YA literature

Young adult literature is probably my favorite kind of book to read.  It’s fun, accessible, and– if you’re a picky reader like I am– it’s incredibly well written.  Here’s a list of some of my all-time favorite YA lit.

1) Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis
2) Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling
3) The Book Thief by Marcus Zusak
4) Stargirl by Jerry Spinelli
5) The Fault in Our Stars by John Green
6) Ordinary People by Judith Guest
7) Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Montgomery
8) Bridge to Terabithia by Kathleen Patterson
9) Jellicoe Road by Melina Marchetta
10) The Pigman by Paul Zindel

… and so many more (Saving Francesca, Finnikin of the Rock, The Sky is Everywhere, Tuck Everlasting, The Secret Garden …)!  Do you like YA lit?  What are your favorites?  Have you tried writing YA lit before?  What are the critical elements to include in any YA story?

Genius by Billy Collins

This poem is strongly influencing the story I am writing right now.

Genius by Billy Collins

was what they called you in high school
if you tripped on a shoelace in the hall
and all your books went flying.

Or if you walked into an open locker door
you would be known as Einstein,
who imagined riding a streetcar into infinity.

Later, genius became someone
who could take a sliver of chalk and square pi
a hundred places out beyond the decimal point,

or someone painting on his back on a scaffold,
or a man drawing a waterwheel in a margin,
or spinning out a little night music.

But earlier this week on a wooded path,
I thought the swans afloat on the reservoir
were the true geniuses,

the ones who had figured out how to fly,
how to be both beautiful and brutal,
and how to mate for life.

Twenty-four geniuses in all,
for I numbered them as Yeats had done,
deployed upon the calm, crystalline surface–

forty-eight if we count their still reflections,
or an even fifty if you want to toss in me
and the dog running up ahead,

who were smart enough to be out
that morning–she sniffing the ground,
me with my head up in the light morning breeze.

similes to make you smile

Best (or Worst!!) Ever Similes and Metaphors
(as taken from high school English papers)

1. Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master.

2. His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.

3. He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.

4. She grew on him like she was a colony of E. coli and he was room-temperature Canadian beef.

5. She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.

6. Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.

7. He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree.

8. The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated because of his wife’s infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free ATM.

9. The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn’t.

10. McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag filled with vegetable soup.

11. From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you’re on vacation in another city and Jeopardy comes on at 7:00 p.m. instead of 7:30.

12. Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a sneeze.

13. The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.

14. Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m., at a speed of 35 mph.

15. They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan’s teeth.

16. John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who also had never met.

17. He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant and she was the East River.

18. Even in his last years, Grandpappy had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long, it had rusted shut.

19. Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.

20. The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work.

21. The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for a while.

22. He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either, but a real duck that was actually lame. Maybe from stepping on a land mine or something.

23. The ballerina rose gracefully en pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.

24. It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with power tools.

25. He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up.

26. Her eyes were like limpid pools, only they had forgotten to put in any pH cleanser.

27. She walked into my office like a centipede with 98 missing legs.

28. It hurt the way your tongue hurts after you accidentally staple it to the wall.

I think my favorites are the two hummingbirds who had also never met and also the 6-foot-3-inch tree.  What are your favorites?  Better yet, leave a comment with your own terrible metaphor!

Billy Collins poems animated!

Billy Collins is my favorite poet (and I was lucky enough/blessed enough to meet him in the fall of 2010!).  He is absolutely hilarious and a brilliant writer, both of which I would love to be.

Carve out fifteen minutes of your day to click this link here and view his TED talk and see five of his poems masterfully animated.  I promise you it will be worthwhile.

books books books

I know I blog a lot about how much I love to write, but hand-in-hand with that is my love for reading.  My reading feeds my writing.

