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Tsundoku: How the Japanese have named my soul

Language is a beautifully complex creation of the human mind. Individual cultures and the languages that they speak feed and thrive off of one another. Therefore, it is not so unheard of that many of these dialects will evolve in different, though similar, directions. There is a beautiful thing when you find a word that does not easily translate into your own native tongue. Usually it is something that you deeply understand, a word that makes you go ‘aha! why don’t we have this already?’ Take ‘mamihlapinatapei,’ a Yagan word that is best described as ‘the wordless, yet meaningful look shared by two people who both desire to initiate something but are both reluctant to start.’ I’m guessing this is a look that you can picture right now. And yet in the English language we have nothing simple to describe this scenario. And then there is the Yiddish word ‘shlimazl’ which roughly means a perpetually unlucky person. What about ‘jayus,’ an Indonesian word that means ‘a joke so poorly told and so unfunny that one cannot help but laugh.’ Personally, I am an expert in the jayus. In fact, I think that’s going to be a new staple in my vocabulary. I find the study of languages and their eccentricities and divergence to be deeply fascinating. And while I could probably go on for pages upon pages with different examples, I am going to leave you with the one that started this whole article.

You see, apart from my quickly worded jayus (I don’t know if I used that correctly, and I can’t help but wonder if there is a plural form of this), there is another word I discovered that touches me on a deeply fundamental level. Tsundoku is the Japanese word that encompasses a difficult aspect of my life. This is my chosen art form: it is the act of buying books that pile up unread on your shelves. If this were a crime, I would be serving a life sentence.

It’s not that I don’t respect the books, no, that was never the issue for me. It is that my love for them goes so deep that I cannot say no when I see something that I want. Especially when it happens to be on sale. I have always had an obsession with books, even when I was a little kid- I owned more than I was able to cram into my overflowing bookshelf. They were stacked beside, on top of, and in front of one another (and this does not include the pile usually precariously placed beside my bed). As all small children do, I eventually grew up, and a glorious thing happened. I got a job. And with a job came money. What was a young enterprising eighteen year old woman to do after buying a few stylish work outfits? Run down to Borders (oh yes, how I miss this chain- I don’t know how they could have possibly gone out of business considering I might as well have set up my direct deposit to go straight to them). Obviously, this was before I grew up enough to have a mountain of bills to chip away at. But the love for the crisp paper and dark ink has never abated. Granted, it has expanded- with limited storage space and a frustration with mounds of clutter, I have evolved into an e-book carrier on top of my vast array in my actual bookshelf. It’s a good thing too- it is much easier to stay on my fiancé’s good side when my literary loves are only taking up space on my tablet as opposed to drowning him in even more cleverly placed bookshelves.

I am not even remotely ashamed of this love of mine, I display my books proudly, I keep my myriad of reading devices beside my bed or in my purse at all times. You will never find me without something to read within my reach. But there is a bit of a flaw in my plan. You see, I can buy these little paper lovelies much faster than I can actually read them. And when I see something that I like (especially on sale, oh, may the book gods have mercy on my soul if I walk into Barnes and Noble and see the clearance section, or, even worse- a special deal on my kindle. One-click shopping was the most ingenious evil that I have ever encountered). But when I see something that I like on sale- I can’t pass it up. I am physically unable to ignore the deal. Because there is a whole new world within those pages, and who am I to deny myself- nay, my craft- the opportunity to open my soul to a new creation? So I buy it. And then it sits on my shelf. And eventually I will read it, but you don’t know if it will be in a day or three years from now.

This has been an ever growing problem. One I attempted to remedy once upon a time. My piles were growing too large, so I told myself that I would have to read ten books for every one that I bought. This lasted about a week. And then I went I into ‘book debt.’ Promising myself that I would read them eventually to make up for what I bought. Eventually I gave up completely. I even went so far as to write down my entire ‘to-read’ list. Ironically, that file corrupted and I can’t look at it anymore. Probably a good thing because I know that my input is still vastly larger than my output.

So you see, I have discovered my soul in the language of another tongue. It’s beautiful, it’s prophetic, and it’s also reminding me to start working through that list I have. I will be brutally honest- if an asteroid hit the Earth tomorrow and I were trapped in an underground bunker for the next three years, I would still have enough to keep me occupied without begging to be released onto the unlivable surface to trek my way to the nearest library.

