my best day

So, I just recently watched City Slickers.  They play a game in the movie, while on the cattle drive, called “Best Day.”  At least that’s what I’m calling it.  Each character talks about what his “best day” was.  I invite you all to play this with me, because I’ve discovered it’s rather hard. I have a huge list of best days.  Does this mean I am incredibly lucky?  Yes. 

My first special day with Grandma, when I got a pair of red shoes for kindergarten and an orange notebook with leaves on it. We had dinner at Marshall Fields, because it will always be Marshall Fields, and I’m pretty sure there was ice cream involved.

The day I got lost in Disney World when I was three.  Because yes, I remember it, and I remember being found. 

The day in high school when Veronica and I went to Navy Pier to see the Superman movie. Afterwards, we watched the lightning show up the Saturday night fireworks and danced in the rain forever.  

The day in seventh grade when I finally cut my hair. I called Meghan, my best friend, and told her what I’d done, and the first words out of her mouth were, “I’m coming over,” because she had to see for herself.  I looked cute.

 My surprise sixteenth birthday.  Honestly, one of the best days of my life, thanks to my cult of friends.  And specifically Margaret Nieto. 

The day in Croatia when Logan and I were traveling when we jumped off a cliff, played volleyball with Australians, then sat in the church’s courtyard singing Jason Mraz. 

My weekend in Edinburgh, Scotland with Martha and Elysia.  That entire weekend was just so incredibly perfect.  I think that was the most independent and relaxing weekend I’ve ever had.  And I got to see where Harry Potter started, so, that didn’t hurt.

The day I rode an elephant, swam in the river Kwai, crossed the bridge, and had a rave in the rain. 

The day in Montana this past year, when we went zip-lining, sliding down a mountain, and then to Bigfork to see a play.  So many good things in one day.  I don’t know if I’ve ever laughed more. 

The weekend my entire family went to Harry Potter Land.  My grandparents went on the big rides.  Yes, that’s right.  They’re badass.  Maybe I will combine this with the day that Logan, Katie, and I waited in the rain all day to see the entire cast of Harry Potter, and the day I spent at Universal Studios with Erin.

Anyways, there have been a lot of best days in my life.  What about yours?  Leave me a comment!  What was your best day?  And no “the day my kids were born.”  That’s cheating.  Because we all know the greatest day of both my parents’ lives is the day I was born. 

earthquakes of the soul

God I love my classes.  My crazy, make me stay up until 4 am almost every night, overload me with work, amazing classes.  Except ceramics.  But still.  3 out of 4 ain't bad.  In my creative writing seminar today, Mike went on one of his amazing rants.  I say amazing because honestly, I wish I had a tape recorder so I could just write down verbatim what he says.  I don't know how he does it, as I am becoming increasingly suspicious that I only think I sound intelligent, and am actually not.  But he has a way of making everything he says seem like the most obvious thing in the world.  True, it could be that I have simply just not been on my game of late, as, have you heard?  I have crazy classes that keep me up until about 4 am every night.  That and blogging. But really--this is what he was talking about in class today. (Get ready, this is gold.)

When writing a story, you must consider why your characters are doing what they are doing.  You cannot have them make a decision because you want them to.  There has to be a valid reason behind every decision.  And the reader has to know it.  There must be some awe-inspiring, life-validating, sense-making reason for every action. There must be at least one decision that is an earthquake of the soul.  Every story has a choice, as every character has a decision to make.  Harry has the choice to find and destroy Voldemort, or let it be and perhaps relocate to Russia.  Stanley Yelnats has the choice to carry Zero up the mountain, or let him die at the base of God's thumb with onion breath.  Bod has the choice to take control of his own path in life and rid the world of Jacks, or to simply live as one of the dead forever. Emmilina has the choice to run away with Charlotte, or sit in her bedroom and waste away as her parents look on.  These are all earthquakes of the soul.  They are life changing decisions. 

Now, on to other things. I have recently read The Cardturner, by Louis Sachar.  Now, if any of you know me (and if you are reading this, then chances are good), then you know that I absolutely adore Louis Sachar.  Holes and Wayside School is Falling Down, along with Someday Angeline and Dogs Don't Tell Jokes are some of my all time favorite books, predating even Harry Potter.  But, I'm not going to lie to you, The Cardturner was not Sachar's best work.

