 2's evil Zera, only one of us could be "the girl," and the other was stuck being the boy. Because I was the bossy older sister, I usually got to be the female character, to Wendy's dismay.

Sure, we could have come up with our own characters, which we did. But it was fun to pretend we were characters we could see onscreen. These movies had merchandise, soundtracks we could sing to and toys we could play with. This stuff stretched the worlds further, made the fictional playground bigger. Wendy and I had a few sister movies to choose from, of course--she was the Hallie to my Annie (The Parent Trap remake), the Mei to my Satsuki (Totoro), the Mary-Kate to my Ashley (I'm not gonna list them all). But did these movies offer toys you could play with, or outfits, or dolls? Totoro has some, but not of the sisters.

If this movie had come out when we were kids, my poor mother probably would have purchased half the Frozen merchandise in the Disney store. We would have had Elsa and Anna dolls. We would have danced around singing "Do You Wanna Build a Snowman?" and "For the First Time in Forever (Reprise)" together. We would have dressed our little brother in white and called him Olaf. Heck, we would probably have started asking people to call us Elsa and Anna (we would sometimes ask people to call us by our middle names, which are close enough--I'm Morgan Elizabeth, she's Wendy Anne).

Is it immature of me to whine about how my childhood lacked Frozen? Absolutely. My childhood had plenty of wonderful things, and I'm thrilled for the little sisters of the world who get to grow up with these characters. I'm just a little jealous of them, too.

Here comes the bigger one:

2) I saw too much of Elsa in myself.

Recall how I said Elsa rubbed me the wrong way. I also mentioned that I was the bossy older sister, kind of flippantly. But I say that with some pain.

Emotions have been a big...thing for me for much of my life. If my novels are ever published, you will see what I mean. I was always the temperamental kid in the house. I had a hitting problem that I took out on my siblings. In high school, I had meltdowns. And over the past three or four years, I realized my out-of-control emotions could hurt people. I didn't know what to do about it. I tried telling myself not to explode when I felt a freak-out coming on, but that didn't help. It usually made it worse. This all leads up to the present day, when recently, a counselor told me I punish myself for feeling things too intensely.

 This scene looked familiar.

I told my friend, who is the number one Frozen fan, about this counseling session. Later on, she said to me, "If you punish yourself for your emotions, why didn't you like Elsa?"

Hm. Well, Elsa had a resolution. I'm better than I was a few years ago, but I still haven't really resolved this yet.

One thing I knew people were wild about was Elsa's song, "Let it Go" (which I now enjoy, though I don't think it's musically or lyrically strong enough to be Oscar-worthy--the best thing about it is Idina Menzel's voice). That's when she uses her icky feelings to construct her castle, which I could easily tie to my own novel-writing. I knew Elsa was bothering me, but I couldn't articulate why at the time. Some part of me must have been thinking, or rather feeling, "Let it go, huh? It'd be nice if it were that easy."

 Pictured: not me.

I kept thinking, no, she can't win. She's still hurting people. How can this song be so triumphant when "letting it go" isn't actually the answer? The whole country or whatever Arendelle is has been plunged into eternal winter because she's cursed with emotions that overpower her--I mean, ice powers. Later, when Anna tells her this, she acknowledges this herself: "I'm such a fool! I can't be free! No escape from the storm inside of me!"

I identified so strongly with Elsa that she repelled me. That happened to me the first time I read Dosteovsky, too. I pride myself as someone who is willing to look at her flaws, but sometimes, I guess it gets too close and I start pushing things away.

And I have an Anna. I have a sister who loves me even though I bossed her around and hurt her. I pushed her away plenty, especially during my last two years of high school. Sure, our relationship is great now, but I can never undo any of that stuff.

 (And she would still probably do this for me).

Is it possible to love a character and not like the movie so much? I think so. That's how I feel about Holly Golightly--Breakfast at Tiffany's is otherwise not so great (please read the book; it is so much better). After three months of not understanding my reaction to this movie, I've settled on this stance. Frozen? Meh. Anna and Elsa? Love.

And if you see yourself in a character, don't hate him or her. This goes double if you see yourself in another person you meet--I know of so many people who see their own traits in another and so decide they dislike that person. Treat that character or individual with empathy and kindness. You may learn something about yourself.

Maybe one day I will let it go. If not, I've still got that bitchin' ice castle.

-Morgan

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Classics and Contemporary Novels: How Both Can Improve Your Writing

A while ago, I wrote what I now consider to be a fairly naive post about how I am at a disadvantage in the literary industry because I love to read classics, and my novels are consequently influenced by them. I couldn't understand what the literary world had against archaic language, flowery descriptions, and novels that went on forever when I went wild over them. Why must I conform? I cried to the skies. Why must I cooperate with the rules The Man set down?!

Well, I was right about one thing: limiting myself to classics did put me at a disadvantage. But I acted like this was outside my control. I acted as if enjoying classics meant I couldn't enjoy anything else.

Before I get to the point of this post, let me ask you something. Have you, as a writer (or as some other kind of artist, or even just as a human being going through the world), ever heard the same rule beaten into your head over and over, and you understood it was a rule, but you never really understood why? For instance, as a kid, you probably knew your parents wanted you to eat your vegetables and cut down on the candy. This was an accepted fact because your parents said it, yet some tiny voice in your head went, but, why? You couldn't fathom why someone would make such a rule. Candy is awesome. Vegetables aren't awesome (or maybe you were like me and you thought vegetables were awesome, but not quite as awesome as candy).

For me, there was a rule like that in the writing world: use simple language. I saw this and thought, but...I like my pretty, adjective-filled descriptions of bathroom tiles. I like sophisticated vocabulary you don't often see in the twenty-first century. You...you want me to be a minimalist, like Hemingway? But I'm not him! You people are all against me! I literally scratched my head over this rule for six freaking years.

Then, while studying abroad in Ireland last semester, I had the wonderful opportunity to read contemporary and classic novels side by side. I took a class called Contemporary Irish Fiction as well as 19th Century Irish Writing. Now, keep in mind, I'd started picking up contemporary novels again recently, so I was already starting to learn my lesson. I read a slew of YA novels over the summer, The Hunger Games series the winter break before that, etc. But this gave me the opportunity to read them at the same time. To compare. To see that--

Oh.

Oh.

There are reasons many of the qualities often found in classics are now extinct in contemporary literature. Good reasons. Suddenly, I'd lost my patience with seven-page-long monologues about the same thing, because I'd re-entered the world of contemporary works, and those authors, uh, cut those parts out. Because they didn't want their readers begging for mercy.

However. You may have noticed the title of this post. I am not here to bash classic novels. Now that I've been enlightened and have familiarized myself fairly well with both "genres," I feel like I better understand what writing lessons can be gleaned from each. Let me tell you, my prose has improved immensely ever since this epiphany. I am simplifying the hell out of my latest draft, and I am reevaluating those anachronistic words, but I'm also remembering what classics taught me.

