Kirstin Cronn-Mills

Related to the first post, yes, but worthy of its own: John Hughes managed to capture the beauty and beastliness of being a teenager better than anyone (for me) on the planet. Granted, he also captured *my* teenage years, so I identify with those poor 80s people. His films live on as some of the best explorations of 1) what it means to be a teenager, and 2) what it means to be human. If I can write a book someday that’s half as good as a John Hughes film, I’ll be happy.

My favorites, in order:
1) Ferris Bueller
2) Weird Science
3) The Breakfast Club

I realize I’m bucking the trend by not listing Breakfast Club first, but hey–Ferris has my heart, as do Wyatt and Gary (see photo above). The scene where Gary discusses his family jewels ranks right up there with “I’m On A Boat” (see the previous blog entry).

Besides that, I am raising Ferris Bueller II. And rather than dwell on how crazy *his* adolescence will be, I always try to think of the positive, namely that he’s always good for a laugh, and he is smart and clever as hell. Any day the phone call will come from the girl, saying “Hi, Shae, how’s your bod?” Then the water tower will no longer say NORTH MANKATO. It will say SAVE SHAE. And then I will have to hide.

Rest in peace, John Hughes. You did your job well.

PS: check out an early clip of someone you may recognize, currently starring as a legendary detective. Lots of current stars with small roles in these films, actually.

BEST. GIFT. EVER.

Seriously–I can watch John Hughes movies (research), or SUPERBAD (research) and take YouTube recommendations from my students (research), like “I’m On a Boat” and “Dick in A Box” (OMFG ROFLMAO), plus I can curse and wear Chuck Taylors and text (at which, for the record, I suck). Yeah, other grownups do this stuff. But do they do it for RESEARCH? For their JOB? Not likely! Ha ha. I rule.

Of course my teenage years were gross, for various reasons, just like most people’s were. The biggest legacy of that time: a perpetual view as an outsider, even though I can appear very insider-ish. More about this in another post. But it begs the question: if my own adolescence sucked, why would I want to do it again?

Because it’s BETTER this time–different people, more money, no parents, a less isolated place, and a much better mindset, because the stakes are lower. I am having SO MUCH MORE FUN. More on that later, too. I was waywaywaywayway too serious.

Plus there are fewer pimples and less boyfriend angst.
Schwing!

Okay, friends, here we go with DECEMBER! It’s my favorite month of the year–yes, weird, I know, but since when have you gotten less than weird from me? Exactly.

With the holidays rolling up to our doors, at one point or another we’ll all hear “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” either in the mall somewhere or in our homes (though in my home it’s the Bob & Doug McKenzie “Twelve Days,” which is a prime example of what I’ll be talking about this month). So, stealing the theme of twelve gifts, I decided to talk about the twelve gifts writing YA novels has brought me.

AND . . . dun dun dun . . . there will be at least one contest this month, for GIFTS you can GIVE AWAY! But I’m still plotting and scheming the contest rules.

So stay tuned: the twelve gifts of YA. They will not be beer, toques, and french toast, but they *will* be equally awesome.

(image swiped from here–I haven’t been very good at crediting my images–bad interweb hygiene!)

I am grateful for books. Duh. You were waiting for this, right?

This post could go on for days. Books give me something to do (write them), something to think about (teach them), and somewhere to go, to escape and/or hide. Books were my first friends–isn’t that sad? But they were. And still are.

Instead of rambling forever, here’s a quotation that, for me, is exactly the essence of books. JK Rowling deserves a medal for these paragraphs alone. Be glad you never had to endure a gratitude post about HP.

“Tell me one last thing,” said Harry. “Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?”

Dumbledore beamed at him, and his voice sounded loud and strong in Harry’s ears even though the bright mist was descending again, obscuring his figure.

“Of course it is happening in your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that is it not real?” (DH, 723)

I know, I know: flurry of entries at the end. Now gratitude month is over, friends, and I am sad. Next month: GIFTS. And giveaway gifts, too! Stay tuned for more nerdy, wordy craziness.

Peace out!

Today, friends, I am grateful for Sherman Alexie, because he marries the sacred and the profane better than any writer I can think of.

Sherman (I always think of him as Sherman, not Alexie) is clever, brilliant with a crowd (listen to him here, look for the words “listen to program”), funny as hell, and cute as a bug. And he writes from the center of a culture I’m always interested in, so that adds fuel to my literary crush on him. Is he always brilliant? No. Is he a great stylist? No. But the man has heart and passion to spare, and like I said up there, he has the ability to talk about the shit of the world and the beauty of the world in the same sentence, then help us understand how those two things are one and the same.

My favorite short story in the world is “What You Pawn I Will Redeem,” which he wrote, and you should read it here. So brilliant.

You should also watch this fantastic clip of Sherman reading, then answering questions about books and boners. If I had a bone, books would give me boners, too, so I totally identify.

I always admire artists whose work is so powerful I can’t stand to read/watch it. I had to do that with Smoke Signals–I had to turn it off, because the subject matter was too close to home. It took me 3 weeks to turn it back on. The cool thing about Sherman–he’ll teach you to laugh at what used to make you cry. And that, friends, is a skill worth learning.

Say it loud: I’m Nebraskan/Minnesotan and I’m proud! And I’m grateful to be a Midwesterner.

