a slew of thoughts on sex and sickness in teen books

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So, the Daily Mail in the UK published an article that made a lot of people mad, including me.  The article condemned young adult books that deal with hard topics like sickness and death, calling these books “sick-lit.”  It ripped on one of my favorite books, The Fault in Our Stars by John Green, in such a way that made me question if the author of the article had actually read it.

How’s this for an infuriating sentence: “While the Twilight series and its imitators are clearly fantasy, these books don’t spare any detail of the harsh realities of terminal illness, depression and death.”

Time out.

Time the hell out.

It’s better for kids to read books like Twilight (a book considered poorly written by many creative thinkers … featuring an obsessive, co-dependent romance with a vampire) than to read books like The Fault in Our Stars, which makes readers of all ages think deeply?  I can hardly process that quote.  It’s better for kids to live in a fantasy land than to learn to think about real-life hard situations?

It boggles my mind.  Honestly.

I’m not a parent.  Maybe I’d feel differently if I was a parent.

I want kids and teenagers to read great books, great writing.  I want them to be forced to think critically and examine their beliefs.

But maybe that’s looking through rose-colored glasses?

I’ve read a lot of YA books in the last year.  A lot of them had sex scenes or sexually-charged scenes.  Would I censor these books from kids?  No.  From my kids?  … no.  I don’t think so.  But what do I know?  Everything could change if I were a parent, I know that.

I think Harry Potter is one of the most brilliant series for teens in existence.  I don’t think I’d stop my kids from reading it … but I do think I’d talk to them about magic and witchcraft and good vs. evil.  If my kids read The Fault in Our Stars, I’d talk to them about sex and terminal illness and death and the meaning of life.  If my kids read Jellicoe Road, I’d talk to them about drugs and abandonment and romance.

But would I?  It’s easy to say that when I’m 30 and childless.

I’d love to hear thoughts on both sides of this debate– please comment!

cuddle

 

 

Roses and Janie “mash-up”

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Turn this song on and read the poem below it for the most deliciously melancholy experience.

(Am I weird for liking sad songs and poems?  I love them!)


Roses
by Billy Collins

In those weeks of midsummer
when the roses in gardens begin to give up,
the big red, white, and pink ones—
the inner, enfolded petals growing cankerous,
the ones at the edges turning brown
or fallen already, down on their girlish backs
in the rough beds of turned-over soil,

then how terrible the expressions on their faces,
a kind of was it all really worth it? look,
to die here slowly in front of everyone
in the garden of a bed-and-breakfast
in a provincial English market town,
to expire by degrees of corruption
in plain sight of all the neighbors passing by,

the thin mail carrier, the stocky butcher
(thank God the children pay no attention),
the swiveling faces in the windows of the buses,
and now this stranger staring over the wall,
his hair disheveled, a scarf loose around his neck,
writing in a notebook, writing about us no doubt,
about how terrible we look under the punishing sun.

books books books

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Just finished …

Reached by Ally Condie | This is book three of the Matched trilogy (preceded by Matched and Crossed).  If you’re not familiar with the concept of these books, they are set in the future in a time when the Society rules and in order to “simplify” things, the Society has only retained 100 poems, 100 stories, 100 etc., etc. from the past.  As teenagers, couples are “matched”– and that is whom you will marry.  The first book was quite fascinating because Cassia was matched with her best friend Xander but was secretly falling in love with Ky.  The second book was much less interesting, particularly because Cassia, Xander, and Ky were all separated– I essentially skimmed Crossed.  I still wanted to know how the story ended, so I requested Reached from the library long before it was released and was relatively near the top of the waiting list (within the first 100 probably).  I started reading it, and it was more interesting than the second book, but the library book ended up being due back sooner than I could finish it, so I skimmed the rest of the book (a very thorough skim!), and I think I made the right choice.  It was good, and I liked the ending, and Condie has brilliant moments in these books, but all told, I think the third book might have been drawn out too long.  Can’t say for sure since I didn’t fully get to read it.  But I don’t think I will return to it to do just that.

Finnikin of the Rock by Melina Marchetta | I re-read this one, this time on audio, and was just as thrilled with it the second time through.  Finnikin’s country has seen half of the people in bondage inside the country’s borders and half of the people in exile outside of it.  He is on a quest to come up with a solution of some kind, and he has to take a young novice named Evanjalin with him.  This book has lovely twists and surprises, and it is such a delight.  This second time through (since I knew the ending), I would actually talk aloud to the characters in my car: “Oooooh, you’re gonna regret that later!!” and “Oh man, if you only knew what I knew!!”  I know I’m a nerd.  But it’s pretty awesome when a book can suck you in that much– especially with all its secrets already laid bare.

