Dare You To Move

In Maine, there is a certain tradition that drives me absolutely batshit crazy.

And this tradition is when people from Maine go to a warmer spot for Christmas.

I just can't understand it, no matter how hard I try. I just can't wrap my head around it. To me, Christmas is primarily a celebration of Jesus' birth, sure, but it is also about sitting in a nice, warm home, listening to Christmas carols, looking out the window Christmas morning to find snow, and bundling up in warm clothes to open presents. I associate Christmas with snow, a downy blanket that covers every tree. I associate Christmas with hot chocolate, sipping it slowly to savor the warmth that is in such sharp contrast with the weather outside. I associate Christmas with bundling up in my coat to go to my maternal grandmother's house, the weight of an warm apple pie or a bag of presents firmly held on my lap.

I distinctly remember a Christmas years past, when we were coming back from my Nana's house. It had been snowing for a while when we were opening presents, and it was just getting into the blizzard stage when we made our way home. I was probably around seven or eight at the time, because my niece and nephew were not yet part of the celebrations up in Maine. The thing I remember most about that Christmas was the way the snow would swirl in front of the blackened front window, one moment seeming like it would come right through the windshield and hit me in the face with cold and wet, the next falling down gently, like it was in no hurry. It seemed like it would snow for ages, coating the earth with white.

And that is the only thing I remember about that Christmas. I don't remember the presents, I don't remember the food, I don't remember the conversations we had. All I remember is the snow. All I remember is that wonder I felt when the snow was falling down, and how it seemed so pure and perfect -- so very Christmas (and Christ!) like.

That is why I can't imagine not having a Christmas in Maine, where there is at least the possibility of snow. The idea of having Christmas somewhere warm, like Florida or the Cayman Islands, is foreign to me, because Christmas and snow are so intrinsically locked together in my mind that I can't see it any other way. I can't imagine ever having a Christmas where it wasn't at least cold, where it didn't feel like winter.

Christmas needs snow, just like snow needs to come near Christmas or I get sick of it.

Am I the only one who feels this way? Does anyone else need to have snow or it just doesn't feel like Christmas? Also, what other Christmas (or other holiday) traditions can you just not understand? I'm sure we all have one. :)

So this is my first time begging this season, but I feel it's warranted. :)

My entry this week was not my best, and understandably, I am right at the bottom. One vote either way could either keep me in by the skin of my teeth or kick me off the island, so to speak, so please, if you could, go here and drop a vote for me? I would be forever grateful and I am going to make sure I don't have such a terrible week next time!

Thanks so much to those who have already voted for me!

Last year, one of my extracurricular activities involved being part of a small, three to four person book club. Run by our local Youthlinks, the club centered primarily on reading banned books. On the first day of the club, we received a list of all banned books, which included such classics like The Catcher in the Rye and Lolita. We were each instructed to pick five of the books we wanted to read during the six week period, and then we would decide on the two or three we would actually be reading.

Our first book was The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck. Heather* and I had both wanted to read that book for quite a while, but neither of us had gotten around to it, so it was exciting for us. We got to read a book that we had heard so much about. We knew about the controversy surrounding it, how the Californians had wanted to ban the book because they felt it portrayed the people of that time in an unsavory light. We knew about the Dust Bowl, the Okies, and how they had struggled each and every day for a way to survive. We knew the Okies were a fleeing people, and we knew the Californians were just ready to catch them and beat them down once again. I thought maybe it would have been better if they had stayed in Kansas or Texas or Oklahoma, because at least then they wouldn't get their hopes up about the chance for a better life.

So we started reading it. It was slow going at first -- I couldn't get used to the dialect, and I got distracted by the ragged copy of the book I had received -- but once I got into it, I really got into it. I got caught up in the story of the Joads and their struggle to survive. I felt their pain, empathized with their struggle, and found myself enjoying the book. Although there was one thing I could not understand.

Why in the world was the book banned?

Sure, it did not portray the residents of California in the most savory light, but why would it? Everyone alive during that time knew what was going on. There are numerous historical accounts, both written and spoken, that express the same thing that The Grapes of Wrath does. After the book came out, there was an overwhelming agreement with what Steinbeck spoke. The ending scene of the book was also questionable, but it was by no means graphic. Nothing in the book was graphic. Instead, it seemed like an honest portrayal of the time back then. It was full of heart, with a good Christian message.

So why in the world was it banned?

Because a group of people claimed that it bore false witness. They claimed that it did not speak the truth as it was, and instead demonized a particular group of people -- when we know now that their belief is anything but true.

