On Adulthood

You remember when you were a kid and being an adult seemed so legit? You would get to vote and drive a car and use credit cards, and you wouldn't have a curfew because you'd be in charge of your own damn self. Your mom wouldn't pick out your clothes anymore, you could buy the food you wanted and none of the healthy stuff your parents thrust upon you, and you could finally--finally--live the life you thought you'd have (based on the happy endings of the films you loved).

Well, children, I am *cough*sputter*cough* years old, and I am here to tell you what you have undoubtedly gleaned for yourself: being an adult is bullshit.

I'm not just saying this because I'm in a bad place right now, although that is certainly a contributing factor. I'm also saying it because I've seen it reflected in the faces of friends and colleagues lately. But more importantly, I'm saying it because sometimes life as an adult sucks because you yourself suck.

This isn't my way of accusing anyone else of being lame or terrible. It's actually me acknowledging how awful I am myself, or at least how heinous I can be at times. Last week, when I wrote a post about youth being awesome, it was partly because I truly feel that way, and partly because I was hoping to find a way back to that good, boundless spirit young people often have. 

This past summer was foul, and it bled over into autumn, in no small measure because I've made two huge mistakes this year that altered the course of things and contributed to a deepening of my own depression. The first mistake--job related--is something I may be able to fix in the long run, if I can manage to recapture the drive I had in simpler, younger times.

The second mistake, a personal one--well, it looks like I won't be able to rectify the situation, which is at least 50 percent my fault and sent me into a spiral of self-doubt, anxiety, and pseudo-regret (I say pseudo because I don't actually regret this thing, just the way it turned out). Maybe someday I'll be able to claw myself out of that hole, but I can't count on that, because adults are stubborn and our brains aren't as easily rewired as they were when we were young, and it appears that no amount of passion, belief, or longing can change this.

Because of my brain chemistry, I've never been a naturally optimistic person, as I'm sure you can all tell from reading this. But I said it last week and I'll say it again: it would be great if we could learn something about having an outlook for a more hopeful future from our young people, because adults as a group could use an injection of that from time to time, so we don't end up constantly despairing about our lives.

-Cate-

On Youth

People often have trouble believing that I am *cough*sputter*cough* years old. It turns out that the single genetic gift my parents bestowed upon me (sorry, but it's true) is a young-looking face. Sometimes this works in my favor, such as when I was employed by a high school and needed to be able to connect with teenage students. Other times, it's a burden; people decline to take me seriously because I must have less experience or education.

Speaking as someone who is old enough to have finished grad school in 2012(!), though, I assure you that I've been through some shit (both personally and professionally), and the government has been trusting me to drive, consume alcohol, and vote for some time now. I've suffered through my quarter-life crisis, and my childhood pets are long gone. And I've reached an age that even adults consider to be adult-like.

But on the other hand, let's not discount youth! Young people--let's say 16-26--often have insights that full-blown adults do not, simply because adults have too much baggage and experience behind them to look at certain events or problems with fresh eyes. They are also full of energy, and some of them still have that boundless capacity for love and friendship that the rest of us have lost. Oftentimes, I've found that the creativity of young people far exceeds that of adults, because they are still at a time in life when others actively encourage their unusual points of view or their creative bents. 

I think youth is a good thing, and young people are an asset to our society. Let's not give them such short shrift. After all, as Whitney said, the children are our future.

-Cate-

American Success Stories

Although you're seeing this post sometime in August, I'm in the past, writing it on July 4, 2016, some 240 years after the signing of the Declaration of Independence. I mention this fact because it has a direct bearing on what you're about to read.

Earlier today, I had my iPod on shuffle, and Desi Arnaz's "Babalu" started playing. I'm a fan of I Love Lucy, and, having seen the entire series several times through, I can't help but know a few of Arnaz's more famous tunes, including this quintessential one. The song itself, though, isn't what interests me right now. Rather, Arnaz himself does.