Hear that big THUD that happens when those words land in empty silence?

This post used to be a rant about those folks in publishing who have no time nor energy to waste on those who live in flyover country. I decided not to be a hater, even though I was sorely tempted, when I realized most of the publishing folks *I’ve* worked with (from everywhere) have been OK with my Midwestern-ness. Instead, let me just celebrate a few examples of Midwestern brilliance, quietly chipping away at the East Coast and/or Left Coast myths that nobody talented lives here or is from here.

Take the former poet laureate of the United States, Ted Kooser. Ted is the fucking MAN, and he is so happening and fabulous, he is from Nebraska (via Iowa), just like me. I wept, for joy and homesickness, when he was chosen. In the Minnesota creative community, either emerging from here or living here now, barely scratching the surface, we have Kate DiCamillo, Pete Docter (of Pixar) and the Coen Brothers. Some publishing personnel might think that we’re square, stupid, and backwards, but let me tell you, Midwesterners persevere, just like the wind and the fields and the sunsets.

I love New York City and California–truly, I love to visit and I love the energy–but I also love my Midwestern writing community, my Midwestern publisher (who publishes fantastic writers from everywhere), and my Midwestern life. While I don’t glitter like CA or move at the speed of light like NYC, my Midwestern cool its its own gift, handed down from the big, wide-open sky.

Strange, I know, to blog about this, but today I am grateful for passion.

It’s not necessarily a popular emotion, because it gets people into trouble (oh man, been there). But it also gets people through the tough spots, because sometimes it’s all a person has. Especially on the days when you say to yourself, “this m****rf***ing thing is a PILE OF SHIT and IT IS NOT A SPARKLY VAMPIRE and NO ONE LOVES ME!!” Those are the days you need some passionate belief in yourself.

Here’s a guy who is passionate about bending things. Love this dude.

Here are some folks who are passionate about cake. Love cake.

Here’s a family who’s passionate about hedgehogs. Do not know if I love hedgehogs, but am willing to give them a go.

The writing community is passionate about words. The ranching community is passionate about cows. Whatever communities we belong to, passion keeps us together.

I should write it with a lot of exclamation points, in caps: PASSION!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Woot!

(Do you know how hard it is to find an image for passion that is not people having (about to have) sex or crown-of-thorns Jesus?)

No, blog friends, not blood, not air, not anything so easy: the essence of life is music, and every second of every day I am grateful for music. And yes, I am prone to hyperbole (!), but I am pretty damn serious about this.

A day is not complete for me without music (or carrots and my kid’s smile). Music can change my mood, put my head back together, keep me current, and remind me of why I love my life. From my virtuoso pianist grandmother to my brother the guitarist (check him out here, in my book trailer) to my aunt & uncle with the ginormous music collection to all 3 parents, it was an everyday thing in my house. And it remains so today–in their houses along with mine. My kid can’t keep a beat nor sing a note, but he loves listening. That’s enough for me.

BEAUTIFUL MUSIC FOR UGLY CHILDREN is all about music, and I’ve started to make iMixes for Gabe’s radio shows (Gabe, the main character, wants to be a radio DJ). For Gabe, music is escape. Granted, his life requires more escaping than mine, but I totally understand the feeling.

I can’t work on a book without music, and I know I’m not alone in that thought–many authors make playlists for their books. And friends, I’d bet you also have soundtracks to your lives. Alas, my darling spouse does not, no matter how hard I’ve tried to convince him that music is essential to living. It’s a good thing he has many more redeeming qualities.

What’s on right now? “Radio,” Flo Rida. Up after that? “Radio,” the Corrs, then “The Nightfly,” Donald Fagen. Check it out: iTunes home page, then click “music,” then click (way down on the bottom right) “iMix”, then search “Gabe’s competition.” If music is your lifeblood too, I think you’ll like it.

OK, you’re going to think this is a “duh,” but today I am grateful for readers.

I am, of course, grateful *to be* a reader. My mom claims I learned to read when I was three, and books have saved me since then. As I said previously, there were times I was reading stuff I shouldn’t have been reading, for better or for worse. But books have rescued me, educated me (I had no idea what a hard-on was previous to this), and sustained me. I believe books are holy. How’s that for a huge misconception? But I don’t care.

And without readers, there wouldn’t be writers. And just maybe, somebody somewhere out there is reading my book, and enjoying it, maybe even laughing out loud (!). That’s the best part, for me: knowing that my book has been good for someone else. I loved creating it, and I love knowing someone else might love it, too.

This isn’t even scratching the surface of my gratitude for books. That’s another post. But hallelujah chunky peanut butter for readers (I stole that phrase from this guy. I told you he was influential.)

Blog friends, the gratitude is neverending, but I am out of time to come up with a post about the writing community–today I need quick and easy–so today I am grateful for mangoes and carrots. Mangoes aren’t orange on the outside, but they are on the inside.

The only bad thing about mangoes? Cutting them up. Otherwise, I am a mango girl, on a par with my carrot fetish (a day without carrots is a day without sunshine). My favorite–Mango Madness Naked juice, or a mango smoothie of any kind. Carrots–raw, every day, lunch. Period.

I am not much partial to orange, though my darling spouse looks mighty attractive in it, but these two orange foods are to die for. Yum-ola!

Back to book gratitude next time.