What I have read and enjoyed recently:
The Sky is Everywhere by Jandy Nelson
Jellicoe Road by Melina Marchetta
The Fault in our Stars by John Green
My entire Billy Collins collection of poetry (I literally re-read through 7-8 Collins books in 3 days)

What I am reading and enjoying now:
The Last Battle by C.S. Lewis (I have probably read this book around 75 times; it’s my favorite, and I re-read favorites the way I eat chocolate.)
Sophie’s World by Jostein Gaarder
Froi of the Exiles by Melina Marchetta
World War Z by Max Brooks
Desiring God by John Piper
Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Niffenegger

I buy books faster than I can read them– and I read fast!  But reading fuels my energy to write, and I find myself returning to my laptop, eager to build my own worlds.

Christian media

Last Friday I had an adventure with my former writing professor Judy.  We went to Macalester College to meet Donald Miller, the author of Blue Like Jazz, one of my favorite books, and watch a special pre-screening of Blue Like Jazz: The Movie.

The movie was very well done, a fictionalized account of Miller’s time at Reed College in Portland, Oregon– a story about a young Christian who is stepping away from his faith and trying his hand at life.  I loved that it didn’t shy away from any tough issues.  The movie was gritty and raw and real, and I encourage everyone to go see it on April 13th.

Steve Taylor, the movie’s director, was at the event as well, and he introduced the film by saying, “Since when did ‘Christian’ come to mean ‘family-friendly’?”  He pointed out that the Bible itself contained stories that kids might not be old enough to hear.

When I think of Christian movies, I think of cheesy, overdone movies with bad acting and fairytale endings.  When I think of Christian books, I think of poorly written, G-rated romance novels with unbelievable, over-the-top conversion scenes and lots of scenes where the protagonist “happens to” come across a Bible verse directly suited to her situation.  No thanks.

Writing about Jesus is tricky, let me tell you.  How do you write about an eternal God who supernaturally reaches into people’s chests and grips their hearts without sounding insane?  How do you write about spiritual experiences in a way that people who do not love God can come along for the ride?

I think this movie is going to be a big step in the right direction.  Check out the trailer hereLet me know your thoughts on all this!

creative theft

I just read a really interesting Forbes interview with Austin Kleon, author of Steal Like an Artist, which is about”the idea that all creative work is iterative, no idea is original and all creators and their output are a sum of inspirations and heroes from whom they appropriate and the ideas and content they choose to remix and reimagine as their own body of work.”

photo credit: marklarson

For those of you reading who like to create– whether you’re a writer, a musician, a visual artist, etc.– do you think this is true?  Is there truly nothing new under the sun?

In my “swipe file” I’d love to have the following: John Green, Leif Enger, Peter Beagle, Markus Zusak, Melina Marchetta, Billy Collins, C.S. Lewis, J.K. Rowling.  If I could be one big melting pot of all that brilliance, I’d have a bestseller for sure!!

How about you?

Who is Jackie Lea Sommers?

I know my dear friend Ashley loves my blog– but she also knows and loves ME.  She suggested the other day that I let my blog followers in on who I am.  Sounds like a marvelous idea.

The details: Jackie Lea Sommers, 30 years old, as single as a girl can be.  I live in a suburb of Minneapolis, Minnesota, and I grew up in a small town of ~700 people.  I’m the recruitment manager at Northwestern College, the most wonderful Christian university in the world.  I’m also a proud alumna.  My degree is in English-writing.

 

I live with Desiree.  She is a math geek.  We are like yin and yang in that way.

 

My family includes my dad and mom, my sister Kristin, my brother Kevin, and Kevin’s girlfriend Samantha (who is essentially a part of our family!).

 

I am passionate about a handful of things: Jesus Christ, people, and writing & literature. 

Jesus: my REASON FOR LIFE, my gravity, my Rescuer.  Jesus is the lens through which the rest of my life makes sense.  I am so proud of my Savior, so proud of the cross.

People: so many wonderful people in my life … camp friends, college friends, favorite students at Northwestern, kiddos I’ve met through years of youth ministry, plus Emma, Ava, and Elsie, my littlest loves.

Writing/literature: I love to read, but I LOVE to write.  I finished my first novel this January, after working on it for nearly four years.  It’s a story about a girl with OCD, and it draws heavily on my own experience with OCD.  And now I am working on my second novel!  Favorite books:

yes, I really do have a wardrobe in my living room that functions as a life-size diorama of Narnia … nerd alert!

Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis, Peace Like a River by Leif Enger (whom I had lunch with this month!), The Book Thief by Markus Zusak, all poetry by Billy Collins, and (new!) The Fault in Our Stars by John Green.

What else would you like to know about me?

 

the ups and the downs

Isn’t life as an obsessive-compulsive like riding a roller-coaster?  At least for myself, I found that I had really HIGH highs and really LOW lows.

I’ve just always been someone who really, really delights in the good moments, and when the bad times come, boy, do they ever hit hard!  And yet, I have never wanted to NOT celebrate those high points.  Some people have said that it would be better just to be stable, and I can see that, but MAN, I wanna feel JOY down to my toes when it’s there for the taking!

I think part of it is OCD and part of it is being a writer.  If you’re an artist, I bet you know what I mean!

About five days ago I posted that I had been moping in the depths of despair, worrying that I would always be a mediocre writer and wanting SO desperately to be great.  I put my project on hold indefinitely and spent the next five days creating new characters in my head, getting more and more excited about them as time went on.

Only five days after my horrendous sadness, having come face-to-face with my failures, THIS was my prayer last night:

Jesus,

Tonight is one of those nights where I am just THRILLED to be a writer.  How incredible that I get to PLAY around this way with absolutely no constraints but the ones I put on myself?!  I can name a character whatever I choose and make him/her act as I want and do as I please and have whatever history or hang-ups I can imagine.  And it’s up to me to invent feelings and family and conversations.  It’s so much power– and it’s given to writers.

I am blown away.  I am SO grateful to You, Lord, for making me as I am!  I pray EARNESTLY that my writing has a purpose and a message of hope and grace.  YOU.  I want to share You with the world through my writing.

Here we go, back on up … !

not only neurotic, but a writer too

If you subscribe to my blog, you know that my posts revolve around obsessive-compulsive disorder and that I sometimes post scenes from the book I’ve been writing about OCD.  Tonight, instead of writing about OCD, I want to write about writing.  Meta-writing … now there’s something an OC can latch onto!  Haha!

Words have been important to me since I was young– summertimes, my mom would have to yell at me to go play outside, since all I wanted to do was lie in my bed and read.  We met halfway: I took my book outdoors.  My sister and I and the neighbor girl would play “library,” setting all our books out on the stairs to the deck, carefully each selecting one, “checking it out,” and retreating to various areas of the yard to read.  They would abandon their books long before I would.

When I was in third grade, I remember creating a whole made-up family of characters so that I could write stories about them.  In junior high, I started to mess around with poetry.  In high school, I wrote an episodic soap opera and passed it around for friends to read.  When the notebook made its way back to me, I wrote some new scenes.  In college, I studied creative writing and finally discovered a true family of other writers, who– let’s be honest– are all a little strange.  It’s not mean.  We just are.

In 2008, I began chicken-scratching some thoughts about my latest Paxil-induced obsession, which turned into a four year novel-writing project that I’m pretty proud of.

Well.  That is, until I read some fantastic new book.  Then I feel like I will never be more than mediocre.

Readers love books.  Writers do too.  But sometimes writers kind of hate them as well.  Take, for example, last night when I read The Fault in Our Stars, the latest by John Green, and found myself simultaneously DELIGHTED by it and MORTIFIED as it revealed my own weaknesses.  One of my greatest desires in life is to be a good writer, and so, reading great writing from others is wonderful/horrible, an honor/shameful, a gift/a rebuke.  I would never “forfeit” the opportunities to have read The Book Thief,  Jellicoe Road, The Last Unicorn, For the Time Being, Peace Like a River, and absolutely anything by Billy Collins.  Doesn’t mean I didn’t seethe with envy while I read.

I complained to my friend Kyle, who wrote me You can trust a good giver that He’s given you what you need. So, take heart, and write.

And my friend Erica patiently encouraged Remember you are part of the body of Christ and have greater purpose.  I totally believe in your writing.

Both were needed reminders for this neurotic writer.