So our Flashback Friday post is up on the GotYA homepage. This week’s topic is Songs that Take Us Back, and there might even be, cough, singing.
I had a really hard time choosing just one song for this because I was hugely into music in my teens, and believe it or not, there was a ton of great stuff to pick from (thank you, KROQ). Honorable mentions include songs by Guns n’ Roses, the Beastie Boys, General Public, and the Cult (Love Removal Machine, for the win!) ((Plus, OMG, all that fab music by New Order, Pet Shop Boys, the Cure, the Smiths, etc).
But this next song is really the one that takes me straight back to my teen years like a musical time machine (not to be confused with a hot tub time machine, although, hey–that took them back to the ’80′s, too, right?) I mean, how can you not love lyrics that talk about candy, diamonds and pills? Um.
Okay, wake up, stretch, grab some caffeine. And prepare yourself. The day has come to FLAUNT YOUR AWESOME.
You heard me. An AWESOME AWer (thank you, Parametric!) directed me to this post by Karen Healey, which really hit home. How many times have you brushed off a compliment? Made a self-deprecating joke so you don’t come across as cocky? Worried that people would think you were arrogant if you admitted that DAMN! You look HAWT tonight? Or that you wrote an AMAZING book? Or were a FANTASTIC mom/girlfriend/daughter/friend?
Well, it’s time to stop! Our society talks a lot about low self-esteem in our children—girls, especially—and yet, it some ways, it’s way more acceptable to exude low self-esteem than confidence. Again, this seems especially true for girls. Girls get conditioned to worry about being seen as bitchy, stuck-up, even unfeminine if they admit to feeling, well, awesome. We all have times when we worry about flaunting our awesome. It needs to stop.
NOW.
I’m not saying run around telling everyone in the world you’re
better than them, not at all. Flaunting your awesome isn’t a contest, it’s not a competition. Rather, it’s a way to own your awesome abilities or traits and darn it, feel GOOD about them for a change. Send a positive message to the girls around you by saying, Hey! I’m awesome and I know it! We don’t have to hem and haw and blush and put ourselves down, just because we worry what other people will think.
So, to continue Karen’s great tradition, let’s all ‘fess up to our awesome. Right here. Right now.
I’ll even start (and trust me, as the queen of self-deprecation, this was quite a challenge for me at first. So if I can do it, I KNOW you can).
I’m awesome because I finished a book and didn’t give up until I found an agent who appreciated my awesomeness. I’m awesome because I found an awesome husband who supports my writing 150%, and helped me make two awesome kids (er, well—you know what I mean).
Finally, I’m awesome because in writing this post, I’m helping others find and acknowledge THEIR awesome.
So, now it’s your turn to flaunt your awesome. Tell us all in the comments—why are you AWESOME? (and you KNOW you are!)
Just a little snippet I wrote a few minutes ago! Hope you enjoy!
“Taylor? Hey hon, how was your day?”
I pause, stare at the ceiling. Wonder briefly what she’d say if I told her the truth—that I’d had an epic sized freak-out in English, purposely shunned everyone at lunch, and told the only semi-decent guy I’d met in ages to fuck off. But that would ruin the whole façade of how well our family is coping with everything. I mean, God forbid Mom ever admit that her life might be less than perfect.
I toss a believable smile over my shoulder. Thanks to Mom, I’ve been a pro at faking them for years. “Oh, it was great.”
“Did you make any new friends? Join any clubs?”
“I’m still…scoping things out.”
“Well…just don’t wait too long.”
Worry lines distort the skin over her nose, and I feel a pang of regret. I shouldn’t be so hard on her. I know she loves me. She tries, anyway. It’s just that she mistakes being overly involved in the details of my social life for some crazy deep bond. But I can’t share important stuff. I can’t. Talking, really talking, would mean admitting there’s a problem in the first place. And if we had a family motto? It would totally be: ignore it until it goes away.
Relief strips the tightness from my chest once the door to my room clicks shut. I kick off my shoes and burrow into my bed. Finally relax in the peace that comes from not playing a role.
When I’m by myself it’s like I’m shedding a fake skin, sloughing off the pretense of being okay until it crumples into shriveled little pieces all around me. My down comforter doesn’t give a damn if I’m something less than perfect. Flawed.
So, as a writer, do you ever find yourself feeling like this?
