April 29, 2013: So I tried to write a novel...

I've always been fairly confident in my writing abilities...on a small scale level, at least.  English classes were always my forte in school.  Grammar and spelling were never challenges for me--and improper grammar and spelling are one of my pet peeves to this day.  Stringing words together has always come naturally for me.

However....

I've always kept my writing somewhat contained.  The longest piece I've ever written was the twelve-page research paper required in some college class I've long since forgotten.  I've written some short stories, placed in a small contest or two.  I've done the same with poetry.  But longer pieces...novellas...novels...I've always shied away from those.

Until recently.  My sister-in-law asked me to sign up with her to do one of NaNoWriMo's summer camps, where you try to write a novel in a month.  I didn't figure on being able to do that.  I actually pretty much figured when I signed up that I wasn't going to do it.  But nearly a week into the month of April, I sat down and forced myself to start writing.  I'd set myself a goal of 30,000 words and on the 26th of April, I had a final word count of over 34.000 words.  In less than three weeks, I've "written a novel."  Well, more like a novella at this point.  But I'm a NaNoWriMo winner.

Here's the thing....

While I was writing, I was really excited about what I was doing.  Every time I got to update my word count and saw the progress I was making, I was exhilarated.  I really hadn't even planned on doing this, and now here I was actually doing it.  I hit my 30,000 word mark and felt ten feet tall.

Since then however, I have realized that it's not really a novel at this point.  It's just a word count.  It needs a lot of work...and I mean, a lot.  The ending's not even fully completed because I can't get it to come out the way I want it to.  Sitting and talking to Chaz about it Sunday night, I told him that I was having trouble because the ending felt contrived.  And when I briefly explained the plot to him, he told me that the reason my ending felt contrived...was because it is.  In real life, my plot wouldn't work the way I've written it.

I've picked up on that a bit as I've written.  I've had to stop a number of times and think about how I'm going to make things work.  Turns out, it's not working at all.  It need a major overhaul.  And I mean, MAJOR.  Looking back at what I've written, I like the voice it's written in, I like my word choices, I like the ease with which it's read.  But the plot sucks.

A crappy plot is what has held me back in the past.  I'm just not good at putting together a long, detailed, organized plot.  In the same vein, it's why I'm not a good chess player.  I don't tend to think that far ahead.  I don't know that that means I'm not a good writer/author, or it just means I'm not meant to write a novel.  Or maybe it just means that nobody...well, not nobody, but at least not me...writes a bestseller in twenty days.

Now I have a decision to make:  do I leave it as is and walk away, simply happy with the pride I feel in reaching a goal I set for myself, or do I go back and read and edit and reshape and recreate until I have a piece of work that I'm truly happy with?

I do know that now that I've written such a large piece (whether it's good or not), I know that I am capable of sticking with something long-term--so I can't use that as an excuse to not do it anymore.  I can do it if I really put my mind to it and decide I want to do it.  And that is refreshing to know.


All artists, I've been told (from a friend who is also an artist in her own right) go through this process of taking their raw first drafts and shaping them into the final works they become.  Now I have to decide--am I really an artist?

I guess only time will tell.

April 22, 2013--An old love, rekindled.

I had forgotten just how much I enjoy listening to music.  Simply sitting and listening to music.

Music has always been fairly prominent in my life.  I grew up listening to "the Oldies" with my parents.  I developed a healthy appreciation for a number of "old" groups: Journey, the Monkees, Kansas, The Who, REO Speedwagon, Toto, Asia, to only name a very few.  My mother was also a country fan (my father was not) so on the rare occasions that she got to control the radio controls we listened to Garth Brooks, Trisha Yearwood, Faith Hill, Reba, Randy Travis, George Strait, Alan Jackson.  And of course I developed a taste for a number of the artists who became popular during my own youth: the Backstreet Boys and N'Sync, Britney Spears, Savage Garden.

My tastes were fairly eclectic and they grew more so as I got older.  I went from listening to what my parents listened to as a young child to listening to the more "popular" stations as a "tween."  In high school I  was introduced to a number of pieces from musicals and there was born my great love of musical theatre, which continued on into college.  As did my love for certain movie scores and soundtracks--Braveheart, Lord of the Rings, Jurassic Park, Titanic.  (Say what you want about the movie itself, the music is amazing.)

I started taking piano lessons in the 7th grade and while I never had the discipline to become very proficient at it, I did learn enough to plunk out the few songs that I liked well enough to really learn.  In that, however, I learned that I did indeed love the sound of the piano and started listening to solo piano music.

