fragile china rabbit in a bull shop.

"You disappoint me."

-Pellegrina, from The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane

I've written here before about Kate DiCamillo's The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane. If you haven't read it, your heart is missing out. So is your soul. 

I just finished reading this to my class. I cried two times in front of them, reading it. Two little girls and a little boy cried with me and two other kind-hearted children brought us tissues. I'd stop in different places and ask them what they were wondering - what's going on? Why did he or she say or do that? What will happen now? They made connections, they laughed at all the right parts (mostly when Edward the china rabbit is naked), they gasped at the horrible moments. At the end of the book, they clapped. We all agreed: this book is an amazing book. None of them increased their reading levels. None of their writing improved. They certainly didn't get better at number sense. But their connections and hearts exploded, just a little. And I fell in love with them all even harder.

You guys, I've probably been given a classroom of the most generous and good-hearted children in the history of this school. I just met with most of their parents, and I understand why that is now, because their parents are sweethearts. I don't know if I can move their data the way the new system is demanding I move it. Right now, I don't care. I would just like to sit and read them stories all day, and listen to theirs, and teach them how to write them down. We can pull in Math and Language Arts and Science and Social Studies wherever. But can we do it via Story? Please, new public education system?

Edward Tulane is a story that'll speak to you. If it doesn't, something's very wrong with you. It's a story that I'm just going to re-read on my own over the coming days. Because as I was reading to them, it hit me: bits and pieces of Edward's story are bits and pieces of mine. I am on a miraculous journey, of sorts. And along the way, I'm learning how important it is to stay open. To remember that not everyone I meet on my journey is going to disappoint me. To do this, I think I'm going to have to be more discerning and teach myself to figure out who's a friend disguised as an enemy, and who's an enemy disguised as a friend. Because this is where I always tend to get lost and fucked up.

A friend told me last night that I'm too trusting. I let people in too far, too quickly. I give them too much information, before I know if they're even the kind of person who will handle what I've given them with care. Other friends, in the past, have echoed this about me. C once told me my naivete is my best and worst quality. 

Yet on an ironically bizarre flip side, I have so many trust issues because I've had so many people in the past teach me that being very direct and confrontational is a Bad Thing. And because I've had my heart broken in the past so many times or I've been taught over and over that I'm not enough, it's left me in a situation where I usually don't trust ME. So I end up bonding with people who are very bossy. Or the highly manipulative. Or dishonest game players. Or just dishonest people period. Or maybe they're all just very very nice, but are too much of a fucked up mess to really be a true friend to anyone. 

So here's what happens: I meet someone along my journey. They seem kind and good-hearted. They're smart and funny and I really just thoroughly enjoy them as a human being. I don't ask much from anyone except that they be real with me, and don't play games or manipulate me. All I ever ask of people is to mean what they say and say what they mean. And that's because when I tell YOU something, I mean it. If I can't mean it, I don't say it. What I say to you comes from my heart. I don't know any other way to do it.

So what happens is this: they say kind, friendly, good-hearted, and funny things to me, and I heart them real hard. They promise me they're my friend, and I believe them. Because when I say those types of things I always mean them, and so I just assume when others say those types of things, they mean them too. And then I tell them too much. I let them in too quickly. I assume, too swiftly, that other people don't have hidden agendas. I suck at games, and it never ceases to shock me when it dawns on me other people actually enjoy games, the thrill of game strategy. This is what disappoints me most about other human beings, I think: when they treat other human beings as games. People are not games. We are not.

So when something happens that really underscores that this is not the case, that someone has said they are my friend and then does something a real friend wouldn't do, my heart is always broken. People disappoint me. If you've read Edward Tulane, and you are as fascinated by the character of Pellegrina as I am, you'll completely understand me when I say that. 

Here's another thing about me: I'm naive but not stupid. When your heart has been broken by others enough, you learn. When someone's behavior starts to change, you know to start reading between the lines. Because all your past experiences have taught you this is where the disappointment, the heart break part starts. You wake up to what's really going on, because even when the other person insists they're telling the truth you know they aren't. Your gut knows something isn't jiving. But you've also learned it's not something you can confront them with, the conversation will be exhausting or upsetting. Because maybe they really believe it's the truth. Or maybe they're very desperate not to be seen as a bad person, or whatever their motivation is. 

I promise, Internet: I'm naive but not stupid. Please, please don't ever treat me like I'm stupid. That's the absolute worst thing someone can do with me, or anyone else for that matter. Just be honest. I hate it when people aren't honest about what they really want. Once I figure out you've begun treating me as a game and aren't being honest with me, I lose all respect for you. And then I get really really angry. And then I get really really sad. You disappoint me.

And I'm too trusting, but once you teach me that you're not really trustworthy, once you really show me how you weren't worthy of however close I let you get to my protective bubble, we are done. You're going to have to come through in a really big way to prove to me that I'm wrong about you. In my experience, game players aren't really interested in doing that. Once they figure out they've been figured out, game over. They go find a new person to start up a new game with. But who really won your game? Who lost? Seriously, I could write blog entries on that for days. (Answer: there are no winners when you do this. Everybody loses.)

