Kirstin Cronn-Mills

As part of my research for my WIP, today I was graced with two hours of stories from a very kind man. He hails from a different culture than I do, so sometimes the rules for conversation are different, as are the rules for listening to elders (which he is). I went in there with my respect in place and my listening ears on. Or so I thought.

At one point, deep in my notes and scribbling along, his comment was along the lines of “you know, sometimes elders don’t allow people to take notes.”

I put my pen down.

At another point, I said, sort of as a conversation-mover but also as a truth, “Oh, I know that.” And he said “well, then what are you doing here?” I am sure I blushed bright red. He followed up that comment with, “If you want other elders to talk to you, don’t say stuff like that, or they’ll ask you the same question. Just be quiet and listen.”

I nodded and stayed quiet.

Stories from other cultures fascinate me. But I need to make rock-solid sure I’m learning them in a culturally appropriate way–appropriate to *the culture*, not me. In this case: shut up. Don’t write. Listen.

I was glad for the reminder that my way of understanding the world might actually be disrespectful. I need those lessons. Later this spring I have a big interview with a very respected, rather famous elder, and I really really really really really don’t want to screw it up. Wearing duct tape would look stupid, so I’ll imagine it–which will also be much less painful. I will probably want to take notes–desperately! But I will just listen.

Then the key part: I must REMEMBER.

Blog friends, this entry is small, but mighty: I NEED TO WRITE. I WANT TO WRITE. I MUST WRITE. Ray and Callie want me to write (they’re my protags).

Why? Aside from the obvious reasons (love it, want to make $ at it, etc.)?

NEWS FLASH: there’s a lurking ex-girlfriend. Where the hell did she come from? Why is her name Keisha? What does she look like? How did Ray get an ex-girlfriend when he seems so clueless about Callie?

All questions will be answered, I am certain, by some bus passenger in my subconscious who knows what she’s doing, though she is not me. I just drive the bus. I don’t tell it where to go.

I NEED TO WRITE. I WANT TO WRITE. I MUST WRITE.

I must grade, grade, grade. THEN WRITE.

I should be clear: the blog entry about becoming an addict was tongue in cheek. I grew up with addicts, currently know addicts, and know that life, and it’s not a path I want to take. I also know addicts with amazing recovery stories, and they have all my respect. I intended no DISrespect by suggesting that addiction was cool or fun.

In the face of all those genius works (that sell and sell and sell), addiction looks pretty good. But not really. The trail of destruction behind those literary greats may have been even greater than their genius. As for me, I have skated close enough to the edge to know addiction would be disastrous.

Just to be clear.

And PS: the photo is, if you’re not sure, the infinitely fabulous Queen of Soul Aretha Franklin in her heyday, long before her bedazzled hat at Obama’s inaugural. Didn’t her presence just say to you, “yes, folks, it’s a new day at the White House”? Love. It.

I’m doing it, friends–I’m getting back in the swing of blogging! I think I need another theme for March. That might help.

A grad school friend sent me this link to a bunch of great Life (as in Life Magazine) photos of literary friends with teensy tiny drug and alcohol problems. The dude up top (photo in the slideshow) is the wonderful addict Truman Capote, who is rocking some very cute ladies’ sandals and is famous for IN COLD BLOOD, the first non-fiction novel (written with help from his friend Harper Lee). There’s also the world’s worst photo of Stephen King, and some other gems in between. Best list of addictions: “EVERYTHING,” attached to Hunter S. Thompson’s photo.

Maybe I need to drink more. Or add opium to my list of things to spend time with on a Friday afternoon. Maybe being an addict makes a person more honest, and you call it as you see it, which is an excellent trait for a writer.

I honestly don’t think I have time in my life for an addiction, and I’m not independently wealthy. But the number of classics produced by these addicts is more than impressive, and as my friend Kristin says, there’s nothing more literary than alcoholism.

Sigh.

Hey, friends–I realize I’m fantastically late in announcing the winner of the WILL GRAYSON, WILL GRAYSON contest. All entries were awesome, of course. But the winner: ALAINN! E-mail, please, me so I can get you your book. Please also know that I’ve been so busy the book is pristine—the cover of WILL GRAYSON, WILL GRAYSON hasn’t even been cracked. Now it’s yours, Alainn. Happy reading!

So–I suck at blogging right now. Honestly, I suck at many things right now. And I’m trying something new. Instead of getting freaked out, I’m trying to stay OPEN to sucking. Why? You don’t get all blocked up and mad at yourself. You just accept your suckage, and it gets better. Well, you have to apply yourself a little bit. But it does get better.

