Maureen, Murder, and Misconceptions

Saturday, April 4th, 2009

THE BADGER DIARIES [I never did finish them...]

Yesterday, as I literally worked 11am to 11pm, was an epically long day. It included lots of making chocolate, packing it, hating it, eating it, staring at it, begging it to release my from my servitude, etc. You might as well know now: my parents own and operate a chocolate shop. As in, we print images on chocolate. I actually gave Maureen Johnson (and John Green, Hank Green, and Katherine Green) chocolate with her face on it. There were dozens of little packs with Nerdfighter chocolate that I gave to the Nerdfighters when I went. Like, I kid you not. A lot of them. We gave business cards too, just in case someone ever wondered where they came from. I assure you, we were not trying to murder massive amounts of Nerdfighters--there was no poison. Just a lot of freaking out as in ‘WTF DO WE PUT ON THESE TINY SQUARES? WHO WILL EAT THEM? WHY AM I DONATING COPIOUS AMOUNTS OF CHOCOLATE TO PEOPLE I DON’T KNOW? WHY AM I COMMITTING MY TIME TO THIS?’ So on and so forth.

We managed to get all the chocolate there without killing anyone, or melting it, got most of my books signed and then when I got home, I suffered through a migraine. Like..the migraine was the worst ever. I also was given a Nerdfighter shirt via my mother. You see, my mother loves me. A lot. So she had a shirt airbrushed for November. I was so excited to see John and Hank Green. Like..you have no idea. I about peed myself because my aunt worked at the museum. I was thrilled. ‘OMG. MY AUNT WORKS AT THE MUSEUM. OMG. JOHN AND HANK GREEN. OMG. MAUREEN JOHNSON. OMG. KATHERINE. OMG. OMG. OMG. OMG.’ My aunt stared at me as I hyperventilated the entire way into the room and then out. We stood in an epic line for books, we met Pittsburgh Nerdfighters--though I do not keep contact with any of them.

It was an amazing day. Anyway, I work as an indentured slave to my family during holidays because the fundraisers are ridiculous. We usually have to make it all THAT DAY so I have to stay down there FOREVER to get things done. And that means my writing time is limited and my internet time is limited and I can’t play my music loudly and I can’t roll around on my bed and watch my fish. Etc. There are very few perks to working for my parents. These include: getting paid in food, as I prefer to eat rather than starve, taking chocolate for random occasions, getting anything I need for my fish. So maybe a little more than ‘a few’ perks. It also helps that they love me. And they like to laugh at my stupidity.

So I’m sitting there packing sugar-free chocolate into bags and I was reading the Badger diaries because I had NOTHING ELSE TO READ. And they were hilarious. Like, who really gets to go to a castle? Certainly not me. But Maureen’s take on the whole situation had me in stitches. I kept running out to report to my mother. ‘AND THEN MAUREEN DID THIS.’ Occasionally, I will refer to her as ‘MJ’. Almost as though she’s my friend. Perhaps in the future, when I’ve accomplished the task of writing novels, Maureen Johnson and I will know each other. While it’s a lofty goal, it’s not that unreasonable. If I said J.K. Rowling, I’d be dreaming. Is it terrible that I don’t want to meet J.K.? I mean, I can’t even think of questions off the top of my head to ask her. I’m sure there are LOADS of people that absolutely idolize her, but I simply acknowledge her as an amazing author. Because she is. But there are so many other people I’d rather meet. And not just the ‘Hey, how’re you? Thanks for buying my book. Here’s my signature.’ I mean the literal ‘Let’s sit down and get coffee even though you don’t drink coffee and chat about books.’

They have to have some kind of advice to writing a book. People write books all the time. I spend ALL OF MY TIME WRITING ONLINE. I do not Vlog, I do not Blog, I do not play games on the computer. I role-play. I write with friends, I come up with plot, we play things out. I have more characters in play now than I probably should and the games I mod have all been epic. But that’s not enough, obviously. Can you imagine a job where you get PAID to do what you love? Whether it’s enough to buy a hot dog or a house, it’s money. It’s ACKNOWLEDGEMENT for the time that you’ve spent creating something, harboring it in your head, loving it, encouraging it. I want that kind of encouragement, I won’t lie.

