Same kind of Christian as me?

Some people are of the opinion that one needs to be a certain age or have a certain amount of “life experience” before they earn the right to write a memoir.

I’m 25 and wrote my first memoir at 22. I’m contemplating writing a second.

The only reason I’m considering this is because the kind of memoir I am interested in reading does not exist. At least not that I know of.

There are a plethora of memoirs out there about finding faith, losing it, and the grueling process of finding it again (see Addie Zierman’s When We Were on Fire, Elizabeth Esther’s Girl at the End of the World, and Rachel Held Evans’ Faith Unraveled for some awesome examples). But one thing these women have in common is their faith journey began in a church from early childhood. If you know me at all, you know that is not my life.

I want to read more books about people who chose Christianity after growing up in an environment that was staunchly against it.

I want to read more books about people who continue to choose Christianity despite the inevitable bumper-car effect of old cultural mores clashing with new ones; of old lingo that doesn’t jell with a new spiritual vocabulary; and the Pariah Syndrome that comes with being one of few people in your church with this particular background, which you are not ashamed of, but refuse to talk about because you are a person who desires to make friends, not some Show and Tell presentation.

If those books exist, I have yet to find them. It is my hope that if I were to write a book like this, it will bring other people with similar experiences out of the woodwork and into my favorite coffee shop to talk to me.

As of now, the people who share or at least relate to these experiences live in my laptop, not in my city. They can be found in organizations like Christians for Biblical Equality, but they live all over the world, not down the street.

The idea of “biblical equality” started with the idea that women can and should be able to lead people as male pastors do. But I want to take this definition further and expand it for people who worship differently than the “mainstream” Christian does: people who find standing during worship songs uncomfortable (and sometimes the lyrics tacky); people who feel squeamish when asked to pray out loud before a group; people who long for community but feel excluded because they aren’t extroverted or “outwardly spiritual” enough.

“Biblical equality” can mean that your worship is as valid and meaningful as my worship. I don’t see this idea expressed often enough.

I’m currently working on a piece that I hope to submit to a popular blogger as a guest post, so it won’t appear on my blog yet. But I hope to use it as a starting point for the maybe-memoir I might write. Because when it comes to improving community and making all members of the body of Christ feel welcome, there’s not enough paper in the world to discuss it.

Drunk texting and the complexities of human nature

A thirty-two-year-old woman is killed while updating her Facebook status behind the wheel of a moving car, and the Internet is flooding with opinions.

Reactions span everywhere from “She deserves a Darwin award” to “How would YOU like your entire life to be judged based on one mistake?”

Talk about extremes. One could rationally argue that Facebooking while driving is more a deliberate choice than a “mistake,” but I can understand the sentiment behind it: no one wants to be remembered solely for the wrongs they committed. Our lives should be more than cautionary tales.

But I have to wonder if the same amount of compassion would be shown if the truck driver she hit was critically injured or killed. Or if she plowed into a family’s minivan and killed all the children inside.

Then she’d be a monster. Right?

This idea of how we define “good” and “bad,” especially when the person in question is deceased and cannot redeem or justify their actions, appeals to me because it’s the primary topic in my upcoming book. Where There’s Smoke is full of flawed characters who want to believe they are good. And they do try; but the ways they go about proving themselves make others scratch their heads at best, and feel betrayed at worst. It’s a story that asks: who are we really? Are we the sum of all our actions? Is the note we finish our lives on the most defining of them all?

There are no right or wrong ways to answer this question, and that’s what I love about it.

If you're able to read this, you're not actually "poor"

There’s quite a bit to get pissed off about when scrolling through Facebook updates, but this article really got me: an article about the top ten most “useless” college majors. “Uselessness” was essentially defined by how much – or rather, how little – you’d earn from any job in those fields.

Surprise surprise, English Literature was up there (but surprisingly not the most worthless: that honor went to journalism, my second choice of majors). But what articles like that fail to take into consideration is the motivation for choosing such majors: clearly, you have to be more motivated by passion than money.

Maybe I would be financially better off in an accounting job, or marketing. I’d be richer, but a lot more miserable. Those jobs are a good fit for plenty of people, but I’d be putting my gifts and talents to waste in an environment like that.