The Fears of a Woman

I was raised to be a strong woman. I was taught to demand respect, to be soft when compassion was needed, to be tough when circumstances called for it, to stand my ground when the world wanted to push me around. I was raised to believe that I could do or be anything. So when did it become okay for faceless individuals to decide that what I had to offer the world amounted to no more than boobs, an ass and a pussy? That sounded a bit crude for my usual work, didn’t it? Yea, that’s what I thought too. And yet that is the world that we live in. A place where I am judged by the body parts that I possess and what I am willing to do with them.

My daddy never taught me that boys would be boys and could say whatever they wanted about me as they passed me in the street. My older brothers never shrugged their shoulders at the prospect of a man following me down the sidewalk making lewd comments. My fiancé never mentioned that it should be viewed as a compliment for a man to catcall me or reach out and grab my butt on the street because it meant that I was desirable. No, these were not things that I was ever taught. And yet they are the excuses so easily given and readily accepted. I don’t have daughters, but I have nieces. I have a mother, I have aunts, I have a sister. These rationalizations are not okay, and yet we shrug our shoulders and say boys will be boys. I don’t mean to overgeneralize, I know the vast majority of men don’t fall into this category- the men I am close to in my life- they respect women. So where did this idea come from that this behavior was acceptable?

A comedian once asked a sold out auditorium how many of the women had been sent a picture of a man’s penis on their phone- virtually every hand rose. If you pick ten random women on the street and ask them if they have ever been sexually assaulted or felt in fear because of the aggressive overtures coming from certain members of the opposite sex, I can guarantee you will have almost a unanimous yes. Every two minutes another person in America is sexually assaulted. In the amount of time it takes you to read this- how many people have been hurt, have been scared, have had the fabric of their lives forever altered? One out of every six American women has been the victim of an attempted or completed rape, and nine out of every ten victims of rape are female.

I work in the court system, and one aspect of my job includes a process known as voir dire, although most refer to it simply as jury selection. During this process a group of random people from the community are gathered together in an open courtroom to answer very personal questions pertaining to the subject of the case that we happen to be hearing that day to determine if they can be impartial. We handle a lot of sex cases, and as such, we have to ask these random strangers to voice their own histories. The court or counsel will ask the question ‘Have you or someone you are close to been a victim of sexual assault?’ I was shocked the first time I saw so many hands raise, and even more disheartened when I heard how many people raised their hands for themselves. And then the next question, ‘How many were reported’- it was like a tidal wave of fingers falling from the sky, leaving a solemn few raised alone.

Is this the world that we want to raise our daughters in? Are these the lessons that we wish to impart on our sons? The justifications of what we call social norms have a profound effect on our younger generations and what they will deem to be acceptable. Most young women believe that sexual assault is common, that catcalls and booty-grabbing in the halls of the high school are normal; and sadly, they are right- but that doesn’t mean that they should be. During a 2014 study, sociologist Heather Hlavka questioned young women regarding their views on sexual harassment and assault. One young woman’s answer speaks a terribly revealing truth, “They grab you, touch your butt and try to, like, touch you in the front, and run away, but it’s okay, I mean … I never think it’s a big thing because they do it to everyone.” These same young women were also very candid about the fact that they probably wouldn’t report any such events, believing that they would be ‘making a big deal out of nothing,’ many didn’t even view it as assault until it crossed that threshold into the realm of rape. When asked why they wouldn’t report it, they stated that they were concerned that they would be labeled as whores, sluts, or be accused of lying and exaggerating. Their silence, our silence, speaks volumes.

The majority of sexual assault victims are under 30 years of age. Females between the ages of 16 to 24 are four times more likely to be the victims of rape, attempted rape, or sexual assault than the general population, the statistics for those enrolled in college drop only minimally- to a mere three times more likely. This was when it happened to me. And I know that I am not the only one carrying the burden of an untold story. In fact, it is estimated that out of every 1,000 sexual assaults, only about 344 are actually reported to the police. How many of your friends, coworkers, or family members have one of these experiences that they simply haven’t told you?

All too often the finger gets pointed at the wrong person. It becomes a matter of what the victim did to incite the behavior- as if men are mere animals with no sense of self-control. People assume she must have been flirting, dressed provocatively, over imbibing in alcohol- a million different justifications, as if they excuse the transgression, as if she was asking for it. When I finally told someone about my assault, the response that I received was ‘well, now you know how to not get yourself into that situation again,’ as if it were my actions that forced his hand. When my friend finally found the strength to tell a police office what happened to her, the response that she received was ‘good luck with that.’ My friends, victims of assault find enough reason to blame themselves- and is it any wonder? When we are told that our actions are the cause. Last time I checked, no still meant no, and my body was still mine to decide what to do with. No one has the right to take those decisions from you.