It was in college that my love of music and my appreciation for its diversity really soared.  I sang in the choir and somehow found myself, with no experience whatsoever, playing in the pep band.  That led to a semester of playing percussion in the concert band as well.  I started college as a music education major so the necessary classes exposed me to a lot of music (mostly classical) that I had not heard before.  It was amazing; absolutely amazing.  I discovered a deep love for Beethoven, his Moonlight Sonata being my favorite piece.  After a fair amount of study in one of my classes, I was able to listen to a few bars of his 5th Symphony (duh-duh-duh-duh) and identify which exact part of the piece it was.

Everywhere I went, no matter what I was doing (working a job probably being the exception) I listened to music.  I listened to music during music classes, I popped in my headphones and listened to music as I did homework.  I had a playlist set for when I went out and walked or ran (cuz I actually exercised back then) and I had a number of soundtracks and mixed CD's in my car, just waiting to be blared with the windows down.  Often, when I had some time to myself, I would lay in bed or sit out on the quad and just listen to music.  I took such enjoyment from it that I didn't need to be doing anything else.  I could just listen and it was a perfectly acceptable way to spend my time.

Somewhere along the line that changed.  I quit listening to music regularly.  Chaz and I got married, we had two kids and now my life revolves around Disney movies and Madden '11.  It's not often that I control whatever electronic devices necessary to just listen to music and more particularly the music that I want to listen to, rather than the music that's going to keep everybody happy.  (And I'm not just referring to my husband; my two year old's fairly adamant about what she wants to watch and/or listen to.  It doesn't often coincide with what I want.  And for anyone out there saying, be the adult, listen to what you want, she'll get over it--try listening to music for enjoyment while a two-year-old cries/fusses/whines/screams about it.  Kind of defeats the purpose.)

For instance, when I would drive around Naperville, or take the four hour drive home from Naperville to Granite City, I would put in the soundtrack to Rent or Moulin Rouge or Jekyll and Hyde, blare it as loud as I might want it, and sing my lungs out.  I knew the words to all the songs, I listened to them that often, and I would just sing and sing and sing.  I don't do that anymore.  And I'm not exactly sure why.  I just haven't done it.  One reason, I'm sure, is that it would drive Chaz absolutely bonkers.  Not the me singing part (or at least he'd never openly admit it if it did) but the musical part.  Listening to the soundtrack of Rent isn't really his thing.

Anyway, the point is, I've been writing lately.  My sister got me hooked into doing this Camp NaNoWriMO thing where you try and write a novel in a month.  So far it's going much better than I ever imagined.  Not the point, though.  The point is that while I've been writing, I've been listening to music.  I normally do most of my writing between 9pm and midnight or so; it's after the girls are in bed and before Chaz gets home from work.  So I "have the house" to myself.  So I pull up Pandora and let the music play while I write.  What I have found, especially the last couple of days, is that I will be writing and then I won't be.  I'll simply be sitting there, listening to the music.  Immersing myself in the melodies and harmonies, identifying the instruments used, admiring the tonality of someone's voice, singing along without realizing it.  And when I catch myself and try to go back to writing, I find I can't really concentrate.  The music is pulling at me and all I want to do is sit there, relax and listen.  Enjoy.

I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed just listening to music.  It really does bring me happiness, plain and simple happiness.  Music.  The universal language.

I'm going to start speaking it again, I think.

April 18, 2013--Would you keep reading?

Simple question for you guys: after reading this, would you keep reading?
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The sun had long since reached its zenith and was making its slow and steady way toward the horizon.  Bright rays stretched their fingers towards the bay and making contact, caused the water to shimmer and dance.  The sky was still a vibrant blue with just the slightest hues of red and orange coming to life in the far off distance.  The artwork of afternoon was still in its early stages; the shades and images of late afternoon, twilight, dusk and finally night were still a fair ways in coming.

The water, bathed in sunlight shifted and swayed, changing colors from cerulean to aqua to stone grey and back again.  Its depths shimmered in shades of dark and light, creating patterns with no discernible beginnings or ends.  Waves lapped the shore in a gentle, constant rhythm, brought in by the light wind that held a hint of chill, creating a soothing soundtrack to accompany the breathtaking backdrop.  Couples walked hand-in-hand along the beach, their footprints imprinted distinctly for a moment, then disappearing, washed clean by the lull of the waves.

Far off in the distance, a handful of grey clouds appeared, a brushstroke of haze added to the emerging fire of the imminent sunset.  Whether they would creep closer and evolve from haze to smoke...that was still uncertain.