Realizing my student loan payments begin in June, and that the only somewhat steady job I’ve had lately is babysitting, articles like that can instantly ruin my day. Consequently, I’ve been thinking a lot about worth and where it comes from: how much of my identity is defined by what I “do,” and how I’m going to weather the judgments of strangers I meet at social gatherings who scoff when I tell them “I’m a writer!” (Which is precisely why I don’t go to many social gatherings).

At one point in my life, I judged people who were “just” waitresses, or “just” Starbucks baristas. “Who would want to be stuck doing that for a living?” I’d wonder. But that was well before I found myself struggling to keep my head afloat in the working world. That was when I still lived at home with my parents and never had to pay for anything myself.

I’ve grown up a bit since then: and I’ve been considerably humbled, since my next day job may very well be – surprise! – Starbucks. At least until book sales pick up. *crosses fingers*

It helps to remember that status and job titles don’t matter a whole lot when I never have to doubt where my next meal is coming from: I make enough to at least have those at my disposal. People in third-world countries aren’t so fortunate. Maybe that’s an extreme comparison, but when the majority of the world lives below the poverty line, it’s a wake-up call. It makes me less likely to complain because I’m a few dollars short of meeting up with a friend for a beer after a long workday. It humbles me to realize that while I may not earn enough book royalties to quit my day job (whatever that will be), I still have the freedom to publish what I want, when I want. That’s a priceless gift right there.

I write these words in hopes that I will convince myself of their truth, and remember my true worth as a daughter of God; someone’s fiancé; a close friend to a handful of really awesome people.

On meeting Anna Nalick and my second book-iversary

This last weekend may go down as the most epic in Beth soon-to-be Stoneburner history: I bought my wedding dress, met Anna Nalick, and reflected on the 2^nd anniversary of my first book baby, Confessions of a Prodigal Daughter.

For those who have never heard of Amazing Anna (and sadly, many people haven’t, since she left her old record label several years ago), Anna Nalick is a self-described “indie artist,” which makes her the patron artist of indie authors. She is the incredible voice behind one of my favorite songs of all time, “Breathe,” as well as the lesser-known song “These Old Wings” that helped get me through the worst depression of my entire life.

Can I just say, aside from being wicked talented and a sweet, down-to-earth person who tells stories during her concerts, it’s so amazing to see a successful artist humbly admit to struggling with depression herself. It reminded me that it’s often a source of great art, be it music or literature. I can never have enough of those reminders. I want people to feel the same about my books the way I feel about Anna’s music.

She talked about autobiographical writing as a way of freezing yourself in time. Your beliefs and personality may develop through the years, but when you put yourself out there to be read or listened to, you are in a sense forever bound to who you were at that time. 

That’s how I feel about Confessions. That book was not intended to become a bestseller. Writing it was my way of processing through the conflict of adopting beliefs that are wildly different from the ones my parents taught me, so it reads very much like the journal of a confused woman who is gradually becoming aware of her inner strength. I do not have the same doubts or beliefs that I did when it was published. But I’ve also become stronger in certain beliefs I was shaky about at the time. I can still sense the turmoil when I flip through it every now and then.

My writing has greatly improved in the last two years, along with my knowledge of the publishing industry and marketing (and in a rapidly changing industry like this, there is always more to learn!). I had this idea that having a book available for purchase meant it would sell on its own. I couldn’t be more wrong! Despite working on my fifth book, I’m not beating myself up for not being “bigger” than I’d like to be, since I only actively started marketing when my third book was released last August. Confessions may remain my only memoir for the time being, as I quite enjoy the freedom of inserting my own experiences into my characters, without locking myself into a certain set of beliefs or characteristics. I’m also aware that the average 25-year-old is not world-weary enough for more than one memoir (or even just one).

But today feels like a birthday. So from this day forward, I can only learn more. 

Is being liked overrated?

Here’s a shocking question I’ve been trying to process lately: is being liked an overrated goal?

As a self-published author, putting my books out there to be loved or loathed by strangers, and even subjecting myself to criticism from those who don’t think self-publishing “counts,” I’d say the answer is yes.

There’s a difference, though, between living your life with selfish abandon, not caring at all about the legacy you’re leaving behind, and living your life with a healthy sense of nonconformity.