He was what I consider to be an American success story. Born to a prominent family inn Cuba but thrust unexpectedly into straitened circumstances during a revolution, he found himself in Miama as a youth and then took up the business of entertainment. He of course met and married Lucille Ball a few years later, and the rest--as they say--is history. Everyone in America must know his name, or at least his face, by now. Not so bad for an immigrant, a non-native English speaker, and a man who dared to marry a white girl and (gasp!) flaunt their relationship on national television.

Thinking of Arnaz leads me to Richard Blanco, another Cuban making his way in America in another, but still contentious, time. Blanco was born in Spain and brought to America by parents who, like the Arnaz family, were fleeing political issues. A civil engineer and writer by training, Blanco was selected to recite a poem at the 2013 presidential inauguration (Barack Obama's second time swearing in). This was an excellent choice for several reasons: not only did Blanco give a flawless reading of his "One Today," but he also represented the changing face of America. For Blanco is an immigrant, yes, and a Latino, but also a gay man. This was a truly monumental moment, and again, I consider Blanco to be an American success story.

In keeping with the artistic bent of these musings so far, I turn to Lin-Manuel Miranda, the nearly inescapable face of Broadway in 2016. While born in America, Miranda comes from Puerto Rican stock. And he is a man who has done a few things all at once: brought attention to musical theater, triggered discussions about American history among people who might not otherwise find it an interesting topic, and dedicated his stage to the showcasing of non-white talent. Moreover, he has gotten away with all of these things through a combination of talent and commitment, which are rare enough personality traits in the public sphere nowadays. What could make his American success story more successful? Maybe only getting his face on a Wheaties box.

You've surely noticed a trend here: each of these men is Latino.

I believe in inclusion. American culture overwhelmingly privileges white people and can be ridiculously appropriative, and diversity of any kind often seems to be an impossible dream. But the United States would not be what it is today without the contributions of people from every racial, ethnic, and sexuality-based background. Unfortunately, for each person calling for a wider variety of viewpoints and a higher level of tolerance or activism, we hear another voice full of vitriol and anger, blaming non-whites--and particularly immigrants--for the perceived woes of our society.

This is unacceptable to me. And it should be unacceptable to you as well. This is America. It's meant to be the land of the free. So why are we, as a nation, working so hard to suppress diversity? We need the white people, the brown people, the black people, the blue people, the gay people, the straight people, the Christians and Jews and Muslims and Democrats and Republicans and even the anarchists, probably. Because we the people are all people, supposedly born equal (or made so as immigrants) under the law.

I've only given three examples here, but there are countless more worth researching and promoting. Those breaking down barriers, crossing lines that represented certain death in the past, marching in order to make themselves and their brethren heard, speaking out when the opportunity presents itself, fighting for what they believe is right, working to recover what was taken from them.

In the event that you haven't looked at a calendar recently, I would like to remind you that it is 2016. And it is long past time to let everyone be heard, respected, and included, and I cannot stress that enough.

-Cate-

Alan Rickman

If I delayed my Scott Weiland post out of laziness and my David Bowie post out of scheduling conflicts, then I delayed my Alan Rickman post out of sheer denial, but here it is.

Not only was he Hans Gruber, Colonel Brandon, and Severus Snape. He was this deeply intense presence, one with a voice made to be heard and a head made to be tilted just so. He was the kind of actor who made you want to view his performances again and again for the sheer pleasure of discovering each nuance you hadn't noticed before, and if his Harry Potter cast mates are to be believed, he was a genuine, caring man off screen and off stage.

The world has lost what we hoped was an inexhaustible source of creative generosity, and not just because we loved Snape (Snape, Severus Snape): because Rickman touched something inside all of us, whether we expected him to or not; he was just that great.

-Cate-

David Bowie

The Thin White Duke. Ziggy Stardust. David Jones. 

He had several names and many more faces throughout his career, but most of us knew him as David Bowie. Whether your first exposure to him was as musician Bowie or actor Bowie depended partly upon your parents' willingness to subject you to Labyrinth as a child and/or your own musical awakening during high school. As for myself, I came to his work through my favorite band, Stone Temple Pilots.

