I'm baaaaaack.

All work and no play makes Allie a dull girl.

Geez. Nothing like word to get in the way of artistic ambition. I hung in there for a while, but grading papers and entering data and consoling dramatic children and coaching soccer really got in the way of my writing time. But with the school year winding down and a sweet new writing laptop (ASUS Transformer), I'm ready to kick this quest to get a book written into high gear.  

I thought about writing a few times but was stuck on a major plot point. I just couldn't move forward, despite thinking about it pretty frequently. I finally realized to go forward that I had to go back. My story features a mystery that takes place in the past. Mystery is great, unless the author isn't in on the secret. I realized that without knowing what led my characters to where they were, I couldn't write them with any sort of certainty. So I just started writing their story from the chronological beginning and clarity emerged. I have a much better sense of what motivates my protagonist, my villains. With one week and school left, I'm determined to keep the book firmly in mind, with the goal being first draft completion by summer's end.  

A Tense Situation

I was working on my manuscript tonight, when I realized that at some point I had switched tenses; I had been writing in present, a decision I had never consciously made, and suddenly I was living in the past.  I pulled a few books off the shelf and realized that every one of them was in past tense.  Then I read a few articles on the issue and realized that I probably should be writing in the past tense. As  Novel-Writing-Help.com puts it the most succinctly: "If you aren't sure whether to write your novel in the past tense or the present tense, or if you have no strong feelings either way, take my advice and stick with the past."  Easy, I thought.  Since I'd never really thought about it, it obviously didn't matter that much to me. I decided to go back and change the tense.

Then, I made the mistake of reading the comments at the bottom. Comments! Why have you forsaken me?!  I mean, you think I would have known better--the comment section is usually reserved exclusively for trolls and zealots.  But here, a few people reasonable and effectively argued that present tense had its place, especially in terms of creating action.   I found myself agreeing with Julie Cater: "Surely it depends on whether the character is looking back in time regardless of whether it is the narrator or the character speaking?"  My story isn't taking place in the past, so why would I use past tense?

Great.  Just when, at the positive prodding of my friend Amy, I had finally started moving forward with my plot for the first time in a while, I was stalled.  (I just realized I'm writing in past now and it feels natural!).

This night, however, I would not be thwarted like my decision making faculty in the face of a Cheesecake Factory Menu.  I decided to do as the article had in order to demonstrate the difference:  I took one passage and wrote it in both tenses.  I felt pretty smart, until I remembered that was the first assignment a sixteen-year-old student did for me when she was revising her novel last semester.  Duh.  Anyways, wheel reinvention aside, here goes:

Exhibit A--Present Tense:

“I don't know why you aren't more excited, Persis. Cousin Olympics are the best!”  Ellie, brilliant, beautiful Ellie, is clearly full of enough excitement for the both of us.

I turn to Ellie, raise an eyebrow: “Says the girl who always gets a medal.”  It's not one hundred percent true, but Ellie’s name has been stitched onto the Champion's Quilt more than any other cousin's.  

She rolls her eyes and I turn and look back out the window, watching the green, rolling scenery of Abbadon, Georgia fly by.  I have my arm out the window, allowing it to rise and plummet with the wind that's coming in hot and fast.  Even though we're both sweating through our shirts, it's a tradition of ours.  It makes the lake water feel that much better.  This stretch of Jot-Em-Down Road is my favorite.  It's the last bit before we cross the bridge to the Jennings Family Land.  The river roars by at the far edge of the valley, while alongside the road the regular afternoon downpours create an ever-changing series of pools that reflect the green of the reeds, the blue of the sky, the white of the ubiquitous clouds.  I close my eyes, enjoy the tempered, red-warmth of the sun through my lids and the smell of wet earth, the last moment's peace before...

Exhibit B--Past Tense

“I don't know why you aren't more excited, Persis. Cousin Olympics are the best!”  Ellie, brilliant, beautiful Ellie, was clearly full of enough excitement for the both of us.

I turned to Ellie, raised an eyebrow: “Says the girl who always gets a medal.”  It's not one hundred percent true, but Ellie’s name has been stitched onto the Champion's Quilt more than any other cousin's.  