Here's a list of why you, writer, should read a healthy balance of both classic and contemporary novels and, more importantly, why.

CONTEMPORARY NOVELS

1) Simplify your language. I'm starting with this one for obvious reasons. I was editing one night, reading over one of my overwrought sentences, and then I thought to myself, "Morgan--you're trying to get a complicated concept across to your reader. So why the hell would you use complicated language to confuse them even further?" Even worse is when your characters are performing a simple task and you write it out in the most convoluted way possible. I'll provide a sample of my own writing so you see what I mean. Here's the sentence from the unedited first draft, about a teacher's reaction to my main character asking to go to the bathroom because she's upset: "At first, [the teacher's] wrinkled lips thinned, accentuating the pinkness of her lipstick, but her features softened as she scrutinized Ama’s face, which Ama had been forced to scrunch in order to tether it to what was socially acceptable, and to prevent it from bursting like a pressured dam." Whoa whoa whoa, hold the phone, what the hell? Slow down. That is way too many words for such a simple thing. Here it is after I simplified it: "At first, the teacher’s wrinkled lips thinned. But her features softened when she studied Ama’s face, which Ama forced herself to scrunch so it wouldn’t burst like a pressured dam." There, that's better. The action remains and we still understand Ama's emotional struggle without getting beaten over the head by it. We lost the bit about the lipstick, but who cares? No one will miss a useless detail like that.

 2) Concision. Yeah, I'm still struggling with this one, but I'm getting better. Ever notice how contemporary novels tend to be slimmer, while older novels could be doorstops? There are exceptions, of course--1984 is tiny, while the Harry Potter books are famously huge. Contemporary novelists have realized that the more quickly you get your point across, the less likely you are to lose your reader's attention. The Perks of Being a Wallflower wasn't 500 pages long because it didn't need to be. It said everything it needed to say in about 200 pages and said it beautifully. Conversely, I love Dracula, but it definitely didn't need to be that long. In fact, I started to get really sick of how long it took to reach the climax. Older novels were sometimes longer because authors got paid by the word, or because the novel was serialized--the books would be released a few chapters at a time in magazines and readers would beg for more. Those days are behind us, so try not to write a doorstopper, unless it really works for your story (and, again, this is advice from someone who...writes doorstoppers).

3) Pacing. This kind of ties into concision, but it gets its own category because it's the most stark difference I've noticed between classics and contemporary novels. The first contemporary novel I picked up in a long time since my classics phase was The Subtle Knife by Philip Pullman (I read The Golden Compass in ninth grade but didn't finish the series until I was nineteen). For the first time in years, I found it extremely difficult to put the book down. I'm crazy about War and Peace and will recommend it to anyone who breathes, but it also drains your mental energy, so putting it away for a while takes less willpower. With Subtle Knife, I could keep turning pages and not even notice how quickly I was moving. The story drew me in, and I felt a desperate need to know what happened next. Sure, parts of classic novels can create this effect, but they're more likely to drag. Contemporary novelists know to eliminate the parts that drag, or at least minimize them as much as possible. For a slow reader like me, this is helpful.

 4) Understanding the market. This is more for writers who are looking to get published than anyone else, and part of what made me complain about my "disadvantages" in that post from 2012, because I was a snot-nosed brat. If you read nothing but classics all the time, how the hell do you expect to get published? You're not competing with Austen and Dostoevsky and Joyce. I mean, you are to some degree, since your books would hopefully be sold in the same stores as theirs are (eep!). But it's not the same. What if your idea has been done before, and you don't know it because you haven't read much past 1960? What if you thought your protagonist named Katniss had the most unique name ever, and you're not Suzanne Collins? What if you make the amateur mistake of comparing your novel to Great Expectations in a query letter? (Don't do it. Please don't.) If you know what people are reading right now, you have a better chance at making a difference. You can spot the stories that aren't being told. You're more likely to sound original because you've done your research.

CLASSIC NOVELS

1) Learning new vocabulary. "Morgan, what the hell?" you must be thinking. "Didn't you just say to simplify your language? In bold, multiple times?" Yeah, but sometimes, a situation calls for a sophisticated word. If you've never paid much attention to a classic novel or English class, your vocabulary will be limited. And, as a writer who will be tempted to repeat the same words no matter how expansive your vocabulary is, that isn't good. When you're stuck, say, describing how someone is feeling, and "sad" just isn't cutting it, what do you do if your arsenal lacks words? Maybe your character's sadness is really deep, quiet, and thoughtful, so "melancholy" would fit better. There is no other single word to describe that feeling, so use it. You need it. Classic novels are obsessed with the word melancholy. I can't remember any contemporary novels I've seen it in, except Because of Winn Dixie, though I'm sure there are some. If it fits, then please pull a word like this from a classic. Just don't overuse it.

 2) Creating unforgettable characters. This is not to say that all characters in contemporary novels suck, or aren't memorable. Far from it. My ears will probably perk when they hear a Harry Potter character's name until I die. But dude, think about Peter Pan. Alice in Wonderland. The Greek/Roman gods. Society has held onto these characters for decades, centuries, millennia, and still hasn't let go. Who doesn't want to create a character who millions of people take into their hearts as if that character is a living, breathing person? Readers have met characters who touched them in some personal way, inspired them to do something with their lives, even saved them. I will encourage all my children to read Jane Eyre at some point not just to see how a woman can behave against a society that dislikes her, but how admirable and courageous a person, male or female or somewhere in between, can be. I want everyone to read to the end of The Brothers Karamzov so they can sniffle at the last five pages and want to hug the hell out of Alyosha Karamazov. Like I said, this can happen in contemporary novels, but such novels can sometimes be harder to find. This is partly because there's an emphasis on plots and ideas in the literary world today--which is necessary, since a cool concept is often what will get someone to read a book in the first place. Good contemporary novelists, like Emma Donoghue and Rachel Hartman to name two very different ones, will balance well-written characters with interesting plots. But many spend more time on plot than character, and finding the gems can become a challenge.