I'm trying not to build as many walls. I'm trying to learn to live outside a protective bubble. But other people keep disappointing me, and so I find myself continuing to lay bricks, gluing pieces of reinforced steel to my bubble's walls. This has made me really angry. But also very, very sad. Just like Edward Tulane, the fragile china rabbit.

The good news is that The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane is also about hope and redemption. Really, it's a perfect example of American mythologist Joseph Campbell's the Hero's Journey tale - someone is called to action, to take a journey. Along the way s/he meets friends who are enemies and enemies who are friends. S/he fights many battles, both winning and losing along the way. Finally, towards the end, the hero is losing everything; s/he has a Dark Night of the Soul moment in which the decision must be made: go on or give up? If the hero gives up, all will be lost. If the hero chooses to go on, then s/he must make a change. The change will be the hardest thing s/he has ever done, but the transformation after it's over will be magnificent and all will be won. 

I really want to put the Coda (the wrap up at the end of the book) to Edward Tulane here for you to read, because it's probably the most moving and lovely summary of a story I've ever read. But I'm worried there are people who've come here and haven't yet read this book, and I don't want to ruin it for them. If you're in a Dark Night of the Soul, this story will break your heart wide open. If you're not, it'll get you through a Dark Night once you're there. And if you're really living Life, you will be. 

So I'll just leave you with my Coda:

Once, there was a girl who loved the world. She loved its mountains, its oceans, its prairies, its forests. She loved its animals and its people. She trusted someone completely, who broke her heart. But she still loved the world. So she trusted again. And someone else broke her heart. But she still believed in love and the goodness of the world, and so she trusted again. And someone else disappointed her. And on and on this went, until one day she decided to live in a very hard bubble so no one would ever disappoint her or break her heart again. 

But her heart wasn't really happy in the bubble. So once in awhile, she'd let it out. And it would get punched, and then she'd get angry. She'd go back into her bubble where she'd punch and kick at the world outside, hoping some of the punches or kicks would hurt the world even though she knew: if you're in a protective bubble of steel how could it? 

What she really wanted was someone to love her, understand her, and accept her as is. All she ever wanted was a good friend. What she really hoped for was someone who would be a friend who didn't also want to play games with her at the same time. The girl sucked at games. Because what she really wanted most of all was for someone to mean what they say, and say what they mean.

.......that's it. That's as far as I've gotten writing my Coda, since my journey hasn't ended yet. And this morning I'm also thinking about C, whose heart I have smashed into tiny pieces. I wonder how his heart is going to recover, and where that karma will be written, ultimately, as part of my story's Coda. I think because I'm painfully aware that, once you break someone's heart, once you disappoint them, they'll become part of your story and you theirs. Forever and ever. Whether you want that or not. Tread lightly when you invite someone into your game, sweet Reader(s). The stakes are always so high.

At any rate, Edward's Coda is a ton better, because he kinda sorta gets his heart's desire at the end but in a way he didn't expect. And isn't that just how Life is? The Universe will always give you what your heart has always wanted, but maybe not in ways you'd have ever expected. So be careful what you wish for, and what you decide to invite in.

free spirit.

One of the things I keep saying to myself that I want to be, that's become my one goal with the rest of my time here on this side of this planet in this galaxy in this part of this Universe, is to be more of a free spirit. When I say this, I think I basically mean: Non-conformity. I mean: Take your rules and shove 'em where the sun don't shine, Mr. Man. I want to be a bird you cannot change. 

I know I've never liked being told what to do. I don't like feeling backed into a corner or confined. I know this is one reason I'm having such a hard time in public education right now; it's all just so confining, so regimented and scripted, so without creativity. Also, I come out swinging when I feel like I'm being bossed around or manipulated or caged. And I am stubborn; when I make up my mind, I'm pretty certain (till I'm not). I've always been fiercely independent; I don't really ask for help until I'm in a place where I can barely crawl my way back to the Light. And even then I'm still trying to do a lot of the work myself even though you may be practically carrying me. As a child, it didn't bother me that other kids were out playing and doing whatever. I was perfectly content reading under a tree, hanging out at the neighborhood pool all by myself while making up worlds about mermaids and freaking myself out that Jaws COULD, theoretically, be at the bottom of the 12 ft deep end. I wrote stories and plays and sat and listened to adult conversation with curious and sometimes shocked ears. I mean, I did have friends, but I was absolutely and completely content to be by myself (and this is still true). People tend to drain me, particularly in large crowds. My mother worried a little about me out loud sometimes, my father occasionally encouraged me to go out and make more friends. But mostly they just let me be...ME. I'd spend hours drawing my father pictures of fashion models so he could have a harem, or I'd write my mom a poem about my ridiculous brother (honestly, WHY was he THERE, Mom??) (I'm joking; my brother and I are good friends and I love him to pieces...especially now that we live in separate houses). Or I'd be performing a bizarre dance routine in our basement, certain it was floatingly esoteric when in reality it possibly looked like I had a degenerative muscle disease (I still dance like this, by the way).