Yes, he does a great job creating believable characters--Alton seemed like a very true to life high schooler.  It was also just a great little story about a relationship between a teenager and his aging uncle.  There was also a bit of a mysterious old family scandal that was fun to read about.  And I got to learn a lot about the game of bridge; something Sachar clearly knows a lot about.  To be fair (it is now about two weeks since I started writing this post, btw), he had an awesome blurb in the beginning, in which he basically tells us all what I had been suspecting all along--that he wrote about a game that he just knew a lot about.  This is what he says, in "A Note from the Author:"

"Imagine you were abducted by aliens and taken away to their home planet.  After living there awhile, you learn to speak their language, and then actually become a pretty well-known author.  You were a huge baseball fan back on Earth, so you decide to write a book about baseball.  You know that none of your alien readers have ever heard of baseball, but you think it will make a great story, and besides, you really love the game...
  As you attempt to write it, you quickly find yourself entangled in words with multiple meanings, like ball and run.  When you try to describe a triple play, you get so bogged down explaining the rules about force-outs that the excitement of the play itself is lost.
  That was the predicament I put myself into when I wrote The Cardturner.  It's not about baseball but about bridge, a card game that was once extremely popular but that, unfortunately, not too many people play anymore, especially not young people.  In fact, the people who do play bridge seem to live in their own alien world.
  My publisher, my editor, my wife, and my agent all said I was crazy.  'No one's going to want to read a book about bridge!' they told me on more than one occasion.
  Still, I really love the game..."

Which just goes to show: write about what you know and love.  What do I know and love?  Road trips down I-94 in a crowded car.  But anyways, I'm not saying it was a bad book because it was about bridge (which, as it turns out, is a very confusing game).  I thought that was very interesting.  And I'm not even saying it was a "bad book" per say.  It just left me with a weird taste in my mouth.  But before I get to that, here's what it did well.

Even though a significant portion of the book was dedicated to explaining the finer rules of the game of bridge, it worked.  This is for two reasons: first, it was being described in the voice of Alton, the sixteen year old main character.  Second, he added a picture of a whale.

Right, let me explain further.  Or rather, type you a small portion.  Imagine there is a picture of a whale.

"Do you see that picture of a whale?"  (Pretend you do.  It's there.  It's a whale.  I'm not scanning it.) "It's going to be our secret code. (Okay, maybe it's not so secret.)
  This past year I had to read Moby-Dick in my Language Arts / English class.  It seemed like a pretty good adventure story about a monster killer whale, but just when I started to get into it, the author, Herman Melville, stopped the story and went on page after page describing every time detail of a whaling ship.  I zoned out.  I never finished the book and had to bluff my way through the test. 
  The reason I'm telling you this is because I'm about to attempt to explain the basics of bridge.  My guess is that there's going to have to be more bridge in the book as well.
  I'm not trying to teach you how to play bridge.  There's not way I could do that.  I'll just try to explain enough of the basics that if you want, you might be able to understand some of the bridge stuff that happens.  ...
  So here's the deal.  Whenever you see the picture of the whale, it means I'm about to go into some detail about bridge.  If that makes you zone out, then just skip ahead to the summary box and I'll give you the short version" (43).

So you see?  He found a way to write about a very complicated game (in which we might as well be aliens--at least I might as well have been an alien), and still manage to have a compelling and easy to read story.  It was a pageturner.  (Oh, yes, I am witty.)  I love books that teach things while still telling a story--Rick Riordan's The Lightning Thief is another example of this, though admittedly Rick Riordan weaved Greek gods into his story much better.

Anyways, the bridge is not why it left a weird taste in my mouth.  Here is why:

The whole book, we follow Alton, a very realistic, down to earth, normal teenager through his experience in being his blind uncle's cardturner.  His uncle gives him money, he gets a car, there is a bit of a love triangle in which his best friend is dating his ex-girlfriend and is trying to cheat on said ex-girlfriend with Toni--the girl Alton likes and the other main character.  It's all a very normal game until his uncle dies, at which point he starts having paranormal otherworldly conversations with the dead.