It's not easy being green!
No, I’m not talking about feeling like you have ears the size of small trumpets, or a neck that could support a Hummer. I’m taking about feeling green.
If so, don’t worry. You’re not alone. The truth is, writers envy other writers. Often.
Think about it. Most of us are striving for the same goals, and no matter how successful we are, someone is going to reach those goals before us. It’s inevitable. And, OMG, then we worry.
I mean, be honest. Have you ever had one of the following thoughts?
Well, if Writer FancyPants got SuperAwesomeAgent X, does that mean there’s no spot left for ME?
Prolific Proser finished that novel in two weeks, and yet I’ve been slogging away at mine for decades!
Writer LovelyWords wrote a first draft full of such gorgeous, luscious prose, it makes my first draft read like it was penned by a dyslexic donkey!
Then there’s the post-agent envy. That green pang that strikes every time someone you know snags a one, two, three-book deal while you’re twiddling your thumbs on sub, wondering if the editors are using your manuscript as a giant coaster—for the champagne they’re drinking while celebrating the acquisition of THAT OTHER book. Or when so and so gets more marketing money, a better cover, superior book store real estate. The list goes on and on and on.
Guess what? It’s OKAY to be a little envious. It’s a natural human reaction, and initially coveting someone else’s success doesn’t make you a bad person. Really.
That said, there comes a time when the coveting goes too far. I’m all about accepting your envy, only—don’t let it take you to the Bad Place. You know the one. That’s where you go when you start mumbling stuff like, “Oh, Author BigHugeDeal ONLY got that sweet contract because they were in the right place at the right time.” Or, “Author I’veGotARockstarAgent ONLY got signed because he/she had the right connections.”
Uh-uh. Not cool. Remember—99.0% of the writers who get ahead do so because of hard work, skill, and persistence. So while it’s okay to feel that envy, you need to throw up an inner roadblock. Do NOT drag Author HotSHot to your Bad Place. That’s where your insecurities live, and the only person who can deal with those is YOU. Because if you don’t believe in yourself, really—why would anyone else?
So, instead of a visit to the BP, I’ve made up a little list of helpful hints to keep that really negative type of envy in check:
-Chow down on chocolate. That stuff is FULL of endorphins—embrace it. Plus, if you eat a ton of it, you’ll be too busy trying to get that extra five pounds off to worry about what WonderWriter is doing.
-Buy a killer new pair of shoes. Hey, Author Amazing might have had SqueeWorthy Agent offer five minutes after sending out a full, but YOU’VE got the hot footwear—and your toes/ankles/calves are smoking in those suckers!
-Watch your favorite movie. Then, think about envying your favorite actor or actress instead. Chances are, they’re way more successful than Author FabuFreakingLicious is ever going to be.
-Make a list of awesome skills you have that SpectacularScribbler doesn’t share. Like, the ability to pick up small objects with your toes, or execute a perfect rendition of the Running Man. Or the very crucial talent of shot-gunning a beer in under ten seconds.
In all seriousness, though, the best thing? Let yourself experience the envy without beating yourself up about it. Then, after you’ve embraced your inner green self—get over it. Move on. Realize everyone has their highs and lows, and learn to appreciate your own strengths. And, if it makes you feel any better, know this—there’s probably another writer out there right this very minute who’s envious of YOU.
(P.S. What honestly works for me? Getting really, really excited for the writer in question. I find it’s almost impossible to be ecstatic for someone else and still harbor seriously negative emotions. Plus, squeeing on other people’s behalves? IT’S FUN—and kills free-radicals!!!!)**
**Note: this claim has not been substantiated by medical science. In other words—you’ll just have to take houndrat’s word for it. Sparkle Out.
Wow, I can actually sum this one up in two words: John Hughes. Done, see you next week!
Okay, okay, so maybe I could write a little more. Like how Mr. Hughes captured all the angst, excitement, fear and fun of high school and being a teen—meshed the outlandish with the real. But since I’m feeling lazy, I think I’ll just throw some of my favorite quotes at you instead.
Sixteen Candles:
Oh Sexy American Girlfriend!
No more yankee my wankee—the Donger need FOOD!
Grandma: Fred, she’s gotten her boobies! Oh, and they’re so perky!
