Magic Beyond Words

I just finished watching Magic Beyond Words: The J.K. Rowling Story and I am still in shock. It has inspired me exponentially that I'm not even sure I can put it into words. I have always loved J.K. Rowling and the Harry Potter series. She is one of my biggest literary influences beside Louisa May Alcott and Meg Cabot. But I had no idea her story, her true story, would impact me this much.

She overcame her mother's illness, an abusive husband, poverty, stereotypes, writer's block (to say the least)! She is so strong and driven and I aspire to be just like her now. She's my hero. She's amazing.

I know that the movie is not 100% factual and its creators may have taken some creative license, but the emotion behind the movie is real. The inspiration is still there. And you don't even have to want to be a writer to admire her. She stood firm in her beliefs. She had conviction. She didn't let fear keep her from doing what she really wanted. She is an example to us all to follow our dreams, don't listen to those who try to hold you back.

I was so inspired by her tonight. As I was watching the movie I was thinking, look at what she overcame! I can do that to! My circumstances and my past don't have to hold me back anymore, I can break those binds and fly away through my writing. And maybe, like J.K. Rowling, my past can help me mold my own future.

I've never been so affected by somebody's story as I was by hers.

Poetry Post: Grandpa

You held my hand when I was a child,

you could always make me smile

and when you’re gone

I don’t know how I’ll move on.

Your voice resonates inside my heart.

You were with me from the start

With stories to tell of a life lived well.

Some days only you could break my shell

I wish I could tell you what I mean

and everything you’ve done for me.

Hopeless I came to you, fatherless,

you saw the good in the oppressed.

A greater man I’ll never know,

not Kings or learned men, just a John Doe

who saw the light in daily life,

who changed my world amid the lies.

One day when I have a son,

I’ll tell him of the very one

who’s name he carries with pride,

of that beloved man who lives inside.

2011 (c) Evelyn E. Gaerke

Relatable Character Building

I can't tell you the times I have picked up a book, read a chapter, closed it and never opened it again. Maybe it was boring, maybe the topic was one I had no interest in, or maybe the characters weren't at all relatable. Edward Cullen. Love him or hate him, he was perfect in nearly every way. He was polite, handsome, protective of the woman he loved, and all around the perfect boyfriend. But can modern day men relate to him? I seriously doubt it since the majority of Twilight readers are female. Men don't read the books and think, "Man, I know what he's talking about. Been there, done that." They more likely think, "I can't believe Stephenie Meyer wrote this and now I have to live up to this impossible standard!" But in all honesty they're thinking, "When's dinner?"

When developing characters, we have to remember to make them human, if they are human, and give them flaws. They have to feel insecure about themselves sometimes because no one feels on top all the time, except sociopaths. This is especially prevalent in YA literature. Teenagers experiencing anxiety and depression are at an all time high, so naturally when writing about them, we need to reflect the pressures they feel to look and act a certain way. No one is immune to peer pressure and bullying. Not even your characters.

While writing my NaNo novel for 2009, I had to keep reminding myself to keep my main character real. She had to feel pain and regret. She had to look in the mirror in the morning and not love the way she looked, but accepted it anyway. I kept subconsciously wanting to make her this perfect specimen of a female teenager. Completely uncaring of what people think of her, beautiful, a social butterfly without having to try, in other words...boring! Because if your characters start out without any problems, where do they go from there? A character should grow in some way. Maybe, they start out super confident and something bad happens and they lose their confidence, but then I guess it was a facade all along anyway. Give them flaws. Give them moles and freckles, give them an annoying laugh, make them just a little bit pudgy, Size 12 Is Not Fat, anyone? Its okay to accept the imperfect in your characters. Because that is what I want to read about. People like me.

Study people around you. Notice how they act in front of people. Then  watch them when they're alone. You might find some discrepancies. There's a story there. Story telling is all about characters. Without characters, there is no story. But with characters, there is always a story, if you unclench and let your characters show their true sides.

I know there are exceptions to this. But most of the time, I want to read about somebody I could meet in a grocery store or at school. Just a thought.

The Secret

This is a short story I wrote a couple of years ago for a theme contest. While I did not win, I do like this story and have often thought of expanding it into a full length novel involving mermaids. ;p Enjoy!

There he was again. That strange, beautiful boy. He was sitting in his usual corner of the cafeteria, only a bottle of water in front of him. He was tall, at least 6’2. He wasn’t muscular exactly, leaning more towards lanky. But he had strong hands. And now they gripped the bottled water. He leaned his head over the table, his curly, blonde hair hiding his eyes from me. But I didn’t need to see them. I had memorized them long ago. They were the cold gray of stone, and equally hard. And yet, deep within them, I could see the spark of warmth. Some undiscovered secret that I longed to know. But no one could ever get close enough to him to know. That’s just how things were.