The old Catholic church, proud-faced and majestic, seemed to float in the middle of the bay.  In actuality, it sat on a small isle a few hundred yards from the shore.  Its white stucco walls shone pristinely in the sunlight and the slated roof, a deep brick red in color, had taken on a copper-like sheen.  The front doors were ensconced between two diamond-paned stained glass windows and when opened welcomed those who would come into a thirty foot high narthex, topped with a rounded bell tower.  Opposite the front doors, a massive pair of oaken doors opened into a vast nave.  More stained glass windows depicted famous scenes from the Holy Bible, most prominently that of the Lord’s Crucifixion, Burial and Resurrection.  At the front of the church was the sanctuary, with the altar always garbed in the appropriate attire of the church year.  Atop the altar stood an elaborate Crucifix, depicting the Lord in the throes of agony.  And to the side stood His mother, the Holy Virgin Mother, Mary.  The immense space seemed to stretch beyond time and echoed with the thousands of voices that had once spoken here, voicing the history of centuries past.  Intended to be a physical depiction of the Lord’s miraculous walking on water, the church had been built on the small island specifically and named The Insula, or simply “the island.”  The church had been erected over two hundred years ago and although renovations had been made, they had stayed true to the original aesthetic of the building.  While modern conveniences had been added and old supports replaced with new, the church looked the same as it had when first built.  

The bridge was sturdy, wooden, and it provided safe passage from the quaint little town of Wren, Massachusetts and its lovely beach to The Insula.  It was lined with old time gas lanterns, though it had been many years since gas had fueled them.  They ran on electricity but the picturesque appeal remained.  Lit at dusk each night, they lined the path trod by millions of feet and even in the darkest night left no one in doubt of the location of a place beloved by natives and popular with tourists.

A lone figure stood in the middle of the bridge gazing across the bay.  Garbed in a light overcoat, the collar upturned, the figure was distinctly male though that was all that was distinct.  A golden retriever lay contentedly at his feet as though the bridge was familiar to the canine and reclining against the bridge’s rail was a black umbrella.  Despite the bright sunshine and the calm water, the man seemed prepared for a storm.  His silhouette was a familiar one to the people of Wren, for he often frequented the bridge leading to The Insula.  He never crossed all the way, never went inside.  Always he stopped halfway across.  And there he waited, though no one knew for what.

As he waited, his gaze fixed and distant, the wind picked up suddenly.  As it whipped through his hair and the coat of the retriever, the waves became choppy and turned grey.  The sky lost its brilliant hue and the grey clouds that had hovered so distantly, so out of reach, began to race inland and brought with them the scent of rain.  There was a distant rumble of thunder and a brief flash of lightning.  

A storm was coming.

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Thoughts?

April 6, 2013--It's All About the Attitude

The past few days have shown me that I really can do more than I think I can.  That my attitude really does have a major effect on how well I handle the day-to-day things.  And now that I've finally acknowledged that realization, I can't decide if I'm proud....or ashamed.

Being rear-ended by some texting teenager while six weeks pregnant really sucked.  An extremely uncomfortable ambulance ride took me to a hospital filled with (in my opinion) arrogant and incompetent people--I mean seriously, when I told the doctor I was pregnant, he told me I probably wasn't, then when the pregnancy test came up positive, came back and informed me I was indeed pregnant (well, duh!) and because of that, he couldn't do anything for me. Go home, take some tylenol, have a great day! 

That's it?  Gee, thanks doc.

The next nine months were the most painful of my life.  Words really cannot express how much pain I was in--constant, never-ending pain.   All while chasing down an energetic one-year-old.  If you don't believe me, feel free to ask Chaz.  He will be more than willing to tell you how impossible I was to deal with throughout those long, interminable nine months.  It was a living nightmare.

Things got a little better after Daphnie was born.  I mean, I wasn't carrying a nine-pound baby in my uterus anymore--that took a bit of pressure off of my back.  Of course, now I was carrying a nine-pound baby around on my hip, so it pretty much equaled out.

The point is, I've still been in a lot of pain.  Day-to-day, constant pain.  Granted, now it's more like a constant 7 instead of a constant 9, but it's still not a walk in the park.  Unfortunately, this has not had the greatest effect on my parenting skills...or my marriage.

Chaz has said a number of times during some of our more serious discussions that I am not the woman he married.  And he's right.  I'm not.  The woman he married was in shape, active, fun (in his words).  Now my idea of fun is sitting on the couch with a can of Dr Pepper watching Grey's Anatomy while the kids nap.  I am constantly stressing.  About everything.  Money, the kids, the future, the failing plumbing, money to take care of the failing plumbing, bills, the kids, am I a good enough mom, getting to church, money, the kids, am I putting enough effort into my marriage, is Chaz bored with me, am I making Chaz happy, buying a new house, money.  And so on it goes.  All while living each day in pain.  Definitely NOT who I was four years ago.

Chaz made the comment to me the other night while coming home from the grocery store that he doesn't feel like I'm ever happy.  He comes home from work and I'm tired and worn out and stressed.  I hate that he feels that way because I don't think of myself as an unhappy person.  But if you were to randomly ask me how I was feeling, happiness probably would not be the first emotion that would come to my mind.  I had to really stop myself from not beating myself up when Chaz told me he doesn't ever come home to me happy.  I had to stop myself from only hearing "You have failed.  You're not good enough."  Because that thought process did pop up almost immediately.  But I knew he didn't mean it like that.  He was just trying to be honest with me.