She rolled her eyes and I turned and looked back out the window, watching the green, rolling scenery of Abbadon, Georgia fly by.  I had my arm out the window, allowing it to rise and plummet with the wind that was coming in hot and fast.  Even though we were both sweating through our shirts, it was a tradition of ours.  It made the lake water feel that much better.  This stretch of Jot-Em-Down Road was my favorite.  It was the last bit before we crossed the bridge to the Jennings Family Land.  The river roared by at the far edge of the valley, while alongside the road the regular afternoon downpours created an ever-changing series of pools that reflected the green of the reeds, the blue of the sky, the white of the ubiquitous clouds.  I closed my eyes, enjoying the tempered, red-warmth of the sun through my lids and the smell of wet earth, the last moment's peace before...

Well, that only helped a little.  I guess because I've been writing in present tense, that seems more right although now I can see the past tense, too.

Help!  What do you think? I guess unless you think the present tense is way better, I should go with the past, right?!  Interrobang! (That's a new phrase I'm trying to get going.  Kind of like "whaaaaa?" but hopefully not like "fetch.").

Time Mismanagement

^Be a friend:
don't let my book
end up like this^

Just finished the first week back at school. It went great. I think coming back to writing has helped re-ignite my creativity and passion. BUT...it's also majorly cutting in on my writing time. I've been stalled out moving forward with the book, and now I'm not even blogging. I think I'm just going to have to carve some time out for myself because even though it's fun, it's also hard.  My friend Michelle says that every work day, we have two jobs 1) to go to work and 2) to go to the gym. I think I'm going to have to add a 3) write something. Otherwise, I'm not going follow through on this book and end up burying it in my graveyard of unfinished projects, next to some photo albums I started for my mom seven years ago, the cross-stitched Winnie the Pooh baby blanket for a child who is now six, and my yet to be digitized vinyl collection--to name a very few. So please, check in on me, shame me, support me...whatever. Maybe I'll write you in as a genius or model or super athlete.

Writing Who You Know

A while back I told my grandparents that I was writing a book, featuring a large dysfunctional family.  They assumed it was autobiographical.  I told them, not really.  Then they read it and this call happened:

^My Paternal Grandparents^

Grandpa: "Hello, Allers?  Is that you?"

Me: "Yes, Gramps.  How are you?"

Grandma: "I'm here, too!  It's Granny! We're both on the line."

Me:  "Awesome.  What's going on?"

Gramps:  "Well, I have some good news and some bad news for you."

Me:  "Yes..."

Gramps:  "We read the first chapters of your book.  Now, I'm not going to sue."

Me:  "That's nice to hear."

Gramps:  "But your grandmother is."

Grandma:  "I guess that Board of Education really got to you, huh?"

Me:  "Uh...yea."

The conversation went on from there, with them guessing who the various cousins in the story were meant to represent in my family.  At first, I tried to deny it.  I had purposefully tried not to make too many connections because I didn't want my family psychoanalyzing my book.  After I thought about it, however, there's quite a bit of merit to their argument.

My family is large and loving but we also give each other a lot of crap.  Many have names that start with the same letter, like the Jennings Family.  My family is much taller than the national average and are generally athletic--three of my cousins have played college volleyball. I am the runt (though I'm even shorter than 5'7") and I did once play in a volleyball game with my cousins and somehow got blamed for us losing, something my Grandpa still razzes me about.  Many others played varsity sports, while others are very intelligent, participating in National Robotics Competitions or crushing their Biology studies.  Some are both (you know, like me).  And my cousin Josh is a Sasquatch, who would definitely throw me in a lake. 

But some of the story only represents partial truths. My grandmother was adopted and does have a paddle called the "Board of Education," but I don't think she's ever used it on anyone.  My grandpa was an only child and is a learned man, but while he is a gifted landscape architect, I don't think he's ever done any home-building.  My cousin Karissa, the "perfect" one, is a lot like Ellie but she's way less aggressive, studying Speech Pathology not War Philosophy.  A couple of us have tried to get Cousin Olympics going, but with my family and one cousin in Georgia and Florida and the rest in California, we haven't had the chance to all get together lately. I'm still holding out hope, even though I, like Persis, would probably place near the bottom.   