Graceling by Kristin Cashore | This book was recommended to me by a friend, but others warned me that I wouldn’t like the ending, so I devoured it … but nervously.  I loved the characters in this story about a land where some people are Graced– that is, they have a special skill.  Katsa’s skill is killing– or so she thinks.  She meets Po, another Graceling, and they go to another country in search of a secret.  It is fascinating, and the dialogue is incredible.  Loved this book, even though I read it nervous that I’d hate the ending.  And did I?  No.  Not exactly.  It wasn’t as disappointing as I’d been guessing from the warnings I’d been given.  Still– it is obvious that Cashore is a feminist, and she inserted her beliefs into this book decently, I thought (though I am not a feminist myself).

Fire by Kristin Cashore | This is a companion book to Graceling, although it has a new set of characters, save for one important person.  This. Book. Was. Great.  Wow!!  I think I liked it even better than Graceling— maybe since I could relate better to Fire, the protagonist, than to Katsa.  This book takes place in a kingdom east of the lands where Graceling occurs, in The Dells, a kingdom on the verge of civil war and filled with gorgeous but dangerous “monsters”– monster animals … and even a few monster humans.  Fire is a monster human, with bright orange-red-gold-pink hair that is so beautiful that many people can’t control themselves around her.  She can also read minds and influence them, although she has been careful with her power and guards herself against manipulating others.  She can read almost anyone’s mind … except for Prince Brigan, the younger brother of the king.  When the royal family asks Fire to use her powers to save the kingdom, Fire has to make some big decisions … and she is mysteriously drawn to and scared of Brigan, who looks at her with hate.  I loved these characters– so real, so flawed, so layered.  I love the conversations Cashore creates, and I love the secrets she reveals at strategic times in both this story and Graceling.  This is a must-read.  And while you can read this book without reading Graceling, it is even more fascinating if you have.

Every Day by David Levithan | I have been intending to read this book for so long, and I finally got it on audio from the library (though I purchased the hardcover months ago).  Audiobooks I seem to get through faster, since I use a lot of my free time for writing instead of reading– but you can’t write while driving! 🙂  This. Book. Was. Fascinating.  First there is A, who inhabits a new body every day.  A has done this for 16 years without questioning it too much until one perfect day A spends with Rhiannon.  After that, A wants to spend EVERY day with this girl.  This is a problem, obviously.  I have never read a more gender-bending book in my life– some days A is a girl, some days A is boy, all days A loves Rhiannon.  I just gobbled this book up, could not wait to find out what would happen next.  The ending was PERFECT and unexpected, but I can’t tell you how it made me feel because I want you to experience it for yourself.  Interestingly, the audiobook was read by a girl.  I didn’t know if that was subliminal or not … on the other hand, although A is the protagonist, since A changes bodies daily, Rhiannon’s voice is the most consistent one, so in that sense, it fits that they chose a female reader.  The book was really, really, really good– except for the moments Levithan got on his homosexual soapbox.  Those diatribes interrupted the story and felt as if Levithan were intruding out of nowhere.  The book already makes the reader ask a lot of questions; I didn’t think Levithan needed to provide his own answers.  All that said, though, this is an EXCELLENT book.  I loved it, as in, really, REALLY loved it.  Highly recommend.

 

Currently reading …

The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern | Got this on audio for Christmas and so am re-reading this one.  Jim Dale is the narrator!!!

Bitterblue by Kristin Cashore | The sequel to Graceling … I AM LOVING IT!!!  Almost done … review to come.

Saving Francesca by Melina Marchetta | Just as brilliant the second time around.

 

Up next …

Son by Lois Lowry | The brand-new fourth book in The Giver series!

Divergent by Veronica Roth | It’s about time, right? 🙂

reading12

an honest post

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Okay, all of my posts are honest … I guess I should have called this a vulnerable post, but I’m not going to go back and change the title because all my posts are published on my Facebook account, and I don’t want to draw too many extra eyes here.

I turn 31 two weeks from today.  Thirty-one.  I know it’s not, but it feels old.  (It’s the oldest I’ll have ever been, ha!)  Life is so different than what I thought it would be.  Some good, some bad.