One of the other things he said to me that I've spent the last few days pondering over is that if I'm going to be in pain anyway, one way or the other, shouldn't I have a better attitude about it?  Instead of focusing on how stressed I am, how unsatisfied with things I am, how much pain I'm in every day, shouldn't I really try to have a more positive attitude about things and make the best out of things?

My immediate reaction, again, was resentment and anger for being told I wasn't good enough.  That I wasn't handling things properly.  That I was a shitty wife and mother.  But after that immediate reaction, I acknowledged to myself that he was right.  I do tend to let myself get mired down in negativity, more so when he's at home.  When I'm at home by myself with the girls, I do try really hard to stay positive, to be in a good mood for the girls' sake.  But when Chaz gets home, he's able to take some of the load of the girls away and I'm free to sink into the tiredness and the frustration that I've been hiding all day.  And that's not fair to him and it's really not fair to me either.  Because in the end, I'm selling myself short.

I've been sick since Tuesday.  Congested sinuses, sore throat, achy body, headaches.  And both of the girls have been sick since Thursday.  And Chaz has been working overtime.  12 hours on Friday, working today and tomorrow (his normal two days off).  So I've been sick, dealing with two sick babies by myself for the most part.  Sounds like a recipe for fun, yeah?

So last night was absolute hell.  The girls were up all night and I do mean, all night.  I don't think they finally went to sleep until about 4am and then Daphnie was up again at 6:30 and Aubrey was up at 8:30.  I've been going on practically no sleep, feeling like absolute crap all day, dealing with two very tired, very fussy babies.

However, the day has not been bad.  The fact that the girls didn't feel good completely took precedence over the fact that I didn't feel good.  I've spent the day with either one or the other or both girls cuddled up on my lap, dozing in and out, fussing here and there, watching the same Disney movies over and over to keep them as happy as possible.  I've been giving out cough medicine and tylenol, cleaning up vomit, taking temperatures and speaking to a nurse.  All the while my nose has been either stuffed up or running like crazy, my throat is on fire and my back is killing me.  Yet none of that has really seemed to matter all day because I've been so focused on trying to keep the girls as comforted as possible.

Chaz got home from work around 4 and I was so grateful to see him but I didn't immediately sigh with relief, hand him the reins and go into hiding.  Did I refuse to ask for help....no.  But I didn't give him the attitude I so often have in the past--that oh great, he's home from work, it's his turn to deal with the kids and I can have a break attitude.  And I've done that when I've been well, when I haven't been dealing with some sort of sinus infection or whatever this is, when the girls have been well and well-behaved and the day hasn't been that bad.

Chaz has a point.  All things being equal, it really does come down to attitude.  I'm going to be in pain either way so I can either wallow in that knowledge and be miserable, or I can live my life and enjoy the moments I have with my family while they're available to have.

I'm not saying there won't be days that will be rough for me, where I will feel overwhelmed and tired and frustrated and be counting down the minutes til Chaz walks it the door.  And that's ok.  And if you don't believe that, feel free to check out this dad's blog.  (Seriously, it's amazing for anyone with young kids!)  But I really do need to remember that the day will take on the hue of whatever mood I'm in.  So if I get up in the morning and decide that it's going to be a good day, whether that means doing three loads of laundry, cleaning up the kitchen and having dinner on the table at 5pm, or spending the day camped out in the living room building block towers with the girls, it will be a good day.  And if I stay busy, if I stay happy, maybe the pain won't get in so many punches.

As I said, coming to this realization has filled me with equal parts pride and shame.  Acknowledgement is the first step and now I can take the next steps in living a better and happier life and providing happier lives for the people most important to me.  For that I feel pride.  That it's taken me this long to come to that realization, acknowledging that I've probably made my husband's life a living hell more often than not because it's been easier to whine and complain and blame him for "not understanding"--yeah, that's not such a hot feeling.

Admitting your flaws in not easy.  Of this, I am well aware.  But once you're able to admit those flaws--and I mean truly admit them to yourself and fully embrace them as part of your being--taking charge and making changes is that much easier.

I thank God that He blessed me with a man who has accepted me, flaws and all, and more importantly does not shrink away from bringing me face-to-face with those flaws and demanding that I do something about them.  But not for his sake.  Not to make his life better or easier.  For my sake.  To make my life better and easier.  To make me more satisfied and happy with who I am as a person, as a wife, as a mother.

I am truly blessed.  Even with the congested sinuses and the sore throat and the fussy babies.  I mean, c'mon--a girl can't have everything, right?