3) Complexity. When I read the introduction to War and Peace, the translators claimed that Leo Tolstoy had taken life and put it on paper. Sensory observations, understanding of humanity, realism in general--all spot on. I thought, pfft, yeah right. Then I read it, and oh my god, were they right. It's one of the reasons Tolstoy has gone down in history. He gave us three dimensional people and a world that breathed, and breathed so truly that we could recognize that world as our own, despite the fact that we don't live in 19th-century Russia. He also layered the book with ideas, meaning, philosophies, and questions regarding life that we might never have thought about. I'm not talking about complex vocabulary here. I'm talking about complex characters, complex worlds, complex ideas, complex morality. This is, once again, something more easily found in classics, because it's usually why they're classics. To Kill a Mockingbird pointed a finger at racism, but through the eyes of a young girl named Scout, so Harper Lee couldn't quite point at it directly. The social commentary becomes clear without any character having to explicitly say, "This is wrong" or "This is racist." In the same novel, a character previously thought to be evil, Boo Radley, turns out to be sweet and sensitive, which surprises Scout. There is still clearly something wrong with him, but not in the way Scout thought--it's more complex than that. Yes, this is present in plenty of contemporary novels, and boy do I love those novels. Yet so many of them employ cookie-cutter characters, stereotypes, and black-and-white morality, so you've got to work harder to find the good stuff.

4)  Understanding what has stopped working. A big mistake I made during my classics phase was thinking that if a book won the honor of becoming "classic," that meant everything about it worked. I didn't understand why I couldn't write endless sentences when James Joyce could (other than the fact that he was actually good at writing them). Why was Melmoth the Wanderer allowed to be 600 pages long when mine wasn't? Why did F. Scott Fitzgerald get to use all those adverbs in The Great Gatsby? The answer is this: no book is perfect. No, fifteen-year-old Morgan, not even a classic. A really good book is a book with so many strong points that the weaknesses fade into the background, or at least seem to matter less. Melmoth the Wanderer's length was mostly excused because Melmoth was a fascinating character with an intriguing perspective on humanity. James Joyce was long-winded, sure, but look how unique, and often beautiful, his language is. The Great Gatsby took a jab at the corruption of luxury, and did it eloquently enough that people tolerate the excessive adverbs. By reading classics, you can isolate what made it so memorable (not necessarily to the world, but to you) as well as what made it a struggle to read. Eliminate the bad, but keep the good in your brain. Then you can strive to improve your own writing without outright imitating everything about the classics, either.

Hope this helped someone. It sure helped me.

-Morgan 

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The Only Thing I Know That's Keeping Me Alive

And that's the hope I have, the only thing I know that's keeping me alive. - Paramore, "Last Hope"

People have different reasons for why they write. I respect that. I also strive to be an empathetic human being who works to understand other people's perspectives. Sometimes, this is hard to do. Especially when I read about a writer who only wants to entertain, rather than instill meaning into his or her story. Especially when I read about a writer who has considered giving up writing altogether because his or her failures have become too frustrating. Not just giving up submitting to agents or publishers. Giving up writing itself.

Have I ever gotten frustrated with the writing process, or the editing process, or the rejection process? You bet. "Frustrated" is an understatement. Have I ever thought to myself that I suck, or that I'll never get anything published? Absolutely. Have I experienced moments of disillusionment with the publishing process/world? I can't imagine anyone in the writing and/or publishing world who hasn't.

Have I ever considered giving up writing?

About as many times as I've considered chopping off my arms and selling them on eBay. So, no.

(Although if someone I cared deeply about needed an arm and doctors invented some magical surgery in which arm donations worked, I would donate my arm a lot faster than I would give up writing).

I'm not one of those people who took up writing because it seemed like fun, or because I wasn't sure what else to do. No snobbiness meant there--if you're one of those people, great, and that's valid. It just isn't who I am. I'm one of the (probably) thousands of people who writes because it saved my life. Without writing, I don't know where I would be right now, emotionally or academically. I don't know who I would be. I am writing. Writing is me.

When I started really researching the writing craft, around the time I started getting ideas for my first novel (I wanted to do the thing right, see), I gathered one piece of advice that seemed to permeate all the different lists of tricks, discussions, and books I read about writing: be honest. Be truthful. That's the core of writing for me. What does that mean, exactly, especially when you're writing a novel, which by definition is approximately 300 pages of something that never really happened?

It means you have to mean every word. Every sentence must stay true to your character's personality, emotional state, circumstances, and context. Every page must fall into line with some facet of human existence that you know to be true for at least one person, whether you experienced it yourself, watched another person go through it, or even scooped it up from a book or movie. Every chapter must paint a picture that convinces the reader he/she can touch, taste, smell, and breathe the fictional world you've created. Every book must make a reader believe, make them feel the truth enveloping the core of the book.

So, before I could write something real, I had to look at my own life. I had to examine truths. There were easier truths, like what my opinion was on the best possible way to describe a rose (yes, truths can be subjective). But there were also harder truths. I had to look at parts of my own reality that were broken and figure out why. I had to accept my own truths. I had to dig into those truths, pin them under a microscope, and acknowledge that sometimes, after hours of inspection, I would still have no idea what I was looking at or why.

Many of these truths changed my life, and hurt. Really hurt. But if it weren't for writing, if it weren't for the catalyst that made me start looking at the world around me so I could write about another, I might still be living in ignorance. I might still be sad and not know why. My life would be tremendously different.

Four years ago, I sunk into a depression because of something going on in my life. The only positive things I felt like I had were Paramore's third album brand new eyes (Oh, gee, now you see where the attachment comes from!) and my second novel. The depression was bad, but it would have been a million times worse if I didn't have my writing, if I didn't have an extended goal, if I didn't have my characters. I wrote 100,000 words in four months during that depression. That is huge for me, a chronic slow drafter.

What is it about writing, then, that saves me, besides helping me discover my own truths? If I'm upset and have enough sense to write myself out of my sadness (because sometimes I'm an idiot who insists she's too upset to write. Uh huh. That's like saying "I'm too hungry to eat."), something happens. Dozens of times, I've listen to my sniffles slowly die down as I become more absorbed in the story. My problems vanish. My pain evaporates. Slowly, they are eclipsed by problems and pain belonging to other people. My issues don't matter right now, because so-and-so is miserable about such-and-such, and he/she needs me to transcribe that sorrow into words. No one else can do it. And sure, these people aren't real (ouch, my heart). But their emotional experiences are. Millions of people throughout history have felt the same fear and shame one of my gay characters feels about coming out of the closet. Countless people have experienced feelings of worthlessness, hopelessness, recklessness. This is how my characters are each, individually, thousand of nuggets of truth.

Yes, I suppose you could aim to write purely for entertainment. But a book can never be just that, at least not for everyone in the world. No matter what, your book will reveal conscious, subconscious, and unconscious aspects of your psyche. The words you choose will reveal your background, your upbringing, your values. Your characters' moral codes will reflect societal paradigms, expectations, realities. Pure and mindless entertainment, at least when it comes to fiction, does not and cannot exist.

The Paramore quote I posted at the top of this entry might seem melodramatic. Maybe it is. But it's how I feel about writing. I might not literally be dead if I didn't have writing. But I might not be as emotionally aware. I might feel like one of the thousands of helpless people who aren't sure why they're on this planet (if this is you--you'll find it, I promise, as long as you keep looking). I might not be as honest with myself as I am.

