story connections.

Source: Actors' Atelier.

Hi, Internet. Can we talk about over-active imaginations for a bit? 

When I was 9, my grade 4 teacher taught us about the Falklands War. I think because it was a current thing going on. In my vivid, 9 year old storytelling brain, I literally imagined an Argentinian uncle into existence, and he was battling hard to drive out the evil British Empire from his land. (This, obviously, was before my severe anglophilia began...or was the start of it. Chicken/Egg.) 

Uncle Pedro was a tango master, and he had a handsome mustache. He was burly and strong, but he'd often sang me sweet Spanish lullabies when I'd been an infant. I was still working out the details about (a) who's side of my family he was on--mother's or father's, and (b) how the heck my Welsh/German mother and my Welsh/Scottish/English father could possibly also have a brother who was Argentinian. And how did Pedro get from Pennsylvania, where my parents had both grown up, all the way to Argentina? Or how had my parents gotten from Argentina all the way to Pennsylvania? And why had Pedro not come with them? And why didn't the rest of us, Pedro's family, speak Spanish, just Pedro? And why were we all such poor dancers, if Pedro was a tango master?

I didn't care. In a 4th grader's brain, tiny little details like that are no matter. On the playground that day, I ran up to a bunch of teachers and wove my outrageous tale. I remember the teachers were astonished! Worried! Shocked, horrified, concerned, amazed, and impressed. But also...I could tell there was a gleam in their eyes; a twinkly sort of knowing. Now, as a teacher to youngsters who often do the same thing to me (just last week, a girl told me that over the weekend she and her family had a brief weekend getaway to Antarctica and they'd brought back some penguins...no matter that just two months ago we finished Mr. Popper's Penguins and her tale sorta kinda sounded like that one), today I know: those ladies knew I was totally bullshitting them. But I remember they were kind, and let me just own my crazy ass story and run with it...all the way to Argentina, if I'd wanted. By the end of the day, I think my imaginary Argentinian uncle was the new King of England. King Pedro, el Bigote. (I didn't speak much Spanish back then...now, I speak a lot, but I only understand 40% of what is said to me.)

The other day a little boy in my class brought me his misconduct note. For the sake of this story, we'll call that little boy David. He was supposed to take it home to be signed. He brought it back to school and it was signed all right. In 8 year old boy scrawl, and he'd misspelled his mom's name. "My mama signed it," he said.

"This is how your mama writes her name?" I said.

"Yup."

"Really?" 

"My mama signed that."

"Is your mama's name David?"

"Huh?"

"And why'd your mama spell her name all crazy, David? This name has too many letter A's in it and there's no H in her first name. This not how your mama usually spells her name."

"She spelling her name all crazy cuz she in a crazy mood last night."

"Uh huh. And she only had a pencil to write with?"

"Yeah. My mama like to write crazy with pencils. I tried to give her a pen but she say no, she need a pencil."

Riiiight. 

Unlike my kind 4th grade teachers, I could not let this tale slide. I appreciated the problem solving attempt, and typically I do reward children who show initiative with problem solving no matter the circumstances, but this misconduct was rather serious. And so I eventually got it out of him that he, actually, had signed it. And now you know what my days are like, Mondays through Fridays, August through May. 

You know what's fabulous though, about imaginations? When something captures them and someone can't let go. 

So last month, I read Peter Pan to my class. This month, I'm reading The Wizard of Oz. We are just at the part where Dorothy kills the witch (oooh! sorry! should have done: spoiler alert). But I had to stop because we needed to go to Physical Education. Before we left the room, though, I asked them questions about the Wicked Witch's character: specifically, was she really scary? 

(Have you read the real L. Frank Baum's story? Not the abridged version, the REAL version. Because the Wicked Witch? She's a coward. She's evil and conniving, but she has others do her dirty work...she's also afraid of the Good Witch's kiss on Dorothy's forehead and the silver shoes because of their power, though she covets that power. And she's absolutely terrified of water--read the book to find out why.)

Most of my kids were fairly good in recognizing all of this about the witch, and making that connection to their own lives, about how sometimes you meet people who seem all big and bad ass but they're actually terrified little pissants who have no power but really desire to have it because they're all Ego. They think power means intimidation, and being mean or cruel, or making others feel weak and small. Yet in reality, that is them. They have no idea what real power is...but they covet it. (I promise what I just wrote there was all me, all my version of our class discussion--the actual conversation in 2nd grade today was far simpler.)