Now... the problem I have with this is that we were not given any warning for the supernatural.  We were not even given any warning for the unnatural.  We were reading about bridge, and all of a sudden, his uncle is talking to him from beyond the grave.

Okay, you say, what about Holes?  There was magic in that!  What about the curse on the Yelnats family all because of Stanley's "no-good, dirty-rotten, pig-stealing, great, great grandfather?"  Well, in that situation, we are hearing the story of Madame Zeroni alongside the more realistic story of Stanley Yelnats.  We are allowed to suspect that some magic is at play here, that maybe the curse is real.  In this book we get none of that. We hear that Toni has headaches, but that's hardly supernatural.

So, moral of the story: it was a fascinating book, but not one of my favorites.  It changed genres in the middle. But, props to Louis Sachar for writing a book about a confusing game of cards that was incredibly interesting.

What was the earthquake of your soul?  Or in my case... where will this earthquake known as graduation leave me?  Make a life changing, world altering, lip smacking, eye opening, smile inducing decision today.  Every choice matters.

I'm suspicious that my little will be the next J.K. Rowling.  Oh, and I'm talking about Chloe, the one who's in fifth grade. She is brilliant, and I love her.

Oh, and speaking of J.K. Rowling, she's writing a new book for adults!

Jumping up and down with excitement,
L.R. Ogden

nobody

Neil Gaiman is a genius.  I mean really, he, like David Almond, has a way of writing that makes me hate him.  Not because I don't love the story--I absolutely love both their stories--but because I was not the one to write them.  Yes, alright, that's a stupid way to think... I should be thankful they set the bar so high and that I can learn from them... yada yada yada and a yoyo.  But look, I'm not the only who thinks this.  Take Hemingway.  Well, the Hemingway from the film Midnight in Paris, anyways. 

Gil: I would like you to read my novel and get your opinion.

Hemingway: I hate it. 

Gil: You haven’t even read it yet.

Hemingway: If it’s bad, I’ll hate it. If it’s good, then I’ll be envious and hate it even more. You don’t want the opinion of another writer.

So you see, I'm allowed to hate my favorite authors just a little bit.  Anyways, on with the business!  I read The Graveyard Book last year (good God) and absolutely loved it.  Why did I not write this?  Well, that's all okay, because I actually make an appearance in this book.  Yes indeedy.  

Why is this book so great, you ask?  What do you think about it Liza?  Please tell us your opinions.  

...

Well, alright, since you asked so nicely.

The Graveyard Book is one of those books that I am simply thankful exists.  It does one of the things that a lot of children's literature attempts to do (and is often unsuccessful): it helps kids work through and deal with one of the most difficult aspects of life.  And yes, obviously I mean death.  By creating a world of the dead that is not only accessible by the living, but protective of it, he allows children another form of reassurance and comfort.  No, I am not saying that children who have lost a loved one should retreat into fantasy land and go and try to live in a graveyard.  That would not be fun.  Or particularly safe.  (Though now that I think about it--graveyards should be relatively safe, right?  What is the crime rate in graveyards?  Everyone's already dead...) I am just saying, the overall message of The Graveyard Book, and stories like it, instill in children a feeling of hope and safety. It gives the feeling that those who love us never really leave us (not sure if I'm quoting Harry Potter or The Lion King, but probably the former).  Anyways, it is able to make a difficult situation seem light and joyful. 

Moving on.  Now, you all know how important I think names are.  Katniss Everdeen... horrible.  Just, just... blechk.  Milkman from Song of Solomon... urgh.  I know Toni Morrison is amazing and believe you me, I have so much respect for that woman because she is an amazing writer... but gross.  Milkman.  Oh, he's named that because his mother breastfed him until he was about ten. Yeah.  Blechk.  And now that I'm talking about names, let me let you in on a little secret: it's not just the way the name sounds--you can tell a lot about a person based on how they spell their name.  Yes, this is slightly (alright more than slightly) judgmental, but let me be.  Just watch.  Or read.  

