Something Everyone Can Be

The final address at the Teen BookCon was given by author Sharon Draper. This was the speech I most needed to hear that day. I’ve never met Sharon, nor heard her speak, and the awesome thing is that she was speaking to teenagers, about teenagers—teens who write, and teens who don’t. And I just happened to be pretending to be a teen, so it worked out.

Author problem #347: I have zero experience in talking to teens.  (This is one of the reasons I crashed Teen Book Con.)

Besides being an author, Sharon has taught school for 30 years, and her vocal skills show that experience. She was engaging and funny. She read out loud several pages from her books—segments that absolutely hooked the audience. But more importantly, she was profound.

She said something like (I’m totally paraphrasing): Some people are born with a natural talent for writing. Others work very, very hard to learn how to write because they love it and it’s what they want to do. But not everyone is meant to be a writer, and that’s okay. Everyone has something they are either good at, or something they love enough to work hard on, and that is a good place to focus. Not everyone needs to be a writer.

But everyone, EVERYONE can be a reader. Besides novels, there is nonfiction, and magazines and short stories and biographies, and a million other types of books to choose from. Those people who don’t think they’re readers just simply haven’t found the right books or the right materials.

Shannon’s words made me think of my fifteen-year-old daughter. For years, she has insisted that she is not a reader. That she doesn’t like reading at all. But, um, right before The Hunger Games movie came out, she read through the entire series in ONE WEEK. (Not a reader? WHATEVER!) Yeah. I agree with Sharon. Everyone can be a reader.   

Isn’t everyone in the world just looking for a good story? What do you think?

Who We Are

For all my ranting about love and how terrible it is to watch the hearts of our children break when they’re let down (probably a number of times throughout their childhood), I also have to admit that these experiences tend to be defining moments—the ones that make us who we are or will grow up to be. Yes?

Heartache tends to make the strong stronger, and the weak, well, weaker. And it’s not so much about how our hearts are broken or by whom, so much as how we handle it and what we choose to do with the experience.

Watching my kids has taught me a lot about life. Say I’m teaching them to roller skate. They fall down and get hurt, skin their knee or something and most of the time, all they need is a kiss from their mom or dad to take the pain away (and okay, maybe a doctor visit on extreme occasions). And then, once they’re healed, they get back up and work twice as hard to figure out those dang shoes with wheels. They don’t forget about their hurt or what caused it, but instead choose to learn from it. Sometimes they’re able to avoid or prevent similar situations, and sometimes they aren’t. But at least they know how to deal with whatever comes. And so do I.

Or, okay, if we don’t know how to deal with it, we know how NOT to deal with it. Yeah?


Guess I have something in common with Forrest Gump's mother, who said, "Don't ever let anyone tell you they're better than you, Forrest. If God wanted us all to be the same, he'd have given us all braces on our legs." 

I understand that this might even be an unusual way to look at life’s ups and downs. But I’m an optimist, an idealist even. And I believe that learning how to deal with heartache is half of life’s biggest battle. (The other half being that we learn how to deal with love.)

Do you agree? Not agree? Am I off my rocker?

Newsflash: All YA Books are Disturbing.

On Wednesday, I questioned whether or not my son’s teacher had the right to give low marks to a short story based on the fact that she found the premise disturbing.

Doc’s question to me was, “Mom, aren’t teachers supposed to read real books?”

Here’s the thing. They should. They really should. But that doesn’t mean they do.

If my son’s teacher is smart, she would have read, I don’t know, maybe, The Hunger Games. Or, To Kill a Mockingbird, or The Scarlett Letter, Lord of the Flies, Shakespeare, or any number of the current popular Vampire/werewolf/paranormal/fantasy/dystopian books. But maybe she’s not a fan of the fantastical. Maybe she prefers YA issue books. Still.

Here’s the thing: ALL those books are disturbing in one way or another. Heck, being a teenager is disturbing. They read about post apocalyptic societies in which children are forced to fight to the death. About deadly creatures who roam earth, right under the noses of the clueless public. They read about addiction, abuse, neglect, cruelty, and all manner of emotional trauma. They read about *gasp* the kind of true love that makes you do stupid things—like ask to become a vampire. Or a faery.

Show me a YA book that isn’t disturbing in one way or another, and I’ll show you a YA book only being read by adults. And not by many.

Is it really a shocker to discover that these teen readers write similar stories?

But then, I say that assuming the teacher in question has read any of these books. Because, as mentioned above, just because she should doesn’t mean she has. Or does. Or will. However, if she hasn’t, how is she able to fairly grade papers written by the kids who are her students?The ones who read disturbing books?

As mentioned earlier, I respect that teacher’s ability to grade papers based on opinion. Even when the technical aspects have been efficiently handled. But I am also troubled by her choice to discourage any kid from expressing their creativity in the best way they know by downgrading their paper for being disturbing.