Many years ago, when MTV Unplugged was a (glorious) thing, STP had their own episode, and part of it ended up cut from the broadcast, though it lived on in bootlegs, pre-iTunes but post-Napster. This was a live cover of "Andy Warhol." As soon as I learned that David Bowie was the original artist, I booked it over to the store and snapped up a copy of Hunky Dory. That was the day I fell in love.

Bowie speaks to adolescents in particular because he was weird. This isn't a bad thing, but it's the most accurate word for him. As the saying goes, he let his freak flag fly, and with every iteration of himself that he presented to the world, he touched some misfit somewhere, from the streets of London to suburban Detroit and everywhere else around the world.

I was fortunate enough to see him live in concert in January 2004, during my senior year of high school. He was touring in support of Reality and played at the Palace of Auburn Hills (home of the Detroit Pistons). The seats weren't great, but I was as enthusiastic as I've ever been, and with good reason: that show remains the best performance I've ever seen, even 12 years later. I also feel lucky, because time proved that this run of dates made up his final trip around the world as a touring artist. 

At the concert, I bought a poster that I've had ever since. It's lived with me in Michigan, in North Carolina, and now in Louisiana. Right before I left home to come here, I went on a rampage through the house, desperately trying to locate said poster; I knew I couldn't live without it, because I feel like it's part of what makes my space my own.

He's been watching over me since I was a teenager, and I hope he never stops. 

-Cate-

Meeting with Gods

Hey, remember that time I mentioned how Richard Blanco hated my outfit? It was really traumatic, guys. But the point is that I got to meet Richard Motherfucking Blanco. 

I was considerably lucky for many years. Due to some incredible work on the part of professors and administrators, excellent writers regularly showed up on campus at my undergraduate alma mater, and in grad school, the stakes were even higher. Right before commencement began for the summer 2012 MFA graduates, Nikky Finney turned to three of us and asked if we were nervous. Steve Almond once laughed at me for essentially revealing to two hundred people that I'd had a bad day in workshop during a q-and-a session. David Rakoff, may he rest in peace, was gracious enough not to guffaw when I asked him about the connection between comedy and pain.

I don't say any of this to brag, as in, "HEY, LOOK AT ALL THESE COOL PEOPLE WITH WHOM I RUBBED ELBOWS, HOWEVER BRIEFLY." I say it because I realize how invaluable these experiences were.

If you are ever able, go to readings and book signings. Ask questions of the authors, should time allow. You will learn so. freaking. much from them, even if you don't speak to them directly. Sometimes just watching an author read can teach you a great deal--for example, how best to present your work in public, or perhaps how to connect better with your audience.

And here's a secret: about 97 percent of the authors I've met are the nicest people in the world, so you don't have to be afraid of approaching them. The other 3 percent? You don't want to spend time with them, anyway. I promise.

-Cate-

The Impossible Imposter

My parents and I are going to Las Vegas in March. This will be my first visit to Sin City (and Nevada in general). When Mom asked me what I wanted to do while we were there, I came up with one of my typical batshit ideas: I decided I wanted to visit the campus of UNLV and find out more about their MFA and Ph.D. programs in creative writing.

"Wait," you're saying to yourself, "doesn't she already have an MFA?"

Yes. She does.

Once every three or four months or so, I decide that I should go back for a second MFA. This is not because I enjoy being in school. In fact, there are few things I hate more than being in school. And it's certainly not because I feel like getting tossed around in workshops again. (Not to brag, but I only cried once during a workshop in all my years of education-getting. Those of you who know me know that I cry over everything, so this is a pretty big deal.) No, it's because I feel like what I have done is not enough. It's never enough.

As I said to my parents, "I don't think I went to the wrong school. [Lesley is the best, for real.] I just think maybe I should have studied poetry instead." Earlier this year, I mentioned that I've won a competition to have a chapbook published, and on my way to that point, I was also a semi-finalist for one prize and a finalist for another. But I'm terrified that someone is going to take these things away from me because they'll figure out what a horrible writer I am or--worse yet--everyone who ever reads it will think that I'm useless and don't deserve to be published.