March 18, 2013--1st Birthday

I'm not sure why my day-to-day life never seems important enough for me to blog about.  The past few days or so when I've sat down and told myself I needed to blog, I couldn't come up with "anything to write about."  Nothing witty, nothing smart, nothing that anyone other than myself might find remotely interesting.

I'm in the same rut today but I feel like I have to write something....even if it does seem fairly inconsequential.

The girls spent last week with my brother and sister-in-law so I had the week to myself.  I enjoyed it a lot.  Most of the week I spent cross-stitching, catching up on TV shows, sleeping.  Things I don't usually get to spend a lot of my "extra" time doing.  I did get some housework done, but on my own time, when I wanted to.  I discovered Downton Abbey, which I immediately fell in love with, and have since been catching up on the three seasons that currently exist.

On Friday Chaz and I headed to Paris to spend the night with my brother and sister-in-law and then on Saturday traveled to Quincy for Daphnie's birthday party.  It wasn't quite what I expected, but we had a good time.  Hopefully everyone who was there did too.

We came home Saturday night, had Sunday together and then today got back to the normal grind of things.  I spent the morning listening to Disney radio on Pandora and playing with blocks, stuffed animals, and lots of things that make obnoxious noises.  The girls had a blast and I did too.

The day-to-day.  It doesn't change too much.  But it's my life and I'm more than happy with it.  So there you have it.  A terribly boring update of the past week and a half.  Yay....

The birthday girl decked out in her birthday crown made by Grandma Loreea

Aubrey & Alice (cousin) riding the dinosaur at Bonkers

Daphnie's first birthday cake

Eating cake with Grandma Loreea

We finally decided to give her free reign, let her make a mess

New outfit after the first had been demolished by birthday cake

Opening birthday presents

More presents

Birthday shot with Mommy!

March 7, 2013--5 Travesties Posing as Films Based on Books

When I say "I wish they would turn this book into a movie" what I really mean is "I wish they would turn this book into a 17-hour long spectacle that includes every single solitary detail and doesn't deviate at all from the story line and has perfect casting."

Truth.

The number of movies made based off books is astronomical.  The number of good movies made based off books....not so much.  Here's my theory: some books, Harry Potter for example are extremely popular and make lots and lots of money.  So some genius gets the idea that they can make a whole lot more money if they turn it into a movie.  Millions of people go and see the movie, some of whom haven't read the books, and after seeing the movie they go buy the books and Voila! more money is made.  Smart, huh?

Here's the problem.  Those of us who have read the book and are only going to see the movie adaptation simply because we can't help ourselves--we have to see how some professional film crew's ideas compare to our own imaginations--have high expectations.  And when I say high, I mean HIGH.

See above italicized quote.

So, if it really is all about making money, these producers and directors and everybody involved in the money making would be a whole lot richer if they came to the conclusion that readers are going to pay to see the movie no matter what.  So why not make multiple movies spanning one book?  You have fans that will pay to see all three movies and you have fans that will be so much happier because you didn't f*ck it up.

Granted, I get that there are a lot of hoops to get through--actors looking older, it costs money to make more movies, blah blah blah.  I get that there's red tape.  Humor me.

So, I would like to now share my own personal top 5 travesties posing as movies based on books.  Your lists might be much more diverse--my own probably seems limited because there are plenty of books I have read where I haven't seen the movie, for whatever reason, or movies I have seen but have not yet read the book.  Anyway, here goes:

#5.  Twilight
     The thing that can be said for the Twilight Saga movies is they do get better as they progress.  The first film is most definitely the worst.  My biggest issue with it is the casting of the two main characters.  Watching Rob Pattison as Edward play opposite Kristen Stewart as Bella is like watching really bad amateur porn.  It's awkward, it's uncomfortable, yet you can't seem to look away.  Now, my husband and I have debated about whether the directors purposely had the two seem awkward around each other throughout the first few movies to emphasize the difference between human Bella and vampire Bella.  Having seen the final installment, which is by far the best, and finally seeing some real chemistry between Robert and Kristen, I think that may be a fairly realistic assumption.  Unfortunately, that's asking a lot of your viewers--to watch purposely bad acting for 4 movies, just to emphasize how good the 5th and final one will be.
     My other issue with the poor acting, on purpose or not, is that when reading the book, you don't get the feeling that Bella is that awkward.  At first, maybe, but not for very long.  She's pretty adult for being a teenager and from the time she finds out what Edward is, she's fine with it.  She's not unsure about what she wants.  She has concerns about her family and friends, but she never doubts that she wants to be a vampire, that she wants to be with Edward.  If anything, Edward is the one that holds back, who is "awkward."  In my opinion, that is not portrayed on screen.
     There are other smaller issues I have with the film, such as the random trip out into the woods so that Bella can confront Edward about what he is (instead of on the way home from the city in the car) followed by the crazy trip up the mountain so that Bella can see Edward sparkle in the sunlight--all in the middle of a school day, no less.  What?  How hard would it have been to stick to the book, I mean seriously?
     3.5 stars out of 5