No one can tell me I'm not meant to write. I feel it in my bloodstream. Sure, someone can time travel from the future to tell me I'll never get recognition, and no one outside my family and friends will ever read my words. To that I say, so the hell what?

I might never publish a word, but I know I'm here to write until I die.

-Morgan

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Tips and Thoughts on Traveling

I have returned from Italy! What does this mean, readers? It means lazing around in my sweatpants for a couple days, jet lag punching me in the face on a regular basis (my body thinks it's 9:00 pm right now, WOO!), and getting to write another blog post after nearly a month away from it.

As you know from reading my previous blog post, I was in Italy with a class. Now, I am a big fan of scholarly pursuits, and traveling is one of my favorite things to do. Putting them together is like combining peanut butter and chocolate for me. So, I had some expectations. I expected the other members of my class would be just as enthusiastic about learning as I am, and as conscious and self-aware (read: as non-touristy as possible) about being in a different country as I aspired to be. I thought I'd be traveling with a band of "my people."

Before I proceed, please note that I am not slamming my classmates, nor am I saying that they are wrong or disappointing because they did not bring my fantasy to life. Some of them were truly there for the class, while some just wanted the experience of being in Italy. That's fine; to each his own. Many of them did not manage to finish all the homework, or did not attempt it. People half-assed their final projects, or found ways to get good grades while still not putting their all into their work. Almost every night, most of my classmates went to a bar and got drunk. Again, that's all totally valid. People were there to have fun, and that is their version of fun.

Conversely, I'm the type of person who likes learning for the sake of learning, and gets frustrated when others do their work in a way that rewards them with strong grades but cuts how much they actually learn in half. I get more frustrated when so many people don't do the reading that we can't have a fruitful class discussion as a result. I don't drink and I don't think I've ever been to a bar, unless it was also a restaurant. So, was I in Italy with "my people?" For the most part, no. But did I have fun with them? Yes. Not in the way I expected, but I very much enjoyed my time with my classmates and will always be happy for the experience we had together.

The point of this semi-disclaimer is I want to post some tips on traveling that occurred to me while abroad, but I also want to emphasize that these tips apply to the type of experience I, specifically, like to attain while traveling. My classmates didn't follow all of these tips, but that doesn't mean that the way they traveled was "wrong." It just means that they wanted to get something different out of Italy than I did. So, if your personality isn't much like mine, these tips might not help you. Or you could get something out of them. You never know. If you are like me--eager to learn both academically and culturally, not too interested in the night life, aiming to be as efficient as possible--then you might enjoy these tips:

1) If you are traveling for a reasonably short amount of time (such as a month) and know you will be based in more than one hotel or city, pack as light as you possibly can. My professor suggested none of us check any bags and to avoid rolling suitcases due to all the cobblestones. I took this to heart. I purchased a backpack that just barely fit the tripod and telescope required for the astronomy portion of the class. I only packed a week's worth of shirts and three pairs of pants, choosing not to care that I'd have to wear them multiple times without washing them. I made sure all my liquid toiletries were less than 3.4 fluid ounces so I could carry them on. Was it worth it? Hell yes! I didn't have to worry about stairs or a ridiculously heavy bag. Travel between cities went more smoothly, and it felt good to have all my stuff on my person. I didn't have to worry about lost luggage or anything.

2) Be culturally sensitive and conscious of how you behave in public. If you're American, like me, many other countries already have a bad impression of your country. Some of this extends to USA residents, meaning some people who live elsewhere assume certain things about you just because of where you're from. For example, before departing for Italy, my professor's wife warned us that American girls have a reputation abroad for being "loose" (translation: not so picky about who they sleep with), loud, obnoxious, ethnocentric, and big party animals. Now, some American girls are like this, and there's nothing wrong with that. People are different. But for people like me, who don't fit any of these traits (at least I hope I'm not obnoxious or ethnocentric), it can mean having to work extra hard against people's preconceptions of you. I only looked a man in the eye if I had to directly interact with him, such as if he was my waiter. I spoke as much Italian as I knew instead of expecting everyone to know English, even though most Italians do. When what I needed to say went beyond the Italian words I knew, I asked if they spoke English to be courteous (though, sadly, I sometimes forgot to do this).

As a side note, I really dislike the philosophy, "Who cares what I do? I'm never gonna see these people again." Sure, but you're perpetuating negative American stereotypes. Worse than that, sometimes it means being incredibly rude to people, which is doubly insensitive when you're a visitor in THEIR country. Just be nice! And if you make an honest mistake, learn how to say "I'm sorry" in Italian, or in whatever language best corresponds to the country you visit.

3) Don't get drunk every night. I might be biased because I don't drink, but there are some good, practical reasons for this. Of course you wanna drink wine in Italy and have some fun. From what I hear, Italian wine is excellent, and if you're between the ages of 18-20, you can buy alcohol abroad when you can't at home! If you wanna get drunk a couple of times, go for it. But don't go overboard. According to a guidebook we read, having a good time by getting wasted is a pretty American concept. By the time European kids are 18, they're used to wine. I might be wrong about this, but I've heard some of them have been drinking it with meals for a while by then. For them, it's not this forbidden substance or a big thrill to drink (excuse my ignorance if I'm wrong). Americans who get completely trashed all the time while abroad are, among other things, supporting a stereotype. More importantly, keeping an eye on how much you drink is for your own safety. You're in a foreign country. You don't wanna be taken advantage of. Also, do you know how much money I saved by not buying alcohol? Probably hundreds of euro.

4) Balance your sightseeing with your studies. There's a reason we went to Italy to study Galileo instead of China. How wonderful is it to read about Galileo facing the Holy Office of the Inquisition in the Vatican and then walking down that intimidating hallway yourself? How awesome is it to look through a telescope and see the moons Galileo discovered with your own eyes? I would have loved Italy either way, but viewing it through Galileo's eyes, 400 years after he made his discoveries, enriched my experience a hundred fold. I will never forget his story, which is so significant to human history, because of the context in which I learned about it. I understand his importance so much better than I would have if I'd read about it in a classroom in Southern California. Sure, I could have been out exploring more of Florence when I was reading about Galileo's discoveries in my hostel. But do I regret it? Not for a second.

I have lots more to say on this topic, but I realize this post is getting rather long. So I will say one more thing. I grew a lot in Italy. I feel much more like an adult now than I did when I left. I walked through Roman and Florentine streets by myself and found my way back to my hostel without issue. I only got lost twice the entire time I was there. I spoke to non-English speaking people even though I was embarrassed by my lack of fluency in Italian. Above all, though, I did not worry nearly as much as I do when I'm at home. In Italy, I let things happen and I didn't stress about it (for the most part--there were a few exceptions). My concerns suddenly became small. All the things I fretted over on a regular basis while at home seemed tiny when I was so far away, in a country that was practically a different world. Yes, I am a writer trying to get my work published. But if that doesn't happen or doesn't work out the way I want it to, the world will not explode. The Colosseum will still be standing, with historical richness literally etched into its walls. Venice will continue to be made out of magic and unicorns. Wonderful things will still be happening all over the world.