But I'm also a consummate people pleaser; I want everyone to be happy and at peace. Which means that, in the past, so often I've found myself agreeing to do things and be things that aren't really true to who I am at heart. And then I end up feeling resentful and angry and restless. So, so, sooooo restless. Which is why I left my marriage in June; I tried very very hard for several years to fit into the Big Picture...but in the end, it wasn't ever my Big Picture. And this makes me sad. I really, really wanted to help C have his Big Picture. I still do, actually. I really like that one corner he's painted over there, and the hues he's chosen for the sky at midnight. But it's not MY big picture, and that really bothers me. 

(I remember one conversation towards the end, fraught with distress and frustration with me on C's part...he just wanted me to understand, to see the Big Picture, to get with the game plan. C is very athletic, and drawn to team sports. I remember he'd always say to me: We're a team. This family is a team. And I remember every time C would bring up the concept, the idea, of the three of us - him, me, and Miss M - as a team, I'd think: but what if I've always abhorred team sports? Because I'm more of a runner, or maybe an archer. Bodybuilding or singles tennis, perhaps. I've never really enjoyed the team-aspect of group sports. That requires asking for help a lot, and I like to do things myself. When our arguments started heading this route, it was one big page turner/eye opener for me. I mean, okay. I'll be your top athlete...if I can go it alone.)

So anyway. I went looking/researching for what it means to be a free spirit. Because I'm pretty patchouli hippie and all, but before I get a the Sanskrit symbol for God tattooed on my inner right wrist and some birds flying off into a sunset inked onto my inner left thigh, I want to make sure I actually know what I'm doing. That I'm on the right path. 

It turns out, I am. Because ha! Free spirit = no definitions. No confines, no inside the boxes. Which, hurrah! Oh, hurrah. You can totally be a Wall Street Banker AND a free spirit. You can save for a rainy day and STILL be a free spirit. You don't have to panhandle to be free. Free spirit means stop trying to come up with a definition and just freaking BE. Let your spirit free and just BE. 

Here's one article I found that has my name all over it: 21 Unusual Struggles Only Free Spirits Will Understand. I understand all 21 of them. And yes to everything in THIS one, and ditto everything in THIS one. And also that it's okay to be completely contradictory of what you said on Monday by saying the exact opposite on Wednesday - that is completely indicative of a free spirit. Free Spirits just won't play by your rules, homey. 

So yeah. I think I'm doing okay in my free spirit journey quest, because it turns out I've been one since, oh, 1972 or so. I just didn't know it. And you know what that means, don't you? It means that probably the reason I'm so fucked up emotionally half the time is because I'm not being true to my nature, I'm too worried about societal standards and norms or that person's definition of moral behavior or what she thinks or he wants or why that stranger in the supermarket is glaring at me. I'm not an overnighter; I can't quit my addictions cold turkey, and I'll be very honest and let you know that I am addicted to other people's opinions of me. I want people to like, no, love me. And so I care what other people think. And it's really been harshing my mellow. For a really, really, really long time now.

So that's another goal I'll be focusing on for the next 365-ish days or so: getting back to that time I could spend a Saturday night reading a book or writing a short story about one of the Menudo boys falling in love with me and whisking me off to exotic San Juan, Puerto Rico to sing me Spanish lullabies in minor keys. Meanwhile, all the other 15 year olds were off dating and making out at the movies, and I couldn't have cared less. Not a single iota. The nanosecond I can access that girl again, I'll be juuuust fine. 'Cause screw your judgments, eff your norms. Life's short; fly free, little freebird. Those cages ain't nothin' but a thang.

heart smile.

One last navel-gazing post and then I'm going to focus on writing about writing for awhile. Or at the very least, I'll throw up a couple of WTF, public education?! rants along with some WTF, Life?! rants over the next coming weeks. But no more Amy inner angst for your brain, I promise. You know why? Because it's not working for me. Sometimes, you just gotta let shit go. And when shit be gone, phew! Bullets. Dodged.

I was thinking today about how Elizabeth Gilbert (Eat, Pray, Love) did it when she went on her year-long journey of self-discovery. She made a vow to herself to be alone and just figure herself out. She ate a lot of pizza and gelato while learning Italian, took a vow of silence and got very superior at yogic meditation, and learned to smile with her heart in Bali. She made some sweet new friends on her journey, but mostly she learned how to just BE. And BE alone. And be okay with BEing alone.

Because I do this too.

This is basically what I've decided I need to do for the next year. From today until August 16, 2016, I am just going to figure ME out. I'm going to spend a lot of time in silence (when Miss M isn't around, and maybe also sometimes with soothing music on in the background), reading and meditating and doing a crap load of writing. I'm going to do what Anne Lamott said to do in Bird by Bird: seat in butt, every day, creating shitty first drafts. I'm going to get superior at this. I'm going to teach myself to smile with my heart. Even if I can't smile with it in Bali next to Javier Bardem.

Which means I'm going to have to let a lot of shit go, even if that means people. That's hard for me, because once I decide I like you I just want you around forever and ever. And especially in this day and age of social media; letting go of people who aren't good for you and you aren't good for them is very difficult to do, because letting go of social media is very difficult to do. And maybe that'll be something I'll spend the next 52 weeks or so working on as well. 