This stems from something called imposter syndrome. And I have a severe case. Women, in particular, are susceptible to it. This is speculation on my part, but I assume artistic types have the most trouble with imposter syndrome, because our work is already undervalued and (some of us) feel like jerks whenever we manage to pull ahead of the pack. I mean, just read this list of actors/actresses/assorted others (including Don Cheadle, Meryl Streep, and Maya Angelou, of all people) who seem to suffer from imposter syndrome!

I'm working hard to internalize the notion that there is a difference between being realistic and giving in to imposter syndrome. For example, I want to stay grounded and remind myself that--at least at this point in my life--I'm not the kind of writer whose work is going to show up in The Paris Review or Poetry or even Passages North (thanks for rejecting me twice so far, and an extra shout-out to Northern for dismissing my grad school application back in '09). And there's a good chance I wouldn't be happy in a poetry program, anyway, partly because I'm not happy in school. Yet I also have to remember that Laura LeHew, Carlos Reyes, and Ted Enslin (!) have said some nice things about my poetry. 

Striking that balance is difficult, as are so many other things in life. Any time it gets too difficult, I have to remind myself that, to this day, Richard Blanco telling me he didn't like my outfit is still the worst thing a poet has ever said to me (to my face, anyway). But that's another story for another time. Meanwhile, I'll be over here trying to talk myself out of a second MFA. Who has that kind of time, anyway? I should be out in the world writing, instead.

-Cate-

In Loving Memory of CW, a Beautiful Soul

Last month, the morning I left North Carolina, I woke to a text message from my friend Charlie informing me that a guy we had known and loved in high school was dead. After the initial moment of disbelief, I was immediately numb, because I knew in my gut what had happened.

In your 20s, you don't have to go to many funerals for your peers. It's a perk of being young(ish), I suppose. When you DO have to attend one, it's usually due to one of three possibilities: 1) the person has met an untimely death through a freak occurrence, like a car accident or a sudden illness; 2) the person has overdosed on drugs, which is an unfortunate but likely possibility for some people; or the worst of them all, 3) the person has committed suicide.

When I was 17, entering my last semester of high school, AW killed himself, the first suicide I ever encountered. His death tore our school apart: some of us were on his side, while others were vicious toward him and his family. I was friends with his brother, CW, and I was devastated for him. He worked so hard to survive the situation, and the turnout at the funeral heartened me--many others cared, too, and would help CW any way they could. When he made it through the first year after his brother's death, I let out a sigh of relief. The hard part was over.

Except it wasn't. He was the one mentioned in Charlie's text.

Even through the early-morning haze clouding my mind, the realization came to me, though I tried to convince myself otherwise: CW had followed in AW's footsteps and taken his own life. Two days later, I had confirmation of this, and I think my brain stopped functioning for a few minutes, not wanting to accept the answer.

Because CW was only 26. He had a beautiful son and wife, was still very much his own person, and--judging from the huge crowd at the funeral home--was so, so adored. I don't mean to romanticize him when I say this, but to me, he was an aspirational figure; I wanted to be as strong and non-judgmental and cool as he was, and I thought he would always be around, not as some vague teenage memory but a living, walking, talking person I might randomly encounter one day at the grocery store or in a restaurant.

I have said it before and I will say it again a million times, if I have to: if you're thinking of killing yourself, please get help immediately. Call a suicide hotline. Speak with a friend. Take yourself to the emergency room. E-mail me (cateismilesaway@gmail.com), if you can't face people you think might not understand you or your situation. We all want you here with us. I promise. And we're all just a few seconds away.

Be safe. Be well. Be strong.

-Cate-

The Poet Laurie Ate

So. A thing happened in North Carolina last week.

In the course of normal state business, NC Governor Pat McCrory (no relation to Helen, as far as I know, and all the better for her) was called upon to appoint a Poet Laureate to follow in the very able and completely awesome steps of Joseph Bathanti.

He's just a regular Joe. (GET IT?)