I had a misunderstanding with someone this week. It made me angry, upset, and tempted to retaliate. I’m forcing myself to bite my tongue and carry on, because there are times when people will be set on disliking me regardless of the effort I make to clear my name. Sometimes I have to accept that the consequences from my not-so-wise decisions will leave a sour taste in people’s mouths when they hear my name. And that sucks. But ultimately, what can you do about it?

I know I’m not always the nicest person. I’m even hesitant to label myself a good person, because I am the only one with an uncensored view of what goes on in my head, and I'm all too aware of my tendency to judge, criticize, and condemn. I don’t accept that as a permanent feature of myself that can’t be changed, but it helps me accept that my entire life is basically a work in progress, which means being unliked is inevitable. Not being able to change people’s minds is inevitable.

All that is to say, being viciously protective of what people think will make you immobile. For what it’s worth, maybe it’s better to not be liked by a few than go completely unnoticed in this life.

Again I repeat, This is sanctification.

Author spotlight, courtesy of author Lara Henley

Author Lara Henley has chosen me to be featured in the "author spotlight" section of her website! Since my turn only lasts 3 weeks, I'm posting the interview here:

Brief biography:

 

Caplin was born in Connecticut as Sarah Elizabeth Caplin, and legally changed her name to Sarahbeth at the age of 22, thinking it would look more distinctive on future book covers. Now unofficially known as “Beth,” she grew up outside of Cleveland, Ohio, and has a bachelor’s degree in English Literature from Kent State University. It was during college that she first saw her name in print as a columnist for her campus newspaper, The Daily Kent Stater. Within a year after graduation, her memoir Confessions of a Prodigal Daughter was self-published through Halo International. Within that same year, her second book, Someone You Already Know, was also released through Halo. In 2013 Caplin switched to Createspace, from which Public Displays of Convention and Sorting Myself: a collection of poetry were released. Now living in Denver, Colorado, Caplin can be found in various microbreweries when not chained to her laptop working on future books.

What was the first story you ever wrote?

Probably around the age of 6, I wrote my mom a crayon-and-construction-paper “book” called Why Kids Love Their Moms: about a little girl who ran away from home after her mom punished her, only to realize her mom loves her after all.

 

What genre do you write? 

My first book was a memoir, because several people kept asking me to explain how a girl who grows up Jewish ends up choosing to be Christian. It started as a long essay, but then I figured I might as well publish it. My comfort zone right now is YA fiction, and I’m always trying out different story angles. My most recently published book is a small collection of poetry, which I used to write all the time, but lately not as much. Most of the poems are from college.

 

What inspires you to write? 

Honestly? Being angry. My first novel is about two teenage girls who are affected by rape culture in different ways, so if something upsets me, it’s extremely likely to end up in a book. I like stories that make a point, but aren’t necessarily pushing an agenda.

 

Are you working on something new at the moment? 

My fifth book, but third attempt at a novel, is inspired by a true story of a pastor who is hailed as a hero for saving a teenage girl from a burning building, but no one knows that he was in the building in the first place because he was having an affair. It’s my first time writing in 3rd-person POV and it focuses mostly on the teenage girl, who has issues of her own.

 

What should readers be on the lookout for? 

My stories tend to be heavy, but I’ve been told they make readers think. There are always lots of layers and difficult situations to consider. My next novel shows the ugly side of evangelical Christianity, which lots of readers will probably resonate with. The cast of characters are mostly unlikeable, but they change and grow when confronted with their hypocritical tendencies.

What are your dreams and aspirations?

In a perfect dream world, I’d love to be a New York Times best-selling author one day. More realistically, I’d like to earn enough with my writing to pay rent. Hell, even just the groceries. I wanted to be famous as a kid, but the older I get, the less important that becomes. What matters most to me now is building my relationship with my readers. I love getting feedback, good or bad, and I love when people engage with me via blog posts and updates on my Facebook page. I learn a lot from my target audience: twenty-somethings (mostly women) trying to find themselves, with colorful pasts.

Do you have any tips for aspiring writers?

You have to be patient in order to build a loyal following of readers. It can take several books to accomplish that. Also, start marketing your book well before it’s published. The fan base won’t appear out of nowhere once the book is released. Take advantage of every social media platform that’s out there and start engaging with your target audience. “Please buy my book!!” has helped no one. Lastly, never write expecting to make a ton of money.