Then, one little boy got that WOW! look on his face--this is the look teachers crave and rarely see. 

I asked him, "What? Why do you have that look on your face?" And he said: "Ms. S, the wicked witch is just like Captain Hook." (And here begins my real world example of when the young teach the old.) So I said, "How?" 

He explained how she coveted Dorothy's shoes and power, just like Captain Hook coveted Peter's youth and wanted a mother. And that, just like the Wicked Witch, Captain Hook was actually very afraid--he was afraid of his own blood and the crocodile. But he was also afraid of death and getting old. And that's why he was so mean and cruel--he thought if he could scare enough people they wouldn't notice that he was so scared himself. (Again, that's all me, my paraphrasing--it was said much more simply this morning in 2nd grade boy words.)

Isn't that amazing! You guys! It was one of those glorious, happy teacher moments, where I wanted to take that little boy and make him King of Second Grade for the day. Except this little boy also has tremendous self-control issues, and my whole day would have gone bonkers and we had Friday quizzes to get through. 

Later in the day, I asked him how he'd made that text-to-text connection, and he told me, "Because you read us Peter Pan and let us watch the movie, and now I can't stop imagining what it's like to be a pirate on Captain Hook's ship. And sometimes Jose and I play Captain Hook and Peter Pan on the playground."

O.M.G. I'm getting tears again just thinking of it. This. THIS!! It's moments like this that make me never ever want to stop being a teacher. 

....and then later at recess, one little boy wrapped his arms around another little boy's neck and drop kicked him like a soccer ball to the ground and that's far too Reality for me, thanks.

I have no idea where I'm going with this. I just felt like writing and so I hopped over here. Later, when I'm done with this, I'll hop back on the story I'm working on right now. 

It's about a girl who never wears her wedding ring but her husband always does. And why is that. (I've been asked to never ever put my day to day Real Life into my works of fiction, but I figure if I can use my imagination hard enough, I can write it so even the real life characters won't recognize themselves. It's the best part of being a writer, I feel.)

i edit as i go.

No Sigmund Freud, this one.

Last night I took Ernest Hemingway's advice to write drunk; edit sober. I did not get drunk, but I did get close. And here's what I found out: Ernest Hemingway gives crap advice. Please know this. Do NOT write drunk; edit sober. I'm going to flip that and say it's probably better to write sober; edit drunk. I couldn't even find the correct keys to type, and I gave up about 4 paragraphs in because I just wanted to get on social media and hug someone, tell a stranger how much I loved them. Do not do this, Internet. Put down the bourbon and FOCUS.

I'm signing on for NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) again. My handle there is amy223. If you're doing it, too, link up to me! Let's suffer for Art together. I've taken on this November writing project in the past, and I have finished a novel this many times: 0. The idea is to just write (sober or drunk, but seriously: do it sober) and do NOT edit for the whole month of November. If you do this a certain number of words/pages per day all through November, you should have a 50,000 word novel completed by the Nov. 30. 

It's the "do NOT edit for the whole month" part that trips me up. I DO edit as I go; it's a disease and I can't help it. I go back and re-read what I wrote and go: WHAT?! That makes absolutely no sense! or What?! Those facts don't line up at all. or Was I on crack when I typed that?! So the not editing part is very very hard for me. I do have a bit of perfectionist in me--I'm certain this is also why I'm a procrastinator. 

Have I promoted Jason Isaacs' show DIG lately? No, I have not. Let me update you on that: It will be on TV in March, specifically March 5, 2015.  AND the network thinks it's so awesome-super-cool they ordered 4 more episodes in addition to the six they already paid for, which makes 10! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, TEN total episodes of DIG on USA! (Please go back and re-read that in the voice of The Count, from Sesame Street) (also, as a writer, I'm thinking: this is GOOD! more writing work for the writers! but, as a writer, I'm also going: holy shit! how do you take a story arc you already finished and add MORE to it??) (I bet the DIG writers don't have that fear at all, that the only reason I even have that thought goes directly back to my problems with my edit-as-I-go disease).

At any rate, set your DVRs, get your inner FBI agent/archeologist ready. They're in Albuquerque, New Mexico filming it right now. (Well, actually, not right now...according to Jason on his Twitter account, he's off promoting the movie Fury. First he was in New Mexico working, then he had to fly to Washington, DC to promote Fury, and now he's in London at a film festival promoting it. Famous people seem to have to change time zones a lot; just reading about how many different places Jason Isaacs has been over the last week or so makes me want to take a nap.) (In addition, he posted a picture of what an actor promoting a film sees when walking a red carpet...lands, that looks overwhelming. A thousand people with cameras going off, shouting at you. I wouldn't even know where to look. Bless you, famous people.) (Unless you're a douchebag--in that case, I hope a wayward camera flash permanently blinds you.) (Jason Isaacs is not a douchebag; I've only ever heard how very very very nice he is, which is why I've put him on my Superhero List.)