^How all twins look to me^

However, there's also so much that isn't true.  While lots of us have done well in school, we've never had a Valedictorian in the family (yet!--pressure's on kiddies!).  We don't have a Sarah--thank goodness! In fact, that's my brother's girlfriend and she's the exact opposite.  I probably gave my character that name to rile her up.  We've never had twins or triplets in the family (unless I ate a sibling or two in utero), which is good because I think they only belong in horror stories.  And so far we're only talking about my Dad's side of the family.  My mom's side is also pretty interesting (though smaller and less obnoxious), and no autobiography would be complete without mentioning my Grandpa Ron or my Grandma Chic.  

In the end, I do want to write what I know because I want my writing to feel as authentic as possible, but I don't want my family harassing me any more than they already do. And I don't want to force myself to kill the author within (a la Roland Barthes), but I do want to step outside my comfort zone, a major aim of this writing project.   I'm not sure how I'll achieve that other than to have my grandparents and some strangers as my beta readers.

So thanks, Grandma and Grandpa, for providing source material AND for making me over-think the writing process more than I already am.  And fair warning to my family and friends--cross me and you might just live forever in my literature--as an evil twin.  

A Letter to Stephanie Meyer

Dear Ms. Meyer--

If you had ever met me, you would never have guessed that I was the kind of person that would read a book like Twilight.  To be honest, in many ways I'm not.  When kids kiss in the hall, I get in their faces and yell "gross!" I forbid them to talk about prom in class.  I'm not very romantic myself.  I once got a poem from a boy and gave it back with suggestions for improvement.  And prior to Twilight, I hadn't read a Young Adult book since I was a young adult.   So how did I end up reading it?  It certainly wasn't the popularity.  When my sister-in-law tried to get me to read Fifty Shades of Gray, our conversation went like this:

Her:  Hey.  I just read FSoG, you should read it!

Me:  Absolutely Not.

Her:  Whatever.  Just read it.  You read fast.  It'll take you like a day.

Me:  Yeah, but what if I died right after I finished it and that was the last thing I did?  I'd rather die by setting myself on fire or ingesting poison-coated wolf spiders or...

Her:  I get it.  Fine. Sorry for trying to connect with you, you heartless jerk. 

So how did I end up reading your book, in the face of much derision from my fellow English teachers?  It started honorably enough.  I was doing a book club with some students.  A couple of them read Jerzy Kosinski's incredibly depressing book The Painted Bird on my recommendation.  I had warned them, but they went for it. Then, they got really, really mad at me.  I agreed to read something equally upsetting and they picked Twilight for me.  

Now this was a big deal for me because the last time I agreed to something like this, a student made me read a book called Flyy Girl by Omar Tyree. It wasn't terrible, but it was filled with so much sex I blush to think about it seven years later (and I'm HBO levels of desensitized).  I am, however, a woman of my word, so I ponied up and read Twilight, and hate to admit that I didn't hate it.  I wanted to, desperately, but I just couldn't do it. Despite what many people say, it isn't terribly written and was a good story.  Most of all, it was a lovely break from the Russian literature kick I was on.  I ended up reading all four because I have a severe case of OCSD,Obsessive-Compulsive Series Disorder.  Once I start, I can't stop.  (For instance, while I love Game of Thrones the show, the books drove me crazy.  George R.R. Martin cannot edit himself and overuses the word jape more than I leave my shoes at the bottom of the stairs and almost kill my husband. I still read the series last summer.  All 85,000 pages of them).   Anyways, I read the whole series, and liked them less with every book.  Regardless, they did get me excited about YA lit.  Even my sister-in-law supports my new habit (thanks for The Hunger Games, Aubie!).

Long story short, I kind of owe this writing project to your work (and those vindictive students), and I recently needed it again. I've finished the exposition of my book and stopped to streamline it.  I don't want to get into the habit of editing all the time, but I also don't want to have to correct habitual mistakes.  I noticed that I wasn't doing a great job at physically describing characters and my dialogue needed some work, so I decided to look back at Twilight for inspiration, and it worked.  I can't lie.  Some of the inspiration was what I don't want to do (i.e. make my character clumsy and totally dependent on her dude to save her), but plenty of it was helpful (such as how to introduce a character that the reader can picture or craft believable teenage dialogue).  