On choosing conflicting battles wisely

This is one of the most obvious understatements in the world: human beings are complex and often downright frustrating creatures.

Self-exploration and defining your place in the world is difficult enough without having to deal with unsolicited and misguided opinions thrown in your direction. As multi-faceted people, our internal battles are all over the place.

This is a brief, non-exhaustive list of issues that have made me want to hit my head against a wall on several occasions:

The idea that Jewish background + Christian beliefs automatically = Messianic Jew (it doesn’t. It’s a bit more complicated than that).

That being a Christian, period = hating gays, believing atheists have no morals, forcing beliefs on the nation by turning them into laws.

That feminism = bra-burning, man-hating, always pro-choice, anti-shaving extremist (I’ve had the privilege of meeting a handful of married, stay-at-home, religious, self-described feminists. They are real. I promise. And we all generally want the same thing: to be treated like human beings).

That English major = future English teacher (nope, not me).

That author = famous and made of money (HAHAHAHA…not even close).

That self-published author = not a 'legitimate' author (self-published books are on Amazon like all other “legitimately published” books. If it’s made of paper or downloadable via Kindle and you paid for it from a major distributor, it’s a book, dangit).

That being raped or assaulted always = brutally attacked by a stranger hiding in the bushes, because it can never happen in a relationship with someone you actually know (more on that here)

Your own list may look similar, or completely different. It’s easy for me to lose patience, to write off the people who question me as completely ignorant or even stupid. There are battles, and then there is the battle to pick your battles, because you simply can’t afford to lose it every time someone misunderstands an aspect of your life.

I’ve decided to pick three of the above “battles” as educational fields; my defining markers in life: Being a Christian, because that’s who I am; rape culture awareness/feminist issues, because those have affected me personally; and misconceptions about being an indie author, because that is my chosen profession. Even one of those issues results in a fully loaded plate, and I wish I didn’t have such a random lot to choose from.  I felt like a freak for a while, until one day I realized that no one’s life is lived completely in a vacuum. It’s okay to stand for multiple things, and the best way to stand for something is to be an effective teacher of it.

I’m always curious to learn more about how people deal with ignorance regarding who they are, or what they’ve been through. Now is your chance to educate me: what are your battle fields?

Reality of The Writing Life: not as glamorous as it seems

If being a writer is a profession that leads to more tears, sweat, and frustration than most people realize, why am I reluctant to admit that I am one?

It’s a job that makes me feel like I’m constantly bragging, even if I don’t intend to: “What do you do?” “I’m an author. I’ve written four books.” Maybe it’s the amount of time that impresses people; I know it’s difficult to finish reading a book sometimes, let alone write one. I’ll concede that that aspect of The Writing Life is worthy of admiration.

But what really gets me is the impression of instant stardom that comes with publishing. I’ve actually had people ask me more than once if I’ve made the New York Times best-seller’s list yet. As far as I can tell, they aren’t being sarcastic when they ask. And while it’s such an innocent question with complimentary undertones, it’s yet another reminder of just how difficult the job really is. It’s exhausting. It’s mind-numbingly tedious at times.

But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Even still, I want people to get a few things straight. When people think of “writers,” perhaps they think of people like JK Rowling: a true-life Cinderella story if there ever was one. How many people know about Joanne Rowling, the destitute single mother, before she achieved JK Rowling status? She faced twelve rejections from publishing houses before Harry Potter was released. Like I said, lots of tears, sweating, and frustration involved.

Good books – and the fruits of good books – don’t happen overnight, or even in a year. For most of us who will never be the next JK Rowling, we count on our readers to help us because without them, we would be nothing. Sure, we write because we would be doing that anyway, but it’s the readers who help make the difference between writing as a hobby and writing as a career.

Whether you’re self-published or being helped by an agent of a traditional publishing house, the burden of marketing yourself is never completely removed. As an independent author, I am not just an author. I’m an entrepreneur. I’m my own advertiser and PR firm. I do this and more for enough royalties to keep funding my Starbucks addiction, and that’s just the beginning. Combine these aspects together, and you’ve got a full-time job. Sure, I can wear pajamas and set my own hours, but if I am not grounded in self-discipline, nothing would get done.