I keep hearing that women objectify themselves; as if dancing provocatively, wearing a crop top and short-shorts or reading a smutty romance novel suddenly invalidates a woman’s right to choose what happens to her body. Try reversing this picture: if a man chooses to wear skinnier jeans that show off his assets- I don’t go up and pinch his butt or grab him from the front. If a man opts to watch porn, that doesn’t give me the right to run in and jump on top of him. So how are these examples any different when viewed from the perspective of a woman?

Someone I know recently posted a comparison to a very controversial book relating to some of the political conversations surrounding this topic:

But you see, there is an inherent flaw in this reasoning. My issues with the statements that he made have nothing to do with the ‘naughty words’ that were said. My issue was the intent of those words- it was in the insinuation that a rich man can grab a woman’s intimate parts and that it is okay, hell, that it is desirable. To me that is a far cry from reading a risqué book about the fetishes of two consenting adults. It is the fact that a grown man believes that this is an appropriate way to talk about women- regardless of whether he is in the presence of only men or not. To compare the two is an attempt to minimize the true intent of the statement and to ignore the truly insidious problem we face as a society.

Most men are good men, this I believe. But that doesn’t change the fact that a large portion of the female population will wind up on the wrong side of this equation at some point in their lives. We have cultivated a sense of rape culture by normalizing behaviors that should not be shrugged away. No more ‘boys will be boys’- they know better. We can teach them better. And no more girls blaming one another or themselves for decisions they were not given the opportunity to make. No more calling names likes slut or whore, no more raised eyebrows as we ask what she could have done to avoid the situation. Our bodies are our own, and until that basic human right is given the respect that it deserves, this battle will continue. I don’t know about you, but I am terrified to have my little nieces grow up in a world where they will have these same fears that I had. I am enraged by the fact that so many of my friends and family have a painful history that echoes my own. We are sisters in our suffering. And it is not acceptable.

How many minutes have you been reading this? How many more people have been hurt? While it is true, that the numbers of sexual assaults have been slowly declining over the decades, that does not mean that the problem no longer exists. These are conversations that must be had, stories that must be brought out into the light, experiences that need to be understood to be stopped. This is not a complicated right to be requesting. What do I want? I want to know that I can walk into a bar with my friends without someone reaching out for a touch, that I can go for a jog in my own neighborhood without clutching a can of mace and keeping one earbud out to hear approaching footsteps. I want to know that my sister can walk down the street without fear from the man that started catcalling her and moved in her direction. I want to know that my nieces will be able to walk down the halls of their high school without being touched or put in fear. I want to be able to go out and dance or read a smutty novel without someone acting like that means I have given away my rights to simple decency. I want to be treated like the lady that I am, the ladies that we all are, not an object to be yelled at, taunted, touched or used. That is the world that I want to raise a daughter in. That is the way I wish to raise a son.

Rainy days and Stormy Nights

There is nothing that compares with the smell of the asphalt after the first rainfall. I have never encountered anything more comforting than the pitter patter of those tiny drops dancing on my window as I sit wrapped up in my sweater. I adore the rain. Which is probably a good thing, considering I live in the Pacific Northwest; the birthplace of Starbucks coffee and Voodoo doughnuts, the home of sasquatch and the rainy capitol of the United States. The rain makes me feel like I’m home, washing away all of the toxicity of the everyday and leaving me clean and fresh, prepared to take on the world once again.

This weekend we are expecting a storm full of howling wind and pounding rain- the news channels cant stop talkin about it. And who can really blame them- two tornadoes touched down today, one of which hit a town on the coast about a two hour drive from where I am. It even caused a bit of damage as it raged through main street. We get a lot of rain, tornadoes, however, are a bit more uncommon. They expect that tomorrow will be the rough day for the storm- but luckily, I don’t think any more tornadoes are anticipated. Just lots of rain and lots of wind.

Personally, I’m actually a bit excited. I love any excuse to stay in without feeling guilty. In spite of the fact that I have a mountain of Halloween things I want to do this month, sometimes what you really need is a cozy weekend playing around your house. I’m not planning on going out much- maybe to the store to pick up some stuff to make pot pies, pot roast and soup. I’m all over the easy comfort food this weekend. I’m going to be taking advantage of this rare excuse to stay in and be productive right here; lots of laundry (ugh, my true Sisyphean task), a dash of cleaning, a few movies perhaps, reading a handful of chapters in my latest book, and oodles of writing. Its going to be beautiful.