So I'm sorry.  I kind of hipstered out on you at the beginning and still want to deny that I've ever read your books and punch myself in the face for having used my precious time on earth reading that instead of Don Quixote or something. But thank you for writing your book anyways and for helping me remember that reading can be fun and for teaching me that vampires could be chaste and sparkly.  

Sincerely,

Allison KT

The Font Factor

I want to talk about fonts.  I have plenty of other things I should be doing.  Writing my book, for starters.  But I started reading Dante's Divine Comedy for some inspiration and now I have too many thoughts, especially of which circle in hell I'm going to.  I'm trying to let the ideas marinate for a while so I don't end up changing my whole story.  I have practical duties calling, too.  I just got back in town and have to do all my laundry, repack, and clean the house by tomorrow morning, because I'm going back out-of-town, and will be returning with visitors on Saturday.  Instead, I choose to embark upon a typography rant.

The rant begins with this statement:  I honestly don't hate many things, but I despise Comic Sans.  It started many years ago, when I was in graduate school, studying to be an English teacher.  While at the time I didn't know anything about serifs or ligatures, something deeply unsettled me when my peers would turn in papers with titles looking like this:  Racial Implications of Flexible Grouping. It just felt wrong.  Close your eyes and imagine your Grandma in a bikini or your Grandpa in a speedo.  Why does that feel so wrong?  No, not because "they don't have the figure for it."  What's wrong with you?  It's because they are old and deserve respect and you should give it to them. I was baffled, but some of them were going on to be middle school teachers and I even had a few professors who used it.  I let it go. For a while.

Now, I've been teaching for ten years and I am a font despot.  I include the following flowchart on my class intro Powerpoint.  When that didn't seem enough, I included the following rationale on my website:

^The only advice I feel comfortable giving^

You are never allowed to turn in any papers in Comic Sans. Why? Ethos. That's why. Unless you are trying to capture the voice of a kindergarten teacher or a seven-year-old, it's rhetorically inappropriate. And even then, it's just lazy. Instead...why not try employing Anglo-Saxon diction or a verisimilitic selection of detail? What's that you say? You're just trying to soften the blow of a harsh message? Again--lazy. That's why purposeful passive voice, inductive arrangement, periodic sentences, and euphemisms exist (just to name a few). Remember: everything's an argument, and if you use this font, the only arguments you're making are a) that you hate me and/or b) that you hate winning arguments. If neither are true, go with another font. If one or both are true...well, it's gonna be a long year :). I recommend the clean, readable Calibri or the oldie-but-goodie, Times New Roman. Or, if you're trying to make your short paper seem long, Courier (but know that I know what you're trying to do). Remember, most of the time, if a font is effective you don't notice it; you only notice the writing. Don't you deserve that attention? I think you do.

Look.  I understand if you think I'm too uptight. You don't know how right you are. In my defense on this count, however, I will point out that one of my favorite pieces ever is a monologue in which Comic Sans defends itself from people like me (check out McSweeney's if you're interested but full disclosure, it's rife with R-rated language).   I do have an understanding that this isn't the most dire issue facing society today.

Or maybe you're offended because you use it yourself.  That might be okay (although probably not), but I want to make sure you've thought it through.  Because I honestly think it can hurt your writing career.

Since I've started following different writer's groups, I've checked out many blogs and book covers. I don't think I'm superficial, but I am a voracious reader in multiple mediums, and appearance has distracted me from content more often than I'd like to admit.  This is especially true because of fonts. When I find I'm putting effort into reading a text, say because of a script-like font, I just stop.  Of course there are also positive effects of design choices.  I read the Matched series by Ally Condie and didn't really enjoy the story, especially after the first book, but I kept reading because of the covers.  I also think the Divergent series took off in large part because of the exciting covers. (Although the Goodreads media blitz didn't hurt either, I'm sure, but promotion is another topic altogether). 

Bearing this in mind, I have spent a ton of time considering how my blog looks, especially in terms of my font. I still don't think mine is great, and the first thing I would do if I made any money off of my writing or blog would be to pay someone to update it, but it's solid, readable, and represents the tenor of my writing (I hope!).  