In non-famous people news: Miss M got her first report card.  Basically, she's an excellent reader who needs to work on her handwriting, listening/following directions skills, and self-control. I tell her this all the time myself, so I'm glad it's now documented on paper forever. I plan to whip it out and remind her when she's an adult: EVERYbody said this about you. It's a problem. That's on the one hand. On the other hand, sigh. She's a teacher's kid. You'd think teachers would have the niche on how to raise a perfect kid. We do not. I think it's because we're so focused on raising other people's kids and we forget we have to raise our own. (This is the part where I start singing: 

Being good isn't always easy

No matter how hard I try...

The only one who could ever reach me

Was the kid of a teacher woman...)

Next up is her birthday. She'd like exactly 1000 things, needs to analyze the frickin' thing multiple times each day, and doesn't necessarily want to wait another 10 days for her birthday presents and likes to have melt downs when you tell her NO, you have to wait. These are some of the 1000 things she'd like: One Direction stuff, a marriage proposal from Harry Styles, some type of Barbie thing, a FROZEN doll that changes her dress, some cool things, some really awesome things, Monster High, a REAL pony (real as in, it eats grass and you ride it and it poops large mounds of crap on your lawn and your HOA people have aneurysms about it), all the candy she wants, a gigantic chocolate and vanilla birthday cake, a sleepover, lots of cool stuff, fresh pajamas, and a Queasy Bake Oven. (I don't know who taught her to call it a Queasy Bake Oven, but I think whoever did has clearly eaten something baked in one of them.)

This coming weekend, I'll be in Tybee Island with friends. SO excited about this. I don't know how much writing I'll get done, but I do plan to sit on the beach with a notepad and at least concoct one tremendously bad poem. I'm also hoping that walking the beach and collecting sea shells will help me sort myself out. I am finding I need an awful lot of sorting lately, and I don't know where to start. 

...actually, that is untrue. I do know where to start. But I'm reluctant to, and dragging my feet about it. Because it is hard. And I don't do hard very well. (Remember? I like to edit as I go.)

On the plus side, Magic Mike XXL is currently filming in Tybee Island, Georgia. There was a picture in PEOPLE magazine recently of a shirtless Joe Manganiello tossing a ball. WITH NO SHIRT ON (did you get that?). I don't necessarily need to see Joe without a shirt on while I'm there, but it would be nice if he at least tossed his ball and it hit me in the head. And then he felt really bad and was scared I'd sue him, so he took me and my friends out to dinner. And then he gave us all an invitation to the red carpet movie premiere. (Would Jason Isaacs attend that? Shirtless Joe Manganiello is pretty hard to resist, I think.) 

That's all I want: dinner with (shirtless) Joe Manganiello on the beach in Tybee Island. (What did you just say? He has a girlfriend named Sofia? It's just dinner, yo. Plus, I'd bake him dessert in M's Queasy Bake Oven and then he'd know: I am not the one for him.)

I actually had a blog post about why what happens at a kid's home has a direct effect on what happens at school, but it had a lot of swearing in it and was kind of angry. So you got this unfocused mess instead. It's Sunday night and I have a long week of testing ahead of me. Deal with it. 

harry potter and HERmione's journey.

Lands, Internet. NOW the blinking Blogger emoji cats have taken on a Halloween theme. Every time I log on here, I have to click an X to get rid of them. This is completely effing with my lazy-ass 1st world snobbery of convenience. I'm sick of clicking the X. Sick of it, Blogger! And Gmail, you too! This is 21st century techno-world! I should be able to will away the emojis with just a blink of my eye. Make it happen, Google.

Let's talk writing, shall we?

First, can we talk about Harry Potter? Because over the summer, I finally read the first book in the series (one decade behind, how I like to do most everything). What a stupendously talented writer this lovely soul named J.K. Rowling is. What I loved most about her initial Potter book (Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone aka: the only one I've read) was that she can take a very simple sentence or two and pack a whole lot into it--wisdom, back story, foreshadowing, character development, tidbits of story arc, etc and so forth, and she does this on a 10-12 year old's level but in such a way a grown up reading it can go: Wow, this is masterful writing. That's a gift. That's amazing. She's amazing. I admire so deeply writers with the ability to do this, because I strive for it. I don't know if you've noticed yet or not, but conciseness is not my forte. 