I adore cozy weekends in my house listening to the weather raging outside. There’s nothing quite like the raw beauty of nature in all of it’s frightening glory to remind you of your place in this world. So cheers, my friends, to a cozy weekend and a lot of words. Wherever you are, I hope you stay safe and warm, and have one hell of a good time while you do it.

Missing Halloweentown: Childhood Dreams and Treading Common Ground

I am a Halloween junkie- I don’t think I can possibly stress that enough. I adore everything about this season, and I always have. As I get older I find myself falling even more in love with the atmosphere, the camaraderie, the general excitement that buzzes through the air. I have a soft spot for scary stories that you read by flashlight under your covers (although I will admit, I have upgraded to reading by the light of my kindle in more recent years). I love horror movies that keep me awake long into the night, forcing me to cuddle closer to my German Shepherd for safety. I adore the candy, the costumes, the hot drinks and cold days. I am also a deeply nostalgic person- I love traditions, which means that every year my dad has to sit down and watch The Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown with me. And if we can’t be in the same place when it’s on tv, he always remembers to send me a text so that we can still watch it ‘together’ even when we are far apart.

I am fortunate enough to live in a beautiful place that is close to many holiday adventures. We are only a few hours from Seattle (they do haunted underground tours every year- taking you through the city hidden underneath the city, telling you all the spooky stories as you roam through a world of yesterday). Portland is only a few minutes away- they have some famous pumpkin patches (to include the Roloff farm) and amazing haunted houses this time of year. And then there is a hidden gem that spread through the internet like wildfire last year.

If you grew up in the 90’s you will probably remember the Disney channel movie Halloweentown, a place that I will shamelessly admit I always wanted to go visit. It’s no secret that every child has a fascination with magic- we all wanted to learn that we had special powers, that we could befriend werewolves, and dine with vampires (with the specific stipulation that we were not on the menu). I grew up and my dream to visit the realm of fantasy faded, though it never completely disappeared.

And then, to my complete wonderment, I learned that I could actually go there in real life. I could see the place that inspired so many childhood fantasies and stories. As it turns out, the movie had been filmed in St. Helens, Oregon. A mere hop, skip and a jump from where I live. And, to make this story even sweeter- they recreate their famed fictional town every year.

Last year I hopped in the car with a couple of fellow Halloween-enthusiasts and we trekked out to the little town- along with about 5,000 other people. It was a record setting turnout, considering the hype that social media started (after all, that was how I learned about it). We got to watch Marnie (actress Kimberly Brown, the star of the movie) light the pumpkin in the town square surrounded by some of the buildings featured in the film.

Now, normally I am not a big fan of crowds- and 5,000 bodies crunched into one little town square is a bit overwhelming under normal circumstances. But it is an altogether different experience when you are all sharing the same buzzing energy, it’s like a concert, the atmosphere is contagious. As we all chanted the ‘magic words’ together, I couldn’t help but smile- in a world that is so often polarized and easily divided between vastly differing opinions; there we were, 5,000 strangers standing in solidarity over a mutual love for something so simple- an old movie and an oversized pumpkin was all it took to bring us together, if only for one night. You see, it is usually the simple things in life that bring us the most joy, and it is the love of these things that give us a common ground to stand on. It is these little moments that we cannot simply brush aside. In a society where a single sentence can spark a wildfire of aggression and hate- we need to find our common roots and remember the importance of small moments. Little events like standing in a crowd on a rainy October night and counting down to light a pumpkin. Sometimes the simplest answers can be the most poignant.

Sadly, I missed the event this year (my brother made the tragic mistake of planning his wedding for the same day as the event- I know, the horror of this miscalculation is not lost on me). But I plan on still making the trek out there in the coming weeks. Why? Because what is life without experiences? Even simple ones like going to a fictional town to visit a pumpkin. Growing up is vastly overrated, and I don’t think I am quite willing to join those zombie ranks just yet.

A Bump in the Night: Nano Prep Season is Back!

Something wicked this way comes, my friends, a masterly challenge that will test the nerve and sinew of even the most accomplished of authors. That is right, the great word race is set to begin: Nano is well on its way, November 1st will ring in the beginnings of a daring adventure made special because in this solitary world of writing, we shall embark together. And yet, this trek is not for the faint of heart, there are plans to be plotted (or plots to be panned?), characters to be drawn, worlds to create; after all, even the great Gandalf had to prepare his wayward band of adventurers before they set their plodding feet to the trail.