Here's the thing. Something happened tonight, I had an exchange with someone I've grown to like an awful lot, but it was weird. It's been weird for awhile now, actually. And then I talked with another friend about it, and while I was getting some pharmaceuticals to deal with the cold virus beginning to overtake my body, as I was standing in front of the Cold-EEZE boxes? The Universe or my heart or some Thing, just kind of gently placed itself on my shoulder so it could whisper in my ear: Amy, stop. Stop placing yourself in situations from which you'll only find disappointment in other people and yourself. And stop being distracted by shiny objects in the road and focus on where you're going, my love; just take care of YOU. Be gentle with yourself. Be kind. (and Miss M was included as well by this Thing, I'm assuming, by default.)

I've always believed every single person we cross paths with are brought to us to teach us things, as we are placed on their paths to teach them. Sometimes they're things we need to learn about how things work. Sometimes it's things we need to discover about ourselves. And some people are brought to us because simply because maybe we just need to repeat lessons we didn't learn the last time we were in this place. And when we're in those places, we have to make some hard choices, based on what we already know, what worked/didn't work last time, and what we're being shown now. And we have to take all of this learning and evaluate it, analyze it, and synthesize it so we'll get where we're hoping to end up eventually. Because when we don't, that's when the Universe sighs, throws us somewhere else really odd, and then we have to start all over again. 

For some people, that constant process of being fished from the sea and then tossed back in somewhere else and then fished out again and tossed back in lasts an entire life time. I do not wish to be one of those people.

My student teaching mentor told me our last day together: "Give everything you do a good year before you make any major decisions. You can do anything for a year." So I'm just going to be alone for the next 365 days, and learn to embrace solitude (when not being hounded for attention by a 6 year old drama queen). I'm going to write a novel. And I'm going to focus, really, really focus. I'm going to be really gentle with myself, and very kind. I'm not going to put myself into anymore situations that will cause me anger or distress or angst or sadness. Okay, fine. I'll probably be in about 3,655 situations that cause me anger or sadness over the next 365 days. But if I am, I promise it won't be because I put myself there; it'll just be because that particular situation has something to teach me. And when not being put in learning situations, I'm going to spend a lot of time looking for beauty and art and things that, you know, make me smile with my heart. And people too - I will always be on the lookout for people who make me smile with my heart. And if they are wild and eccentric, then my heart shall beam with joy to have stumbled upon them.

Because where I hope to end up eventually is somewhere like Bali, where I'm smiling with my heart. I want to be able to smile with my whole heart.

DIG (on USA!) thoughts: ep 10 (ten, rhymes with end...sorta)

Imagine me and you, I do;
I think about you day and night, it's only right...
So happy together!

Oh, Internet. It's 11 PM on Saturday night as I start typing this, and I don't know how to really express the depth of sadness I feel about what I am doing. What am I doing, you ask? I am writing The last DIG (on USA!) review. My last thoughts and reactions. There are no more episodes to watch now. Thursday evening, May 14, will be cold and lifeless. No Jason Isaacs tweets. Ori Pfeffer will not retweet me or give me too much information I expressly said not to. Nothing to scream at my TV about. No WTF is going ON?! moments. 

It has concluded. The mystery solved, the last twitching body laid to rest. 

It's okay. I'll be okay! Don't cry for me, Argentina! Or Israel. Or Croatia or Norway! I will be okay. (Because USA Network, until they say Yay or Nay definitively, will be receiving occasional, overly familiar, harassing tweets from me about green lighting a 2nd Season for DIG...and they can just go ahead and ask Jason Isaacs all about what it's like to get my occasional, overly familiar, harassing tweets. He knows all about these, because he gets them from me about every 3rd-4th time he tweets.)

Alright, diggers/digglers/diggees, let's just rip the band aid off. Let's talk about the last episode. 

Here's the mystery, solved (and if you haven't watched it yet, or even seen the series at all: (A) Why are you here? We are NOT friends...and (B) look away!! Look away now!!! I'm about to tell you THE WHOLE THING.):

In real life, Emma/Rebecca is a beautiful songwriter/singer/actress
named Alison, whose songs my daughter & I both love

*Emma was The Villain. The primary Antagonist. It was her, or rather, Rebbeca Donaldson aka Emma Wilson. THE WHOLE TIME. Someone mysteriously put the lost Donaldson murder/suicide investigation file Golan was trying to get from the grizzly old detective in the Negev Desert on Peter's desk and THAT'S how he figured out who Rebecca was (and thank you! whoever put that file there, because I spent about 3 hours last Thursday wondering: WHO THE HELL IS REBECCA???)

And she fell in love with Peter in the process of orchestrating the biggest antiquities/revenge heist of all time. She was in cahoots with greedy Margrove but not really--she just wanted to use him to avenge her father's death which Margrove caused by betraying his colleague, who just so happened to be Emma/Rebecca's dad. She lost her whole family because of Margrove's greed. And so, like a spider, she wove a web and trapped him, mated with him, and then ate him. And Margrove, who I was certain was a goner after, like, episode 3, ended up being the last of the dead guys, making it (almost) to the end. 

