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Showing posts from March, 2011

Crybaby

Hello, I'm still here. Or, I'm back. Or something. Hi. It's been awhile since a topic said "write about me on your blog." And I just can't write something that doesn't speak to me first, whether it wants to be here or there or wherever. Do books ever make you cry? I can't remember the last time a book made me shed actual tears. I get that tight, choky feeling in my throat—sometimes. It happened with  The Hunger Games . Curiously, it didn't happen for me with  Thirteen Reasons Why, which is arguably more emotional and closer to home. And that got me wondering, what really makes people cry? Yeah, there are the standard answers:  the characters are well-developed, the pacing is right, the stakes are big, the reader actually cares what happens to said characters. (That last one is a symptom rather than a goal. Some people will care, and some won't. Some people like enchiladas; some don't.) What really makes people cry? Is there an answ

The First Line

I don't exist anymore. That's it. The first line of Drivers . This story at once challenges and excites me. Maybe it's not the greatest first line. It's short. It doesn't tell you anything. It almost doesn't exist itself. But I LIKE it. The protagonist and narrator Ash is sarcastic, funny, and feeling intense pain. The other protagonist Zephyr is a major presence, physically and psychologically. I'm still figuring her out, but she's smart, intense, and also funny. Man, I love writing.

How Writing is Like Riding

Bike riding, that is. Cycling. Let me tell you a story. A few years ago, I entered a 200 mile bike race from Logan, Utah to Jackson, Wyoming. (Of course, the year I did it they changed the route due to road work and it ended in Alpine, Wyoming and was only 188 miles. But that's beside the point. Why am I even mentioning it?) The last rest stop was in Star Valley. I don't remember which town. Star Valley is a beautiful, rolling break in the Rockies, dotted with small towns. The mountains cast long shadows. The riders are strung out over fifty miles of road by that point. I sat with my wife for as long as I dared, getting a foot rub and trying to eat despite queasiness. When I finally got back on my bike, the saddle felt like a pile of pins. My legs felt like rubber. But the sky was gorgeous and I had a slight tailwind. I ended up riding with a guy who had the same idea that I had:  get to the end as fast as possible. Without a word, we fell into the accepted pattern. One