This is my passion. This is my life. This is all I can imagine myself doing, and even if I find myself wanting to throw my laptop out the window because the words just aren’t coming, or they do come, and they suck, this is the only life for me.

So what am I asking of you, the reader? Your role is more important than you know. If you like a book, tell your friends. Write a brief review on Amazon. It doesn’t have to be a book report; just simply explain how it affected you, and how the author could improve it. Pin, share, re-tweet. And repeat. We can’t thank you enough.

Bad grammar? Bad luck in the job search

A human interest piece submitted for my internship with Key Media. I love it because of the way it captures my nerdiest tendencies :)

Recently, a joke about grammar was shared by a friend on Facebook: “‘I love cooking, my kids, and my pets’ is different than ‘I love cooking my kids and my pets.’ Use commas; don’t be a psycho.” That post elicited a laugh from me, but then I realized many of my friends with limited grammatical knowledge would fail to understand the difference between those two sentences. As a result, they are not only missing out on humor, but how to communicate effectively.

It’s no secret that the art of communication is lost on a generation that has replaced cursive with typing. It’s also no secret that the most in-demand job markets are looking for candidates with more knowledge of math and science than sentence construction. As a result, graduates are being sent out into the workplace knowing how to work effectively with numbers and clients, but they can barely construct sentences to adequately express themselves.

In a world that relies heavily on email-based communication, the applicants who can compose intelligently-worded emails to potential employers, free of basic spelling and grammatical errors, may stand a higher chance of being selected for an interview than those who carry 4.0s but don’t understand the difference between “To, two, and too.”

Unless your chosen profession does not involve written communication, all serious job applicants would benefit from a basic crash-course on grammar. It may seem elementary, but it beats the alternative of having people thinking you’re a cannibal.

I guess I don't have to be famous after all

It’s that time again. The time when I’m just about ready to click that “publish” button for a fourth time, and I’ll tell you: the rush never changes. It’s exciting. It’s empowering.

But it’s also a moment that calls for some self-evaluation. After all, it’s my fourth book. My fourth book at the age of 25, and I have yet to be named, let alone considered, as a best-selling author in any notable book review journal. So am I doing okay? Am I doing anything right at all?

What’s the point of asking these questions, anyway?

I created something I love, and am proud to have my name on. That’s what matters. The small circle of “fans” (that feels slightly pretentious) I’ve acquired are not part and parcel of this whole author experience: they are earned. And their reviews tell me that they appreciate my work not because I’m a hot new name in fiction, but because they connect with my stories. They recognize themselves in them.

That’s what matters.

But I’m someone who has wanted to be famous her entire life. There’s still a part of me that looks at my sales, my number of Twitter followers, compares them to those of other indie authors, and thinks I’m not doing enough. However, there’s a huge difference between putting work out there to be noticed, and putting work out there to say something real. If my only desire is to be noticed, to become some sort of household name, then I will always be disappointed, because there will always be someone else topping new charts that didn’t exist yesterday, selling more copies, and gaining more Twitter followers.

It’s funny how you can find a high school-style hierarchy in just about any occupation or hobby: no matter what you do, you will always, at some point, feel like a geek while someone else is being crowned prom queen. Well, the latest New York Times best-seller is the prom queen. I guess that makes me a mathlete or something?

I’m in the process of re-evaluating the real reasons I want to be famous. Not can’t-buy-toilet-paper-without-paparazzi-snapping-my-picture famous, but…famous. Significant. No, more like an important historic figure. Someone to be read about in history books, not People magazine.

And the more I think about it, the more I understand that my reasons for desiring fame are kind of stupid. I’m not “that special” of a person. I’m just a woman with something to say. So I write it down, publish it, and am blessed by the handful of reviews from people who tell me that they see their own stories in my work. I’ve made a few new friends out of this journey into publishing; friends I wouldn’t have met any other way, because they are as close as Philadelphia and as far away as England. They aren’t established critics, but they are people whose voices matter just as much as my own. And when they tell me that something I wrote resonated with them, it means the world.

And that is why I continue to write. Fame or no fame, I think I’m doing okay for myself.