For those of you who are wondering what the heck I am talking about, Nano (or NaNoWriMo) stands for National Novel Writing Month. This is a daring adventure that takes place the entire month of November. The goal: to write 50,000 words by the time the clock strikes midnight on the last day (and some years you are working right up to that point). You choose your own project; anything that your heart could desire. You track your own progress throughout the month, only verifying when you finally submit your work for a ‘win.’ If you are interested, go to http://www.nanowrimo.org to get more information or join us on this lovely quest. I promise, you wont be disappointed.

It seems that this year some new goodies will be awaiting us! The one I am most excited for? A brand new word-sprint tool! Considering that is one of my favorite ways to pile on my numbers, I am very excited to be trying this one out instead of timing myself with my phone. As usual, the message boards will still be up and running, and in most areas the local events will be kicking off. I’m still trying to work up the courage to go to one, but alas, it has not happened yet. I know I would be happy once I went, but it is terrifying when I don’t know a single person. I’m not exactly a social butterfly, so this could be an eventful adventure.

At this stage of the game I am typically pretty anxious to pick my project and get it registered. The sooner I do that, the sooner I can dive into my plotting (and delve into the slightly distracting world of the Nano message boards, a favorite way to lose myself when I need a break from the project itself). I am normally a big fan of starting a fresh project for Nano- because honestly, there is nothing better than the promise of a blank page at the beginning of a story, nothing can match the excitement of the unknown. And yet this time around, I think I am going to break my own rules. The past month I have been working on editing old projects and organizing my ideas and snippets for new ones. October is going to be much of the same. So I figured- while I am enmeshed in this world of polishing my words to make them truly shine- why don’t I follow that thread and pick up some older projects that were abandoned partway through? There is nothing more depressing than an unfinished story, broken promises just littering the pages, forever held in a state of suspended animation. They were good ideas that, for one reason or another, I got distracted from. And so this November is going to be the month of the Untold Ending, the Unfinished Story will finally find solace in it’s conclusion. And I will feel better knowing that I am one stop closer with them.

The main project will be my Vampire story that I was working on last Camp Nano- it seemed fitting, considering my prep month will be falling during the Halloween season. I love the story idea, but I changed a few key plot points halfway through the project- forcing me to change a lot of the beginning and re-frame the rest of the story. It was a necessary change, one I am happy that I made- but it put me behind. So now, it will be time to finish it. And, the best part- after all of the changes that I decided to make, I still have a ton of prepping to do through October.

So here’s to late-night writing with nothing but a bright laptop screen and a hot cup of spiced cider to keep you company. Here’s to long days at the office with a notepad off to the side so I can write in my spare moments. Here’s to message board bonding over our favorite writerly memes and long discussions about the inner psyche of the best villains, the inside jokes that only a fellow narrator will understand. Here’s to blank pages and common ground. Here’s to telling the stories my friend, to finally giving a voice to the thoughts that have been dancing through your dreams and distracting your from your daily life. It is going to be one beautiful trek, my friends.

Ghosts, Goblins and Ghouls: October is here

October is finally here! It is the time for pumpkin patches, corn mazes and haunted houses, the time for spiced cider, skull-shaped chocolate and silly costumes that I will try on in Target (spoiler: this has already happened).

It is the time of year I get to watch my favorite scary movies with my sister (and a few not-so-terrifying holiday gems: Hocus Pocus will probably be playing on repeat for most of the month). It is the time of year we will try to get through all of our spooky baking- brain jello molds, coffin chocolates, pretzel bones- a day or two of extreme sugar and lots of laughs. I get to re-read some of my all-time favorite books (Hello, Dracula, it’s good to see you again), and perhaps dust off a few of my unfinished writing projects to get into the spirit: zombies and vampires, oh my! This is the time of year where I get to feel like a kid again, with the single adult benefit of being able to buy as much candy as I want.

I adore everything about this season. I am infatuated with the holidays, I am head over heels in love with the promise, the sparkle, the fun frivolity that comes with the next few months. So please excuse my giddiness, my excitement for life knows no bounds this time of year. There are some things that you should never grow out of, and remembering to have fun is one of them.

That is why October is going to be a little bit different for me when it comes to my goals. I am still going to be working and writing- that never changes, I don’t know how to be me when I’m not doing these things. I will be continuing to plod the editing path while planning for my Nano project this coming November. But this is the season to step out of your routine and do new things, create memories, live adventures. And that, my friends, is what the next few months will be about. So this month there will be: creepy crafts with the littles (nieces and nephews), pumpkin patches with the family, baking and movie night with my sister, a possible Halloween party, a few treks through the haunted houses and races in the corn mazes. This month I am going to sign up for a class with my mom and reach out to some old friends I haven’t seen in ages. I want to break out of this comfort zone I’ve been cuddled up in. Halloween is the best time of year to face your fears and learn to have a little bit more fun. We could all use some more of that in our lives.

