Inspired by the Wiser

I meant to write a post on Sunday, but didn't get around to it. This whole week's been plagued by fatigue, the result of studying for a difficult Biology test and an attenuated version of the flu.

I also spent some time creating a 7" album cover design for HAIM's song "Better Off." Though I consider myself a writer, I love visual art and music, so submitted a design. Additionally, I liked the cause: to support Art Against Knives, a youth-led initiative against violence, via Secret 7". You can view my submission here.

In other news: last night, I had a major revelation as to the format of one of my current projects (the Ines story, set in Brazil.) As you'll remember from this post, I've been struggling to write the story for knowledge/research reasons. However, I think my new format, inspired by Sandra Cisernos' "The House on Mango Street" (one of my favorite books, a collection of poetic vignettes) better fits the story's character and is more readable.

Between the two projects - "Better Off" and Ines' story - I've noticed a pattern. In both cases, I struggled for weeks to create a work .I spent hours researching and creating drafts, but for each, I was eventually inspired by works I already loved and admired. (In the visual art case, I was inspired by the cover of Gregory Alan Isakov's album "This Empty Northern Hemisphere.")

So what have my experiences taught me? That a new artist of any sort - whether her medium of choice be written, visual, audiovisual, you name it - must enthusiastically study her craft and seek inspiration in the work of artists older and wiser than herself.

Think "kung fu flick" - pretend you're the young hero of a martial arts movie, trying to become great through a master's tutelage:

Or maybe not.

TCWT Book Review: Torched

For fun, I decided to participate in Teens Can Write, Too!'s February blog chain. This month's topic is:
“Choose one self-published book to read, then briefly review it or talk about your experiences reading it.”

I found this topic interesting because, in my experience, I haven't heard much good about self-published books. It's sometimes been said books are self-published because the writing is bad, so self-pubbed authors can't find representation. However, I found this to be totally untrue for my pick, Torched by Andrea Lynn Colt. 

A little more about Torched, via Goodreads:

Cheerleader Rose Whitfield's senior year goes up in smoke when she's framed for arson. Sure that the culprit is her neighbor Paxton, with whom she's been feuding since middle school, she sets out to clear her name and take Paxton down hard--not necessarily in that order.

To some, Torched might sound like a load of fluff. I was dubious for the book's first few pages, too, but quickly began to enjoy the plot and admire Rose. I found her character refreshingly intelligent and willful, determined to prove her innocence despite obstacles. I also liked her first-person perspective, and the fact that she was flawed. For example: I did feel Rose sometimes jumped to (and held onto) conclusions too quickly, but her actions didn't hurt the story. 

One of Torched's highlights is its combination of mystery and romance. The story kept me guessing, and I loved every scene featuring  Rose's love interest. (I won't spoil but I'm sure you can guess who from the summary.) 

I also like Torched's minor characters. Though I did hate some, I understood their motivations. They weren't two-dimensional like some characters you'll find in light mysteries. 

My verdict: 4/5 stars.* Though I did have my criticisms, I enjoyed Torched more than expected (especially as teen mystery/romances aren't my usual type.) I picked the book because it sounded and looked like a fun, quick read, and it delivered perfectly. 

*Edit: Though bear in mind, I'm not grading as hard as I might if I read mysteries more often (as I rate books by comparison, and what their writers aim for.) If you're turned off by shallow characters, "Torched" also might not be for you.

Follow the blog chain:
February 5th – The Writing Junkie
February 6th – Miriam Joy Writes
February 7th – Musings From Neville's Navel
February 8th – A Poetic Spirit Named Fida
February 9th – Sarah Hudson Scribbles 
February 10th - Avon's Babbles 
February 11th - Notebook Sisters 
February 12th - Mirror Made of Words 
February 13th - Lily's Blog
February 14th - Writer Bewildered 
February 15th - Real Teen Reader
February 16th - Epistolary Girl
February 17th - Incessant Droning of A Bored Author
February 18th - Teens Can Write, Too! (We’ll announce the topic for next month’s chain)

On Purpose

Today, I'd like to talk about purpose. That is, why do writers write? Why does anyone do anything, actually? Should our actions profit ourselves or help others, teach or entertain?

I began mulling over these questions on Monday, when my World History/Humanities teacher presented a video in class. It was interview of a surgeon at Johns Hopkins who'd helped in an Iraq vet's recent double arm transplant.

As the interviewed doctor spoke, his knowledge and experience were obvious. But what moved me was the surgery's effects. Though incredibly expensive and rare, the procedure was completely life-altering: it was allowing a man's life back. I was struck by how worthy this doctor's work was. In fact, I was so impressed, I almost wanted to become a surgeon myself for a second - before remembering I feel ill at the sight of blood.

Besides, I'm a writer, I insisted to myself. But that introduced another question: What's my purpose? My work certainly isn't saving lives - so why do I write? Why should I, when my chances of financial and critical success are so low? I'm not certain of being published, let alone being remembered or making an impact. Writing can only result in personal sleep loss and emotional strain. So why should I write, when I could become a lawyer or scientist or professor?

It may have occurred to you, if you're not a writer, that writing is easier than pursuing those other careers. Anyone can tell a story, but earning the knowledge and experience to become a lawyer/scientist/professor requires a huge amount of hard work and determination. And lots of student loans. Yet for whatever reason, I often feel that any profession must be happier than writing.

As much I love to write, I'm afraid to. I doubt my own abilities. Often I don't write for days/weeks and subsequently feel as useless as a sea sponge. (No offense to sea sponges.) Anyway: the fact is, writing is hardly ever rewarding. It's only when the finished product lies before me that I gain any satisfaction from it; first and second drafts are usually hell. My stress may be a result of my sky-high self-expectations, or the difficult topics I write about.

Yet no matter how bleak my outlook, I can't give up. I write for a purpose - to express to others how I view the world - and that drives me. I need to share my personal views and experiences with others, by necessity in an entertaining way. Plus, I love language. I love the rush of satisfaction when my words reflect my meaning, when the right words arrive. I love to imagine my characters and their adventures, I love the endless possibilities each new draft presents. Writing excites me, engages me, allows me to express myself more truly than speech. I write for a purpose - a fact which I need to remind myself of more often. Otherwise, I'll become lost in hopeless self-criticism, forgetting why I've set on such an insane mission in the first place.

Hmm. Maybe I'll have to reread this post next week, by which time I'll have forgotten my sense of purpose again.