In the end, while I don't have a lot of advice to offer to many of my fellow writers, I can tell you this:  font matters.  And while most of us can't afford professional web designers or consultants, we can easily change our fonts. So play around with them, preview them, change them around, get some feedback. Or ignore me and point out that I should probably get back to work.  Either way, you'll be doing someone some good. 

?@#&%!

Since I first told my dad to eff off when I was in fifth grade, I have enjoyed the thrill of a good curse word.  We were in the backyard, playing two v two basketball.  Playing that day were my dad (6'2"), my uncle (5'10"), and my other uncle (6'5"), all in their thirties, and me.  At 5'3", I was tall for my age, but I was nine and had only ever played soccer.  In other words, I thought I was nice for evening out the teams.  I can't remember exactly what happened, but my dad, my teammate, was getting on my case about posting up or something and I snapped "You know what, Dad?!  You can f--k off!"

Everyone stopped.  My uncles' mouths hung open and my dad's lips pressed together, his nostrils flared--the deadly combination I knew as his angriest face.  I didn't wait for a response.  I just turned and went inside, sending myself to my room.

Here's the thing though.  From my room, where I peeked down onto the half court he'd put in, all I could hear was laughter.  My dad was laughing, my uncles were still laughing, my mom and aunts had come over and they were laughing.  And I felt better, having expressed my roiling emotions with just a short pithy phrase.   I probably could have gone down and started playing again, no harm, no foul.  Instead I chose to stay inside reading the Babysitters Club book where Stacy tries to ignore her diabetes problem, wanting to eat chocolate like Claudia and the girls, for probably the 105th time.  

I've told that story to my students before and most are horrified or shocked.  They try to imagine what their mom would do, but can't find the words and just shake their heads wide-eyed.  I figure that's just the South for you.  My family, California born and bred, is more informal.  With the exception of my Grandfather--ironically the former Marine--everyone curses at some level.  My immediate family is probably the worst.  While I try not to curse at people, there's hardly anything I wouldn't say in front of my parents and brothers.  My husband's the same way.  No one bats an eye at even the most colorful language.

Therefore, when I consider the issue of whether or not I should include profanity in my book, I'm stuck.  My characters are the kind of people that would never use the "f" word, especially at another family member, but they are normal teenagers.  How do I convey a sense of realism without the occasional four letter word? It drives me nuts on Breaking Bad that amid all the mayhem, the worst they say is the occasional shit. I know, I know...it's on basic cable.  But still--they're dealing meth!

Now you might agree with those whom forswear swearing.  Class acts like Bill Cosby and George Washington have maligned it. Even Chloe Grace Moretz has weighed in, saying "I was raised to think cursing makes you look unintelligent."  There is probably a lot to be said for that.  However, I think I'm going to have to respectfully disagree and come down on the side of Mark Twain, someone I am much more likely to have ever hung out with.  He asserts that: "There ought to be a room in every house to swear in. It's dangerous to have to repress an emotion like that." Say what you want about gratuitous cursing, but as an intensifier or an expletive, dropping some Anglo-Saxon words can really take the edge off.

Chloe Moretz:  a true lady

So, here's how I plan to approach it:  there will be metaphorical rooms in my book, spaces where I let the profane creep in.  However, I will pledge to try and make sure it's purposeful.  I hope to find the right balance of authenticity and decorum.  Maybe that will help me be a little less gratuitous with the vulgarisms in my own speech.  Because eventually that shit's going to wind up biting me in the ass. 

Writing a good simile is like...

While revising my first chapter, I've been troubled by a simile I wrote.  Part of my problem is that while recently reading Desperate Characters by Paula Fox for mini-book club with my friend Dave (which was great, you should check it out), I think I found my favorite simile EVER and everything I write pales in comparison.  Here it is:

"Trying to stop her for talking is like trying to get a newspaper under a dog before it pukes!"

So I ask you?  Is that not the best simile ever?

(Yes, writing this post is a form of procrastination so I can delay coming up with a satisfactory rhetorical device of my own).

Why Am I Here?

No.  I'm not having an existential crisis (at this moment).  In fact, I feel like I have renewed purpose.  What, you ask?  Writing.  I haven't written a non-work related text since my creative writing seminars in college, and I hated those.  They were mostly filled with self-important, melodramatic jerks, myself included.  Don't believe me?  You obviously don't know me; as evidence, I provide Exhibit A, an unaltered poem I wrote in English 4800, in December of 1999:

"Every Four Years"

When everyone grew tired
of complaining about the wetbacks and jews
who were ruining their lives,
my family would make fun of Benji.