#4.  Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief
     This one's a little harder to write, for two reasons.  1) I saw the movie before reading the book, which is unusual for me and 2) I've only watched the movie that one time.  Having read the book since, the details between the book and movie have gotten a little hazy.
     One thing I remember clearly is I saw the movie with Chaz (who had read the book) and he was ready to walk out ten minutes into the movie because he was so angry with how things were going.  I do remember that the kids were way too old in the movie--they're supposed to be 12, they're portrayed as 16.  The movie also changes the overall underlying plot, which is that the Titans, lead by Kronos, are trying to overthrow the gods.  Instead they get this bright idea that Luke wants to take over, just because he's a power-hungry teenager.  In reality, Luke is manipulated by Kronos and allows Kronos to take control of his body because he's pissed that his father, Hermes, left his mother and abandoned him.
     Now, maybe that's because they never planned to continue the saga with more movies, but it's still pretty irritating.  Other irritating issues with the movie are the existence of Persephone, Hades' wife, who helps the kids because she hates Hades.  Persephone has no influence in the book and she likes her husband.  The competitiveness between Zeus, Poseidon and Hades, which is huge in the book, is totally passed over in the movie.  Ares' interference, which again, is huge in the book, is also passed over.
     I hate that movies that are "loosely" based on a book take the same name as the book.  Call it something else, still give credit to the book it is "loosely" based on and make people a lot happier.  You save yourself the high and then disappointed expectations of a lot of people.
     3 stars out of 5

#3.  a) Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
       b) Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
       c) Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
     Ok, we're talking Harry Potter, here.  One of the most, if not the most popular fantasy series in existence.  This is the series that has led to every type of fan memorabilia possible, including a theme park built to look like the setting of the wizarding world.  People want to go to Hogwarts, they wish more than anything that it was real.  This is a huge, incredibly influential series to millions upon millions of people.
     So what do the producers do?  They make three very half-assed films that don't come even remotely close to being accurate.
     Issues with Goblet of Fire: the Quidditch Cup and the following riot, no house-elves, Neville telling Harry about the gillyweed instead of Dobby, and the maze.  And those are just the major ones.  I mean, seriously, that maze?  Pathetic.  The maze is huge, and so fun!  All of the spells, enchantments and creatures and all we get in the movie is overgrown shrubbery that tries to consume the contestants.
     Issues with Order of the Phoenix: the time at 12 Grimmauld Place--no cleaning, no discussions between Sirius and Harry, limited Kreacher exposure.  The absolute hell Umbridge turns Hogwarts into--it's all just thrown together with no explicit details.  The Weasley twins' exit--again, pathetic. That's one of the best parts of the book, where everybody cheers and all we get are a couple of fireworks?  What?!?  The battle at the ministry--so many rooms that weren't touched upon, too many injuries that were left unmentioned.  The battle is epic and really shows how far these young wizards and witches have come and how talented they are and you don't get that in the movie at all.
     Issues with the Half-Blood Prince: where do I start?  The fact that the movie spends more time focusing on Ron and Lavender making out than anything else is in itself disgusting.  Harry being in some random place when Dumbledore finds him at the beginning of the movie, instead of Dumbledore picking him up at the Dursleys' and more importantly, putting the Dursleys in their place for treating Harry like crap--ugh.  Snape teaching D.A.D.A. is pretty much skipped over, you get no class time.  Dumbledore's training sessions with Harry are a vital part of book 6 and all we get in the movie is Slughorn's fractured memory.  Oh, and Voldemort as a kid--but nothing about his ancestors, the Gaunts.  Nothing about Voldemort's working and stealing items to use as Horcruxes.  The Horcruxes are the foundation of Voldemort's destruction and we get none of that.
     While Book 6 is not my favorite book in the series, it is a very important book.  There is a LOT of important information that sets up the final installment and barely any of it gets into the movie.  Major fail.
     All three movies averaged out together--2.5 stars out of 5

