The Wicked Ingénue

1. Write only what your instructor wants/likes to read. You can discern this by listening to her/his feeble compliments in workshop: “that was sort of well-done”; “this part was kind of okay”; “Well, I didn’t hate that character”, etc.

2. Treat yourself to a Kit-Kat bar before workshop starts. In China, it’s considered good luck to eat a Kit-Kat before an exam and/or an otherwise grueling day in class. Although there’s no scientific proof of mystical benefits, those little crunchy sticks sure do stimulate the ol’ endorphins.

3. Forget everything you’ve learned and/or think you know about writing. Whatever it is, it’s wrong. At least in this workshop.

4. Read the workshop instructor’s book and research everything else s/he has written so you can pull it out in class: “Well, Professor So-and-So, when I read your book about how to write fiction, you said . . . “. A rare smile and nod of approval will follow.

5. Don’t ever go to the instructor’s office hours and complain that s/he was “too hard” on your story. S/he’ll make an example of you and class, and you’ll never hear the end of it.

6. Avoid using clichés at all costs, even if you have to do ridiculous things like replacing “his heart soared” with “the most crucial organ in his body did a jumping jack between his lungs”.

7. Reconsider law school.

8. Hold your tongue (in this workshop, such a phrase would be replaced by something like, “restrain the big muscle in your mouth that allows you to taste the chocolatey goodness of a Kit-Kat bar”) when your instructor literally tears apart pages of your manuscript and says, “This scene is a bad example of an equally bad idea”.

9. Convince yourself every day that you suck at writing and should find another field to fall back on.

10. For God’s sakes, don’t cry. Never let ‘em see you sweat. Besides, it’ll all be over soon, anyway.

Last week in my writing workshop, one of my “colleagues” – let’s call her Nora (that’s my nickname for ignorant people [Noro if it's a guy]) – wrote a story about a girl named Simone. Simone is what writers call a Grotesque: she’s has no social skills, she has no concept of personal hygiene, she has bad teeth, she doesn’t shave, she has a mustache, she’s into scatology**, etc. Basically, Simone encompasses everything that society deems unattractive.

In addition to the aforementioned characteristics, Nora also gave Simone a wandering eye (not wandering as in she’s constantly on the lookout for hotties. Wandering as in one eye is normal and the other points northeast). I was wary of this as soon as I read it because when a writer gives a character a wandering eye, chances are s/he isn’t going to be sympathetic about it. Most writers employ the ol’ wandering eye to play up a Grotesque character, and that’s exactly what Nora did.

So what’s the big deal, you ask? Well, I’ll tell you: I was born with a wandering eye, also known as lazy eye, cross-eyedness (I hate that term the most), squint (I don’t understand that one), and every other name my classmates could come up with. The medical term is actually strabismus. It’s a disorder that either effects eye-brain coordination and/or one or more muscles in the eye.

The form of strabismus I have is two-fold: it effects the muscles in my eye and it also effects my spatial orientation. I often have trouble judging distances as a result (no wonder I’ve been in, like, three car accidents). I’m never able to see optical illusions and such because of the strabismus. I constantly run into walls and corners, and I really have to concentrate on my balance (can you believe I was a professional dancer? Who would’ve thought?). My vision is also terrible because of the strabismus (-8.50, to be exact).

Yeah. It fucking sucks.

I was lucky that my parents cared enough and had the resources to correct my strabismus, at least cosmetically. After three botched operations (don’t ever choose Kaiser as your medical provider), I went to see Dr. Arthur Rosenbaum, the best pediatric opthamologist in the world. Because my case was so extreme, it took one surgery to straighten out the right eye and another to straighten out the left. That’s five surgeries total. I think the worst part about it is post-op when they take the stitches out of your eye . . . with no anesthesia.

Um, yeah. Did I mention that it fucking sucks?

Dr. Rosenbaum performed my last surgery when I was fifteen, and it was pretty much a success. When I’m extremely tired and/or drunk, my right eye drifts ever so slightly. No one really notices except my family and close friends, but I still get hung-up over it.

Anyway – back to Nora and her story about Simone.

Initially, I didn’t want to say anything to Nora about the “wandering eye” thing because 1.) There were bigger problems in her story, 2.) I didn’t want to sound like a crybaby, and 3.) I didn’t want my classmates to know that I’d dealt with something like that. I’ve worked hard to distance myself from . . . well, myself. The person I am now, I mean. So the thought of telling people that I was once ridiculed because of a physical deformity is sort of terrifying. They say people should accept you no matter what you’ve been through and where you’ve come from, but life doesn’t work that way. I forgot who said this, but: it’s not who you are that matters – it’s who people think you are. It sounds cynical, but I believe there’s truth in that.

In the end, I was forced to confront Nora about the representation of strabismus in her story because my writing instructor put me on the spot. I told Nora that I thought her narration was mean-spirited and that perhaps she should reword the scathing bit about the wandering eye. I looked at her with my perfectly aligned eyes and said, “Nora, you can’t just go around making fun of people with deformities. Could Simone help it that she was born with this condition? Could I or millions of other people like me help it? You wouldn’t make fun of someone with a mental disability, would you? How about a handicapped person? Do you make fun of them, too?”.

I was a little hard on Nora, and truthfully, I don’t think she meant to be malicious – I just think she’s young and unaware. Ignorant. In any case, she sent me an email today with an apology and a vow to be more sensitive toward people with strabismus and other physical deformities.

I think I’ve learned from this incident, too. I think that sometimes, sharing your secrets and the things you dislike most about yourself can help change someone else for the better. That’s the whole reason why I decided to write a memoir, so how is sharing my eye condition any different? It sounds funny, but to be honest, I hate this aspect of my past (the strabismus, that is) much more than anything I ever did in Las Vegas, which is saying a lot. I wasn’t even going to include it in my book, but I’ve since changed my mind.