Governor McCrory made his decision, choosing Valerie Macon of Fuquay-Varina as Bathanti's successor. There's a problem, though: McCrory made his decision without following recommended guidelines set forth by the North Carolina Arts Council or taking official nominations. It would seem that he saw fit to move ahead without guidance on this matter, and the NCAC has supported this action. (Bathanti was named Poet Laureate by McCrory's immediate predecessor, Bev Perdue.)

There are four upcoming inductees into the North Carolina Literary Hall of Fame, any of whom would have made an excellent choice for Poet Laureate (full disclosure: I know one of them personally and have met two of the others). As Ed Southern, Executive Director of the North Carolina Writers' Network--to which I belong--points out, "[I]f any of them had been appointed poet laureate in such a sudden and apparently arbitrary way, we would be right to object" to them, as well. Southern is correct, and that's the rub of it: the arbitrary nature of this situation does not agree with any of us, regardless of the merit of the poet's work.

Ron Bayes: poet, homeboy, soon-to-be NC Literary Hall of Famer.

However, as Dannye Powell of the Charlotte Observer points out in an article published on 14 July (link above), Macon, who is a State employee, has been misrepresented as a compelling choice. Macon has neither served as the Gilbert-Chappell Distinguished Poet--she was a student poet, as I was once upon a time--nor been properly nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Moreover, her two collections of poetry have been self-published; while self-publishing is far less stigmatized than it used to be, it is still regarded warily by the poetry world.

Given McCrory's disregard for the citizens of North Carolina, as evidenced by his terrible comments about liberal arts education and questionable approaches to reforming public education, I'm not surprised by this move on his part. I do think, though, that he has waded into dangerous territory. As funding decreases for the arts and humanities across the nation, more and more writers face financial and societal difficulty; few people--aside from other poets--take poetry seriously. 

But as a friend of a friend of mine pointed out on Facebook, North Carolina poets are in a tough spot now. If they protest too loudly, McCrory may take the opportunity to dismantle the Poet Laureate program altogether by way of teaching "jealous" poets a lesson. If that sounds like extreme logic to you, you've clearly never been on the wrong end of an arts/humanities budget cut or faced loud criticism over your choice of major.

We writers tend to huddle together as a result of living under fire. And I would love to have supported Valerie Macon, if I felt she had the experience necessary to serve as Poet Laureate. (She herself does not appear to have any faith in her own abilities, as she resigned from the post less than a week after the announcement.) As it is, I cannot do that. It makes me sad to see North Carolina writers put into the position of having to reject their Poet Laureate, too, because the position is vitally important. I hope that McCrory is able to see the error of his ways and that Macon will have the grace to admit her lack of qualifications and reach out for help, which would no doubt create some goodwill among other writers in the state. 

-Cate-

Images via my own Instagram feed and St. Andrews University.

Ghosts, Part 1: Anne Frank

I've never been anywhere I thought was seriously haunted, and I hate scary movies. But I have been to some notable historic locations, and I can't help wondering if maybe--just maybe--something of the people who made these places famous remains. 

I. Anne Frank

The most well-known place I've visited is the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam. I went alone, late on a weekday afternoon. The crowd was thin, and I was about to walk through the bedroom of a girl long deceased.

Anne Frank

For those of you who have never been, the "Secret Annex" is accessed through the space that used to be a warehouse for Opekta, the company Otto Frank ran before his family went into hiding. The floor there is unevenly paved with brick. It's a large, empty space, and it instilled in me a sense of foreboding. This was nothing compared to what would come.

The entrance to the Secret Annex is behind a reproduction of the bookcase used to hide it during the war. Before you get to the bookcase, you must ascend a flight of stairs. Even by Dutch standards, this staircase is steep; I had to move sideways up them, like a crab. The danger the Franks and their compatriots faced became palpable to me at that point, because I started to wonder how they kept from tripping, falling, alerting others to their presence.