            And then he lifted his head. And those stone, cold eyes that I had only ever observed from afar met mine. And I couldn’t breath. The chatter of the cafeteria faded from my ears and all was silent except for the beating of my heart. His eyes danced as they bore into mine and the spark I had always imagined was there, shone brighter than ever. I could see the warm being inside, quietly calculating, calmly observing. His lips quirked up slightly and I could see a refined sense of humor in him as well. So much inside, yet so little exposed to the world.

            My eyes were wide and had begun to dry out when I finally blinked. And in the half second of that blink the voices returned, my breath returned, and his hair covered his face once more, his stony exterior firmly in place. Had I only imagined that? Had I slipped into a daydream or merely a lapse of consciousness? My hands were gripping the table so hard my fingers had turned red at the ends and my knuckles were bone white. 

            “Are you okay?” Olivia, my best friend, leaned close to my ear and whispered. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

            I looked at her quickly before returning my gaze back to him. “I…I don’t know.” I admitted. “I think…I just need some air.” I pushed away from the table, my chair squealing on the tile, before I ran for the exit. I burst through the doors, breathing the crisp November air in gasps. I clutched my arms around myself and fell onto the stone benches that sat by the doors.

            I was trying to regain my composure when the door opened behind me. I tensed immediately. I could sense it. It was him. A strong, tan hand rested on my shoulder and I looked up. I met those grey eyes once more, and this time they hid nothing. I could plainly see the person behind them. He smiled down at me, a teasing, amused smile. One I had no choice but to return. He took the seat beside me, cradling my hand in his and averted his gaze across the busy interstate that ran beside the school, towards the western horizon, and beyond that, the sea.

2011 (c) Evelyn E. Gaerke

Research

I have had to spend many a night devoted to research for stories. For every piece of paper scribbled with a story idea, there is an equal for notes. I have done research on topics ranging from history, mechanics, politics, religion, science, etc. I once researched how to operate a rigid airship. Because that's what being a writer does to you. You want to tell stories, fascinating stories of adventure and fantasy, but we often live the most mundane lives underneath it all. I've never been on an airship. Not sure I ever want to ride one after my research, but I wanted to write about it.

Luckily we live in the age of information and almost anything we need to know is available at our fingertips (i.e. Google). For my Camp NaNoWriMo novel I decided to tell a love story about a high school senior and an ancient genie. While I know plenty about being a high school senior, I was drawing a blank on the genie part, aside from what I've seen in Aladdin, so I pulled up another tab and googled it. Wikipedia was my first option, as usual, and I clicked on the link where I was instantly transported to everything I need to know about genies, or djinn, from the etymology of the word to their religious connotation to what makes up their physical matter, fire.

Not only does doing research provide you with answers to all of your technical questions, it also sometimes provides insight to your plot or even inspiration for a storyline you'd never even thought of. Take my genie story, for example, not only did I decide I wanted the lamp to fall from the sky because some djinn originate from the air, but I also thought up the ending based on something I found doing research.

I know what some of you are thinking. Wikipedia? Where's the credibility? Wikipedia is actually quite accurate for a Web 2.0 invention. While there have been instances of misinformation appearing on some of the articles, it is usually resolved quickly. Not only are there millions of minds to draw from, the article informs you up front if there are any references, also helpful for finding more reputable websites. I've even had a few college professors who recommend going to Wikipedia to find sources, though most schools still have policies against using the actual site as a reference. And it reads incredibly easy, since it is written by everyday folk. So, you may find you understand a Wikipedia article much easier than a more technical source, incredibly helpful while researching my airships.

Whatever you're writing about, doing the research where experience has limited you can open up so many new thoughts for your story. Take the extra time, put in the effort and you'll see that your work will pay off in the future.

First Poetry Post! "A Friend"

I can't help wondering where you've been,
how you deal with these thoughts within.
Happiness so many take for granted
leaves us cold and disenchanted.

Alone for so long and drowning in silence,
I've looked for answers and found no guidance.
All the sunshine in the world
cannot appease a wounded soul.

Cast aside the past and indifferences,
we'll learn to heal and breach the distances.
You don't have to feel alone.
Pack your bags and come on home.

Life has been cruel until now,
tearing us apart, but I vow
to never lose sight of what truly matters
and take each day, chapter by chapter.