Other things I love about Jo Rowling: this is a woman who thought up a story on a train ride, an inspiring story that would eventually spark mystic connections amongst people of all different ages and cultures and languages all across this hard-to-live-on planet. Then she sat in a coffee shop in Scotland and developed an intricate, finely detailed, nuanced world of infinite possibilities, all while struggling with poverty, raising a child alone, and enduring god knows how many Dark Nights of the Soul. She and her magical story were rejected multiple times but she persevered boldly forth, and at the end of this journey her rags have become riches and she is now one of Earth's most adored storyteller heroines who gives back to those still in rags because she's been there and knows. Her biography is a Hero's Journey of sorts and she's a good, writerly egg who followed her bliss, trusted open doors, and who's become an incredibly inspiring icon for people from every culture on this celestial rock in the Milky Way Galaxy, even to those who haven't (yet) been mystified and spellbound by her tales of Harry and his Hogwarts gang.

True confession: I cannot get into these books. I want to get into these books. I want to, because I see how they've affected people from all over. The writing is stunning. The movies are gorgeous. The mania surrounding it all is enthralling to behold. But I just don't...I don't feel it. (Here, I am ducking, and praying the Potterites are far calmer than the Directioners, who--should you suggest you feel even a tiny bit of disconnection to the band One Direction--will fling large chunks of steaming piles of cow dung at you while screeching obscenities as they detail how they will haunt your dreams and will also promise to murder you in front of your father as they finish up with a slew of really inappropriate Yo Mama insults.)

.......I know. I KNOW!! Potter Friends! I am Sacrilege!! I am not fit to be a human being, it is true. I own it, and I am sorry, People of Potterdom. I am so so sorry. I am not saying I won't keep trying--I will keep trying. These are important books, literary foundations for many a childhood, all around the world. I will read all of the Harry Potter books eventually and at some point in the series, something may click and I'll end up buying all the DVD movie versions too and will become completely, utterly, nerdily obsessed. I see these Potter Obsessives on Twitter now and then, and they make me feel like an outsider. And you guys! I HATE FEELING LIKE AN OUTSIDER. (I have a story about when I think this phobia developed, but it's too long for now. Remind me, and I'll tell it to you later.) 

I'm a nerd, too! I am a nerd, just like you! my soul cries out, when I see their Potter obsessings. But I don't speak their Potter language; I don't understand the connections between the characters or why. One day on Twitter a few weeks ago, Tom Felton (Draco Malfoy) tweeted to Jason Isaacs (Lucius Malfoy) something about a Maison Blanc and asked him what he was ordering and holy House of Slytherin, I thought that corner of Twitter was going to explode. I mean, people were tweeting about how they were sobbing with joy about this exchange, their whole lives had been altered.

And I was all: what's Maison Blanc?! Who cares what Draco's father's going to order? And why is Jason/Lucius telling Tom/Draco he's worried about having an aneurism and calling him an arse for this? There's a Maison Blanc/evil dad & son connection, apparently, but I don't know? So I googled "Maison Blanc" and "Harry Potter" and "The Malfoys" but all I got were weird links to French articles about someone inhumanely dressing up Bo, the White House dog as Santa Claus. (What?!) It remains a mystery to me, still. I'm sure I could Sherlock Holmes it away, but I have other projects going on right now and...I'm just, it's just. I'm sorry Tom, Jason, and all the other Potter geeks of the world: I've just got other stuff to do and the Bo as Christmas Dog links are too overwhelming to wade through.

But dagnabit! I feel so left out! Lost! So alone! You know what this feels like? This feels just like when I first swallowed my Internet shyness and left Jason Isaacs a tweet and at the end told him to get Dobby the house elf a pair of socks (because a friend told me to say that to him, promising me Jason would laugh and laugh at that) and then I found out that Dobby was freed from The Malfoys with a sock and I was all: Oh. Well, that was damn cheeky. Because I bet Jason Isaacs probably has had to wade through sock jokes about a billion times every week for the last several years. Note to self: no more Twitter advice from Potterheads. That happened because I'm out of the loop. And you guys! I hate being out of the loop! I'd like to be amongst other geeks and connect. I like to high five and geek fist bump the other nerds and know: nobody gets us like WE get us.