#2.  Nights in Rodanthe
     There is one major issue with this movie that pretty much ruins the whole thing.  In the book, Adrienne is helping her grown daughter Amanda deal with depression.  Amanda has just lost her husband and has to now raise her two children on her own.  While trying to help comfort her daughter, Amanda blows up in Adrienne's face, asking her what she knows about losing love?  (Adrienne and Amanda's father are divorced.)
     Hurt and heartbroken, Adrienne sits Amanda down and tells her the story of her relationship with Paul Flanner, a man she met while tending a friend's inn for a few days.  She and Paul fall in love over a few days and although their paths take them in different directions after leaving the inn, they stay in touch through letters.  After a few years, Paul tells Adrienne that he wants to come back to her and continue their relationship together and Adrienne is planning for his return when she is informed that Paul has died in an accident.
     Amanda is shocked that her mother has such a story to tell and has kept it secret and suffered in silence for so long.  She realizes that her mother does understand what she's going through and they are able to take comfort in each other.
     In the movie, Adrienne's daughter is portrayed as a 16/17 year old who is very devoted to her father and is very angry with her mother for not getting back together with him when he suggests it.  She just can't understand why her mother wouldn't get back together with her father when it's the easy thing to do and would be so good for her and her brother.  So, Adrienne sits down and tells her daughter the story of her and Paul, basically to placate her daughter who is basically throwing a teenage temper tantrum.
     That "minor" detail changes the entire tone of the story and makes the movie a throw away.  How hard would it have been to stick to the actual story, instead of making things up?  In the book, the father isn't trying to get back together with Adrienne.  So why say he is in the movie?  Why not leave it the poignant, adult story it is?  Major screw-up.
     2 stars out of 5

#1.  Eragon
     And the winner is....you got it.  Eragon.  Worst.  Movie.  EVER!!!  My experience with this one is basically the opposite of my experience with Percy Jackson.  I had read the book, absolutely LOVED the book and was so effing excited about the movie.  My younger brother and I went together and we were sitting in the theatre, bouncing in anticipation.
     And then it started.  And it kept going.  And I sat there is horror, totally appalled at the absolute travesty that deigned to call itself a film playing out on the screen.  I have never watched it again.  It was that bad.  About the only thing that stayed "true" to the book was the names of the characters.  The entire plot was f*cked up, nothing happened the way it was supposed to.
     I really can't go into much more detail than that because I honestly don't remember what happened in the movie.  I just know it wasn't what happened in the book.  It was THAT bad.  I will never watch that movie ever again because I will not torture my integrity as a literary reader like that again.  It was perfectly evident that the producers made it quickly, just to cash in on the name.  Guess they didn't realize how popular the Inheritance Series was going to become.  More's the shame for them.
     If they had done the movie properly, maybe even made the movie in two installments (same can be said for Harry Potter 4-6), the viewers would have been so much happier and satisfied and they'd have made a whole crapload of money more than they did.  Again, more's the shame for them.

Now, let the debates begin....
   

March 6, 2013--My Fictional Boyfriends

While perusing Pinterest the other day, I came upon and re-pinned a meme that said the following:

Keep Calm
     Being obsessed over fictional guys isn't weird....is it?

When I re-pinned this, I captioned it with a list of a number of fictional guys I'm "obsessed" with, some that I'm totally fine with and some that I'm slightly ashamed of.  But it got me thinking, what is it about certain fictional characters that we love, and that we hate?  Why do we fall, simultaneously, for the jerks and the romantics?  These characters are just that--characters.  So why do we talk about them as if they really existed, as if they're family?

Well, here are some of my obsessions and why I obsess over them.

1. Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, Pride and Prejudice
   
     This one I feel is somewhat self-explanatory.  I don't know too many gals who have read the book and/or watched the movie who don't have a slight crush on this man.  He's your typical "love to hate him/hate to love him" guy--at least at first glance.  A first impression portrays him as a superior, vain and extremely stuck-up person.  You want to hate him, only because he looks down his nose at you.  But he is also extremely handsome, with a strange aura of loneliness about him.  A bit of a sense of mystery.  You can't help but be intrigued by him, even as you tell yourself and anyone who will listen he's a grade-A asshole whom you wouldn't give the time of day.  You are now, quite simply, a liar.
     You are never so thrilled (and relieved) to find out that Mr. Darcy truly is a superior man, not in attitude, but in reality.  He is generous, loving, compassionate, accepting.  He's also shy.  And who doesn't love a guy who's just a little nervous about telling you how he really feels.  You like knowing you make him nervous--this rich, handsome man who has everything getting a bit tongue-tied around you--you know you like that feeling of power.
     Mr. Darcy is the perfect mix of good and bad.  The flawed hero.  The black knight on a white horse.  What's not to obsess over?

