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?

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.

The View from My Window on a Thursday Night

A few weeks ago, while I was still in school, I wrote a short piece as a writing exercise. I thought I'd share that for a blog post. :)

College campuses are stereotypically portrayed as social hubs, the genesis of wild, Greek parties and drunken excursions and like quite a few stereotypes, this has a basis in fact. But let me present to you a slightly different view of a college campus at night.

Its about 10:30 p.m. and the sun has been set for a few hours now. It is most definitely nighttime, the witching hour is right around the corner. The street lights illuminate the sidewalks just enough to find your way around campus with an almost eerie, orange glow which casts a strange tint on one's skin when they walk beneath it.

There are three dorm buildings directly outside my window and there are lights on in every building and quite a few rooms. For a party night there seem to be a lot of people staying in. Of course, finals are next week. I see a group of people gather on the porch of one of the dorm buildings and light up their cigarettes in unison. The smoke rises from their heads in curling streams. They kind of look like a hamlet of houses with smoking chimneys from cozy, little fires built within. I wish they wouldn't turn to nicotine for stress relief but its better than drugs and alcohol so everyone lets them be.

Night is the only time you can ever really see how lonely some people are. I see lone figures trudging along the sidewalks, shoulders bent, feet dragging. They look like they are carrying the weight of the world and I can't help but think, 'I know exactly how you feel.'

A car with the bass on its stereo turned up all the way just drove by. I can feel the beat in the base of my stomach. Its a very unsettling feeling and I wonder how they can stand it when it bothers me all the way up on the eighth floor? I assume they're doing it to impress someone but really they're just announcing how obnoxious they are. I mean, at that decibel, is it even music anymore?

Other than that, its a pretty quiet night. The stars twinkle sedately in the sky, the creek has settled into a comfortable rhythm after the run off from all the rain we've had. Its nights like these that bring out the philosopher in me. I can't wait for the sun to rise tomorrow.

Current thoughts about this: My college has announced their plans to ban smoking from their campus starting in July. I seriously doubt that's going to go over well. I mean, a LOT of students smoke. And with the work the professors load us down with can certainly drive one's stress level through the roof. I expect protests and such, or at least many murmured dissenting opinions. As for myself, if they would only ban smoking on the sidewalks to and from class I would be happy. Its hard for me to walk and breathe smoke in from the person's cigarette in front of me and I'm usually wheezing from it when I get to class.Another thought, not really related to college; I wish the American version of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone hadn't changed it to Sorcerer. I love the Philosopher aspect of the creation of the stone. Sorcerer, to me, translates to wizard and the book's full of them. Just saying.