I hope everyone who reads this gets to escape their bubble, if even only for a few days, at least once in his or her life. Happy travels.

-Morgan

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Artistic Growth, In Writing and in All Forms of Art

Prepare yourselves. I'm about to get a little rambly (though if you've been following this blog, I assume that's a thing you're okay with?).

I know some people like consistency. When they listen to an album they like, watch a movie they enjoy, or read their favorite book, they hope to see more of something similar from the musician, director, or writer who produced it. It makes sense from a logical standpoint. After all, I eagerly eat chocolate because I have eaten chocolate in the past and it has proven to my taste buds time and time again that it is delicious. The difference with chocolate, though, is that it is a generic product produced by scores of companies all over the world, and has been for some time. Unless it's being featured on the food channel, chocolate is not generally considered a form of art. And when it comes to art, consumers must be flexible.

The recent release of the new Paramore album [Wikipedia link] is what got me thinking about artistic growth, but, since I'm a fan of multiple types of artists, as most people are, it's popped into my head more than a couple of times (more on that later). For those who don't know, this album, though it is the band's fourth, is the first album Paramore created without two of its original founding members, former guitarist Josh Farro and former drummer Zac Farro. Both Farros brought wonderful things to the band--Josh was responsible for writing many of the songs that have touched my heart, and Zac's an infectious drummer--so it was inevitable that this album would be different.

Boy, is it ever. They're exploring multiple genres in this album and the lyrics have a kind of optimism that, while it bubbled under the surface of their third album especially, nobody's ever seen from them before. I never thought I'd hear a ukelele or a gospel choir in a Paramore song before giving this album a listen. And I can't describe the unadulterated joy this album brought me the first time I heard it all the way through.

I was just as excited when they released their third album, brand new eyes, in 2009. But I remember that, while I enjoyed the songs immensely, I had trouble telling many of them apart. Only after a couple weeks could I hear the beginning of a song and go, "Okay, this is 'Looking Up,' not 'Where the Lines Overlap'." With this album, the self-titled Paramore, I know what song I'm listening to instantaneously, and I adore almost every one of them. I imagine part of why I'm so obsessed with this album is because I know it took risk to make it. They needed to grow as artists and, while they knew their experiment might not work out, they gave it a try, anyway. I admire that in any artist.

Hundreds of Facebook commenters don't agree with me. I won't post any actual quotes so as not to oust anyone, but here are some examples that capture the gist:

"What the hell is this pop shit? Bring back the Farros!"

"Wow, what happened to the REAL Paramore?"

"Guys, it's over. Paramore no longer exists. They've totally sold out."

And, my very favorite: "How could they do this to their fans?!"

Uhh, okay. Neil Gaiman once wrote a wonderful blog post called "Entitlement Issues" [link to Neil Gaiman's journal] when someone asked him if authors owe it to their writers to speed up the process of finishing their books, speaking specifically of George R. R. Martin, author of the Song of Ice and Fire series. Here's an excerpt from Gaiman's response:

Look, this may not be palatable, Gareth, and I keep trying to come up with a better way to put it, but the simplicity of things, at least from my perspective is this:

George R.R. Martin is not your bitch.

This is a useful thing to know, perhaps a useful thing to point out when you find yourself thinking that possibly George is, indeed, your bitch, and should be out there typing what you want to read right now.

Though Gaiman was speaking about fans expecting artists to meet certain deadlines, I believe this applies to artistic growth as well. Of course any good artist cares about his or her fans--without the fans, the artist wouldn't have success. Of course they want to make the fans happy. But that does not mean the artist should be expected to compromise whatever vision they may have for their art in order to please others. The ideal is when what the fans want and what the artist wants align with one another, which, in the case of Paramore, actually seems to have happened [link to billboard.com article]. But sometimes they don't, and the (good) artist produces whatever's bursting from their soul either way. Power to them.

Obviously, plenty of people disagree with this. That's fine. Personally, complaints about how an artist has "changed" drive me crazy. In fact, if I keep up with an artist and I don't see any growth whatsoever after a while, if I'm just listening to/watching/reading the same old thing over and over, I lose patience with that artist. Having some recurring themes across the years is one thing, and can be fun to track. Producing the same artistic product over a lengthy period of time is tedious and pointless. This probably comes from the same part of my personality that rejects the idea of sticking to one genre for my entire life. There's a reason that after I finish my fantasy series, I desperately want to write a contemporary novel. I don't like boxes very much, or figurative ones, anyway.

A similar thing happened in September when J.K. Rowling released The Casual Vacancy. Everyone was all excited that J.K. Rowling had written something else. I know people who wished their local Barnes and Noble was throwing a midnight release party for it. What happened when they read it, or started reading it? "This isn't Harry Potter!" they exclaimed. Did...did you expect it to be? Did you not see the title? Or the description? Or the fact that it is in the adult section? What the hell did you think was going to happen? You'd open the book and the title page would be like, "Surprise! This book is actually called Harry Potter and the Casual Vacancy. Here's a drawing by Mary Grandpré." ?

And I loved The Casual Vacancy. I got attached to several of the characters and had trouble sleeping the night I finished because the ending shook me up so much. It proved to me that Rowling is a powerful writer who is capable of branching out. Sure, when Deathly Hallows came out, I had expectations. I wanted desperately to read the scene where Ron and Hermione finally kissed. What would I have done if she hadn't included that scene? I probably would have thrown a fit, but that's because I was fourteen years old and ridiculous. Regardless, there would have been nothing I could have done about it. If Rowling didn't write it, it meant it wasn't part of her vision. And every artist has a right to putting his or her vision out there. It doesn't mean they're not grateful for their fans. In fact, usually it's their way of saying, "Thank you for loving my work! Here's another thing I poured my heart into, and I hope you love this one, too!"

Essentially, let people do what they love. For all I know, the next Legend of Zelda game could completely toss out their usual get-a-cool-item-in-a-dungeon-and-use-it-to-beat-the-boss formula and give Link a machine gun, or Paramore's next album could be made up entirely of rap songs. What is the worst that happens to me? I don't like the game or album, am a little disappointed, and don't buy it. Then, oh my god, my life continues. If you are an artist taking a risk for the sake of growth, I respect you immensely, and I hope I can have the courage to do the same all throughout my life.

Also, will people shut up about Hayley Williams' (lead singer of Paramore) bangs? She could shave her head and tattoo a gorilla on it for all I care, because her hair doesn't make the music I love.