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I dream of a world…

My dreams are not big or luxurious. I dream of a world where I can walk into a shopping mall, a movie theater, a school, or even my own place of work and not worry about an irate person carrying a weapon and a vendetta inside, hoping to make the nightly news in their final blaze of glory. I dream of a world where I do not have to listen and watch my surroundings as I walk to my car, searching for a hidden threat. I dream of a world where I can turn on the news and not hear about another bombing, another attack, another murder; more death, more pain, more heartache. I dream of a world where the length of my skirt does not measure my worth or the level of respect others give me. I dream of a world where no means no. I dream of a world where the color of your skin or your nation of origin is a mere cliff-note, and not the cover of your book, to be judged and tossed away. I dream of a world where a helping hand is a given, not a political opporitunity to stand on a soap box and point fingers. I dream of a world where someone asks you how you are doing- and waits to hear the answer. I dream of a world full of common courtesy and, dare I say, compassion.

I know that these ideals are the simplest and most complex wishes a person can have. Their solutions seem so straightforward, a child could figure it out, could see the flaws in our system. But alas, we are not children, and we have shaded this world is colors that they cannot see. We forgot the lessons our parents taught us when we were small; perhaps they forgot them too. We always say that the world is just too complicated- but perhaps we are the ones making it that way.

We tell ourselves that we are just one person, and as such, we cannot make a difference. But we are diluting ourselves, pointing the finger at anyone else, anyone but us. Because taking responsibility is not in our nature. We are just one person- we did not make the world turn into such an ugly place, we just live in it. It’s a cop out, an escape hatch, a way to turn the other cheek. If we want to see a change, we have to start small, we have to take a long look inside and realize the type of people that we have become. We have to recognize our biases and prejudices, those knee-jerk thoughts and judgments that come to us without thought. We are not saints, we all have them, we have too many life experiences not to. But that doesn’t make them right.

It starts with instrospection, with self-awareness, with a realization of why we are the way that we are. It builds with a change; with a simple respect, with that age-old piece of wisdom: treat others as you wish to be treated. It crescendos into action; in speaking up for someone without a voice, in asking how they are, in reaching our your hand to pull someone else in.

The world may be a dark place sometimes, but we do not have to dress to match. We do not have to change, to become bitter imbattled versions of those bright happy people we once were. The world may be a complicated place, but we do not have to be. Kindness begets kindness, a smile is more often met with a smile. A soft word is more respected than a harsh one.

I am not naïve, I know that my dreams will probably always remain dreams. I know that I will continue to reverently walk by the memorial in a mall near my home where three people lost their lives in a shooting four years ago. I know I’ll always wonder if the other shoe will drop, if I’ll find myself in the same position, running from the sounds of a rifle in what should be a safe place. I know my heart will ache every time I hear about another active shooter, another bombing, another death. I know that I will cry interally everytime I am in a room and people are asked to raise their hands if they have been a victim of sexual assault or rape. Because all too often there are more hands up in the air than those laying flat. I know that I will always walk briskly to my car, ears listening for footfalls that come too close, eyes scanning for suspicious people or vehicles, fingers gripped tightly around my keys- just in case. I know that I will always dress in a certain way to keep people from staring, to keep them from talking. I will avoid certain situations because trust is a hard commodity to find.

But I wont stop dreaming about a world where these do not have to be my realities. I will continue to find hope in those few people who ask me how I am doing and wait to hear the answer. I will find comfort in the smiles of a stranger. I will keep speaking my mind when it matters, and listening when someone needs to talk. I will keep trying. I will keep hoping, I will keep dreaming. Because some dreams are too important to let die.

Expecto Patronum: Pottermore Strikes Again

On Thursday Pottermore made yet another dream of mine come true by giving us The Patronus Test. I think it goes without saying, that my inner geek was bouncing with excited delight, clapping her hands in pure rapture before pushing her glasses back up on her nose, wrapping herself in her Hogwarts scarf and settling in to answer some life-altering questions. The terrifying thing for me: you can only do this quiz once. There are no re-takes (unless you use another e-mail address to set up a whole new account). Your answers are final, your decision is set in stone and you must live with the creature you have summons.

So I gravely answered my questions like my literary life depended on it. And internally shouted the magical words before my creature flitted onto the screen:

EXPECTO PATRONUM!