I have more joy and freedom than I have had since I was a young child.  I survived a ravaging war against OCD and found victory.  I have an assurance of salvation that was brought about by a paradoxical embrace of uncertainty.  I have better friends than I could have ever imagined for myself.  I love my job as a recruiter and would have never guessed I’d be good at sales.

On the other hand, I think about myself as a senior in high school, and I had my own little plan for life (How do you make God laugh?  Tell him your plans.): I’d go off to college, meet the love of my life freshman year, marry him after graduation, get an advanced degree, write lovely little poems that everyone would clambor after, and have a family.

No graduate school.  I am pussyfooting my way through fiction.  My first manuscript was rejected by an embarrassing number of agents.  And I am completely single– don’t even have a crush.

I look around at the friends of mine who are living my old dreams, and I don’t resent them (most of the time)– but I do feel light-years behind other people my age.  They have masters degrees, 2.5 children, own their own homes, have husbands who work hard for them so that they can stay home with the kids.  I live an apartment, hang out with college kids, take joy in being published in no-name literature journals just so I can update my writer’s resume in the hope that I will fool someone on a grant committee somewhere into giving me money.

My dream has changed a little.  I’m not sure if it still includes children.  I adore children– my friend Tracy’s three daughters (Emma, Ava, and Elsie) are so dear to my heart that I’m not sure I could love them more even if I’d birthed them myself.  But I’m not sure I want to be a mom– I feel a little too selfish with my time.  I want to write.  My novel is (at this time) my baby, and I’m scared I would resent anything that took my attention away from it.  I don’t know.  We’ll see.  I’ve learned to hold plans loosely.

But I do want to be married.  Like, yesterday.

There have been so many boys, so many crushes, through the years– I burned through them like fuel for my poetry fire.  And I don’t regret liking these men or “letting them go.”  My friend Kristin says, “When God loves you, everything is mercy.”  I am grateful to be where I am.  I trust in his holy plan, believe in his masterful timing, even if that is that I remain single forever.

But I hope I don’t.

I have areas of brokenness in my life that I want to fix before I meet someone.  Sometimes.  Sometimes, I want to meet someone who will love those broken parts and pray with me for healing.  I am glad I didn’t get married straight out of college– now I look back and realize that we were just babies then!  Working at a university, I see these students getting engaged and I think, You don’t even know who you are yet.

Maybe that’s okay.  They can learn together, grow together, change together.  But I have seen plenty of failed and/or unhappy marriages amongst people who married young.  I’m just making observations, not offering judgment.

I know I’m rambling, using this blog as a diary of sorts, which I try not to do.  Maybe it’s okay once in a while.  For this one honest, vulnerable post.

I try to never view a husband as life’s greatest gift, because I know that it’s not.  Not by far.  The gift of salvation by grace, the gift of daily knowing and loving my sweet savior– these are my life’s greatest gifts.  I remind myself that a husband is just icing on the cake I already have.  But I still want one.

Two weeks, and I will be 31.  I already have Jesus Christ, who is a more permanent lover than any I could imagine; I own my faith; I have control over my mental illness; I have a job that I love and enjoy; I don’t own a home or have a graduate degree, but I write almost every day and believe in my story, believe I have messages on my blog and in my life that speak to people.  Life is good, but sometimes I am still lonely.

And I am going to dare to say that that is okay.  I’m not sure, but I think so.

cheer up

welcome to 2013

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I wanted to find and post a poem about the start of a new year, but what actually jumped out in my mind was this, much more beautiful than any other poem I could have found for this occasion.

lamentations

 

looking back … and ahead

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2012 was a good year.

In January, I had just aside my OCD manuscript and was 50 pages into writing adult fiction about a woman who was a late discovery adoptee when I read The Fault in Our Stars by John Green.  The book walloped me in the best way possible, inspiring me to drop the LDA story and try my hand at young adult literature.  12 months later, I am head-over-heels in love with writing for this demographic– not to mention deeply in love with the characters in my book.

In February, I posted one of my most frequented links, about how medication is scary.

In March, my friend Ashley encouraged me to get serious about my blogging, and the rest is history.  I started blogging with a lot more frequency after that, trying to refine and define what exactly Lights All Around was about.  In the end, it boils down to three things: faith, creativity, and OCD.

I believe it was in April that I wrote and submitted a post for the Rage Against the Minivan blog, never guessing that it would actually be chosen and posted months and months later.

In May, I left my job in management, moving into my old role as an admission counselor only.  At the time, it was devastating to me, but in the months since, I have come to realize it was a true blessing in disguise.  I had wondered if it might, but it was hard to see past the sadness.