2.  Ron Weasley, Harry Potter Saga

     Now, I know the Harry Potter obsessions range from just about every character in the book.  I myself have more than one.  Ron is more the "romantic" obsession of mine.  My obsession with Ron can be summed up in one simple sentence:  he's the underdog.
     He's the second to Harry Potter's first, the junior to Harry's senior, the Costello to Harry's Abbott.  Harry gets the credit for just about everything.  And this is not to say that Harry doesn't carry his weight and has much to be praised about.  He does.  But a hero is only as good as his support system.  What good is Percy Jackson without Annabeth and Grover?  What would Batman have done without Robin, or more importantly, Alfred?  Eragon had Saphira, and Brom, and Arya and a whole list of other characters.
     Ron is the guy who no one ever gives enough credit to, even his best friends.  He really is a talented wizard with a bunch of redeeming qualities.  But there's always just a slight sense of surprise when Ron manages to get through something taxing without making a mistake.  And there's always that sigh of resignation when Ron does something wrong.
     He walks out on Harry and Hermione because Voldemort has  manipulated Ron's one fatal flaw--jealousy, particularly pertaining to Hermione.  But he redeems himself by destroying the very horcrux that drove him away.  And from that moment, he's the glue that keeps the group together.
     Maybe this isn't a very good explanation of why I love Ron so much.  Maybe this isn't the best overview of his personality and character.  Maybe I have no real reason for loving him the way I do--beyond his being the underdog--I just do.

3.  Jesse, Pitch Perfect

     First of all, how adorable is he?!?  I fell in love with Jesse the first time I watched that movie.  Part of it was probably because he was such a Breakfast Club guru and the theme song (one of my favs) was used so succinctly throughout the film.  But besides that, he's the cute, geeky guy with a superior moral code.
     He's not "hawt" like so many others.  Not to say he's bad-looking, but he's no Chris Hemsworth or Robert Downey Jr. or Ryan Reynolds.  He's just cute, not hot.  But cute is definitely enough for this guy.  He has a heart of gold with a voice to match.  **Melts**  He sees Beca as a whole package, he truly likes her for her and he doesn't try to pick her apart.  But he also doesn't fall into the role of lovesick victim.  When Beca finally snaps and blows up in his face, he walks away.  And he lets her know.  I deserve better than this (he totally does) and I won't be a casualty of your broken emotional grid (air punch!).  She gets the point and (finally!) realizes the treasure she's found in him.
     He's loyal, he's sweet, he's fairly mature for a college freshman.  He's a catch.

4.  Murtagh, Eragon
     Alex Kavev, Grey's Anatomy
     Daryl Dixon, The Walking Dead

     I put these three together because on a fairly basic level, they're all the same guy: the bad boy with the bad past.  They all had rough childhoods, they all grew up in rough circumstances.  Murtagh was the son of a killer and a spy and was raised under the reigning evil king.  Alex Karev's father was an abusive drunk, his mother was a junkie and a schizophrenic, he had to steal food to eat and was bounced around from foster home to foster home.  My knowledge of Daryl's childhood is limited, but you get the idea that it wasn't the best.  He comments in one episode that he could have just as easily ended up an inmate in prison as with the group of "good guys" he's with now.
     All three guys tend to lash out--hit first before I get hit.  While all three have a respect for women deep down, outwardly they tend to be callous and careless toward women because they are afraid of getting hurt. They all have very tough exteriors while being incredibly vulnerable on the inside.  You get to see short blips of that vulnerability from time to time and your heart melts for these men who want so desperately to be loved and are so desperately scared of allowing themselves to be.
     They're "fixers."  You know they're "bad"--they're harsh and hard and at times purposely cruel.  But you also know they have good hearts and you want to "fix" them.  You want to be that one woman who can prove to them that they deserve to be loved and you won't leave them high and dry.  You want to be the one who convinces them to trust in love and in you.  You want to be the one who brings out the best in them.

5.  The Chairman, Memoirs of a Geisha

     Last one for now.  I have always had a great love for the Chairman.  He is the man who loves from afar, who puts his own needs and wants aside for the benefit of others.  He puts into motion Chiyo's training as a geisha and once she grows up, despite his personal feelings towards her, he puts her into the path of his friend Nobu Toshikazu because he feels it will be the most beneficial for both of them.  It will put love and affection into his friend's life and security into Chiyo (Sayuri)'s life.
     He gets Sayuri out of war-ridden Tokyo, although he gives the credit to Nobu, and later is understanding and forgiving about her sexual set-up to discourage Nobu from becoming her danna.  It is only when the feelings and interests of all others are no longer relevant that he reveals his own true feelings and allows himself to truly love.
     It is true that the Chairman's actions create years of strife for both him and Sayuri.  Had he expressed his feelings for her sooner, they might have been happier sooner, seeing as she loved him too.  But there is no telling how that might have affected the actions of all those around them.  The Chairman is a man with good intentions and a true and loyal heart.  He is faithful and devoted.  Who doesn't want a guy with those qualities?

There are quite a few other "obsessions" I have--Snape, Sirus Black, Will Blakelee, Thor, Captain Brandon to only name a few--but this post has gone on long enough, I'm sure.  So there you have it--my obsessions and why I obsess.  Now that I have put way too much time into thinking about why I love so many men who don't actually exist, you may do the same.  Because you know you do it too.  :)

Until next time....