-Morgan

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Bad Writing Night, a.k.a. Letting Yourself Suck

About four hours ago, I stormed out of my university's library feeling like I was about to cry. It had nothing to do with my upcoming French midterm or the reading I still had to do. I was pouting because I had written 1,101 unsatisfying words of my third novel, and I felt everything a writer (or any other type of artist) feels when their vision doesn't unfold the way they want it to--hopelessness, a sense of inferiority, guilt (toward the characters themselves--they deserve better). And of course, the lost feeling that comes when the art one defines him or herself by commits an act of betrayal, and doesn't give the artist the high he/she wants.

The thing is, I know why it happened. I stopped working on book three in December so I could do another edit of book one (Q: "But Morgan, why are you writing the sequels when there's no guarantee the first will become a series, or even get published?" A: "Because I have to get this story out of me. I need to write this all down, whether any of it gets published or not"). I spent a bunch of time polishing that. So when I came back to this book...I couldn't figure out what was going on. I knew what was happening plot-wise. But I couldn't remember everything that would be weighing on the character's minds right now. There are so many threads to keep track of while writing a book, and during my time away from it, I lost hold of many of them.

I couldn't remember the last time a blank page of Microsoft Word looked so intimidating. There I sat, several thousand words into a monster of a book, all of them piling into a massive, overwhelming wall that felt impossible to disassemble. How to take apart the bricks? How to immerse myself back into a character's emotional world? How to maintain my grip on the multiple things going on in their lives--because characters are always facing more than just the book's main conflict--and do them justice?

So, I pouted. I barely restrained the urge to throw my purse across the library and freak out my fellow schoolmates. I mourned something lost, as if I could never get it back (though I know I can, because I always do). I stomped into my room and prepared myself a glass of chocolate milk.

But there was one thing, something that came to the forefront of my mind as I trekked across campus to the sound of fun.'s "Carry On." There was one sentence. There was one combination of words among that dismal 1,101 that took my breath away. And that, in itself, was worth two and a half hours of what I felt tempted to call wasted time.

I'm lucky in the sense that I was able to come up with a solution to this problem, and I did so quickly (probably because of how desperate I felt). I pulled out a notebook and started making a reverse outline, meaning I skimmed through the opening chapters, listing the main events/feelings/motifs, and kept track of them. I will do this for the part of the novel I have so far until I reach the end. Then I will make a summary of what emotional/situational states my four main characters find themselves in at this point of the book. But when you're an artist, there isn't always a solution like this. Sometimes you call the muse and nobody answers. Sometimes you just sit there and think, "Well...I suck." Sometimes you appeal to your characters for help, and they shrug their shoulders and go, "What? We asked you to write this thing. Do your job, woman."

When this happens, you can give up. When people ask you how your novel is coming along, you can say, "I'm waiting for inspiration to hit me." Or you can glue your butt to the chair (figuratively--please don't really do that), place your fingers on the keyboard/pick up the pen, and write. Write every last terrible word. Squirm as the hideous prose appears on the page, each sentence taunting you, every metaphor sagging beneath the weight of hackishness. It hurts, god it hurts, to see your flawed humanity laid out in front of you like that. But if you're gonna get better, you have to let yourself suck.

This scenario has happened to me 3,905,325 times before. One example that comes to mind occurred this September, after I took a much longer editing break for book one and had to return to book three at the beginning of this year's semester (really, you think I'd have learned by now). When I think about the first three or so pages I wrote coming back to book three, I cringe. They are so disgusting I don't even wanna think about them. Similarly, I hope every copy of the opening chapters of my first book burns in the pits of hell so no mortal eyes may ever stumble upon them and subsequently crust over from the sheer mediocrity. But once I slogged through that crap, I encountered beauty. I wrote scenes that made my hands tremble. I transcribed character experiences that made me sit back in my chair and think for a few minutes, because they had moved me enough that I could not continue until I contemplated further. I wrote sentences that, when I scrolled back through the manuscript later on, caught my eye and startled me, because I didn't think I could have written them.

No matter how intimidated you may be by an artist you admire, remember that their art did not come out looking or sounding or feeling that way. Every piece of art experiences steps, trials, the artist saying, "What monstrosity have I brought into existence?" and "Someone get me a blowtorch." Leo Tolstoy wanted to fling Anna Karenina across the room most of the time he was writing it. Vincent van Gogh was not exactly big on self-esteem.

"But Morgan!" the hypothetical dissenters cry. "Tolstoy and van Gogh were geniuses! Sure, maybe they had some doubts, but look at the incredible, enduring works they created!"

How do you think they got that way? Ovid wasn't born spouting verse. No artist created masterpieces in the womb (although if you asked Gertrude Stein, she'd probably claim she did).

So, while I'm drowning my sorrows in chocolate milk tonight, tomorrow I will march back to the library and continue my reverse outline. And when I'm done with that, I will write. There's a high likelihood it will suck. There's a chance I will hate it just as much as I hated what I wrote tonight.

But there might be a line, one line, that reminds me why I sat down in the first place.

-Morgan

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Bird by Bird

Anyone familiar with the writer Anne Lamott (see the side bar for a link to her Wikipedia page) knows the phrase "bird by bird." In 1995, Lamott released a book of the same title, and since then, it has been lauded by writers all over the country (perhaps elsewhere as well) as one of the best books about writing you could get your hands on. It was the second one I ever read, and of all the writing books I've read by this point, Bird by Bird remains my favorite. Here is the blurb on the back of the book:

"Thirty years ago my older brother, who was ten years old at the time, was trying to get a report on birds written that he'd had three months to write. It was due the next day. We were out at our family cabin in Bolinas, and he was at the kitchen table close to tears, surrounded by binder paper and pencils and unopened books on birds, immobilized by the hugeness of the task ahead. Then my father sat down beside him, put his arm around my brother's shoulder, and said, 'Bird by bird, buddy.  Just take it bird by bird.'"

The lesson is obvious. When you've got some huge, overwhelming project ahead of you, focusing on the forest instead of the trees will destroy you. Your willpower will be shot. The project will flatten your motivation and make you recoil from its reality, because it is much, much too big for such a little person as you.

But those who follow Lamott's "bird by bird" principle see roots, compact and loose soil, rich green leaves, squirrels scampering across branches. They know they don't have all the time in the world, but they realize they have enough of it to conquer the forest. They don't need to think about how many miles make up the entire wooded area. Packing it all into a week, or a month, is not doable. They'll take their time with the journey, but they won't miss a day of visiting the forest, either. And every second they spend exploring will involve hard work.