But. Yet. I am not connecting (for now) to Harry Potter. 

May I explain myself? Because I've figured out why I'm having--have always had--a hard time connecting to Harry Potter. I get the mania to Harry Potter; but I don't connect to him. Please don't be offended; stay with me for a minute:

Joseph Campbell's theory of the monomyth. I wrote about this right after I was at Oprah's amazeballs Life You Want weekend and heard my writing hero Liz Gilbert speak of it. So I researched it. Joseph Campbell was a mythologist, lecturer, and writer. He was fascinated by religion and spirituality. He believed in the psychic unity of mankind. You know that quote "Follow your bliss"? That was Joseph Campbell. He followed that up with the assertion that, when you do choose to follow your bliss, extraordinary doors of astounding opportunities will supernaturally open for you.

Joseph Campbell did years and years and years of research and study, and he was able to precisely pinpoint one common, universal theme amongst all human beings everywhere, regardless of language or culture or planetary location: we all tell myths. But even more important than that, we all tell one myth. We tell this myth in many different versions, in many different languages, with many different cultural elements. But the myths all have basically the same story arc with basically the same story components and because of this, Joseph Campbell decided to call this common, very human, myth The Hero's Journey. 

Note. One problem with Joseph (and why I think I have a hard time connecting to Harry Potter): He (Joseph, not Harry) only believed in the psychic unity of MANkind and his myth was always the HERO's Journey. WOMANkind belonged in the kitchen, with a baby sucking on her boobs, and so ha ha silly girls! There can be no such thing as a HEROINE's Journey. Since women are too busy cooking and birthin' babies and such. Somewhere, Rush Limbaugh is reading Joseph's Man Snob attitudes about women, and Rush Limbaugh is nodding his head so emphatically right now, in a self-medicated fog of OxyContin painkillers, and he is hallucinate-high fiving Joseph Campbell so hard, so very very hard. (O! Chauvinism! Thou dost maketh homo sapiens such ugly bedfellows!) 

Here's a brief explanation of how The Hero's Journey works: there's a hero (aka: a boy ). 

He's living a very ordinary, normal life in the village or kingdom or cave or wherever, and then one day he meets some sort of helper who gives him a Call to Adventure. He suddenly realizes: I have to go on a journey. And so he sets off. Along the way, he has more helpers like supernatural aid(s) and guardian(s) of some sort, and he has many adventures both good and bad. The hero does good deeds and foils temptations, and along the way he meets friends who are enemies and enemies who are friends. Usually, the hero is on a journey to defeat something--a troll, a dragon, a demon, a witch; or to rescue something--a princess, a chalice, someone trapped in a curse. At some point, invariably, he reaches an abyss, a dark moment in which all may be lost. Campbell called this moment The Dark Night of the Soul, the part of The Hero's Journey that, if the hero stops, he will die and the journey will end and Good will lose.

It's in this moment, in the Dark Night of the Soul, the hero realizes: I have to change. In some way big or small, in all of the stories from every single one of our expansive, extremely diverse planet's cultures and legends and languages and values, the hero realizes to go on he needs to make some kind of transformation. And when he transforms, he defeats his obstacles, overcomes all of his temptations, and he emerges better, stronger than before, and his transgressions and wrongdoings are completely absolved. Numerous doors of tremendous possibilities are opened for him, and he is given magical gifts to take home with him where he is received by his village (or kingdom or cave or wherever) with acclaim and adoration and stories are told of him for years and years and years the end. 

Harry Potter is one really good example of how to expertly weave The Hero's Journey into a story: there's a boy. He's living his life, and one day he wakes up and meets a Helper (in this case, three: Dumbledore & McGonagall & Hagrid) who gives him a Call to Adventure (come be a wizard at Hogwarts). He realizes: I have to go on a journey and sets off. Along the way, he has many adventures: supernatural aids, guardians, and adventures both good and bad. He does good deeds and foils temptations, and meets friends who are enemies (Professor Quirrell), enemies who are friends (Professor Snape). At some point, he reaches The Dark Night of the Soul and by the end of the series Harry is transformed. He changes from a scared, awkward, weak boy into a brave, adored hero, and tales are told of him forever more (and, if you follow JK Rowling like I do on Twitter, you see hugely important these tales are to many people from different countries and cultures out there...some of whom maaaaay need to get a little bit of a life when it comes to this stuff, but god bless them it seems they've found their bliss and I think that's just perfect. Power to the Potterheads).