I believe kids have a hundred times more power than adults behind their creative instincts, because they have not yet learned to care what others think of their work. They write, dance, create, play, and dream just because they can. It is only as they become adults and have numerous people working to convince them that they aren’t good enough, that they actually start to believe it’s true.

Again, I ask you. Does an adult—especially a teacher—have the right to begin the cycle of “I’m not good enough” for a child? Even if that child is on the verge of adulthood?

Something to think about I guess.

Are You Teachable?

I’ve had reason to be thinking about ego this week. Things that happen to send our egos soaring, and other things that knock us splat down with our faces on the pavement. In fact, in my experience, it’s entirely possible to experience both sensations within a single minute. A single conversation. A single sentence, even.

And I actually think this phenomenon is a good thing. Maybe, if we’re lucky, it’ll keep us humble. And if we’re really lucky, we might even have something to learn from such an experience. That is, if we are the kind of people who are teachable.

Case in point. I go to a lot of writer’s conferences. I’ll openly admit that very often, my motivations are social as much as about perfecting my craft. But I give myself credit for networking, and actually do take a new—or mostly new—notebook to each conference, and work toward filling either the notebook or a file on my computer, depending on my mood. Always, always, though, I come away having learned several valuable things that apply to me and my writing.

At one particular conference, I found myself sitting next to a newly published author, who, it seems to me, had traveled quite some distance to be there. This author attended several classes, and we ran into each other many times. I never once saw that person open a notebook or computer. That author sat through the entire conference and never wrote down a single thing.

On the other hand, I had—once again—filled nearly half my notebook with handwritten scribbles of value. At the end of the day, I found myself skimming through my notes looking for important tidbits I wanted to remember as I opened my work in progress. As I did, I wondered if the other author was sorry about not taking notes, or if they, perhaps, felt they didn’t need to remember the lessons from those particular speakers. Then I wondered what was the point of making such a journey, if not to learn something new.

As a good contrast, years ago at another conference, I found myself sitting in a class next to a beautiful red-headed woman who had her notebook open taking copious notes. I remember being impressed with the number of details she was able to scribble by hand as she listened to the speaker. After the class was over, I stayed in the same room waiting to hear from the next author—a many-times published, well-known author by the name of Janette Rallison. Imagine my shock and delight when Janette was introduced, and the woman next to me proceeded to stand and walk to the front of the room to teach the class.

It didn’t matter how many books she’d had published, she knew there is always more to learn. She was being teachable. I’m not positive, but I’m thinking that might very well have been my very first writer’s conference. What a great example to fledgling writers. At that conference, watching her take notes, I learned that all authors have something to learn. It’s a process of evolution.

Question: What have you learned recently? Do share!

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My Kids are Growing Up

I've discovered that no matter how hard I try, there is really no way of putting a plastic bubble around my kids to force them to stop growing up. Only yesterday, I was in the hospital with my fist child, thinking he was all there was in life.

Except that wasn't really yesterday, it was fifteen and a half years ago. Yeah, you got it. Last Monday I took him to the Driver's License Division to get his driving permit. I now have to teach him how to drive. (Can you say panic?)

And that's not all. The very next day, I sat with my third child (eleven-year-old, girl, in the fifth grade) while we listened to the maturation presentation at school. She's growing up too!

Now, about this presentation. She was so nervous. And admittedly, she hoped I would forget and not show up. But I didn't. It's a good thing, too. Unfortunately, the presentation was so very basic, there was only a tiny amount of information she didn't already know. I found myself way disappointed. There was nothing about how boys change as they grow up. Nothing about sex (sorry, but they need to at least know how babies are made!) and nothing about eating disorders, or any of the things I learned about when I was that age.

Lucky for me, I have no problem talking to my children about these things. They're natural, and I feel like it's important for them to know. Still, there are a whole lot of adults who refuse to discuss what they perceive as embarrassing or delicate subjects with their children. I suppose they expect the kids to learn at school. But people, school lessons really don't teach them anything about it.

On the other hand, they will help teach your kids how to drive--drivers education is required in the sophomore year. And yes, my son will have to practice driving in my car (a frightening idea, let me assure you) but I can go with him knowing that if he doesn't listen to me, there is another person of influence helping teach him the basics. And knowing how often kids believe what their parents are telling them, that's good to know.

Eventually, every kid will know how to drive a car. Even if they don't own one for several years. But not every kid will know and understand what's happening with their body, and why they should make good choices (on every level) to keep them healthy and happy. Even though they all have bodies.

Before you start flogging me, let me just state that I don't blame the school system for this massive oversight. Some things are personal, and private, and should be taught with a level of love. It's our job as parents to take care of those things.

I just find it ironic, that's all. It reminds me why--when some of my girlfriends had questions their parents wouldn't answer--my mother sat us down in our kitchen for a question and answer session. I was mortified at the time. But I also knew it was needed.

And now, even though it makes me feel old, it's my turn. Heaven help me!