What's The Point?

Today, I sat down with my boss to talk toys. It is, of course, what we always talk about since it's our job to make them. But we also talk music and life and family. He often takes home the toys we make and he has the best stories about his daughters' reactions. They always give him, and us, a heaping dose of reality.

After playing with a toy, this particular one bursting full of content, dozens of buttons and learning games that required pages and pages of logic scripts, a mind numbing amount of bug tests, and endless debates about whether it was too 'learny' (I've trademarked the term) or not 'learny' enough, after pressing every button, playing through every game, answering every question without a word, his daughter looked up and asked:

Ok Dad. I played it. But what is the point of this toy?

Oh my goodness, this made me laugh out loud.

And it made me think.

It's a very sophisticated question for a child to ask about a toy. It's a very sophisticated question for someone of any age to ask about anything. Because it's really a kind of prompt or plea. It says: Give me a reason. To believe in this. To stay with it.

I've questioned the point of many things. Small things. Like making the bed in the morning when you're just going to get into it again that night. Wearing a veil at a wedding. (As a side note: I was shocked to learn that questioning this would throw people into a state of rage, confusion, and a frenetic this-is-the-way-it's-done tizzy.) And big things. Like writing a novel. Having a career. Falling in love.

There are a million answers to each and every What's the point? question. But, whether it's a small thing or a big thing, I think it's important to note that people often ask it when things are just about to break, when they are hanging by the thinnest thread.

So I think it's important to ask it. I think it's important to find an answer. I believe it is not good enough to live your life inside a giant 'just because'.

Something's Coming

I feel very quiet today. The words are in the stories. As I rework passages of my novel, toss out sentences, bring in new ones to replace the old, I find myself in an unusual position, caught in the breathless anticipation of something coming.

I've never been one of those writers who has a lot of ideas. To be honest, that's probably one of the hardest things for me when it comes to writing, coming up with ideas. It's a strange thing to say but, really, I just don't have any.

I don't know how to jump from one project to another with a dozen nexts stashed away. I generally sit down with nothing. A blank page. An empty space in my head. And I just think: fill it. Because that's how I approach my whole life. That's just what I do.

But, all the sudden, here I am with a little something. A someone. A fragment. One stitch of a seam. And, of course, I am not at all prepared. Not at all ready.

On Forgetting November and Hugo in 3D

This past weekend was full of so many wonderful happenings, I barely know where to begin. The weather in the northeast has been extraordinary and I was reminded, as I am each year when November breezes through with its mild temperatures and canvas blue skies, of an old Professor who once said during an unbearably cold winter in Boston, Everybody forgets November. Remember how lucky we were in November.

Over the weekend I saw family, rode my bicycle great distances, ate Tapas, went to a college hockey game with friends, listened to my favorite radio show, and finished reading a book. I wrote and rewrote so much of my novel. Turned over a new writing project for review. I put up my little Christmas tree and experimented with new ice cream flavors (homemade butterscotch pie crumble-- yes, I made it up.)

And I also saw Hugo in 3D. Probably one of the most visually stunning films I have seen in a long time.

For those of you who love to go to the movies, I urge you to see this. It is an absolute love affair with film. There are films within this film itself. It honors the medium, its history and its future. It shows what has been done with the moving image, what can be done, what will.

As a writer, I will admit, there are major story problems. At times, my heart fell, thinking how extraordinary the film could have been if they got that part right. The pacing felt off. Convictions were unecessarily extreme. Characters gave in too easily. Backstories were overdone or nonexistent. Dialogue often trite. And, sometimes, longing looks and Bergmanesque holds on facial expressions were excruciatingly long.

But, as someone who loves beautiful things, who cries while listening to good music, who tries desperately to wake up to see a sunrise (and so often fails), this movie took my breath away.

Have you seen the film?

Sky in Flames

Taken from my fire escape just moments ago. I went camera crazy, nearly dropped the camera from the window. Nearly fell out of it myself. Because you know how fast a sunset drops down from the sky. You know how quickly it all goes dark.

And I knew what I was seeing was my novel.

Not metaphorically. I mean, for real. This is it. This is what the world of my novel (Rabbit Island, the place) actually looks like. Right here.

A sky in flames.

My imagination on fire.

The Very Best

In the past few months I've been restless and unsatisfied, thinking that I have to find a way to be a better person and live a better life. I've been wondering, what is next for me? What will happen? Will anything happen at all?

And so this time of year creeps its way towards me and I feel like an absolute fool. For thinking about next. And new. And better. Because all that is happening, all the now and here and today are so full. Bursting, really.

I will make a promise to myself and to you that I will stop. I will listen. And take a look. I promise to know, really know, that what I have at this moment is more than better. It's the very best.

I send my love and gratitude to all of you. Happy Thanksgiving :)

Recently Read

I got into a great e-mail conversation with Tyler's cousin, Mathias, who is deep in his studies at Brooklyn College and will receive an MFA in Creative Writing at the end of this year.

Mathias always talks with great passion about books and language. And he is so incredibly well-read, I often leave our conversations feeling as if I should shed all of my responsibilities, sneak into the library, hide in the stacks, and stay overnight for the next year to catch up.

Our discussion was about lyrical writing. Fiction that feels like poetry. Sentences that hold together with the most perfectly chosen words.

He asked a simple question: Have you read any books recently that do this well?

I've read all kinds of books recently. I've even (you'll be surprised to know after seeing my list) read a lot of adult fiction recently. And I realize a few of these books have not been written recently. But I read them recently. And that was the question.

I also realize that what Melissa read recently isn't exactly a perfect sample to make grand, sweeping judgements about the state of literature. So, just to clarify, that is not what I'm doing here.

I'm just talking about the question. And the list I thought to share:

One Crazy Summer by Rita Williams-Garcia

You Are My Only by Beth Kephart

First Light by Rebecca Stead

The Sky Is Everywhere by Jandy Nelson

I've got to tell you. I was so very thrilled after I shared my list. This makes me happier than I can say. How amazing it? How incredibly lucky are all of these young readers? They have such wonderful books written for them. They are reading, in my very humble opinion, some of the most beautiful words.

It made my day.

What have you read recently that made you fall in love with the writing and language?

What Are You Wearing? A Blogging Conundrum

I'm going to be honest. I struggle, sometimes, with this blog. I will often spend hours (hours, people, I'm not exaggerating) on a post and discover that no one has read it. Some days, I will take five minutes to write about a ridiculous outfit I am wearing and it will become the most highly trafficked post in the history of this blog (I'm serious).

I use this space to write what I enjoy writing, to share what I love to share, to learn what I can from all of you. I know that other blogs have a lot more to offer and I'm not interested in competing with them. I just give you myself and my thoughts and hope that's enough.

The friendships and connections I have made through blogging have been invaluable. So, I do not worry about how many followers I have or how many comments I get. But I do worry that there is a preference for posts I don't write...if that makes sense. That people would prefer I write about what I'm wearing (skinny jeans, brown boots, a long black sweater with a cowl neck. Yes, I believe in wearing black and brown together, fyi) or some other content I have not been giving.

Anyway, that's what I'm thinking about today. Or worrying about. Sometimes I feel as if I have a worry list and before I go to bed I check my worries off. Did I worry about this today? Did I worry about that? This issue I speak of is on it. I don't know why. Don't ask me. It just is.

I wonder, do you worry about content for your blog? Am I the only one?