The stories of Harry Potter are transfigurative tales of a boy's journey from small and weak to large and brave--if I were a ten year old boy, I'd be all OVER these books. But this is precisely why (I've figured out) I've had a hard time getting into Harry Potter books/movies/etc: He's a boy. He's a HEro, not a HERo. 

A self-aware thing about me I've learned to proudly embrace over the years: I am drawn to stories about girls. Specifically, I am drawn to stories that feature strong, imaginative, self-reliant girls. Whether it's fiction or non-fiction, I connect to stories about females who transform or impact the world in important ways. I have always been like this; I cannot think of a time when I was not like this. I have been, am, and always will be drawn to stories featuring strong females. As a child, I wanted to journey in Dorothy's ruby Oz shoes. I loved smart and sleuth-y Nancy Drew mysteries, and Laura Ingalls Wilder's tomboy boldness. I completely identified with Alice in Wonderland and would have followed her down many dark, adventurous rabbit holes; and I was certain, as a young girl, that Peter Pan's Wendy wasn't some trembling damsel in distress who needed constant rescuing--I sense she could lop off Hook's other hand while blindfolded. 

In fact, for my high school senior year AP English class, I had to choose two books from the same genre or with a similar theme to read and compare--I wanted to read DOCTOR ZHIVAGO and GONE WITH THE WIND because they seem to tell similar sort of stories, but was told GONE WITH THE WIND was too soap opera-y. So I read ZHIVAGO and FATHERS AND SONS. My paper was titled "Strong Women in Russian Literature," and I got an A because I know how to word-work an Emily Dickinson-like English teacher. Nerds Unite. (In spite of the fact that, essentially, I really had just been trying to weasel out of actually reading so I could watch the movie versions of the books instead. Shhhhh.) 

Listen: I love boys. I love boys a lot. And there is a very crucial literary niche that boys need--boys need books and stories and Hero's Journey tales about boys and things boys like so they can discover a love of words and storytelling. It can be so hard to get boys to fall in love with reading, for some strange reason (I actually know why, but this will turn into a 200 page essay if I tell you--Google it). How many boys are voracious readers today thanks to Harry P.? This is good. This is important. 

Yet it bothers me that I find so much of the world still so dominated by the masculine. I mean, Joanne Rowling was asked by her publishers to change her author name to J.K. instead of even just "Jo," out of fear boys would be reluctant to read a boy adventure story written by a female. (This is all kinds of fucked up, but I'm already 10,000 words in and I know you have things to do, so I'm letting it go for now.)

And, god bless this amazing writer, she conjured into life the magnificent, empowering character of Hermione. Oh, how I love Hermione in spite of not having read all the books. And oh, how I love Emma Watson, who appears to have absorbed the very essence of Hermione and become such a stunning, impressive, courageous role model for women and young girls of Planet Earth. Oh, how I wish JK Rowling would write an entire series about Hermione and her Hero's Journey. In a way, Hermione also has a Hero's Journey threaded throughout the Harry Potter tales, and because I haven't read all of the Harry Potter books, maybe there is a book in the series where Hermione's journey is predominantly featured. But I sense the series is pretty much about Harry and his journey. 

These books are magnificent. The movie versions of them are sheer magic, which is a nearly impossible feat for Hollywood/movie makers. I think Somebody Somewhere loves these stories, too. Something special is going on there, some type of...wizardry? I dare say. And I think the reason so many worldwide connect so deeply to the story of Harry, Hermione, Ron, and all the rest of the Hogwarts' gang is because this is the quintessential Hero's Journey tale, which every human from every culture has ingrained in our very beings; it seems to be our instinct, as a species, to take journeys of daring adventures and weave magical tales from them. 

I also think that stories most kids (and grown ups) tend to feel the most for are dark, with notes of extreme danger. The Hero's Journey tales and stories that pull from that theme all have that darkness, that sense of danger. At our core, we know we are essentially powerless against The Forces That Be, and I think there is nothing scarier in the world than to be a child facing The Forces That Be--those unseen and, sometimes, those that live in your house or go to school with you. 