I can’t go back and explain all of this to people who’ve ridiculed me in the past, but I can start now. I think that through my writing, I’ll finally be able to hang up some of my hang-ups.

Some of you may have heard that November is National Novel Writing Month (aka NaNoWriMo. If I were a hip-hop star, that’d totally be my stage name). If not, here’s the gist of it courtesy of www.nanowrimo.org:

“National Novel Writing Month is a fun, seat-of-your-pants approach to novel writing. Participants begin writing November 1. The goal is to write a 175-page (50,000-word) novel by midnight, November 30.”

I have mixed feelings about this concept, and I’ve recently found myself in several heated conversations about it. Some people think it’s a good way to bring amateur and professional writers together, get people motivated and/or interested in writing, and teach writers the importance of deadlines and making time to write every day. Others think it’s a waste of time because it’s nearly impossible to pound out a decent novel in thirty days, so most of the work you would’ve done will probably have to be thrown out and rewritten.

I fall somewhere in between, but I’d say I identify more with the later outlook. Maybe it’s because I’ve been working on my memoir for over four years and I’m still not finished with it. Granted, the memoir is a 200,000-word project, but still.

After talking with a friend about this last night (he’s pro NNWM and I took the opposing view), I thought about our conversation and asked myself what bothered me most about this writing challenge. The following points are what I came up with:

-Start soapbox-

1. Leading every average Joe into believing that they have the ability to write a novel in thirty days cheapens the craft of fiction. If writing were that easy, everyone would do it and everyone would be published. The hard is what makes it great.

2. I’m all for national appreciation and recognition of novel writing, but that doesn’t mean everyone should do it. It reminds me of “American Idol” auditions. 99.9% of people who audition have no talent, and they’re clearly not honest with themselves about their ability to sing. It’s great that they’re interested in music, but perhaps they should pursue a different branch of it or simply stand back and appreciate it. Being a good reader is one thing; being a good writer is quite another.

3. I understand that challenging oneself to complete a novel in thirty days could help instill good work ethic, but if you didn’t have the drive and motivation to begin with, chances are you’re not going to retain it when NNWM ends. Being a writer requires incredible self-discipline, and it’s something you learn and develop over time. You have to learn to work through the frustration and the writer’s block and the desire to go downstairs and make coffee. As Ron Carlson would say, you have to stay in the room. If one challenge can teach you how to do this, that’s awesome. But chances are it probably won’t.

I think I’d feel a little better about NNWM if they changed it to “National Draft Writing Month”, because that’s really what it is. But even then, I’m still not comfortable with the concept. A novel is something that takes months, a year, or even many years to complete, even for the best of us.

Some might say I’m taking this too seriously, but I don’t think I’m the only writer who does. The phrase “I’m a writer” and “I’m working on a novel” are thrown around way too loosely. “Writer” is a title that should be earned, not frivolously adopted. Likewise, calling a piece of work a “novel” is something one earns, not a title you slap on a manuscript you scrambled to finish in thirty days.

-End soapbox-

About three weeks ago, I started my senior year of college. In case you didn’t know or forgot, I’m working on a B.A. in English. English with an emphasis in creative writing, to be exact.

I knew college would end eventually, but the end has closed in more swiftly than I imagined. I can almost see the “Welcome to The Rest of Your Life” banner at the end of the track. There’s also some balloons, a bottle of champagne, applause, and the ever-present student loan lenders waiting to collect. I can see them standing at the finish line holding a silver platter with a bill on it. The bill is resting on a ruffle of cheerful green lettuce. Lettuce the color of all that money I’m obligated to pay back.

(On a side note, did you hear that the U.S. dollar will most likely be replaced as the world currency? That’ll be an interesting transition)

Four years seems like a long time when you’re starting out, but to be honest, it goes by fast. Too fast, maybe. But I’m happy to say I’ve taken the time to enjoy every minute of it. The fun isn’t quite over yet, though. Because the finale of my academic endeavors is right around the corner: graduate school. Hopefully.

Originally, I was going to apply to ten MFA (Master of Fine Arts) programs. A couple of them were in Southern California, which is where I live, but most of them were back east. I’ve always had this romantic idea of going to the heart of the world to study writing: New York City. I thought about it all summer and asked myself if it was realistic. I mean, $50,000 a year? Finding an inexpensive place to live that isn’t in the ghetto? Learning to live without a car? Being 3,000 miles away from my family and friends? $50,000 a year? Seriously.

In the end, I decided that I’m going to stay in L.A. Going to New York is too expensive, too far away from my support system, and too far away from Hollywood, which is where I want to start my career. I’ve already begun applying for internships at all the big television and movie studios in town. I think it’ll be a good experience to have while I continue work on my memoir.

And then there’s Las Vegas. There’s always Las Vegas. I know this sounds funny, but I don’t like the idea of being so far away from my city. I like the freedom of being able to go there whenever I want. I like that I can drive there in the middle of the night, watch the sun rise from Red Rock Canyon, visit a couple of my best friends, do research for my book, and have a $5.99 prime rib meal all within 24 hours.

If I could live in Las Vegas, I would. But we all know what happens when Kristen lives in Las Vegas. And if you don’t, click “The Vegas Diaries” tab up there on the right.

Anyway, I’ve started the application process and I’m taking the GRE next month (it’s like the college equivalent of the SAT), so wish me luck. My list of ten has been cropped to four, and I haven’t decided what I’m going to do if I’m universally rejected. Just be a peon at a movie studio for a while, I suppose. And sell my memoir. Hopefully.

I know some of you might be interested in hearing about the progress of my book, so I’ll post something about that in the near future.

For now, back to writing.