In June, I spent a week tucked away in an apartment above a Wisconsin garage, writing like a maniac and finishing the first draft of Truest.  It was a bad draft, but that’s what first drafts are supposed to be.  At least it was in the computer.

July, I nursed my crush on the Olympian Michael Phelps and posted a mildly scandalous short story about Adam and Eve, one of my most-commented-on posts.

In August, I read The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern, which, alongside The Fault in Our Stars, was one of the best books I read all year.  (I love that I can measure my months by the words I encountered.)

September marked the end of an era as I ventured to the University of Minnesota Medical Center to meet with my beloved psychiatrist for the final time before he retired.

In October, the International OCD Foundation flew me out to an event of theirs in Boston to read an excerpt from my OCD novel that had won an international creative expression contest.  There, I fell in love with the IOCDF.

November I decided to speak out even louder than usual about cognitive-behavioral therapy, explaining to blog readers what my life was like before and after CBT and also details of what my CBT experience was like.  I got emails from people after this, asking for even more details, even some fellow Minnesotans wondering specifically about my own therapist.

In December, I finished yet another draft of Truest while on an artist retreat I had been selected for.  I am committed to this story.  My writing group has helped and continues to help me SO MUCH with revisions, and I decided to purchase a short mentorship with a Minneapolis editor.

Which brings us to now.  And what’s ahead for me?

I have gotten into the habit of blogging, and I love it.  I will keep speaking loudly about OCD and CBT and ERP.  God has been so good and so faithful to me, and even today, when I was feeling very low, I was still able to be grateful that I have a permanent love in my savior.  I will keep reading as much as I possibly can and review the books here on my blog.  I will keep writing– because I love it, and because I crave it, and because I have to.  I will continue to meet with my brilliant writing group and start my online mentorship next month.

2012 was good.  Here’s to an amazing 2013.

20122013

Half-Mast, a brief story

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We were thrilled, the whole crowd, as we giggled and whispered and whistled outside the school that day.  It was quarter to noon on Memorial Day, one of the most exciting days of the year. The American flag, with its crowded square of 64 stars, looked as if it housed a universe on that patch of blue.  It flew at half-staff, as usual, though there was not a breath of wind to spread the banner.

Betty was the littlest of our crew.  At only five years old, she couldn’t remember why we celebrated this day—the morning or the afternoon, my favorite part.  She kept taking Mom’s face into her hands and staring into Mom’s eyes, asking wordless questions.

“C’mon, Bets,” Jakey said.  “I’m only nine, and I know why we’re here today.”

“The flag?” she asked, showing she knew more than she was saying.

“Mmm hmmm,” I said, prompting her to go on.  “What do you usually see when you look at the flag?”

“Stripes.  Stars.”

“Yes, and where does it sit on the pole?”

“Half,” she said.

“Do you know why?” I asked.

“Oh hush,” said Mom.  “We don’t need to think about that now—not now.  Not so close to noon.”

“Jakey?” I asked, ignoring her.  She was wrong—as a history buff, I knew this was the most important and best time to discuss it all.  “How well do you know your history, Jakester?  What happened on Christmas Day last year?”

He shuddered.  “That was when that man blew up the children’s hospital, right?”

“Uh huh.  And what had happened the summer before?”

Jake appeared to think for a moment.  “Was that when Los Angeles was burned to the ground by the terrorists?”

I nodded, pleased he was going to be a history guy just like his big sister.

“And what about the start of World War III?” he asked me.

“Well, that was a long time before that,” I said.  “That was way back in April of 3264.  Some of the reasons the flag flies at half-staff we can barely remember.  Supposedly, back in 2001, some terrorists attacked New York City.”

“What’s New York City again?” he asked.

Now even Mom joined in.  “Well, we’re not totally sure, but historians believe it was a large city on the east coast.  The rumor is that some planes flew into a couple towers there.  But things that far back are a little sketchy.  It’s mostly folklore by now.”

“Same with December 7th,” I admitted.  I believed the old stories about Pearl Harbor, even though most people thought it was an urban myth.

“What makes today so special?” I asked Betty.  “C’mon, you know this,” I said to her.

But then the trumpets sounded, and everyone in the crowd stood to his or her feet to watch the flag rise all the way to the top of the mast, where it would remain until midnight.  The only twelve hours of the year it stood at salute was always a fascinating event.  As it rose to the top, a wind appeared out of nowhere, unfurling the flag, and I watched it flare across the afternoon sky, feeling extremely patriotic and proud to be an American.

half mast