*The Order of Moriah? That was Ruth Riddell and Tad Billingham, and they got theirs. (Tad choked to death on some nuts...as he WENT nuts at the same time. No, seriously--he was eating nuts while talking nutty. Dearest, amazing DIG writers: I. LOVED. THIS. SO. MUCH.)

*Josh was a twin, and Fay was their mother. That means Fay killed one of her own children back in episode 1. 'Cause that's what crazy people do, y'all! Kill their kids. Google it--it's in the news all the time. 

*Josh turned out to be the very psycho Tad B. (who I THINK maybe was his dad?!?) was. (Parenting rule #1: model the behavior you want to see in your children.) And Josh turned on Tad, because Josh was taught that he's God's right hand boy/high priest, and so you know: he thinks he really is. Turns out, raising kids to believe they are God's gift to the world gives them an Entitlement Complex. (This is also called Extreme Spoiling, and I actually watched it happen, live, at my local supermarket about 2 weeks ago.)

So basically, evil Rabbi Lev and the Order of Moriah wanted to blow up Dome of the Rock. Rabbi Lev so he could rebuild the Temple and welcome the Messiah; Tad so he could start the Rapture and bring four horsemen down to scourge the Earth and bring the Messiah (and then Tad and Lev would get into a big fist fight about whether that was the First or Second Messiah). 

To do that, they brought in thousands of pounds of explosives disguised as books written by Tad Billingham. Then they rigged them all up to a dam that, when exploded, would flood the underground tunnels beneath Jerusalem and when the water made its way to the Temple Mount, BAM! Good-bye, Dome of the Rock; hello a lot of angry religious guys starting World War 3.

*Ruth's goin' to federal prison! Where she'll teach women to scare the shit out of people just by looking pointedly at them. (I think she should have gotten blown up in the damn dam, or had her throat slit by Lynn with the sharp letter opener, but that's just me. Because Armageddon Protocol.)

But now for the happy endings:

Blood. Red blood. Blood moons. Sacrificial blood.
Blood. 

*Lynn's still in Israel! She's running the FBI's Jerusalem bureau. Hopefully the rest of her time there doesn't involve any more blood. I think Anne Heche spent about half the show covered in blood, someone else's or her own. And no more climbing chain link fences, Lynn! You'll break your 5th metatarsal. And only sleep with employees who aren't being used as pawns in a chess game of revenge! But I do bow to your toughness, Lynn. You are a strong woman, and the next time I fight crime, I want YOU to be my partner.

*Peter made it! And he SAVED THE WORLD! And he's letting go of his past--he finally took off his wedding ring, and (I didn't see this but I BET) he deleted his ex-wife's phone number finally and he's going to see a plastic surgeon about that scar. He took Vicky's picture out of the drawer, and Lynn's going to send him far, far away (can it be to Atlanta, Georgia, Lynn? We have lots and lots of religious crazies for Peter to fight here, too). 

*Shem made it out alive! He's still out there somewhere, loving on Nature and saying prayers at strange moments while wearing white. He's counseling lost, fucked up people with gentle words of ancient wisdom. He's eating vegetables for dinner and dancing naked under the moon, and he's taking long, candlelit mikvehs. (I love the thought of a Shem out there in the world doing this, being a guardian of the Light for our spot in the Milky Way.)

*And Avram. Dear, sweet Avram. Thank God he made it off the DIG writers' pages alive; he's out there still. And so is Red (I'm going to talk about them in a few more paragraphs, because if I do it now, this will make me cry like I did when I rewatched it this afternoon and I need to get through the rest of what I want to say in my write up).

Basically, what I'm saying is: this show was, in the end, about water and a cow. 

....Did you know? Water has a very mystical meaning: it's used in purification rituals, to cleanse us. We are 50-65% water; without it we will die. And our planet will as well. Every bit of water we have on Earth today has been here since our planet was born; the water you bathe and shower in? Here since the dinosaurs. The water you wash your car with? Here before life began. All life began on Earth in water. Take care of it; it is precious. (Don't use it for nefarious purposes, either.)

I think it's really interesting that the DIG writers used water as a catalyst to either destroy or save in the end. (The dam's water was all diverted into an old archaeological bit of Jerusalem history: Warren's Shaft. Archaeologists who've studied it think it was first developed by the Canaanites; it is an ancient tunnel most likely used by ancient Jerusalemites as a water supply system. And it saved (in DIG) the world by diverting the exploded dam water away from the Temple Mount. Good job, ancient Canaanites!) In the beginning, I wrote about how I thought numbers mattered, that God was in the numbers. At the end, it turns out God was actually in the water.

And also I felt DIG was about darkness and light. Sons of Darkness, Sons of Light. An eternal, internal War of Soul. Maybe that's what Armageddon/Gog and Magog/the End of Days will boil down to: we'll all be fighting ourselves, inwardly...and only one of us will win. Let's all hope our Sons of Light come out on top. (Peter's did...he was tempted, at the end, by the Whore of Babylon, to come away with her and enjoy her spoils. Except Rebecca/Emma didn't realize she was dealing with a Son of Light. And so, in that way, Peter really was a Messiah. Of sorts.)