Upstairs, you must pass through the bedroom used by Mr. and Mrs. Frank and Anne's elder sister Margot before you can get to Anne's bedroom. In Anne's time, it was cramped and uncomfortable. Today, it is empty. Only the wallpaper and some of Anne's clippings of movie stars--painstakingly preserved--remain. This is the worst part of the Secret Annex, and the best, because it doesn't take much to realize how young Anne was and how much she lost; just look at these photos and illustrations and you'll realize that Anne, like you, was a teenager. She was a dreamer. She was a human.

As I waited outside for my ride after I finished my tour, I stared and stared at the bell tower on Westerkerk, which Anne mentioned in her diary. How many times did she hear those bells toll, and how many times did she wonder if they were signaling death?

I have a postcard from that trip with an image of the red plaid diary Anne used. It's part of my collection now, a reminder that no matter how bad things get, I have to keep writing and hoping. This, then, is the power of being a little bit haunted by Anne Frank.

-Cate-

Image via the Anne Frank Museum.

For Part 2: Antietam, come back next Wednesday.

For Part 3: Henry Ford Museum, come back in two weeks.

Cate Has (Unfavorable) Opinions About Amazon

Tax evasion. Monopolizing. Stock prices out of line with actual profits. Predatory business practices. This all sounds pretty diabolical, yeah? But if you shop through Amazon, you're supporting these things.

My friends all know that I have opinions about things, and that some of those opinions are strong. This is one of my strongest ones. Normally, I don't spend much time discussing it online, because I'm not a business blogger. However, given that I muse about writing and books, I feel this is a germane topic.

I won't say much, beyond the fact that I believe Amazon is an evil empire engaging in activities that are detrimental to publishers and writers--particularly emerging writers and small presses, who stand to lose more in a deal like this. Amazon also harms local businesses by taking money (and tax dollars) out of communities. Moreover, Amazon is less than friendly to its own warehouse workers, while CEO Jeff Bezos is worth over $25 billion (of course, this isn't an uncommon dichotomy in corporations, but it's worth noting as our middle class continues to shrink).

Yes, I enjoy free shipping as much as the next girl, and I have been known to turn to Amazon in times of desperation, such as locating essential research materials. However, I realize that it is important, now more than ever, to be a conscientious consumer and hope you will do the same.

</editorializing>

-Cate-

A Writer's Responsibilities, or, Cate Versus Twilight

Back in June, my friend Mike asked me about Twilight. It went like this:

Mike: Have you ever seen the Twilight?

Cate: Believe me, sweetheart, you do NOT want to hear my opinions on Twilight.

Mike: Dude, they sparkle in the sun. Pretty much the best thing to ever happen to the vampire community.

Cate: Please stop talking unless you're going to tell me you hate Twilight with at least half of the fibers of your being.

Mike: Sorry, I've only seen the first two movies and I think they're cute, like The Little Mermaid or The Lion King.

Cate: Well, speaking as someone who's read all of the books and seen the first movie, I can tell you three things. 1) Stephenie Meyer is a terrible, sloppy writer. 2) Bella Swan is the weakest character I've ever read and an abysmal role model for girls. 3) The entire series reinforces rape culture in a way I haven't seen from anyone/anything. No joke, Bella and Edward's relationship fits ALL the recognized criteria of domestic abuse, and the series has done more damage (in my opinion) than Barbie dolls and Disney princesses combined.

Mike: Yeah, I don't analyze them, I just watch them.

Although I disagree with Mike about sparkling being the best thing to happen to vampires, I do appreciate daywalkers. But the point here, as you may have gathered, is not the vampires themselves. Rather, it's the way Meyer treats Bella Swan--and, by extension, each of the young women who find her story irresistible.

Of course, I'm not the first person to point out how ridiculous the Twilight series is, either in its written or cinematic form, nor am I the first to criticize the writing, characterizations, or lack of good life lessons. And Meyer is far from the only writer whose work or views on women deserves scrutiny (I am looking in your direction, V.S. Naipaul). But the fact is that Meyer, being a young adult (YA) author, has a certain responsibility to her audience.

Some people think that this is up for debate. I am not one of those people.