Why I choose to be a "dark writer"

For my first post of 2014, I am introducing my newest book baby, due sometime next month. Sorting Myself, my first attempt at publishing poetry, may be my "darkest" book next to Someone You Already Know. You really can't get much darker than rape culture, and that subject does spill over into this new book (among other topics, such as religion, relationships, self-discovery, etc).

I learned early on that I write best when I get angry, and over the last few months of 2013, I saw plenty of things to get angry about. You could say that hell hath no fury on the creative drive of an angry woman. Happiness, in my case, doesn't do much for my productivity level at all.

I'm obviously far from the only writer with dark muses. Gillian Flynn is quickly becoming my new favorite "dark author," and some of the downright gritty imagery she uses makes me wonder about the kind of person she is in real life. People I've never met could be wondering the same thing if they happen to pick up this book, and come to some very false conclusions about my character. So really, how much can readers judge a person based on what they write about?

I suppose part of that answer lies in the reason someone writes in the first place. Some do it for money (crazy, I know). Some because they have something important to say (I'd like to think I'm one of those people). I think that my "writer's mojo" is making art out of crappy situations; the issues that make readers shudder are the ones that truly show what it means to be human.

Of course, others write purely for the fun of it. Their books are a means to escape, and meant to be read some place idyllic like the beach. That's okay too. But that's not the kind of writing that shows what I'm made of.

Sorting Myself is going be a very short book compared to my previous ones. You can enter my giveaway on Goodreads from now until March 1st.

Tragedy is the core of literature

The post title is borrowed from a quote by Cormac McCarthy: "The core of literature is the idea of tragedy...you don't really learn much from the good things that happen to you."

It's a common sentiment at this time of year, but I'll say it anyway: 2013 was nothing like I thought it would be. And not in a good way.

In just 12 months, I nearly lost my father to cancer, took some brave steps in confronting old demons, and became physically ill from depression and anxiety, resulting in withdrawing completely from grad school and facing a quarter-life crisis. Or, more to the point, a quarter-life faith crisis.

At least the good news is that I went through all of this with my boyfriend only an hour away, as opposed to 3,000 miles. He may have a clearer picture of the "real me" than I do.

And, like every year before this one, 2013 has been a year of acquiring new and awesome books. I have no doubts that 2014 will bring more of the same.

However, new books also bring sadness, as I realize more and more that few people treat the act of reading as I do. Reading, for many, is a hobby; something they do at the end of the day to relax, to escape on a vacation, to pass time in the waiting room at the doctor's office. It should come at no surprise at this point, but reading for me is, well, my life. I live in books. I breathe books. Every experience of my life that shaped me, positively or negatively, is chronicled somewhere in a book I wish I wrote, by an author I view as a kindred spirit. It's safe to assume that without books, I wouldn't be a person of any significant substance. I'd be more lost, confused, and directionless than a typical twenty-something is expected to be. So a piece of my heart always shatters when I hear a person say "I don't read." Good for them, I guess; they're just missing out on a deeper realm of human experience, is all. No big.

I think this is the reason I do alone time so well: because books are where my friends are found. From the literary heroes who shaped my childhood, and rocky descent to adolescence -- Matilda Wormwood, Harriet M. Welsch, Anne Shirley, Sara Crewe, Jane Eyre, Katniss Everdeen, the March sisters (especially Jo) -- to the brave women who mentor me with their memoirs -- Lauren Winner, Rachel Held Evans, Sarah Bessey, Addie Zierman, Jonalyn Fincher -- I am never really alone. Then again, I am aware that people in books are frozen in time, while the authors behind them are living, breathing entities who are in a constant state of character evolution, as I am. There's comfort in knowing that people in books can never disappoint. But it's the real-life disappointments, inflicted by people who often mean well, but don't always show it, that challenge me to grow. So while there's safety in books, there's no real growth if I am reading in a vacuum.

I don't intend to create a laundry list of improvements for 2014. That almost never works. To be blunt, a lot of shit happened in 2013. And as much as that sucks, my love of reading has shown me that stories don't really progress without varying degrees of tragedy. Adversity is just a fancy name for plot twists. And that is what will, I hope, one day make me a kindred spirit on someone else's book shelf.