I say ‘flitted’ because that’s exactly what it did. That’s right my friends, try not to gape in pure awe when you find out that I got…

A dragonfly. When one of the darkest and foulest creatures of the magical world comes to suck my soul out of my body, leaving me an empty shell full of only painful memory- I get an insect to protect me. Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t have anything against the winged little creatures; quite the contrary in fact, I do adore them. I even named my laptop Sparx after the little dragonfly companion that never leaves Spyro’s side (if you don’t know Spyro, well, then you must not have had a PlayStation in the early 2000’s- for shame, go find one and catch up). Like I said, I don’t have anything against dragonflies specifically, but something gives me the distinct impression that I would not last long in the wizarding world.

Naturally, me being the person that I am- I had to look up the meaning of my patronus. There had to be a reason why this little guy was going to be my sworn protector instead of, oh I don’t know, an actual dragon. This is what I found:

So I am passionate, joyful and have a hidden inner life…okay, I can roll with that. Which brings me to my next question: when fighting a dementor is it more important to have a ‘powerful’ creature, or a ‘happy creature’ because if happy is what we are looking for, then everyone get behind my little dragonfly- we are safe from the hordes of the cloak-wearing wraiths. But if we need to intimidate…well- does anyone have something a wee bit more intense- like an otter? It wont take much to outdo me on this point.

I’m actually not too disappointed in my cute little companion. I’m just going to make sure I stay in the company of some tougher characters- anyone out there with a wolf? Or- oh- a hippogriff? Because I would love to be the Neville to your Harry Potter.

How did you fare, my friends? Leave me a comment with your little (or big) protector and what you think about it, or meet me at the Leaky Cauldron and we can talk over a couple of butter beers (something I still need to attempt to make at home). Funny- even at 27, I still can’t get enough of my favorite fictional world.

Autumn is in the Air and I am Home

Happy first day of fall! I haven’t quite figured out why this auspicious day isn’t marked with a parade or a holiday off from work or, I don’t know- free coffee and half priced sweaters.

As cliché as it may sound, this is my favorite time of year. I love the bright sunny days with cold weather. I adore the sweaters, boots and scarves. I live for hot chocolate, spiced cider, steaming tea and toasty coffee. I love walking down the street all bundled up and stomping on crunching leaves. But most of all, I can’t get enough of the colors and atmosphere. The true beauty of nature is enhanced with the fiery hues of red, the deep sunburst orange, dusty brown and golden yellow glow. My all-time favorite sight is on the drive out to my childhood home to visit my dad. The house is in the woods, down long winding roads thickly lined with trees, beside a river. It is the only sight I have ever actually gasped over, literally taking my breath away. The change seems to happen over night, if you wait an extra day you’ll miss the beauty of that first burst of fall colors. It is a sight to cherish.

Autumn is always the time for coming home. Perhaps its the impending holidays full of good memories and close family. It comforts me, bringing me back to my deeply buried roots. I feel more like myself, more in touch with those around me, more comfortable in my skin. I rediscover the wondrous child inside, full of curiosity and excitement. I can’t wait for hayrides through a pumpkin patch, searching for that perfect little creation to carve my ‘masterpiece’ on, working my way through a corn maze with those that I love to spend my time with, clinging to my fiancé as we run through a haunted house. I am so excited to bake for Halloween, make homemade chicken pot pies and chili, watch Hocus Pocus, plan Thanksgiving dinner with my sister. I can’t wait to take walks down the street with my friends holding cups of steaming coffee or setting out that customary candy dish at the end of my desk to help us through the long work days. I am ready to settle in and remember the things that are important to me- friends, family, good books and adventurous nights.

Fall has never been a time of ending for me; no, it is always my time for new beginnings. Its when I re-evaluate my life and plan my next steps without outside pressure. Autumn is the time that my soul flies free, the time that family and friends pull in tighter to stay warm on cold nights. Today we ring in a new season, full of promise and impending adventures. So settle in my friends, cuddle up with that blanket, take a sip of your steaming tea. Now is the time for books and crackling fires. Now is the time for long nights and beautiful beginnings.

So an Astrophysicist and a Writer walk into a Movie Theater…Nerd Night with Neil deGrasse Tyson

Last night I got to check something new off of my bucket list: watch Neil deGrasse Tyson lecture live! For any of you belonging to the race of the nebula-searching, battle-bot watching, Bill Nye adoring geekdom- you are probably bouncing in your seat as you read this, filled with anticipatory excitement. Those of you who don’t get your kicks with astrophysics are probably hearing crickets right now and are tempted to click on to the next writer’s post. but here is why you shouldn’t: you will find the most rewarding of lessons in the most unexpected places. The spark that ignites your destiny could be hidden in the words written on this page- or maybe not. The only way to know: dive in, my friends.