There was once a girl named Ashley who loved to put on makeup every morning.  

So, when I read that line, I see a girl (specifically one of the Ashleys from Recess) putting on an appropriate amount of makeup.  Now:

There was once a girl named Ashlee who loved to put on makeup every morning.

And now she is wearing much to much makeup for her face.  And dear lord, I hope no one reading this is named Ashlee.  You see?  Judgmental.  But, when writing a story, never would I ever give a character a name that ends in two e's if I wanted her to be a protagonist. 

But on to my real point:  Neil Gaiman has some awesome names in The Graveyard Book.  First of all, his main character is Bod--short for Nobody.  Nobody Owens is the main character.  I like this for a few reasons: first, it is way clever and just plain awesome.  Second: the people of the graveyard could have named him anything under the sun--Shakespeare, Napoleon, Winston Churchill, Obama... Ryan Gosling... But no.  Nobody is the hero.  Which could be anybody.  It doesn't take a person with a great name to be the hero of the story.  Any old Mike, John, Sarah, Katie, or Rachel could have done it. The villain is also done extremely cleverly--his name is Jack, and he is one of many... Jacks of all trades.  Gaiman has an extraordinary amount of fun with the name Jack, though I won't say more here because I don't want to give anything away.

Plus, there is a character named Liza Hempstock, so obviously I approve. 

I also am in love with this book because it is so understated.  It doesn't try to take control of the reader's imagination.  By this I mean we are not even sure what exactly Silas is.  Okay, yes, he is most likely a vampire, but I did not get that in my reading of the novel.  And I consider myself a fairly active and observant reader.  Somehow Neil Gaiman finds a way to combine beautiful descriptions with the ability to enchant the imagination.  By this I mean (okay, hold on to your hats) he does something J.K. Rowling does not.  He allows the reader to have more than one interpretation of a character or setting.  I say this because we are not even allowed to surmise the sexuality of one of the main characters or who each character ultimately marries in Harry Potter.  As cool as I think it is that Dumbledore is gay, or that Luna marries the grandson of Newt Scamander, there are some things better left to the imagination.  That Neville and Luna were madly in love, for example.   Rowling gave enough hints in her books to let everything lie... and not tell more tidbits of her story in various interviews.

AND not only is this book illustrated with gorgeous illustrations, but it is yet another book written by Neil Gaiman that made me almost picture the style of film used in Coraline and The Nightmare before Christmas.  Very cool.

And here's another (the last) reason I love this book: the writing is absolutely fantastic, and quite inspirational.  Check it:

When describing the place where ghouls live, Gaiman says this, "Even from the path below Ghulheim, even from miles away, Bod could see that all of the angles were wrong--that the walls sloped crazily, that it was every nightmare he had ever endured made into a place, like a huge mouth of jutting teeth.  It was a city that had been built just to be abandoned, in which all the gears and madnesses and revulsions of the creatures who built it were made into stone" (82).

A conversation between Bod and Silas regarding suicide:

"'Does it work? Are they happier dead?'

'Sometimes.  Mostly, no.  It's like the people who believe they'll be happy if they go and live somewhere else, but who learn it doesn't work that way.  Wherever you go, you take yourself with you.  If you see what I mean'" (104). 

A conversation between Bod and Silas after Bod comments he wouldn't mind being killed, as some of his "best friends are dead."

"Yes... They are.  And they are, for the most part, done with the world.  You are not.  You're alive, Bod.  That means you have infinite potential.  You can do anything. make anything dream anything.  If you change the world, the world will change.  Potential.  Once you're dead, it's gone.  Over.  You've made what you've made, dreamed your dream, written your name.  You may be buried here, you may even walk. But that potential is finished" (179). 

Bod, upon his final departure:

"'If I change my mind can I come back here?' And then he answered his own question.  'If I come back, it will be a place, but it won't be home any longer'" (304). 

The song that his adoptive parents sang to him as he grew up in the graveyard:

"Sleep my little babby-oh

Sleep until you waken

When you wake you'll see the world

If I'm not mistaken.

Kiss a lover

Dance a measure,

Find your name

And buried treasure.  