I mean, would high school have been the same without Long Duk Dong? I think not. (Amusing fact: every single one of my friends was convinced Jake Ryan was a double for this swimmer at our school, Mark Vahradian, who now works in the film industry. Mark, if you’re out there–hi!)
The Breakfast Club:
Beeennnnddderrrrr.....!!!!!!
Vernon: What if your family…what if your home…what if your dope was on fire?
Bender: Impossible, sir. It’s in Johnson’s underwear.
Bender: Come on, Sporto, level with me. Did you slip her the hot beef injection?
Bender: Screws just fall out all the time—the world is an imperfect place.
Bender: Why does Andrew get to get up? If he gets up, we’ll all get up! It will be ANARCHY!
(Yeah, so I totally had a thing for Bender/Judd Nelson when I was a teen. I think it was the glove.)
Pretty in Pink:
Look, you can wear a heinous prom dress and still get all the guys!
Duckie: May I admire you again today?
Duckie: What’s this? We don’t have a candy machine in the boys’ room!
Stefan: That girl was, is, and always will be, nada.
(It must be noted that Pretty in Pink had one of the best soundtracks EVAH! Love New Order…especially Shellshock, and then Elegia playing before the big locker confrontation scene–awesome!. Also, I had a teensy little infatuation with James Spader. Does Less Than Zero count as a teen movie? ‘Cuz I loved that one, too–Spader made a perfect douchebag. I bet here’s a movie he starred in during the 80’s that you never watched, though:
Wow, this is a bad title....
Plus, apparently I wasn’t the only one with a Spader obsession:
Although it’s not a John Hughes film, and a little past my teen years, I have to give a shout-out to Ten Thing I Hate About You, anyway. It’s one of my most fave teen movies ever (RIP, Heath Ledger)
I miss her table dancing...
Patrick: It’s not every day you find a girl who’ll flash someone to get you out of detention.
Kat: I still maintain that he kicked himself in the balls.
Teacher: Now. I know Shakespeare’s a dead white guy, but he knows his shit, so we can overlook that.
Mr. Stratford: And I’ll get to sleep at night. The deep slumber of a father whose daughters aren’t out being impregnated.
Mr. Stratford: This morning I delivered a set of twins to a 15 year old girl. You know what she said to me?
Bianca: I’m a crack whore who should have made her sleazy boyfriend wear a condom?
Mr. Stratford: No. She said “I should have listened to my father.”
Bianca: She did not.
Mr. Stratford: No, but she would have if she wasn’t so doped up.
Again, not a John Hughes flick, but probably one of my favorite all-time lines (and if you know me, you’ve heard me quote this and perform some random stunt to go with it, way, way too many times) is from Real Genius:
Val Kilmer: You may be smarter than me, but can you do this?
There’s so many more: Dirty Dancing (No one puts Baby in the corner!), The Lost Boys (back when vampires were still SCARY!), Top Gun (I feel the need, the need for speed!), Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (my swimmer friends and I actually serenaded the employees at Disneyland with our stunning rendition of Twist and Shout), Clueless (Do you prefer fashion victim or ensembly challenged?), 9 and 1/2 Weeks (wait–you’re saying that WASN’T a teen movie?), too many to name. In fact, I think I feel the need for a teen movie marathon coming on…..
So, over on our new group blog GotYA, we’re starting an end-of-the-week tradition: Flashback Fridays. It gives us a chance to reminisce about things we loved during our formative years (and for the super young uns, those are occurring RIGHT NOW! This very minute! Yes, some of you are FORMING as we speak! Um….) and then blog about it! Please, we’d love to have you join us! We’ll be blabbing about everything from music to fashion to books to prom (plus, YAY—no more scratching your head for topics on Fridays if you don’t want to, because we’ll provide them for you! We’re cool like that.)
And the first ever Flashback Friday topic is…drum roll, please… books we grew up with. I could bore you for months with my love affair with the entire Black Stallion series by Walter Farley, or the plethora of dog stories that used to steal all the space in my room (like Big Red and Lion Hound—hey, how ironic is that? Have you SEEN the giant lion hounds that take up the bed in my room nowadays? They put the books to shame in space-hogging ability!)
?
Wait, that's not an Irish Setter.
Um, wait. That’s not the Big Red I remember.
Anyway, if it had an animal, I read it in grade school. I also read my sister’s Wrinkle in Time series ad nauseam. That giant thing with eyes and feathers was kind of like an animal, right?