My view is that it is not the book that bears false witness, but rather it is the people trying to ban it that bear false witness. The Grapes of Wrath expressed the struggle that the Okies felt and expressed it in an honest way that did not attempt to sugarcoat the truth. It exposed the world as it really was back then, and I'm positive it was even worse for other families.

This goes for all other banned books.

We recently read The Catcher in the Rye in school. While I could see people banning this book for its language and content (specifically the scene in which Holden hires that prostitute), a good message is present. It exposes the phoniness of the world today, shows how people try so hard to fit in with society, to grow up and be an adult. It tells us that people are different, and that by having a different face for everyone we come across, we are being hypocrites. Holden bemoans the phoniness in his life, but he is phony himself. The book exposes the hypocrisy and the phoniness in today's society -- but people cannot see that because they do not look beyond the swears.

As a writer, I go to books to escape to a different world and uncover some truth that I might not have known about. I go to books to see the world as it really is, without the rose-colored glasses that I so often wear. I go to discover a section of culture that I did not know about before. I go to learn about life.

But I ask: How can I learn about life -- how can anyone learn about life -- if there are books we cannot read?

I strongly believe that each banned book has something we need to know, something that we need to understand. Take Lolita as a prime example. It is a heinous book, full of terrible viewpoints and a truly villainous main character, but do people really believe that there are not people like that in today's society? Because I know there are, and by banning the book, it is like sticking your fingers in your ears and singing "lalalalala" whenever something bad happens.

So often, life is sugarcoated. People like to think that nothing bad ever happens, so they can exist in their own little bubble. But bad things do happen, and saying anything contrary to that is bearing false witness and omitting details people don't enjoy thinking about. By not allowing teenagers especially to learn about life as it truly is, how do they expect us to grow up to be upstanding members of society? If we do not learn now about what life is like, then we can't expect to know what to do when we get thrust into the world at large, where people do starve, people are pedophiles, people are phony assholes.

Books are often a window into the souls of the unsavory, a portal to the dark things we do not want to know or think about.

But if we do not think of them, we exist in a bubble.

And eventually that bubble will be popped, you know, so better sooner than later, in the comfort of your own home.

*Name changed for protection purposes.

--

This is my entry for week 5 of therealljidol. Thanks go to Writer's Block for giving me inspiration for this topic; otherwise, mine would be quite cliched!

The weeks leading up to November 3 were conflicting ones for me.

Wherever I looked, I could see Yes on 1 and No on 1 signs peppering the green lawns with yellow, white, and more green. As the vote grew closer, I could hear more people talking, and depending on where I was, the opinions differed widely. At church, everyone seemed to be pushing for a "Yes on 1," but everywhere else, on TV and in school, on news websites and LiveJournal, seemed to be pushing for "No on 1."

On my Facebook, the majority of the people are Democrats. Every day, I see several people join the "Gay Equality for Maine" groups and yet, at the same time, there are quite a few people who are Republicans. Most notably, my sister, my brother-in-law, and the people I know from church often get into debates via comment threads about whether or not gay marriage should be legalized, culminating in an end result wherein both parties end up hurt and upset.

During those few weeks after the intense furor started, I kept my head down. I did feel a slight twisty feeling in my gut whenever I saw one of those "Yes on 1: Stand for Marriage Maine" signs or when I heard my pastor talking about how we had to go out and vote for what we felt was right, but I did not mention it. I started growing more anxious as the elections grew closer, and I found myself asking my father what he thought the results would be.

He thought the results would turn out exactly as they did -- and I felt an even twistier feeling in my gut when he said that. I just nodded and didn't say a thing, although I almost wanted to.

And so November 3rd came around. I was anxious, nervous. I saw my best friend's sister join two events: "Wear red if Maine votes No on 1" and "Wear black if Maine votes Yes on 1." I hovered my cursor over the "RSVP to Event" button, but I ended up not clicking on it. Not because I didn't want to, but because I didn't have a black top to wear. It seems a petty reason, but otherwise I would have clicked it with little hesitation.

There was less conversation in school about the election that day than I thought there would be. I thought there would be a huge uproar, teachers talking about it left and right, students talking about it all through lunch, but it was surprisingly quiet. In fact, I was surprised when I seemed like the only one nervous about it, although I was sure I was not the only one. I found myself waiting for nine o'clock to arrive, when the votes would start being tallied. I brought up numerous vote-tracking websites, finished all my homework, and then perched myself in front of my computer to wait.

I waited.

And waited.