But mostly? DIG was about a cow. Not the cow herself so much, but Avram's devotion to her well-being--because DIG was about honor and loyalty and faith and loss and most important? Taking care of one another--Red saved Avram and Avram saved Red. Take care of each other, good people of Earth. Treat each other with kindness and care. Our animal friends, too.

And I think DIG was a good example of how to tell a good Hero's Journey story. Do you know about this? Joseph Campbell, an American mythologist, developed the concept--every story in every culture in every language in every corner of the planet even the farthest removed tells mythologies, and they all center around a Hero who must embark upon a Journey. One day, he wakes up and realizes: I have to go on a journey. Sometimes the journey is to rescue a maiden, or slay a dragon, or defeat a giant; it varies depending on the story and the culture. And so the Hero sets out--he leaves everything he knows behind and takes a journey. Along the way, he meets friends who are enemies, enemies who are friends, he has to overcome obstacles, pass tests, he fights battles and is wounded...until finally he reaches a Dark Night of the Soul, in which he must make the decision to either give up and die, or go on. But choosing to go on means the Hero must change, and change will involve doing the hardest thing(s) he can ever possibly imagine doing. But if the Hero does it, in the end he wins and goes back to his village to accolades and adoration. But if the Hero does it, he is changed forever, and Life as he knows it will never be the same again. (Not necessarily a bad thing.)

I think Campbell's The Hero's Journey could be applied to Lynn, Peter, and Avram. They all were woken up one day, realized they had to go on a journey to fight something terrible, and met enemies who were friends and friends who were enemies and suffered through Dark Nights of the Soul along the way. 

Particularly Avram: in the end, he is forever changed; I'm not sure if he lost his faith or just his faith in the people of his faith. But he has left the Orthodox community for the world because of Rabbi Lev's evil, and he will be forever changed now. 

Red is free. Home on the range. The last moments we see of her are a sweet, happy calf surrounded by her "people," running off to enjoy the world...no sacrificial knives or weird kids in breastplates anywhere. And the real Red is also free, along with all the other baby cows who worked the show with her. They are all free, running around in the world right now, and will never ever be a source of food for anyone reading this. They are safe, safe at last.

Since Golan got killed (sob!!) Shem and Peter could save
the world in DIG 2. (Shem will use prayer to catch bad guys, and
Peter will make sarcastic asides.)

Three Stars and a Wish

A wish:

That the final episode had been longer. I realize Jason, Ori, Anne, Alison, etc. would have had to stay in Croatia like 1-2 more weeks eating pizza while missing their loved ones and USA would've had to cough up more cash, but I felt like there needed to be about 30 more minutes, maybe 40; this show felt slightly rushed to wrap it up. A big show to start the story; one big one to finish it. And I wish the Armageddon Protocol stuff had been a bit bigger in scope and nature. More water, more explosions. I mean, Tad and friends were trying to start The End.

3 Stars:

1. Clearly, I am in love with the writers (still! we are STILL on our perpetual honeymoon, DIG writers! Til death do us part). So I thought the writing was superb and stunning, stunningly superb. Throughout. There were a lot of moments I watched and re-watched and went: holy crap, those are amazing storytellers. How does one learn to do that? I would like to just sit and pretend to darn their socks while they work on their stories. So I can learn from them.

2. The final episode had some amazingly awesome writing in it, and words that sat with me most from this episode were from Peter:

"Maybe it should all end. Let everybody wipe each other out in the name of God." (JUST last Friday, I thought the SAME thing, Peter Connelly!)

and what an awesome exit line: when Emma/Rebecca tells Peter she'll see him in Hell, he says, "Not if I see you first." (Oh my god. I am SO using this in the next argument I'm in that person tells me to go to Hell.)

3.There were some loose ends. But this is actually a positive for me, and here's why: I have read things on the Internet from people complaining about these loose ends. There are questions about why certain things happened or didn't happen, or what was the point of that character. Just some things I've seen around town: what was Ridell's motivation? What was Billingham's? How'd the file get put on Peter's desk/who put it there? How'd the Essene know where to go? How'd the bombs get there? How'd Emma/Rebecca even know about Peter? How'd she find out so much about his daughter? 

These questions are why I think the finale needed to be longer...and yet, I'm okay with not having ALL the loose questions answered. You out there reading this may not be, and the questions have been really chapping your buns (my suggestion: stop reading imdb.com's message boards; lunacy lies within). But I am okay with loose ends. And I'm okay with the unanswered questions because I think that's just how Life works--sometimes there's an ending and you can't figure out why somebody did that thing, or didn't do that other thing they were supposed to do. Sometimes you don't get to say good-bye; sometimes there isn't any closure; sometimes you just aren't supposed to know.

I'm also okay with lingering questions about some of the characters because I know about building characters--when I write stories, every single character I put in it has a background and a motivation; I know what these are. Every detail, every motivation doesn't always make it into the story; but I don't build them into my characters for that reason. I build them into my characters to give a story movement and life. Sometimes it's to make a character more real, or to make another character more real. I am totally fine if that's what the DIG writers were doing with this. 