Do you think I can leash walk it?
By high school, I’d moved on to beasts of the two-legged variety. I gobbled down the romances I stole from my mom’s closet—the more sordid the cover, the better—but honestly, all of the bodice-ripping, alpha males kind of ran together in my mind. Plus, I think the sex scenes traumatized me. I mean, reading Skye O’ Malley at age fourteen? MEEP!
The two books that really stand out from my high school years are: Fletch by Gregory MacDonald, and Flowers in the Attic, by V.C. Andrews. One is an adult mystery, about a fast-talking investigative reporter with a string of ex-wives and several alimony lawyers hot on his trail while he tries to solve a murder before it happens and bring down a drug ring (and, OMG, NO! The movie is NOTHING compared to the book! Nothing, I tell you! Chevy Chase is NOT Fletch!) and the other? About a brother and sister who get it on after being locked in an attic for years with their other siblings by their evil grandmother. Or aunt. Or the creepy nanny who wanted to steal them for her very own. No wait, that was a movie. I can’t exactly remember who anymore, but trust me when I say someone locked them in the attic. Because if they just stayed in there of their own free will to have kinky brother-sister sex, well, that’s just kinda lame. A later book in that series has the dubious honor of introducing me to the word corprophagia. You know, in case you were wondering.
creeeppppyyyyy
Hmmm. Maybe I should have stuck with my dog stories, after all. At least when they eat poop, it’s kinda normal. Seriously, though, I love, love, loved Fletch, and ended up reading every book in the series (cuz I’m neurotic that way). I’ve loaned it to just about everyone I know and hubs and I still have a battered copy lying around somewhere. I’m not sure what I’d think about Flowers in the Attic nowadays, because I haven’t read it in forever, but this post has given me a hankering to go check it out. But not a hankering for poop. Because, ew.
Pssst, guess what?? You know that OTHER blog I blog for, Old People Writing for Teens? Well, we decided we were sick of being old. We wanted a name that was new. Fresh. Short enough to put on a koozie.
So, we changed it. Just like that. ‘Cuz we can.
To go with our new name, we got a new blog and everything, and even, just for the occasion, a VLOG! Go, check us out at our new home, in all of our ice-cream eating, silly dancing, YA-loving and general nutty glory:
GotYa
Oh, and did I mention the CONTESTS? Yep, that’s right. We’re giving away free stuff for the next few weeks to celebrate our new, non-geezerlike name.
Wait, are you still here? Because, really, you should be
Added note: Sadly, it’s kind of ironic that my teaser is about bullying, given the nature of some of the tweets going on today. I hope it’s a trend that won’t be repeated. So many of us write/represent/edit YA, and it’s such an awful epidemic in our schools. And cyber-bullying is perhaps the worst kind, since it reaches such large numbers of people so quickly. Please, let’s set a good example by saying NO to public bullying of any kind, and keep it confined to the pages of our novels. Thanks for listening.
Okay, so I’m the first to admit it—I *enjoyed* the Twilight series. I did. In fact, I sucked those babies down faster than a shop vac sucks down your kid’s favorite toy (Seriously, have you used one of those things before? I thought it was going to take my arm). And, if I had a teenage daughter, I would totally let her read them. But, only after she read a letter first. One that went something like this.
Dear Daughter:
I have every faith that I raised you to be a strong, independent thinker with a sensible head on your shoulders. But sometimes, reading about sparkly, bronze-haired vamps named Edward Cullen can screw with the best of us. They tend to melt our brains into a smooshy, non-think-y type substance, and sadly, smooshy brains and teenagers don’t mix. Really, there are many lessons to be learned from these novels, if we just approach them the right way. So before you embark on this momentous journey known as Sparkly Vamps are Da Bomb aka Twilight, I’ve made you a little list of things to consider when dealing with boys. We’ll call it How Not to Pull a Bella Swan.
I know he wants to eat me, but oohhh...shiny!
1) Under no circumstances can a dude “sleep over” in your room—I don’t care if he’s 15 or 150. Besides, old guys have to get up to pee a lot—not conducive to quality snoozing.
2) If a guy tells you he’s spied on you repeatedly while you sleep, you MUST. TELL. ME. AT. ONCE. And we WILL. CALL. THE. COPS. Sleep spying = bad, and they’ve got laws against that kind of pervy-ness. P.S. Don’t let the guy off the hook if he claims to be a vampire. Please. That’s actually extra bad, bc then he’s probably wondering if you’ll go best with a Sam Adams or a nice Chianti.