Imagine my shock when I started getting excited about the results when I checked around 9:30 PM and No on 1 was winning by quite a big percentage. And imagine my shock when I realized I was disappointed when I woke up the following morning to find out that Yes on 1 had won.

This is coming from the girl who, no more than a year ago, was about as conservative as a person could possibly get. I was the girl who stuck her head up her arse just a few months ago when I learned that same-sex marriage was legalized in Maine. This is coming from the girl who grew up in a family where everyone either would have or did vote Yes on 1.

I never expected it, but I have grown up. I have realized that everyone deserves the same rights. I have realized that everyone deserves the chance to see their loved one in the hospital. I have realized that every partner, straight or gay, should have first rights if their partner has died. I have realized that, although I believe that love is not the best support for gay marriage (because love does wear off in most cases), I believe that rights are. And there are intrinsic rights involved in marriage that I believe everyone should receive.

So one fact remains, a fact that I have just learned about myself.

If No on 1 had won, if gay marriage was legalized...

I would have smiled -- and worn more red than a person would believe a girl could own.

--

This entry was written for week 3 of therealljidol. I took a risk this week, but I'm happy with this entry!

Humble beginnings.

Is that not where most people say the best stories start? With the girl (or boy) coming from the family with nothing except the love they hold for each other in their hearts. The girl (or boy) goes headfirst into whatever is required of them, because they know it is the right thing to do. They know that they have a chance to make something of themselves, to give themselves a name, to show the world that they are not just the same as the cookie-cutter people around them.

I am that girl.

My family is traditionally Baptist. Every member of my immediate family is a Christian, although the eldest has strayed a bit. My mother and my father taught us to love and trust in both ourselves and in God, and my sister has taught me so much about life. My family has not always had the most money in the world, and in fact there were some years when I wasn't sure we would even have a Christmas. Just a year ago, we had to struggle just to have one real meal in a day, not counting school meals.

Regardless, my family has always urged us to pursue our dreams.

A framed photograph of my father's has the following inscription on it:

"A dream fulfilled is a tree of life." Proverbs 13:12

Whenever I look at the photograph, I remember every ache, every itch, in my body that is telling me to write, to get my words down on paper. I remember the way I was inspired to write my very first story that I never finished, and the way I got so angry with my brother when he "accidentally" wrote over it with something else. When I was 9, I wrote my first Harry Potter fanfiction, and it is so horrible that it makes me cringe to think about, and yet I love that little story because without it, I would not be the writer I am today -- not even halfway close.

I remember the joy I feel whenever my fingers fly across the keys and I feel words, sentences, paragraphs, chapters and stories coming together. I remember sitting with my dad in restaurants and brainstorming, and then sitting in a coffee shop with my best friend, figuring out the nuts and bolts of a novel that I believe has bestseller potential. I see myself as an author, of holding that one book in my hand, and feeling that heady rush --

-- and then I am reminded of how far away I am.

Except I know that it does not matter how far away I am.

All that matters is that I keep trying. All that matters is that I don't give up on NaNoWriMo this year, because the feeling is unlike anything else in the world. It is an uphill battle, trying to keep myself going, and sometimes it feels like I am going up and succeeding in my dreams when I am really going uphill the wrong way. I end up trying to make my writing perfect, which is impossible on a first draft. That's something I have to realize.

And I do.

Writing piles of crap is sometimes the only way to go about things, just as trudging up a steep mountain to get to the top is the only way you can see where you really are. And if you go about it with nothing but the fluff inside your brain and your birthday suit, then I'm willing to make a fool of myself. There is nothing more humbling than realizing that you can't go about anything, let alone writing, with extra baggage weighing you down and making you try to be perfect so that you do not mess up again.

Being overly cautious is often unhelpful. Just like you can't go up a mountain with a hundred pounds of gear, you can't go into your writing with a ton of baggage and no place to put it. Sometimes you just need to put everything away and let yourself go. Sometimes you need to remember your own humble beginnings, remember where you came from, and know that sometimes it is better to just be free to run up that mountain.

So why not run up the mountain stark naked, screaming with pure joy?

--

This entry was written for therealljidol. Hopefully you will vote to keep me in. I had a lot of trouble with this entry, but I'm fairly happy with what I came up with. Hopefully it's enough to pull me through. :)

I go through cycles.

It all starts when I am at my lowest point. I find myself not being interested in anything. Schoolwork is boring, TV is routine and monotonous, reading is uninteresting, and writing? Well, my logic is that if I don't have any inspiration, then I'll have nothing to write about, so why bother? And my faith? Psh. That's on hold.