Like I said: I’m a bit of a nerd, and, in spite of the career direction I chose, I have always had a soft spot for the sciences. Why else would I have paid a pretty penny to sit in a hot theater with a few hundred other people and listen to a lecture given by an astrophysicist on a Monday night? And, whats more: I had a phenominal time. Nerdy science humor, the man I have watched give countless speeches on YouTube, who narrated the Cosmos series (and guest starred on the Big Bang Theory), who can take a seemingly dry subject and tease it just enough so that even the novice is hanging off of every word. Shoot- he has even graced the pages of comic books! This is why I found myself in that auditorium, this is why I loved every minute of it, and this is why I’m writing about it right now.

The subject: An astrophysicist goes to the movies- what the movies got right and got wrong. From The Breakfast Club to super bowl beer commercials all the way to The Martian and Gravity. I laughed the entire time, and (gasp) I was learning as we went. Movies and science? Oh heck yes, I am on board, let’s get this train moving.

Now, I could go on and on about all of the different things that I learned, but lets face it- the entertainment value I can spin on this wont be nearly as spectacular. Instead, I’m going to flip this into something we could all learn from. You see, there was an underlying theme to his anecdotes: know your work. As a writer, my research is vitally important to all of my projects. Even through my fiction I delve deeply into the different facets of my subject matters. Vampire story? No problem- lets peruse the history of their myths. Zombies? How about a neuroscience book that explains the causes of the ‘symptoms’ the undead are faced with. Future dystopian society? Perhaps a few papers on political and scientific developments projected in the next century- yes, that ought to do the trick. I could make an exhaustive list here, but you get the point.

I am a bit ashamed to admit that I had never heard this quote until last night. But the moment Neil deGrasse Tyson quoted it, I could practically feel the electricity shooting through my brain to illuminate that lightbulb above my head. You see, the true mark of an artist is in the distorted truths. There is nothing more challenging than working within the parameters of the truth and finding a solution to your problems anyway.

Let’s take an example that was mentioned in the lecture. In the movie Gravity (this is not a major spoiler, but I warn you to proceed at your own risk if you still want to watch the movie). In the movie there is a scene where Sandra Bullock and George Cloony are out in space with a tether between the two of them. Sandra Bullock is about to run out of oxygen, but she wants to pull Goerge Cloony in. But he knows what the risks are, and in a sweepingly chivalrous gesture, he lets go of the tether and drifts out into space, effectively killing himself and forcing her to go back to the ship because she has no hope of getting him back.

From a creative and elemental standpoint: this is pure theatrical gold. But here’s the problem. In space there is no gravity, in zero G’s there are no opposing forces pulling them in different directions, no chaotic swinging of bodies. Out in space all she would have to do to reel him back in- gently tug on the tether and he would slowly float back to her, no harm, no foul. And if he decided to let go of the tether- it would simply just sit there, floating right in front of him because there are no forces pulling it in any particular direction.

So, I ask you, what is the greater challenge for a writer? To take the easy way out and wreak havoc in space? Or find another possible way to separate your two characters? As artists, aren’t we always looking for the next greatest challenge? (Side note: the rest of that movie is surprisingly accurate. In fact, the theory of one satellite going down and taking out dozens of others is a big enough fear that NASA has an entire office dedicated to the problem). (Side-side note: if you are looking for some good inspirations for a sci-fi story or art piece, do a search online about the ‘orbiting junk’ around the earth. There is a map that shows all of the satellites and other debris circling our world, and it is astounding. There are even potential issues of accessibility in our future- want to go to Mars? Well good luck dodging all of the ‘trash’ we have littering the orbital field of our planet).

There is one other unavoidable risk you run when you choose to ignore the ‘rules’ of your world: alienation. Your readers (or viewers, as the case may be, depending on your chosen art form) come to your work with their own set of life experiences and knowledge. This cannot be ignored. For example, I work in the legal field, and when I am reading legal dramas or crime novels- I can give a fair amount of leeway for creative license. But sometimes the errors, intentional or not, become so glaring that they distract me from the real work. At times I have even gone so far as to put a book down because the inaccuracies were so blindingly brutal, I just couldn’t handle it anymore.

You see, my friends, we have so many potential fountains of knowledge at our disposal in our world now that we have no reason to ignore the facts. Take the time to learn something new- your craft and your audience will thank you for the extra effort. It is the difference between a mediocre work and something timeless. Respect the art. What do you have to lose? At the very least, you will avoid any potential factual call-outs on twitter from those who could have answered your questions all along.