When I was in graduate school, I was lucky enough to study under Chris Lynch, whose work isn't known for its cheerfulness. For example, Inexcusable, his powerhouse of a novel, tells the story of a rape and its aftermath from the point of view of the rapist. Working with Lynch and reading his work taught me that not only is no topic out of bounds, as many YA advocates will tell you, but also that there is a great tradition of writers reaching out to teens through their works. Jack Gantos, Chris Crutcher, Lois Lowry, and Laurie Halse Anderson are a few examples of authors who tackle dark subjects that are pressing and important. 

After a semester spent with Lynch while reading all sorts of social issues-related YA novels, I decided that I wanted to be the kind of writer who pays attention to the message I'm sending to my entirely hypothetical readers. In fact, I was so fired up over finding his name in a Wall Street Journal article decrying "dark" YA lit that I sent him a congratulatory e-mail, writing, "I like working with dudes who write the kind of stuff that gets talked about. So thanks for being awesome."

Sarah Alderson, whose work I have never read, says, "Teenage readers are influenced by our words, by our stories. Make them count." This is my general feeling about the subject. Some authors take a narrower view, asserting that they only worry about being truthful. Libba Bray feels that "it would be dishonest of me to write a character without [...] flaws." But Bray's characters (in my limited experience) don't have the same flaws we see in Meyer's work. Bella is one-dimensional, a girl incapable of sticking up for herself, the kind of person who would rather act out in a reckless manner than face the fact that she is in a bad relationship. 

Other commentators think that telling a good story is paramount, such as Fiona Snyckers, who writes, "Teenagers, and indeed most children, have an uncanny ability to detect when they are being preached at, and their reaction to such preaching is almost always resentment. Nothing kills a book faster for a teen than the awareness that some adult agenda lies behind it." Of course, I agree that it's important to deliver a well-constructed story; every writer should strive to do so. But my gut reaction is that if you are preaching, you're doing something wrong in your writing. There is nothing bad about trying to convey a message; it's just that if your message isn't delivered thoughtfully and respectfully, with an understanding that teenagers have different sensibilities than adults, you need to try again.

Maybe I should be grateful that Meyer has given me--and others--an opportunity to figure out how we feel and strive harder to be good role models. In general, though, I'm just frustrated that I live in a world where abusive vampires are worshiped and good writing with a heart beating below it (pun only sort of intended) is banned--including, to my unending amusement/chagrin, my onetime professor's work.

Mike didn't mean to set off a debate when he asked me about Twilight. Meyer probably didn't mean to be so divisive when she wrote the series. Unfortunately, that's how Bella, et al, function in this world.

-Cate-

PS When I asked Mike if he'd mind me quoting him in this post, he was totally game. Thanks for the support, Mikey!

On Permission

A nutritionist changed my life.

Michelle (just look at how adorable she is, guys!) and I worked together in 2010-2011. One of the most important things she taught me is that I need to give myself permission to eat: I am free to enjoy my meals, and I must tell myself that it is acceptable to do so.

I promise I'm going somewhere with this that will benefit those of you who happen to be writers. Stick with me.

When writing about your own life, there is a fine line to be walked: how much of this story can I tell before I being infringing upon the rights of the others who populate my tale? Should I clear that second chapter with Mom? Will my best friend from high school be upset that I described our exploits in detail even though I changed her name and identifying characteristics?

Sometimes, even though we are the main characters of our own stories, I think we get lost in the shuffle. Of course it's important to be respectful of the people you discuss and take your role as the narrator seriously. But I also believe that we must give ourselves permission to discuss the things that happened to us.

This could be anything, from a traumatic encounter with a gecko to the first time you went to a funeral with an open casket to how you discovered you were allergic to peanuts. And we are not required to relate each detail or describe every event in our pasts. However, acknowledging that you COULD share your experiences if you chose to do so is important.

Just like Michelle wanted me to realize it was okay to say, "Yes, Cate, you may have that brownie," I want you to know it's all right to say, "Yes, I may write about this thing." It could be that doing so frees you of hang-ups you didn't know you had.