After a few weeks (sometimes even months) of this, I end up getting fed up with myself. I glance at my schoolwork and see a small spark of something ignite, and I wonder if perhaps there's more to this pile of bull my teachers give me. I read an amazing book review, and think that I might want to read that book sometime. And I stare at an empty word document, feeling the words roar up inside me, growing louder and louder, but my fingers just remain stationary on the keys.

That is when the magic happens -- when something occurs and makes the passion flare back into my life. It might be an interesting homework assignment, an original TV show, or an idea that makes me want to race to my computer and start writing as soon as possible. It might be a lesson my sister or brother-in-law teaches us in youth group, when I feel so guilty for being lukewarm and not going out there, being the person I feel God wants me to be.

When I get to this point, it feels as though nothing can get me down. I am happier, more excited, feeling that nothing in the world can possibly bring me down if I have a good book by my side or my fingers on the keys, flying across them faster than I believed possible. My sister and brother-in-law comment, noticing how I am getting out and doing more things. I force my father to listen through endless tirades about my dream of being published or my gushing about that fantasic television show I am watching at that moment.

Yet, deep down, I realize that this phase will not last.

And it doesn't.

Everything starts turning routine, no matter how exciting my habits were at the beginning. I find myself bored with the story I'm writing. I finish the book I'm reading and can't get into the next one, no matter how hard I try. School is boring and embarrassing in turns, and I fall behind in reading my Bible. My sister and brother-in-law ask me to do something, and my answer is: "I don't know. Maybe next time." My father and my brother ask me if I have started writing my original novel yet, and I say, "Not yet. Maybe next month or the beginning of next year."

I promise my sister and brother-in-law that I will be active. I will change, I promise. I do mean it too, when I say it. I see the friendships other teenagers my age have, and I am jealous. I feel like the outsider, like Charlie Chaplin's character in Gold Rush, who just didn't fit in with the rest of the population. So I make a vow to get out there and make friends. I will talk to people. I will be nicer, and speak up in class. I will ask if I could be on the praise team at my church. I will audition for the school's spring play, I will be the lead character in the skit we will be doing in youth group.

The only problem is that I never end up doing any of it.

I am dedicated to starting anew. I am determined to become the person inside of me that is trying to come out (pardon the cliche). I want to take risks, but in the end, I never do. I say I will, and then I end up procrastinating. I say "I'll do it tomorrow" and "Not this time, maybe next time." I say I'll go out and do things tomorrow. I promise that I'll read my Bible tomorrow, or that I'll stop baiting my brother next week.

But I don't. I end up maybe doing good things for a while -- reading my Bible, reading amazing books, writing until my heart's full to bursting -- but it never lasts.

And I'm left with a handful of empty gestures.

So.

I accidentally spilled something on my school laptop about two or three weeks ago. Up until now, it has been working perfectly fine, but yesterday, when I went to type something, I realized that the p and the 0 keys did not work. I thought that was the only issue, but I restarted the computer to see if that would help, and apparently my start button does not work either.

Okay, so I am freaking out.

This is my school laptop, and I don't want to know what they will say when they find out I've ruined it. Is there ANYTHING you guys could think of to do in order to fix it?

NaNoWriMo is starting again in a month, and I have absolutely no idea what to write about.

I am definitely doing it this year, although I will need to have more structure to my schedule in October/November to make it work. My Bio teacher had the idea of making a spreadsheet, laying out every half hour interval and scheduling in stuff like homework, etc. That way, I can move things around and make sure I don't procrastinate. I can do my homework for an hour, say, do something fun for a half hour, then do my homework, do something fun, and on and on. Schedule in some eating time and TV and bam, I'm good.

That will help me structure November, that's for sure. I'll probably get around to building one of those spreadsheets by the weekend.

However, I have no ideas what to write about for NaNo this year. I'm toying with the idea of a Greek-style original novel, but that idea doesn't really appeal to me because I would never be able to pull off something as awesome as Greek, my new favorite TV show. Other than that, I have no ideas. I might do something that's fantasy, I might do a romance, I might do something sci-fi-y, something realistic, pretty much anything. I might even go into it with nothing but my new brand-new Mini laptop, but that idea is not appealing to me.

Does anyone have any ideas? Give me a character, a line, a phrase, something you like in fiction, something you don't, and maybe that will jog my creative impulses.

Regardless, I can't wait! NaNo is always so much fun! And this is my fourth year running! Let's make it four for four, shall we?