Though I may feel hopeless sometimes,
I know you'll never leave my side.
So, I'll dry my tears and try to mend,
remembering there's nothing better than a friend.

2011 (c) Evelyn E. Gaerke

Inspiration is a Fickle Thing

My entire life I have filled notebooks with ideas for stories. Not once has my imagination run dry when thinking about something I would like to read or see a movie about. When it comes to actually writing these stories, however, I’ve had a bit more trouble. Character planning, plotting, and conflict resolution have always been a bit harder to achieve. I know what kind of story I want, I know how I want it to end, but it’s the bits in between that I have to work for. I can find myself sitting at my laptop or with my notebook, a story idea fresh in my mind and sometimes even an outline, but when it comes to actually writing it, I draw a blank. Is it writer’s block? I’m not entirely certain anymore.

Then there are times when I won’t have anything planned, I’ll just happen to have a notebook or be at my computer and a story hits me and I just write. I can’t tell you how many poems and short stories I have finished this way, and my novella, and all my fan fictions. Pretty much anything I’ve had success with I have not planned. Now, I have had success with planned projects. For the past two years I have participated in NaNoWriMo (http://www.nanowrimo.org/) and I have completed my novels both those years (PhantasyCreator90, if you’re interested). I didn’t do any extensive planning for either, but I did have outlines which I stuck to fairly well.

I don’t know what the problem is sometimes. Maybe it’s that I’m not passionate about that particular project or I’m just a pantser, writer who writes by the seat of their pants. Whatever the issue, I’ve had to learn to just go with the flow and accept that not every project I think up will be completed. Which is fine, I have far too many ideas and completing them all would take YEARS! I am just going to focus on the projects I care enough about to keep my butt in my seat and write and maybe one day I’ll see success with them through my hard work. Who knows?

Casey Anthony: The Trial of a Lifetime

I really didn’t want to write about this trial. I didn’t want to hear anything about it. But as I was sitting in the eye doctor’s office yesterday, waiting for my grandmother, it seemed the whole world could speak of nothing else. The morbid story of a mother who possibly murdered her own baby in a very grotesque manner…of course it would attract all kinds of attention. My twitter feed has been chock full of various reactions of the verdict, most shocked and outraged, the rest exasperated by the media circus.

I think she was guilty, purely on her reaction at the trial. Upon hearing she was not going to be convicted for murder in the 1^st degree, she smiled and visibly relaxed. Her life would not be over. She still had something to live for. Except…she was on trial for the murder of her child, a very young child. And I saw no sign of heartbreak for the fact that her baby’s life was over and she’d been granted another chance. Maybe she was just relieved that she wouldn’t have to carry the conviction of the murder of her daughter on her shoulders anymore. Maybe. After all, who am I to argue with the jury or the judge? But it seems to me like it’s too soon for her to smile and be happy about anything. Her daughter is still dead. Her daughter was still viciously killed. Had that been my mother on trial for the death of me or one of my siblings, not even the verdict of not guilty would have made her smile. She would have been heartbroken. Crushed. A mess on the stand. She could not have endured the pictures of the baby’s corpse.

Remember Chicago? Based on a true story. These things happen. OJ Simpson. See? The justice system isn’t perfect. They could not convict her for lack of evidence, no matter how seemingly incriminating the material they had managed to collect. I’m sure those lawyers, that judge, the jury, and every legal professional in the U.S. is just as infuriated and frustrated as all of those who believe her guilty. But they cannot convict her without undeniable evidence. The system we use to punish the guilty is the same system used to protect the innocent. Sometimes though, those two get confused.

I don’t like all the talk about the mother getting assassinated and such. It’s not for us to punish her. If anyone did murder her they would be stooping to her level. I’m sure she felt justified in her violent actions as well. Murderers often do. She’ll get her punishment in due time. The human mind is a fragile entity and I’m sure her actions will catch up to her, and it will drive her mad, a slow, tormenting punishment she can never escape from. Until then, we must remember to report instances of child abuse and neglect. So there is never a repeat of this again. Listen, look, and love. RIP Caylee Anthony.

Things We Need from a Movie

Over the years I have developed a passion for movies and I’m a sucker for anything with a half decent story line and relatable characters. Of course, I have noticed a trend in the most popular movies. Everyone has that genre that they’re particularly fond of, mine is probably romantic comedy, although I do love a good action flick. With each genre we need to glean a sort of impression in order to truly enjoy the movie.