Face your life

Its pain, its pleasure,

Leave no path untaken" (306).

Go out and be happy you aren't dead.  I'm happy you're not dead.  Go and see a volcano, or a forest, or a little bit of grass that is growing through the sidewalk.  Or make a snow angel, depending on the weather.  

I think I just realized that my phobia of white space isn't a phobia at all... it's an itch created by a space of infinite potential that I need to fill.  Just like a blank page...

L.R. Ogden

the invisible artist

So now I'm back for real.  I should be posting regularly again, now that I have things to procrastinate for.  I think I've had a sort of writer's overload these last two months, and just needed to take a break and enjoy life instead of writing it.  Not writer's block, no... It was more of a exhaustion.  I mean let's be real--I'm 120 pages into my story... wouldn't you be tired?  Anyways, I'm not anymore and am back with a vengeance. 

First off, I am in love with my classes this semester.  Well, three out of the four.  And, of course, the only one I want to drop is in the only one I can't.  Of course.  Ceramics may kill me--if Kappa doesn't first.  The facts were these: I have been up until five am every night this week, and for once, procrastination had nothing to do with it.  I have been making artwork for kappa, creating ceramic figurines for ceramics, drawing nudes for four hours at a time, writing like my life depended on it, and reading about empowering girls.  So yes, most of these things are enjoyable.  But most of these things also take up a significant portion of my day.

Anyways, that's enough whining, yes? I think so.  On to what really matters: literature, life, art, and happiness. 

Here is what we talked about in my creative writing seminar today: In The Reign of Harad IV, by Steven Millhauser. We also listened to the podcast, which you can do by clicking here.  It's about thirty seven minutes long, so the alternative is to read the story yourself, and then listen to the discussion that Cynthia Oznick and Deborah Treisman (the fiction editor of The New Yorker) have at the end of the audio clip. 

Read it?  Listened to it?  Unless you are my mother, father, or possibly Logan, I don't think I believe you.  I wouldn't have either.  Here's a summary (you should read it at some point though, it's very good):

In a nutshell, this story is about a miniaturist's pursuit of creating progressively smaller objects.  In the end, he is creating objects that are invisible to everyone, even (eventually) himself.  On the surface level, it is about his own pursuit of perfection, but the understated message is to every artist.  And yes, I am calling myself, as a writer, an artist.  Can we ever reach perfection?  The Master, as the miniaturist is called in the story, does, but not even he can see his own work. Could we then say, that even though we cannot see it, that this miniature world is his greatest masterpiece? 

They bring up an interesting point in their discussion on the podcast.  It is generally considered that James Joyce's masterpiece is Ulysses, and not Finnegan's Wake.  Which is albeit understandable as there are some words even in the wikipedia ariticle about Finnegan's Wake that I don't understand. The question they then pose is: Is Finnegan's Wake just too invisible for the average human to see?  We accept it as a difficult book, too difficult to be considered as great, and focus on his (also difficult) Ulysses.  We think that Ulysses is his masterpiece, but who knew what James Joyce thought?  Is art still art if there is no one there to see it? 

If I just create my novel and shove it in the vacuum of my bottom drawer (or my bedroom floor, as that's where everything else is at the moment...), is it still a work of art?  We are all searching for perfection in some field or another, but it seems like even if we reach it, there will be no one left to realize it.  No one could see his art, and there is no one really who has found the true beauty and perfection in Finnegan's Wake.  Perfection is a lonely man. 

And scene. WHOA that was a lot of philosophical things for one day.  I'm just saying, you should all read this short story, and let me know what you think about it.  It is fantabulastic.  Anyways, that's it for today, I'm sure I'll post again soon as I have much to write about.  Coming up: The Graveyard Book, The Giver, Wonderstruck, and more. 

Create something even if there isn't anyone to see it.  Be selfish.  Do it for you.  Don't worry so much about perfection.

I nearly melted when Neal Caffrey read part of Lord Byron's "She Walks in Beauty" in the most recent episode of White Collar.  To listen, visit my tumblr.

