Harry Potter is Demonic

Welcome to the magical world

Sorry for the delay on this post, but my sister was a slacker, and the library still didn't have any Harry Potter books (crazy, right?). Nonetheless, here we go.

Holding the DVDs because I don't own the book(s)
Also, I live in a basement. Much like
how Harry lived in a closet...

As a young and impressionable youth, I found my footing in the world though the threshold of a church. I went to youth group every Wednesday, played tambourine in the church band, and attended church camp during the summer months. For a long time, I didn't swear, didn't drink, didn't do drugs, or have sex. Really, I was an all around upstanding kid (aside from that time I locked my friend in the basement...).

One day as I was walking in, the pastor's wife got my attention. (I can't remember exactly how the conversation went, so I'm going to use the CREATIVE portion of creative non fiction so you guys get the idea.)

She had soft wavy brown hair and large glasses that completely covered her eyes. "You like to read, right?" she asked.

"I do," I said. "I just heard about these books, Harry Potter, have you read them?"

A worried look crossed her face, and then she said, "I've heard of them, and they're demonic. You shouldn't read them. They have magic in them, and magic comes from the devil."

"Okay," I said, and I took the message home to my sisters. "Don't read Harry Potter, you'll go to Hell!"

So...rather than read the books, years later, my oldest sister took me to the movies, and from there I continued watching (most of) the rest of them (I still actually haven't seen the last one, though twitter and Facebook has already ruined the end for me). In 2011, though I wasn't a huge Harry Potter fan (yea, sure the movies were fun, but sometimes I lost interest) I drove to Orlando, Florida for Leaky Con's LitDay to meet amazing authors, and hear panels about the industry.

The atmosphere was infectious. They were releasing the last Harry Potter movie, those in the audience were going to be the first ones to watch it, before the rest of America even got the chance. Everyone was buzzing with excitement, and lost in the mass of kids and adults dressed like they were ready to attend Hogwarts, I found myself getting excited, too.

Though I'd originally planned to bail out after the authorly panels were over, I found myself in a cushioned seat in a large room as the crowd hushed. Arthur Levine (the man who edited all of the Harry Potter books) entered the room. As he took the podium, cheers erupted, I'm pretty sure some people in the audience cried, and I looked at them like they were crazy (or, possibly, devil worshipers).

"When I met Jo, she looked hungry. As many of you know she was on foodstamps..." and from there he told the tale of meeting a starving author, with kids, with a lot to lose...She'd been rejected by several publishers and agents. No one believed in her story, but she did.

My sister. She is sad, too.

He told the audience about how Harry was hungry; he lived in a closet, was hated by the family he lived with, and he wanted food, and friends, and to belong somewhere. He was hungry for other people, hungry to actually experience life. The wizardry was just an added perk.

As he spoke, I had that Oh my God, moment. The one that tells me I spent x-amount of years missing out on something big because my church, a church I loved whole heartedly, told me those books were devil worshiping. I missed out on reading a great series, on being a part of something that truly moved people, and connected them to each other. Most of all, I missed out on something that got people and kids to read.

By proxy, my sister also missed out because I was a zealous Christian girl, upholding the word of God (nowhere in the Bible does it say don't read Harry Potter). (She is still kind of bitter about this one...)

All Harry wanted to was to be loved. In the end, I think that's what a lot of kids these days want. I know that's what I want. Well, that, and a nice package of mint oreos...

As I've been working on my memoir, I've been becoming increasingly angry with the things the church told me. For the record, I am still a Christian. I still pray on a daily basis, and love God (or my Higher Power for those of you who attend Alanon or AA).

Within the last year, I've become adamantly pro-choice and am becoming more vocal about it by the day. In College, one of my friends jumped from the Mackinaw Bridge, and I stopped believing suicides go to Hell. A boy who helped lead me toward God recently came out in the last few years, and thus, I stopped believing gays go to Hell, because he was the most passionate Christian I have ever met. The church taught me a lot about life, and I'm slowly starting to see that what I was told may have been vastly incorrect. (I'll be taking some of these topics on through this blog, hopefully you'll stick around through the journey.)

After Mr. Levine's speech, I no longer think that Harry Potter is demonic. Though I still didn't stick around to watch the movie with everyone, or attend the dance party, one of my life goals is to read the books, and at long last take part in something that has influenced my generation.

The moral of this post is: don't be afraid to read. Don't be afraid to be a part of something. Books are there to help you find what you're looking for, to test your beliefs (in a safe, non-cocaine type of environment), and take you on adventures the laws of gravity don't allow you to.

And for those of you writing the books, keep writing. Never stop pushing boundaries because your words may someday help save lives.

Happy Monday.

Meeting Claire

I met Claire Downs, the main character of After Elizabeth, in North Carolina, just before I went crazy (possibly while I was going crazy).

I've always been fascinated with smokers, especially because there are so many song lyrics about them. (On my iTunes, I actually have a cigarette playlist made up.) It's strange because I grew up loathing when my parents smoked, riding like a dog with my head out the window of the car, or leaving the room when they lit up in my presence. It's gotten to the point, when I visit Michigan, my mother knows better than to try to smoke with me in the car or in her house. Personally, I don't smoke...but I do have three unopened packs of cigarettes in the dashboard of my car in case I ever decide to take up the habit.

Yep, had these since North Carolina.
Smoking is gross.

Either way, one day I was sitting there, thinking about how strange it would be to see a girl in a neon pink sports bra running and smoking a cigarette. I started writing about Claire before she even had a name. Instead of being a girl as I wrote, I was a boy checking out a decently hot chick. I remember sitting on the couch and reading aloud to the people I considered friends (like I said, I went crazy), and they agreed that this girl sounded hardcore. I saved the document, and went to sleep with a massive erection. Wait, in real life I'm a girl...and I like boys. Okay, whew.