But this freaks some people out--I once took a writing class with a lady who got really annoyed with me because I wouldn't write a complete ending to any of my stories. And I hated reading her stories because they were always ended on such pretty, wrapped up, here-you-go presentations. C'est la vie; to each his own. 

All in all, I hearted DIG tremendously. Its creators, Gideon Raff and Tim Kring, wrote it on spec and I'm not sure necessarily wrote it with the intention it would go on and on. From what I understand, they simply wanted to tell a whole story, for us to watch on our TVs (or iPads or wherever you watch your TV shows now). But the writing was so tremendous, and the acting was so stellar, and it is just human nature to want stellar, tremendous things we are enjoying to continue. Orgasms SHOULD last days and weeks, it is not fair they only last a few seconds. So I think there should be a Season 2, so we can all meet back online and orgasm together, with a new adventure. But if there is NOT a Season 2, then I am happy this story is out there in the ethos now. When my child is old enough, I will share it with her. And she can share it with her child(ren) and so on and so forth, as is the connective nature of storytelling.

It was a wild, roller coaster ride every Thursday night, thank you, DIG writers and cast and crew! But man. I will confess: I have an extremely addictive personality, and so I'm going to have to go to DIG rehab now. But first, you know what I'm going to do this Thursday night? Start over with Episode 1. I have them all in my DVR, and I'm going to start over with Episode 1 this Thursday, and recreate the whole thing!

Also, I'm going to harass Jason Isaacs on Twitter to see if he'll wake up at 3 AM on Thursday (aka Friday for him) in London for the next 10 weeks to re-live tweet them again, for me, personally. 

What is Peter looking at???

(scroll down to solve the mystery)

It's Debbie! Come to avenge Golan!!

And it's Golan! It's his ghost! (Shem brought them both back via prayer)

(Yes, yes. I KNOW THEY'RE DEAD FOREVER.
But I'm a magical thinker. Stop judging me.)

new year, new list.

One of my favorite writers, Neil Gaiman, replied to a comment I sent him about his New Year 2015 post on his blog (it made me cry...Internet, I've been having a YEAR). It might have just been because of where I've been at the last few nights, but his reply felt very gentle, and it felt very kind. I think I've written here before about how important kindness has become to me.

(On a slightly unrelated side note, his reply also gave me a brief glimpse into what a famous person gets to deal with when they log onto Twitter...nobody was interested in me at all, but they WERE interested in getting his attention. And because he linked to me, I got to get some of his attention by proxy. And so, for about 2 hours my Twitter notifications blew up a bit. It was mind boggling; I didn't know where to look first or WHO these people were. Ah, so THAT'S why they need a little blue VIP check. And to not reply to every single person who tries to get their attention because it creates more Twitter chaos and god knows it already has plenty of that. God bless them.)

At any rate, now I feel like I can officially begin 2015 on a good note. (Thank you, Neil Gaiman. Love you.)

Also, on New Year's Eve, I looked and looked and looked for a place to send my story "Alice's Sensible Plan." Finding none (or at least none I felt would be even slightly interested in publishing it), I just said "screw it." And I published it myself on Wattpad. I'm still on the fence about that place, but I know for a fact Margaret Atwood and Paul Coehlo post stories there and if Margaret and Paul say it's okay, then so be it. Here you go: Amy's first (self-) published story.

You can tell I'm a total newbie at that place. First off, the title of the tale is simply "Alice's Sensible Plan." But Wattpad wanted another title. Or something happened. Anyway, now it's turned into "Alice's Sensible Plan: A World War II Bride Breaks Free." Which is just too, too long and not my intention. But I'm too lazy to fix it. Also, there are formatting issues and probably some typos I've missed. C'est la vie, I'm not an editor, humming Let It Go to myself whenever I think about it.

Okay. Moving on to 2015: A memo I found, with questions to think about as you go into another new year. I liked this better than setting goals...whenever I set goals, I tend to like to sabotage them. Maybe if I just answer questions, I'll trick my ego into thinking this is just about getting fun stuff it likes. I don't know. Let's try it and see!

A bad habit I'm going to break:

Lands. Just *A* bad habit? As in only one? This is hard, World Wide Web! Well, I'd like to have a better night/bedtime schedule, I guess. Right now, it's: come home, cook dinner, clean up dinner, become a vegetable on the internet, give Miss M a bath, read a story, put her to bed, go back to being an online vegetable. This is no way to live. 

I'd like to get into the habit of having a peaceful night. Like 80% peaceful, meditative night with 20% vegetating because right now it's the opposite. That's my bad habit I'm going to work on breaking. (I'm not going to tempt fate by announcing it will be broken...there are reasons I'm papering over the cracks with online vegetating.)

A new skill I'd like to learn:

You know what's been sloshing around in my brain for awhile? Taking an acting class. I don't know why. Maybe I feel the need to find a way to break out of my comfort zone. For some reason, I sense an acting class may do this. I'm going to pencil that in as a Summer 2015 activity.