I want someone to look at my stuff and go ‘Dang. That’s some good stuff, that.’ I don’t want to have to beg my friends to read short stories or ask ‘Am I good enough?’ anymore.

And that’s not unreasonable. Out of the many participants in BEDA, I’ll imagine that the MAJORITY of us want to be writers. But how many of you put the pen to the paper? And how many of you want to make that your entire life? There are a lot of things I’ve done in my twenty years and while most of them don’t make the Top 18 from Jordan’s blog, they’re things I’m proud to say I’ve at least tried or been a part of. I’m proud I graduated high school, for one. I almost didn’t. You know why? Because of a P.E. requirement. I literally had to go to school and make up P.E. classes. I kid you not. P.E. classes. Who do you know that would not be able to graduate because of P.E.? Not many people.

But all of my life, someone else has been better than me. I’ve never won awards for being ‘OMG THE BEST’. And I probably never will. But it’s not unreasonable to want to have something that says I’ve accomplished something that I didn’t think I could before. I don’t want to write for the fame. I want to write because every little bit and piece of me inside DEMANDS that I do so.

And Maureen Johnson, John Green, Meg Cabot--the young adult writers that have guided me through adolescence will continue to guide me as a ‘young adult’ writer, too. As my idols, they’re the goals. I want to be good enough to say ‘Hey, I know John Green--he’s a pretty great guy’. Or ‘Wow, MJ is pretty crazy, but she’s one of the best writers I know.’

And not have someone sniff at me because I’m terribly unimportant.
MURDER MYSTERIES [And why they’re so much fun to write]

When I was in high school, as a freshman, we had a crazy thing called ‘Drama Club’. It was shiny and pretty and we were freshmen--this meant we had EVERY RIGHT to be a part of it. A few of us joined, committing our time to every thursday for the rest of a year. Unfortunately, we were but lowly freshmen. We obviously were a nuisance to the upperclassmen who thought they were OH SO MUCH BETTER than the rest of us. We performed a little toward the end of the year, something about crazy nursery rhymes or fairy tales, I can’t remember, and I had like...a very small part. I was almost completely turned off from acting altogether. But it was something I liked because it let you CONNECT with the character rather than just writing the character. It’s something I figured I’d be good at--or at least enjoy.

So, Freshman year ended. Cue Sophomore year when we found out THERE IS NO DRAMA CLUB. Trust me. We fought for it. We begged for someone to take on the project. All we needed was a supervisor. THAT WAS IT. We weren’t trying to get into trouble or better leads in the school musical, which was a huge popularity contest, but simply to go over games that helped with acting and to be a PART of something. It didn’t work. We went clubless. Sophomore year was depressing. In fact, the only thing I remember is getting a lot of detention. And almost failing spanish. But this isn’t uncommon. I’ve taken Spanish a LOT and I retain very, very little.

Junior year gave us a breakthrough! We found a supervisor! Our teacher was a new teacher that wanted to be part of something too. We finally conspired to write a murder mystery. This mystery was to be performed as dinner theater. I giggle at the very thought. We seriously wrote the thing THE NIGHT OF THE EVENT. We BARELY could remember cues. We had a sad plot and two drunkards. One was a child [she wasn’t really drunk, obviously, and she was a freshman who later became one of my very best friends] who hiccuped hilariously throughout the entire thing. And the other was myself, a crazy detective by the name of ‘Sydney Fletcher’. I can’t help myself when I add the ‘DETECTIVE EXTRAORDINAIRE’ at the end. I literally had to introduce myself every single time JUST LIKE THAT. And it was amazing and a great experience, but the next year we decided to buy one. I still have the script somewhere.

The point is that murder mysteries rock and they’re fun to write. Especially when people face plant into large plates of spaghetti. And oh--did I mention? I was club President for two years. :D THE SHEER POWER. BOW TO--