In the morning, when I checked my computer, the document was gone, and the page worth of stuff I'd written disappeared with it. But the memory of this girl never left me. I didn't care if what I'd written was saved. I just knew she existed, and I loved her, though now, she may never resurface.

Fast forward about six months. My Sister's Memories is on submission, and getting page and manuscript requests (cool! My query letter doesn't suck!). Sadly, each and every one gets rejected (sadface, my writing does). I tell myself that I'm not going to write another novel until My Sister's Memories, Character Defects, Igniting a Firestarter, and my memoir go through a hard round of editing. I only end up editing My Sister's Memories and receive more rejections, some with feedback, and for the first time, I start to hope...maybe...maybe...I have something worthwhile here.

In the meantime, I work my day job and get invited to a middle school to speak. One Wednesday morning, I drive to Fryeburg and talk to kids who ask me about cutting, depression, and coping mechanisms. I am humbled and awestruck with every single student I meet. We take pictures together, I offer candy, and I come back the next week. And the week after that.

They refuse to leave my head. The girl who smokes refuses to leave my head.

My sister and I
Her approval of my writing means a lot to me :)

On May 29, 2012, I sit down at my computer, and see a girl typing with a friend the way Kellie and I used to. I see a girl read a message that says something like, I'm sorry, I can't handle this, the same message I'd received when a good friend tried to kill himself a thousand miles away from me. And then, for the first time since I'd written about a girl smoking a cigarette and running, I saw Claire Downs emerge in the aftermath of her best friend killing herself.

And today (though I'm scheduling this post for tomorrow) on June 19, 2012, I am excited to tell you that After Elizabeth is complete. Even better? Armed with the critiques that I'd received from agents and Callie Kingston, though I wrote quickly, I wrote with showing in mind. When I read the ending to my sister, for the first time she said, "Yea, I can see everything you've just read, it was well written."

For the first time in my writing career, I'm proud of a rough draft, mainly because my sister didn't tell me that it sucked. Although she did tell me she had a beef with my ending. (Psshh, whatever.)

Now I step away for about a week, play, drink, and have fun.

Next week, the real work begins.

Research

Sometimes, research is fun. Like that time Innova Discs sent me a starter kit to research Disc Golf for My Sister's Memories. Or, harassing companies to see if they'll sponsor me for other research, or bugging friends, or even just hanging out and people watching.

The fun kind of research: sibling dynamics :)
*I'm on the right*

But, sometimes, researching your story...it's gut wrenching work.

I started a new project, potentially called After Elizabeth, a couple of days ago (which is why I've been MIA), and in three days managed to write 13,000 words (Woot! Victory dance!). And then I hit a point where I had to do something I've never done before. Write an obituary. For a girl who committed suicide.

This was hard for a couple of reasons:
1) Senior year of college, a friend killed herself. Her body was never found (to my knowledge, but that knowledge may be outdated now). I'd moved in 8th grade, and she and I had stopped talking. But, I like to live in this world where my friends stay alive forever, and are happy all the time, whether I'm near or far. It's not too much to ask, right? So Laura told me that she'd committed suicide, and I went to the porch and chain smoked until I stopped shaking.
2) I have a million other friends who died of things like; cancer, drunk driving accidents, bad driving accidents, etc
3) I've only read obituaries....Never actually written one
4) This obituary was almost written for me in October

Swallowing all of this, I tried to write around the obituary, but in the end, the story prevailed, and needed this written. I googled Suicide Obituaries, and found THIS website. From there, I literally took the step by step instructions and wrote. I called my mom, read the first couple of versions until she told me I needed to have life-accomplishments. This, then, is my first obituary:

Elizabeth Alexandra Travis, 16 years old, passed away unexpectedly on October 1, 2012. Born in Portland, Maine on April 8^th, 1996, she is survived by her mother, Natalie Wright of Portland, her father, Marc Travis of Gilead, and her best friend, Claire Downs of Portland. The bright junior is remembered as a gifted and accomplished cross country runner, a smart student, a loving daughter, caring teammate, and amazing friend. She is preceded in death by her beloved dog, Baxter. Friends and family wishing to donate are asked to send the proceeds to Hope Hotline, or any other suicide prevention foundation.

I think I'm okay with how it turned out. I especially liked that the best friend was added on there (I definitely feel like the parents would have written that given the girl's relationship). Also, I feel like a dick for killing her dog, but that, too, needed to be done.

So, for you writers. What are some of the hard parts of research for you?

Why We Love Characters

I fell in love with Bella Swan (shh don't tell anyone) because she had flaws. She has low self esteem. She trips over crap all the time. She's plain. Those are things I took away from the Twilight Series. 

Why?

Because -I- have low self esteem. Because I trip over crap, all the time. Literally, plus, now that I'm off crutches (YAY!!) I step wrong, and scream out in pain. To the point a boy this last weekend linked his arm through mine and escorted me inside (which was wonderful). I love Bella because I'm plain. I too wouldn't think I would deserve Edward Cullen. 

So think about it. Why do you watch the shows you watch? Why do you fall in love with characters in books?

At PNWA, I did my pitch. I would see editor's and agent's eyes light up when I talked about a 17 year old girl who was abused by her parents, who was stand-offish...who moves out of her parents house with no direction. But--she is sure to take her teddy bear with her. 

It's the quirks we fall in love with. The ordinary, the comical problems that they have, that we can relate to. The flaws that they hide from the rest of the world, but they expose to us.

So..
How's your character development coming? Why would people love your character? Why do -you- love your characters?

:)