3) It’s okay to be depressed following a breakup, but do not, under any circumstances, collapse in the woods, curl into the fetal position, and wait for hypothermia and/or rabid squirrels to tear into your wilted body. Also, acting like you’re the sole survivor of a nuclear attack for 6 months? Not gonna fly. Seriously, kid, didn’t I raise you to know you don’t need a dude to be happy? You’re killing me.
4) If you crash your motorcycle—or any other motorized vehicle that can kill you in a heartbeat—just to get in touch with your ex’s voice, I’m taking you on a little trip to a padded cell. Just sayin’.
5) If a guy tells you yours is the only mind he can’t read, tell him, OMG! You can read everyone else’s mind, too, but not his! That’ll teach him to use such a pathetic pick-up line. I mean, seriously, what happened to the classics, like “those pants would look great on my floor?”
6) Avoid guys who never ever eat like the plague. They’re probably crackheads, and at the very least, they’ll make you feel weird on dinner dates.
7) If a guy sparkles in the sunlight, it probably means he’s wearing body glitter. Watch closely to make sure he’s not checking out other dudes. And, not that I’m dying for you to jump into the sack in high school, but combine the glitter with a complete lack of interest in getting past first base, and seriously—there’s a 95.89435% chance he’s toting a big ol’ torch for Zac Efron.
Mr. Sparkles-A-Lot
There is never, under any circumstances, a time when it’s okay to go out-of-state without my knowledge. Ever. I will ground you until your liver is too old to process alcohol and your uterus too old to process children.
9) If a guy tells you you’re his brand of heroin, he’s either a) a heroin addict b) a nutter c) both. Run. Very fast.
10) For God’s sake, don’t go to prom planning on asking your date to kill you. I’ll have to lock you in your room until summer break starts—once the anti-psychotics have a chance to kick in. Besides, I paid a fortune for that prom dress, kid. If you bloody it all up, I’ll be tempted to kill you myself.
11) And a bonus one in case you watch the movie. Don’t blink all the time. People will think you’re trying to keep those crusty eye snots from gluing your eyelashes together.
So, see?? With a little creativity, anything can be a teaching experience. Feel free to leave any additions to my letter in the comments! Oh, and just because I’m beyond random:
So, this is from a different WIP than the one I’ve been teasing from lately. It’s super rough, so I’ll probably pull it after a few days. Love to hear your thoughts–I’m still debating present vs. past tense for this one.
I spot her immediately, the girl from yesterday. The one who’d needed my shirt. What was her name again? Hayden? Kayden?
Jayden, that was it.
Something weird happens as I stare at her, though. Her long, straight dark hair morphs into shoulder-length, light brown waves. She grows to a gawky height. And her laugh—it sounds eerily familiar.
I gasp. No. No way. Goosebumps streak across my skin while I cover my sunglasses with my hands. When I drag them away again, a face blocks my view, just an arm’s length away.
“Everything okay?”
A pair of concerned brown eyes inspect me—familiar ones. It takes me a second, but then it clicks. It’s the guy from my walk of shame yesterday, the do-gooder.
I glance over at the quad, but Lainey is gone. It’s Jayden standing there.
Lainey is gone.
I shake my head and shift my attention back to the boy. “You know, that question is totally pointless,” I finally say.
He tilts his head to the side, sending a lock of brown hair skidding across his forehead. Cute trick. I wonder how long he’d practiced that in the mirror to get it just right.
“Pointless? Why do you say that?” he asks, studying me, his lips quirking up into a small half-smile. Almost like he can read my mind, and whatever he sees there is infinitely amusing.
Great. So glad I can entertain him. I tighten my grip on my backpack. “It’s pointless, because nobody ever wants to hear the truth.”
Without waiting for a response, I turn my back on him and start walking. I’m not sure where I’m going, but the location doesn’t matter. I just have to get away, away from stupid questions and stupid boys and bitchy girls in the quad. And most importantly, away from ghosts.
There is never, under any circumstances, a time when it’s okay to go out-of-state without my knowledge. Ever. I will ground you until your liver is too old to process alcohol and your uterus too old to process children.