But there are, in existence, other stories that have pulled from The Hero's Journey, and these are stories that DO feature girls taking a brave adventure with moments of peril and darkness. What about Wizard of Oz? I will posit that Wizard of Oz is a Hero's Journey of magnificent proportions: a girl wakes up one day and realizes with the aid of a helper (Glinda), I've got to go on a journey. She has adventures both good and bad. Along the way, she fights temptations, is given supernatural aids (ruby--silver in the book--slippers, a protective kiss) and guardians (Scarecrow, Lion, and Tinman) to guide her. She meets friends who are enemies (Oz), enemies who are friends (Oz) (what? I say making Oz both Great and Powerful and a lowly little humbug to be a brilliant turn of the century story twist of M. Night Shyamalan-like proportions), and has a Dark Night of the Soul moment when all is lost (the balloon leaves without her) and she has to transform (realize the power to have what she wants was always in her possession) and she goes home. And the flip side of Dorothy's tale, WICKED, is witch Elphaba's perfect Hero's Journey tale.

And what about Disney's sole feminist heroine Merida? Or Katniss Everdeen from The Hunger Games? What about the journey of Morgaine in Marion Zimmer Bradley's superb The Mists of Avalon? Or Margaret George's Mary Magdalene? May I also suggest the story of Greek goddess Athena could be considered a sort of loose version of The Heroine's Journey as well?

In other words: Joseph Campbell! You misogynist old flirt, you couldn't have been more wrong about the Hermiones of the world. Girls can take journeys, in fact girls should take journeys, and they can do it even while mankind is suckling at their breasts. And you know what? They'll do it and you'll never hear them utter a single complaint or moan about their chapped nipples along the way--I know men who act like the world's about to end when they have a tummy ache and stuffy nose. Because women are strong, and Nature inclines toward the feminine. I'm actually not making that up; Google it.

Did I have a point to this post? I think I did, and I think it was somewhere in my last paragraph: girls can take journeys, women are strong, and Harry Potter is a wonderful book series with a great, iconic female character in it written by a strong woman who (goddammit) was asked to her put her initials on the book cover instead of her full name because they were worried boys wouldn't be comfortable reading a book by a woman (seriously? WTF, publishers). And dammit, my chapped nipples want stories that take strong, iconic females on Hero's Journeys! And Mother Nature does, too.

I'm going to start one of those this weekend. (A heroine's journey tale, with a girl I'd like to know, on an adventure I'd like to have.) (I hope the guardians of my heroine open up doors painted blue for her, and that at least one of them strongly resembles Joe Manganiello without a shirt on.) (Okay. Okay. I'm sorry. I apologize for that last bit, men--that was completely and revoltingly sexist of me. Joseph Campbell is somewhere right now, flipping me the bird and telling me to get my ass back in the kitchen. But I will not. I will NOT!)

character building

Do you know how to do this in writing? And if you're a reader, do you know how writers try to do it? Here's what I find is best: interviews. I interview the character: what's your favorite color? food? sleeping position? sexual position? how'd you get that weird mole on your neck? etc and so forth.

I have, in notes I took in a writing class, a list of about 20 must-ask questions for a character. Also, imagined scenarios--like what drink would your character order in a bar? and how would she or he respond to an intimate question from another patron or the bartender? Something like that.

But I also like to just watch people. I find regular, out-and-about people to be the best foundations for building/creating story characters. Malls in economically depressed areas are rife with fodder for this. And so are malls in ritzy, glamorous areas. Airports and subways are particularly riveting.

I once talked to an actor who told me he does this, too. He watches people's mannerisms and maybe, later, he'll incorporate them into a character. I have another actress friend who based a whole stage character she did on a mutual friend of ours (it went well for the actress; the friend was horrified). And both actors told me they pretty much do what I do when I build my characters: they build whole background lives on their pretend people. Some of what they make up lands in whatever production they're doing; some of it never does, but they know what's going on (in the background of the character's long ago) as they're acting it all out. I will say ditto to this for written characters--some of the stuff I know about a character in a story, only I know; the information never makes it into the story. But knowing it as I write helps keep me straight on the character and his/her motivation and all that.

Here's what happens if you and I go out to dinner (want to? No, I'm serious--want to? I'm totally free Saturday): we'd talk and have a lovely time, enjoy ourselves, etc., but my brain would wander away often from our table. I'd be noting and wondering about the sad-looking lady sitting alone at the bar in an awkwardly-fitted spangly top, absorbed in a Texas-sized margarita (WITH a Corona upside down in it, no less) and speculate about what she's looking at on her phone. I'd be distracted by the couple sitting at the table catty corner ours, because they look miserable, just miserable (what the heck happened? are they breaking up? did somebody lose a job? did they forget their wallets? or seriously, yo. The minestrone WAS really bad tonight).