A person I hope to be more like:

Elizabeth Gilbert, duh. And my dear friend Carol, who's basically as good as being with Elizabeth Gilbert because they're like soul spirit twinsies. I'm going to try to schedule more lunch dates with Carol/Liz this coming year. I have other lovely human beings I will invite along on these outings as well. 

A good deed I'm going to do:

I actually have big plans for this. I've noticed Miss M is sort of...how can I put this nicely? She can be grabbie. A cute little crabby grabbie. She's got a very kind heart, and often expresses concern for people who are having a hard time....until they try to take something she feels is hers and then it's bloody freaking murder time! I want her to know how fortunate she is, and how much other people (and kids) can really struggle, and that if you have more, it's important to help people who have less. Nobody should hoard all the gold; it's not right, and it's not fair and stop trying to feed us all that crap about needing all the money to create more jobs it's a load of horse dukie and you know it.

Anyway, C's talked about taking her to a soup kitchen to volunteer once in awhile, which is an excellent idea and I've thought about that too. And I'd also like to do just random acts of kindness with her, things for neighbors around us, or just when we're out and about. Always on the lookout for somebody who needs something, or just a kind gesture. 

A place I'd like to visit:

Goodness, again with the too many choices. Well, if I COULD, I'd go to Europe. Specifically the UK to feed my anglophilia, but I'd consider other areas. A part of me says: just whip out a credit card and freaking go before your passport expires and then you have to go through the hassle of renewing it...and one day, I may be able to do that. 

But not this year, unfortunately. Too much in the oven, not enough dough in the kitchen. So, I'm going to say that I'd like to take a trip alone somewhere but I don't know where. And I don't know why I want to go alone, but I feel the need to travel solo (sorry Mom. I know you're reading that and going: What did I tell you on the phone the other night about that?!) (hey everybody, could you stop right now and offer a prayer or a good vibe that nothing bad happens to me on this solo trip so I don't have to take a call from my mom wherein she goes: You see?! I TOLD you so! You never listen to me!)

A book I'd like to read:

I have far too many of these to put here. One I didn't get for Christmas that I should have asked for is Amanda Palmer's THE ART OF ASKING. I sense it may be a life changing book. She also has a wonderfully sweet TED Talk about the art of asking. 

A letter I'm going to write:

Not a letter so much, but just more writing in general. My 2015 aspiration (I will not say goal, I will not say goal) is to write every day. Every single day, for at least 30 minutes. About what I don't know yet. But every single day. Every. Day. (It's my therapy, and I will need it this year.)

A new food I'd like to try:

Marmite. Ha! No, I'm just messing with you--I once had some of that stuff on the tip of my little finger and I just couldn't do it. It's the look and smell--very vomit-like (sorry UK people, but it appears many of you eat vomit, and on a regular basis). I mean, I know it's not technically vomit, and I'm being slightly pejorative toward another culture. The UK has lots of lovely food...clotted cream, scones, Eton Mess, Yorkshire pudding, fish & chips, bangers & mash...and then there's marmite. It is just not one of the UK's finest culinary creations, in my opinion). 

Soooo...well. How about vegetarian food? I know that's sort of a lame, kind of cop out answer. But seriously: tofu. Gross, right? I'm game to try it in 2015, though.

I'm going to do better at:

Being open to lots of different kinds of people and experiences (excluding marmite, sorry). I can be fairly judgmental, and when people are judgmental it seems to be born out of their own insecurities. I'd like to be better at being a friend...I'd like to ask for forgiveness more. I'd like to find something beautiful about each day, no matter how hard it was. Elizabeth Gilbert does happiness jars, and a friend of mine also posted on Facebook about a gratitude journal idea she's starting, both excellent ideas. I would like to offline journal again, because it's therapeutic, but if I do it as a gratitude journal, I am self aware enough to know I'd most likely end up really venting my spleen. I would never share any of it here, because I'd write things that would appall and shock you and make you really start to wonder about me. So I'm probably more likely to stick to the happiness jar because if I forget to add to it for, say, ten days, I sense there'd be less self-flagellation involved. So I will begin a happiness jar, with a vent-my-spleen journal for balance. 

In summary, it sounds like in 2015 I'll be aiming for more peaceful moments, kindness and generosity, art and writing, breaking out of my comfort zones, tofu but not marmite, travel, forgiveness, and reflection. With some spleen venting because nobody can be happy 100% of the time, and plus stories with no conflict are simply not stories anybody wants to read or watch or hear. It's just how it is.

Overall, I guess what I'm looking for is connection.

My wish for you, whoever you are reading this, is that your 2015 is filled with millions of blessings, a lot of laughing, kisses and hugs from people who know and love you the best (or why not? kisses and hugs from complete strangers if that's what you're into), at least one grand adventure you can talk about for a very long time, and some really amazing moments of peace and grace filled with the knowledge you're not alone in any of this. And maybe also one amazing new friendship, and lots and lots of art, whichever kind makes you the happiest.

Welcome, 2015. Welcome to this crazy, splendid old world of ours.

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!)