-L.R. Ogden

a little bit of salt

So.  I don't know if any of you ever watch Man vs. Food (I don't either), but he has a tactic.  Oh, I've seen one episode where he ate about ten pounds of pancakes.  His tactic is this: when he's about halfway through and doesn't think he'll make it, he'll order a little bacon.  Something salty, just so his stomach doesn't reject so much pancake at once.  Well, I think my brain is about to start rejecting so much Toni Morrison at once.  So.  I need some bacon.

I have read a bunch of books since we last met, blogosphere.  A bunch.  In this bunch o' books was: The Graveyard Book, Room, Beloved (as I realized the day before yesterday I never actually read anything but the sparknotes... damn.  You know, I fool even myself sometimes), and a bunch of stories from The Chronicles of Harris Burdick.

But right now, I feel like talking about Room (because secretly, I have to write a paper about craft on it, so this will actually be sneaky productive).  Now, I loved this book.  Absolutely loved it.  True, the premise is a little disturbing, but when you've watched as much Law and Order: SVU as I have (and unless you've seen every episode, trust me, you haven't), things like that tend to be a little less rough to read about.  But even if you aren't used to reading about rape and women being kept in boxes for years on end, this book is a great read.

Okay, so let's be real.  I wrote this roundabouts two months ago, and then never posted it.  I would like to say that writing about a paper I needed to write made me stop and think, huh, maybe I should actually write the paper instead of writing about writing it.  But, more likely than not, that didn't happen. Probably I watched an episode of Modern Family or something, and then stayed up until three in the morning doing other more productive things.  I am still going to post it, however, because I think it's hilarious.  I also think I'm going to finish my thoughts about Room, for those of you who are interested, as I did end up writing a paper about it.

Things I liked:
I absolutely loved that it was told from the perspective of Jack--the five year old son of the mother and her rapist. Honestly, if it were not for this fact, I would not have been at all interested in reading it.  Indeed, it made the creepy premise a little easier to digest and far more intriguing than if his mother told it.  My creative writing advisor is always telling me that characters don't have to know shit, but the readers have to know everything.  In other words, the readers need to feel like they know more than the characters.  Obviously, Emma Donoghue does a great job with this, due to the simple fact that Jack knows only what is in Room.  For example, he sleeps in Wardrobe and counts the squeaks of mattress as he falls asleep.  While for him, this is like counting sheep, we as readers know full well that it is far more sinister and much more illegal.

Sorry that was a creepy example.  He also received a toy truck from Old Nick (as he refers to his mother's rapist), and cannot understand why his mother doesn't want him to play with it.  He just likes it because it's a toy, but we as readers know that his mother is uncomfortable with the idea that Jack might like Old Nick.  She doesn't want him to have a relationship with her rapist, but Jack can't understand that.  Especially because he thinks he can communicate with Dora the Explorer by writing on pieces of toilet paper and flushing it down the toilet.  It was also interesting to discover half way through the novel what he meant by "getting some."  Let me give you a hint: sometimes he gets some from the right, and sometimes he gets some from the left, and we as readers understand how... well. How socially unacceptable that is.

What I am iffy about:

It's hard to say where the climax of the novel is. It seems to me that it is when they escape from Old Nick, but that comes at about the halfway point.  The rest of the novel is falling action and focuses on their assimilation into normal life again.  While that is still interesting, it felt almost as if the book were uneven.  She also brings up a lot of issues in the second half of the novel, and I feel like they could have been delved into much farther.  Maybe what I'm saying is that they could have been two books--one about the escape, and then one about how they, and especially Jack, dealt with the real world after being imprisoned for so long.  It almost felt like it was too easy for Jack to accept the real world.  And yes, I realize I am contradicting myself a bit here, but you know, that's just how it goes.

All in all, I hope they don't make this into a movie.  Although I would probably still go see it, even though it would be creeptastic.

Stay tuned for post number two!

Go out and explore the amazing gobsmacking wondrous glorious gigantic world!  Don't enclose yourself in the room called Chicago or home or America.  Explore!  Adventure! Discover! Find the beauty in every little thing!

I once rapped "I Like Big Bucks and I Cannot Lie" for a seventh grade speech when running for treasurer.

-L.R. Ogden