Sometimes people who don't write ask me how I can have the patience to write a book. It's not so much patience as it is persistence. Plus, the people who ask me don't realize that they (or most of them) take things bird by bird subconsciously; they just don't call it patience. Accumulating enough knowledge during a college class to pass the exam at the end is bird by bird--there's a reason the professor doesn't distribute the exam on day one. Preparing a meal is bird by bird. That's why you don't prepare your Thanksgiving dishes separately and at various paces instead of tossing it all in the oven at once (that's how that works, right? I'm not much of a cook. And by that I mean I made eggs over easy the other day and had to ask my thirteen-year-old brother, who doesn't even eat eggs, if I did it right).

Lamott gave me one of the most valuable pieces of writing advice I've ever read or heard. Every time I sit at the computer to write, I don't think about overarching themes, or the chapter after next, or the climax (unless I'm writing the climax). I think about the chapter I'm writing now. Then I think about the scene, and then the page. Then the paragraph. Then the sentence. Then the next word. Because that's the only way I can write a multi-hundred-page book: by taking it bird by bird, word by word.

But Lamott did not just give me writing advice. She gave me advice for my life.

Sometimes, when writing, I lose sight of the bird by bird principle. I start freaking out about the book being too long (a common problem of mine). I don't focus on what I'm writing because I'm too excited about what happens in the next chapter. I decide everything sucks and pout and drink chocolate milk. This is why I keep the words "bird by bird" near my desk at home. When I remember those words, I can usually get back on track. But as much as it happens to me while writing, it happens to me in life so, so much more frequently.

What if I'm no longer happy with my body by the time I get married and I hate how I look in my dress? What if I don't get into the grad school I want? What if someone with the same name I want to give to my future daughter makes it big within the next ten years and I can't name her that without scrutiny? What if I can't even have kids?

Oh my god, Morgan, shut up. Yes, I have actually had these concerns, even though I am not even twenty years old and still a sophomore in college. These are the stupidest worries ever. Yet they worry me, because I see the gigantic forest of life. I see a tree in the distance that might be hard to climb and I agonize over it and I pull my hair out and this usually results into me walking into a tree I didn't notice right in front of me.

So when this happens, I must tell myself, "bird by bird." I must focus on what is happening in my life right now and do that as well as I can. Morgan, you have French homework this weekend, chapter eighteen of book one to edit (again), and a MacBook charger to replace (to my mom who is probably reading this--yes, the other charger broke, too). "But," says my forest-obsessing self, "I still don't know enough French to hold a conversation if/when I go to France! What happens then? What if editing chapter eighteen again doesn't matter because this book will never be published? What am I gonna do when the new charger inevitably breaks?"

Then you deal with that if/when that happens, other me. You don't obsess over it now. If you don't, you will not put your best into the current stage of your life. You will run into a tree.

If you haven't already, I highly recommend reading Lamott's Bird by Bird, and some of her other nonfiction as well. She is witty, insightful, honest, and as you can see from this blog post, wise. It will help you whether you're a writer or just someone who has difficulty seeing the trees. If you've read it already, please tell me your impression of it.

What is the best advice you've ever gotten? What advice will you never forget, and what advice do you live by? Where did you find that advice? I'd love to hear about it. I love unforgettable quotes, and could always use more.

See you on the other side of the forest.

-Morgan

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Professionalism

Out of the many things I learned from my acting career, one of the most practical and important lessons involves how to behave in a professional environment. Considering I'm a college student aiming for a degree that I'm hoping will help launch me into a professional realm I'd enjoy working in (I imagine the money I make from my books, if they get published, won't be enough to make a living), professionalism has been weighing on my mind a lot lately. But really, professionalism isn't just relevant to careers, or to college life. I'd say by the time you're in high school, you're expected to demonstrate at least basic professional behavior. Because, really, they've been drilling it into you since kindergarten.

When I started acting, my parents were very concerned about what movies would do to my attitude. They'd heard all these horror stories about children turning into little self-absorbed monsters and growing into barely-functional adults. In fact, I bugged them for four years until they agreed to let me audition for an agent. Once I landed my first movie role, though, they had to talk to me about some things. They said that I must always, always, always thank anyone who does anything for me--this includes hairdressers, make-up artists, wardrobe people, AD's (people who tell you when you're needed on set, when you need to go to the school trailer, etc.), the guy/girl who tapes your mark down to the floor, or even just some random crew member who was nice enough to grab you a Nutri Grain bar you could eat between takes (I was obsessed with the strawberry ones during The Pacifier for some reason). In addition, I always had to hang up my wardrobe when I was finished with it. Sure, I could have left it on the floor of my trailer for a wardrobe person to pick up, but hanging it up when you're done is just common decency.

This attitude was reaffirmed for me by the lovely and kindhearted Bonnie Hunt (links to her IMDb page), who gave me my first and best acting advice during Cheaper by the Dozen: "It's nice that you're talented, but remember that the most important thing is to be kind."

This is what professionalism is. Be a kind person, and you have already reached a level of professionalism that many can't seem to reach. Listening to my parents resulted in strong relationships with crew members that I may not have had otherwise. People always like to talk about the actors, directors, and producers, but I made so many wonderful friends in the hair and make-up trailer. One of the make-up artists on The Pacifier named Linda asked me what music I liked. Being eleven years old, I was enamored with Hilary Duff's album Metamorphosis, so she played it for me every time I entered the trailer. Another worker on that film, Sandra, who did my hair, had a little box of finger-sized cards with different qualities printed on each of them--"integrity," "love," and "intelligence" were among them. Whichever one you picked was the one that characterized the rest of your day, and I always loved choosing a new one while getting my hair done. The wonderful thing about being kind to these people, who I often considered more talented than myself (I didn't know how to properly apply make-up. Still don't.), was that I grew to respect them, and they respected me. And when people respect you, that makes them eager to work with you again. That is valuable in any industry.

This extends to other aspects of professionalism. For example, being punctual. My grandfather once told my mother that if you show up to something late, you're giving the impression that you do not respect the other person's time. This is not kind or polite. Quite the opposite--it's like giving someone the proverbial finger. The same applies to meeting deadlines (watch me eat my words if/when I become an actual author and have to meet book-related deadlines). The deadline your boss/agent/whoever has given you is likely the most efficient time for your work to be finished. If you don't meet your deadline, you slow down the work of others, especially if you're working on a collective project of some sort. For instance, I'm an editor on my college's newspaper, and whenever someone doesn't send in their article, the entire editing/printing schedule is slowed down.

If you do slip up and show up late, or miss your deadline, don't give excuses (unless, of course, you have a legitimate one). Acknowledge that you were late, apologize, and then move on. When you present an excuse, it's almost like you're preemptively arguing with the person about why whatever made you late is something you prioritize above their personal schedule. "Sorry, I was late because the line at Starbucks was super long," translates to, "My coffee is more important than making sure your schedule is respected." Basically, just be a decent person.