If a man opened Pandora's box

What if the gender roles were reversed, and suddenly,
the world was no longer a safe place

for men?

What if a male stranger should fear me

on the streets at night,

the New Female Predator,

and his gut instinct
was to gird his balls

like women do with their attractiveness,

so as not to make himself
a target?

What if men were taught

that Fear is the new Sexy,

that involuntary arousal

is code for "Yes Please,"

and his gender alone

is his own personal Armageddon?

What if it had been
a man

who opened Pandora's box?

After being hit on at Barnes & Noble

I received a compliment

(or something resembling one)

between the aisles of Poetry and Fiction

at Barnes & Noble, from a wannabe representative of Smooth Talkers Anonymous:

Far too pretty to be reading books.

I wonder how many tragic young women,

digging through Plath and Dickinson

in search of validation, would allow themselves to be flattered by this drivel?

How many would allow this blatant chauvinism

to infiltrate their hard-won rooms of their own?

I think of my teenage self,

curve-less and wiry-haired,

unpopular, yet proud to admit
that the love of my life is named Gilbert,
and you may not have heard of him
because he lives in a book.

Therein was the real reason I was single
for so long, but nonetheless satisfied

with who I was. I saw the world through fiction,

allowing me to avoid the real-life villains

with the hope that,

if characters are created by humans,

surely they can be embodied by
real humans, too.

"Too pretty" to be reading books,
you say?

Too bad.

The most attractive man (I think)

is a man well-read.

Creating "bad" characters, and relating to them

Lately I've been fascinated by the idea of writing a story with a very unlikeable main character. Author Gillian Flynn is a pro at this, in her books Gone Girl, Dark Places, and Sharp Objects (creepy, horrifically disturbing books, but nonetheless interesting because they are different from what I normally read).

But "unlikeable" doesn't necessarily mean unable to relate to. I don't like villains that are evil just for evil's sake. The best "bad characters" are multidimensional. They have history. They also have a handful of good qualities.

While working on my book of poems, I can't shake this idea that keeps coming back to me, usually when I'm trying to sleep. It was originally going to be a redemption story about a pastor who is a saint to his community, but has a terrible secret. Now I may be shifting my focus toward a teenage girl, who may or may not be related to him in some way, but is known at school for being a not-so-nice person. She may be the type to use bullying as a way to build up her own confidence. She'll do this because she herself is weak, even if her victims don't see that.

I believe in this idea because I don't believe in truly "good" people. I don't even think of myself as a "good person" (though in retrospect, I'm hesitant to call myself a "bad person." Most people wouldn't say that about themselves, would they?).

I think about my personal prejudices...feeling disdain for large families with loud children coming in to coffee shops while I'm studying, letting their kids run all over the place and try to talk to me while I'm taking a timed online quiz (yeah, that happened once).

Mass-generalizing people who can't put sentences together and use the proper forms of "your/you're" as stupid, even if it's a proven fact that our education system doesn't adequately prepare students for the business world, and "business skills" may include proficiency in written communication.

Having a those people mindset regarding those who grew up in one place, in one culture, for most of their lives, and have had little interaction with people who are different from them. Never mind that I too can be one of those people. I am embarrassed by this fact.

So what makes a character truly unlikeable? What distinguishes an average person from the Hitlers and Mother Theresas of this world? In one last gesture of good faith, I'd argue that many people are simply not aware of how "bad" they can be. My goal then, if I choose to write this next story, is to develop a character who is aware of her personal badness, and has no desire to change.

At least, not yet.

The male privilege poem

Another excerpt from the upcoming book. One of my favorites so far!

"Why don't you smile?"
the man at Starbucks said.
"I bet you have such a pretty smile."

This, from a complete stranger,
who knows not my circumstances,
my private battles,
my very life.

I gape at him and his broad shoulders,
and his condescending "Because I can" veneer.
Please, I think, Contain your male privilege,
its crumby texture already snowflaking
on my table. Let me enjoy my coffee.

Also! Here's a preview of my snazzy new cover (the back cover text may change 50 more times before I declare it finished. Hard to accurately summarize a collection of poems when the subject matter is all over the place). My new designer, Amy Queau, did this for FREE and she is a special kind of wonderful.