It's a problem, but I'm good with it now because (a) I find other human beings completely fascinating, and (b) god knows I've worn enough awkwardly-fitted spangly tops and been morose at plenty of restaurants in my lifetime. I'm certain I'd have been written into a Charles Dickens novel had we been from the same era and hung out in the same pubs.

Here's a good example of how minutely detail-oriented I can be when it comes to people watching: I was watching a YouTube interview some time ago with Jason Isaacs (hello to Jason Isaacs!).  I remember I wanted to watch it because I'd discovered, on Netflix, a short-lived but fascinatingly excellent police drama series he'd been in that was canceled all too soon (dammit, American TV and American TV watchers--get with the program! Less Kardashians, more mind-bending blue-eyed cop dramas! Is it too much to ask?!). So they were interviewing him and two of the show's creators; it was on a panel-y thing, so they had a pitcher of water set in front of the 3 people. While one of his coworkers was answering a question, Jason Isaacs decided he needed some water, but instead of just pouring himself a glass, I noted he poured the OTHER two people each a glass and THEN served himself. Didn't even ask them if they wanted one, just thoughtfully poured them each a glass, just in case, and then served himself...last. Clearly, this is a person who was raised well. I bet his parents made him do chores. (Note to self: find some chores for M to do.)

Also, I can't remember anything they talked about, which was the whole point of my watching the interview. More info on the show (because I was also reading its pilot episode script at the time, trying to figure out: how does one write a pilot episode script?). But I do remember the thoughtful water pour.

That's the kind of stuff I get distracted by at dinners out, and the stuff that goes into my character building mental bank for later use: I'd use that information to build into a story (or write a story about) someone who's got a lot going on--stuff's happening around him, he's working, but in one particular moment he stops to think about other people's needs first. That's what makes it into the story, and the reader goes: oh, this is a nice person.

What doesn't make it in is the background information I made up that he does this because when he was XX years old, his dad made him get a paper route so he could afford the guitar he really wanted...and one day he got mugged on the paper route and one of his fellow paper route boys went out and bought the guitar for him and it affected him for the rest of his life.

Is that weird? Do you do that? I do worry it's weird sometimes, that I can't always remember what we talked about 20 minutes ago, but I remember that you used your utensils in the European way instead of the American because I wondered who taught you to do that, where you learned it, and why you felt McDonald's was a good place for it. (No judgments here: I once ate midnight breakfast at a Waffle House with a Scottish person who did this, and found it utterly charming.)

One last thing before I sign off to go stress myself out with grades and parent-teacher conference preparation:

Evil characters. Let's talk about how I think all writers should being do those, if they're interested in doing them well (some writers are not, and that's fine too...I just won't find your antagonist very believable). I think the most important aspect to an evil character (or someone in a story who's just really, really antagonistic) is to sprinkle them with a bit of angelic dust. I just saw a quote earlier today about how Satan is actually lovely to look at; not at all the hideous, red-horned monster he's usually depicted as, and that we should all remember this because evil walks amongst us often in beautiful disguise. Perfect summary for how to build a crazy ass evil antagonist. I mean, even Hitler painted watercolors.

(I wonder what George W. Bush's one good quality is?) (GASP! I'm sorry! I'm very, very sorry and I apologize for that last bit, for bringing up politics--were you eating? I'm sorry if you were. I have angst about George: first, I think we're related--one of my ancestors is Henry Sampson, a Mayflower pilgrim, and I think George's mom Barbara is also related to that guy. Which makes George and I like 200th cousins 1,000 times removed or something. Second, he always seemed like a lovely man--someone I'd enjoy talking to at a cookout, even if he was helping to master mind war crimes and all.) (That last part just proved my WHOLE point about how to write a good evil character. Score!)

And, conversely, you should do the same with protagonist characters--give them some flaws. I mean, nobody's perfect. I look at myself in the mirror every single morning and go: "You're going to be PERFECT today, Amy. You're going to use your time wisely, get your work done, leave early with everything ready to go for the next day, cook a gourmet meal, clean a bathroom, do a perfect bedtime routine and write 10 pages tonight. PERFECT. Get going!"

And then I hang out on Twitter half the afternoon, blog instead of finishing up my grading needs, nothing's ready at work for tomorrow, I'm eating take out right now, my bathrooms are possibly harboring Ebola, I'm thinking we're going to let bath time slide tonight, and I will have only written this blog entry.

But I'm not as beautiful as Satan, and so you know. Small blessings.