What do I suck at lately? You name it: teaching, writing, marketing, parenting, housekeeping, the list goes on (is there a word like “spousing”? I suck at that, too). Know what I did yesterday? Put dish soap in the dishwasher. Bad result, if you like your laminate floor to remain intact. Good result if you like suds. Epic fail on my part. Not sure why I can’t read and tell the difference between bottles.

But . . . I am OPEN to it, friends. I am ALLOWING MY SUCKAGE. Is this an enormous excuse? No. Suckage still needs to be attended to. But it helps you not feel so bad if you say “wow, I suck. But I’m open to it!”

And, if I stay open, there might be possibilities out there *besides* suckage. So who knows what good things might come through the portal? You just don’t know.

Beautiful, open Erie Canal culvert photo stolen from here.

Oooh, what is it? Is it really something you want? Yes. Yes it is.

It’s an ARC of WILL GRAYSON, WILL GRAYSON, John Green and David Levithan’s latest, which comes out in April.

Would you like it to be yours?

Then think like Gabe, my music wonk protagonist.

And post (in the comments, of course) the song you feel is The Best Song of The Entire/Your Universe, plus WHY. It’s the “why” part that will get me interested–I like a good justification. Doesn’t have to be a song I know (I can investigate), and it doesn’t even have to be musically astute (ever heard Tom T. Hall’s “I Love”? Corny as hell, but it makes me smile every time). It just has to be perfect to *you*.

Ready? Go. Contest open until 11:59 on Monday, Feb 8.

Can’t wait to see what you choose!

As you are most likely aware, if you are a literary peep of any description and/or you read/watch the news, J.D. Salinger has died. An obit here, and funny/serious commentary from the Onion here. Somewhere in the blogosphere, someone said he and Holden C. captured the idea of “teenagers under siege.” That teenage feeling is still very clear to me–everybody just GET THE F*CK OUT OF MY FACE–and I still stumble over it today (oops–loner self showing through). And he captured it distinctly. Like someone else in the blogosphere said, we wouldn’t have The Breakfast Club (yay John Hughes) without J.D. Salinger. I can’t say I love Catcher In The Rye, though I haven’t read it for years. But I love the sentiment. And I still don’t like phonies.

So thanks, reclusive dude: directly or indirectly, you made edgy realistic YA possible. You made Morgan possible. One last thing: Holden spells “crummy” as “crumby.” I am amused to no end every time I read that word.

I promise to be a better blogger from now on. I had nothing to say for a while, and who wants to read a writer with nothing to say?

When I think about my writing career, I want it to be like this photo: heading forward, not jumping the track, maybe picking up goods along the way, with a great whistle to comfort me(seriously, I love train whistles). Steady and sure, I’d just chug along (bonus points if I was a steam engine and could really chug!).

But it’s really more like this.

Fun maybe once a summer. Otherwise you throw up a lot.

But then I saw one of these today. And it’s still January!

So then I felt hopeful.

And then I saw this dude (he’s a mountain goat, I know he’s hard to see), on top of a truck that belongs to the crew blowing up the mountain at the Crazy Horse Memorial.

And I laughed my ass off.

Now I’m going to try to catch my train, even though I know I’m still on the rollercoaster. Maybe I could ask the mountain goat to help me. He seems pretty determined.

OK, my friends, this is why I love teenage boys: boredom + video camera = fun that gets over 100,000 hits on YouTube.

If you haven’t already seen it, see it. Major props to Afternoon D Light Studios! Read more here. And if you want to see their first hit, it’s here.

Big trees will inspire you . . . put your mittens in the air!

See this photo? Don’t you love it? I do. It’s a bit hard to see, but the lovely tattooed knuckles say BOOK WORM. Full disclosure: this is my agent Amy Tipton (woo hoo for me for having such a killer agent!). And the guy who took the photo–Ed Glazar–has the chance to win serious swag and some recognition for his work. Since I think it’s important for artists to help other artists (no matter what medium they work in), here’s my plea: go vote for Ed’s portfolio in this contest. You vote by clicking the stars at the lower left, where it says “rate this portfolio.” Also check out his page here. I am a sucker for good photography (when I wish for visual art talent, I wish for a photographic eye), so it’s not hard for me to give him 5 stars.

Do your part for artists today! Especially those of us who work our day jobs and wish we could be full-time artists (which is about 95% of us, if not 99%). Not that I don’t love you, Day Job, because I do. I really do. But you suck my brain out through your bendy straw (you zombie you), and I don’t have anything left for the night job. Ed might have the same problem, so help him out.

Thanks.