The area I worry I will have the most trouble with when I enter the professional world as an adult is emotions. As a highly emotional person, it is easy for me to lose my head when I encounter a stressful situation. Sometimes, this leads to rash behavior, which certainly isn't conducive to maintaining a professional attitude. And if whatever emotion you demonstrate is drastic enough, it could mean losing your job, or worse--damaging your career.

Let me tell you a story. I recently submitted materials to a literary agent. When I researched her online, I found some troubling information about her. I became so freaked out over the idea that a possibly sketchy agent was in possession of my writing that I wrote a very anxiety-ridden post about it on a writer's forum. Now, the intention was not malicious or slanderous--I posted it to ask fellow writers for advice about the situation and to see if anyone had insight into the legitimacy of the agent (there are a lot of scammers out there, so it never hurts to be careful). The problem was the presentation. Anyone reading that post could tell there was a crazed, eye-twitching ball of anxiety pounding away at the keyboard, using more ALL CAPS WORDS and exclamation points than were appropriate. What I did was fine. The way I did it was ruled by an emotion that I should have let cool off before I posted something on the Internet.

So, guess what? That agent, as well as several other agents, saw the post. Nothing bad happened because of that--from what I hear, none of the agents thought it was "terrible." But still, I was embarrassed, because I am not proud of how I presented myself in that post. Re-reading it, I saw immature and paranoid behavior. I saw someone trying to be professional and failing.

Did I ruin my career? No. Did I make an ass out of myself? I believe so.

Essentially, what I'm saying is, if you are kind and can keep your head, you will go far in the professional world (in theory--I'm going off my experiences with acting, working for a college newspaper, and being a student, so take it with a grain of salt). There are several other things that factor in--efficiency, self-motivation, stamina, patience, etc.--but I think these are the most important. Being a professional means having to deal with people. And when you're interacting with people, it is always best to be nice--not just because it will make your life easier, but because we are all humans, we are all in a similar boat, and having someone be nice to you when they don't have to be can improve your day.

Also, you should shower regularly. But I hope that goes without saying.

-Morgan

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Compassion in Literature and in Life

NOTE: If you like to read, I must warn you that this post is spoiler-heavy. Tread carefully.

So, there's this guy who was expelled from school, thinks the whole world is made up of fakes, and tries to lose his virginity to a prostitute. There's another guy who broke into a house in the middle of the night and killed a family of four, all for a sum of about $50. Then there's the man who slept with a married woman, and the one who threw a marble table in his wife's direction in a moment of anger and made plans to assassinate someone. Can't forget the woman who had someone's child while married to someone else, or the two men who wanted so desperately to kill their father, or the little girl responsible for the deaths of her sister and her sister's lover.

These all sound like awful people. Everyone knows prostitution objectifies both partners involved, and that murder is worth no price, and domestic abuse is tragic, and that adultery hurts people. But if your best friend, or your mother, or your spouse committed any of these crimes? Well, that's different. There's a story behind that. You know this person, and you know their intentions were good, or that a difficult past led to misguided decisions for them. They aren't like other people. They are misunderstood.

And that is why the individuals listed above are loved worldwide. Because people, or in this case, readers were allowed insight into their hearts and minds and backgrounds. Since they had the whole picture, many readers had the opportunity to fall in love with The Catcher in the Rye's Holden Caulfield, despite his expulsion from school and his desperation to lose his virginity. Though many were sickened and disgusted by what he'd done, several also could not help tearing up when reading about Perry Smith's execution in In Cold Blood, because they knew of Smith's artistic side, of the part of him that wanted to be human. In The Great Gatsby, the reader accompanies Gatsby in his desperate search for the love of his life, Daisy, and understands his wish to love her despite her marital status. Pierre from War and Peace is no assassin, as his failure to assassinate Napoleon proves, but rather a loveable, bumbling man who cannot decide what he is. Hester Prynne, of The Scarlet Letter, had suffered unhappiness with her faraway husband, and so found comfort in her town's religious figure. Dmitri and Ivan Fyodorovich, who make up two of the three Brothers Karamazov, grew up with an irresponsible, neglectful father, to the point where he sometimes forgot about his children's existence when they were very young. Briony of Atonement did not mean to kill her sister or her sister's lover--she was young and ignorant, and she made a mistake that yielded disastrous consequences, consequences her child's mind could not understand.

This is how compassion and literature intertwine. These people exist in our everyday lives--people who have committed treachery, but for a reason. People who have erred because they are flawed and human. And I think, most of the time, it is a lot easier to pass judgment on these people, because it is much harder to get to know someone and consider why they would act a certain way. When this easier method of "understanding" someone becomes a habit, it leads to intolerance, which can lead to prejudice, racism, sexism, homophobia.

When someone wrongs you or makes you angry, it is much easier to say, "She's a bitch." It is much harder to restrain yourself and say, "She's going through a difficult time" or "she doesn't know how to talk about her feelings without lashing out" or "this is not about me, it is about her." But you must. If you're going to be a compassionate person, you must do the harder thing. Otherwise, a whole string of people are hurting one another because they feel hurt. If someone stops the cycle, the injurious current comes to a standstill, and while that one person may endure more pain because of it, it's worth putting a stop to hatred.

Now, I'm not saying that understanding someone's background and frame of mind automatically excuses their behavior. This is certainly not the case. Perry Smith committed a disgusting act by murdering four members of the Clutter family. But I don't think he is a disgusting person. I don't think any single person in the world, when considering all the memories, all the nuances, all the quotes and quirks that make up a person, can be boiled down to being simply "disgusting." Such a limited description is insulting to the human personality's complexity. Every person is responsible for his or her behavior. I am not saying to search for excuses; I am saying to search for explanations.

For those who have not read In Cold Blood, the remaining members of the Clutter family did not believe Perry Smith should have been executed. Out of everyone in the world, they would have received the least criticism for wishing death upon someone. Their family members had been murdered. They were devastated. But they chose to see Perry as a person instead of a villain in their own self-centered narratives, and so disagreed with his death sentence. They did not say, "It's fine that he killed our family, he is only human." Of course it was not fine. But they validated his humanity. They showed almost unbelievable compassion, which I think brings more internal peace than feelings of revenge do.

I realize I may be rambling a bit here, and that this blog entry doesn't have as clear of a point as my past ones have. I've just undergone some experiences lately that have forced me to think about compassion in general, and wanted to write some things down. I'm just asking, please, try not to do the easy thing next time. Someone cut you off in traffic? Okay, you did that to someone yesterday. And even if you didn't, not everyone is as careful as you on the road. But those who aren't may be better about punctuality, while you aren't. Or maybe they're more environmentally conscientious, when you aren't. People have strengths and weaknesses. To target another for their weakness in an area where you have strength is bullying, and it isn't fair.

Be kind. Be loving. Be a fellow member of the human race, and acknowledge one another's humanity. That's all.

-Morgan

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