Uncle Dave was especially adept
at imitating the garbled whir of Benji's voice,
meanwhile beating his chest with curled up fingers.

The whole room would laugh,
even Aunt Eloise who had a mustache
that would put Hitler to shame.

I sat in the corner
and watched as Benji laughed
with the rest of the room.

If only I had known
that he would be dead before the next family reunion,
I might have laughed, too.

Wow.  I mean, I think there is something there, but Hitler mustache?  That's a little heavy-handed. Not to mention that clearly, although this poem was fictional, I liked to see myself as the person in the corner too good to laugh, even though I love politically incorrect shows like Workaholics, It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, and Curb Your Enthusiasm.  And don't forget the overly dramatic ending.  The sad thing?  This was my best work of the year.  In Advanced Creative Writing.  It's no wonder that, disgusted with myself, I wrote the following in my "Writer's Manifesto":  "I have realized this semester, [sic] that I have made a mistake...I am not a writer."  Of course!  Look at the comma before the 'that.' Thus, I gave up.

Yet here I am again.  So back to the original question.  Why am I here?  Simply put, it's because I need something new in my life.  I'm pretty happy teaching AP Language to the (generally) smart, hard-working students who will inevitably go on to become more successful than I.  I can't lie and say I love everything about the job, and any student I've ever taught will tell you that I am constantly threatening to quit.  Yet I haven't, and I don't want to.  I think I'm a much better teacher than I ever was a writer, and I need to support my book buying habit, my subscriptions to Amazon Prime, Netflix, and Spotify, and the occasional vacation.  I've recently started doing SAT and ACT tutoring (let me know if you're interested!) but that isn't exactly good for the soul.

The idea came to me from a friend.  I was jogging on the Greenway one day with my good friend Michelle Y.A.--discussing Twilight or some other insanely popular book-- and we were talking some serious junk.  Something along the lines of, "we could definitely do that."  (See! I'm still a self-important jerk). We were talking about the genre, you know paranormal teen romance, and brainstormed what territory remained undiscovered.  We came up with ghosts.  There are plenty of ghost stories, but we couldn't think of anything since the 1990 classic film Ghost (RIP Patrick Swayze) that went there.  We talked about co-writing it, but she had a baby, life happened, and we dropped the idea.

Until I picked it back up a couple of weeks ago.  At the beginning of every summer, as Michelle Y.A. perfectly put it, "I become unmoored."  In contrast to the hectic school year, I'm suddenly faced with more time than I know what to do with. (Yes!  I did just end a sentence with a preposition! I'm writing in English, not Latin, and it's functionally grammatical!).  I spent the beginning of June catching up on Game of Thrones, watching another season of Dr. Who, and then four straight days of True Blood.  I'm not even sure I like that show.  At my brother's suggestion, I was about to start in on Breaking Bad when I realized that if I died the next day I would feel like I might have wasted those last couple weeks.  (I had a similar sentiment about the 50 Shades of Gray trilogy.  When my sister-and-law tried to get me to read them, all I could think was "What if this is the last thing I ever read?"  I couldn't have that).

I decided to get down to business.  I went to my friend Amy's lake house to dog-sit the illustrious Hank! while she was out-of-town and did some research on ghosts (you know, by reading the Wikipedia page), pick the brains of resident lake psychologist, Marquis, and his lovely wife Suzanne, and started writing.  I ran my ideas by another friend Chau, an awesomely critical doctor (most people won't tell it like it is, but she will!), and after lying awake at night trying to resolve the central story, I had it.

I started in earnest writing a couple days ago and got going.  I realized that I didn't really know how to proceed, so I hopped onto Amazon and got a book titled The Essential Guide to Getting Your Book Published and realized I probably wasn't going to be able to just ship it off and become a millionaire, so here I am taking a break from writing, to write about writing (don't you just love all things meta?).  This blog is meant to help me reflect on writing, to get ideas from the people I know, and to make me follow through on writing this book.  I've said it out loud.  Now it's time to back it up.