For horror movies, the story needs to be terrifying and horrific, leaving you afraid to leave even the theater, because that’s why people watch these movies. They need to be frightened in a safe area, but not feel safe. Its all part of the thrill, you see? With action movies, we need to feel impressed. Explosions, fantastic stunts, and a fast paced storyline that keeps us on the edge of our seats until the very end are a must.

Romantic comedies should make us fall in love, laugh, and leave with silly grins that we can’t seem to shake off, just like romantic dramas should make us fall in love, break our hearts, and make us fall in love all over again; and comedies should keep a giggle at the back of your throat, afraid to take a drink of your $4 soda for fear of spewing it all over the person sitting in front of you. And with fantasy and sci-fi movies we should feel mystified and entranced by the strange ideas and creatures shown.

There have been movies that have changed my life, The Little Mermaid taught me to dream big, Moulin Rouge taught me that love is the greatest thing you’ll ever know, and Star Wars taught me that your destiny lies within your hands and not to be afraid of it. These are the movies that left me wanting more at the end, left me thinking about them long after the credits stopped rolling and the screen went black.

And then there are the movies I don’t think about after they end, but which amused me nonetheless in watching them, Clueless, anyone? These movies brought me temporary joy and relief from a busy life with far more downs than ups, but served no greater purpose than eliciting a giggle or a thoughtful “hm”. And that’s alright, because not every movie can be life altering, nor would we want them to be. Far too disruptive.

There are many who complain that the movie industry is losing its artistic capabilities and that they’re pandering to the ignorant masses but movies are first and foremost, entertainment. And we have to remember that sometimes it’s okay to see a movie and just enjoy it for exactly what it is. There will be others that will mean far more to people. Until then, why not enjoy something that just makes you feel good?

Artistic Expression

I've recently been feeling less myself than usual what with my grandfather's illness and some other personal issues, which has led me to feeling restless and irritated. I fidget constantly and sometimes I'll try to say something and forget what I was going to say. This has been especially obvious the past few weeks and I've been taking some personal time to try to center myself. The only effective method so far? Poetry. It never fails that when I'm feeling down or torn about some issue, I find inspiration and relief through poetry. I'm not a particularly good poet, nor am I ga ga over it. I like poetry, I like music, and I have favorite poets, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Dorothy Parker, and William Shakespeare, but I don't want to spend the rest of my life composing verses.

Therapists have been seeing success for years in introducing creative outlets to those who suffer from various mental anxieties, including children who have been abused, and with good reason. Creating something from seemingly nothing gives you an amazing feeling. When you are proud of your creation you experience a high you can't get anywhere else. You tap into a part of your brain where your emotions just take over and guide you and only writing, drawing, sculpting, etc can release these feelings. When you see a painting, no matter the skill level, from someone who put their entire self into it, you can't help but be affected. Its a completely right-brained capability that needs to be utilized more often than our math and science centered society allows.

Depression is at an all time high, mental anxiety disorders are being diagnosed everyday and people wonder why. I believe a good deal of them are caused by a stifling of emotions and that artistic side that allows you to expend these feelings in a healthy manner. Going through school, any attempts at artistic expression outside of the zero funded art department was frowned upon, even punishable by in-school suspension. My brother was an artist. He loves to draw, has since before he could write. But teachers were constantly harping on him about drawing in class and completely dismissing that drawing was the way he coped with the bullying he suffered, not only from other students but quite often from the teachers themselves. I understand that teachers have a curriculum they have to adhere to as well as having to bend to the will of the school board, but there was no sympathy to the artistically and emotionally inclined.

I was no math whiz. In fact, I hate math. I understand the need for it. But I am no meant to use math in any future career. At least not the complicated math involved in algebra or calculus. But I loved to read and write. I used free time in class to work on fan fictions or small original stories and to read. But there was no place in school for someone like me. The library was only good for checking out books, but most people used it as a social hub instead of a quiet place to indulge in a delicious novel. I wrote, but there was no place in school to showcase it. At least not available to the entire student body. Really, unless one was considered "gifted and talented" by whoever determines a student's complete capabilities without actually testing each and every student, you were put aside and coasted through school.

I've digressed, but my point is, there are so many people with stories out there, or with paintings or sculptures etched into their minds, songs they hum in secret. But nobody will ever hear or see or read them. And maybe that's how some of these people like it. But as somebody with a story to tell and nobody listening until now, I feel like my 13 years of primary and secondary education could have provided me with some kind of outlet. And maybe, just maybe, if we taught tolerance of the arts in school people would become comfortable expressing themselves and they could learn to be happy. That's all I want.